January 8, 2016 (Evangeline)
When the world stopped spinning and resolved itself around Eva once more, she found herself standing on a rocky outcropping, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The air was chilly and stiff, and considerably thinner than it had been a moment before. Eva couldn't see through the piercing darkness, but she imagined they were at a high altitude.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she turned to see the massive structure carved into the mountainside itself. It was a towering building of enchanted stone, an imposing black blight upon the natural landscape. She'd only seen pictures of the place before, in history books telling the tale of the First Wizarding War. Of the Dark wizard Grindelwald and his defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledore.
"Nurmengard Prison," Eva breathed in awe.
"Very good," Hermione appraised her, stowing the Portkey in her robes. "Shall we?" And the Minister led the way forward, along a perilous dirt path leading up to the prison. Eva followed, marveling at the infamous structure growing larger ahead of her. Using her Sight, she could see the complex web of magic encompassing the castle – a combination of enchantment wards and rune networks. She couldn't even begin to decode the magic protecting this place, nor would she waste time trying.
"I thought this place was abandoned decades ago?" Eva wondered aloud.
"It was," Hermione confirmed. "After Voldemort murdered Grindelwald in his cell. It was only operational to keep Gellert confined, so there was little use in keeping it running after his death."
"Who runs it now?" asked Eva.
"I do," Hermione said simply. "I set the protections myself, during and after the war."
They arrived at a heavy portcullis, blocking what appeared to be the lone entrance to the prison. "It requires a blood sacrifice to enter," Hermione explained. "Only my blood can be granted entry. But because you're my daughter, that should extend to you as well."
Hermione drew her wand and made a small incision to her forefinger, causing a trickle of blood to seep out of its tip. She motioned for Eva to do the same; she made the same cut, and followed Hermione's lead in placing her finger to the criss-crossing bars of the gate. As soon as her blood made contact with the rusting metal, the entire gate glowed white, and Eva felt her hand slip forward as though the gate was now immaterial. Hermione led the way, stepping directly through the gate as though it were not there, and Eva followed suit.
They found themselves in a narrow corridor within the prison, which snaked off in multiple different directions. "Most of the cells are empty," Hermione explained, motioning to the many rooms shooting off from the corridor. "I use them for storage and rune placement only. The top of the tower houses the only inhabitant. And I think you know who that is."
"Voldemort is here?!" Eva exclaimed. "And he's alive?"
"He is," said Hermione. "We needed a place to keep him securely, until we could hunt down his Horcruxes. He's been in that tower since the Battle of London, and will remain there until his death."
"But why?" asked Eva. "Why not kill him and be done with it, if he's so dangerous?"
"That requires a bit more context," Hermione sighed. "I want you to talk to him. Alone."
"Me?" asked Eva, alarmed. "A-are you sure that's a good idea?"
"As I said, it will be easier to show you than explain myself," said Hermione. "Are you ready?"
Eva could hardly say no. As daunting a prospect as it was coming face-to-face with the most notorious Dark Lord of all time, her curiosity would never allow her to decline. "I suppose so," she said.
"Mipsy!" Hermione exclaimed. There was a faint pop, and a small house-elf materialized from thin air, looking absolutely delighted to be summoned.
"Mistress Granger has returned!" the house-elf squeaked excitedly, practically dancing on the spot as she looked adoringly up at Hermione. "It has been many months since you last came! Is you doing well, Mistress?"
"Very well, thank you," said Hermione, gesturing to Eva. "Mispy, this is my daughter, Evangeline."
Mipsy's eyes went wide as she stared up at Eva. "Mistress Granger has a daughter?" she breathed in awe. "It is an honor, Miss! Your name is Granger as well?"
"No, it's—" Eva began, then faltered. She'd been about to introduce herself as Prewitt, but remembered it was a fake name, as was Thomas, which she'd learned only an hour ago. "Just Evangeline is fine. Eva."
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Eva!" squeaked Mipsy.
"How is the prisoner doing, Mipsy?" asked Hermione.
Mipsy's expression darkened at the mention of the prisoner. "Mister Tom is very weak," she said forlornly. "I forces him to eat, as you instructed, but he is not being happy about it. He mostly sleeps and meditates."
"Very well," Hermione said. "Mipsy, will you show Eva up to the top of the tower? I need to check on my runes."
"Miss Eva is to be meeting the prisoner?" Mipsy asked, looking worried. "Is Mistress Granger certain?"
"Yes, thank you, Mipsy," said Hermione. "Come and find me when you're both ready to leave."
"Right this way, Miss Eva!" said Mipsy, bouncing off down the corridor. Eva followed, nodding farewell to Hermione as the Minister walked in the opposite direction.
"How long have you been working here, Mipsy?" asked Eva as she hustled to keep up with the tiny elf through the winding corridors.
"Twelve years now!" Mipsy said proudly. "Mistress Granger purchased me herself from Diagon Alley. She insists that I take wages and vacations, but Mipsy is happy simply to serve such a great witch for such an important job."
"D'you work here alone, then?" Eva asked.
"There are two of us," said Mipsy. "Mipsy and Sora. But Sora dislikes humans, and prefers to work in the darker corners of the prison, cleaning and disposing of pests."
Eva frowned at this news. Two lone house-elves stood in between Lord Voldemort and freedom? It seemed inadequate to her – if she was in charge, she would have no fewer than fifty armed guards keeping watch of the man at all times. But Hermione seemed to have faith in her protection wards, so perhaps it was a waste of resources.
"We're here," Mipsy announced, coming to a halt in front of a spiral staircase. "The prisoner is at the top of these steps. Mipsy must hold onto your wand until you return."
"And you're quite certain it's safe?" asked Eva.
"Very," Mipsy nodded eagerly. "Mistress Granger has made the prison extremely secure."
"If you say so," Eva sighed. She pulled her wand out from her robes and handed it to Mipsy, who clutched it delicately with both hands.
"Mipsy will wait here," the elf said. Eva turned to the staircase and began to take it, slowly, towards the top. Her mind raced with possibilities, wondering what was in store for her when she got there. Would Voldemort react violently to her appearance? Would he attempt to coerce her into setting him free? She put one foot in front of the other, heart racing as she ascended the tower to its summit. When she reached the top and stepped out onto the landing, her eyes widened at what she saw.
She stood at the entrance to a large cell, taking up the entirety of the top level of the tower. There was no door separating her from the interior of the cell, but she could feel the oppressive magic in the air, the invisible barrier preventing anyone from entering or exiting the cell. She inched towards the threshold, taking in the sight.
The cell contained only three fixtures: a single cot, a toilet, and a lone lightbulb hanging overhead. At first glance it appeared that the cell was empty. But the gentle rise and fall of a blanket on the bed told her that it was occupied. There was a man sleeping there, so small and frail that Eva had almost missed him the first time.
Eva cleared her throat. "Erm, excuse me?" she called out.
The man stirred; he slowly pulled the blanket off of himself and lowered his feet to the ground, shakily getting out of bed. Eva stared as the man rose to his feet – he was emaciated, extremely thin, with pronounced cheek bones and loose-fitting clothing that betrayed a frail form beneath. He was balding, with pepper-gray hair lining the sides of his head, and dark brown eyes that blinked sleepily, peering across the room at Eva.
The man stepped forward, causing her to instinctively take a step back, but he paused in the middle of the cell, unable to approach due to the invisible barrier. Then, to Eva's surprise, he flashed a toothy grin.
"Ah," he said. "I thought I recognized you. But we've never met, have we? You look so like the last two people I've seen in this life. You must be their daughter."
"Erm...yes," Eva stammered. "I'm Evangeline."
"Evangeline," said the man, ruminating over each syllable. "A lovely name. 'Bearer of Good Tidings', if my Latin serves me well. Is that you, Evangeline? Do you bear good tidings?"
"Not for you, I reckon," said Eva, nonplussed.
"Bah; to be expected," the man shrugged. Then, he lowered his head in a slight bow. "Name's Tom Riddle. I've heard a lot about you."
"You have?" Eva asked, surprised. "I didn't think Granger would have told you I existed."
"Oh, she didn't," said Tom with a sly wink. "But your father did, just last year, when you arrived at Hogwarts. He's quite proud of you, you know."
"He is?" Eva asked, blinking rapidly. But she had too many other questions to dwell on this fact. "How did he tell you? He shouldn't be allowed inside the prison…"
"He's not," Tom confirmed. "And yet, he and I talk regularly. He is my lone source of outside information outside these four walls, and I have become something of a confidant for him over the past decade."
"I don't understand," said Eva. "How are you communicating? Do you have an enchanted mirror or something?" She glanced around the cell again, as though looking for said object hiding in a corner.
"You've heard the story of Potter's scar, I'm sure?" said Tom. "How I transferred part of myself to him that fateful night, all those years ago? It has forged a connection between the two of us, allowing us to speak to one another directly."
A random memory flashed through Eva's mind at that moment – walking into the Headmaster's office, seeing Harry slumped on the floor, talking to himself. Or was he talking to someone else? Suddenly his odd behavior made a lot more sense, if he was conversing with the (former) Dark Lord on a regular basis…
"But...you're supposed to be dead," said Eva. "He found the Horcruxes and destroyed them all."
"Yes, he did," Tom nodded. "Because I told him where they were."
"You what?!" Eva exclaimed. "I thought you hid them to keep them safe!"
Tom smiled sadly, nodding in confirmation. "I craved immortality more than anything else," he sighed. "I was willing to split my soul seven different ways to make myself invincible. But when I found myself here, in this cell, I wanted nothing more than the sweet release of death. I practically begged Potter to find them all and destroy them."
"And he did; I saw them," Eva nodded. "But you're still alive."
Tom smiled again, even wider this time. "Ah, hubris," he laughed mirthlessly. "I unfortunately sealed my fate with my actions in Godric's Hollow. Instead of killing baby Harry, I unintentionally split my soul once more, leaving a fragment within his scar and creating our connection."
"So that means…" Eva frowned. "As long as Potter lives, you live?"
"Ironic, isn't it?" said Tom. "I got precisely what I wanted, did I not? And yet, here I am, regretting every step I took along the way."
Eva saw the truth in Tom's words, the pain behind his eyes as he recounted this tale. She was having difficulty resolving this image with that of Lord Voldemort, the fearsome Dark wizard who had sacrificed his very soul in twisted pursuit of greatness. The Tom Riddle that stood before her looked old, tired, and defeated. She thought that if she were able to reach forward and give him a light shove, he would fall backwards to the ground.
"You regret murdering all those Muggle-borns, then?" Eva asked skeptically. "Regret breaking the Statute of Secrecy to subjugate the Muggles to your rule?"
"All of it and more," Tom sighed, shuffling back to the bed and sitting on the edge. "Somewhere along the way I forgot myself. I wanted to be strong and powerful once, to be renowned among wizards. But once I got that recognition, it wasn't enough. I had to destroy myself – and those around me – to satisfy my urges for power. It was foolish, so very foolish."
"So you accept your punishment, then?" Eva asked. "An eternity in this cell seems like a fair trade-off for all that you've done."
"Some might think so," Tom nodded. "But I find it needlessly cruel. Even I would not wish my fate on my worst enemies."
"Eternal life?" Eva asked, frowning.
"Step forward, Evangeline," said Tom. "Feel what I feel. Get a taste of the existence I suffer day after day."
Eva hesitated. Was this some kind of trap? Hermione and Mipsy hadn't seemed concerned for her safety, but had they accounted for her stepping within the rune field that contained Tom? But the man looked sincere enough, sitting placidly on his bed, and besides, Eva was certain she could defend herself physically if he did attempt some kind of attack.
So she inched forward, using her Sight to feel out the magical boundaries of the room. The barrier preventing anyone from crossing stood a few feet ahead of her, but the runes extended beyond that, keeping the magical currents at bay far beyond where Tom could reach them. Eva stepped into the liminal space between the two boundaries, and she shuddered at what she felt.
Empty. That was the only word to describe how she felt. It was like she was a fish, spending her entire life underwater, only to be abruptly forced into open air. Her core grasped for the magic that ought to be flowing all around and through her, but there was none to be found, held away by the runes surrounding the tower. Eva could still breathe, could still feel her heart beating and her blood pumping, but she felt on the verge of panic. Something was terribly wrong about this, something unnatural.
Eva stumbled backwards, beyond the rune border, gasping for air as though she hadn't breathed in several minutes. She felt the magic rushing back to her, responding to her call, and felt whole again. She hoped to never experience such emptiness again in her life.
Tom chuckled lightly at her plight. "Unpleasant, isn't it?" he remarked sagely. "Imagine spending your whole life with magic, breathing it, bending it to your will, then having it taken away all at once. Then imagine being forced to spend nearly thirteen years without it, stuck in a single room with nothing to do but think. Unable to die, unable to live. Would you force such a fate on anyone you know?"
Eva thought about it. Really considered the truth of her answer. "No," she said honestly. "You're right; death would be more merciful. But it's your own fault, is it not? Your quest for immortality made it impossible to die, or else this ordeal would be over for you by now."
Tom nodded. "A fair observation," he said. "I suppose this is my penance, then, for my many crimes. It is cruel and unfair, but then, so was I, in another life."
"Another life?" Eva repeated, arching an eyebrow.
"I look at the man I became, and I don't recognize him anymore," said Tom. "Lord Voldemort was consumed by hate, devoid of compassion. I don't feel like that person anymore. I am simply Tom, the boy I grew up as, before I destroyed myself."
"Is that supposed to absolve you of guilt?" Eva demanded. "Disassociating with the evil things you did?"
"Not at all!" Tom said, rising to his feet again. "Quite the opposite, Evangeline. I remember every crime I committed, every person I tortured or killed for personal gain or just sick pleasure. There is nothing for me to do in here but think back on them, reliving them again and again in my mind. And it sickens me. I wish I could go back to that boy of fifteen, on the precipice of making every wrong decision, and convince him not to make the same mistakes I did."
Eva studied Tom's face, and to her surprise, she found that she believed him. He was sincere in his grief, his eyes reflecting the pain he clearly felt. Was this why he was refusing to eat? Was he punishing himself for his crimes? Did he actually regret what he'd done as Voldemort?
He was a monster, Eva reminded herself. But that was just the thing, wasn't it? Was, not is. The Tom Riddle standing before her was a broken shell of a man, containing not a trace of the evil and cruelty he was known for. She wondered, if she were to put a wand in his hand right now and deactivate the runes, would he kill her? Or had he truly turned over a new leaf?
But then, it was good that Mipsy had insisted on taking her wand, to remove that temptation. Eva didn't know whether she could trust this man, if what she saw was just a facade he maintained in a desperate effort to be set free. She supposed, in his shoes, that she would try something similar. She'd heard rumors of Tom Riddle's childhood, of how charming and manipulative he could be. Perhaps the old man before her was the same old swindler, trying every trick in the book to earn his magic back.
"I probably wouldn't believe me in your position, either," said Tom with a sad smile, as though reading her mind. "Nor do I deserve it. But know this, Evangeline: I am truly sorry for what I have done. Whether that's worth anything to anyone, or will do me any good when I cross over to the other side of Death, well, that's not for me to say."
"Nor for me, I guess," said Eva. She was tired of letting Tom dictate the flow of conversation and decided to take a more direct approach. "Tell me, Tom: do you know what Potter is studying in secret? Has he told you what he has planned?"
Tom laughed at this question, not the reaction she expected. "Harry Potter reminds me very much of my old self at times," he said. "So young and ambitious, so full of ideas about how to shape the world. Will he succeed where I failed? Or will it lead him to the same ruin?"
"He's a better man than you were," Eva said, frowning. "He would never do what you did."
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Tom shrugged. "Dark magic has a way of corrupting even the most innocent of souls. If he walked The Path as I did, his soul could be just as damaged as my own. But I hope whatever he seeks brings him the happiness he desires."
"What is it he seeks, then?" Eva demanded. "He's told you, hasn't he?"
"Only hints," said Tom. "He will not give me the full picture of what he's after. But the magic he is studying is beyond even my knowledge. Even if I wished to help him, I could not."
Eva frowned. She had a vague inkling that Tom might be lying to her. But why? Did he know more than he let on about Harry's true intentions? And if he did, why would he keep it to himself?
"I suppose you're going to tell him I was here, then?" Eva realized. "That Granger brought me here?"
"Oh, but that would be no fun," Tom smiled cheekily. "Potter has his secrets he keeps from me; now I have one of my own. Just promise you will come back to visit me sometime? This conversation has been quite stimulating, and I can tell your mind is sharper than most your age."
"I will," Eva readily agreed. She didn't have much desire to come back here, but if Tom believed she would, perhaps he would keep her visit a secret from the Headmaster after all.
"Then until next time, Evangeline," said Tom, giving a wide, sweeping bow, "farewell."
"Goodbye, Mr. Riddle," said Eva, nodding politely to the old man before turning towards the stairwell. She made it to the top step before he called after her once more.
"Wait!" said Tom, pressing himself up against the invisible wall now separating them. "Will you...perform a bit of magic for me?" he asked, a twinkle of hope in his eye. "Just once? So I can see it again one last time?"
Eva considered the request. It didn't seem to be a trick – Tom Riddle looked like an eager schoolboy, or perhaps a longing junkie, desperate for a fix. She didn't have her wand, but she still ought to be able to perform a small bit of elemental magic. She doubted Hermione would be happy to learn she'd done so in front of the prisoner. But what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.
Eva closed her eyes and envisioned the symbols for light and fire. She could feel the energy in the stairwell shift as she called forth the required magic to produce her spell. She opened her palm face-up, revealing a glowing ball of white-hot light – a miniature sun suspended in midair. She gently propelled it forward through the air towards Tom, as close as she could get it to the man without reaching the rune boundary.
Tom closed his eyes, an expression of placid calm on his face. His entire body was pressed up against the boundary, willing himself closer to the glowing ball inches away from him, its warmth radiating through the protective enchantments and bathing him in soft golden light. A single tear ran down Tom's face as he basked in the glow of the conjured sun.
"Thank you, Evangeline," said Tom weakly. "Thank you."
Eva allowed the glowing orb to remain suspended in front of Tom's cage as she descended the stairwell and rejoined Mipsy at the bottom. Only once they made their way back to the entrance did she cut off her magical connection to the orb, allowing it to fade away as she contemplated what she had just learned.
This had not been the meeting Eva expected – she thought she was coming to confront Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard who ever lived. Instead she met Tom, a frail old man burdened by regret and battered by despair. A decidedly ordinary man, one whom she could not help but to pity somewhat, even knowing the atrocities he'd once committed – the monster he'd once been.
They found Hermione in a cell near the portcullis, eyes closed, muttering softly to herself as she ran her wand up and down the stone walls. Eva used her Sight to marvel at the quiet pulsing of magic as Hermione interacted with the wards, testing them, perhaps strengthening them further. Eventually Hermione opened her eyes and turned back towards them.
"Well?" she asked Eva. "What did you think?"
"It was…" Eva searched for the right words to describe the complex emotions she was feeling. "Not what I expected."
"I figured you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Hermione nodded. "Or assume it was some kind of trick. What do you make of him? Do you believe what he says?"
Eva thought about this, really considering what she had just experienced. For all of her expectations and fears leading up to the meeting – for all of her preconceptions about Tom Riddle and about Voldemort – she could only come to one conclusion. "Yes, I do," she said. "Does that make me a fool?"
Hermione's face broke out in a sad smile. "I believe him too," she said.
"Really?" asked Eva, surprised. "But...you knew him before! You fought against him! You know what he's capable of!"
"Exactly," said Hermione. "And I should know better than anyone that the man at the top of that tower is not the same man I fought all those years ago. The Voldemort I knew would have never expressed regret like Tom so openly does now. He would have rather suffered eternity in hell than admit weakness."
"What happened to him, then?" asked Eva. "Why is he so different now?"
"Think, Eva," Hermione urged her. "You got an 'Outstanding' in Dark Arts last year, did you not? Think back to what Krum taught you about the effect of Dark magic on the mind."
Eva pondered this. "He says that Dark magic can corrupt us, if we aren't careful," she said. "That it is almost sentient, and seeks to bend the will of the user towards destruction."
"Correct," said Hermione. "Voldemort spent decades immersed in the Dark Arts to build his power. Do you not think that had some kind of effect on him? That he emerged the same person that he started out as?"
"You think his mind was altered?" asked Eva.
"Undoubtedly," said Hermione. "Tom Riddle was always a cruel child, but even he could never have done the abhorrent things Voldemort did of his own volition. I think there was an outside force acting upon him, leeching off of him. Making him stronger but also more pliable to its own will."
"You think the Dark Arts were controlling Voldemort?" Eva asked.
"That is my working theory, yes," said Hermione.
"So then…" Eva continued, trying to connect the dots for herself. "Once you separated Voldemort from his magic, his mind went back to the way it was?"
"It would stand to reason, yes," Hermione said. "But it's difficult to prove. I would love to experiment by temporarily returning magic to his body, to see if the Dark magic regains its hold on his mind, or if thirteen years apart will have done enough to cure him. But it's far too risky to attempt."
"Cure him?" Eva repeated. "You think Voldemort could be cured?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "But I have to believe it's possible."
"Why?"
"Because I fear the same thing has happened to Harry," Hermione sighed. "He too has dabbled in the Dark Arts for longer than most wizards have ever dared. And it's affected his mind as well. I've seen it myself, with the Sight."
"So, what, you intend to put Potter in one of these cells?" asked Eva. "To try and remove the Dark magic from his mind?"
"No, I do not think he would appreciate that much," Hermione chuckled. "But I have been researching other ways to free his mind. And I'm close, Eva. I'm so, so close."
"Close how?"
"I developed a potion, with the help of President Rodriguez," Hermione explained. "This Muggle health formula was just a front to fund the research for it."
"What does the potion do?" asked Eva curiously.
"In theory, it operates similarly to an Occlumency barrier. It detects foreign interference to the brain and removes it."
"Brilliant!" said Eva. "So why not test it on Potter?"
"I have," said Hermione. "And it works – temporarily. The potion lasts for a couple of hours, but then the Dark magic always finds its way back to the host. I don't know how or why it happens. But I will solve it. There must be a more permanent solution."
"And you think Potter would agree to it?" said Eva skeptically.
"You have never met the true Harry Potter, Eva," said Hermione. "You've only seen the version that has been ensnared by the Darkness. He's paranoid, ruthless, and destructive in his worst moments. He is good at hiding it, but I fear if it wasn't for you, he would have already succumbed to the worst of it and done something terrible.
"But oh, you should see him when the potion is active and his mind is clear!" Hermione went on passionately. "He's scared, Eva. He won't admit it, but he knows what he's doing is irrational. He wants to be free of it. But when the effects wear off and the Darkness seeps back in, he'd never admit it – he's too proud, too paranoid. And I shudder to think what such a corrupted mind would do with the power that becoming Minister of Magic would bring him."
"But what if there is no cure?" Eva demanded. "What then? If the Dark magic cannot be removed from his mind, what will you do?"
"Let us hope it does not come to that," Hermione said grimly. "For now, I must soldier on and believe it is possible. Tom Riddle gives me hope, and that's enough to keep me going."
Things suddenly made a lot more sense to Eva. Hermione wasn't just trying to help Muggles to build her own reputation – she was secretly trying to prevent the rise of another Dark Lord. And if she lost the upcoming election, she could very well have failed.
But what did Harry want with the job? Tom knew; Eva was certain that he knew, and he would not tell her. Did that mean that Harry's goals aligned with the former Dark Lord? No matter what Hermione said about the Tom Riddle sitting in that cell, Eva would never trust him. She knew now just how dangerous Harry Potter was capable of becoming. And, by the same token, how he could be saved from himself, if Hermione was able to find the solution to her conundrum.
"Well, it has gotten rather late," Hermione said, checking her wrist watch. "We'd better get you back to Hogwarts before someone notices your absence."
Eva yawned; she had only been away from the castle for a couple of hours, but it felt like she'd aged weeks in that time span. Hermione led the way out of the prison and back into the chilly air of the Austrian Alps. The Minister handed Eva back the mirror-Portkey that had gotten her into this whole mess in the first place.
"One last thing," said Hermione, reaching into her robes. She withdrew a small vial, filled with a swirling white substance – not quite liquid nor gas. "My memories, from the only time I was in the Department of Mysteries, in my fifth year. I've viewed them many times, hoping to learn something new about what Potter might be after. Give them a look yourself, and see if anything catches your eye."
Eva accepted the vial and put them in her pocket. "Thank you," she said, and she meant it. She could only imagine the trouble Granger would be in for sharing such classified secrets about the Department. It was a small gesture, but one that went a long way towards building trust.
"Well, off you get, young lady," Hermione winked. "You know the password."
Eva looked down into the mirror once more. "Granger," she said aloud, realizing now that it was a name she might have been given in another life, another set of circumstances. She felt the familiar jerk behind the navel as the Portkey brought her back to Hogwarts, depositing her in the Room of Requirement just as she'd left it.
Minutes later, Eva had snuck into her dorm without notice and crawled into bed, mulling over the night's events. It was too much to process all at once – her true parents, Voldemort, Dark magic and cures, the Department of Mysteries and so much more – so she did her best to shut it all out and get some sleep. The weekend lay ahead of her, promising two free days to sort through her jumbled thoughts. She could figure out a path forward on Monday.
But sleep did not come easy to Eva. She could not shake off the chill she'd felt stepping through the barrier into Tom's cell, cut off from magic for the first time in her life. It felt claustrophobic and wrong, like she was a fish out of water, desperate to breathe. Could she live a lifetime without magic? Would it erode her sense of self-worth, or could she cope with the thought of being ordinary? She once thought she could, but she was no longer so sure. Eventually exhaustion overcame her, and she fell into an uneasy slumber, thoughts of Dark wizards and even Darker minds parading through her dreams.
