"Draco, if a person was—hypothetically—transfigured into a book, would they be able to communicate with whoever opened it? Making the words appear on the page, for example?"

Harry glanced up from the book he was reading, curious to hear Draco's answer. But Draco's eyes remained fixed on his essay while his quill glided across the parchment, effortlessly reciting the different uses of Horklump Juice. "No. They'd be limited to whatever a regular book can do. That's why it's transfiguration. You transfigure your properties into something else."

"I know that," lied Diana, trying to match his condescending tone. It was a lofty goal in which she failed. "I was just wondering."

"Why?"

Diana's palms began to sweat. "Well, um, look around us." She gestured to the towering bookshelves surrounding the trio. "What if someone turned someone else into a book and hid them here in the library? There'd be no way to find them."

After the words left her lips, Diana shuddered. The relentlessly regular exposure to magic over the past few weeks caused her walls to lower slightly, but this hypothetical scenario was a much-needed reminder of the horrors of magic.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you worried about Pansy and Daphne?"

Aside from some passive-aggressive remarks, Pansy and Daphne had been steering clear of her, though Diana suspected Round 2 was somewhere on the horizon. Still, it provided a good out, so she nodded.

Draco sighed. "Then you're worrying for nothing. That type of magic isn't taught until the sixth-year, and their parents wouldn't be foolish enough to teach it to them beforehand." He paused, then mused, "Then again, Daphne's parents were stupid enough to leave Veristerum unsecured."

Diana was tempted to remind Draco of how Lucius left his secret chamber of dark artifacts unsecured, but bit her tongue.

"If anyone goes missing, the Professors will handle it." Easing slightly, Harry dipped his quill in the ink pot and continued writing. "If they have a way to tell who has magic in order to send out the Hogwarst letters, then I'm sure they'd be able to tell if someone in the school got lost."

Diana stifled a groan. Harry always thought the best of the magical world.

"Hmph. Perhaps. Mother told me once about a time she transfigured a classmate into a Puffskein and dumped her into one of the pens they used for Care of Magical Creatures class. Somehow, the Professors knew not only that the girl had been transfigured, but also where she was."

Diana glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye; as she suspected, Harry didn't seem perturbed by casual mention of magical sociopathy. She recalled how he laughed about his cousin sprouting a pig's tail, and pushed the uncomfortable thought out of her mind.

"Being in the library reminds me of another question I forgot to ask before," Diana babbled, as though the idea occurred spontaneously instead of something she obsessed over hours before this conversation. "I know you said a person transfigured into a book can't do anything special, but what if someone was just sort of…sucked into a book because of a spell? Is that even possible? To be trapped forever that way?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. There's magic for practically everything."

A month ago, Draco would have rather eaten a slug than admit he didn't know something. In spite of her whirlwind of thoughts, she was pleased at that bit of progress. It was more than she could say for the diary.


The previous evening, Diana mustered the courage to open the diary for a second time. Armed with a quill in one hand and a useless wand in the other, she swallowed and took the plunge. Hello?

Just as before, her words seeped into the page, and an unfamiliar neat cursive emerged in its place. Hello. If I frightened you earlier, you have my sincerest apologies. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of conversing with someone, and it seems I forgot my manners. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Might I ask your name, and how you came by my diary?

After a moment of deliberation, she bit her lip and wrote, Diana White. I found it in a dark wizard's lair.

Diana was a common enough name for a witch, but in case Tom wasn't who he said he was, it would be prudent not to reveal her surname or too many details surrounding her acquisition of the diary.

And, perhaps selfishly, she wanted the chance to let someone new know her by her real name.

You must be a very talented witch if you were able to get past his defenses. Might I ask the name of this wizard?

Diana brought the top of the quill to the page a couple times, tiny traces of ink seeping into the page, Then, in her childish scrawl, she wrote, I don't feel comfortable saying.

Fair enough. While wariness and distrust are often derided as undesirable characteristics, I've found they helped me a great deal as a child from a Muggle orphanage sorted into Slytherin.

A wave of empathy for this unknown boy washed over Diana. Your parents are Muggles?

There was a brief pause before the words returned.

My father was, but I never knew him. My mother was a witch and died giving birth to me.

Was it even possible for witches to die from something mundane as childbirth? And if Tom's mother was a witch, why did she drop him off at a Muggle orphanage instead of bringing him to other wizards? Was Tom's father a willing participant, or was he bewitched?

Many questions sprouted in Diana's mind, but she couldn't think of a way to ask them without being rude. So instead, she wrote, I'm sorry about your mum. Mine died right after I got my Hogwarts letter, and I was sent to live with my father. I never knew him growing up either, but he's a real tosser. And I'm a half-blood too, except my father's a wizard and my mum's a Muggle.

I appreciate your sympathy, but it's not necessary. I've come to terms with my past a long time ago.

Diana then asked the question she'd been wondering since the beginning. When was that?

1943. Diana's eyes bulged. Since you're writing to me in English, I'm assuming the Allies won.

Yep, we kicked their arses. It's 1991 now.

There was a long pause. I didn't realize how much time had elapsed since I entered this diary.

Diana shifted in her spot, goosebumps creeping up her arms. Did someone trap you in there?

I suppose so.

Who?

I'd rather not say, for personal reasons. The last thing I want is for an innocent girl to be placed in danger because of me.

Diana frowned. It's okay. You can tell me.

I'm sorry, but that matter must remain private.

Diana sighed quietly, but couldn't begrudge Tom for being reticent, especially when she said something similar earlier. Fair enough, she echoed. And I'm sorry someone did this to you.

Thank you.

Sympathy towards Tom and hatred for purebloods welled inside her. She imagined blonde-haired, smirking Slytherins mocking and abusing poor Tom for years, finally culminating in their final, vile prank to remove impure blood from the wizarding gene pool. Poor Tom, who spent decades lost and alone inside the book, miserable and yearning for salvation.

Diana couldn't save her mother or herself, but maybe, just maybe, she could save Tom.

I could still help, she scribbled. I'm only a first-year student so I don't know a lot of magic. But there might be a spell or something in the library. Or I could ask people who might know more, like one of my professors, or even Professor Dumblefore. He's supposed to be really powerful.

Tom's response was fast, hasty, and uneven; a stark contrast from his earlier, immaculate script. I'd rather you didn't. Though I'm aware of his reputation, I have no love for Professor Dumbledore, and believe the feeling is mutual.

Diana scrunched her eyebrows. Is he the one who put you in the diary?

He was the professor sent to inform me about the magical world. The first time I witnessed a display of intentional magic was when he lit my wardrobe on fire. That wardrobe had several cherished possessions of mine inside, and I was not happy, to say the least.

What the fuck? Diana scribbled, aghast.

Indeed. He interpreted my behavior as obstinate, and I believe his actions were some attempt to 'send a message,' so to speak. Though deeply distressing at the time, in retrospect it was, perhaps, a valuable lesson, allowing me to witness the sheer power of magic.

What about after going to Hogwarts? Did he burn any more of your stuff?

No, but later behavior certainly didn't endear him to me, either. In regards to your previous question of whether he locked me away in this book, I unfortunately must repeat my previous declaration that this matter will remain private.

Did this imply that Dumbledore was the one to imprison Tom, or was she simply overanalyzing and letting her paranoia run rampant?

He helped me, she wrote, heart thumping so loud she thought she'd wake up Millicent. It's a long story, but when the wizard court wanted to put me with my father after my mum died, he tried to stop them.

After the ink seeped into the page, she immediately regretted her words. The kindly Dumbledore with the half-moon spectacles who says nonsense words during speeches could just as easily be the same man who burned an orphan boy's possessions, just like how the "pillar of the community" Lucius Malfoy could torture other humans for amusement.

When I attended Hogwarts, it was precedent to place a half-blood child born of wedlock with the magical parent in order to protect the child from Muggle superstition or inability to handle a child's magic. I take it this hasn't changed.

Sadly, no.

I wish I had better news for you, Diana, but if Professor Dumbledore tried to help you, he likely has a hidden agenda. I strongly advise against trusting him.

Diana blinked, taken aback by the mention of her name despite being the one to offer it. Okay. She yawned, fatigue wrapping around her like a blanket. It's getting late, so I'm going to turn in for the night.

This was a pleasant conversation. I hope we can have more of them.

We will. I know what it's like to be hurt by wizards. I'll help free you, Tom.

I hope so. Sweet dreams, Diana.


Waking up the following morning was what she imagined a hangover felt like; her mind was jumbled and the previous night seemed like a fever dream. Sleeping on it caused doubt to fester inside her, wondering if "Tom" really was who he said he was.

Still, she kept knowledge of Tom secret. She didn't trust any of the adults, and the thought of telling Harry, Draco, and Hermione made her nervous and guilty, though she wasn't sure why. Attempts to glean information from Draco appeared fruitless, so Tom would need to wait until she had some time in the library alone.

Instead, Diana decided to shift the conversation to another pressing matter.

"Is there a type of magic that could cause me to get sick and miss flying class tomorrow?" she grumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Too many to count, and no I won't tell you which ones."

"I don't understand you sometimers, Diana. We'll be flying." Harry's eyes glimmered with excitement. "How do you not find that exciting?"

"Plus you don't even need to use a wand, so there's actually a chance you might be somewhat decent at it," chimed Draco.

"You want to balance yourself on a small broom twelve feet up in the air, and say I'm the crazy one?" Diana shook her head in disbelief. "Knowing my luck, I'd fall off the broom and crack my neck." Hmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea, in retrospect…

The librarian's shushing and piercing glare caused the trio to lower their voices, but didn't stop the argument.

"We won't die," whispered Harry. "There's probably some kind of magical protection on the field."

"Hooch won't have us go that far up anyway," added Draco. "We'll go no higher than six feet. Probably."

Diana glanced warily between both boys. They butted heads a lot, but Quidditch was one topic where they were on the same page.

Regardless, the thought of self-preservation reminded Diana of something else.

"Harry, did you get the Student Association pamphlet?"

A fifth-year Ravenclaw girl ambushed Diana in the hallway earlier and gave her a pamphlet advertising a student club that Diana surmised was an extension of Nia's group. The Ravenclaw asked if Diana could give one to Harry, and she agreed. But when the time came, her mouth grew dry and she stuffed it in one of his books when he wasn't looking. She guessed ahead of time what his reaction would be, and she was right.

Harry's lips twisted into a scowl, and he suddenly found the book in front of him very immersive. "Yes, but I'm not going."

He didn't provide elaboration, and Diana didn't ask why. Everyone knew by now the topic of Muggles was a sore spot with him.

Draco nodded his head in approval. "Good. All those fools want is to use you as a prop or squeeze some Galleons out of you. Don't squander your family's riches on something as exploitative as 'donating.'"

The sneer in his last word was practically tangible. Diana gritted her teeth.


The bright sunlight served a stark contrast to Diana's gloomy expression as she trudged toward the field with the rest of the Slytherins for flying lessons. Madame Hooch was an austere woman whose no-bullshit attitude reminded Diana of Marie. Still, sympathy flickered in Hooch's eyes when she read Diana's name during roll call.

I'm probably the only one who'd rather be in History of Magic than this, Diana thought glumly, fingers clenching onto the shitty broom she'd be expected to fly. At least Professor Binns showed no reaction to her name. She wasn't even sure he knew about her predicament; the ghost seemed so detached from everything besides his subject.

When the students tried to raise their brooms from the ground, Diana performed as effectively as she did with her wand. But she wasn't the only one, at least—Hermione, Theodore, and a handful of other students had the same problem. In truth, she was relieved: No chance of flying, now.

Hooch strolled around the class, offering praise, advice, and chastisement when necessary. She told Draco he'd been holding his broom wrong for years, something that caused Diana to smile, though that smile faded when she saw Seamus lean over to whisper something to Ron, both boys smirking.

Her fears about the dangers of flying later proved true. Neville somehow ended up twenty feet above ground and fell off his broom, miraculously breaking only his wrist. Madam Hooch escorted him off to the hospital wing, leaving with a warning not to touch the brooms. Once she and Neville were out of sight, Draco quickly snatched something off the grass.

"What kind of idiot takes a glass ball with them to them to flying practice?"

Parvati put her hands on her hips. "It's not his fault. We weren't supposed to be flying as high as he did."

Draco ignored her and shook the ball. The inside shifted from white to red.

"Neville said it was a Rememberball—" Diana's mouth snapped shut, sensing Hermione's impending interruption before she heard it.

"Remembrall."

"Right. If it's red it means you forgot something."

"These things are bloody useless," scoffed Draco. "They don't even let you know what you forgot. Longbottom's better off without it."

Draco put the Remembrall in the pockets of his robes, and Seamus pointed. "Oi! Malfoy's stealin' Neville's Remembrall!"

All heads snapped towards them. Harry took a few steps forward, eyes narrowing. "He's not stealing it. He's going to give it back later."

"No he won't. Trusting him is like trusting a pixie." Ron took a few steps forward, courageously matching Harry's glare. "Seamus is right."

In truth, Diana wasn't sure what Draco's intentions were. But he did himself no favors by saying, "You know what? I think I will keep it. I've been meaning to get a new paperweight."

But both Harry and Ron ignored him, their gazes locked onto the other since Ron first spoke up. "What's your problem?" Harry finally asked, but despite the bluntness of the words, his tone was soft.

It was a good question. Draco had never been openly antagonistic towards Ron, and Harry and Ron clearly got along well on the train ride.

Then again, she recalled Harry trying to talk to Ron during the first week of classes, and Ron's mumbled polite greetings and overall reticence. It didn't take long for the boy-who-lived to eventually get the hint.

Ron seemed to prefer the company of the Gryffindor boys, but Diana sometimes spotted him glancing at Harry with a forlorn expression. Which begged the question: Why was he acting like this?

"N-nothing! I just think it's odd, the company you keep. Says a bit about you."

Harry's eyebrows shot up the same time Diana's did, and shocked titters and gleeful whispers ran through the class like wind brushing against a field of grain. Ron's ears started to redden, but he maintained focus.

"If there's something you want to say to me," Harry began, voice noticeably cooler/frostier, "then say it."

"Give me the ball," Diana mumbled into Draco's ear. Draco was only half-listening, absentmindedly passing it to his sister while he walked over to Harry.

"Potter's right, Weasley. Clearly, you've got something on your mind, so spit it out before you get a headache."

"Everyone needs to settle down," Theodore cut in smoothly. "There's no need to do this now."

Pansy and Daphne pouted.

Draco spun his head around towards Theodore and arched one eyebrow in a manner reminiscent of his mother. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Nott. Stop injecting yourself into conversations where you're not wanted."

Theodore shrugged, annoyingly unflappable. "Suit yourself."

"Nott's right though," Hermione said anxiously, tugging both sides of her bushy brown hair. "Madam Hooch will be back any minute now."

"I–I'm just saying," protested Ron. "You-Know-Who killed your parents and you—and you're a Slytherin! So was he. And I see you eating breakfast and having nice chats with children of Death Eaters like it's—I just—I just don't get it. Slytherin's all about blood purity and has been for centuries."

Diana wasn't quite sure what happened next. One minute, the Remembrall was in her sweaty palms, and the next, it was like a jolt of static ran through her body and the Remembrall was suddenly in the air, soaring higher and higher until it was caught in the fragile branches of a nearby tree.

In unison, her classmates' heads snapped from watching Harry and Ron to looking at her. She gulped.

Lavender Brown pointed at Diana, eyes bulging. "She threw the Remembrall!"

Oddly enough, the one who stood up in her defense was Pansy. "How?" she demanded. "She has arms like a Bowtruckle, and it couldn't be magic because her wandwork is abysmal."

"Then how'd it end up in that tree?"

Everyone looked at Diana expectantly, but she couldn't muster any words beyond, "Uh, I don't know…I'm not sure..."

Her face felt like it was on fire, but what she said was true.

"I'll get it," declared Ron, eyes flashing with determination. He mounted his broom and lifted a few inches from the ground, wobbling.

"Your broom's too unstable," Harry said bluntly. Based on what they saw during flying class, Ron's handling of a broom was better than Diana's, but not great. "I'll get it."

"I've been using a broom my whole life," snapped Ron as he continued to float higher and higher, "You just started. I know what I'm doing."

His claim wasn't supported by the broom jerking around underneath him, causing him to wobble and almost fall downward. Most of the Slytherins—as well as some Gryffindors like—erupted into a fit of giggles, though the Gryffindors at least had the decency to try and hide it.

Ron's face matched the color of his hair, but wounded pride was a powerful motivator. Slower–but steadily–he drifted towards the tree, hand splayed outward.

In a sudden yet graceful motion, Harry hopped onto his broom and took off, catching up to Ron in no time. By now the boys were too high up to hear what they were saying to each other. Harry flew in circles around Ron, and while Diana knew Harry well enough to know this wasn't the boy's intention, doing so after Ron's fumble rubbed salt in the wound and created an illusion of arrogance.

Harry glided towards the tree and snatched the Remembrall from its precariously-perched position. A burst of uncontrolled speed caused Ron's broom to lunge forward, but Harry dodged. Ron's broom swiveled, and he lunged forward to grab the ball again, but Harry dodged for a second time. Hermione shrieked and Diana felt her heart stop as she watched Harry dodge again and again, trying and failing to decipher what they were saying through the movement of their lips. Then, Ron feinted and managed to finally grasp the ball clutched in Harry's hand, causing the two boys to struggle in a morbid game of tug-of war.

Now, it wasn't just Hermione shrieking and gasping, but most of the girls. What were they thinking, fighting over that stupid ball instead of holding onto the broom?

The struggle resulted in the Remembrall fumbling and plummeting downward to the field. But before it hit the ground, Harry swooped downward with the speed of a swallow, plucking the Remembrall from the air and landing and dismounting in one fluid motion.

The field erupted into cheers, classmates crowding around Harry as Ron slowly descended downward, eyes clouded. The cheer was undercut a few seconds later by Professor McGonagall stalking towards the field, shouting and furious.


It wasn't until a couple hours later that Diana—and the rest of the Slytherin common room—learned what happened to Harry. After taking a ridiculous amount of points from Slytheirn and Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall demanded Harry follow her inside the castle. When he returned to the common room, his face was stormy as a thundercloud. If he questioned why a giant mass of Slytherins were huddled in one spot, he didn't show it.

"Well, what'd she say?" whispered Pansy, wide-eyed.

"She brought me to Professor Snape and told him I was a natural with the broom, and that she'd never seen anything like it. She said I was as good as Charlie Weasley and someone named Higgs."

A few older students' ears perked up at that, and their eyes snapped in Harry's direction. The only reason Diana knew about Terrence Higgs was because Pansy and Daphne spent an entire night gossiping about him. Despite having a Muggleborn father, Higgs was sorted into Slytherin and was the Quidditch team's seeker for several years. His parents had concerns about pureblood radicalization and Higgs' declining self-worth, which apparently culminated in him calling his mother a blood-traitor and saying he wished he'd never been born and contributed to the "dilution of blood." The Malfoy scandal over the summer and Lucius's evasion of consequences (again) was the cherry atop the shit sundae that finally caused his parents to pull him from Hogwarts and homeschool him. If the rumors were true, the Higgs family—Muggle grandparents and all–relocated to America, which had a different set of challenges but lacked the same stigma with blood status as magical Britain.

"She also said," continued Harry, "that she thought I should be the new Slytherin seeker."

If there was anyone in the common room not paying attention, they were now. "Why would she do that?" asked Tracey, wringing her hands. "Doesn't she want Slytherin to lose?"

"He's the boy who lived," snorted Millicent. "Normal rules don't apply."

Theodore rubbed his chin in contemplation, and Diana suspected he was thinking the same thing she was. Harry was the boy-who-lived, but also just a boy. The savior of the wizarding world, forced to grow up in squalor. Although Diana was far from McGonagall's biggest fan, she knew the woman had innate compassion inside her. Well, compassionate by witch-standards, anyway.

"What did Professor Snape say?" an older, muscular brown-haired boy asked. Diana vaguely recognized him as Marcus Flint, the Quidditch captain.

"He said"—Harry deepened his voice to imitate the Potion's Master—"'Perhaps Mr. Potter feels the rules don't apply to him. I can think of no other reason why he expects a reward for flagrant disregard of rules and authority.'"—Harry's voice returned to normal—"And them he and Professor McGonagall argued about it. It's not—argh!" He plopped down on the sofa, exhausted. "I don't understand why he hates me so much."

Gemma shot Harry a sympathetic smile. "I don't think there's many people he does like, Harry."

"But he hates me especially. I know it."

No one said anything to that.

"Did he end up agreeing with her?" asked Flint, leaning forward slightly.

"No." Repeating that fact knocked out the fight out Harry, and he slouched deeper into his seat. "And he wouldn't budge, no matter what Professor McGonagall said."

Draco felt compelled to defend Snape. "First-years normally aren't allowed to play."

"They could though," said Daphne, ever the shit-stirrer. One of her butterfly clips flittered. "I heard they bent the rules for this one first year—Hiro Suzuki—who played for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team in the past."

"Hiro transferred from Mahoutokoro, and they start school four years earlier than we do," Gemma said. "It's a different situation."

Flint stood up, eyes sharp and focused. "I'll talk to Professor Snape. We need a seeker, and if you impressed McGonagall, then I'm not damn well letting this go without a fight."


Yet despite Flint's best efforts, Snape remained unmoved. The next day, Diana traveled to the library alone, Draco having finished his essay and Harry preferring to stare into the fireplace of the dorm room, sulking. Not that she was actually planning on using the library for schoolwork.

She looked at past class records, which corroborated Tom's story. In 1937 there was a student named Tom Riddle admitted into Hogwarts and sorted into Slytherin, which would make him 16 at the time of his imprisonment. She tried to see if there were any books on curses or spells to transfer a person's consciousness or spirit into an item, but anything vaguely related to that topic was in the Restricted Section. She left the library dejected, but admitted—as she trudged through the halls—that her plan to free Tom on her lonesome was likely too ambitious for a first-year, especially one who couldn't do proper spells.

Along the way, she spotted the Ravenclaw prefect who gave her the pamphlet talking with Percy Weasley. Diana lowered her head behind a curtain of hair, as she often did whenever spotting one of the Weasley children. It was probably as awkward for them as it was for her.

"Wait, Diana!"

Luck was not on her side today, it seemed. Diana glanced up as the blonde, curly-haired Ravenclaw (Penelope, she remembered) beckoned her over. Shit.

"Hi…" Diana muttered, forcing a smile.

"Hello! I was wondering if you've given any thought to joining the Student Association."

Diana wasn't sure what Percy's expression was like, since she was determined to stare at Penelope's bright green eyes instead. "I did, but I think I'd rather focus on adjusting to my classes for now. Sorry…"

In truth, she was curious about the Student Association and their goals, but lacked the courage to attend a meeting on her own. The disappointment on Penelope's face was evident, but she didn't press."I understand. What about Harry?"

Harry's scowl from earlier clouded her mind. "He wants to lay low, too," she answered politely.

Penelope sighed dramatically and twirled blonde curls around her finger. "That's a shame. Miss Achebe will be disappointed."

Curiosity tugged at Diana's mind, despite her desire to end the conversation. "You've met her?"

"Yes. I'm one of the student liaisons. I know Ridley Grayson, too—I heard you met him over the summer." She tilted her head in contemplation. "He's brilliant. In the Ravenclaw dorm, we have a challenge board of unfinished pet projects students weren't able to complete before graduation. I've been trying to finish one of Mr. Grayson's that involves developing a pathogen that infects only Animagi and prevents their ability to transform, actually. Unfortunately, it's more difficult than I anticipated…"

"You're brilliant Penny," simpered Percy. "If anyone could solve that conundrum, it's you."

"Why, thank you, Percy" she preened.

"...What's an Animagi?" asked Diana, wondering if this was yet another creature she needed to fear.

"A wizard who has the ability to transform into an animal," responded Percy. "All Animagi are supposed to be registered with the Ministry, but there's bound to be those who slip through the cracks. If you find a way to stop their transformations and sell it to the Ministry, you'd be a rich woman, Penny."

Penelope giggled. "Oh, Percy, I'm not doing it for the Galleons. I'm just curious to see if it's possible, that's all."

You want to create a pathogen because you're "just curious"? Is there anyone in this school who's not completely mental?

"Well, thanks for following up with me," said Diana, laughing weakly. "I've got to go now…"

Penelope went back to business. "Of course. Like I said, it's a standing invitation, and you don't have to join in order to attend one of our meetings."

Diana nodded and turned to leave, but stopped after hearing someone clear their throat loudly. She glanced back at Percy, who now looked more uncomfortable. "One moment, please, Diana. I was wondering if we could talk alone. Penny, dear…"

Understanding flickered in Penelope's eye. "Of course." She reached out and squeezed Percy's hand, causing him to blush, and pranced away, leaving the two of them alone.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Diana. Father's said good things about you, and you have my deepest sympathy."

Diana's mind started to fritz. It made sense that Arthur would talk about her, but it still felt like a betrayal. What kinds of things did he say?!

What-ifs and oh-my-gods raced through her mind, causing her to choke out, "Yeah." She wasn't sure if Percy even asked a question, but if what she said made no sense, he didn't let it show.

"In my last correspondence with Father, he said Ron told him he spoke with you. Is that true?"

Diana tried to rack her brain for any time Ron spoke with her, but came up blank. Maybe he said hi on the train? Or maybe I'm confusing him with Harry? "Yes," she lied.

Percy's posture eased. "Good. Father asked him to since you're in the same year, but I've noticed he's been acting…differently, since the Sorting. More social, which would normally be a good thing, but also boastful and arrogant. He's not usually like this. Now he's more like a…."

"Git?" Diana supplied. Then, quickly added, "Sorry…"

"No need to apologize. I suppose you're right," sighed Percy, shaking his head. "I don't understand it."

Diana thought of the group of boys always clustered around Ron. "Maybe he likes the attention."

"He gets plenty of attention at home. Mother's always giving him chores and the twins rope him into their pranks. And Ginny wouldn't stop pestering him about Hogwarts."

Diana privately suspected that wasn't the type of attention Ron wanted, or needed. The Weasleys could be the best parents in the world, but with seven children, a couple were bound to get overlooked, especially if they weren't a prefect, expert seeker, or only girl.

"I'm sure everything will work out in the end." It was a phony phrase; when were things ever that simple? "Thanks for checking in with me."

Percy nodded, said goodbye, and left, leaving Diana with a lot to think about.


"Hi, Ron."

Ron froze, eyes darting in her direction for only a brief second before continuing to scan the courtyard. "H-hello…"

"I wanted to talk to you," Diana said, trying her best to look as though her heart wasn't beating as rapidly as a hummingbird's.

"I'm waiting for someone," he mumbled.

"You're waiting for me. I wrote the letter."

As expected, that finally got Ron's attention. She tried not to feel guilty, observing how the guilt in his eyes morphed into anger.

The plan she hatched in order to force this conversation was something that involved a level of trickery suitable for a Slytherin. Capitalizing on Ron's need for approval and external validation, Diana wrote an anonymous fan letter gushing over how brave Ron was during the Remembrall incident and expressing a desire to interview him for the student newspaper. Diana didn't even know if there was a student newspaper. Either way, he fell for it. "Sorry for tricking you, but Percy said you were supposed to talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about," scowled Ron, eyes diverting once more.

Diana's fingers curled inward. "I didn't throw Neville's ball, if that's what this is about."

She didn't think it was, but it was good to put it out in the open.

"I know," muttered Ron, shoving his hands in his robe's pockets. "It was probably Greengrass or Zabini or someone. It's something they would do."

"So why don't you want to talk, then?" she pressed.

Ron's face heated up. "What do you expect me to say? It's"—he gestured vaguely with his hands—"weird. Everything's weird. And I don't want people to think, y'know, think I'm–um—"

"Weird, too?"

"Right." Guilt crept back onto his face "I know I probably sound like a git, but people like me now and I don't want them to think I'm odd and ask me questions about you. So, sorry, I guess."

"That's alright. I didn't want to talk to you or your brothers either, no offense."

Ron looked relieved. "Good. I hate it when my parents do that. They tried to force me and Ginny to be friends with this one girl because she happened to live near us, and now I can't smell dirigibles without wanting to puke." He shook his head in disgust. "Parents…"

"Is that why you have a problem with Harry? Because you think being friends with him would attract unwanted attention?"

For once, Diana couldn't decipher Ron's expression. "I don't have a problem with Harry."

Diana folded her arms."Then why'd you attack him during flying class?"

"I didn't attack him!" protested Ron. "I tried to get the Remembrall, and before that, all I said was it's odd he's so comfortable at the Slytherin table. Is it a crime to say the obvious?"

"You only started going off on him after Seamus did," remembered Diana, twirling a few strands of her hair. Then, she stopped. "Wait, did you do it to prove yourself to the other Gryffindors? Since he's getting so much attention, going at him would make you seem stronger, or something?"

Once she said it, she knew she hit the bullseye based on his reaction. "N-no! That's not—stop acting like you know everything about me!"

'I'm not trying to, but Harry's my friend, and I don't want him to be upset anymore." Diana recalled something Ms. Layla used to say. "There are ways to make yourself feel better without making someone else feel bad. Your dad probably wouldn't be happy to hear you're starting issues with Harry."

She pushed too far. The insecurity and vulnerability in Ron's eyes were now replaced with determination and bitterness. "So what? My dad's great, but I'm not like him. I don't want to be."

Of all the things she heard since coming to Hogwarts, this was the most surprising. "Why?" she asked, aghast. "I'd give anything to have a father like yours."

The anger in Ron's eyes dimmed, and he looked down at his shoes. "You only see the good parts," he mumbled. "When I'm older, I'm not going to ignore my family because I'm too busy taking on all the world's problems. If that makes me a bad person, then fine. Maybe I don't deserve to be in Gryffindor."

When he left, the tears prickling in Diana's eyes matched the ones she saw in his.


True to the stereotype, wizards and witches went all-out for Halloween. Floating pumpkins and live bats (this can't be sanitary) decorated the Great Hall, and the scent of beef, lamb, potatoes, pumpkin pies, pudding, eclairs, and jams wafted through the air. From what Diana gathered, reasons for celebration reflected the usual relaxed mishmosh of wizarding belief, ranging from an adherence to old pagan traditions, traditional celebration of the beginning of Allhallowtide, or secular admiration of the overall aesthetic.

For Diana, Halloween was the time of year when Sarah's paranoia was most prominent, and didn't have many happy memories of the holiday as a result. Still, it was a throwback to normalcy. Or as normal as it could be with real ghosts gliding through the walls, anyway.

As she was nibbling her pumpkin pie, her ears twitched as heard the name 'Hermione' coming from a few seats next to her. She craned her neck to see Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey huddled and whispering with shit-eating grins on their faces. A quick glance at the Gryffindor table revealed Hermione's absence. She frowned.

Debating briefly whether or not it was worth it, Diana decided to take the risk. "What were you saying about Hermione?"

Pansy's nose scrunched up, as if she just watched a cockroach darting out of Diana's mouth. "This is a private conversation. Stay out of it."

How 'private' can it be if you're discussing it in the Great Hall?

Daphne dabbed her napkin to her lips delicately. "Now, Pansy. I'm sure Diana has a good reason for interrupting our meal. And we'd be more than happy to tell you about Hermione…provided you ask nicely of course."

Diana rolled her eyes and stabbed into her pie, pretending it was Daphne's face. Fuck it. I'll ask Hermione later.

But their exchange caught Harry's attention, who leaned to the side, frowning. "Is Hermione okay?"

Pansy and Daphne exchanged a brief look, a silent conversation while Tracey battered her eyelashes in an oblivious Harry's direction (eww…).

Pansy gave Harry a fake smile. "I overheard Parvati tell Lavender that Hermione's crying in the girls' toilets because of something that awful Weasley boy said to her during charms."

Harry's eyes clouded over. "I'm going to tell him something. Whatever his problem is, he needs to stop."

"You're going to say something now?" squeaked Diana as Harry stood from his seat. The other Slytherin girls' grins widened, eager to see the show. "B-but this is the feast."

"So? There's no rule saying I can't go to a different table, is there?"

"If you do that, I'm disowning you as an ally," said Draco, tone bordering between flippant and serious. Diana rolled her eyes. "This isn't the first time someone's said something to get under Granger's skin, and it won't be the last. You can't have the spine of the flobberworm if you want to survive Hogwarts. You're not helping her by butting in every time she faces a challenge."

"And you're not helping by looking away every time because it's more convenient," Harry shot back.

"You realize what table you're sitting at, right? Perhaps the Sorting Hat was right. You should be in Gryffindor."

"I'll check on Hermione," blurted Diana, scooting away. She wanted to be away from the conflict and unable to handle the secondhand embarrassment if Harry actually did go up to the Gryffindor table.

"Fine, but I'm still going."

"No you aren't. If you do that, Potter, I'll turn all your books into frogs."

"You don't know how to do that."

"Of course I do."

"You can't even transfigure a mouse into a cup properly."

Draco and Harry's argument faded as she shuffled away from the Slytherin table and toward the doors of the Hall.

Ugh. Boys…


"He hates me. Everyone hates me."

Diana handed Hermione a towel from the hooks, which she buried her face into. Diana bit her lip. While she had a lot of empathy for Hermione, she was never the most articulate person and feared saying something that could make her feel worse. "I don't hate you. And neither does Harry, or Neville, or—" She was about to say Draco, but wasn't sure. His disdain seemed to have dimmed since the train and he stopped sneering whenever she was within six feet of him, but he was still Draco.

As if reading her mind, Hermione sniffled. "I think your brother does, sometimes."

"He's grown up in a family with a lot of…prejudice," Diana began carefully, "towards Muggleborns. He's reconsidering a lot of the things he grew up thinking were normal. It'll just take some time…plus there's all the stuff about his—our—father, and, well, he's going through a lot…"

"You're right," whispered Hermione, and to Diana's horror, a fresh stream of tears started running down her cheeks. "Look at me, how selfish I'm being. Everything's so much harder for you and him."

"You're not selfish. It's normal to feel upset if people are being mean. My dormmates are like that too."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "It's not just students at Hogwarts. Even before coming here, no one wanted to spend time with me."

Diana debated whether she should explain why, but figured this wasn't the time. "I didn't have many friends before coming to Hogwarts, either. Just Claire, Becky, Olivia…and Samantha, kinda. So only four people."

"That's more than I ever had before coming here," murmured Hermione, slouching against the wall.

"Even now, I still don't have many. Just you, Harry, Draco, and my cat, if she counts."

"I wish I could have been sorted into Slytherin," sighed Hermione. "Then we could share the same dorm."

Diana shook her head vehemently. "I wouldn't wish that on any Muggleborn. Slytherin's full of self-important, Pureblood arseholes. You've got the better end of the deal, being in Gryffindor. It means you've got courage." Something I wish I had…

"I don't feel courageous now," mumbled Hermione.

Diana shrugged helplessly. "I don't feel particularly cunning now. All I'm doing is babbling."

Hermione smiled shyly. "You made me feel better."

A bubbly feeling tugged at her heart. This was the first time Diana felt Hermione was a "friend friend" instead of a "Hogwarts friend." "I'm glad. Will it make you feel even better if I told you Harry's going to march over to the Gryffindor table and tear into Ron?"

The sound Hermione made was a mixture of a gasp and a giggle. "He didn't!"

"I left before I could see if he did, but he was definitely planni–"

Her mouth suddenly snapped shut, a faint, foul smell of sewage and waste pushing its way into her nose. Within seconds, the floor began to rumble and a dull thudding grew louder and louder, accompanying the growing intensity of the smell.

A gigantic, misshapen gray-skinned creature pushed its way inside the bathroom, dragging a large wooden club behind it. Frozen in horror, Diana's mind vaguely registered the creaking sound of the door closing behind it.

Who could it be? Daphne? Pansy? They were prats, but would they actually want Diana and Hermione dead?

Breath quickening, she glanced at Hermione, though her heart sank when she saw the bushy-haired girl was just as petrified as she was. A thousand thoughts and feelings buzzed in her mind, but one outshone the rest.

Diana reached into her robes with trembling hands for her wand, which almost clattered to the floor due to her sweaty palms. "A-alohomora," she spluttered. The tip fizzled with sparks for a second, but the door remained locked. Shit.

Then, Hermione found her voice. She let out an ear-piercing shriek, which roused the troll's ire. With a loud bellow, it spun around towards Diana and Hermione, raising its club high and swinging down with all its might.

Diana wished she could say she bolted out of the way or thought of a life-saving spell at the last moment, but that would be a lie. Instead, she crouched down in a ball-like defensive position. But when the troll brought its club down, an odd sensation enveloped her body, and she felt she was somewhere very far away, floating, where Hermione's shriek was a distant muffle. She didn't feel like a normal girl; instead she was something different, greater.

Then, she was back. And instead of a bloody mess of guts and sinew, the only thing left behind were several broken sinks, and a pale-face Hermione an inch away from them, looking as though she were about to faint.

The troll let out an angry, confused bellow, and fear gripped Diana. A brief flicker of black whipped out from her and struck the troll like a viper, causing the creature to fall backwards and stumble.

Before she had time to think about it, the doorknob wobbled. But instead of three professors running into the bathroom to save them, it was three hapless first-years: Harry, Draco, and…Ron?

For the next minute, everything was a blur. Ron—despite his previous misgivings—proved he was a Gryffindor through-and-through by grabbing a pipe and flinging it at the troll's head. Though it bounced off the troll's skull impotently, it provided the distraction needed for Draco to dart towards the girls. "What are you waiting for? A written invitation?" he demanded. "Move. We need to get out of here before this thing kills us."

Diana looked up in time to see Harry launching himself upward and grabbing the troll's neck in a chokehold, right before sticking his wand up the troll's nose. Ron took out his own wand, pale and shaky, yet determined.

That was enough to snap Hermione out of her trance."Swish and flick," she Hermione, gesturing the motions.

"Wingardium Leviosa," shouted Ron, and to Diana's delight, the club hovered in midair, aligning itself with the troll's thick skull. For a moment, it looked as though everything would be fine.

Then, Draco had to ruin it.

"This one must be the runt of the litter," jeered Draco. "So ugly, stupid, and pathetic, even for a troll."

Draco's voice acted as a magnet, and the troll let out a furious bellow and stumbled closer to Draco. The club fell to the floor with a thud.

"Malfoy!" shouted Harry in frustration. "You idiot!"

The troll raised its arm and looked at it in confusion before realizing the club wasn't there. Nevertheless, he raised his palm to swat Draco and the girls as if they were gnats.

The odd sensation from earlier began to stir inside her, but before anything happened, Draco pulled out a black box from the interior of his robes. The skull pattern was vaguely familiar, and she recalled with a jolt that it was one of the items from the scrip bag that contained the diary.

"Potter, Weasley, stand back!" Despite the false bravado, Draco's tone held a tremor. Harry and Ron did as Draco asked, and her brother opened the box. A bright, blinding light shone from the box with such intensity that Diana had to look away.

But when the light dimmed, the troll vanished, and the lid of the black box slammed shut on its own. A quick survey of the room showed no one sustained serious injuries, though everyone was understandably shaken.

Ron was the first to voice the question on everyone else's mind, thrusting a finger towards the box. "What the bloody hell is that?"

Draco's face was paler than normal, but his tone was steady when he said, "Father told me to use it if my life's in danger. I think this counts, don't you agree?"

"But where'd it go?" asked Harry, straightening his glasses. "Is it…dead? Or was he transported somewhere?"

Draco shrugged.

Ron let out a low chuckle. "Judging by the skulls on the box, I doubt he's taking a vacation to the Canary Islands, mate."

Harry's blinked, startled at the use of "mate," but Ron didn't notice. Instead, his eyes locked on Hermione and Diana. "Are you two okay? We heard Professor Qui–-"

Hermione wasn't listening. She pushed herself up from her spot on the ground and flung herself around Draco's neck. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."

Draco looked taken aback. He tentatively patted her back once, and then a second time once his hand didn't immediately turn to acid upon touching a Muggleborn.

Ron crossed his arms. "Hey! Harry and I did most of the work. All he did was open that stupid box."

Hermione broke the embrace and threw her arms around Ron and Harry. Then, to her surprise, she rounded on Diana and hugged her too.

"I didn't even do anything," protested Diana weakly, returning the hug. But Hermione didn't let go.

It was at this moment Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell arrived. Quirrell's face paled upon seeing the damage, while Snape remained inscrutable as always.

"Are any of you injured?" When the students shook their heads, McGonagall brought down the fire and fury. "You had specific instructions to return to your dormitory. I'm assuming there's a good reason you're here instead of there."

Draco slithered in smoothly like the snake he was. "Diana and Hermione were in here, and we wanted to make sure they got out safely. Has the troll been caught yet, Professor?"

McGonagall's lips thinned. "The professors will handle the troll, Mr. Weasley. Considering this bathroom's current state, I'm assuming you've had a run-in with the creature already. Did you see which direction it went?"

"Left," Draco replied immediately.

"I find it rather curious," drawled Snape, "all five of you escaped a troll unscathed. Miraculous, even."

"We hid when the troll came, and it didn't see us. The brute was hardly what you could call intelligent."

"And yet you say he went to the left. Odd, considering that was the direction we came from." Snape glared at Harry as if he was the one who came up with the lie. "As I'm sure you've surmised, we have yet to see a troll. Remarkable, truly, considering we did a thorough investigation of every area of the castle except this wing. How peculiar that the troll appears to be missing, with only the word of five first-years to go by…"

"We saw him go to the left. I don't know why you didn't see it," insisted Draco, doubling down.

The students had an unlikely ally in Quirrell. "W-whoever had the power to grant the troll access m-might h-have had a w-way to v-vanish it as well."

The professors couldn't deny the possibility. McGonagall's lips thinned, and she nodded. "Return to your dorms immediately. And no more heroics."

The five of them couldn't get out of there fast enough.


"In case it wasn't evident from my lead," Draco began once the Professors were well out of earshot, "No one's supposed to know about the box. So no blabbing to your father, Weasley."

"I won't," huffed Ron, indignant.

"To think I defeated a troll and can't even tell anyone," grumbled Draco, shaking his head in disgust.

"I wasn't just you," sighed Diana. Harry smirked.

"That's alright. I'm sure you'll have plenty of other times where you valiantly throw yourself headfirst into danger."

Hermione giggled, and Ron shook his head. "Honestly, Malfoy. You had a troll-killing box the whole time and still gave us grief about coming up here."

"Technically, it might not be dead. And besides, Father said this box has a one-time use. I wanted to make sure it counted."

"What could be worse than a troll?" asked Ron, aghast.

Diana began counting on her fingers. "Daphne and Pansy, dark wizards, dragons, those giant spiders that are supposed to live in the Forbidden Forest…"

Ron paled.

"Speaking of dark wizards, what kind of magic was that, Diana?" asked Hermione, lowering her voice to a whisper and surveying the rest of the hall to triple-check the first-years were alone. "I won't tell, I'm just curious since your spellwork in class seems a bit"-to her credit, Hermione tried to find a gentle way to phrase it–"lacking."

Diana felt like she did back in Amberton, when she accidentally messed up the school computer and caused the screen to go blue. "Um, I didn't do any spell…"

"Yes you did," insisted Hermione. "You turned into this…this black smoke! One second you were there and the next, you weren't."

Diana tried to laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "No I didn't…how could I? You know my magic skills are terrible. Maybe it was just the stress of the trauma that made you think I did."

There was something inherently disturbing about forcing Hermione to question reality, especially when she knew the girl was right. It reminded her of how Sarah's story was discredited and a huge wave of guilt washed over her.

But not huge enough to override her self-preservation instinct.

"You did seem a bit out of sorts," agreed Harry. "Not that anyone can blame you. First the troll, then the box—"

"I'm shocked at the amount of contraband that's able to get into Hogwarts," interrupted Diana, eager to change the topic. "Don't the house elves check the bags?"

"House elves?" asked Hermione, brows furrowing.

The group's chatter echoed in the empty halls as they continued to walk through the castle towards their dorms. Eventually, they reached the hallway that would lead to the portrait that granted entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Ron stopped, suddenly looking shy and hesitant.

At first, Diana thought he'd simply leave, but he surprised her. "I just wanted to say—er, I know I've been a real tosser lately…and, well, I'm sorry." The last few words were so quiet they were practically a murmur. "I don't know why I—well, that's all I wanted to say, really."

Tentatively, Ron stuck out his hand towards Harry.

"I didn't notice anything peculiar," shrugged Draco. "You didn't seem different from anyone else in our dorm."

Ron's shoulders slumped. Harry, at least, understood what Ron was getting at. He stuck out his hand, and Ron visibly relaxed as he shook it. Ron looked at Draco, who shook his head vehemently.

"You don't need to touch my hand, Weasley."

"Good." Ron's eyes drifted towards Diana, who gave a small, encouraging smile which he returned.

"Well," Ron said, clearing his throat and pulling at his shirt collar, "We'll be seeing you, then."

Hermione waved goodbye while reminding the Slytherins about the homework due tomorrow, and Diana was happy to hear Hermione and Ron having a friendly conversation as they walked closer to the portrait.

This was the start of something between the five of them. What it was, she wasn't sure, but it was something important.


The experience with the troll exhausted Diana, but not enough to go to bed without asking the question burning in her mind. Clutching the diary and draping the curtains around her bed tightly, she scribbled. Hi, Tom? Are you there?

Yes. It's nice to speak with you again, Diana. Or, as close to speaking as I can get.

Swallowing, she put her quill to the page, mentally preparing herself for any answer he would give. Before, you mentioned that I drew an Obscurus. What is that?

An Obscurus is a dark, parasitic force created when a young witch or wizard tries to repress his or her magic. It dwells within the host, emerging when the host loses control of their emotions and sometimes overtakes them completely. Since its presence poisons the host, it leads to an almost certain death.

Diana stared at the page for several seconds, dread weighing down her heart. Oh.

Even since Sarah died, Diana wanted to do the same. But facing this impending fate, she couldn't deny part of her wanted to live. Thoughts of Draco, Harry, and the incident with the troll played in her mind. The grandmother she wanted to see again, and friends from Girl Guides she wanted to return to. How could she do that dead? Is there any way to reverse it?

I don't believe so. Tears prickled in Diana's eyes. Is this simple curiosity, or is there another reason you're interested?

After a few seconds of indecision, she threw caution to the wind. It's me. I'm the Obscurus.

When Diana's tears fell, they seeped into the page.

Hush now, don't cry.

But Diana couldn't help it. The tears kept flowing as she thought about her mother's death and the obliviations of her grandmother and everyone else who knew her as Diana White. So much suffering happened because of her, and now there would be no chance of making it worthwhile.

Diana, you're not facing this alone. I'm here now, and you can always count on me to help.

Diana took the quill and began to write, unevenly, You said it leads to a certain death.

An almost certain death. There might be a way to help, but it may prove to be a bit… unpleasant. It involved gathering the blood of roosters.

That was enough to shake her out of her misery. I'm not killing roosters.

While I admire your compassion, the life of a bird is not worth more than yours.

Yes it is.

Which house are you in?

Diana knew what he was getting at. Slytherin.

I would have guessed Hufflepuff.

I wanted to be Hufflepuff. I used to be part of Girl Guides, and the Original Promise and Law says how we're supposed to be loyal, helpful, courteous, and respectful of all living things. Those definitely aren't Slytherin traits, but I guess I take after my father after all.

She drew a frowny face, which seeped into the pages along with the words.

Why don't you tell me more about your time there? I'd love to hear more.

And so she did. She spent most of the night writing about Girl Guides, her old friends, her mother and grandmother, Ms. Layla, and that horrible day when she first received her Hogwarts letter. She also told Tom about the troll attack, her brother, and eventually the truth about her father's brutality and her captivity in Malfoy Manor. Although Tom pressed about Abraxas, she said it would need to wait until tomorrow.

After all, she had a rough day and felt as though all the energy was seeping out of her body.