AN: Special thanks to civilwarrose, ordayone, & guests for the encouraging feedback. :)

-x-

The first few weeks of term were eventful, to put it simply. Many of the students, having muggle parents and relatives, either lashed out or morphed into zombies. Slytherins and Gryffindors dueled openly in the corridors. Both Tom and Slughorn's evenings were were filled with detentions until eventually, Tom went to Dippet and persuaded him into allowing light magical punishments.

"Nothing too forceful," he assured the old man. "A simple Body-Bind Curse should deter them for a bit." He'd learned from Wool's that corporal punishment not only kept fussy brats in line but also taught them a healthy dose of fear. Of course, he did not relay this to the headmaster. After the second week facing a stack of reports of violence, Dippet relented.

Slowly, Tom was securing his position as next-in-line to the Headmaster's Tower. The rest of the professors who might have had a chance at the position didn't seem interested. This year, Slughorn happily relinquished to him the title of Head of Slytherin.

At the end of week three, obnoxious seventh-year Olive Hornby burst into Dippet's office, crying about a ghost named Myrtle Warren. "She said she's coming back to haunt me!" the girl sobbed. "She's making good on her word! She hasn't left my side!"

Tom and Dippet had dismissed her, writing it off to theatrics until reports from professors started flowing in that claimed the spirit of the mudblood who'd died in 1943 had indeed been following Hornby around the castle, cackling at her during lessons and meals. Hornby often burst into tears and ran out of the classroom. A letter came from her parents, who were evidently as annoying and entitled as she was, demanding action be taken or they'd involve the Ministry.

"I will diffuse the situation," Tom offered and without hesitation, he summoned Olive Hornby to his office. As expected, the hideous, fat ghost of Myrtle Warren accompanied her.

"Ooh, you're a teacher now, Riddle?" she asked as she floated above Hornby's head. She'd been insufferable and loathed as a student, and Tom wasn't surprised in the least that she hadn't changed a bit in death.

"I am," he told her. "And I am obligated to inform you on the headmaster's behalf that you cease bothering Miss Hornby or we'll have to involve the Ministry of Magic in banishing you from Hogwarts."

"Get lost, little boy," Myrtle shot back. He'd been wrong; she'd changed for the worse. "You can't control me now. I'll haunt whomever I please!"

This got Hornby snivelling all over again. Tom stood straight with his balled fists behind his back. "Second and final warning, Miss Warren. Haven't you got anyone outside the castle to visit?

"No," she snapped, but then her shoulders sagged and she looked at a spot on the floor. "My parents died in the air-raids. You remember '41, don't you?"

Fighting the urge to rub his temples, he switched his tone to sympathetic, although he couldn't care less who died in the air-raids. He had not, and that was the extent of his concern."Fine, you may stay at Hogwarts, but please find a spot where you won't be in contact with many students." He thought of where she'd spent the most time and consequently died, and tried not to smirk. "Perhaps the first-floor bathroom."

He expected a nasty rebuttal, but the ghost simply nodded and slunk off.

"Do you think she'll really go there, sir?" Hornby asked as soon as she was gone.

"It matters not where she goes as long as she leaves the students alone," Tom answered, pulling a stack of late slips out of his desk. "If she bothers you again, go straight to the headmaster and we'll get the Ministry to take her out."

"Yes, sir." Hornby was smiling, back to adoring him now that she wasn't being haunted, thanks to him. Luckily, she wasn't in any of his classes or his House, so ignoring her was easy.

He found out later that day that the ghost of Moaning Myrtle had indeed settled in the first-floor bathroom, which everyone began to avoid.

About a month into term, Tom noticed the students were calming down a bit. They still behaved like foolish animals, but the mood was less tense. Many of the upper-year girls had gotten married and didn't return, which had no effect on his class sizes. His NEWT classes, the seventh-years in particular, were taking well to his highly-modified curriculum, especially the Slytherin boys. He suspected that was due to their collective desire to become Knights, save for Alphard Black.

Malfoy and Murdoch were proving to be the most useful by far, simply due to their fathers, Head of the Education Department and Head of the Floo Network. They simplified the task of connecting the fireplace in Tom's office to the Network unregistered. Now the Knights could enter the castle undetected through that fireplace when he held the occasional meeting.

Several young wizards sat around a long table in the office late one night near the end of September. Tom was at the head, watching their every move.

"Gentlemen, we are all aware that our Minister is not carrying out a regime that benefits real wizards at a fast enough rate. Those with unworthy blood still have the upper hand. This is not acceptable. We will show them the real, natural order, but not with violence or recklessness. There is a better way. It is difficult and time-consuming, strong and subtle. It is not for those who lack discipline. I know you all have that capability and I require you to prove it this year. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," they said in unison.

"You will stay out of trouble, work hard in your studies, and foster connections with your most influential relatives. If you do this, wealth and power will be owned only by the purest of blood and most faithful to magic. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord," they chorused. Tom revelled in the moment, holding back a grin and enjoying the sound of sycophancy rooted in awe. He settled in his chair and took a sip of his goblet, which held the UK's finest firewhiskey. The boys had similar goblets in front of them.

"The first exercise in discipline is refraining from engagement with witches unless it leads to a union that will benefit wizarding society. The desired witch, in only that case, will not just be pure of blood but will agree readily to the movement and submit to the needs of the Knight."

Tom turned and specifically addressed Yaxley and Murdoch, who were conveniently seated next to each other. "Harpalyke Messier does not fall into that category, so you both will do best to forget this ridiculous competition."

Malfoy, who'd recently proposed to the Fawley girl, let out a soft, derisive chuckle. Murdoch turned red but kept his mouth shut.

"The second exercise is to improve your marks and spellwork. You are here because you are clever, and you'll not waste on second on useless pursuits until all of your responsibilities are in order. I want top marks from you, is that clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

After they'd finished their goblets, Tom concluded the meeting and sent them out except for Yaxley and Murdoch. They exchanged nervous glances, no doubt thinking they were going to hear it about Messier or their marks. Once the rest had left, Tom told the pair to recruit Alphard Black. "It is you two who I believe will perform this task the best, as he spends a lot of time with you and therefore, trusts you."

"We'll do our best, sir," Yaxley assured him.

Tom watched them as they left, marvelling, not for the first time, at how easy it was to turn these boys into puppets. He knew he was capable, of course, but it took not nearly as much time as he'd been expecting. If he had a shred of self-doubt before becoming a professor, it was gone now. He would not only be capable of owning the wizarding world, he'd excel at it.

As a teenager, he had decided that he didn't need a companion or a lover. There was no one on Earth worthy of him. But power—that was something else. His one true love.

Later on that night, he sat at his desk and looked over his seventh-year list. There were only six now. Delmont hadn't bothered to show up for his final year, and Weasley's blood-traitor family had gone into hiding after speaking openly ill of the Regime.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began to make his own list:

1. Killing Curse

Easy. The only wizard in the class that was just the right amount of ruthless for that was Icarus Yaxley.

2. Cruciatus Curse

This one mixed well with some sort of emotional instability. The half-blood Melody McCready was on the verge of an epic hissy fit, hence to her it went.

3. Imperius Curse

One of Tom's personal favorites—it required patience, detachment, and sophistication. One had to have a good grasp of others' behavior. It was a close tie between Felix Murdoch and Harpalyke Messier. Eventually, quiet, subtle Messier won out.

4. Legilimency

Murdoch would do alright with this one, especially if he followed his father into the Ministry.

5. Bone-Shrinking Curse

The second most gentle, if one could call it that, and therefore best suited for Ignatius Prewett. It wouldn't be pleasant for the boy, but he'd do it anyway, if only to prove he could.

6. Nerve-Inducing Curse

Out of everyone in the class, Alphard Black was the least inclined toward the Dark Arts. The Curse could induce heart attacks, but it could be argued that a kick to the nervous system could do a bit of good, perhaps give them motivation. Black would be killing a lot of small animals this term, trying not to cross that line. Tom let out half a chuckle at the thought.

These six were not getting an easy NEWT from him. And if they did manage to succeed, he'd have every one of them in his grasp at one point or another.

-x-

Mel felt as if something was missing, that some part of her brain had shut down. She couldn't seem to muster up much concern for anything at all. Not Auntie Bertha's snatching, not the changes of the Regime, not Harper's distance…

Not that she could never have Alphard Black…

It was easier to avoid him—not just him. Everyone. No one was concerned about the well-being of lesser blood, that was clear.

Well, except for Antonia Longbottom. She'd held another meeting in late September and invited Mel. It was unfortunate that Mel couldn't seem to care about the goals of Dumbledore's Army, either. What did it matter? The Regime would squash it all.

At the table beside her, Harper had her own problems: a fight with her father, her sister in St. Mungo's. For once, Mel wasn't vying for her attention. Harper wouldn't understand her plight anyway.

Professor Riddle entered the Defense classroom from his office, causing everyone to shut up and immediately face forward. "Today you will be assigned a task that will likely take you until your final days at Hogwarts to complete. At first, you will wonder why I've given it to you, but that will become clear as the year progresses."

Mel used to avoid looking at him, not wanting to meet his eyes, but lately she simply stared listlessly, recording his words without reflection.

"If there's one thing you grasp in this class," he continued, "it's that 'Dark' is not synonymous with 'evil' but it is certainly with strong and powerful. Not all of you may want that, but there will be a time when you'll need it, whatever you choose to do. All of you are capable of performing the task I assign you whether you believe so or not. I don't expect perfection, but I want you to perform adequately in a presentation. When I call you, come up, get your assignment, and sit quietly until the lesson begins."

Riddle opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a stack of folded papers. The top one had writing on the top, which he read out loud: "Mr. Black."

Only the tiniest twinge of pain rose in Mel's chest as Alphard took tentative steps toward the front of the classroom.

"Miss McCready."

Mel took the paper and returned to her seat. As Harper's name was called, she unfolded it:

Cruciatus Curse

She had the bizarre urge to laugh. Riddle was expecting them to perform Unforgivable Curses? More specifically, Riddle was expecting her to learn an Unforgivable? Not only was she rubbish at Defense, her magic in general had taken a plunge over the summer.

Harper was looking at her questioningly, so Mel leaned in to whisper what she'd gotten, but just then Riddle commanded, "Face front and no talking."

She snuck a peek at her fellow classmates. Each wore a different expression, but the only tense ones belonged to Alphard and Ignatius Prewett. Perhaps she should have a stronger reaction to having to learn the Cruciatus Curse, but it hadn't seemed to register yet.

Immediately after her last class, Mel went straight to her dormitory and wrapped herself in her quilts. She'd been skipping supper often, which she knew was not ideal, but going to the Great Hall and socializing with Antonia Longbottom took up too much energy. She and Harper had asked her about her change in demeanour, but Mel shrugged them off.

She was content to simply exist, going through the motions, until one day about two weeks before Halloween, when Henry Higgins, of all people, addressed her in Potions.

"Oi, Mel, noticed you've been blue lately. If you want, I can set you up with some Double P."

"What is Double P?" Mel asked, perplexed for the first time in ages.

Henry mashed a finger to his lips, shaking his head, as Antonia Longbottom turned around and admonished him. "That is illicit, Higgins, and if I catch you with it, I'm taking you straight to Dippet."

"Pity you'll never catch me with it," he shot back. Beside him, his partner, Gillian Bowlby, was left to work on the potion himself, glaring at Henry every so often.

Antonia, for once without a scathing response, turned back around. "I can't wait to find out who's making this Double P. Turning everyone into idiots, mind you."

"What on Earth is it, then?"

The girl shook her head as she chopped up an ingredient Mel couldn't even identify. It looked akin to a stiff ball of spider legs. "Someone invented this potion that's similar to Elixir of Euphoria, except with different ingredients. It's incredibly powerful, causes delirium and all that. Stay away from it, Mel, honestly. It's not worth the hype."

Mel was no longer listening. She'd tried Elixir of Euphoria once. Last year, she and Harper had brewed the best one and Slughorn had let them try it. She recalled the excited, almost invincible feeling she'd felt for hours afterwards, and that was a sample by two sixth-year students. What would a real taste of it be like?

Twenty minutes later, when Antonia was returning the unused ingredients to the jars in the cupboard, Henry passed Mel a folded-up note. Harper, who'd come in late and gotten stuck with Olive Hornby, was watching her out of the side of her eye, so Mel tucked it in her robes.

She didn't get a chance to read it until after Herbology. Mel, it said in Henry's loopy scrawl:

If you're still interested, meet me at the statue of St. Barnabas at three o'clock. Come by yourself.

She hoped he meant interested in this "Double P" and not himself. If she barely wanted Alphard Black, she sure didn't want anyone else.

"Hello, Mel," Henry greeted her as she advanced toward the statue of St. Barnabas. He held out his hand for her to take. "Shall we proceed?"

Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and let him take her to the seventh floor. For an absurd moment, she wondered if he was taking her to the headmaster's office, but then he held out his palms and did an about-face. "Wait here for a moment."

As Mel looked on with bewilderment, Henry paced in a certain spot between two statues, three times in a row. Then he seized the handle of a door that was not there a second ago. Mel blinked, certain that the wall had been empty. She opened her mouth to ask, but he said, "Come on," and pushed the door open.

They stepped into a small room with shelves lining the walls. On those were books, jars of various plants and other substances, and different sizes of glass beakers. In the middle was a table with a cauldron, a shimmering bright blue liquid bubbling inside as a young witch sprinkled yellow powder into it. The liquid instantly turned to a pastel blue.

The witch was in fourth or fifth year, small with an abundance of light brown hair, slanted hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Mel knew who she was: Lucia Tauriello's younger sister Theobroma, except this one was a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw.

Upon looking up and seeing the pair, she raised her thin eyebrows and gave a distracted grin. "Hello there, Higgins."

"How are things, Double T?" Henry asked enthusiastically. "I see you're brewing up another batch. Don't suppose you've got a bit to spare for Mel here?"

Theobroma briefly but blatantly looked Mel up and down. "I might. S'going to be a bit more expensive, though. Supply and demand, and all."

Mel was about to decline, since she had not a single sickle, but Henry said, "No worries. This one's on me." He winked at Mel, who gave him a weak, hesitant smile.

"Very well. Twenty galleons, then," the girl told him as she turned away and unlocked an old wooden cupboard behind her.

Henry hissed in frustration as he counted out the money, while Mel glanced around the room. It was stifling hot, but the liquid smelled heavenly, like spring wind curving through the forest.

Theobroma straightened up and extended a small jar filled with shimmering periwinkle liquid that was swirling on its own accord, even more vivid than the contents in the cauldron. It was mesmerising; she couldn't tear her eyes from it, until the girl snapped her scratched-up fingers in her face.

"Can't let you leave here without taking a sip," she said, thrusting the bottle under Mel's nose. More fresh-scented steam stroked her face. "I've enchanted it, you see. Binds you to silence."

Mel stared at this freckle-faced girl who seemed to fancy herself a mistress. "And if I don't?"

"I'm decent at Charms, if you catch my drift," Theobroma replied, shrugging casually.

"Good at Potions, too," Henry interjected, still counting out coins. "Slughorn has mentioned your talent quite a bit."

"That's very kind of you, Higgins, but you've still got to hand over that twenty galleons."

"I've only got seventeen."

"Forget it," Mel said quickly, taking a step back, away from the bottle. "Thanks for the—"

"Oh, just take it," Theobroma said, placing it on the table. "Higgins, keep the galleons, but you owe me. This Friday evening, I'll be, er, 'taking a walk,' so if you could keep Pringle off the first floor, that would be swell."

"Done," said Henry in relief as he swept the coins back into his pocket.

It looked like Mel had no choice now. She uncorked the jar and gave it a slight shake. Tilting her head back, she let a bit of the liquid pour onto her tongue. As she swallowed, her heart lifted and she smiled at the taste, like the sweetest, freshest blueberries.

Almost instantly, her mood lifted and she grinned unabashedly at Henry, who returned it. He wasn't such a bad bloke after all. A bit annoying maybe, but it was all in good spirit. And Theobroma, what a doll. Without her magical brewing talent, this wondrous potion would not exist.

"It's working," the girl remarked to Henry. "McCready, is it? You only need about a swallow. When you run out, come back and get more, as long as you've got at least fifteen galleons. Remember: the only place to get Double P is from Double T."

Mel burst out laughing, tossing her head back and letting out hearty chuckles. Henry followed suit, while Theobroma turned back to her potion, stirring it slowly and counting out loud. Upon completion of that, she shooed them out of the room.

"Listen, Henry, thanks a bunch," Mel told him as they advanced toward the Astronomy Tower. "I feel loads better."

"Good to hear," Henry replied before casting his green eyes around the corridor warily, lowering his voice. "Listen, don't take any tomorrow until after Transfiguration, alright? Longbottom's got a keen eyes. She'll cotton on quick if you're not careful."

"Too right she will. Say, have you filled out your moon charts? Mind if I have a look?"

He agreed and they continued on to Astronomy, laughing about various, recent events around the castle that Mel realised she'd seen but never thought about.

Later on, she decided to take an afternoon stroll on the grounds, since autumn was on its way. Soon there wouldn't be any sunny days left, so she had to catch them while she could.

Despite the weather, not many were outside. The Hufflepuff team was practising on the pitch while a boy and girl in Ravenclaw robes circled the garden. Mel chose her favorite boulder near the lake and climbed on top. For a pleasant few minutes or maybe hours—it was hard to tell time in such a state—she sat basking with her legs hanging over the rock. The sun was so wonderfully warm and a breeze was caressing her face and hair. It was a relief to be alone.

This bubble of oblivion was punctured by the appearance of Alphard standing just below her feet. "May I join you?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure," Mel said. With uplifting surprise, she realised it didn't matter if they couldn't ever be together. She was content to just sit next to him.

"I, erm...did you receive my letter?" he asked once he was seated next to her, his eyes on his new-looking leather shoes.

"I did," Mel told him. "So sorry I haven't had a chance to answer. I had quite a busy summer… Anyway, I'm not angry about the situation with Cygnus, not at you, anyway. As for being together, I'll have to give it another think, but I do enjoy spending time with you." She gave him a bright smile that visibly relaxed him.

"That's great news!" he said, beaming. "Say, you want to take a walk along that forest there? The leaves are starting to turn." He pointed to a cluster of trees that separated Hogwarts grounds from Hogsmeade.

Mel agreed and they set off. On the way there, as they walked alongside the lake with the sun shining in their eyes, she resisted the urge to take Alphard's hand and lace her fingers with his. Once they approached the line of trees, however, she said, "Do you remember when you kissed me in the Forbidden Forest?"

Alphard skipped a step, a blush rising to his cheeks, but he nodded. "And behind the greenhouses...twice."

"Yes, but the second doesn't count for much, as we were caught by Harper." She giggled at the memory.

The trees blocked out the sun as green and yellow leaves padded their footsteps. Before she could think twice, Mel continued, "I'd like for that to happen again now."

This time, he did stop short and turned to look at her. "You—are you sure?"

Mel raised her eyebrows and flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder. "Why not? No one's around to see."

Timidly, he stepped forward, took her face gently in his hands, and pressed his mouth to hers. Mel could feel his hesitation—he could've gotten into quite a bit of trouble, the Head Boy kissing a half-blood. Instead of dwelling on that, she concentrated on the feel of Alphard's lips against hers.

Over the summer, after they'd snatched Auntie Bertha, Mel had taken to walking around London just to get away from Meeker Street. Her mum had found a job for the Lestrange family to replace the lost income, working late into the evenings. One Friday night, Mel had slipped into a small theater tucked into an alleyway and viewed a film called Le Femme Noir. It took about ten minutes for the patrons to realise there was a female in there, but Mel had seen a lot in those ten minutes. She'd Apparated out of there straight into her bedroom, where she explored herself with her hands.

Now she wanted to explore Alphard, but she was scared to make any suggestive moves. Eventually, she gripped his hands and moved them to her hips. From there, she pulled him closer, remembering the girl from the film, Amelie, pressing her whole body against the man in the suit. Mel felt a bit like Amelie—her middle name was the English equivalent, after all.

Once she had her chest to his, a hot wave of arousal overtook her. She grabbed his hands again, lifting her knee to rub against his groin, and placed them on her breasts.

Alphard stilled and pulled back an inch, but she held his hands in place. "Don't you want me, Alphard?" she breathed in his ear.

"Of course I do, but properly—"

"We'll never be properly together." Her voice came out as an unfamiliar hiss, laced with an odd combination of bitterness and desire. "So take me however you wish."

He pulled further away, holding her shoulders and giving her an apprehensive look. "Mel, wait, we shouldn't be going this far."

"Says who?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He withdrew his hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I want our first time to be in a bed of silk sheets," he mumbled low in her ear as they walked through the forest, their shoes crunching against dry leaves.

"Not going to happen," she argued flatly. When they reached the grass, she realised the potion was wearing off. Instead of warm, rose-tinted air, the grounds appeared steely and bleak. She stepped aside, putting more distance between herself and Alphard. "Well, time to act like we barely know each other," she said somewhat snidely.

"You already know I'm willing to dash the facade," Alphard said quietly, reaching for her hand.

She pretended not to notice, lifting her hand to brush her hair away from her cheeks as a cool breeze blew it into her face. He shuffled his feet and she saw how glum he looked. A sudden surge of fondness mixed with longing filled her chest. "Until next time, Alphard," she said, flashing him a smile before walking off.

His eyes on her back helped her feel a bit better, knowing he still wanted her, but that quickly dissipated as she entered the castle. By the time Mel returned to Ravenclaw Tower, she was downright sour. The nerve of Alphard to turn her down; many wizards would've happily gone along. Although perhaps not anymore, thanks to the Regime.

At last she was in her favorite spot, on the bed with the hangings drawn and the bottle of periwinkle elixir in her hand. She took a small gulp, savoring the tart blueberry taste before swallowing.

-x-

October passed in a haze. Harper was aggravated to find herself still nursing the sting of Felix Murdoch's rejection. Of course, it was her father's fault since he always made good on his threats, but it wasn't only his. Herbert Murdoch had told his son to stay away, and while Harper was perfectly willing to defy both of their fathers, Felix was not. "I'll always care for you," he'd assured her, but without action, the words didn't mean much.

Thankfully, Annie's potion and the Defense assignment distracted her sufficiently enough. She spent many hours in the library perusing the Restricted Section. Riddle had somehow convinced Dippet and Madam Elspeth to let his six seventh-years have free access to it.

She had been surprised to hear that Felix had gotten Legilimency and not she, but she'd learned from Magicke Most Evile that competence in Legilimency made the Imperius Curse substantially easier to perform. Across the table, surrounded by the other boys, Felix locked eyes with her and she wondered if he was attempting it on her now. He'd have a hard time, since Harper had been practising Occlumency often.

And Mel—the Cruciatus Curse? It was hard to believe she'd ever be capable of it. Especially now, when she was so cheerful all the time, which was odd to say the least.

Harper watched her at the Ravenclaw table. She was seated next to Antonia Longbottom and the other older-year girls but didn't seem engaged in the conversation or anything at all, really. Her eyes were sort of misty, straying out of focus every so often. She looked around, twirling her hair as the food in front of her grew cold, smiling at nothing and no one.

Perhaps she was taking that potion, Harper suspected, called 'Double P' or something like that. It was a big commodity among those who could afford it, which may have explained the eerie calmness at Hogwarts. There hadn't been many incidents of bad behavior, aside from the occasional MAGIC IS MIGHT sprayed on the walls. All signs were pointing to Otylia Masiakiewicz, but no one seemed fussed about keeping her in line anymore.

Harper lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth and realised that while she'd been busy taking mental notes on everyone else, her own breakfast had gone cold. She skipped the eggs and started in on the toast, since that didn't taste too bad without warmth.

The morning post flew in, and she was surprised to see that Marcy, the owl she shared with Annie, heading toward her. After Annie's departure from Hogwarts, Harper let Marcy hang about in the Owlery since she rarely received mail. Today, however, the sleek grey owl had an envelope addressed to her.

The stamp was official from St. Mungo's, but the handwriting only vaguely resembled Annie's. She tore it open and unfolded a piece of yellowing paper.

Dear Harpalyke,

I feel a bit silly writing this, but I suppose it's wise to tell someone in case I have Hissy No. 2 of the century. Here goes...when I lie on my cot at night, I hear this voice unlike any I've ever heard before. It tells me awful things, like the medi-witches are trying to poison me with the Draught, and that I'll be here forever. I know it's in my head, sister, and mostly I recognise it as silly, but there are fleeting moments when I believe it, and that's what I'm afraid of most.

I've told the Healer but she's only increased the dose of Draught and that doesn't seem to be working anymore. It's not utterly hopeless, though. In the Department of Mysteries, an Unspeakable has supposedly come up with a treatment for this 'hysteria.' I don't fully believe it, but I've got to keep the faith in something, yes?

I hope you are well and that seventh year is not smothering you like it did me.

Sincerely,

Ananke

Harper abandoned her plate and left the Great Hall. Her plan was to send a hasty response, but she found that she hadn't a single thread of advice or clue what to say. Annie's potion was still simmering, almost complete, except Harper had no way to get it to St. Mungo's safely. Was Annie becoming resistant to the Draught of Peace? If so, would they employ more drastic, brain-altering measures before Harper could give her the potion? Would this potion really protect her? After all, it's not like Riddle had tested it on a living, thinking being. Hopefully not, anyway, though she wouldn't put it past him.

Ideally, the answers would remain unknown because Annie wouldn't get to that point, but judging from this letter, another episode seemed inevitable.