A/N: Hello, wonderful people! How are you all doing in this never-ending pandemic? I'm back with another chapter and also to let you know that I'm back on track! Year 5 will end with approximately 27 chapters and I have most of them already finished (just waiting a fine review). I have a portion of Year 6 outlined, but since I haven't played HM anymore, I'm accompanying the happenings through Go Shiny Hunter's channel (thank you James! I'm still watching Shiny's videos). I don't know if he's up to date with what's going on in the game of if there are more things that I haven't watched yet, but OH BOY, it drives me crazy how HM likes to recycle Harry Potter happenings. Though I do love some of the original characters (like Talbott, Rowan and even Rakepick), it seems like they are running out of ideas. What are your thoughts about it? Are you guys still playing? What are your thoughts on Year 6? I'm dying to know. I also want to send a big thank you to Katrina, for the lovely review. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy today's chapter! Any comments, critiques or concerns, feel free to contact me.
Chapter Twenty - Jacob's Diary
I miss the years that were erased
I miss the way the sunshine would light up your face
I miss all the little things
I never thought that they'd mean everything to me
Yeah, I miss you
Mean I wish you
Were here*
On the 17th, after an exhausting lesson of Astronomy, I walk slower as everyone finds their way back to their common room, sneaking along empty corridors until entering my brother's secret room. I had to skip breakfast in order to fix and clean everything, and now, as I enter the candlelighted place, it smells like lavender and fennel. In addition, I gathered all of my brother's materials and findings and organized them inside a wooden chest. Now, with dark-red sofa revealed after my tidying, there's plenty of space to celebrate Talbott's birthday.
A gentle peck on the door and soon I see his warm brown hand opening the heavy door and then closing it behind him. In the dim lit environment, his ruby irises seem to sparkle.
"What's all this?" he asks, seeing the strawberry pie floating over a bowl of magical ice, that I made in detention that morning.
I hand him a blue box with a big golden ribbon on top. "Happy birthday."
"Wow," he says. "Thank you, Bubo. I confess I wasn't expecting. I thought you'd be too tired."
"I am, in fact, a tiny bit exhausted, but it is worth it. I feel that we haven't spent any romantic time together since the holidays."
He smiles, opening the box. "I agree," he says, lifting the heavy book from inside. "All That Rhymes: The Ultimate Rhyme Dictionary. You are… incredible."
"Your creative and poetic side needs to be fed," I say. "Speaking of fed, would you like some pie?"
He smirks, leaving the book on the table, and wrapping his arms tightly around me. "Maybe later."
It is easy to dive into Talbott's sugary kisses. I melt in his lips almost instantly, feeling like an ice cube under the fiery sun. Though we've been kissing almost daily since returning to Hogwarts, we haven't been able to be this intimate, and when he slips his hands, warm and soft, under my shirt, I find what I've been missing.
One could say I feel this way because I'm fifteen and this kind of forbidden thing is what attracts me, but no.
Not completely, at least.
There's something subtle about Talbott that makes me feel utterly safe and loved. Something in the way he looks at me, with his half-shut red eyes, and in the way his smiles, showing just enough of his sharp fangs to send shivers all over my spine, makes me feel replenished amidst all the exhaustion and stress.
Talbott is light, in every aspect of the word. He lights my thoughts when I'm confused and my life when I'm on the edge. He is also light in the aspect that he is airy, like feathers in the wind, and with the delicacy of his poetic speech he makes me feel safe in a world where there are no Vaults, no Rakepick and no danger.
That's the reason why I knew he deserved a nice birthday, even amidst all my duties. Inside the hardcover book, he'll even find a letter that I wrote for him, probably not as poetic as it would be if he had written it, but when he's in bed or sitting by a window, longing for the right words to write, he'll open it and find my words in there, hopefully remembering how much I love him.
It takes a long time before we end up diving into the forbidden world. Talbott is poetic even in his way of demonstrating love. He plants kisses as if composing verses and whisper things like Romeo, in the dead of night, professing his love for Juliet. It doesn't matter that I'm tired or that my calves are sore after a long way of walking up and down the castle. In his arms, everything else doesn't matter.
Weeks later and with no sign of a fulfilling answer, I start to wonder if it's even worth it to bother the elves during their duty. Most of them are new employees and don't know much about the castle. Some of the older ones haven't seen much besides the interior of the kitchens, so they know nothing about portraits, unless it's the fruity painting they use as a door.
When January ends, I notice Rakepick is starting to look rather uneasy, walking up and down the corridors with big scowl across her face. She starts bothering me during class, flashing me intense stares while I'm listening to her lectures, which ends up making me pay attention through the books, without making eye contact.
"She is flipping out," Professor Snape tells me one day, after Potions. "She is getting impatient and desperate to find the Vaults. Dumbledore must be pressuring her to break the curse, given that more students are getting trapped each day. My Slytherin second year has only eight students now. There are twelve inside the portraits."
"How are their parents dealing with it?" I ask him.
"Most of them do not pay much thought to it," he says. "Hogwarts has never been completely safe. Things like this have happened throughout the castle's history. Some parents are used to it and think that things like this help build character. Others are concerned beyond measure and threatening to sue Dumbledore on his lack of common sense. Lastly, there is the small parcel that are Muggleborns and their parents have no prospect on how to proceed."
"But that's awful!" I say, perplexed. "Not the suing part, because I do think Dumbledore needs to revisit his priorities, but the Muggleborns… That's the same thing that happened to Julian and Nora Long. If their kids die or remain stuck in a painting forever, all the Ministry will do is to erase their memories. It outstands me, really."
"Not everyone condones with this point of view, Miss Lockhart," he continues. "You are the altruistic sheep in a herd of selfishness and that is… truly uncommon."
"But how can it be?" I ask. "How can people like Rakepick walk around and be considered a normal part of what society is? What kind of world is this?"
He leans back on his chair, eyeing me gravely. "The real one. The magical and the Muggle world do not differ much in this aspect. Both are rotten."
I sigh. "I just want these curses to end, so things can be normal again."
"Things are never normal," he finishes. "Never have been. Never will. There is always an evil to be fought. It did not stop at the Dark Lord and it will not stop at Rakepick. There will always be something… or someone… to oppose to."
"And what do you oppose to?"
He looks away, staring at the jars in the shelves, in deep ponder. "Anything that threatens my peace."
His words accompany me to the beginning of February, where, on a quiet Wednesday, in a quiet library, things threaten the peace once again. Rowan and I are revising our notes about Clabberts, both for Kettleburn's class, where we are learning about it, its habitat and characteristics, and for Potions, where its bile is of sum importance. She has the new set of Derwent coloured pencils she bought during the holidays and is colouring the flawless Clabbert illustration she drew.
There are few students in the library and the majority of them are hidden in the most recluse tables, near corners and windows, away from Madam Pince's hawk eyes. The place is silent and perfect for a nice afternoon of studying, until Bill enter the place with a pile of books to return, followed by a tearful Percy, who keeps removing his glasses to wipe his eyes as he walks. Once Bill finishes returning his books and grabs another pile, he comes to our table, proceeding to open the first one, while Percy sits beside him, crying over his Herbology notebook.
"What's wrong?" Rowan asks, promptly.
"Perce lost his rat," Bill explains.
"Are you sure he's lost, Percy?" I ask him. "Maybe he's strolling about the castle."
Percy sniffs. "He doesn't stroll. He's too fat and lazy to do so and he always pokes me when it's time for lunch. I think… I think he's lost forever."
"Oh, honey, I'm sure he'll show up," Rowan says. "We'll keep our eyes wide and help you look for him, okay?"
He sniffs again, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "T-thanks, Rowan. I… I don't want to throw the little blue pillow Mum sew for him away, but… but if he's d-dead… then I'll have to."
"I'm sure he isn't dead," Bill says. "Scabbers has fought gnomes in the past, so I'm pretty sure he's fine."
"I think I… I'll take his pillow with me. Maybe… maybe if he sees it, he'll come back faster," Percy says.
My eyes widen. "Percy… You're a genius."
He looks at me through his glasses. "I am?"
"Yes! Yes, you are!" I say, thrilled. "You gave me the best of ideas!"
"Which is?" Bill asks.
I lean closer. "I've been interviewing the elves unsuccessfully, but we also found a tiny sweater in the last Vault. What if it belongs to one of the elves? Maybe they'll be the one with the answers!"
Rowan smiles. "Sounds like a clever clue you'd brother would leave you."
"Now let's just hope that the sweater indeed belongs to an elf and not to, I don't know, Rakepick's Niffler," Bill says.
"I never got to give Scabbers a sweater," Percy says, tearing over his notebook.
Bill flashes him a concerned gaze, returning his eyes to his books shortly after. Percy opens his notebook on an empty page and starts drawing a rat, crafting a "missing person" pamphlet of Scabbers.
"You can use my colouring pencils if you want, Percy," Rowan says.
He looks at her through his humid eyes. "Thanks, Rowan. I just hope I can capture Scabbers' fur complexity."
When the day ends, I fish the tiny sweater from my trunk, placing it inside by bag for when I leave for detention on the following morning.
Hopefully, it will lead somewhere.
The morning is ridiculously cold as I get ready for detention. Outside, a glistening snow is falling, forming soft piles of pillows along the ground. I end up leaving the dorm looking like a marshmallow, with a scarf, beanie, gloves and a fuzzy sweater underneath my uniform. A frosty breeze blows as I walk along the dark and silent corridors towards the kitchens. In the distance, an owl hoots.
The environment inside the kitchens is completely different from the outside. In there, amidst the sweet aroma of sugar and cinnamon, the fire crepitates in the large wood oven, producing a delightful ambiance. As soon as I enter, I have to start undressing and rolling my sleeves up, feeling the comfortable warmth all over me.
"Miss Troublemaker," Pitts says, walking to me with a clipboard in his tiny hands. "You'll be assigned to Jett today. You two will be preparing the pumpkin juice."
"Perfect," I say. "Pitts, there's something I'd like to ask. Do you know is this sweater belongs to one of your subordinates?"
Pitts crinkles his note at the tiny red sweater I'm holding. "It's hideous," he says, grabbing it and lifting it over his head. "Listen well, everybody. To whom of you does this ugly sweater belong to?"
The elves exchange gazes of curiosity, whispering things to one another. In the corner, washing some berries, Cady releases an exasperated sigh.
"You found it!" she gasps, releasing the bowl into the sink and rushing towards Pitts. "Heavens, I've been looking all over for it!"
"Why do you even have this, Cady?" Pitts reprehends.
"It was a gift from my grandmother before she passed," she tells him. "She knew I'd never be able to wear it, but she made it anyways. Oh, thank you so much!"
"I wasn't the one who found it," Pitts mumbles. "It was the troublemaker number two."
Cady flashes me a pair of watery eyes. "Thank you."
"Pitts, would you mind if I spoke to Cady for a moment?" I ask him.
He mumbles something unintelligible. "Fine. Just don't take long. Breakfast is in fifty-five minutes."
"Thanks," I say, kneeling as he walks away and Cady walks closer to me, holding the sweater close to her heart. "Cady, do you know something about the Cursed Vaults?"
Her eyes widen and she looks around, nervous. "A-a little bit. There have been conversations about it for years. Your brother asked about it once or twice when he came to steal chocolate tarts with his friends."
"You knew Jake?"
She nods. "A funny little boy," she says. "Always wanting to know more than he could handle."
"Cady, I found your sweater inside the last Cursed Vault," I tell her. "I believe Jake put it there for me to find and talk to you. That's why I need to ask. Do you know something about a hidden portrait?"
She frowns, pensive. "Jacob asked about it once and, before him, a squad of boys also came asking this same question. They had a magical map and were trying to survey the entire castle, but no one knew a thing about a hidden portrait."
"A map?" I ask, anxious. "Do you know something about it?"
She shakes her head. "Not really, but the boys called themselves Marauders. They were constantly looking for trouble. Two of them died, even."
I look down, frustrated. "I thought I'd find more answers."
She lands a hand on my arm. "I'm sorry for not being very helpful, but if the Marauders found this portrait and added it to their map, it is likely that you will find it if you find the map."
"If is the right word," I tell her.
"Troublemaker, your time is up!" Pitts shouts from the other side of the kitchen. "Chop, chop, you have many pumpkins to deseed!"
"Thank you, Cady," I say. "I'm glad you have your sweater back."
She smiles. "Me too."
Thoughts about the map accompany through the entire lecture of Professor Binns on the Law of Erumpent Protection and all its chapters and paragraphs, all the way to Professor Kettleburn's lesson on how to give vitamins to Hodags. Sitting on logs under the wooden roof with a campfire burning near the chalkboard, the freezing air easily finds it way under my hair, wrapping me in coldness. Next to me, Rowan removes her gloves, blowing warm breath in them and proceeding to rub them together.
"I'm freezing," she tells me. "I thought spring was just around the way."
"Not yet, apparently."
In front of the classroom, with a Hodag on top of the table, Kettleburn adds some notes to the board. "Due to its diet, Hodags must receive regular capsules of vitamin D, calcium and magnesium to maintain the health of their horns. Can anyone tell me what Hodags eat?"
Liz lifts her hand. "They eat Mooncalves, especially younger ones, due to the softness of the meat, because their teeth are rather fragile."
"Exactly," Kettleburn says. "Five points to Slytherin. And that's the reason why Hodags need vitamin reposition. Otherwise, their bones, teeth and horns become very fragile, which can cause their extinction."
Fascinated, Liz takes notes on her book, eyeing the Hodag with deep admiration.
"Now, Miss Tuttle, would you like to come here and help demonstrate the correct approach?" he asks.
Liz instantly puts herself up, hopping excitedly towards the strange creature that is looking at her with curiosity. Next to it, a small bowl with gelatinous capsules of a bright red wait for her.
"Now, hold the Hodag's head firmly, without touching its horns," he explains. "Yes, precisely. I know its skin is rough, but it's manageable. Now, force his jaw to open and be careful with his teeth. Correct. Now grab a capsule and stick it over its tongue. It is flavoured with artificial Mooncalf taste. Hodags don't have gag reflex, so it won't spill out the vitamin. Perfect! Well done, Miss Tuttle. Ten points to Slytherin."
Liz smiles, exultant, landing the Hodag carefully over the table. As soon as the creature's paws touch the wood, its skin start to glisten in a faint blue colour. Kettleburn looks at it with concern and the specks start to grow like gemstones, covering the entire creature's body in a solid piece of ice.
"Goddammit," I whisper. "Cursed Ice again."
"I didn't do it!" Liz exclaims, scared.
"I know you didn't, my dear," Professor Kettleburn says. "I'll ascertain why this happened. Listen, class, I want a 30 centimetres essay on Hodags, with a proper illustration and its horns uses in potions. You are excused."
Escorted by Barnaby, Liz leaves the place shaking like a leaf. Next to me, Rowan looks disconcerted, shoving her book inside her backpack with an expression of angst.
"Just what we needed," she says. "A blend of every other curse. What's next? An army of ice knights? Boggarts all over the place? Acromantulas descending the walls?"
As we head back to the castle, Merula join us. "Don't you dare leave me trapped in cursed ice again," she says.
"Let's hope it doesn't affect anything but that Hodag," I say.
"Knowing this castle's record for good luck, I say we're doomed," she continues. "Why is the cursed ice coming back?"
"The same reason why it started showing up three years ago," Rowan says. "Someone is tampering with the vault."
"With the first one?" I ask. "But there's nothing left in there."
Rowan shrugs. "We can only imagine the reasons someone would have to return to that forsaken place."
"Should we go there?" Merula asks, apprehensive.
As we approach the castle, we see Rakepick standing by the entrance with her arms crossed and a snotty smirk upon her lips.
"I think we won't have the choice," I say.
"Miss Lockhart, Miss Snyde," Rakepick says. "Come with me."
"I have Divination in ten minutes," I tell her.
Rakepick rolls her eyes. "Such an insipid subject. It doesn't matter. I won't take long. We need to investigate what is causing the cursed ice to reappear."
"How did you find out about it so fast?" I inquire. "It just happened."
She flashes me a smirk. "I know everything, Miss Lockhart. Let's go. I won't be able to excuse Mr. Weasley from his Potions lecture, but us three will be more than enough."
Rowan looks at me, concerned. "Will you be okay?"
"Of course, she will, Miss Khanna," Rakepick says. "She's accompanied by a professional."
Rowan presses her lips together, trying to hold a laugh. She quickly disappears on the closest corridor and, in the distance, I can hear her explode in laughter.
"Some is probably messing up with the first vault," Rakepick says.
"We already got to this conclusion," I tell her.
"Of course, you did," she says. "You are intelligent witches and are being taught by a master. That's why I wanted you on my team."
I flash Merula a doubtful gaze, but she ignores me, clenching her jaw and trying to portray her usual mean façade. Meanwhile, I notice she's shoving her hands in her pockets, which are shaking uncontrollably, probably because of the fear of being trapped in the ice again.
We walk along the castle, noticing that there are stalactites here and there, ice cubes behind curtains and small piles of snow in random corners. Some newer students seem fascinated by it, but the ones who saw its powers, seem terrified.
The dark and lonely corridor is empty when we arrive there, with wood boards nailed to the walls, covering the Vault's entrance.
"What a pathetic way to stop a passage," Rakepick mocks, lifting her wand. "Bombarda."
Merula covers her face instantly as the boards explode, sending splinters everywhere. She looks at Rakepick with fright, but the redheaded woman doesn't seem to notice or care.
"Stay behind me, girls," she warns.
Just like I remember, there is a thick mist covering our ankles and air inside is woefully cold. Merula reaches out to hold my hand and it's the first time that I realize that she is left-handed. Her eyes, wide and sparking like amethysts, scan the environment in a mixture of fright and curiosity.
Covering the walls, thick stalactites and stalagmites glisten sharply. We walk carefully over the frozen floor, trying not to slip, but Rakepick walks around confidently, not once hesitating a step.
When we arrive at the frozen gate, her first impulse is to touch it with her wand, but it causes nothing to happen. When we manages to break the curse, three years back, it somehow disabled the gate's power. Releasing a sigh, Rakepick looks around, intrigued.
"There seems to be no sign of people being in…" she stops. "Here."
She kneels by a pile of fresh snow, picking from it what seems to be a folded rectangle of parchment. Somewhere in the room, a screech echoes.
"What was that?" Merula asks, looking around with her wand in hand.
"Probably a snow squirrel," Rakepick says, simply. "Most important than that… is this."
She turns around, showing us a raggedy piece of old and probably dirty and stinky parchment.
"What is this?" I ask.
She grins mischievously. "This… is the Marauder's Map."
"What?" I gasp. "This piece of garbage?"
"Most ancient scrolls like exactly like this, Miss Lockhart," she reprehends. "It doesn't exclude its magical properties."
"Most ancient scrolls aren't left in the snow," I mumble.
She eyes the map as if they are sheets of gold. "I've been looking for these for ages. When their owners left the school, this was left behind. This, girls, is the literal map to the next Vault."
"And what does it show?" I ask. "A map of the castle?"
"Not just the castle," she explains. "But everyone, where they are and what they are doing at every moment."
"That's a slight invasion of privacy," I say.
"No, Miss Lockhart," she says, a strange sheen on her eyes. "This is pure gold."
"Typical of Patricia Rakepick," Filch tells me, on Saturday, while we're having tea with some white chocolate macadamia cookies I got in Hogsmeade. "Now she has the map and think she is entitled to do whatever she pleases. So typical."
"Have you met her?" I ask. "I mean, before her coming back to become a teacher?"
He chews a cookie, annoyed. "Unfortunately. I was already working here when she was a student. Spiteful little brat… Always getting into trouble, dirtying things for me to clean and being overall disrespectful whenever I caught her being a wrongdoer."
"Did she show any inclinations towards evil back then?"
"Probably," he continues. "She was a great student. A proud Gryffindor, as she used to brag. However, underneath it all, she was just a pile of mischief and worms."
"Worms?"
"She released them inside this office, once," he tells me. "Thousands of them. It took me ages to clean everything. They shit everywhere, did you know? Worms… I should tell Dumbledore she's wandering around with that map. Yes, I should…"
"You should," I say. "But it wouldn't be a smart decision."
He grabs another cookie, flashing me a baffled expression. "What do you mean?"
"Whether we like it or not, she was hired to put an end to the curses ravaging the castle. If this map takes her sooner to the next one, freeing everyone from the portraits, then she better keep it."
He rolls his eyes. "If you say so. But you better get it back to me when she breaks the curse. It belongs in here, with all the other items that stinky poltergeist stole."
"I'll get them back, Mr. Filch," I say. "Just let time do its job."
When dinner comes, I can't stop but to stare at Rakepick, wondering if there's something more to that map than she told me. Deep down, I doubt she will use it for the sole purpose of finding the Vault. More than ever, I cannot afford the luxury of spending some alone time with Talbott in my brother's secret room. If anything, I don't want Rakepick to find out about that place.
"What's wrong?" Talbott asks, running his hand through my hair.
"I don't know," I say. "Just a bad feeling."
"No, no more bad things," Rowan says. "I cannot endure more Prefect work right now. I'm catching back on my studies, which will cause me to fail my OWLS and be tossed into the street."
"What grade did you get for your Herbology essay on the properties of iris' pollen?" I ask her.
"An O…" she mumbles. "But still, I want to have a good night sleep instead of wandering around the castle, surveying lost students and being adrift for some Dark Wizard to murder me."
She fills her plate with a large pile of mashed potatoes, tosses gravy on top and eats it furiously, studying from her Transfiguration notebook that is carefully leaned against the jar of iced tea. She is so focused that when Twilight drops a package on my lap and lands heavily on her shoulder, she releases a loud shriek that makes the entire room stare at her.
"I'm mortified," she says, catching her breath.
"A package?" Talbott asks. "During the evening?"
I shrug, turning the package in my hands, seeing no address. I rip the brown paper, finding a card and a heavy book inside.
"Who is it from?" he asks.
The card has watercolour sweet peas on the front and, when I open it, a pretty handwriting greets me in a light green ink. My eyes scan the message in a race, but when they find the final word, I find myself reading it over and over again, with my mind in a complete blur.
"Bubo?" Talbott asks.
"It's from…" I say, my voice failing. "From Olivia Green."
"Your brother's friend? And what did she send you?"
I hold the book, heavy and well-used, with its grey cover covered in stamps and stickers. When I open, I am greeted by a Polaroid of Jacob and I, eating muffins in a picknick by the lake. His guitar is over the checkered towel and there are ducks casually floating near us. At the bottom of the page, in his calligraphy, it says:
This enchanted diary belongs to Jacob Lockhart. If you are reading this, it means it found its way to you, Munchkin.
* From Where You Are, by Lifehouse.
