Chapter Eighteen

Dear Diary

Alex discovered what had been on the edge of her memory by the time she returned from the winter break.

The trio's plan, unsurprisingly, had been a bust. What Hermione thought was Millicent's hair was actually her cat's, so for the next few months she looked like an animagus transformation gone wrong. The student body erupted into contemplation, believing that the muggleborn had been Petrified. Alex even spotted a few trying to sneak a peek when she dropped by to pay Hermione a visit.

When Alex went to see how Myrtle was doing, the first thing the ghost girl did was tell her about the dreadful attack she suffered. Alex's initial alarm simmered down when she realised the 'attack' was simply a frustrated student chucking a diary into one of the stalls that Myrtle was incidentally mulling in.

"What happened to the book?" she asked. Ghosts couldn't touch solid objects, after all.

Myrtle sniffed haughtily. "Your little friends ran off with them."

"Harry and Ron?"

"Whatever."

Alex planned to ask them about it after dinner that night. It was a pleasant affair, since Luna was in a better mood ever since the break. Duncan and Grant still thought she was an oddball, but they realised she was a harmless one who didn't deserve the bullying she was on the receiving end of. They weren't friends with her, but they weren't cruel to her either. Better yet, no one bothered Luna when Duncan and Grant were around. The other students were aware of the fact that Alex was acquainted with all three of them, and if word got out that Luna was being bothered, then they would have to face her wrath – which was greatly exaggerated thanks to Ernie and friends. Maybe being found at the scene of the crime wasn't so bad after all.

"How was your break?" asked Luna, helping herself to a mountain of peas.

Alex made a face at the mushy mess. "Same as usual. Thank you again for the bracelet." Her fingers played with the silver bangle on her right wrist, just below her watch. It was inscribed with small runes that were apparently meant to keep away nargles and other unpleasant pests.

"I still think ours are better," interjected Grant, showing off the woven friendship bracelet Luna had crafted for them.

"Cello," sassed Duncan. "Ours are clearly superior."

Alex turned to Grant for an explanation.

The tallest of their quartet rolled his eyes. "He's been dabbling in muggle fiction ever since last year. His new favourite revolves around a bunch of pre-teens who are obsessed with the orchestra and anything remotely musical."

Duncan shrugged as he reached for another helping of salad. "It, like, totally toots my horn."

"It's an American series," clarified Grant, his eyes devoid of any light. "He started off repeating these corny phrases ironically, but…"

Luna smiled distractedly. "I like the book you sent me," she told Alex. Yeah, she had a feeling the Ravenclaw first-year would enjoy A Phantom Tollbooth.

Alex actually gave everyone a copy of the book, save Harry, Ron and her parents. The two boys received some quidditch-related, while her parents received a variation of the same thing as last year. (Let it be noted that Alex was a terrible gift-giver.)

In return, she was given the second book of the crime-fighting witch saga Cedric gave her last year; Alice's Adventures in Wonderland from Hermione; candy from Harry and Ron; and, from her parents, a bell for Spitfire's collar that only she could hear. She especially liked the last one, since Spitfire had a habit of disappearing randomly to stay by Mrs Norris' side lately. How those two had bonded, she would never know.

Alex was facing the right of the hall, and so immediately noticed when Harry and Ron rose from the Gryffindor table. Excusing herself, she strolled after them a beat later. Once she was out of immediate sight from the Great Hall, she quickly caught up with them.

"Oi," she called, causing them to stop as she approached. "Myrtle told me you found a mysterious diary."

Harry nodded. "It seems like an everyday diary. We can't figure out what could cause someone to chuck it away like that."

"We know it was owned by a T. M. Riddle, though," said Ron. "It's on the cover."

The world tilted on its axis. Alex swallowed heavily, and choked out, "May I see it?"

"Sure," replied Harry, uneasy. "We'll bring it to you tomorrow after class. Will you be at the library again?"

Alex nodded, and they parted ways. She didn't get much sleep that night.

The next evening couldn't have arrived any sooner. Alex barely paid attention in class – not that there was much to focus on. Lockhart, again, was re-enacting one of his finer adventures, occasionally grabbing volunteers to help him act it out. Seeing her roommates reduced to giggling fools made Alex quite ill.

Snape had them brewing a potion that would help speed up long-term healing processes. She and Katherine worked well together, one of them caring for the potion while the other kept an eye out for any wayward ingredients the Gryffindors liked to throw their way.

Alex was feeling better after lunch, and managed to catch a few z's in History of Magic, but even then her dreams were full of diaries and giant snakes and death.

Finally, class was over. Transfiguration had been challenging, as per usual, but her Ravenclaw pals helped her out. Duncan and Grant informed her of how Luna was looking much brighter, now that she wasn't constantly harassed. It happened occasionally, but Luna never named names and they couldn't figure out the perpetrators, so Alex was left with nothing but straws to grasp at.

Harry and Ron were already waiting by her table. Hermione was still in the hospital wing, recovering from the botched Polyjuice plan, but at least she was improving day-by-day. Impatient, Alex forwent any greetings by holding her hand out for the diary.

To the naked eye, it looked like nothing special. But Alex could feel the dirty touch of Dark magic, just like she could feel magic in general. Not for the first time, she wondered why she possessed this ability. Was it a consequence of her rebirth? Could others sense magic like this? While she was tempted to ask someone—her mum, or one of the more trustworthy professors—she was afraid about any unwanted attention it would attract. So she kept her lips sealed.

"Nothing odd's happened with this diary, right?" she asked.

The boys shook their heads, looking frustrated by the lack of help offered by the seemingly innocuous book.

"We were thinking about writing in it," said Harry.

Ron shot him a look. "You mean you were thinking about it. I know better than to mess with mysterious books. Like I said, Harry, Dad's found a bunch of cursed books that could burn your eyes out or trap you inside. You don't know what this thing could do."

Alex scowled at Harry. "Ron told you this, and you still wanted to try writing in it? If you want to die so badly, you should have just told me. I could help you out there."

Grimacing, Harry avoided her furious gaze. "Alright," he grumbled. "I won't do it. But this diary is the key to everything that's been happening this year, I just know it."

"Then turn it in."

"I can't."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, uncertain. "I can't seem to part with it."

Well, that certainly sounded dodgy. "Dark objects are often difficult to leave behind," she said ominously.

Ron swallowed audibly. "So you really think it's no-good?"

"There's only one way to find out." Alex grabbed the booklet of spells she kept in her bag, rummaging through it until she reached the section titled Defence.

"There." She cast the appropriate spell, and the diary began to emit an unearthly red glow. They stared at it for a few seconds in mute silence as she killed the spell, and the diary returned to looking as plain as ever.

"Well," she said calmly, "I think it's safe to say that this thing is dangerous."

"Let's go see Dumbledore," Harry said faintly.

They hurried along throughout the castle. The cloud looming over Alex's head parted slightly as they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Hi, Michael," she said, smiling.

Ron and Harry stared at her.

"What?" she said defensively. "It's short for Michaelangelo." She and Luna had chosen the name for it from a long, long list. The gargoyle remained impassive the entire time, until they had landed on Michaelangelo. Then, and only then, did it nod in approval.

"Right," Ron said, sounding as though he was questioning her mental health.

"Lemon drop," Harry told Michael. Fortunately, it was correct. Michael sprung aside as Harry explained that that was the password McGonagall had used last time, when Sir Nicholas and Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified.

"You guys go up," Alex said, stepping back. "I've got something to do." That 'something' was avoiding the mental probing Dumbledore was sure to give them when they showed up with part of Voldemort's soul.

"You sure?" asked Harry.

"Definitely."

Sighing, Severus abandoned the pile of essays he was marking. He turned to his fireplace, and was greeted by Albus's green-tinted face.

"Good evening, Albus," he said, more out of courtesy than anything else. "Have you discovered something that could put a stop to this Chamber of Secrets madness?"

"Indeed." Instead of looking pleased, Albus's face was grave. "I'm afraid, Severus, that Voldemort isn't as far from us as we'd hoped."

That certainly got Severus's attention. A sickening combination of shock and fear surged through him as he fought from clutching the hideous mark seared into his forearm. "I see," he said, his voice curt as he let his frustration get the best of him. "I'll be down in a moment."

Albus nodded, and the Floo connection was gone.

Severus's mind raced as he rushed through the corridors, the end of his robe billowing behind him. While he knew better than most that the Dark Lord hadn't truly disappeared—last year's incident with Quirrell and the Stone only affirmed that—he could hardly believe how frequent of an appearance he was making.

"Lemon drop," he told the gargoyle.

Severus swept through the room, half-expecting to see Lord Voldemort's face plastered on the back of another person's head. Albus was alone, however, and nothing seemed out of place (besides his newly resurrected phoenix). There was a small book on his desk, and it looked like an ordinary muggle diary.

"Well?" he asked.

Albus peered at him over interlocked fingers. "Have you ever heard of a Horcrux, Severus?"

"Yes," he answered grudgingly. One didn't dedicate their formative years to the Dark Arts and serve Lord Voldemort without some knowledge of the cursed creations.

"You are aware, then, that one's soul must be mutilated in order to make one?"

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes at Albus's dramatics. The old headmaster simply adored exaggerating the consequences of Dark artefacts. "Murder is committed…among other felonies…and the soul is split, yes," he grumbled.

"Yes." Albus separated his fingers and drummed them on his desk, right next to the suspicious diary. "Do you know if Tom ever achieved such a thing?"

Severus inhaled sharply. "I should hope not," he said tightly. But the chances were high. His eyes flitted once more to the diary.

Albus nodded, as if reading his thoughts – which was impossible, as Severus would have felt some friction against the mental shields he was almost always instituting. "This is, I'm afraid, a part of Tom's soul."

Severus was almost afraid to touch it. Frustrated at his own cowardice, he snatched the damned thing off of Albus's desk and flicked through it. The pages were painfully blank.

"It responds to whatever is written inside it," explained Albus. "After several other experiments, I wrote a simple 'Dear Diary' and then it began to write back. I pretended to be a student under an alias asking about the Chamber of Secrets. T. M. Riddle offered to show me what happened fifty years ago, and orchestrated a vision that incriminated Hagrid."

Severus had heard the story before. It seemed like the Dark Lord had a penchant for ruining lives even before graduating.

"How did you come across this?" he asked, repulsed.

There was some fondness in Albus's voice as he said, "Harry Potter showed it to me."

This time, he didn't bother hiding his eye-roll. His lip curled. "Oh? Maybe there's some truth to the rumours of him being Slytherin's heir after all."

"Come now, Severus," admonished the only man Severus respected. "By now you must acknowledge that Harry is nothing like James was."

"Don't. We are not having this conversation again."

Albus looked tempted to argue, but he conceded with a slight nod. "He and young Mr Weasley came up my office and explained how they found this diary in the girls' bathroom on the third floor. It seemed someone had thrown it away in a fit of anger. Both boys were immeasurably curious about the whole thing, but Miss Fortescue apparently cast a spell that revealed the danger lurking beneath its harmless guise."

"Alexandra Fortescue?" One of his many charges?

"An interesting child," noted Albus. "According to my sources, she's been friends with Harry even before arriving here."

"How?"

"They attended the same muggle primary school, and live fairly close to one another."

That explained why Potter deigned to associate with a Slytherin in the first place. If he hadn't met Alexandra until after they were all sorted, Severus had no doubt in his mind that they wouldn't be as close as they were today.

"But it's not just that," continued Albus, sounding very curious indeed. "Not only is she friends with several Gryffindors, she also has a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff acquaintances too."

Severus nodded. Almost everyone in Hogwarts had noticed Fortescue's on-and-off penchant for eating dinner at the Ravenclaws' table. More than a few Slytherins voiced their disdain at the open show of House disloyalty, but the rest simply didn't care enough. She never bothered them, so they reciprocated the favour.

"A poster child for Inter-House unity," he said with a sneer.

"The ghosts are also rather interested in her."

Now that was surprising. Ghosts rarely intervened with mortal affairs, especially to the extent Albus was implying.

He explained that he had overheard (eavesdropped on) the House ghosts muttering about the girl, and even spotted her holding rather cordial conversations with Peeves the Poltergeist. There was also her newly-formed friendship with Moaning Myrtle of all beings, which had Severus's eyebrows gradually rising higher and higher as he heard how frequently she consorted with the dead.

"A sociable student," Severus summarised succinctly. "Head Girl in the making, it seems." He had to admit he felt a mixture of pride and glee at the thought. It had been years since the last Heads were from his House.

Albus didn't share his enthusiasm. He mentioned offhandedly, "Tom was once very social. Charming, too."

Of course. Of course Albus, the lion-loving Gryffindor, would somehow twist everything and anything a Slytherin did so that there was some ulterior motive lying beneath the surface. Had this been any other House, the old wizard would be singing praises and commendations, but a Slytherin? Never.

People often called Severus a Slytherin-biased tyrant (both to his face and behind his back) but they hardly called out Albus for doing the same, albeit towards his Gryffindors.

Severus pressed his lips firmly together before speaking. "You think she's the next Dark Lord in the making?" he asked, nothing but condescension lacing his words. "The girl who wouldn't fight back against her Hufflepuff bullies? Who convinced that damned poltergeist to spook them so that they wouldn't raise a wand against her again? The girl who assists her father in their ice cream parlour?" An ice cream parlour. "That Alexandra Fortescue?"

Albus appeared mildly surprised by the depth of his knowledge regarding his most unique Slytherin. To be frank, he was as well. After their one-on-one conversation two years back, Severus's curiosity had been piqued. Most Slytherins would sooner die than allow themselves to be harassed by a haggle of Hufflepuffs, but Fortescue seemed content to dodge and evade than retaliate – not until he advised her to, at any rate. After some shallow investigation, he garnered enough information to identify what the girl was really like. And a future terrorist was not it.

"You're jumping to conclusions, Severus; I never said she would become the next Voldemort." They already had their hands full with just the one. "All I am saying is that she's quite influential. She's also very powerful," countered Albus. "Her magical reserves run deeper than the average student. That was all the Sorting Hat would tell me."

Severus glanced at the mangy thing, which was pretending to be asleep as if oblivious to their conversation. The Hat's reticence regarding students was nothing new; it was loyal to the Founders only, and so any attempts on Albus's part to extract information from it was largely futile. The Hat did its job, and was bound by its own ethic to keep mum.

"Also," continued Albus, "she won't look me in the eye."

"Maybe she's too nervous around Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin: First Class, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," Severus bit out. But part of him recalled his own interactions with Fortescue. She never looked him in the eye either. While Severus realised he was far from approachable, he didn't think he was so hostile towards her that she couldn't face him properly. The only logical conclusion was that she knew they were Legilimens – but how?

They were getting nowhere. Albus was still smarting from the slap in the fact that was Voldemort's existence. He would be suspicious of anyone remotely similar to Tom Riddle, and the frequent appearances of the Dark Lord weren't helping matters. Severus finally put an end to the back-and-forth by announcing they were needed in the Great Hall for dinner (the Slytherins always grew a bit rowdy when he wasn't there to supervise them). He could tell Albus was displeased by the halt in conversation, though, and Severus knew he wouldn't relinquish any and all suspicion he had of Alexandra Fortescue.

Now that the diary was in Dumbledore's hands, the attacks came to a halt. Slowly but surely, the students of Hogwarts took a much-needed breath. The worst of the storm had passed, but people were by no means satisfied. The monster was still out there, and it wasn't a matter of if it would strike, but when.

February came, and with it, Valentine's Day. Normally this day would pass with a few roses and chocolates and newly-formed-but-ultimately-temporary couples, but this year was different.

The morning of Valentine's Day was one that would burn itself into Alex's mind for the rest of her life. The walls of the Great Hall were covered in large pink flowers that smelt of nothing but perfume. Several students sneezed and coughed when they got too close to them, and at least a handful were driven out by the sheer stench of it all. Heart-shaped confetti floated down from the sky-blue ceiling, and people had to bat them away with either their wands or their bare hands to keep it from falling into their food.

Lockhart rose from his seat at the staff table. Of all the teachers, he was the only one looked remotely pleased by the horror that was the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall was shooting an especially disgusted glare at their flamboyant Defence teacher.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. His pink robes were the same searing shade as the flowers. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn't end here!"

"Great," Alex said flatly, ready to spin right around and march out of there. Before she could, though, Lockhart clapped his hands and a dozen surly-looking dwarfs huddled in. Their fearsome expressions were probably due to the gaudy gold wings on their backs and the harps in their hands.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart beamed. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues are eager to participate in this wondrous occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Wait, Love Potions were actually a thing? Weren't they the magical equivalent to roofies? Feeling even sicker, Alex walked out of the hall. She needed to write to her mum.

Although Alex did her best to avoid the Great Hall all day, the Valentine's craze caught up to her. Dwarves kept bursting into classrooms, disrupting lessons and pissing off teachers as they handed out the typical paraphernalia – plus the occasional sonnet and poem here and there.

On her way to class, she saw Cedric being dogged by a particularly persistent dwarf. Alex stopped to laugh and listen to the dwarf serenade Cedric about his pretty face and unparalleled quidditch ability. Other dwarves were trying to shove cards red roses into his hands and Cedric, too polite to stop them, simply accepted it all with a resigned look on his face. Alex smirked at him as she walked by. He responded by making a face at her.

The doors to Binns's classroom flew open, scaring several students awake. A dwarf—or was it a cupid?—strutted in, shouting, "Oi! Is there an Alexandra Fortescue 'ere?"

Eye twitching, Alex raised her hand. The dwarf hurried over to her. Fortunately, there were no songs for her. He simply threw a rose at her and made his way out of the room, probably so he could put this day behind him like so many others were trying to do.

Hushed whispers and giggles erupted around her as Alex picked up the card. Someone from her House muttered a loud, "Who would send Fortescue a valentine?" but this went largely ignored.

To Alex, it read. I was tempted to write you a poem, but you'd probably hex me into next year if I did. So I settled for this. Your friend, Cedric.

Alex grinned. She tucked the card into her wallet just as Binns managed to get everyone settled again; it was small enough to fit right next to the photo she had of them both. She could only hope the rest of the year passed just as peacefully.

A/N: Harry should've named his kid after Hagrid instead of Snape. Also uhhhhhhhhhhhh bit selfish that he had input on most if not all the names of his kids? Like, dude, there are two names per kid, and Ginny did almost all the work. Smh.