The small group of friends had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts, he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three-headed dog he'd christened "Fluffy." And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Lyla was sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; she could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But she was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.

Lyla half wished she hadn't found out how Riddle's diary worked. Again and again, Daphne and Draco made her recount what she'd seen, while Theo and Blaise looked utterly shocked at each retelling. It got to the point where she was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.

"For all we know, Riddle might have gotten the wrong person," said Daphne. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people..."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" asked Theo dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Draco. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out..."

"Riddle sounds a lot like Percy," said Theo with a wrinkle of his nose. "Who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Theo," said Draco.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some awful Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," added Lyla. "I don't blame him for wanting to stay here..."

The group fell silent. After a long pause, Daphne voiced the naughtiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you… do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Lyla with a grimace. "'Hello there, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'"

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Anthony and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally gotten bored of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, and in March, several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told Lyla. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing."

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Blaise, at least, took very seriously.

"... it could affect our whole future," he told his friends during a boring evening of homework.

"I just want to give up potions," said Theo with a laugh. "Lord, would school be much easier if I just–"

"We can't," said Arabella with a gloomy sigh. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've dropped Defense Against the Dark Arts ages ago."

"But that's a very important subject!" chided Hermione, shocked at her friend's words.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," snorted Ron. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

"Ahh, at least you're not Longbottom," said Draco. "From what I've heard, he's been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. It's driving him mad."

"Talking about next term, are we?" came a loud and pompous voice. It was Percy, and Ron groaned as the Prefect approached their table.

"It all depends on where you want to go," he said smartly. "It's never too early to think about the future, so I'd recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they're thinking of working in close contact with them— look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths.."

"No one asked for your opinions," snapped Ron at the boys retreating back.

"Play to my strengths," mumbled Arabella blankly. She poked at the sheet with multiple subjects and sighed heavily. "The only thing I'm good at is Quidditch."

"That's not true," said Lyla with a gentle pat on her sister's shoulder. "You're doing alright in Herbology and History of Magic, right?"

"I don't know," said Arabella, chewing on her bottom lip. "What do you think you'll do?"

"Hmm," said Lyla, gazing down at her own sheet. "I was thinking maybe… something to do with healing perhaps, you know since I'm fairly good when it comes to potions… but I just don't know…"

In the end, Arabella chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if she was lousy at them, at least she'd have someone friendly to help her. Lyla chose a schedule similar to Draco and Blaise, as both had an interest in pursuing more advanced potions.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Ravenclaw. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner so that Arabella and anyone else on the team barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday's match she went up to his dormitory to drop off her broomstick feeling Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better.

But her cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, she met Parvati, who was looking frantic.

"Arabella— I don't know who did it— I only just found—"

Watching her friend fearfully, the girl gently pushed open the door.

The contents of Arabella's trunk had been thrown everywhere. Her cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off her four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of her bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. She walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As she and Parvati pulled the blankets back onto her bed, Hermione and Lavender came in. Both girls gasped loudly

"What happened here?" asked Lavender, large brown eyes as big as tea saucers.

"No idea," replied Arabella.

Hermione was examining Arabella's robes closely. All the pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," she said. "Is there anything missing?"

Arabella started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as she threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that she realized what wasn't there.

"Riddle's diary's gone," he said in an undertone to Hermione.

"Hm?"

Arabella jerked her head toward the dormitory door and Hermione followed her out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Ron, who was sitting alone examining his broken wand with a look of displeasure.

"What's up with you two?" he asked, jabbing his wand with his pointer finger. It sparked and shook violently.

"Riddle's diary," said Arabella. "It's been stolen."

"But— only a Gryffindor could have stolen—"

"Exactly," said Arabella darkly.

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Arabella, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."

Arabella had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of her eyes. Hermione had been urging her to report the robbery, but Arabella had refused. She didn't like the idea. She'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? She didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.

As she left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect her Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Arabella's growing list. She had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again.

'Kill this time... let me rip... tear…'

"The voice!" said Arabella, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again— didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Arabella— I think I've just understood something very important! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"What does she understand?" said Arabella distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

"Loads more than I do," muttered Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library."

Arabella stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

"You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven— the match—"

After Lyla and the other Slytherins wished her well, Arabella raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected her Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but her mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as she pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker room, her only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goalposts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Ravenclaws, who played in sapphire blue, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

Arabella was just mounting her broom when McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

"Uh oh," muttered George, frowning.

"This can't be good," said Angelina.

"This match has been canceled!" McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts.

"We've got to play!" cried Fred, looking gobsmacked. "The cup—Gryffindor—"

Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

"But, Professor!" he shouted. "You can't cancel Quidditch!"

"Silence Wood!" McGonagall snapped, before turning her attention back to the stands. "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms," she shouted through her megaphone, "where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Arabella over to her.

"Potter, I think you'd better come with me..."

Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Arabella saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd alongside their Slytherin friends. They came running up to them as McGonagall set off toward the castle. To Arabella's surprise, McGonagall didn't object.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too..."

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Arabella and the others followed the professor back into the school without saying anything, and up the marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time.

"This will… undoubtedly be a bit of a shock," said McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has been another attack... another double attack."

Arabella's insides did a horrible somersault. McGonagall pushed the door open and she and the others entered. Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Arabella instantly recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common room. And on the bed next to her was —

"Hermione!" Daphne shrieked, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

"They were found near the library," McGonagall told the group. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them..."

She was holding up a small, circular mirror.

"No, not at all, professor," said Blaise sorrowfully.

They all gazed at Hermione, not believing their eyes one bit.

"I will escort the Gryffindors back to Gryffindor Tower," said McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case. Professor Snape, if you will gather your own students… thank you."

Snape seemed to melt from the shadows and gestured silently that he was to be followed. With one more fearful look at the others, Arabella watched as her sister walked away.

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