DISCLAIMER: I like to wreak havoc in these characters' lives, give them some fun little adventures with my OC's, but at the end of the day they return home to their mum, ol' J.K. Rowling. Not to me, for I own nothing except my plot and my characters.
A/N: Hello! Happy New Years', everyone! You might be happy to know that one of my resolutions is to finish this story haha.
By the way, I plan on only having a few more chapters in this story. Minimum three more, maximum most likely somewhere around six more. I just thought I'd let you all know!
Happy Holidays to everyone! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, who followed, who favorited, and who read this story. I'm so happy to have such wonderful readers, even if I'm not the most diligent author in the world. Please review if you feel like it!
OoOoO
A gaunt, pale-looking man with black, stringy hair was spit unceremoniously from a fireplace. The man rose to his feet smoothly, dark cloak swishing, and looked around the grimy kitchen with an acerb sneer.
"Snape."
The man turned his head, greasy hair shifting slightly. The Seer noticed another man, this one also pale and gaunt, who stared at the first man loathingly.
"You must be Black."
The tension in the room was palpable.
Cass flashed open her eyelids, the darkness of her dorm juxtaposing the vividness of her vision. She blinked a few times to adjust, calming her heart after the tension-filled vision.
She breathed deeply, imagining just how poorly the rest of Severus Snape's and Sirius Black's conversation had gone. The vision had been old, of course-several weeks had passed since she and Harry watched Snape depart from Hogwarts. But even from the past, she could feel the bitterly acerb atmosphere. She could see the distasteful crinkle of Snape's hooked nose, the hard glare of her godfather's grey eyes. The two of them had a history of taunts and enemies and war-even Snape's lost memories could not erase that kind of hatred.
Poor Sirius, she thought with a sigh.
A few moments passed, and then: Poor Snape.
It was extremely hard reconciling the feeling that she felt sorry for the man who betrayed the prophecy to the Dark Lord. Who betrayed her mother to her deadly fate.
Cass scowled into her dark room, which might have been a fierce, angry moment had Brooke not chosen that exact second to let out a loud snore.
She tried for several minutes to force herself back asleep, tossing and turning and sighing, but eventually admitted defeat after about half an hour. With the ease of practice-and the assurance that her roommates were sound asleep-she made her way to the bathroom.
In her reflection, dark grey circles stood out underneath her green eyes, harsher than they had any right to be.
It was the middle of April, about a month since everything in her and Harry's lives imploded on itself. And it certainly wasn't the first time Cass had woken in the early hours of the morning, unable to fall back asleep yet still exhausted.
What are we missing? Why won't Dumbledore tell us the whole, complete truth? What are Voldemort and Angenuit doing? How do I shield myself from the Fléau de Lecteurs? Can I even shield myself? Or will I have to suffer through the blind spots every time I try to See it?
She inhaled a hitched breath.
Dumbledore's gone. Chased out by the Ministry that's supposed to protect us. Are we safe without him? Would Voldemort feel more inclined to . . . how much, exactly, was Dumbledore's presence keeping him away? Cass's eyebrows twitched downwards at the thought of Dumbledore, four-month-long anger at the wizard still simmering. It wasn't anger, however, that made her lips tremble; that was the freezing feel of fear.
With Dumbledore gone, are my grandparents still protected?
Cass pressed a hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.
"They're fine. They're fine. They're fine," she whispered. An intrusive image flashed behind her eyelids-her grandparents slaughtered, blood splattered on the wall, their fingers brushing against the others' . . . the traumatic crack of their heads hitting the wall . . .
"They're fine!" she grit out , opening her eyes once more. She wished, only a tiny bit, that she never Saw that vision in Dumbledore's office. The vision forced Dumbledore to devise better protection for her grandparents to circumvent that particular fate, but God . . . she would never get the sound out of her head.
As much as she hated the dark circles, her exhausted reflection was a thousand times better than the image of her dead grandparents.
After pulling herself together and freshening up, Cass wrapped a blanket around herself, enfolded her sketchbook and pencils within it, and then headed down to the common room. Her favorite little tradition for when she couldn't sleep. She would do similar things back at home, too, when her grandparents were still sleeping. After a nightmare, she might climb her Thoughtful Tree or sit in the living room, distracting herself (and breaking many of Grandma Joyce's rules).
She would never see that house again. Now, it was just a lost memory.
Cass frowned.
"Exhaustion makes you dramatic," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and opening the door at the base of the girls' stairs.
The common room was quiet, the fire burning low, more a pile of glowing embers than a real flame. The clock resting on the fireplace mantle read half past 5 o'clock. The carpeted red floor keeping her socked feet warm, Cass crossed the room to sit in front of the fireplace. Crookshanks, Hermione's oddly friendly cat, stared down at her from the mantle above.
Cass snorted, thinking Crookshanks looked rather like an overlord.
Five minutes of fiddling with the fire later and the embers had turned into full flames. Cass sighed as the heat washed over her face. Here in the cozy Gryffindor common room, the terrors of her life seemed so distant. Her mother and father had lounged about in this very room some twenty years ago. She could imagine Lily in that plush armchair, legs swung over one side, her back resting against the other side, a book propped comfortably in her lap. James would have probably been with the other Marauders, maybe sitting around that group of chairs with the chess board between them. Both her mum and dad would have been happy, certainly-the room just had that charm.
With that thought in mind, Cass began to sketch, speculations about her (likely bleak) future lost in her parents' past
OoOoO
"Confundo!" said Harry, flicking his wand towards the transfigured mouse. His spell hit the small creature, causing it to twitch its nose minutely. Harry frowned.
"You need more intent, Harry," advised Hermione, whose mouse had stood on its hind legs and wobbled around the desk.
"I intend for this mouse to race Ron's."
Ron nudged his slumbering mouse with the tip of his wand. "Seems like your mouse has an unfair advantage."
"Confundo!" said Harry again, grinning at Ron when his mouse wandered drunkenly over to Ron's.
"Ten points to Harry's mouse!"
Hermione frowned disapprovingly at their antics.
The three of them were in Thursday's period of Charms, each having various levels of success with the Confundus Charm. This was one of the final lessons before O.W. L. revision began, and Harry and Ron were going to enjoy the casual atmosphere while it lasted.
"The Confundus Charm is extremely important, you two," said Hermione righteously. "It could help you out in a duel. Harry, you should know; if the Goblet had never been Confounded, you would have never been forced into the Tournament."
Harry glanced askew at her, deliberating whether he should admit she was right or continue goofing off with Ron.
"And, Ron, you should know the charm's importance as you seem to be operating under one every minute of the day," continued Hermione, guiding her confused little mouse into a corner of her desk as though she hadn't just insulted her friend.
Ron's expression turned affronted. "Oi!"
Harry snorted into his shoulder, making sure to not let Ron see.
"Glad that's got your attention. Professor Flitwick says the practical will be graded this time. Start practicing," said Hermione promptly, quite ignoring Ron's glare.
"Flitwick always says that. Doesn't mean he will," countered Ron.
"It's still a valuable spell."
"Right, because we all know You-Know-Who's got an army of mice stashed somewhere."
"It's the spell you aim to master, Ron, not just the mice."
"How about testing it out on toads, then? There's a nice strong-willed one just a few classrooms down . . ."
"You wouldn't be so stupid to cast spells on the Headmistress-"
"She's not our Headmistress!" interrupted both Ron and Harry.
"-who has connections with a certain influential Minister," continued Hermione with a pointed look.
Ron harrumphed.
"She's not Professor Dumbledore, but we still have to put up with her for the time being," said Hermione with a scowl.
"There's always Malfoy," suggested Harry jokingly.
"Too right, mate."
Hermione sighed deeply. "Just practice the spell!"
Harry smirked. "Confundo!"
His mouse tottered across the desk, head swiveling confusedly, before toppling right over the side. It landed safely in Harry's waiting palms. He held it proudly for Hermione to see.
"Good," she said, slightly surprised. "And Ron?"
Sighing and looking heavenwards, Ron mumbled, "Confundo!" His mouse startled awake, muddled and baffled, before promptly falling back asleep.
"Never wake a sleeping mouse," joked Harry.
"Shut up."
The next ten minutes passed with Harry amusedly watching Ron attempt to Confundus Charm and Hermione frustratingly trying to teach him.
"You just need to focus."
"Alright then. You do it then, if you're so clever. Confound Harry or something, if focus is all it takes."
Harry quickly shook his head.
"No, thanks," he said.
"C'mon, Harry, just for show . . . she shouldn't really be able . . ."
"Ron, mate, I'm on your side, but after all these years you should have learned that Hermione is guaranteed to 'be able'."
"Traitor," Ron grumbled.
Hermione crossed her arms at their exchange. "Fine, Ronald. I give up. Harry, how is Cass doing?"
The abrupt topic change caught Harry off guard slightly in the crowded classroom, but Hermione of course knew to keep her voice down about his sister. Without Hermione helping him, it seemed Ron had given up the charm, too, for he turned towards Harry.
"She's okay," whispered Harry with a small shrug. "I think she blames herself for not Seeing . . . everything that happened. And she's worried about what Dumbledore still hasn't told us," he explained. After a second, he added, "Me, too, for that matter. I mean, Ron was there when the adults were talking about me in Mr. Weasley's hospital room. There's something . . . off."
"More off than discovering a long-lost-" began Ron
"Ron," interrupted Harry quietly.
"Sorry."
"S'okay," assured Harry, though he cast a glance around warily.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you everything eventually . . ." whispered Hermione unsurely.
"Eventually," said Harry, drawing the word out.
Hermione gave him a grim half-smile.
"I'm sorry," she told him softly.
"S'alright, Hermione," he said, returning her smile.
"Well, apart from nosing around Dumbledore's office, I don't really see a solution to that," grumbled Ron.
Harry gave a start.
"Hold on, that's not a half-bad idea," said Harry.
Ron glanced at him, taken aback. Still, he sniffed and said, "'Course it's not a bad idea."
"You can't get in," said Hermione. "It's blocked by the stone guardian."
At that, Ron and Harry gave her a flat look.
"Like that's ever stopped us," said Harry.
Hermione blushed. "It's still against the rules."
"You always say that," said Ron with a shrug, "but like that's ever stopped you."
OoOoO
That afternoon, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Cass found themselves in front of Dumbledore's office. The four of them stared at the rather large, rather ugly stone gargoyle.
Next to Harry, leaning slightly against the wall, stood Cass. Backpack slung over one shoulder, she had her eyes closed firmly, waiting for a vision of the password. He and Ron watched her, both futilely trying to pinpoint the exact moment a vision struck her. Hermione was closer to the statue, frowning at it thoughtfully.
Cass's lids cracked open.
"Um, it should be 'Fizzing Whizbees'," she informed.
At once, Ron turned to the gargoyle and confidently said, "Fizzing Whizbees."
The stone statue lifted a thick eyebrow, considered the four of them judgmentally, then shook its heavy head. The motion made a horrible grinding noise.
Cass marched past Ron and crossed her arms. "It is Fizzing Whizbees," she said, though she sounded doubtful. "That's the password."
The gargoyle remained passive.
Cass rubbed her forehead.
"You might be right, Cass," said Hermione quickly. "But the gargoyle didn't let Umbridge in, right? It probably won't let four kids into Professor Dumbledore's office, even if they have the password."
Cass nodded. "That makes sense."
"Alright, that's fine," said Harry. "It's a minor setback. Hermione, can you think of anything?"
"We could try to convince him to let us in," she suggested with a shrug.
"Let us in," demanded Ron.
"Try for a bit more eloquence," said Harry dryly.
"Let us in, please."
Hermione and Cass rolled their eyes.
"Hello, Mr. or Ms. Gargoyle," began Cass slowly. "Harry and I have a history with Dumbledore-Professor Dumbledore. Unfortunately, he's gone right now-chased away by the Ministry-but we still need him. We . . . we don't know anything about the Dark Lord, about Harry's connection to him, about . . . about the future. I don't know about the future," she admitted, sighing.
Hermione and Ron exchanged wry glances.
"Please, sir . . . ma'am . . . er…let us through. I can't take the not knowing anymore. Dumbledore kept us in the dark for so long-he shut us out from the truth." She paused, staring intensely at the gargoyle. "Will you do the same?"
Harry held his breath.
The gargoyle remained unmoving and unblinking.
"Gah!" said Cass with an exasperated hand motion.
"Quite the actress," Harry told her, half-joking.
"Sarah says I should have been in Slytherin," deadpanned Cass.
"No wonder, with that display," joked Harry.
Cass smiled and shook her head.
"So . . ." said Ron. "Any other ideas?"
Harry examined the gargoyle analytically for several moments before an idea came to him. He gestured to the three of them to gather around.
After everyone had their heads together, hopefully out of earshot of the statue, he gave them a whispered proposal of his plan. At once, Hermione was skeptical.
"Harry, that's . . . Professor Dumbledore is already going to be angry enough at us for breaking into his personal office. Manipulating his statue like that would be . . ."
"Fair consequence of keeping us in the dark?" suggested Cass cheekily.
Hermione looked at her and Harry for a long time before sighing. "You're right. We need more information."
"Sounds like we've got a plan, then," said Ron with a self-important nod.
"Right," said Harry, looking at each of his friends (and sister) in turn.
The four of them melted apart, Cass and Harry taking positions closest to the gargoyle. Ron stood directly in front of it while Hermione stood behind Cass.
"You've got this, Harry," said Hermione. "Remember: focus."
Harry breathed in. He breathed out.
"Confundo!" he said firmly, brandishing his wand at the statue. He poured power into the spell, digging deep into his reserves in order to tamper with the gargoyle's magic.
The spells hit the stone with a reverberating crack!
"Fizzing Whizbees!" shouted Ron confidently.
The gargoyle sluggishly stepped to the side, its movements excruciatingly slow.
Panting with effort, but not wanting to waste a minute, Harry slid between the wall and the statue, emerging in the space beyond. Cass had already nimbly navigated her way through by the time he sagged against the wall.
Hermione was halfway through the narrow space when the Confundus Charm collapsed. At once, the gargoyle regained its senses and started thrashing about.
"Hermione!" yelled Cass as she rushed to help their friend out. The space was closing rapidly between the gargoyle and the wall, Hermione trapped panickedly between. Harry heard Ron yelling from behind the statue,
"Tarts," cursed Cass, trying to pull Hermione through. "Try backing up!" she suggested frantically when that didn't work.
Wincing, Hermione withdrew from the gap just as it thundered close.
"Tarts," Cass repeated, patting the stone wall in search of a way out.
Muffled voices echoed from behind the stone wall.
"What?" yelled Cass.
Both their eyes straining, Cass and Harry listened.
" . . . n't get in . . ."
". . . o on without us . . ."
". . . try talking . . . statue"
Harry hung his head.
"I couldn't hold the charm," he panted out, sighing and closing his eyes.
"That's okay, Harry," said Cass, walking over to pat his shoulder. "It was still really impressive. We'll just have to . . . uh, we can explain everything to Ron and Hermione afterwards."
Still out of breath from the spell, Harry merely nodded his head.
"We'll tell you everything that happens!" Cass hollered at the gargoyle's back, cupping her mouth with her hands.
There was an indistinct response from what vaguely sounded like Ron's voice from the other side.
Cass puffed out her cheeks and exhaled.
"They'll be fine," she said pseudo-confidently.
"Yeah."
Harry got to his feet with a heave, already feeling a deep fatigue in his magical core.
With a small, worried frown, Cass asked, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm alright," said Harry. "Just tired."
Cass nodded, accepting his answer, and turned to the spiral staircase. Wasting no more time, she began ascending the steps. On the sixth step, halfway around the pillar, there was a sudden clunk.
Yelping, she fell steeply down a stone slide that had previously been the stairs. She slipped down on her stomach, desperately scraping with her hands to stop her momentum.
Harry jumped in shock just as his sister barreled into his legs, having fallen back down in a mere three seconds. His legs got knocked out from underneath him, and he toppled over, landing harshly on his side. Cass skidded all the way to the entrance wall, colliding with a huff on the stone statue.
"Tarts," she groaned, but she was already picking herself up.
Cursing as well (though distinctly more colorfully), Harry rocked onto his knees before standing completely.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I'm okay. Nothing broken."
The two of them examined the steep slope of stone before them.
"It's like the stairs to the girls' dormitory," concluded Harry. "There's probably some enchantment that makes it extra slippery."
Cass frowned. "Well, that makes it trickier, doesn't it?"
Harry couldn't agree more.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry helped Cass reach the landing, pulling her arm until she was stable enough to stand on her own. The two of them had, after much slipping and scrambling and cursing, managed to scale the slope. Before them was the door to Dumbledore's office.
"We've made it!" said Cass with a proud grin.
Grinning back at her, Harry hesitantly cracked the door open, anticipating another surprise. When nothing happened, he swiftly pushed himself through into the room, Cass following not far behind.
The grand office looked very, very well-kept. Dumbledore's extensive collection of twittering, puffing, and steaming knick-knacks were still arranged in the familiar chaotic pattern around the room, filling the office with pleasant little noises. They omitted the only light, though with how many there were, it was easy to see most of the ornate space.
Cass walked over to a candle and struck up a flame with her wand. Harry soon followed her, and together, they lit most of the candles in the room. Quite soon, the room was as brightly-lit as it had been every other time Harry had visited. It only emphasized what was lacking in the picture.
"It's too strange without him," whispered Cass, as though she were afraid of being overheard.
Harry made a noise of agreement, eyeing the old Headmaster portraits distrustfully. Each of them were snoring softly, but Harry knew better.
"They're observing us," he guessed, looking at Cass.
She nodded slowly, hunching her shoulders.
"Probably."
Harry scowled, unnerved with the thought of being watched.
After a moment, he said, "Should we divide and conquer? See what we can find?" The stirrings of guilt rose in his chest at the words.
Cass nodded unsurely. "Yeah, I suppose. But . . . we'll be careful, right? We're just here for information about ourselves?"
"Of course," Harry quickly reassured, knowing his sister was likely feeling the same guilt he was. "He kept us in the dark. We need this. Besides, Ron and Hermione are depending on us."
"Right. Er, I'll take this side, then."
"Right."
The two of them split apart, wandering around opposite ends of the room. As though drawn in, Cass crouched in front of a particularly large collection of twittering objects. Tilting her head, she analyzed them silently.
Harry ran his fingers along the wall, searching for hidden clasps, for inconsistent paving. His fingers caught on something on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk. Intrigued, and sensing secrets, he turned fully to face the section of stone.
"There is a stone that must be pressed. It's quite high, but if you reach it, you'll be presented with a collection of vials."
Harry's heart shot in his chest at the sound of the Sorting Hat. It sat grinning at him from his upper right, just out of reach from his hands.
Cass was unsurprised (unsurprisingly). She simply said, "Vials of what?"
"Memories."
Harry's pulse picked up. The Pensieve.
With a long glance at the chirping silver instruments that promised further studying, Cass seemed to force herself away from the curious objects. She walked silently over to Harry, tilting her head slightly at the Sorting Hat.
"Hello," she greeted it when she arrived beside Harry.
"Greetings, Seer," returned the Sorting Hat with a twitch of its tip, as though it were nodding to her.
"You and your brother are here for knowledge." It was a statement.
Harry shifted on his feet. Of course the Sorting Hat would know. It had been present for every conversation, for every twist of events, for every unveiling of the truth. Still, it was strange hearing it talk so casually of something it had heard only through eavesdropping.
"Yes," Cass replied with a shrug.
"Try the third vial on the fifth row," suggested the Sorting Hat. "If you can manage to open it," it added with a smirk and a wink.
"Considering we got into the room in the first place, I think we'll manage," said Harry cheekily.
"Yes . . . you'll have to tell me about that. Very curious."
It took Harry all of a minute to locate the key stone and jump up to press it. Cass applauded him with a smile, though she was half-preoccupied with catching up the Sorting Hat on how the two of them managed to infiltrate an office that, according to the Hat, hadn't been broken into in the last two hundred years.
". . . that's rather impressive of us," said Cass with a surprised little frown.
"That it is, Seer. That it is."
A scratchy, grinding sound of stone sliding on stone echoed in the near-quiet office. Behind it turned out to be a column of shelves, each one holding about eight clear glass vials. The vials were small, trapping within them a silvery sort of thread-something that glowed in the musty darkness of the hidden compartment.
Harry licked his lips and bent down. "Fifth row . . . third vial . . . here!"
He produced a vial, showing it to Cass. Her left hand squeezed into a fist, then hesitantly opened up and touched the vial, as though thinking it would shock her. Harry assumed she was hesitant of being assaulted with a vision.
"It feels fine to me," she said with a shrug.
Harry let out a sigh of relief.
"No vision?"
"Nothing." She frowned, then added, "Absolutely nothing."
"Does that mean anything?"
Cass scoffed cluelessly. "I have no idea."
Somewhat puzzled-how can a memory hold nothing?-Harry made his way over to the Pensieve, Cass following after him. The stone basin, ever-glowing with a blue-white light, was partly obscured by the gold-plated panels around it. Cass, with an air of anticipation about her, pushed open the heavy panel wordlessly.
Harry glanced at the vial in his hand, the excitement burying deep into his chest. What memory was it? What knowledge had Dumbledore kept from them? Why had the Sorting Hat told him and Cass about this one in particular?
Heartbeats thudded in his ears, in his chest.
Would he regret ever coming up here, in this abandoned office?
Without another thought, or a single word to his sister, Harry upturned the glass vial over the Pensieve before he could change his mind. The two of them watched, transfixed, as the silvery thread swirled about the shining, misty liquid.
Next to him, Cass inhaled deeply, as though preparing herself. "We need to know more," she said, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
Together, they stuck their heads into the glowing basin.
Something in Harry's gut yanked him downwards; he fell at monumental speeds towards a grey-tinged scene below him. On instinct, he scrabbled for any purchase, any bit of solid matter, to slow his fall. He hands grasped at nothing. Sounding from his far left, he heard a shrill shriek.
Half a second later, he landed with a huff inside a lavishly decorated, yet unmistakably cozy, study. The walls-stone, colored in a familiar grey-instantly told Harry this was in Hogwarts, though he had never seen this room before. Two large, expensive sofas decorated the room, with a long table situated towards the center. The table, made from a glossy dark wood, held ten chairs with room for more. Most things in the study were cramped-looking, if of very fine make, and it seemed to Harry as though someone with expensive tastes wanted to cram their area with more luxurious furniture than it could fit. An ornately beautiful, green hourglass rested on a coffee table, the sands within shifting slowly to the bottom.
A slightly rotund man relaxed on his comfy-looking armchair, his feet propped up on a velvet had thick, stylish, straw-colored hair and a blond mustache. In his right hand, held lazily with a bent wrist, was a flute of wine. Harry deduced he was most likely a professor. . . but when? He was certain he had never run into him at the school.
Cass, her body slightly curled, fell rather harshly on her back exactly where the professor sat. His image erupted in inky swirls, distorting monumentally as she passed through him.
A second later, she popped up, face red and hair askew. Harry almost laughed at the image.
"Right, the Pensieve forces you to fall into the memory . . . I should have mentioned that . . ." he said, having difficulty keeping in his laughter at her affronted glare.
"It would have been nice for you to mention that," she huffed, wrinkling her nose. "That was-" she suddenly cut herself off, her mouth falling into an 'O' shape. Horror clouded her features; eyebrows crinkled, eyes widened, body rigid . . . she looked as though she had seen a ghost.
Harry turned around in a quarter of a second.
Half a dozen teenage boys-Hogwarts students, from their robes-sat around the office space. They perched on wooden-backed chairs, or at the table, each paying rapt attention to the professor. He also noted that each position was angled slightly towards the professor, making it clear who the authority figure was. All of them, Harry noticed, were either below the professor or on much less comfortable chairs than the professor.
Well, almost all of them.
One boy sat directly opposite the professor, in a comfortable enough chair, sitting amicably amongst the other boys. He had a handsome face-high cheekbones and regal eyes. His black hair was curly, styled almost perfectly (one rebellious curl broke apart from the rest). A black-and-gold gleamed on a long, narrow finger.
Harry at once understood his sister's dismayed expression.
He would recognize the boy anywhere . . . anywhere.
"Voldemort," he muttered, voice stricken with disdain.
"No," said Cass, walking over to the boy. From her hesitation, it looked as though she was forcing every step. She peered at him, fear clearly not stopping her from memorizing his face, from trying to pick up on his thoughts. From observing him. She scowled at him, the expression a blight on face. "He's not Voldemort yet. This is an old memory . . . very old."
"It's Tom Riddle, the boy that would become Voldemort," amended Harry, swallowing.
Cass shivered, and in the span of three seconds, she had moved all the way across the room to stand by Harry.
"Professor Slughorn," said Tom Riddle, his first whispery in the memory. Both Harry and Cass jumped. "Is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
The man-Professor Slughorn, apparently-chuckled. "I couldn't tell you even I knew, could I? You always seem to know things you shouldn't, though, of course . . . by the way, thank you for the pineapple, my boy . . . truly, you shouldn't have known it was my favorite . . ."
Riddle smiled at the professor, looking in all ways a genuine, pleasant student. "It was intuition, I suppose."
Slughorn cracked a pleased smile.
Somewhere in the room, a clock struck ten times.
The professor twitched his shoulders, startled.
"Goodness, that time already? Best you boys head back to your dormitories . . . wouldn't want to be caught out of bed at this time . . . go on, off you go . . . thank you for the evening, Mulciver, Avery . . . and Malfoy, your chocolates will be splendid, I'm sure-I can hardly wait to eat them . . . Yes, goodnight now, everyone . . . sleep well too, Yaxley . . ."
The room shuffled in motion as all the boys left, hurrying to get to bed and saying quick 'Goodnight's and 'Sleep well's to the professor.
All but one.
A ding rang in the now-empty office as a pale finger struck the hourglass.
"Oh, Tom," exclaimed Slughorn. "You startled me. Head off to your dormitory now, else Headmaster Dippet will have both of us serving detention."
Riddle tilted his head to the side, expression blank. Harry got a cold bout of the chills. Horrid speculations dashed through his head, wondering in horror what such an expression could possibly mean for Slughorn.
"Tom, is something the matter?"
Cass gave a shaky exhale.
"Oh, nothing, sir . . . I just-you see-I've been wondering about something I came across in the library . . ." He exhaled, and then started over. "That is, could I ask you something?"
Harry's shoulders sagged.
"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away . . ." replied Slughorn jovially, clearly pleased someone had come to him with a question.
"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . ."
A ringing built up in Harry's ears, and by the end of Riddle's sentence, it had become deafening. The question cut off, words mangled and warbled even as Riddle's mouth continued moving.
"I beg your pardon?" said Slughorn, the words muted and diluted through the ringing.
Something in the memory flickered, like a buffering TV signal.
"I have no knowledge of the subject, and if I did I would never tell you! Now get out of here at once and I don't want you ever mentioning it again!"
The ringing reached a crescendo as the scene erupted in inky blackness. Everything screeched inside Harry's head as he rushed back towards the surface of reality.
He lifted his head, flustered and confused. Everything had ended so abruptly. He looked around wildly, surprised he was back in the office.
After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he realized Cass was rigid as a statue. Concerned, he peered at her, belatedly realizing after a few seconds that she was Seeing something.
He waited.
A second later, her eyes cleared.
"That memory . . ." she began without preamble. "It was fake." Her voice trembled, and Harry was struck by how frightened she seemed in this moment. Breath shaking, hands clenched into fists, eyes watering-whatever she had Seen had shaken her to her bones.
She closed her eyes, swiping the back of her hand across her lids.
"Harry," she said, slowly, making sure he knew it was serious. "It's bad."
Harry felt dread curl in his gut.
OoOoO
