Remember what I said in my note the previous chapter? I'll be addressing it at the end of this one.
For now, enjoy~
Pairings: Potential Hadria (FemHarry) x Tom Riddle, but more platonic than romantic, other pairings undecided.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Beta-ed by the lovely Let me know if you spot any mistakes, thanks.
Chapter Five: The First Week
"鰯の頭も信心から。" Even the head of a sardine can be worshipped if you believe in it. — Japanese Proverb
It probably wasn't surprising that upon learning his sister had hung out with the Slytherins (and Neville), Ron Weasley had chosen to corner Hadria in an empty corridor. They wouldn't know how he came to learn about this—perhaps the Twins had informed him, or perhaps he found out from Ginny herself, perhaps he had gone looking for her before this, to ask about her Hufflepuff Sorting—but nonetheless, Ron now knew about Ginny joining the Slytherins on the train to Hogwarts and was confronting Hadria about it.
Hadria was alone, because it was the first day of school and the other Slytherins were taking their time with the morning, and so were most of the school except for some exceptions and most of them were either Quidditch players used to rising early for their own physical training or Hufflepuffs who rose with the sun to tend to their personal little gardens.
Ron had his friends with him, Seamus and Dean, and it wasn't looking very good for him, Gryffindor-wise. Three boys blocking the way of a lone girl. It was, however, rather Slytherin, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Self-preservation was good, Neville had realised when he got to know Hadria who didn't seem to have any. He wished she had, though the other Slytherins seemed to have plenty enough to make up for it.
But it didn't mean he liked it, particularly not when it was used against Hadria, his probably-first-actual-friend. Which was why he was watching this take place from his corner. He would trust Ron not to start a fight—for now—and he would trust Hadria to hold her own. She was way better than him at magic anyway.
(It's all about belief, Hadria had once told him, so sure that she could do anything if she just believed she could. Hermione had disagreed, of course, insisting that magic was a science and not something so easy as just miracles of faith or what not. Neville himself wasn't so sure that was how it worked either, but perhaps that was why Hadria seemed so talented and he… wasn't. Well, he was working on it. Hadria certainly had this unwarranted faith in him, so perhaps he really would be good at this, one day.)
Still, if things somehow went wrong, he had King with him. He might not have enough confidence to be of any help, but he was quite sure that King could be of assistance.
(The thing about plants and fungi, Neville had learned pretty early, was that it wasn't like the other magical disciplines. It wasn't about what you wanted, it was about what the plant or fungi wanted. And it wasn't exactly easy either, if only because they couldn't talk, and many of them couldn't even move, so achieving any sort of connection with them was difficult. Finding the right amount of sunlight, water, and nutrition for them to grow was one thing—books and instructions could take you far enough, but finding the right amount for them to thrive and be happy was another. So Neville sometimes wondered whether he was actually good at Herbology, like what everyone said, or if it was Herbology that's good at him instead.)
As it was, no wands were drawn yet, so Neville remained hidden with King, trying not to wonder if his current behaviour counted as spying… or stalking. Ron was accusing—accusing was a harsh word and likely a result of a bias—no, Ron was asking Hadria if she was somehow responsible for his sister being Sorted into Hufflepuff, with an implication that she was bad company and that Ginny had been wrongly influenced by said company.
Neville was indignant, but then he reflected, he hadn't had a very good impression of Hufflepuff until he met Hadria either. So he couldn't fault Ron for wishing his sister had gone to a "better" House.
"Well, have you spoken with Ginny about this?" Hadria was saying, exasperated yet amused.
Ron had an ugly prune-like expression. "I have." Clearly, it had not gone well. Seamus looked to be fighting a smile, which made Neville curious about how it went down.
Then Ron worked his mouth and said, "She's only eleven. She's just... confused."
Hadria gave him the blandest, driest look. "Ron—" Ron made another constipated face, likely a reaction to the fact that she was using his first name, as if they were friends, which, as far as Neville was aware, they were not. "Ron, we're only twelve." Dean joined Seamus in trying not to laugh. Neville had to give it to them; it wasn't easy being tall and intimidating when your opponent was being funny.
When Ron didn't seem to have any counter to that, she seemed to take pity on him and sighed, "I'm sure you're aware it was your brothers who left her with us, and they have also made it very clear that they will take major offence if we don't treat her right. And no one wants to offend the Weasley twins. Besides, you do know your sister is… far from harmless, right?"
"But…" Ron faltered. "But she's in Hufflepuff !"
"Yes, Hufflepuff, the House of the fair and loyal and—Forget it, I'm not good at this," Hadria finally gave up. "Find me at the end of the week; I should be more prepared then."
"Prepared? Prepared for what?"
"I'm going to find you a badger," she chirped with a sudden blinding grin. "See you."
And then she trotted past them, Dean and Seamus letting her go easily—Dean hauling Ron with them so that they weren't blocking the way.
"Wait! What do you mean you're finding a badger?! What for? You don't mean an actual real life badger, right? Hey!"
Neville chuckled, hefted the large fungi in his arms, and came out from the corner he was hiding. Then, as if he had been on his way through the corridor all along—instead of spying on them—he also walked past the trio with an amiable smile.
"Ron, Dean, Seamus," he greeted them and then began jogging a little to catch up with Hadria, King still carried in his arms.
(If there was one benefit to being a Hufflepuff, aside from all the other benefits the House was known to have, it was building muscle. It was a fact that although not everyone in Hufflepuff was particularly stocky, most of them were strong enough to lift any heavy pot of plant or animal that didn't react too well to charms that might lighten their load.)
Neville and Hadria had to part ways at the foot of a moving staircase. Neville had Herbology with the Gryffindors, and Hadria had Defence.
"You're bringing King along?" Hadria asked before they parted.
Neville grinned and patted King's rock-like shell. "Professor Sprout's got a teething Venomous Tentacula. We thought it might be worth seeing how they might react to a playdate."
Five minutes into Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hadria wished she was with Neville in Herbology instead. As it were, she was stuck staring at a set of test papers filled with questions that were all about Lockhart. Even more embarrassing was the fact that reading the questions made some drawers in her mind jiggle and rattle, as if some answers might actually fall out if she shook her memories hard enough.
After all, she had gotten most of the questions right in her previous life. Not a hundred percent, like Hermione, but there was no denying that Lockhart's books had been an entertaining read. He had a flair for storytelling, and his books weren't written in the same dry and toneless way the rest of their other textbooks had been. It was only a pity that they were all clouds and smoke of little substance.
Hadria managed to answer all the questions before the time was up, but she wasn't sure how much she got correct. Not that it mattered, since the test wasn't graded. Beside her, Pansy appeared to have answered each question with a different coloured ink.
"He might not be as good-looking as your guardian, but he is still very much my type," she said, when she caught Hadria looking. "Gotta give him points for that."
Lockhart did in fact appreciate Pansy's writing, because after he collected the test papers and looked through them, he gave an exaggerated gasp of delight and exclaimed, "Oh, wonderful attempt, Miss Parkinson. Though many of your answers are incorrect, your effort at sprucing up your writing is admirable. Leaving a good impression on your reader is often as important as using the right words. Five points to Slytherin!"
Then he went on to comment, still perusing their test papers, "I must say, most of you are regrettably behind on your readings. My favourite colour—Lilac—was clearly stated in Year of the Yet i. And the answer to my ideal birthday gift can be found in chapter twelve of Wandering with Werewolves .
"Ah Miss Potter, I should have known, you must have been quite diligent in your readings—a good start for a young and promising star like yourself. It's a pity that though most of your answers were correct, they were still lacking in some way, and I couldn't give you full marks. For example, you answered "purple" as my favourite colour. While lilac is a shade of purple, your answer isn't specific enough. It is remarkable that you are the only one in the class that knows my secret ambition is to market my own range of hair-care potions, but you've also left out the more important fact that I also wish to rid the world of evil. Still, five points for effort!
"Now, on to business—" Here, Lockhart finally stopped talking and hefted a large cage onto the desk. He beamed at them.
It didn't take very long for all hell to break loose after that.
Lockhart made a run for it the moment the bell rang, yelling as he fled, "Do round them all up before you leave, I'll need them for my next class!"
Then a stray Stunner caught him in the back, and he was down.
Someone cheered, "Nice one, Greengrass!"
"We're not seriously rounding these pixies up for his next class, are we?" Terry said even as he brought another pile of unconscious pixies back to the Professor's desk.
"If we have to deal with them, they should too," Draco muttered vehemently, flicking pixies into the cage with his wand.
They were late for lunch. By the time they got to the Great Hall, half the school had already eaten and left.
"I had to help Professor Sprout re-pot a number of mandrakes," Neville said by way of explanation for why he too was late for lunch, and winced a little towards the end of his sentence. "There was—a lot of—uh, screaming."
Hermione had already left, hurrying off to the library after giving Hadria a short greeting as they passed each other in the hallway.
"What happened?" Hadria was curious. She thought that with the progress Neville had made, with Herbology in particular, that the class should pass without incident, unlike the time he fainted from the wailing mandrakes in her previous life.
Neville made a face. "You know King?"
It was hard not to know King considering how she had been the one who gave it to him and its existence had been impressed upon them multiple times very recently, but she didn't say any of this because she was fairly certain it was just a figure of speech.
King was, however, noticeably absent from Neville's self.
"I'm to leave him in the dorms from now on. The uh—it was—" Neville covered his face with his hands. "It was chaotic, we're not sure what exactly happened, but it seems like King tried to… eat the mandrakes."
His Slytherin audience all had varying expressions of horror. Pansy appeared to be shoving her lunch into her mouth while studiously pretending she heard nothing.
"Okay, but—" But doesn't King eat meat? Mandrakes certainly weren't meat, no matter how humanoid they looked or behaved. Hadria wanted to ask, before she remembered that ordinary fungi fed on all sorts of dead matter, both plant and animal, and King probably didn't really care what sort of food it got, as long as it was food.
"Then what happened?" Hadria asked instead.
"Professor Sprout tried to Stun King, which kind of worked because King went limp, but his grip on the mandrakes didn't relax and we couldn't remove them, so we had to cut off his mycelium tendrils to save the mandrakes. Then we buried them back in the soil. Professor Sprout had to stay back to comfort them from the terrible experience."
Neville then had to explain that comforting mandrakes involved patting its leaves and talking softly to them and gently watering them—not too much, just enough for them to feel the trickle of water.
Mandrakes were expensive and uncommon simply because raising them took a lot of time and effort. As plants, they were simpler to take care of compared to animals because they didn't require constant feeding—just some good fertiliser—and weren't bothered by a little rough handling. But they were incredibly sensitive about other things like the type of water used, the type of soil they slept in, the amount of light they received, their proximity to other plants and mandrakes… and they were extremely demonstrative of their displeasure when anything wasn't up to their standards.
Case in point, all baby mandrakes screamed during repotting because they slept 24 hours a day and did not like being woken up and exposed to light. But repotting baby mandrakes in the dark was not something Professor Sprout was willing to risk with a class of excitable and curious students. Hence, screaming and earmuffs.
Neville thought they were great, fatal screaming aside. None of them understood him.
"That's our next lesson, isn't it?" Pansy questioned once Neville had left for his next class.
"Screaming mandrakes?" Draco checked his timetable again and grimaced. "Great."
Someone brought up shading the greenhouse and using Wand-Lighting charms as a way to re-pot the mandrakes in reduced lighting to minimise the screaming involved. Neville wasn't a loud person by nature, but Slytherins as a whole thrived on gossip, and at least half the table had been paying very close attention to his tale about the mandrakes during lunch.
Professor Sprout then told them a horror story about how the last time they tried to transfer mandrakes in less-than-ideal lighting, someone had bumped into someone else, a pot broke, a number of mandrakes were dropped and let loose, someone ended up stepping on a mandrake, while the rest of them tried to relocate the other mandrakes, and the one who stepped on the mandrake had become utterly convinced they had stepped on a live baby and was very traumatised and there was definitely a lot of screaming involved.
"We're never doing it again," said Sprout in conclusion. "So put on your earmuffs, and dally not when repotting them. They'll go right back to sleep once you settle them back in the soil, worry not."
Unfortunately, she didn't appear to realise that most of the students cared more for their ears than the mandrakes' sleep.
However, "most of the students" did not include one Hermione Granger.
"This is unnecessary cruelty," she hissed as she placed another mandrake into its pot and piled soil over its head.
"Granger, it's a plant. It has no nerves. None ," Draco hissed back, stuffing his mandrake into the soil with more force than required.
"I know . I even did some extra reading before class, and yes, I know the light doesn't actually hurt it, it just doesn't like it, but so what? It just means it has feelings and we're just ignoring them like it's just throwing an unreasonable tantrum—"
" And we're going to cut them into pieces later for Potions anyway. What's your point?"
"My point is that even livestock deserves a humane and decent living environment."
Beside the two of them, Blaise turned to Hadria and whispered, "Do you think she joins us just to argue with Draco?"
Hadria eyed the quarrelling pair and shrugged. "I think she's treating him as a sounding board."
Perhaps Hadria should have expected it, but she was nonetheless exasperated when Hermione started designing badges later that evening. And she managed to get the support of a number of students once they convinced her to broaden her subject matter to include the manner of which living creatures are involved in lessons—particularly the wisdom of using pixies as spell targets in a DADA lesson when the right way to deal with pixies ought to be taught in a Care of Magical Creatures class instead.
Hadria got accosted by Colin Creevey on the way to the Slytherin Quidditch trials.
Well, accosted wasn't quite the right word, since he was very small, somehow even smaller than Hadria, and looked very timid despite the Gryffindor colours he wore. Or perhaps it was because of the Gryffindor colours.
But he did stand right in the middle of their path with his large camera, and the only reason why Draco hadn't hexed the poor boy for blocking their way without managing to say a word was because he was being held back by both Hadria and Blaise.
"Be still, I want to watch this," Blaise was saying as he used his larger build to block Draco's view in a rather obnoxious manner.
"Good morning," said Hadria when it became clear that Colin couldn't work up the nerve to actually ask for a picture. "We need to get to the Quidditch pitch in a bit and we'd rather not be late. Do you… need anything?
Colin opened, closed, opened his mouth and finally blurted, "I'm Colin Creevey! I'm—uh—Do you mind if—if we could—if—could I have a picture?"
Hadria thought he was very brave. Blaise liked to slouch, and he was only twelve and hadn't hit his growth spurt, but he was already rather tall, the tallest in their group, and was actually very intimidating even to other Slytherins their age—or so said Tracey Davis in the girls' bathroom one day. And Colin stood there, in the presence of four Slytherins, including Blaise, and asked for a picture.
Blaise snickered. Hadria ignored him. She also ignored Draco's incredulous huff of: " A picture? "
"For a favour, you may," said Hadria cheekily, and as predicted, Colin nodded so eagerly, she could have asked for his soul and he might have agreed.
They posed and Blaise helped to snap a picture.
"So—uh—What do you need?" Colin said when they were done—too late, Hadria thought. He ought to have asked that question before the deed was done, making sure he knew what he was agreeing to. Judging by the look on all her friends' faces—looking at him pityingly, like he was a poor caterpillar about to be eaten by a passing bird—they probably agreed.
"I'm looking to buy a camera," said Hadria, like a normal person instead of asking for his soul like a demon she most certainly wasn't. "Do you know how I can get one like yours?"
"Wait—Are you sure? That's a Muggle camera," Pansy interjected.
Hadria raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you know how I can get a magical one?"
Pansy did not. Draco said he could ask his father, but Hadria didn't actually need a magical camera when an ordinary Muggle one was sufficient.
"Um—I think I could ask my father to help buy one," said Colin, fidgeting nervously. "But—uh—I'm not sure if the owls will be able to deliver it safely?"
Draco made a derisive sound under his breath, then louder, he said, "Ask your Head-of-House. She'll teach you how to have it owl-ed properly. Now come on, we're going to be late ."
"Let me know how much it costs," Hadria threw out at Colin as she was dragged away. He nodded mutely, watching them go with a star-struck expression.
The Slytherin Quidditch team was waiting for them at the edge of the pitch. Although a few of them were disgruntled about having to wake at the crack of dawn and still needed to stand around doing nothing because the students trying-out were late, none of them said anything, because Draco had sent everyone a brand new Nimbus 2001, specially customised in a black and silver colour scheme to suit their team.
(Hadria's and Draco's new brooms even had their names carved in fine letters into the broom handle and filled in with pale gold, but this was apparently a privilege not shared with the others.)
Hadria was slightly concerned about the thought of having offended a whole group of future teammates who might only get along with them—Draco and herself—because of what Draco's money can provide for the team. But they were late, and Hadria didn't regret stopping for Colin Creevey, and the Slytherins were more particular about these things than the Gryffindors… But there was one thing she knew the Slytherin Quidditch team would love more than getting new brooms.
Unfortunately, they still had one more obstacle to winning over their future teammates.
There, on the pitch, was another Quidditch team—the Gryffindors, who had the field booked for their practice. Oliver Wood did not like their presence one bit.
"We could share the pitch," Hadria commented in a low voice. They were standing away from where their Quidditch Captains were facing off.
"Technicalities," said George with a razor sharp grin. "Wood booked the whole field, after all, not half of it."
"And why would we compromise for the enemy?" Fred added with a pointed laugh. "Especially if the enemy has had an advantage all these years. No reason why we should give way and let them train their younglings ."
They gave her identical gloating smirks.
"So, we heard Higgs is planning on stepping down to focus on his NEWTs," George continued conversationally, inclining his head to the Slytherin team where Terrence Higgs was standing. "Think we've actually got a pretty good chance now."
Hadria had also heard the same—Higgs was apparently going to serve as a substitute player if the team is able to find a Seeker to replace him. In another life, that person had been Draco Malfoy.
There was a moment of quiet as Hadria simply stared at them instead of replying, Flint's and Wood's argument reaching them in snatches, until the twins realised the implications of her standing there with the Slytherin team, while Blaise and Pansy had chosen to hang back at the stands.
"You're not just Malfoy's moral support," said George, eyes narrowing. It wasn't a question. It was almost funny that they'd seen her and assumed that Draco needed moral support, and that said support was her.
"If we share the pitch, you'll get a first-hand observation of the enemy's team trials and first practice of the year," said Hadria with her own easy grin and a careless shrug. "You'll get to check out the competition, the new players' abilities, the works… I doubt you've ever watched our team's practice, have you?"
But she didn't need to say any more, because Fred was already making his way to where Flint and Draco were showing off their new brooms.
Of course, sharing the pitch didn't really mean anything.
There was a reason why, despite the pitch being a huge and open part of the school, the Gryffindor team hadn't ever been able to catch a glimpse of the Slytherin's practice matches. If Wood liked to wake his team up too-early in the morning for practice, then Flint would haul his team out at very odd and random hours. Hadria wasn't sure which was worse, but it meant that the present clash in schedule was definitely on purpose.
"Alright, we all know Higgs is stepping down, so we need a decent replacement," Flint began on the far side on their half of the pitch. He smiled in a terrible way that reminded Hadria of why she once thought he might have had troll blood. "However, we currently do not need any new players for the rest of the team. So, both of you will try for Seeker. Unless one of you would like to bail out now. No?"
"Actually, I'd like to try for Chaser," said Draco, pointed chin raised higher.
Flint snorted and turned to the team. "Hey Pucey, Warrington, Malfoy's trying to take over your spot. What have you got to say about that?"
There was only sullen silence from Cassius Warrington while Adrian Pucey merely smiled breezily, "He can have Montague's."
Graham Montague was a substitute Chaser. There were technically other empty spots for substitute Chaser available, but well, unless you were Higgs struggling with your NEWTs, substitute was pretty much equivalent to a consolation prize. It was essentially a too-bad-try-again-next-year-and-we'll-only-call-on-you-hopefully-never card.
"So, here's what we're going to do," said Flint, still smiling like a hungry troll. "Malfoy and Potter will try for Seeker. If you're both decent, the better one can stay as Seeker, the other is free to try for Chaser. But fair warning, it won't be easy to outfly our current Chasers. If you're both trash, then you can decide between the two of you which of you will stay as the team's mascot. It'll be easy, just stay in the air and look pretty.
"Honestly? If you can't even fly on a Nimbus 2001, then you're hopeless. And a word of encouragement? Malfoy, you better be worth your father's investment. Saviour Potter, let's see if you can save yourself a spot on the team."
Then, without any further warning, he released the Snitch. "You have fifteen minutes. Go."
Hadria remembered someone saying, "Don't try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team unless you're certain you can win a spot."
She'd once thought it odd that a House of Ambition didn't have more changes in the Quidditch team over the years. She couldn't remember all their names and who came and who left, but she did remember that she hadn't ever noticed much changes in the faces on the pitch.
It turned out that Slytherins just really knew how to pick their battles, and the Quidditch team didn't hold trials unless they were in need of a player, or if someone issued a challenge for a spot on the team. They didn't believe in humouring anyone who wasn't competitive and confident enough to demand for a spot and then fight for it, while knowing they were in for a humiliation of the year if they failed.
It was terrible and ruthless and apparently the reason Slytherins win the Inter-House Quidditch Cup every year, despite the number of penalties they must have accumulated during the matches due to the fouls they were so fond of.
Draco had prepared for battle by buying the entire team the Nimbus 2001. Hadria simply had the confidence of someone who had years of playing Quidditch imprinted in her soul, and the bravery of a Gryffindor.
And still.
Fifteen minutes was too short a time to catch a Snitch, even without interference from the Bludgers and other players. The average length of a Quidditch match was an hour or two. The shortest match Hadria remembers playing had her catching the snitch within five minutes, and she'd never been able to beat that record again.
So, for ten long minutes, Hadria and Draco were just circling in the air above the pitch like a pair of raptors, keeping their eyes peeled for a glint of gold.
"How's it going," said Fred conversationally, pulling up beside her, knowing full well that she wasn't free for small talk at the moment.
"If you're trying to spy on our team, it's not working," said George, pulling up beside Fred. "Oliver's having us do physical training today."
Hadria glanced at the Gryffindors who were split into two groups—one group of four on the ground, one group of three in the air. Wood was in the air with the twins, and waving at them with large hand gestures that meant: Stop fraternising with the enemy.
"We're supposed to do pull-ups from our broomsticks," Fred continued, ignoring Wood. "Bet you've never heard of that before."
Right there, near the pair of Gryffindors lying on their stomachs with their arms and legs outstretched in the air—
Hadria was gone before Fred—or George—could say anything else.
And nearly crashed into the Shield Charm cast over Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, but she managed to swerve around the almost invisible shield only to pull out of her dive to chase after the Snitch that had shot back up into the air the moment she reached them.
Draco had noticed her dive immediately, and despite his claims that he would let her have the Seeker position, either the possibility of not being on the team at all or his instinctive competitive spirit had him shooting towards the Snitch that was still making a rapid ascent.
Then the Snitch darted once, twice, and zig-zagged towards the Slytherin side of the pitch.
"Three minutes left!" Flint taunted, before the Snitch chose to hover over his head for a second, but a second was all they needed, and then he was bowled over by two students who threw themselves at him—Hadria practically leaping off her broom and Draco recklessly following her stunt.
In Hadria's defence, Flint's taunt had made it very tempting to tackle him at the moment. In Draco's defence, her mere presence was detrimental to his rational mind and it wasn't his fault. Hadria argued that he was irrational all on his own and Flint had gritted his teeth and spoke past his broken and bleeding nose to reprimand them both for behaving like Gryffindors. Hadria chose not to argue that if they had crashed into Wood instead, Flint would have congratulated them.
So, Hadria got the Seeker position, and Draco went on to challenge for Chaser.
("Wish me luck, won't you?" He said with a grin that would have looked ingratiating on anyone else, bumping one end of his broom against hers. She obliged, shoving him away as she did so.)
He ended up replacing Cassius Warrington as Chaser.
To say that Ginny was confused was an understatement. She was extremely bewildered and out of her depth. It felt like she had unknowingly joined some really weird cult.
But there she was, out past curfew, learning how to stun and kill chickens with her bare hands—because magic could be detected and it might not work the first or second time anyway and the Diary was created by someone paranoid because it also insisted she defeather the chickens and drain out the blood and collect them just in case because the feathers and blood could be useful later and—
Riddle was definitely a Slytherin. He ticked all the boxes Ginny had heard of from her brothers.
(Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins, according to the twins, actually preferred Muggle methods for certain things—it kept wands clean for wand-checks and "everyone" knew that You-Know-Who might have succeeded in his murder attempt if he had chosen to use a knife instead of a Killing Curse. Ginny wasn't sure what to think of the latter.)
The fact was that Ginny had taken care of chickens before. Her family raised their own coop and her mother had also shown her the quickest and most humane way to kill them for supper. A well-cast Severing Charm to the neck would do the job. Combined with a Stunner or a Body-Bind beforehand and you were guaranteed a dead chicken.
It did not involve ambushing chickens in their sleep and wringing their necks.
Granted, Ginny hadn't been taught any of the necessary spells yet, but she was sure she could learn them, and personally thought that this awful Muggle method had more room for error. And she wasn't certain if she ever wanted to eat chicken again.
But, the chickens were killed. It took her a whole night, and Riddle had assured her they wouldn't be missed—after all, it wasn't like she was stealing them. She had them all—minus blood and feathers—discreetly delivered to the Hogwarts Kitchens where they would be put to good use.
Then, Riddle said, in neat and elegant cursive that belied his words: Now, we need seven goats.
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS
1) I'm going to rewrite at least one more chapter of the first arc, if not two. I'm not sure when I'll get to them yet, but hopefully soon.
2) However, I will no longer be continuing this fic on fanfiction-net. All chapters uploaded here will remain here, but all future chapters will have to be read at AO3.**
I love you guys. I started this fic here, eight years ago, and it's been a long ride with y'all supporting me all this time. I don't know how many of you have been here from the start, how many of you are still here, reading these chapters, but this is it. Thank you, and see you at Archive of Our Own.**
**If you do not have an account on AO3 and still wish to read my chapter updates, I will advise you to a) request for an account invitation and b) we have a discord group where you can find me at: /CsxTzJ45MS
