September felt like a marathon Sharlen hadn't agreed to run, let alone planned or trained for; each day was becoming so routine and wasted, but she wanted to wait a little longer before giving up on Malfoy Manor. Each morning, she read the paper before joining Piotr to fly around the Malfoys' land, then returned to the Manor to attempt to make herself scarce, searching around for the Horcruxes she knew remained to be destroyed. By nightfall she was expected to be present for dinner with her fellow inhabitants, though she rarely ate much of anything; so high-strung about having no news and no success, her mind raced feverishly despite the talk around the table. Every so often her father would join them, drinking only wine, and that was the only time she forced herself, almost mercifully, to clear her mind completely. Her meditative practices with Trelawney felt like a different lifetime she'd merely been looking into, and had gone out the window many months ago.

Her visions in sleep were becoming as rampant as they'd been during her first few months at Hogwarts, when she'd begun to fear sleep again. In addition to a great white, blind dragon roaring deep beneath the ground, Muggle bridges collapsing into the water in London, and running through the Forbidden Forest, she kept reliving the moment she had failed Scrimgeour. She had failed to die for him. The more she dwelled on it, as her mind thanklessly made her watch the scene again night after night, the more firmly she knew that she had dodged purposefully. Whether she knew the spell would hit Scrimgeour if she did it, she wasn't sure—but it looked like she had refused to die to save him. That she was afraid.

It vexed her into pacing, the dark hardwood of her room becoming unbearably cold in the night as she agonized over if she would fail Harry the same way—if she was truly afraid to die, or if it was dying without making sure he would live that caused her to fail.

After only a day and a half, the searching had seemed in vain, but she couldn't give up until she'd searched every high and low of the Manor.

This was easier said than done with Bellatrix and Draco hanging around her. Typically she could get an hour or two uninterrupted before one or both of them found her; Draco didn't seem keen to spend time around Bellatrix and would make himself scarce until she disappeared, which was a small window during which Sharlen had the small opportunity to disappear somewhere in the house again. When Draco was by her side, he often wanted to jabber on about Hogwarts and tell her stories of minor triumphs he'd had there, which often involved Harry; she knew that now they all thought she had been using him, Draco was all-too-willing to use what he saw as mutual hatred to bond with her. This took up an infuriating amount of her time, as she felt each day that passed put Harry in more danger, allowed her father to get stronger and build up more forces, and saw more Muggleborns jailed and Muggles killed.

Well into October, Sharlen began spending more time shut up in her room, trying to plot ways in which to search the few places in the manor she hadn't yet checked: The occupied rooms, particularly Narcissa and Lucius's room, and the basement, where she'd been forbidden to go. With every idea she concocted, every diversion, they became more far-fetched. She knew they feared her, but she was worried that having lived with her for more than a month had humanized her more than ever, absolving some of the power she held over them. She had been cold, aloof even, but she wasn't convinced she would be pardoned if she was caught searching their rooms.

What distracted her most from her small aims was the general turbulence of Malfoy Manor. She'd seen glimpses of it when she and Draco were little and tried to explain it to Snape, but he never seemed concerned. Cooped up in the house, disgraced from the Ministry for being a Death Eater and disgraced as a Death Eater for being a coward, Lucius was prone to drinking to excess and having violent outbursts. It was clear to Sharlen that his fall from status on top of his year in Azkaban had driven him more than a little mad. If he remained sober beyond 10 a.m., she considered it a good day.

Sharlen kept to herself and tried to stay busy during his first few outbursts, his raving and smashing causing her to flinch whenever it started, but she quickly found that making herself scarce only prolonged them and made him more dangerous.

Narcissa would scold him for breaking their image, but if he approached Draco to assault him, she would walk purposefully from the room so as not to look. The first time Sharlen saw it for herself, she was coming down the stairs into the sitting room. Draco was attempting to walk away from his father as he shouted about his son's failure to kill Dumbledore, how everything would have been forgiven. Sharlen paused at the bottom of the stairs, stunned at Draco's straight face and tightly closed lips, until Lucius seized the back of his black blazer and wrenched him toward his readied fist, connecting with his ribs.

A surge of fury had driven her forward, eyes wild as she threw Lucius away from Draco. She kept one hand on Draco's arm and the other out to keep Lucius away and simply stared at him, daring him to stand up and confront her. He remained frowning at her from the ground, a low rumble emitting from his chest and the smell of whiskey reeking about him. He stayed there until Sharlen pulled Draco from the room and brought him upstairs with her.

From that point on, she made an effort to appear somewhere in the room when Lucius went from bad to worse, knowing he wouldn't dare attack Draco again while she was close by. To make matters worse, she was low on her potion and didn't feel able to brew it in that house, not with Draco and Bellatrix always seeking her out. Her father had been explicitly clear about all "signs of weakness" kept between the two of them and Snape.

Opting to give herself a break from the cyclical disappointment and anxiety at Malfoy Manor, Sharlen decided to use the potion as an excuse to get to Hogwarts and try searching there instead. The Room of Requirement, which seemed to hold such an overwhelming amount of objects from all eras of the school, kept coming into her dreams, particularly the moment when she had exploded the Vanishing Cabinet.

"Draco," she said suddenly across the breakfast table where they sat alone, reading. He looked up at her expectantly, almost excited.

"Yes? What is it?"

She watched him for a second, feeling a pang of guilt, which did nothing to ease her bad mood. She was still upset with him over Dumbledore, but she had begun to understand, watching him all this time, how he felt he had no choice. His hatred and ignorance still existed within him, but as for his actions last year… they were born of desperation. How long could she hold that against him? It became clear to her, as she watched him eagerly awaiting her talking to him, that he was happy to have her there, despite how she had avoided him, despite how cold she'd been. When she was there, his father was unable to harm him.

She shifted in her seat to face him and asked quietly, "Draco, you'd been using the Room of Requirement all year, yes?"

"Yes," he answered at once, returning her volume level. "It… really understands what you need."

"It's not always the same inside, right?" she pressed on, looking back and forth between his gray eyes. She had only ever used it to brew the potion until the night Dumbledore died. "The giant piles of things?"

"No," he muttered, glancing at the table. "It can be whatever you want, really. You just have to ask. And if you want, no one you don't want to enter can make it in while you're inside."

Sharlen tried to push the annoyance she felt out of her head, annoyance that Harry knew all this and didn't insist they go to that room alone throughout the year rather than take their chances in his dorm in Gryffindor Tower. She couldn't let how much she missed him deter her. "So if you wanted to find that room in particular again, all you'd have to do is ask?"

"Yes," he said, nodding and sitting back. It seemed this two minute conversation had helped restore some of his original, ingrained smugness. He watched her through sleepy eyes. "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm not looking for anything," she said quietly, straightening up. She crossed her legs and arms. "Can't a girl make conversation?"

"Hey, I'm not complaining," he said, putting his hands up and smirking. "I'm just glad you've finally started talking to me again."

"Yeah, well, you deserved my silence," Sharlen muttered darkly. Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees, waiting for more. "But I understand the position you were in. You just shouldn't have pushed me away like that."

"Seeing you with Potter made me crazy," he admitted, the smirk not leaving his face. "How did you stand it, being near him all that time? Holding you, spending late nights with you, even just talking to you? You should have let me in on your true allegiance. If I'd known..." He reached out with both hands and pulled her left arm to him, holding her forearm and running his thumb over the Dark Mark.

Sharlen took a deep breath, a vision emerging of a much younger Malfoy working in Potions class with Crabbe and Goyle. Snape watched the three with the smallest crooked smile and gave Draco an approving nod before sweeping past to give the Gryffindors hell, Neville in particular. She forced herself to open her mind beyond the vision, focusing on the tempo of her breathing, and slowly Draco's voice grew into cognizance over the dungeon classroom vision. "... but surely you know I'd rather have pulled you in than pushed you out."

"What? Draco," she murmured, fighting with herself as to whether to dissuade his suggestions or hungrily consume the younger image of Harry in the vision whom she'd missed out on knowing. With a sigh, she pulled her arm back, hiding the Dark Mark against her chest as her eyes returned to normal and the vision shrank away. "Draco, this isn't like that. We're never going to be like that."

"You should never say never, especially if The Dark Lord thinks we'd be good together," he said darkly, something like mischief in his eyes though his aura showed nothing but loneliness. She echoed that loneliness and sympathized, but the pressure in her chest ached for Harry alone.

Sharlen stood, patted Draco on the shoulder, and went to leave for her room. Before she cleared the doorway, Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her back, holding her between the light gray wall and his own body. Once again she focused on opening her mind beyond the vision, this time of him flying in a Quidditch game, and flinched to hear how close he was to her face. "You never answered me," he said quietly.

"About what?"

"About how you could stand being with him. With Potter," he muttered. Her insides ached, just hearing his name making her desperate to be back with him all those months ago, before everything had gone wrong. "The lengths you went to…" he added, hands on her hips.

Sharlen winced as Harry's furious voice rang through her head, words she thought would haunt the cavern of her chest forever: "I've been inside you!" She turned her face away from Draco's, nearly able to see past the vision he was giving her, and recited the Sorting Hat's song monotonously, "'Perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends; those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.'"

She walked out of Draco's arms, meeting a little resistance from him, and up the winding staircase to her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

"You need to make yourself scarce today, Piotr," Sharlen told him as she walked to the edge of the yard, Malfoy watching from a bench on the elaborate courtyard porch. "You don't have to come back until nightfall. I'll meet you right here."

Piotr nipped her ear affectionately and took off from her shoulder, Sharlen transforming right behind him and following outside the enchantments of Malfoy Manor. She didn't look back to check on Draco—for all he knew, they were exploring the surrounding woods as per usual. Beyond his line of sight, Sharlen transformed back into her body and turned on the spot to Apparate.

In the light of mid-morning, Hogsmeade looked blue and glum compared to how she remembered it. Hardly anyone was out and about and a definite increased chill was in the air. Not long to linger, Sharlen set off up the main road toward Hogwarts, seeming to grow colder with every step.

As she made her way, horrible thoughts started to swim in her head, making her feel weighed down by their miserable truths: She'd been floundering for months, becoming further entrenched in her lies, unable to move too far in either direction. Unable to be important or helpful, but just taking up space. What good had she done, for anyone? From the beginning of this mess she'd played into what her father wanted—torturing Harry with her mere presence, insuring trust issues in someone who already had so much of the world against him. She hadn't acted to save Dumbledore, she hadn't taken the steps to help protect him from her Master. She hadn't known, and was useless for it.

Even her work at the Ministry, what had it been for? Wasting time. Taking up valuable time not finding Horcruxes, not bettering the chances for Voldemort to be defeated but selfishly, wastefully trying to feel important and useful… when she was only one girl with limited magical experience.

She gasped at the pain of these thoughts, of how truly unhelpful she was to anyone, and, worst of all, how Harry despised her. How he loathed what she was, how he preferred Ginny to her, how much happier he would be with Ginny, his hateful face at the forefront of her memories as she approached the castle gates…

And there they were, two Dementors guarding the entrance, coming toward her slowly with their thin, rotting hands reaching and groping. Her breath seemed to freeze in her throat and she could hear Harry screaming at her in her head, calling her a tool, an instrument… The Dementors came closer, the cold absolutely unbearable, opaque puffs of air appearing fast from her mouth as she panted, tears freezing on her cheeks…

But panic was clearing her head, as if something inside her was fighting not to give in to the horror the Dementors were bringing her. I know what to do, I have to keep going. I'm here to try to help. I have to try, she thought, raising her shaking hands before her, the beasts growing closer by the moment so she could hear their ragged breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought to think of Mrs. Weasley's Christmas letter, when she'd thanked Sharlen, when she told her she was good and wanted… When she finally had a firm enough grasp on it and how touched she was to unearth the Weasley sweater from its package, she thought firmly, Expecto Patronum!

As it had all those months ago in her Ministry training, the stag Patronus emerged warmly from her palms, its glow a radiant pale blue as it chased the Dementors away. With a steadying breath, Sharlen pushed the gates open and stood before Hogwarts, taking in the sight of the castle as the Dementors' chill washed away from her, so relieved to have covered Patronuses in her training. She was right—at the beginning of her year at Hogwarts, they had nothing to draw on from her. Her sad memories were too limited; most of her life had just been this quiet emptiness. Over the past year, she'd developed plenty. The stag returned to her side and walked with her as she made her way up the field to the main doors.

"Oi!" came a familiar, gruff voice over the grounds. The stag disappeared as she turned to see Hagrid, a string of dead ferrets over his shoulders. Still reeling from her encounter with the Dementors, the sight of them turned Sharlen's stomach and she fought not to grimace. As he came up to her she noticed his face showed nothing but concern and his aura was frenzied. "What're you doin' 'ere?"

"Hagrid, I…" Sharlen straightened up and looked around them. They were alone. "Hagrid, I have to search the castle for something. It's important, for Harry."

"S'not safe fer you 'ere," he said darkly, glancing up at the castle. "Lupin said the Death Eaters don't know you, the Carrows will treat yeh like any o' the other students. Not to mention the other students…"

"I can't worry about that, it's important," she repeated. "This is the only way I can help Harry, he can't come anywhere near the castle."

"'Ave you seen 'em? Harry or Ron or 'Ermione?" Hagrid asked anxiously, leaning closer to her level. Sharlen smiled weakly and nodded, still feeling heavy and sick from the Dementors and vexed from the vivid memory of her last interaction with Harry. Hagrid seemed relieved with her hesitant assurance and reached deep into the pocket of his moleskin coat, handing her a piece of chocolate from within. She bit into it tentatively but even the smell made her feel better, warmer.

"I'm afraid I can't say much, they weren't happy to see me," she told him, and he smiled apologetically at her with a big sigh. "I just need to get into the castle. I only have so much time before they realize I'm gone."

"I'll bring yeh in ter see Snape meself then," he grumbled, turning her around with one giant hand to start them up the grassy hill, "Tha' way if we run inter the Carrows I can vouch fer yeh."

Sharlen nodded and thanked him, asking if Hogwarts was as bad as the Daily Prophet made it seem—and since the Prophet was under Ministry control, she knew her father wouldn't allow any true horrors to come out to public knowledge. Still, reading between the lines, it was clear what major shifts had been made at the school of wizardry.

As Hagrid told her his tales, he seemed to grow angrier with every sentence. When talking about detentions, he told her Snape had put him in charge of them to lead students into the Forest—"Little does he know, detention has become like a sanctuary ter these kids, but we have our little rebellions"—and by the time they got up to the castle, Sharlen had a confession.

"I'm not actually here to see Snape, if I can avoid it, and it's probably best you avoid seeing him too," she said gently. "If I run into the Carrows I have this to carry me through it," she assured him, lifting up the sleeve of her arm. Hagrid frowned at the Dark Mark and sighed again, the ferrets around his shoulder shuddering.

"Just keep yer wits about yeh in here Sharlen," he warned her. "This isn't really Hogwarts anymore."

She nodded and thanked him before setting off up the many staircases for the seventh floor, the halls deserted as students were in classes. When she approached the Room of Requirement's tapestry, she thought, I need the place of hidden things and tried to walk through it. A very solid wall stopped her in her tracks and she frowned at the tapestry, head cocked to the side. Draco had said all she needed to do was ask, as she had when she destroyed the Vanishing Cabinet… so was someone inside?

All of the sudden a door appeared and out from it came none other than Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. While Ginny mostly looked like her usual self, she had never seen Neville so battered; one eye was blackened and the other side of his face bore an angry-looking cut. Sharlen was so startled to see them that she almost fell backwards trying to keep her distance, nearly knocking over a suit of armor when she brushed into it. By the time she'd steadied herself and the armor, Ginny had her wand pointed at her again.

"What do you think you're doing here?" the girl with flaming red hair shouted at her.

Neville urged her to be quiet, one hand on her shoulder bracingly. "Not here, Ginny…"

"I came to find something, nothing more," Sharlen said honestly.

"You shouldn't be here," Neville said quietly, glancing around. He was clearly afraid of her, his aura betraying the brave, set face he gave her. "Ginny, we don't have time, the Carrows-"

"I don't care," Ginny hissed at him, eyes burning bright. "You have a lot of nerve coming here. Showing your face while Harry is off trying to end your cause."

"It's not my cause!" Sharlen told her firmly. "Your prejudice toward me blinds you. I mean you no harm, you would see that if you could just be objective-"

"Says You-Know-Who's one-and-only spawn! Diffindo!" Ginny shouted, whipping her wand in Sharlen's direction and sending a stream of white light toward her. The spell cut Sharlen across the chest in a straight, thin line. Sharlen gasped at the slicing pain that immediately began to bleed and, wincing, held her left hand flat over her sternum to attempt to close it up. As she thought the spell, her eyes didn't leave Ginny's.

"Ginny," Neville breathed the warning, his grip on her tightening with urgency. "That's enough, she isn't worth it!"

"Of course she's worth it," she said darkly, wand not wavering. "Fight me," she demanded of Sharlen. "Defend yourself. I know you're a coward."

"I won't fight you," Sharlen said softly. Inside, her annoyance with Ginny was paramount, but she had to remain calm. She straightened up, her wound closed though the rip in her shirt remained. She snapped her fingers and thought Repairo to sew it shut again. "I need to get into the Room of Requirement. Please step aside."

"I'll never help you, why would you ever think I would allow you to go in? You've done enough damage." Sharlen swallowed hard. Ginny was beginning to shake with anger, red sparks emitting from her wand tip. "Do you know how completely you shattered Harry? Do you even know what you did to him?"

Sharlen's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. Shame melted down her bones. "I-"

"You've done nothing but hurt him and I won't let you do it any longer," the red-haired girl declared, sending another jinx at Sharlen. She used the Protego shield to stop the attacks, Neville protesting. "Fight!"

"I won't fight you!"

"Oh now, what's this?" came a cold, heavy voice from down the hallway. Freezing, faces falling, Neville and Ginny turned to face the owner of the voice with fear swiftly clouding their auras. Sharlen followed their gaze to see a heavy-set woman with orange hair drawn back in a tight bun advancing on them, her wand out by her side, looking darkly excited at what she'd stumbled upon. "Students fighting in the halls, now, that warrants quite the punishment indeed…"

Sharlen moved in front of the two Gryffindors protectively, assuming the woman must be one of the Carrows. "There's nothing to see here."

Alecto Carrow chuckled darkly, her humor mixed unpleasantly with anger. "You're really digging the hole, aren't you?"

"Leave them," Sharlen said firmly, holding her arms out to shield Ginny and Neville. She knew Ginny's wand was still on her behind her back.

"Excuse me?" Alecto snarled, advancing.

"They're just on their way to class," Sharlen said clearly, darkly. She held her left arm out before her, forearm up, and pulled back her sleeve to her elbow to reveal the Dark Mark, knowing that to use magic would provoke Ginny to attack her. Alecto looked up at her suspiciously, heavily hooded blue-grey eyes narrowing; she seemed utterly nonplussed that a student-age girl would bare this mark at all. "I'm here to see Headmaster Snape. Bring me to him at once."

"Snape? What business do you have with him?" Alecto asked.

"It's none of yours," Sharlen said curtly, turning partway to address Neville and Ginny, her sleeve still rolled up. "Get to class, now. Both of you."

Frustrated and unsurprised by the reveal of the Dark Mark, Ginny grabbed Neville by the sleeve and set off. Neville's eyes were torn from the mark to Sharlen's face where she tried to look apologetic in response to his utter disappointment. She watched them go, damning her luck—she couldn't afford to try to get into the Room of Requirement again with Alecto there watching her. Turning back to the Carrow sister, Sharlen held her left palm out to her and thought Confundus, watching her expression go from suspicious to confused almost instantly. Sharlen attempted to enter the room once more but was again unable. More students must be inside.

"What are you doing here?" Alecto asked.

"You're taking me to see the Headmaster for punishment," Sharlen told her half-heartedly. When Alecto turned her back to her, Sharlen transformed into an owl and flew the opposite way, escaping the castle feeling downtrodden and useless. Passing the threshold where she could Apparate, she conceded that she would have to return with a better plan in the near future.

Transforming back into her body just outside The Hog's Head inn, she ran her hands over her shirt and pants, changing them to a lighter shades of gray and making her cloak a deep aubergine, not wanting to draw attention to herself by showing up with the exact same clothes she had the time before last. Turning on the spot to Apparate to Knockturn Alley, she removed her gloves.

Knockturn Alley was a deplorable place; the odd person snuck around the side alleys here and there, sticking to the shadows, or beggars and peddlers would wander the main street, but largely it was deserted, which suited her purpose. Gone were the brief days where she could risk going to the apothecary in nearby Diagon Alley for potion supplies; people were too frightened to be trusted, especially if she was to keep a low profile. Silence was more easily bought here, as Lupin had pointed out when they'd met at the beginning of the month.

Her stolen money from Snape was dwindling, but she knew she had enough to cover a resupply that would carry her; Snape had said he would send it periodically, but she couldn't count on him to keep her stocked and was unable to brew it at Malfoy Manor. On the chance that he become unable to supply her, she wanted to have more built up.

There was a Potion House at the end of the alley where she had a double batch waiting for her. Opening the heavy door carefully, her eyes adjusted to the gloom within; a bald wizard with long, prominent teeth grinned at her over the counter as she approached.

"It's been ready for days," he told her in his high voice.

"I know," she told him, lowering her hood. "When I'm able to come is not guaranteed, hence the double order."

"Well, I've got it here, deary," he said with a flourish of his wand, grin widening. The small circle spectacles balancing on the tip of his nose made his face distorted, appearing even longer than it already was. The large cask of red-orange potion appeared on the countertop separating them. "How will you be paying today?" he asked, boney chin resting on one hand.

Sharlen raised an eyebrow and took out three Galleons. She pushed them across the counter to him and took up the potion, storing it safely in her black bag. "Thank you, Mr.—"

"Fedor Fortescue," he said, eyes narrowing with pleasure at the sight of the gold. He quickly collected it in a dusty till. "My brother used to own an ice cream shop down Diagon Alley. Terrible waste of our potions expertise…"

"Indeed," she said quietly, turning to go.

"When will you be resupplying?" he asked quickly, reaching forward.

Sharlen thought for a second or two, realizing that was a good question. "Most likely… mid-February?"

"That stock won't last you that long," he told her. "Not taken correctly. That's a two-month supply at best."

"I'm aware," she assured him coldly. "It's none of your concern. I will be back with a new order in January."

She left before he could press her further, her hand lingering on the deeply tarnished doorknob of the shop when she made it back to the street. She stared wide-eyed at the cobblestones before her in the dying light, already so obscured from this shadowed place, her nerves on fire.

It felt almost like deja vu—as her breathing quickened, she was unable to nail down the catalyst. She stumbled along the brick wall of the shop and around the corner, gripping the bricks as if for dear life. Something about closing the door the way she did brought up a sensory memory throughout her entire body; like being overtaken by a contact vision, she was all but powerless to experience the real world that surrounded her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight against the feel of Harry beneath her, both of them on his bed in Gryffindor Tower. She felt the sheet against her shins, his fingers interlaced with hers as she balanced over him, the vibration of what she'd been humming in her throat. She groaned, the memory of it agony, thinking uselessly, I am falling, say my name.

With several deep gasps she turned in place to Apparate back to the outskirts of Malfoy Manor. She looked up wildly to find Piotr dutifully waiting for her in that same spot and she transformed to join him, hoping the feeling would at least lessen in this form, but it didn't. The memory was too strong—the smell of his hair, the glint of light off his glasses placed haphazardly on the bedside table, her lack of balance as he tugged her back down onto him, the heat as the skin of their torsos met. She flew back to the courtyard, making a few distressed circles.

Draco had been watching out the dining room window for her to return and opened the patio doors, sitting back down on the same bench where she'd left him. He called to her simply: "Sharlen."

Sharlen transformed back into her body and ran both hands down the space before her to undo the transfigurations on her clothing, unable to stand the lack of real contact any longer; she had never wanted to be fully present so badly in her life. Draco made to stand and greet her but she climbed onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She turned her face away from him and held fast, laying her head on her arm.

Startled, Draco's hands hovered above her for several seconds. When he realized she was shaking uncontrollably, he firmly wrapped his arms around her.

Driven probably more by insanity than logic or strategy at that point, Sharlen attempted two more trips to Hogwarts before the month was up, both times opting to enter the grounds as an owl rather than take her chances with the Dementors and draw more attention to herself.

In these second and third attempts, she surveyed the grounds thoroughly, looking for she didn't even know what, before entering from the Astronomy Tower and attempting to search whatever nook and cranny she could access. She would hide behind tapestries or around corridor corners to wait while students or teachers passed. She combed through the trophy room, even went below the school to the Chamber of Secrets, entering from Myrtle's bathroom from her memory of Harry's descriptive retelling of the events of their second year at Hogwarts.

While she was able to quickly hunt through the pipe tunnels of Salazar Slytherin's cavernous chamber undisturbed, Myrtle had alerted the other ghosts to her presence. When she reemerged, they all but chased her out of the castle with the racket they were causing. Her third attempt was cut equally as short, as the house elves in the kitchens hurled knives and all manner of kitchen utensils and pots at her when she attempted to enter and look around.

Each time, she would return to Malfoy Manor in a terrible mood, scowling late into the night over the school's resistance to her.