Free seating on weekends was something of a relief for the two conflicting house members, but that morning was not the case as they both sat in silence for the duration of it. Evelyn stabbed at her banana pudding as if it were a monster that refused to die.
"So are you going to tell Headmaster Dippet about the unicorn?" Margaret asked hopefully, holding her spoonful of pudding in the air as if Evelyn's answer determined the consumption of it.
"Yes," she answered curtly.
"And the wizards?"
"Ah huh."
"Did you even hear me?" Margaret raised an eyebrow skeptically and turned to look at her Slytherin cohort.
"Yes Miss Prefect! I heard you," she plunged the prongs into the pudding and stood to leave, the fork still standing erect.
Everyone regarded her quizzically except Olive Hornby who was the brave one to speak up, "What's wrong with her?"
Margaret shrugged and consulted her pudding.
The statue of a great eagle with bent wings corkscrewed upwards to the Headmaster's corridor. Evelyn stepped out from under it's stone feathers and reached up to grasp the brass door knocker, but before she could even wrap her fingers around it, the door opened with a creak.
"Good afternoon Miss Westwood," an older man with long, auburn hair regarded her cheerily.
"Good afternoon Professor Dumbledore."
"Come in dear, Armando will be with you shortly. He is having a conference with another student at the moment."
The door to Dippet's office opened barely an inch, allowing the raspy voice of Hogwart's Headmaster to echo out, "And don't let me catch you hiding unapproved animals ever again. If this persists, there will be serious consequences, do you understand me?"
"Yessir, I swear ya won' ever see me in here agin," a voice just on the other side of the door replied.
"Good boy, that's what I want to hear," with that the door forcefully swung open and the towering form of Hagrid—affectionately nicknamed "Oaf" by her fellow Slytherins—sauntered through the doorway.
Evelyn backed into a cluster of Dippet's mysterious instruments, fading into the background like a statue among them. Her eyes uninhibitedly followed the giant Gryffindor out of the Headmaster's office, not daring to move until he was well away from the door.
"Armando, Miss Evelyn Westwood is here to see you," Professor Dumbledore stuck his head in the door, "The headmaster will see you now," he spoke to the statuesque Evelyn, "It was nice seeing you. Don't forget about the essay due Thursday. I look forward to seeing you in class," he shook Evelyn's hand and exited the room. She slowly uncovered her palm to reveal a plastic-wrapped peppermint.
"Allow me to get this straight," Headmaster Dippet peered skeptically down at her from his high desk, "You were in the Forbidden Forest at night on the insistence of Professor Slughorn and you stumbled upon a unicorn?"
"Yes, I know that it sounds odd—
"Not only that, it was injured?" he asked incredulously.
"Well," she shifted uncomfortably in her low-legged chair, "it was more than injured, it was dead," she decided to omit the fact that she had actually watched it die.
"So you want me to go to the Forbidden Forest to investigate this?"
"Well…I don't know, but it may look rather incriminating if The Daily Prophet found out that unicorns had died on the campus of Hogwarts and the Headmaster knowingly refused to do anything about it," Evelyn answered, growing annoyed at his condescending attitude.
"Are you threatening me?" the Headmaster spat in outrage.
"Goodness no!" she gasped as if the very suggestion was absolutely alarming, "I'm just saying—hypothetically."
Dippet slammed his quill down and stared her in the face, "Let's get on with it then—this had better be good," he grumbled under his breath.
Evelyn, quite a few steps ahead of Dippet who slowly poked along with a wooden cane, followed the same worn path that she had been traversing only nights before. She glanced over her shoulder to see Dippet grimacing at her, "Only a few more steps and—
It wasn't there.
Evelyn couldn't believe her eyes, she peered about wildly in disbelief, "It was here!" she pointed in outrage, "It was lying right here! I climbed in that tree," she then pointed up to a low sweeping tree with a few broken branches.
"Just as I thought," Dippet proclaimed self-righteously, just now appearing on the scene, "you think it's funny playing tricks on an old man, do you?"
"No," she looked to him, her face completely drained, "No! It was laying right there, and it bled on my hand," she held up her own hand to him as if to allow him to imagine blood dripping from it, equally as real as the dead unicorn was to him.
"How dare you threaten me to come out here and then lie to me!" Dippet railed on her, "this entire episode warrants a letter home and very likely expulsion!"
"No!" her face took on a bestial mix of anger and fear, "I'm not lying! It really—
The headmaster raised his wand, "Silencio!"
Evelyn's mouth immediately shut as if her lips were being invisibly zipped together.
"I've heard quite enough from you today young lady. It is in your best interests to return to your common room and do not bring the matter before me again. I will contact you in due time when your punishment is determined," Dippet murmured the counter spell and turned on his heel, muttering to himself about the outrage of it all.
Evelyn slowly made her way back to the castle, tears threatening to fall out of her watery eyes. She pushed open the grand, arched doorway to find Margaret waiting for her on the other side.
"What did he say?" she asked excitedly, following her through the open courtyard.
"He's not going to do anything about it, the unicorn wasn't even there."
"What'd you mean it wasn't there?" she repeated inquisitively.
"IT JUST WASN'T THERE!" Evelyn raised her voice irritably, "I don't know—someone or something moved it. I don't know, all I know is, that it wasn't there and now Dippet thinks I'm lying about the whole thing."
"Well, what about the group of wizards?"
"I didn't tell him," she pushed roughly past some other second years that traditionally clogged up the hallways, causing them to huff and puff at her retreating figure.
"Why not?" Margaret asked as if outraged by the injustice of it.
"I don't know, I just didn't tell him."
"But-but that's the most important thing! They were practicing unforgivable curses! What would come over you to withhold that?"
"I don't know," she fired back sarcastically, "maybe because he didn't believe me in the first place, and I'm already on the chopping block for expulsion because of the whole thing!" she was now shouting, "And besides, Slytherins don't snitch."
"It doesn't matter Evelyn, you should've told—
"Margaret?"
"Yes?" she piped up.
"Shut up," she finalized the argument and stormed off.
'Margaret,' Evelyn sneered, 'of course she doesn't understand, she's perpetually surrounded by all the little do-gooders of Ravenclaw.'
She traipsed through the arched doorway of the library. Slamming her bag down, she began wondering through the maze of books. Surrounding students snapped their noses out of the creases of their cryptic bindings and harshly stared in the direction of the subject of their annoyance. She glared back at anyone who dared meet her gaze as she was in a very unapologetic state of mind.
Evelyn hated having the sudden epiphany of realizing that she had absolutely no indication as to why she was there other than she needed a place to escape to.
Throwing herself into a chair, she pulled out her potions textbook and began her essay for Slughorn. She got as far as writing her name on the paper until she realized that this would take quite a bit of research. Slapping her quill on the desk, she once again began wandering around the towering bookshelves. She shrugged as she could already tell she was nearing the section where the library harbored its books who's contents consisted of ways to improve one's face and figure. She knew this because giggles seem to dance around the shelves, but she shot them callous glares as she pushed past—not feeling very congenial towards her own sex at the moment--though this observation was rather hypocritical of her as she had never quite fit into the upper echelons of academia herself.
In Evelyn's mind she had much more important things to do—like discussing "the mechanics and vitality of adding bat lacewings to the Polyjuice Potion," she thought, reciting the essay prompt, feeling herself to be above the materialistic ideals that so many of her peers idolized.
She now ventured to the very back of the library where on the most studious of over-achievers frequented.
"Teen Witch Weekly magazines are a few aisles up," the scabrous voice of Tom Riddle floated through one of the shelves of books.
"I know that," she answered haughtily, speaking to him between Hogwarts, A History and Magical Medicine.
"I figured you would," Tom fired back matter-of-factly. Evelyn would much liked to have thrown one of those books at him. Instead, she took Magical Medicine and deposited it into her ever-growing stack of books.
She reached for another one when another long digited hand rested on it to stop her. She whirled around to meet a gleaming silver and green prefect badge.
Tom stared down at his captive, allowing very little space between himself and the book case.
"You think I cold be so easily fooled by your ridiculous explanation of this," he growled, grabbing her wrist up to expose the red marks on her arm. She backed up so far into the shelf that the bindings dug into her spine. She was still trembling from the scare but quickly regained her voice, "What does it matter how I got them?" She became slightly disoriented by the masculine smell of Tom Riddle being swept into her nostrils.
"They weren't from any cat!" he whispered harshly.
"Let go of me," she raised her straining voice as blood rushed to the surface of her cheeks.
"You got them from running—in the Forbidden Forest didn't you?"
"It was you!" she croaked and fell against the bookshelf for support, the volumes now falling at her feet.
"What did you see?" he asked quickly.
"Nothing."
"What did you see?" he repeated the question in obvious disbelief of her answer.
"I didn't see anything! I don't even care what you do with your stupid little club."
"Which will always be your answer," Tom demanded.
"And what if I do tell someone?" Evelyn shot back cattily, regaining her courage.
"You won't," he flashed her the ghost of a debonair smile.
"Now get off of me before I scream rape," she threatened now feeling a surge of pride.
"Go ahead, no one would believe you," he backed up, "besides, you'd like it."
AN: I know everyone is off reading the Deathly Hallows, as I soon will be, but when you're done, please review :)