I own nothing but the plot, and not even all of that.
"I am very sorry, Arthur," Albus apologized. He was sitting with Arthur and Molly Weasley at the Burrow's kitchen table.
"I understand," Mr. Weasley said. "I won't pretend I'm happy about it, though. I was hoping to get a vote on it next session. They could only delay it for so long. This was going to be the platform we could build on to secure equal rights for Muggleborn. This is a problem that won't just go away on its own."
"I know," Albus said. "I will do everything in my power to get it on the docket for next year."
"And another years worth of Muggleborn will learn the awful truth," Arthur said, dejected. "They will find there is little place for them in our world and try to return to their muggle lives. There, they will find they are years out of date and will risk exposing our world trying to blend in. I suppose it cannot be helped."
"No," Albus agreed. "I must admit I still find it hard to believe."
"I can show you the data again," Arthur offered.
"No, my friend," Albus said, waving Arthur's objections away. "I believed you three years ago when you first approached me, and I still believe you today. I am just flabbergasted that so many Muggleborn choose to leave our shores each year."
"Where else are they to go?" asked Arthur. Albus did not answer.
"Surely there's something that can be done," Molly protested.
"Cornelius was quite clear," Albus said. "He must have something to offer the board, and the Muggle Protection Act is the price we must pay. If it were just my suspension, I would let the matter lie. I have every confidence in Minerva to keep the school at least as safe as I could. I cannot... will not allow Lucius Malfoy unrestricted access to the students."
"Even without the bill, though," Molly insisted, "there must be something we can offer the Muggleborn to convince them to stay."
"With so few jobs open to them," Arthur said, "it would be an empty offer. The only choices most of them have are to return to the muggle world, or leave Britain for a country more friendly to them. A few will marry into Pureblood or, more probably, Halfblood houses, but the rest are leaving."
"How many years do you think we have left?" Albus asked.
"Before the muggles notice us?" Arthur responded. "I'm absolutely shocked they haven't already."
The boggart class was easily one of the most discussed lessons anyone could remember. How the students handled it was largely dictated by house.
Gryffindors tended to face their fears singly and head on. They did not seem to care who knew what their fear was, and worked hard to overcome them.
Hufflepuffs were more about working together as a group to comfort and support each other. They yelled suggestions to each other as to how to make things funny, and thus they all did very well collectively.
Ravenclaws were all about the analysis. They held endless discussions about why this person had a specific fear, usually while still standing in front of an increasingly confused and frustrated boggart.
Slytherins, to a man, refused to participate until Lockhart agreed to allow them to each face the boggart in private. When he protested that he had to be present for safety, they turned to their Head of House.
"Perhaps," Severus said, "I should supervise the Slytherin students." His students had rightly appealed Lockhart's decision to air their greatest fears to the school at large.
"Absolutely not," Lockhart protested. "I am setting the grade for this assignment, and there is no reason I should not be present to witness it. I cannot grade a performance I have not seen, after all."
"I should think you were quite capable at that task," Severus said, smoothly. Lockhart gave him a dirty look.
"I think I have more than proven my abilities as a teacher," Lockhart said, shortly. "I will witness their performance, or they will not receive a passing grade on this assignment. Surely you would not pass a potions student if you did not see them brew, or even see the results of their efforts." Severus had to admit Lockhart made a good point.
"Nonetheless," Severus said, "it cannot be argued that Slytherin receives the students with the most to fear. Many of those fears are... personal."
"I have already agreed that they would face the Boggart privately," Lockhart said. "It will just be me, the student, and whatever they fear most."
"I would suspect for some of them being alone in a room with you would be what they fear most," Severus said.
"I beg your pardon?" Lockhart said, offended.
"Surely you know from your time here as a student," Severus explained, "that the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor has always stood on a distrusted platform."
"That curse was broken," Lockhart said. "The Headmaster himself has said so."
"Even so," Severus said, "history tells us that if something goes wrong, it's likely the defense professor behind it. What is the muggle saying? I think the butler did it?"
"I fancy I know a lot more about muggle literature than you do, my friend," Lockhart said, "and your analogy is poor. I will not defer my position to you."
"Very well," Severus said. "A compromise, then? I will join you. This will ensure my students are adequately protected, as well as allowing you to see for yourself they they performed to your... standards."
With the compromise in place, the class was allowed to continue. Professor Lockhart would supervise the class, and Professor Snape would supervise Lockhart. Lockhart had to swear to keep the private fears of the Slytherin students in confidence, but it would be his evaluation that determined the grade. Some of the older Slytherins earned detentions from Lockhart by trying to hold out for an Unbreakable Vow. In the end, it took five times longer than any of the other houses to get through all the Slytherins, but the exercise was finally completed.
Professor McGonagall was sitting at Dumbledore's desk, handling the parchmentwork that was now her responsibility. Her position as Headmistress was not being made easier by their new High Inquisitor. After reviewing how he wanted the students split up, she had held an emergency meeting of all of the heads of houses. She knew that many of the Slytherins already practiced the separations as a matter of course, but she asked all of the heads to not enforce the rules to the greatest extent possible.
A knock came at the door. At first, she welcomed the break a visitor would provide, then she saw Lucius Malfoy enter the room.
"Professor McGonagall," Lucius said.
"Mr. Malfoy," Minerva responded.
"High Inquisitor Malfoy, in fact," Lucius corrected.
"Yes," Minerva responded, "it is quite the mouthful, isn't it? If we're observing the formalities, though, I believe you should address me as Headmistress."
"I wish to know why your students are not wearing the patches I provided," Malfoy demanded. "They are also refusing to separate into their groups."
"Because I told them not to, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall answered. "Once again, I will remind you to remain within your assigned role. Not only are your 'groups' disruptive to the students education, but they fail to even achieve what you claim to intend them for."
"Separating the students will limit the casualties in the event of another attack," Mr. Malfoy said.
"Perhaps," McGonagall responded. "Please explain, then, why you attempted to separate them by blood status."
"I'm sure it is only a coincidence," Malfoy said, smoothly.
"Quite a large coincidence, I should think," McGonagall said, dryly. "In fact, if you ignore the year groups, Slytherin has only two groups. Six Halfbloods in one and the rest of the house in the Pureblood group. The rest of the houses were to be split into three groups, and without exception would be separated by blood status. I was under the impression that you valued subtlety." Malfoy's lips twitched at the barb.
"I will not allow this," McGonagall continued, "and I will not allow the students to wear these degrading patches." She gestured to a stack of patches on her desk in the form of a golden star, a white half crescent, and a blue circle.
"I see," Lucius said. He abruptly changed the subject. "I will be setting curfew to an hour earlier each night. Surely you can have no objection to that?"
"No," McGonagall said. "That would actually be sensible under the circumstances." She picked up a sealed piece of parchment and handed it to Lucius. "By the way, this arrived for you." He took it and opened it. He frowned as he took in the words.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
"I have not read it," McGonagall responded, "so I do not know for certain. From the address and the seal I would imagine you are being summoned to the Board of Governors."
"I know that," hissed Malfoy, "for what reason?"
"I haven't the foggiest," McGonagall answered. "I'm not on the Board of Governors. If that will be all?"
Malfoy glared at her before turning and leaving. McGonagall smiled.
Ginny Weasley sat on her bed, weeping. She did that a lot these days. After her aborted attempt to give the diary to Dumbledore, the diary was livid. Percy was still trying to get her to give it to him, even knowing he would be expelled by Mr. Malfoy if he succeeded. He searched her, but found nothing.
It took a long time for the twins to see past their pranks and realize something was going on, but now they were intervening as well. She'd been deflecting the twins since she was five, though.
The diary was furious she'd tried to give it to Dumbledore. It still had tricks to play, though. It disappeared. Now, it only reappeared to her when she was alone. When she went down to meals or classes, it was nowhere to be found. When she closed the curtains to her four poster bed, it appeared on her pillow. She was compelled to write in it. She threw away all her ink and quills only to find new ones appearing in her hands to replace them.
She cursed Tom in scribbled words, writing things that would have shocked her mother senseless had she read them. The diary just laughed cruelly and taunted her. She threw it in her trunk, knowing full well it wouldn't stay there and ran downstairs. Ron was sitting by the fire and saw her. He noticed the tears streaks running down her cheeks and grabbed her by the wrist.
"Come on, Ginny," he said, pulling her to the portrait hole.
"Ouch, Ron!" she cried, trying to squirm out of his grip. "Where are you taking me?"
"I've had enough of this," he said, firmly. "I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey."
"I don't need to see Madam Pomfrey," Ginny protested. "I'm not sick."
"Something's wrong with you," Ron said, bluntly. I may not know what it is, but if Madam Pomfrey can help, then that's where you're going."
Ginny finally managed to get Ron to let go of her by promising to go the hospital wing with him without fighting. They narrowly avoided Mr. Malfoy, who was striding through the halls looking upset.
Ginny lay on one of the hospital beds, waiting. Ron had taken Madam Pomfrey aside and was explaining his concerns regarding her mood swings and the diary. Pomfrey then examined Ginny. Her diagnostics showed that Ginny was exhausted, but not otherwise ill. Madam Pomfrey decided that Ginny would have to spend the rest of the day in the hospital wing getting rest. She arranged a curtain to give her privacy and offered Ginny a sleeping draught. Ginny only took a sip before she fell asleep.
Pansy Parkinson was sitting next to Draco in the library. To all outward appearances, they were studying potions. They were, but they were also having a conversation they would not have dared to have in their common room.
"Do you know why he's here?" Pansy whispered. Draco looked around to make sure nobody could overhear them. Potter, Longbottom, and Granger were a few tables away, but they all looked focused on their own work.
"No," Draco answered. "I went and saw him the morning he arrived, he didn't tell me anything."
"Nothing?" Pansy asked.
"He just asked me what my class standing is," Draco said. "He was disappointed I only moved up eight places from last year."
"Father said he came to see him last week," Pansy said. "Do you think they might have discussed a betrothal?"
"I'd be the last to know," Draco said. "He probably wouldn't tell me till the morning of the wedding."
"I hope he was," Pansy whispered.
"Me too," Draco replied. They glanced at each other, then Draco started getting his belongings in order.
"I'm going to the quidditch match," Draco said. "Are you coming?"
"Not this time," Pansy said. "I think I'd like to write Father a letter."
"Are you going to the quidditch match?" Neville asked, keeping his voice down. He was sitting with Harry and Hermione at a table in the library. He and Harry had just finished writing their Herbology essays while Hermione worked on a Potions paper.
"I'm going to go to the hospital wing later to visit Toma, Tank and Dobby," Harry said, "but I don't have any other plans."
"I wasn't going to," Hermione answered. "I'd really like to finish this today. You two should go ahead and go, though."
"Are you sure?" Harry said, frowning. He wasn't sure why, but he had an uneasy feeling about leaving Hermione alone.
"I don't know, either" Neville said, uncertainly. He was eyeing Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, who were sitting a few tables away, scribbling on parchment while they referenced some books on ingredient interactions. "We're not supposed to be alone."
"I'll be fine," Hermione said, reassuringly. "There's always a few fifth and seventh year students in here, as well as Madam Pince."
"You're sure you don't mind?" Neville asked.
"Completely sure," Hermione insisted.
"Shhh!" Madam Pinch hissed at them.
"Seriously," Hermione whispered, "I would really like to concentrate on this. Have fun at quidditch, and tell me all about it tonight."
While they were talking, Neville saw Draco gathering his belongings. Draco left the library just ahead of Harry and Neville. He was also headed for the Quiddich pitch. It was a Gryffindor Slytherin match, and was going to be well attended.
Padfoot crept his way along the dark passageway. Getting into the Shrieking Shack was as simple as wriggling his way in through a broken window. It seemed that some of the older students had not been deterred by the old shack's reputation and had broken in. From the scattered butterbeer bottles and the blankets on the old couch, it looked like someone had made themselves an illicit love nest. It would likely be closed down due to his using it.
'Just doing my civic duty,' he thought to himself with a snicker. 'Can't leave love nests like that just hanging about anywhere. It wouldn't be decent.'
The Daily Prophet he had snatched had very helpfully given him the date of the next quidditch match. This made today the best day to sneak into the castle. They never had Hogsmeade weekends on quidditch days, and the game would also nearly empty the school.
He was most of the way to the castle, and had not yet felt the tingle of magic that would indicate the presence of a ward line. He had been down this path countless times as a student, but time and Azkaban had eroded his memory a bit. Finally, he felt what he was waiting for. A tingling that made his fur stand on end. He was in.
Ginny woke and found a wall clock to check the time. It was nearly noon. Ron was still sitting in the chair by her bed, fast asleep. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be found, but was probably in her office. Ginny couldn't see the two Jedi healers, but saw that they had erected privacy curtains. She looked on the bedside table for the glass of water Madam Pomfrey always left for any student.
There was no glass of water this time. In its place was the diary. She told herself to ignore it. She clasped her hands together to keep them from picking it up, but it was no use. She picked up the diary and opened it. It never mattered what page she opened it to. It was always blank. Always ready for her words. Always ready to spit words back at her.
"Hello, Ginny," Tom wrote. A quill appeared between the pages. It was already inked, as usual.
"Go away," Ginny wrote, beginning to cry as quietly as she could.
"You know I won't," Tom wrote. "You will come to me."
"Leave me alone," Ginny wrote. The fiery language of her cursed protestations had been reduced to simple pleading.
"My patience with you has run out," Tom wrote. "This is your last chance. Come to me now. No one is looking, and your idiot brother is asleep. Come to me!"
"Leave me alone," Ginny wrote, a tear drop landing on the page. Just like the ink, It was absorbed into the paper. No trace of it was left behind.
"Come to me now or I will send her to retrieve you!" Tom demanded.
"Leave me alone," Ginny wrote.
"As you wish," Tom wrote. The ink of their words disappeared. The diary disappeared with it. Ginny began to scream.