After a reshuffle in timetables, all Hogwarts students have a shorter day on Tuesday. We normally have four lessons, but on Tuesdays it's only three. This is because Professor Vector holds a staff meeting at that time and wanted to make room for it during the school day. I set myself up in the common room on a window seat looking out over the lake, with my legs out in front of me and my Transfiguration essay resting on a large, thin Herbology volume that has a very nice soft leather cover and is great to write on. I can't seem to focus on it too much, my inanimate object of choice is a chair, and my creature is a large dog. This simplifies matters because both the chair and the dog have four legs, but the intricacies of how to make a dog that doesn't have a wood grain effect on its fur coat have so far evaded me. What I need to do is ask Beth about it, she finished her essay last night in one hour long sitting, and she's off somewhere with Ralph.
The truth is that the question of the Chamber of Secrets is gnawing at me. It's the obvious place to set up shop, it's bold, it's unexpected, it's convenient, and it's secure. Damn Vincent. Before he spoke up we'd all been thinking of it, and none of us had ever said anything purely because it was the ultimate unattainable dream. Now, now it's been vocalised, we can't possibly consider any alternative.
The common room is reasonably quiet, the grounds are damp but the sky is clear and students are making the most of the last rain-free weather by strolling around the grounds. Eva is off somewhere, probably setting up a new project in the room they use for muggle art, charming paint and splashing it on canvas. I push my essay to one side and get up to study the book cases on either side of the window i'm currently occupying. I know the volumes, I've known them since halfway through first year. They're all Ravenclaw speciality books, and by that I mean books about logic, riddles, reasoning, and mind exercises. It's said that every answer to every question that can be asked by the Eagle Door Knocker is in the books within Ravenclaw Tower. My favourite is a heavy red leather bound book with ornate gold lettering that reads The Way of the Sphinx. The weight is comforting, and the wisdom is too. Nothing written in it is new, it's all things I know but didn't know I knew them until I read them, if that makes sense. The Gray Lady said I had to avoid thinking like a Gryffindor to find the answer, so I begin with The Way of the Sphinx.
At six o-clock I have had no inspiration and I head down to the great hall for dinner feeling distracted. On the way past the library I bump into Vincent and the Potter kid. Vincent looks like he's seen a ghost when he sees me.
"You all right?" I say.
"Yes. Hi Astrid." His eyes are like saucers and I can tell he wants to talk. I just hope he's not told the Potter kid anything. We head towards the great hall together. It's a bit awkward because I can tell i've caught Vincent between two ways of interaction so I try to help him out.
"Hi, you're Albus Potter, right?" I say by way of introduction.
"Yes, Hi." He says brightly, leaning around Vincent and shaking my hand. "You're a Ravenclaw? How do you know Vincent?"
"I'm his mentor." I reply and then falter, I'm not sure if Vincent's told him about being an Orphan and I don't want to show him up.
"We're at the Orphanage together." Vincent says. He grins now, getting back into his stride. "Astrid taught me everything I know."
"What about?" Asks Al, getting interested. I glare at Vincent a little.
"About Hogwarts and magic. You know, stuff. Didn't your brother teach you stuff?" It's a good cover up because the Potter kid instantly looks a bit self conscious. I get the impression he doesn't like talking about his brother, and it's small wonder. From what i've heard of the Gryffindor Quidditch protege, he's a bit of a prick. We've reached the foot of the marble staircase and Professor Augustin pauses near the entrance to the great hall, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his hands held neatly behind his back.
"Miss Langstrom, I would like a word." Vincent and Al disappear into the great hall and scuttle off to their separate tables.
"Yes Professor?" I ask, genuinely mystified. As my head of house there are a dozen reasons why he might want to talk, but for some reason i'm wary. My suspicions are amplified when he leads me into the small side room where the first years wait before Sorting.
"I could not 'elp but overhear your conversation wid doze boys, the young Slytherin, oo is he?"
"He's an Orphan first year and I'm his mentor." I reply.
"And you taught 'im all he knows?" There's something about his eyes, and the way they're boring into mine, that makes me uncomfortable.
"About all sorts of things, Sir." I say, trying to sound casual.
"What sorts of t'ings, Miss Langstrom?"
"The castle, the ghosts, the houses. It's difficult for us, Sir, we don't have siblings who can talk to us about Hogwarts before we get here, and we don't want to stand out more than we have to." I'm trying the poor little orphan approach, but it doesn't take.
"The castle, the ghosts, the houses, and potions?" I stare.
"What do you mean, Sir?"
"I just 'ad a very interesting conversation with Professor Pucey after our staff meeting, and he said he had experienced the most extraordinary t'ing in a first year potions class. I don't suppose you could guess what it was?" I try not to blink too much as I shake my head slowly, arranging my face into what I hope is a mystified and quizzical expression. "He said that a young Slytherin boy, by the name of Hevoret, had managed to make a perfect cure for boils and helped a fellow student when she was struggling having made a mistake, practically rescuing hers from ruin. He den claimed to have never made a single potion before in his life." Inwardly I curse loudly, outwardly I make a face of innocent astonishment.
"I can't imagine where he found that skill, Sir." I say.
"Really?" He says, and I can tell he's been building up to this. "Because Professor Pucey also told me dat de only od'er student he remembers being so gifted at such an early stage, was yourself, and now I find that you are de boy's mentor. I can't help wondering if dere is a connection, vous comprend?"
"It must be coincidence." I say, determinedly.
"You call it coincidence, I call it miraculous dat it should be so. Especially considering dat de last winner of de Hogwarts award for achievement in potions was Mr. Haggard, who was your mentor, was he not?"
"He was." I say, the innocent act can't work anymore and I have to be more assertive. "I can see why this would appear to be a coincidence too far. The only explanation I can give is that over the summer I might have talked a bit more about potions than any other class, after all, it is my favourite." He inclines his head a little at this in acknowledgement of my skill, i'm certainly no genius at transfiguration. "He must have taken my books and been reading them without me noticing. If he's talented then I'm pleased for him, pleased and a little proud."
"Proud? As proud as Mr. Haggard is of you?"
"Not that proud yet, Sir." I say, smiling, "He's got a few more lessons to go before he'll be winning any awards or..."
"Enough of dis!" His eyes are as sharp as ice and he glares at me. "Dat brewing operation uncovered over de summer has been responsible for some very serious crimes and I intend to get to de bottom of it. Tell me, how is it dat Mr. Haggard managed to get t'rough school wit'out incurring any debt? How is it dat you have not any?"
I take a deep, steadying breath before responding in what I hope is a bruised yet dignified tone, while trying to disguise my rising panic. "The Orphanage is in London, Sir. We Deathlings have to work in muggle shops or banks or theatres or concert venues to pay our school fees." He winces at the word Deathling, and i'm pleased to see it's had an effect. "Just because our parents were criminal scum, it doesn't necessarily follow that we are too. We're just trying to get an education, Sir."
He blinks, I've wrong-footed him by calling him out on a prejudice, even if that prejudice isn't his, the world is so sensitive to it that the mere suggestion is enough.
"Of course, Miss Langstrom." He says, smiling again and making a move towards the door. "I am sorry if I caused offense, but you see, it is a serious matter." He pauses with his hand on the door latch. "If you hear of anyt'ing dat might help us expose the culprits..."
"I will let you know, Sir." He bows me out of the room and I walk into the great hall at a controlled speed, and I don't look back.
I'm shaking as I fall into a place at the end of the Ravenclaw table. I sit at the very end, far from anyone and grab the nearest dish of beef stew and some chunky bread. I feel sullen and sulky and exhausted from the encounter. After ten minutes or so, Vincent appears next to me and sits down.
"Astrid, I have to tell you something." He begins, but I cut him off.
"Yer? Well so do I. What the hell were you thinking performing perfectly in potions yesterday?" I can see Professor Augustin at the staff table engaged in conversation with Vector, so i'm safe from his razor eyes.
"I, erm." Vincent looks a bit taken aback.
"Because Augustin thinks it's really fishy that I'm good, and James was good, and now you're good, and he's starting to put two and two together if you see what I mean." I'm tearing at my bread savagely and I can see my sullen mood newly reflected in Vincent's pale, pointed face. He's silent and glowers at me.
"Just try to be a bit more average, will you." I snap.
"Well that won't be hard." He says finally, "Because I suck at everything else." With that he gets up and stalks off. I know I should feel bad, but I can't. I can't fit guilt into my overly crowded emotional capacities. I'm already frazzled and it's only the second day of term.