Scala ad Caelum

by GRND

Ages ago, a wizard known as Herpo the Foul defied Death and doomed the world and those who were yet to be born. His ambition was put to an end, yet briefly, for the events of the past are bound to happen again as the ages come and go. It is in the present age, as Voldemort's reign of terror is deemed as over, that the Wizarding World would understand the story had yet to finish.

28. Chapter 26 - The Heir of Slytherin

Chapter 27 is finally out! I took a few weeks off writing because I just didn't feel like it, but as it always does, the motivation found me back.

1. This chapter is divided into two parts, of 10K and 9K words respectively. I didn't want to finish the chapter without writing all the scenes I had planned for it, but since this is the longest one so far, you people can either read it in one go or stop between parts.

Hope you all enjoy it!

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Scala ad Caelum

Chapter 27: The Heir of Slytherin

Part 1: The Calm before the Storm

Ronald Weasley POV

Tuesday 29th March 1993 (Slytherin dormitories, Hogwarts) - Early morning

For the second day in a row, there were no nightmares.

Still, under the penumbra of the night, Ron thought about what he had done for the hundredth time. It was necessary, he reasoned. I don't know what she really wants from me. Until I do, I can't just follow her orders when they might be poisoned in the long run. Had he acted a bit rushed? Probably. Had he taken the correct decision? Only time would tell, but he bloody hoped so.

Ron had felt a bit empty since he parted ways with Gerd. However, deep inside him, the boy could still feel that weird connection that linked the both of them. It was faint, but it was there.

Why?

During their argument, Gerd hadn't looked worried, disappointed or even hurt—her face and behaviour had been cold as ice. She let him go as soon as he was finished… If he was so important for her and her mission, why didn't she stop him? Maybe, I knew nothing about her… Maybe, her real self was the one who showed me all those visions last year, not the version who posed as my friend…

The Alarm Charm pulled him out of his thoughts. With a tired sigh, the redhead got up so the noise could stop—those charms were as useful as they were annoying. He got dressed up and marched towards the Great Hall to enjoy a nice breakfast.

It had happened at some point without him noticing it, but what started as a very difficult and stressful year had turned into a very monotone one. The elf who visited Harry? There hadn't been a single trace about him after the move he pulled on the Quidditch game. The looming threat he warned the boy about? It had been silent for months. The Ministry's intervention and the new measures taken by the Headmaster? The students were already very used to them…

Every day, he would woke up to repeat the same routine; firstly, he'd have breakfast as first thing in the morning, then he'd attend the classes, after that came launch time, then another period of class, and lastly, after finishing the homework, he'd use all his free time to try figuring out how the Heir's mind worked—they were pointless efforts, of course.

Ron and his friends waited and waited for the Heir to strike, but even the classes and the upcoming exams had taken over their minds. Why had he disappeared? It didn't matter how many times the redhead thought about it, there wasn't an answer to that question. Hell, neither Riddle could find one.

"Look, that's Warren," Riddle's voice echoed around the crowded classroom of History. "She's the muggle-born girl the Heir murdered."

For the past two days, they had revised those memories he thought to be important, trying to find any similarity between the current and former opening of the Chamber… But there was nothing; not even a single detail of importance. How the Heir acted fifty years in the past had nothing to do with the events of the present.

"She looks familiar," Ron said after a few seconds of staring. "I swear I've seen that face somewhere else."

"I doubt it," Riddle snorted as the colourless classroom disappeared. The redhead found himself back in his bedroom as soon as he opened his eyes. "Warren had a very ordinary face; a bit on the ugly side, of course, but a very easy one to recognise."

That might have been true, but still, those round glasses over that plump face remained in his mind after the memory ended. "Once again, we finish our little expedition with no results," the voice of Tom now echoed in his mind. "Do you think your friend was able to find something of interest? She might have been luckier than us."

"Who are you talking about?" Ron replied with a raised brow as he lay back on his bed.

"Your friend Hermione, of course," Tom said with a bit of exasperation. "Not counting you, she's the only one of your group who has a bit of initiative. You got into a fight with her a few weeks ago, and then she put all her efforts into investigating the Monster of Slytherin, don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron sighed. "Well, to be honest, I don't bloody know since we haven't talked since then. Hermione doesn't even look at me when we cross paths in the corridors. If she's expecting me to apologise when she is as guilty as me, then she's delusional."

"Don't you think that attitude of yours will only cause problems within the group?"

"Weren't you the one to tell me to show some pride?" Ron argued back.

"Not that kind of pride," Tom let out a very exasperated sigh. He seemed ready to continue the monologue, but out of the blue, a piece of parchment appeared at the end of the redhead's bed under a little cloud of smoke.

What the hell? As curious as he was surprised, the boy extended his arm forward to grab the note. There, with black ink and a very stylized handwriting, was written a short message: 'Come to my office right now, Mr Weasley; signed by Severus Snape'.

His first reaction was to read it a second time, then, he got scared. The hell have I done to deserve this? Ron thought about the possible reason behind that note, but he found none. He was performing rather nicely in the classes—in his opinion, much better than at the start of the year, when Tom wasn't there to help him.

After three minutes of staring at the parchment, the redhead decided to walk out of his bedroom to answer the summon. In his way, when he first stepped into the common room, Tracey raised a hand in the air to get his attention. 'Come here', her lips seemed to say in a silent shout.

The place was as crowded as it had ever been, with a great number of older students preparing their final exams in a storm of whispers. Had a second-year girl shouted over the atmosphere of concentration it would have turned her into the perfect objective for those stressed students to vent their frustrations on. It had been a good call on the brunette's side, however, it meant that Ron now needed to waste more time to know what she wanted from him.

It wasn't a good idea when Snape waited for him in his office.

Taking a last gulp of air, Ron made his way towards his friends with a rather quick strode. Blaise was the first one to notice it. "Are you in a rush?" The black boy asked with a raised brow.

"You could say so," Ron replied, not even bothering to take a seat. "Do you need anything from me?" He asked the girl.

"Well, I wanted a bit of help with the last class of Charms, but if you are in a rush…" Tracey said. "By the way, why are you in a rush? If you are, of course."

"Snape has just summoned me to his office," the redhead told his three friends. The moment those words left his mouth, they all turned their eyes on him.

"What did you do?" Daphne asked.

"Nothing," Ron answered. "Or so I think."

"Professor Snape doesn't call any student to his office for the sake of it," Blaise piped in. "You must have done something."

"I did nothing."

"I think you did," Daphne added as she dropped her quill on the wooden table. "Remember what happened in the class of Defence? The one in which you were supposed to practise the Disarming Charm but ended up fighting with Crabbe?"

"The one in which he tried to fight me, you mean," Ron interrupted her. "I just defended myself."

"It didn't look like that from the outside," the blonde went on, much to Ron's irk. "Look, I'm not taking that goon's side, but what you did back then wasn't something Snape would aprobe," she continued before he could open his mouth. "You do remember what Snape told us on our first day at Hogwarts, right? We, Slytherins, need to stick together; now more than ever."

He would never say it aloud, but Daphne was right; in most of the parts, at least. "Well, all that crap about sticking together is cute, but in case you missed it, it was Crabbe who wanted to make me eat dirt. I'm not gonna stand still as he tries."

"I never said otherwise," Daphne argued back once again. "However, you crossed a line, and now you must face the consequences." At some point in the argument, both Blaise and Tracey had decided the matter wasn't meant for them—since then, all they had done was to look at their two friends each time they opened their mouths as if it was a very fast-paced game of Quidditch.

Is she really on my bloody side? Ron was about to shoot back when Blaise interrupted him. "Merlin, can the two of you shut up?" He groaned. "You are making a scene." That made Ron look around.

Some older students were sending them pissed glares. Daphne instantly blushed and lowered her head after making eye-contact with a sixth-year girl who didn't look very friendly at all. Despite that, the redhead didn't shy away from the challenge, even if the fifth-year boy who glared daggers at him looked as if he could snap him in two without much effort. What are you looking at, bastard? I've faced way worse than you. Much to his surprise, it was the older boy the one to break the contest first. I thought so!

"Are you stupid or what?" Blaise called him out in a whisper. "Don't do that," the redhead listened to him with a resigned sigh. "Now, stop acting like a fool and run to Snape's office. I bet you won't challenge him like you just did with that fifth-year boy."

A shiver went down his spine—yes, Snape had a spot atop of the list of the scariest things in the world. Not even bothering to say goodbye, Ron resumed his strode to get out of the common room as fast as he could. On the way, as he practically ran through the empty corridors, he felt a weird sensation; as if there was someone staring at his back.

The redhead felt his robes' left pocket, but Tom's diary wasn't there. He had left it back in the bedroom. Bloody me, how can I be so stupid? I know Tom advised me to not depend so much on him, but I feel way safer when I'm carrying the diary! He increased the pace, but that weird sensation remained—a bit weaker, but it was there.

Snape's office wasn't far from the common room, but after a rushed walk, the redhead needed a bit of time to regain his breath. It would do him no good to face a pissed Snape with little blood on his brain. Good one, Ron, I'm sure Gerd would have approved it. He only needed an instant to regret that thought—the Essentia was gone. Gerd was a traitor and he couldn't trust her until her true objectives came to the light.

Ron knocked on the wooden door as he shook his head; a talk with Snape would certainly drive away his former friend from his mind, but he didn't know it was a price worth paying for. "Come in," the ominous voice came from inside. How the hell did Dumbledore hire you? You can't be a Professor with that voice…

But, if there was something worse than Snape's cold voice, it was his eyes—two pits of endless disdain, which, even in the Professor's best days, they'd make the mightiest of the trolls crumble in fear. However, today didn't look to be one of those bad days. In fact, much to Ron's surprise, Snape's face didn't show an ounce of rage. Just pure resignation written all over his features.

"Take a seat, Mr Weasley," the young man ordered. His voice came out as a barely audible whisper, and yet, the boy heard it perfectly.

Ron did as ordered and sat in front of the Head of his House. He managed to hold his gaze for a few seconds before averting his eyes to the side, where a boiling cauldron smoked a very sweet substance; the fizzling liquid was the only audible sound in the austere office.

"That's a very advanced potion a private customer of mine asked me for," the Professor suddenly said, making the student leap a little from his chair. "Can you recognise it just by the smell?"

It had a very sweet scent, but that was all. "No, Sir," Ron admitted, his eyes back on the Professor's face.

Snape ignored his answer and went right away to the important topic. "Do you know the reason why I summoned you here, Mr Weasley?" He asked as he crossed his hands over the large desk.

Ron gulped before answering. "I think it has to do with a little incident I had with Crabbe, Sir."

"I would not consider it as a little incident," Snape pointed out. It wasn't a cold remark like the ones he used to emit. No, it just was a cold statement, one the redhead couldn't refute. "Does the word fraternity ring a bell in that thick head of yours? Perhaps you have already forgotten the little conversation we had in this very same spot at the start of last year… Say, have you finally become a dunderhead?"

Oh shit. A few drops of cold sweat appeared on his forehead. "Fraternity means brotherhood, Sir," he answered after a few seconds of pause. "And no, I haven't forgotten the conversation we had."

"If that is the case, why are you here?"

"Because I fell into Crabbe's provocations and created a breach in the unity of our House," Ron replied. To him, it felt very unfair to be there, in that cold office, answering one question after the other as if he was some kind of criminal during an interrogation. But he needed to act cool and collected. It was the best for him.

"I wouldn't use the word unity to describe the current promotion of second-year, but you are right," Snape made a very faint nod of his head. "Sometimes you act like those dunderheads I hate so much, even if your marks and the compliments from some of the Professors prove it wrong. That is the real reason why you are here, Mr Weasley. Because, unlike Vincent, I actually have a bit of faith in you and your future."

"Vincent was the first one to act wrong, but you still followed him," Snape went on. "This is the second time you get into a fight with a year-mate. The first time it happened, I could understand it. Draco can be very…, unpleasant if he's in the mood, but I expected way better from you than to fall in Vincent's taunt."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ron apologised.

"Don't be sorry, be better," Snape hissed back. For a fickle instant, his eyes had shown the disdain the redhead had been expecting. However, it was gone as fast as it appeared. "Despite this incident, I still have you in the very select group of students who might be worth teaching. I won't have another mistake on your behalf, Mr Weasley. We are finished here."

With a single nod of his head as a departure, the redhead walked towards the exit. He felt like jumping on the spot thanks to the immense relief which shook his body, but he refrained himself—still, a silly smile formed in his face. Damn, I would have never expected for it to go so smoothly!

However, there would be a last surprise—a very pleasant one. "Vincent Crabbe will serve detention with me as punishment for his actions during the Easter Holidays," Snape's voice announced when the boy had his hand on the door's knob. "Don't make me regret it."

A sudden wave of mirth enveloped him. That's what you get when you try to mess with a bigger fish, ha! At the end of the day, the redhead stood victorious. On the contrary, the fool who thought he could take on him, was taught a new lesson.

Ronald Weasley wasn't a nobody whom stupid purebloods and their bigotry could take on.

---

The Forbidden Forest hadn't changed in fifty years.

Maybe it was because of the lack of colour Tom's memories presented, but no matter how much the redhead eyed the tall trees, he wasn't able to spot many differences when comparing it to the one from the present—perhaps, there were fewer trees in the area where Hagrid's hut would be built in a few years from that moment, but that was all.

With a quick shake of his head, the boy focused on the important matter; he was there to know as much as he could about the Heir and his Monster. In front of him, the sixteen-year-old version of Tom walked through the thicket with calculated steps. He tried to be stealthy, but not even him could prevent his feet from crushing the little branches in his path and the crackling sound they made.

Wand ready at hand, the student's subtle movements were only interrupted in those times he needed to raise a leg over a thick root—not counting them, the boy moved like a stray cat would do. Slowly but surely, Tom advanced through the forest, and soon enough, Ron found himself at some part of the castle's terrains he had never set foot on. It was far too deep for the students to be safe, but there, behind the safety of a memory, he felt secure.

"Trust me, I didn't feel so confident back then, even if my stride says otherwise," Tom's voice, the one from the diary, echoed around as if he had just read the boy's thoughts. "Most of the time, the impression you give to others is way more important than who you really are or how you feel at that moment."

It was a good point, and it reminded him of some of the pureblood crap Daphne used to talk to him about. In the end, even if it bothered him to admit it, the blond girl had been right all along.

"Why did you start this search if you knew that Hagrid's creature wasn't the one to kill Warren?" Ron asked. He could still remember the grotesque spider running away from Tom—hellish creatures like that one weren't supposed to be so big.

"That race of spiders has a name: they are called Acromantulas," Tom explained. "From what I read in a book, their existence goes back to the Ancient Times, but their number has been greatly decreased over time. That being said, it ain't such a rare creature; not in places like Hogwarts, at least, where magic has always been drawn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Ron replied as he suppressed a very traumatising thought. He just didn't say those creatures feel drawn to the school, right? I swear I'd set fire to the whole Forest if needed. Tom's past version suddenly came to a halt, and so did the redhead behind him.

The former student kneeled on the ground as if he was inspecting something. First, he slid his finger over the grassy surface, in which the sprouts reached ankle's height. Then, with a subtle nod of his head, pointed the tip of his wand at his finger. The effect was instantaneous. The digit, which looked to be damped by some kind of substance, glowed with a red, faint gleam. "I checked a trace," Tom answered the question in Ron's mind.

As soon as his past version resumed the stride, Tom continued the abandoned topic. "Acromatunlas might not be the rarest of the creatures, but still, never ever should one of them make a presence in Hogwarts; not with all the people who roam the castle on a daily basis. What does this information tell you?"

That was a habit of his, to introduce a problem to Ron and then wait for the redhead to solve it. It would help to prepare him for the future, he said. However, most of the time, those problems were so complex for his intellect that they only frustrated him. This time, it was no different.

After an entire minute of silence, Tom took the word with a resigned sigh. "I thought there needed to be something powerful or fearsome enough to drive that Acromantula into the castle itself, away from the Forest's safety. I just couldn't fathom the possibility of it being a coincidence. Such a relation needed to mean something, and only a fool would ignore it; the events were so well timed for them to not be related. Because of that, I decided to follow some of those beasts into the forest, where their nest was supposed to be. There, I might or might not find a thing about the Monster, but at least, no one would ever say that I stood aside as everything went to hell."

"If I had been you, that theory would have remained a mystery for eternity," Ron mumbled. A nest of giant spiders? Yeah, good luck with that one to whoever was brave enough to venture in.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Tom replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't get an answer," he confessed. "When I reached their nest, or the place where it was supposed to be, there were no Acromantulas there, and neither was there any trace of the Monster. There were a huge amount of regular spiders, though. In case you didn't know, the regular arthropods respect their magical counterparts a great deal. However, those that couldn't follow their escape had been left behind. It was a complete waste of time, but it was the best plan I could come up with after what I saw."

"Then, if you found nothing, there is no need for me to continue in this memory, right?" Ron asked a bit too quickly. "I hate spiders. Well, they also scare me a bit, but I really loathe them."

"This was supposed to be an exercise of deduction as we tried to discover anything new, but I guess you have a point," Tom sighed. He sounded a bit disappointed, and that made the redhead feel a bit down. Ron hated when he didn't meet other people's expectations—especially, if they had so much faith in him like Tom did.

A part of him roared in disgust; when would he stop being a coward? Ron stepped up and made a decision. "You know what?" The boy cut in. "Let's bloody go on. As long as I keep running from the spiders, I'll never be able to face them. If I need to see a swarm of them, I better start here, in the safety of your memory."

"I like that attitude, but I think it would be better to call it off," Tom said. If his ears didn't betray the redhead, his friend sounded a bit worried. "There is someone in your room."

Just like that, the Forest started to spiral around him. All that lack of colour suddenly turned into a flash of green; his bed's curtains, which had been closed all the time. Behind them, two shadows could be appreciated, even if he couldn't distinguish to whom they belonged. Great, just when I was ready to face the worst of my fears.

He had no idea about who the two intruders in his room could be since they made no noise, but there weren't many people who might have wanted something from him. Since I don't know for how long they've been there, I need to act as if I have been sleeping all this time. As he repressed a huge yawn—not a difficult feat, by any means—the redhead felt about the curtains until he found the spot in which they had been clasped.

With a sudden yank, he opened them. There, waiting for him, were Daphne and Blaise. The boy was sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the mattress base as he read some book; it had a red, leathered cover with the image of a cauldron and some herbs printed on it. Meanwhile, the blonde just lay on the bed with her arms crossed behind her head, staring at the ceiling as if some spectacle had been projected there.

"Ehm, what are you doing here?" Ron asked them as he scratched his left eye. Had his past self seen the way he feigned, he would have been very impressed—hell, even Ginny, the family's master in the art of feigning sickness, would have admitted how good of an act it was.

"In case you've missed it, the common room ain't the best place to hang around these weeks," Blaise snorted as he went onto another page of his book. "Daphne doesn't wanna go to her own room because Parkinson and Bulstrode are there, so here we are."

"Where's Tracey?" Ron asked as he got up. The carpet's fuzz tickled his nude feet, but it was a warm and nice feeling. He stretched his arms over his head a bit, and then he walked towards his bault—if his friends were to remain in the room for some time, he might as well do something to use time wisely.

"She's in the library," Daphne replied. "I don't know if she's by herself, doing homework, or with the Gryffindors, doing whatever the hell you are planning to do."

The redhead took a look at his few possessions.

There was a very polished chess table, a present from Daphne, which hadn't been used yet because of how expensive it must have been, on top of his second set of robes. Next to it, there was a little, wooden box with his old pieces of chess, which had been repainted by his sister as last Christmas' present. It must be under the robes… Yep, there it is. Ron's hand grasped a thick tome, another of last year's present, to be exact, from Gerard, a family's friend.

"What's that book about?" Blaise asked out of a sudden. In response, the redhead showed him the cover. "The art of Duelling and how it will help you to get better at magic," the black boy read it aloud. "I didn't know you were so much into it to have a book about duelling."

"I'm not," Ron answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was a present, one I haven't really used yet. It talks about some pretty interesting topics, but there are too many words for me to really enjoy it." He opened it and looked at the message written on the first page: 'property of Fabian and Gideon Prewett, get your greasy hands out of this book!' He couldn't reprimed a snort. It was a very twin-like thing to do. "Might as well do something other than sleeping, don't you think so?"

His friends hummed in response until he sat back on his bed. Then, it was Daphne the one to take the word. "Actually, we kind of wanted to talk with you," she started with a tempting voice.

It set all the alarms on Ron's mind. He hated when the blonde used that tone of voice; it meant a deep and often emotional talk. "We are worried about you," she continued, straight to the point. "You've been acting all weird since Christmas' holiday," Ron opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't allow it. "Wait a moment, let me finish, please. It's okay, we get it. You've been very stressed about the Heir and how to stop the mess he's caused, but…"

"This time it looks different," Blaise piped in with a tired sigh as he closed his book. "You've always got a bad temper. As soon as there is something bothering you, you get all moody and frustrated. Like you did after Christmas, when you and the others ran out of plans to reveal the Heir's identity. However, these past few days you've been far from that."

"We already talked about this a few months ago, do you remember?" Daphne added. "You'd stay all alone in your bedroom for hours and then come down all irascible and full of grunts for whoever dared to talk to you. Then that mood of yours was gone as fast as it had come, from one day to another. I also said that you could count on us if you needed it. It turned out you didn't, but here I am once again, trying to understand if there is something wrong with you and how can I help you."

"There is nothing wrong," Ron said with a soft voice. "Really. Even though I'm quite stressed about the Heir, exams and classes, I feel really good—better than I've felt in a long time, I must say. I just don't feel like…, interating so much with people lately. You've seen I'm not the only one stressed about the Chamber and school's life; in fact, most of the students took it worse than me."

"Listen, I believe you," Blaise sighed. "But we both know that ain't all. True, you look way healthier and happier than you did a few months ago, but there is a reason why you are spending so much time by yourself. You don't need to tell us if you don't feel like it. As you might have realised by now, I'm also very fond of my privacy and don't enjoy telling other people my shit," after that, both Daphne and Ron snorted quite loudly.

"However, I'm here because I know you'd do the same if it was me the one to act so moody," the black boy went on. "I have very few principles, the most prominent one being to not help others if they wouldn't do the same for me. But you are a good guy, and I've come to appreciate you a bit, so…, well, you know, all that crap about friends being for each other during tough moments and all of that."

"Dear Merlin, it ain't that hard to speak about feelings," Daphne sent her two friends an exasperated look as she sat up. "Every time we have a serious talk you get all flustered and start to mumble. Come on! Boys are incredibly dense," she huffed.

Ron tossed a pillow at her face. It impacted on her forehead with accuracy, with enough force to put an annoyed gesture on her face, but not nearly strong enough to cause her any damage. "Oh, come on, shut up," Ron snickered. "I'm totally fine, as you can see," then he adopted a more serious attitude. "If that moment in which I really feel overwhelmed by something ever comes, I'll let you guys know. That's a promise. But don't get your hopes up, though. We, Weasleys, are a different breed; we are a bunch of tough bastards!"

---

Harry Potter POV

Friday 9th April 1993 (Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts) - Middle of the afternoon

Silence enveloped the round table. Harry looked to his sides; on his left, Hermione mumbled nonsense in a frenzy, and to his right, Neville scratched the back of his neck as he let out a tired sigh.

"Come on, let's do this," Dean Thomas muttered. The muggle-born boy was sitting on a couch in front of Harry's, with Seamus Finnegan next to him. A wooden table stood between them, and over it, there were five sheets of white paper. "The sooner we get over this, the more time we'll have to finish Snape's essay."

"It isn't so easy," Hermione muttered by his side. No one seemed to hear her, or at least, no one paid much attention to the girl—after all, she had been stressed about the electives since the first rays of the sun fell over Hogwarts.

"Dean is right," Harry agreed as he wrote his name on the parchment. However, that was all. He had no idea which two subjects to pick among those in the list. For starters, Arithmancy and Divination didn't sound very interesting at all. On the contrary, Runes did, but it also looked to be a complicated subject, and the boy already had far too many courses to worry about.

"I'm taking Muggle Studies, that's a given," Dean said.

"Why would you do that?" Hermione asked with genuine curiosity. "You are a muggle-born. There is nothing to learn in that subject."

"Well, that's why it is such an easy choice," the black boy snorted. "Easiest outstanding of my life. What are they gonna ask me to write an essay about? How to use the underground without giving away that you are a wizard? Please, that even sounds funny."

"Didn't you say that you were also gonna pick it, Hermione?" Neville piped in.

"I mean, it must be really interesting to learn about how the Wizarding World sees us; how its people saw us throughout history; what do they think about our technology… Besides, I think I'm gonna take all the electives."

"You are mental," Seamus huffed. "Completely mental. How's that even possible, by the way?"

The girl didn't answer, in fact, for some minutes no one talked. They all looked at the parchments—some, like Hermione, were already writing on them, but others like Harry himself, still were pondering about the problem. It won't matter how much time I spend staring at the paper, I might as well close my eyes and pick the two subjects blindly. However, he snapped out of it rather quickly—this was a choice that would accompany him for the rest of his school life.

He didn't need another subject like Potions to make his existence even poorer.

"Hey, Neville," Harry whispered into his friend's ear. "Didn't you write to your family asking for advice? I would appreciate a piece of it, you know?"

"I wish I had it in the first place," he huffed in a low voice. "I asked more than ten people about it, and all of them answered something different. My grandma told me to never pick Divination, yet most of her relatives encouraged me to do it. The same happened with the rest of the subjects."

A sudden and loud bang echoed in the common room, followed by some shouts and curses. It scared Harry to death. "It's the Heir of Slytherin!" A first-year boy shrieked not far from them. However, it only took him to raise his head to find the source of the commotion.

Sprinting down the stairs which led to the bedroom came Fred and George, those crazy smiles of them plastered on their faces. After them, in a much slower pace, came Percy Weasley, who shouted at them to stop again and again. Soon enough the common room was filled with laughter—the noisiest people were the twin's friends. "I swear it was an accident, Perce!" Fred exclaimed as he ran past Harry's table. "I won't ever disturb you as you take a shit ever again!"

By the time Percy reached the end of the stairway, the twins already were out of the common room. "Those little…" the prefect cursed as he tried to regain his breath. He stopped near them, and Harry observed that his forehead was damped in sweat. Then, the older Weasley realised near to whom he had ended. "Oh, the second-years," he managed to say. "I need to collect the parchments with the electives you've selected. I already got those from Brown and Patil."

"Well, I'm sorry to deliver some bad news, but there is a problem about that," Seamus said. "We still have no idea on what to pick."

Then began one of the most boring talks Harry had ever listened to, and that was a lot to say given the fact he's had class with Professor Binns for almost two years. Play to your strengths, the redhead advised him to do. That would be lovely if he had one besides Quidditch, that was it.

In the end, he looked over all the subjects for the hundredth time—unlike the past tries, this was a quick one. Then he grabbed his quill and wrote the two electives which had caught his eye the most in that last review. He really hoped for Divination and Care of Magical Creatures to have decent Professors.

Someone who wasn't a fraud or who wasn't possessed by Voldemort, if preferably.

---

The next day…

There, sitting on his broom with the winds ruffling his hair, Harry felt invincible.

The game against Hufflepuff had started well enough. Angelina, being one of the best scorers in the school, had already struck thrice for them, which added to Katie's goal and Wood's incredible saves, had allowed them to take the early lead. While the field players gave it all to score a goal, Harry let the winds carry his movements.

The snitch had yet to appear, and so, the seekers limited their activity to gliding around. His rival was no other than Cedric Diggory, one of the most popular guys in Hogwarts—too bad for him that up there his looks and brains made no difference, not when Harry was in the zone.

It had been so long since he last played a game of Quidditch; how he had missed it! That state of focus in which nothing mattered apart from the snitch; the adrenaline knowing he was taking his Nimbus to its limit; and most importantly, the euphoria that would come as soon as the golden ball rested in his hand…

Diggory flew past him at a very high speed. It was another faint, like the past two tries. Below them, Angelina passed the quaffle to Alicia, who returned it to her in a rapid succession the moment her teammate surpassed the defender—pass and go, was called that play, one of the simplest and most effective tactics in the game.

Harry averted his eyes from the play to focus on his duty, but the snitch was nowhere to be seen. Gryffindor's stands roared out of a sudden; they had scored another goal!

Their hard preparation for the game was showing this morning. Wood might be a maniac of the game, a very passionate one, but he was an excellent captain and coach. Harry smirked up in the skies. His team was doing their part, and they had full trust in him to capture the snitch and beat Hafflepuff's best player. He couldn't let them down.

However, the result of that personal battle with Diggory would remain a mystery for the upcoming future.

Out of the blue, some very eye-catching fireworks, of a red colour, surprised them all; both players and spectators alike. Down in the field stood Professor McGonagall; if Harry's eyes weren't betraying him, she looked as pale as a ghost. He felt a shiver down his spine as he met Diggory's gaze. He also looked pale.

"What's the meaning of this?" Wood shrieked from the goals.

All his claims were silenced as the Professor's amplified voice echoed around. "The match has been cancelled!" She announced.

McGonagall didn't elaborate further, not as if she needed to. Quidditch's comeback had been one of the most anticipated events in Hogwarts in recent years. In those hard times they were living, the sport was one of the very few things that could light the student's spirits and show them the nightmare's end was near.

To cancel it would require… No, he didn't want to think about that.

As he went down to meet the other players, who were already circling the Professor, a lump was formed in his throat. Please, tell me I'm wrong. Wood kept protesting, but a single look from McGonagall shut him up. "There was an attack," she told them. "You all must go back to your respective common rooms. Mr Wood, I trust you to lead your housemates, and so I do with you, Mr Diggory. Please, stick together and don't deviate from the way."

Harry looked around and realised the stands were almost empty. Maybe it was due to the adrenaline of the game, or perhaps it was because of the news, but he felt too focused on his close surroundings—too focused that he didn't notice the grave look McGonagall sent him until she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Potter, I think you should come with me," she said.

For a moment, he thought she was blaming him for the attack, just as many had done for months. But hearing a direct accusation would have been much better than listening to the words which came out of her mouth. "It was Granger." He needed a few seconds to process it. "Mrs Granger has been attacked by the Heir."

Then his brain snapped out and the boy could do nothing but follow the Professor, too shocked to even think about what had just happened during the last minute.

---

Ronald Weasley POV

His head hurt a lot, as if a group of gnomes was tap-dancing on his skull. Merlin, can this bloody headache stop? Hell, he had even missed the game of Quidditch because of it!

The redhead sat up on the bed and moved his fringe out of his eyes. It felt a bit sticky and wet due to the bit of sweat that glistened his forehead. "I need to have a haircut one of these days," Ron huffed as he measured it. If left uncombed, the hair would fall all over his eyes and ears. He liked it when styled backwards, but it was reaching a point of being too tiresome to deal with on a daily basis.

He slapped his own face with enough force to wake him up a bit. Yeah, that's much better. That last nap had left him totally out! He looked under his pillow in the search of the diary. It was there. 'Do you feel better now?' Tom wrote as soon as he felt how the notebook was opened.

'Much better,' Ron replied. 'But I missed the game of Quidditch because of this bloody headache!'

'Well, I never liked that sport, so I can't say I really feel you here.'

'I guess not even you can be perfect, but don't worry about it, we all have flaws.'

'If you say so… By the way, I think we should stop spending so much time revising my memories.'

'Why?'

'Because I suspect them to be the main cause of your headache,' Tom explained. 'It also happens when a person spends too much time on a pensieve. Besides, we've already looked through the important ones and found barely nothing of interest. We can resume our search in the future, but we should take it much more patiently.'

Ron agreed with him. This last headache had been horrendous, one of the worst of his life! Hell, the last thing he remembered was walking through the corridors of a fifty years in the past Hogwarts, trailing some possible trace about the Monster, when the hammering inside his skull started. He also remembered the face of a person; bits of it, better said—to whoever it belonged to, the person had black hair, but even that was too blurry to remember it.

He was about to write an answer when dozens of voices reached his ears; they came from the common room. A bit puzzled about it, the redhead looked at the old muggle clock on his bed stand; a present from his father—he didn't really like it back then, but it turned out to be useful.

It still was far from lunch time; the game of Quidditch shouldn't have ended so soon. Unless that bastard of Harry has done it again, he thought. If someone can capture the snitch in a record time he's that one seeker. Ron wished he could fly a tenth of how well his friend did it, but that wasn't possible; neither was it necessary. He had come to understand he had talents others didn't have, so there was no need to be so envious of a not-so useful skill.

He jumped out of his bed and pulled the curtains out. Ron was halfway to the exit when the door burst open. It was Tracey. "Ron!" She managed to say between ragged breaths. There were a few tears in her eyes, and that set all the alarms on his head. "There was an attack! P-People says it was H-Hermione!"

He didn't know how to answer. "What?" Came out of his mouth. "That can't be possible," he muttered. "Are they…, are they sure of that? D-Did anyone see it with their own eyes?"

Only a strangled sob came as her answer. He stood in the middle of the room, completely frozen, as a crowd of curious students gathered around his bedroom's door. Daphne shoved some people aside to get inside to comfort Tracey, but he didn't pay them much attention; he didn't pay attention to anything.

The Heir is back, those words echoed in his mind. That bastard is back and he attacked Hermione… We lowered our guard too much. He wanted to curse himself so much, but he snapped out of it quickly. This was no time for lamenting. They needed to hit back and make that bastard pay for his crimes. In the back of his mind, Ron felt how Tom agreed with him.

Out of the blue, a hand was placed on his shoulder. Ron raised his eyes to see to whom it belonged. There, he found the sympathetic eyes of Daniel Williams. "Professor Snape is waiting for you at the entrance of the common room," the prefect said with a soft voice. "He told me that you are allowed to visit your friend, if you want."

Ron just nodded his head in response and walked out of the room. The people parted away from him as he walked through the crowd. He felt their eyes on him all the time; some had sympathy in them, others malice, but most of them just were there because of the sudden commotion.

They didn't care about a muggle-born being attacked by the Heir—they never did and never will, those spoiled bastards.

In no time at all, he made it to the entrance, where Snape waited for him. "Mr Weasley," he solemnly nodded his head, barely a perceptible gesture, to greet him. "Come with me and don't distance yourself." Just like that, he made out of the common room.

Ron followed him without uttering a single word. The corridors were dark and silent, just like the walk to the medical wing was. Ron felt a storm of emotions within him, but two of them reigned over the rest. Yes, he was scared, a lot, but he also felt a volcano of rage constantly imploding inside him.

He took his hand to the robes' pocket. There he felt the familiar bump of the diary; then he felt safe. As long as Tom remained by his side he had no reason to fear the Heir and its Monster. Together they were powerful… No, Tom was powerful, and he would keep him safe no matter what.

By the time he realised, the large doors of the medical wing were opened for them. Madam Pomfery was nowhere to be seen, but there were remnants of her recent activity. Some unused beds had been moved near the walls of the place to make some space; there were some frasks and towels thrown all over the white floor; and the worst of it, the section reserved for the petrified students was larger than before.

"Go ahead," Snape told him. "McGonagall must have just left." Those words sounded like a self-conversation, but even if they were meant for the redhead, he paid them no mind as he walked forward.

Ron opened the white curtains.

There he found Hermione, her eyes totally opened and glassy. For a moment, his mind tricked him into believing the girl was just asleep, but the constant expression of shock plastered on her face was proof of how far from being true his hopes were. He fell onto a chair next to her, and then he realised there was another petrified girl by their side.

She looked oddly familiar, but he didn't know why—maybe it was because of her long, dark hair, but it was too common to create such an impact in him. There was a prefect badge over her blue and black robes; she was a Ravenclaw. A double attack… He kept staring at the unknown girl; she really looked oddly familiar. Then a stabbing pain crossed his head and he had to look away. What the hell?

"As you can see, there was a double attack," Snape suddenly said behind him. "We've already asked Potter, Longbottom and some Ravenclaws who were friends of Mrs Clearwater, but none knew a single thing." He stopped for a moment to hand the redhead some small and portable mirror. "This was on the floor next to Granger. Do you happen to know the reason behind it?"

"I don't know either," Ron muttered. "I haven't talked with Hermione for weeks… We…, we had an argument." Ron felt really stupid then. He had been the one to cause that breach in the group. Maybe, if he hadn't argued so much with her, she wouldn't have been petrified.

By his side, Snape said some words he couldn't understand, too lost in his misery for that. "Snap out of his, Ronald," Tom's voice echoed in his head. "You have no blame in this. It won't matter how hard you try to put everything on yourself, it doesn't work… Trust me, I did the same."

Yes, the only culprit was the Heir of Slytherin, and he would atone for his crimes; both for those of the present and the life he took fifty years ago. But how could Ron capture him? That was the real question. One not even Albus Dumbledore could find an answer for…

"Ronald, I think there is something strange about this attack," Tom said in a thoughtful tone. "Give it a thought. Why the hell would the Heir attack out of a sudden after remaining inactive for so many months?"

Ron had no idea.

"We already suspected the Heir to be aware of us keeping an eye on him, and that along with the Auror's presence was our main theory about the reason why the attacks stopped," Tom went on. "Do you remember Hermione's intentions? She was very determined to find out any clues about the Monster… Well, what if she found something important? That would turn her into an objective of maximum priority for the Heir! Who had been inactive for months and suddenly attacked her!"

That theory made sense. It also made his brain snap out of its stupor. "The mirror that was found next to her…" Ron muttered in barely audible whisper so Snape, who had walked away at some point to give him a bit of privacy, didn't hear him. "Do you think it is also related to it?"

"As soon as the Professor mentioned it, one story came to my mind. In the times of Ancient Greece, the era when the wizards of the Ancient Times reached its apogee, there were some creatures called Gorgons." That name rang a bell in the redhead's mind—Gerd told him about Gorgons months ago, when they first discussed the petrifications. "One of them became very known, even for the muggles, who mythificated it; Medusa, that was the creature's name. In some legend, a muggle hero killed her by using the reflection of his shield to avoid its eyes, which were said to petrificate at the minimum contact!"

Reflection to avoid a pair of petrifying eyes… Yes, a mirror would do it. "I think you are onto something," Ron gasped. His heart beat much faster now, anxious with the possibility to finally find an answer. "If someone can find such information and relate it to the Monster of Slytherin, that's Hermione! The Heir must have been afraid of what she found, and he silenced her!"

Ron got up from his chair as if he had been whipped in the back to do it. With frenzied movements, he started to inspect Hermione and her clothes. "What the hell are you doing?" Tom wondered in his mind. Ron didn't answer, instead, he kept looking. There was nothing in her closed fists, and neither in her robes' pockets. The redhead even checked inside her socks, but he also found nothing.

"Think about it, Tom," Ron explained, his heart still beating as fast as it had ever done it. "This is Hermione whom we are talking about; she is always one step ahead of others when brains come into action. If she found something important, and we know it for sure since the Heir tried to get rid of her, she'd have thought of more than one way to tell us about it! Because she also knew her knowledge would turn her into a very dangerous person for that bastard!" It all made sense.

Then another thought came to his mind; one that completely froze his actions and almost made him vomit right there.

"Ronald, are you okay?" Tom worriedly asked. "You got quiet out of a sudden."

"The only ones who knew what she was up to…" Ron started, but he had trouble continuing. "It was us… Tom, only the five of us who attended that meeting at Myrtle's bathroom knew about it…"

He refused to believe it, but he couldn't stop thinking about that revelation. "Only the five of us knew," he muttered for a second time. "It was us…"

---

The next hours were very tough.

The students had been confined in their common rooms until further notice, and only the Professors and the Aurors were allowed to roam the castle. All the classes and events had been cancelled, and the firsts rumours about the closing of Hogwarts appeared.

In the morning of the day after the double attack, as the Slytherins had a late breakfast in the safety of the dungeons, Ron heard it for the first time. "There have been talks to close the school," he overheard the Head-Girl talking with her friends. "Nothing is confirmed yet, but it is a public scandal, and the pressure on the Headmaster is increasing with each hour the Heir remains uncaptured. Also, most members of the Board of Governors have asked for his dismissal."

Ron had been beating his fried egg for the past ten minutes, and those news didn't help him to relax. "Who would have thought Hogwarts could be closed," Blaise let out a tired sigh. He tried to mask it, but even the coldest person Ron had ever known felt very uneasy about the recent events.

The mood wasn't any better for any of the students from the second-year table. Tracey hadn't uttered a single word for an entire day, and Daphne was too busy keeping an eye on her to do anything else—still, from the few times in which their eyes met, Ron had observed how pale and distressed she looked. Nott looked as stoic as always; when he was on a good day, that's it. On the contrary, at the other end of the table, Bulstrode had refused to meet anyone's gaze by lowering her head—since he had never interacted with her before, Ron didn't know what to make of the plump girl.

Then there was Malfoy and his gang of goons. Much to his surprise, the blond boy had yet to make a cruel remark about Hermione; it seemed he wasn't very happy with the closing of Hogwarts. Ron sent a glare to Crabbe and Goyle, but the two idiots just ate breakfast without even caring about the other's presence.

Still, the redhead didn't care about their state. Not when there only was one thought in his mind. One of us has betrayed the group. Hermione was attacked because of that. That knowledge felt too heavy to carry it alone, but it was necessary. He couldn't trust anyone until they were proven innocent.

Ron really hated himself for it; did he really distrust his friends so much to come up with that conclusion so easily? However, it was a fleeting emotion. After all, he had already lived something very similar. If Gerd betrayed him, why couldn't others? Neville, Tracey, or Harry… Any of them could be under the Heir's control. They would never do it willingly, he knew that. But still, it was very dangerous to trust them.

He sent a sideways glance at Tracey, who was too busy taping her finger on the table to notice. She could have been controlled by the Heir without us releasing… She was the one to spend the most time with Hermione… The brunette finally raised her head to meet his eyes. She tried to smile at him, but Ron quickly looked away, almost unconsciously. Who could have been?

Harry had been playing a game when the attack happened—that reduced the chances of him being the culprit, but since the redhead didn't know how the Monster acted, it was impossible to cross that one name from the list. Am I really doubting Harry? What's wrong with me? He shook his head in disgust. However, the next thought wasn't different from the former. What was Neville doing during the game? He also spent a lot of time with Hermione when she went to the library.

A cold shiver went down his spine. For an instant, Ron swore he heard their laughs in his mind—they sounded way too cruel, almost unbelievable, but they definitely belonged to them. Harry, Neville, or Tracey… One of them was under the enemy's control, there was no other possible scenario.

Ron could only trust himself.

Throughout the day, the students left the common room to get inside their bedrooms many times; just as many as they did backwards. To be honest, he couldn't blame them. There was nothing else to do. Not even the exams mattered anymore. What was the point of worrying about them if the school was about to get closed?

What started as mere rumours had turned into evidence. "I'm not gonna lie to you since I consider every member of Slytherin to be mature enough to understand such grave problems," Snape announced to them that very evening. He had stormed into the common room out of a sudden, but everyone had shut up after realising who was the intruder who broke the peace. "Several talks about what to do with the school are being held as I speak to you—I know nothing, and so does the Headmaster. You must not spread any fake information or rumours, that's for the Gryffindors to do."

He stopped a moment to send them a very serious glare. "That being said, you are to be confined until further notice," the Professor continued. "That is all. Rest well and don't even think about abandoning this safe area."

Just like that, the man left the room and the doors were sealed after him for the rest of the night.

---

Part 2: The Storm

Jessie Sweeney POV

Sunday 11th April 1993 (Hogwarts) - Past midnight

Jessie banged her head against the thick wall of their office. It hurt like hell, but that had been her intention all along. "You are mental," Thomas sighed as he sat on a leather couch near the fireplace. It was a not-so-big office, but it had been home for the past months.

They had just finished the last patrol of the day, and they found nothing—just like always. But unlike the rest of the days, which had been pretty normal, this one hadn't been the case. There had been a double attack on their watch, and because of that, hell was about to get loose in the country.

"Shut up and give me that cup of coffee," Jessie replied, her usual and calm demeanour totally gone. Thomas slid a red cup across the wooden table and she grabbed it as she also took a seat. The blonde took a long sip. It was hot, maybe a bit too much, but she didn't care. "We've failed," she suddenly said. "There was an attack under our watch."

"There was nothing we could have done to prevent it," Thomas replied. "We tried our best, but three Auros can't keep a strict watch on every corner of Hogwarts." He paused for a moment to raise his legs over the table, then he looked at the window, which showed nothing but the darkness of the night—not even the stars were in the mood to light the night, hidden under thick clouds.

His posture looked way too relaxed for such a tragic day, but Jessie knew better. Her friend and partner was a positive person; even when facing hell he'd try to smile and joke about it. He once told her that losing composure was the most fatal mistake an Auror could ever commit—one could list many flaws about him, but no person would ever criticise how hard he tried to reduce others' anxiousness and worries.

Jessie tried to imitate him, but her eyes couldn't focus on a single thing. First, she looked at the wooden door of their comfy office, then to the flaming fireplace, next came the red carpet under their feet, and lastly, her gaze fell on the many reports which had been placed all over the table.

Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione Granger. Penelope Clearwater. Those names shared something: they were muggle-born students who had been petrified just because of their blood status. It was so unfair and evil that it hurt! Jessie managed to contain the many curses she wanted to let out by stomping her foot against the carpeted floor.

"Feel any better?" Thomas asked her with the hint of a smile on his face.

She just closed her eyes and took another sip of coffee. Then she repeated the stomp. "Yeah, more or less," she exhaled a tired sigh.

For some minutes, they fell into a comfortable silence. But it broke as soon as someone kicked the door open. By sheer instinct, the young Auror's wand was ready in her hand before the intruder could even step into the office. "By Merlin's sacred beard, you are psycho, girl," Fawley grunted. He wasn't the most appropriate person to say that, not when there was such a wild look in his face.

It freaked Jessie out. If there was someone who was supposed to act collected in every situation—more like not caring about it—that was Henry Fawley. "What's the matter?" Thomas asked as he got up from the couch. He shared the thought with her.

"Who the fucks knows," he cursed. "Anyhow, you two are coming with me. Don't ask me why, but the bloody Minister is here."

What? Fudge is here? The last time that fool spared a single thought about them was when he tried to bribe them into working harder; just for his own sake, of course. The last time that fool spared a single thought about the Heir of Slytherin and Hogwarts was when he gave that sensationalist speech of his; too many promises and so few resources to make them come true. If he was here that night, when a tragedy had just happened, that meant…

"Did he come here to close the school?" Jessie asked as the three of them made their way downstairs, leaving the warmness and safety of their office behind them.

"Don't think so," Fawley replied. "At least, I wasn't told that."

If so, what the hell is so important to make an appearance tonight? These questions would probably be answered in the near future, but as they walked through the dark corridors, a white light from their senior's wand as the only source of illumination, Jessie couldn't stop pondering about them. Half of her attention was put into those troubles, while the other half kept an eye for any danger that could roam the castle.

She was used to patrol Hogwarts during the night, but in this one the atmosphere looked way different, as if there was some heavy weight over her that refused to go away. It had appeared the moment she found the two petrified girls, and it had been a damn loyal partner since then.

Thanks to their quick pace, the Aurors reached the castle's main courtyard in less than five minutes; their office and bedrooms were on the fourth floor, so it wasn't the longest of the ways down. For once in her life, Jessie welcomed the night's cold winds, that along with the moon's feeble light, replaced the cramped feeling of those dark corridors which hadn't helped to reduce her anxiety at all.

Once they were outside, there only was a single light amidst the sea of darkness; it belonged to the gatekeeper's hut. It wasn't so late, but the gigantic man used to cease his activities after dinner. It struck her as odd. Fawley led the way there in silence, and his two juniors followed him. Wait, are we really going there?

From afar, in the confines of the Forbidden Forest, a wolf howled, but the boundaries near the old, wooden hut remained calm. "Sir?" Thomas started, but Fawley quickly shut him up with a grunt. Instead of answering, the man fastened his stride to reach the gatekeeper's house, there, he knocked on the door thrice before getting inside without receiving an answer.

What is happening here? As she stepped into the hut, one thing instantly caught her attention: the atmosphere was very tense. Already waiting for them, there were three men: the gatekeeper himself, Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge.

The Minister's forehead was a bit damped with sweat, and the first two buttons of his white shirt were undone; his elegant, blue cape long forgotten in the coat rack, next to the door. Hagrid was in a very similar state, but even worse. Now, on the contrary, the Headmaster looked as collected as always, but there was something off; a fire within his blue eyes that sent shivers down her spine.

"Oh, Henry, it is nice to see you," Fudge almost jumped from his seat in surprise. "Come here, my old friend. Come here."

The old Auror took a seat next to the Minister as his two juniors stood near the exit. In those situations their duty was to look for a good spot to watch the entire place. There, they would stand and keep an eye on everything and everyone—the two of them had no idea of what would happen in the meeting, but the atmosphere wasn't good, so their instruction kicked in quickly.

It didn't go unnoticed to the old Headmaster. "There is no need for such…, statement," he said as he observed the young Aurors with a side look.

"Oh, don't take this wrong, Albus," Fudge nervously laughed. "It's their protocol. They didn't mean to…, well, you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Don't worry," Dumbledore nodded. "Mr Greene and Mrs Sweeney have my complete trust and admiration. Fine younglings who studied here a few years ago. Some of the best from the promotion, I'd say." The words came softly out of his mouth, but his eyes looked as cold as before.

Fudge noticed it. "Let's get straight to the point," he cleared his throat. "It needs to be done, Albus. You know it as well as I do. Otherwise, the school will be closed before this week ends."

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that what you want to do won't help the situation the slightest," Dumbledore replied.

"Then, can you tell me what would help?" Fudge went on. His intensity surprised her, and from the other's look, they shared her opinion. "I'm under a lot of pressure, Albus, but it is even worse for you! The newspapers will ask for your dismissal in the morning's edition, and so will do the Board! We need to make a move, and this will calm the spirits until everything is solved. I need you here, Albus." He ended up muttering that last part.

You made far too many promises, Minister, and now they are coming back to bite your ass. His gamble to win the next elections had gone horrible, and now he was in a far worse situation than before.

Still, there were many details she was missing in that conversation. What could the Minister do to fix the situation? Why did that solution of his had the ever-calm Dumbledore so angered? And most importantly, why the hell was such an important meeting being held in the little hut?

"And to prevent that, you want to put an innocent man in Azkaban?" Dumbledore said. "That is not the way, Cornelius."

Fudge cleaned the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand before getting some papers out of his robes. "Hagrid's record speaks against him. Hell, the matter was never solved! For all I know, there never was a solid proof of his innocence!"

This time, Dumbledore didn't answer; he didn't need to. He just let his magical aura loose. Jessie could only suppress a gasp in response; half surprised, half terrified. That had been a clear warning for the Minister to not go that way; in other words, it was a threat. One which, with the law in hand, needed to be punished. Yet no one dared to move a finger.

There was a pressure enveloping the room and the people inside of it; the magic of the so-called Great Sorcerer. God, I've never felt any aura this intimidating. Jessie gulped and tried to stop his shaking hand, which didn't even dare to grab her wand.

Fortunately, the pressure ended as fast as it had come. "Hagrid won't be a scapegoat," Dumbledore stated in a calm voice. "We must be better than that, Cornelius. I will be loyal to Hogwarts and its people until the day I'm gone. As the Headmaster, it is my duty, and, as far as I know, that position still belongs to me. We should be discussing other matters, those of a higher importance, before the Board comes up with the petition."

"Please, Albus, you need to understand I'm doing this for your sake," Fudge almost begged. "Without this, you'll get fired as soon as the sun comes out this morning! That can't happen! If there is someone who can stop this mess, that is you. Please, hear me out."

Suddenly, the door opened.

Jessie grabbed her wand and turned around, there, she found the hateful face of Lord Lucius Malfoy. "Get that wand out of my face, girl," the man grunted as he moved it away with a slap of his hand. Then he looked at everyone. "I see you are already here, Cornelius. Good."

"Don't you dare to step into my house," Hagrid growled. It was the first time he opened his mouth since the conversation started, but his nervous character was totally gone. He looked furious.

Dumbledore just raised a hand in the air to stop him. The man sat back without further ado.

If the tension had been almost palpable before, now it was much worse. "Lucius, what are you doing here?" Fudge asked as he stood up from his chair. "You… I mean, what's the matter?"

The pureblood Lord stepped inside. He sent Jessie one last look of disgust. "I came here to fulfil my duty," he said with a bow of his head. "The Board of Governors has decided. As of today, Albus Dumbledore is not the Headmaster of Hogwarts," as the words came out, a smirk formed on his face. On the contrary, neither Hagrid or Thomas could suppress a gasp. "The proposal of cease has been approved by seventy percent of the Governors. Law in hand, we have the power to do whatever we deem necessary to protect the school and the students. Am I wrong?"

Fudge and Hagrid spluttered their discomfort—the Minister looked as lost as a toddler, all sweaty and nervous, while the gatekeeper looked about to grab the Lord to toss him out of the hut. Yet Dumbledore calmly stood up. He seized his beard and nodded his head in defeat. "If that was the decision they took, then I will leave the school."

This time, not even Jessie could hide her shock; that couldn't be happening! Without the old Headmaster, there was nothing to do against the Heir—Lord Malfoy had just handed him the school to do what he pleased!

"However, matters of this calibre always take time to be solved," Dumbledore continued. "I think we can all agree that bureaucracy is such a nuisance!" He sounded amused, but that smile of his had yet to reach his eyes. "If we are fortunate enough, a new Headmaster could be appointed in the next fifteen days; if the process goes as smoothly as possible, of course. Now, I'm sure the Board will agree with me on this: the school must have a leader in these tough times."

His smile disappeared as his eyes set on Malfoy. "I will leave the school as soon as my replacement is announced," the Great Sorcerer stated. Those words left no room to argue. This wasn't a proposal, it was a declaration of intentions.

Oh, shit. This sure is gonna mean problems! Lord Malfoy's smirk had been erased from his face. "Let me get this straight, Dumbledore," the man said as his left eye twitched a few times in rapid succession. "You are implying that you will not leave the school even after being officially ceased, am I right?"

"Take it as you will," the Headmaster replied. "But I will carry out my duty to Hogwarts until my last day. I will not abandon the school to its luck until an adequate replacement is set." He turned to look at the Minister. "Even though the Board has all the rights to terminate me, I'm sure there is a solution we can find for me to stay here until the elections are carried out, right?"

Cornelius looked speechless. "Ehm, I mean, I don't want you gone in the first place, Albus."

"The faith you have in the great Albus Dumbledore is laudable, Cornelius," Malfoy said with a silky voice—the one which allowed him to become one of the most powerful men in the entire country. "But I'm sure you understand how disappointed with him are the people of our great nation, right? He failed to carry out his duty as the Headmaster, because of that, it is time for him to step out so a new person, one qualified enough, can face this threat the Heir of Slytherin entails."

Jessie wondered if the Auror's presence was even needed. The three men had yet to look at them once, and it wasn't as if a fight would break out anytime soon—in the case it happened, it would be because of Dumbledore, and then a hundred Aurors would be needed to stop the man.

"Yes… Yes, I see you point, Lucius," the Minister muttered as he pulled from the neck of his shirt. He had fallen in the pureblood's claws once again. "But you need to understand how fragile my position is. Albus is right about one thing: we can't leave Hogwarts without a Headmaster… Yes, the backlash on me would be terrible."

That last part came out in a whisper, but Jessie was close enough to hear it. It was a hard feat to accomplish, but Fudge disappointed her a bit more.

However, the Headmaster seized his opportunity. "Give me one week, Cornelius," he said. "That is all the time I need to capture the Heir of Slytherin. If I fail, then my successor will be free to try as he pleases; if the school ever opens again, that's it. If I come up victorious, then your program will be proven as a success; you'll have a great advantage over your rivals. Think about it, my old friend."

For once in her life, Jessie felt a bit of sympathy towards Cornelius Fudge.

There he stood, a very simple man, as the prey of two incredibly intelligent and manipulative wizards—as if there were two invisible ropes pulling from the Minister's mind. He looked palid. "I…, I really trust you, Albus, but Lucius is also right," he spluttered. "If you've been terminated, there is nothing I can do to stop it unless the decision is reversed…"

Out of the blue, the gatekeeper took the word. "If you grant the Headmaster's petition, then I'll offer myself to you," those were hard words to pronounce. Proof of that was the silence which enveloped the room after them. "I-I'll go to Azkaban if necessary, but please, you need to give Professor Dumbledore one last chance."

Jessie looked at the giant man with new eyes—this was an action of pure courage and trust, one very few men would be able to make. She really felt sorry for him and for what was to come. After all, she had been called there to arrest a good man. It all made sense now.

"Why do you think the Minister wants to put him in jail so hard?" Thomas whispered in her ear. "I mean, he said the reports didn't speak in his favour… I'm bloody lost here."

She felt the same, but the female Auror kept all her focus on the important conversation. It wasn't her place to know all the information. All she needed to do was carry out the orders from her superiors.

"Hagrid," Dubledore called with a soft voice. The fire in his eyes had also disappeared. "There is no need for that."

"Don't worry about me, Professor," the gatekeeper replied. He tried to look strong, but his voice quivered. "Take it as a brief holiday for me to rest!" He paused for a moment; the words didn't seem to come out. "J-Just make sure that someone takes care of Fang; the lazy bastard is like an old baby." He raised his eyes one last time. "I trust you to prove that I'm not a bad man, Professor. I'll wait as much time as you need."

Now it was Jessie the one to have a gulp in his throat. She really hated that part of her job.

"I promise," Dumbledore said as he placed a hand on the giant man, who was now sitting on his bed; his body had started to tremble. Without even looking at the Minister, he continued. "When I capture the real Heir, Hagridd will not only be freed, but he also will be excused from all the charges of the past. And the entire world will know about it," now he turned to stare at the plump man. "Because I'm sure The Daily Prophet is going to declare him as the culprit this very same morning."

Fudge avoided the Sorcerer's eyes. "Ehm, well, if all it's settled, then why don't we move to your office so we can sign the papers, Albus?" Cornelius tried to break the heavy atmosphere.

Lord Malfoy let out an annoyed huff as he stepped out of the hut. Look at him, that clever bastard even know when it's the perfect time to admit defeat. Truth to be told, he hadn't even lost—Dumbledore would be terminated as soon as an adequate replacement was found and the gatekeeper had a cold bed waiting for him in Azkaban. It was a victory, but not a total one; a stain in his pride.

The Minister almost ran after him, while Dumbledore took a few seconds to squeeze Hagrid's shoulder before stepping out.

The crackle from the little logs of the fireplace was the only audible sound in the hut; four persons remained inside, but none felt the need to talk. Not until Fawley broke the silence. "Okay, let's get over this so we can put an end to this shity day," the veteran Auror sighed as he stood up from the chair. He turned to look at his two juniors. "Greene, you are coming with me. Sweeney, you are the one tasked to take this man to the Ministry; use the floo network from our office. I trust you to act as you deem necessary if this man tries something funny."

"Yes, sir!" The two of them exclaimed.

They left the wooden house, so the uncomfortable silence came back one again.

The gatekeeper got up from the bed, which cracked in relief as the heavy weight stood up, to walk towards the old piece of carpet in which the boarhound slept—she didn't know how, but it had remained asleep during the entire meeting. "Well, I guess I'll see you soon," the gatekeeper muttered as he padded its head. He might have been able to suppress the tears, but there was nothing to do against the sniffling. Hagrid took a last gulp of air; an encouraging one. "Okay… We can go now."

Jessie brought her Auror facade back; her face hardened and the grip on her wand tightened. "Let's go," she nodded. "You walk in front of me all the time. I'm sure you already know this, but I'm allowed to use defensive magic at the minimum sign of strange movements. So, please, don't make this harder than it already is."

He nodded and led the way out of the hud.

Quite easy so far. I wish all the detentions were like this! The man suddenly came to a halt. Jessie pointed her wand at the giant man. Oh, come on, don't do this to me! She didn't even know if a regular stunner was powerful enough to take down such a big man—hell, judging by his size and strength, he could literally be a half-giant! "Keep walking," she ordered, her eyes not leaving the man's form for a single instant.

He started talking. "If anyone wanted to find some stuff, all they'd have to do would be to follow the spiders. That'd led them right! That's all I'm saying!" The gatekeeper turned around to send her a sideways smile, but she had none of that.

With a flick of her wand, a bunch of light ropes, of a bright white, coiled themselves around the man's limbs. Then they anchored to the ground. "I said no funny business, bloody hell!" Jessie cursed. That had been a message. There was someone else nearby!

Jessie expanded her magical aura as much as she could, but she felt nothing. It left her a bit surprised; whoever was out there knew how to conceive her presence. So, you wanna play hide and seek, eh? The Auror upped the level. "Homenum Revelio," she chanted. The spell scanned a big area around them, but it also failed. "What the hell?" She couldn't help herself but mutter in surprise.

There is no one here. She was very confused—to whom had been directed that message? Was it to her? No, that's not possible. She worked for the man who had just sent him to Azkaban, one of the worst places on the entire planet; there was no way for it to be meant for her. Jessie sent one last look around before her eyes set on the gatekeeper once again. Then she cast the bindings away. "Come on, start walking."

The man tried to answer, but his voice didn't come out. He looked at her with a surprised look. "If you have no intention to remain silent, then I will make sure that no more coded messages are said to whoever the hell they are directed at," she sighed. "I tried to be kind and you took advantage of it. I will not repeat again: walk towards the castle."

Finally, he complied.

What does this man have to do with the Heir? Why is it enough to ship him off to Azkaban? How are we gonna solve this hellish situation? As they walked back to the castle, many questions stormed her mind. They had one week to capture the Heir, that's all she knew. If they came out successful, the school would be safe. If they didn't, then Hogwarts would be closed for the first time in its history.

An Auror's duty was to protect and inspire hope to the civilians; was there anything more important than protecting the next generation's dreams? Those children needed Hogwarts, even if they weren't aware of it yet—just like it happened to her.

Defeat wasn't an option.

---

Ronald Weasley POV

Ron was about to lose his head; he could feel it.

The situation for him got way worse as soon as the students were allowed to assist the classes once again. At first, everyone was really surprised—if the school was about to get closed, what was the point of those new measures? Well, it turned out Hogwarts would remain open until further notice.

And it was thanks to Hagrid.

Back when Cornelius Fudge made all those many promises in that speech of his, both Daphne and Blaise questioned if the man was good on the head. It had been a very risky bet, but not as if it mattered. The Minister never had the intention to put his neck at risk. No, if the real Heir was captured, then his fame would skyrocket. If the situation worsened, then it would be the time to pull out his contingency plan: ship an innocent man to Azkaban.

It all made sense to him as soon as Daphne tossed him her copy of The Daily Prophet.

Rubeus Hagrid, the story of the not-so-kind gatekeeper.

With a new dawn, the rays ofthe sun were not the only thing to shine upon the citizens of our country. Today, rays of hope have finally blessed us.

For the past months, there was a common worry in each one of us: the Heir of Slytherin, Hogwarts' biggest threat in the last fifty years. However, thanks to the great Ministry and its workers we've been blessed with, the threat was bound to end sooner than later. Yes, you've read it well enough, the Heir of Slytherin was finally captured, and today, your humble reporter, Rita Skeeter, will let the world know about it.

It was past noon when Cornelius Fudge, our current Minister for Magic, made a presence in Hogwarts. Some very important reports, which had been classified until this day—by none other than Albus Dumbledore, whom we'll talk about later—came to his power. For those who didn't know, even if we've already written an article about it, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago. A muggle-born girl, by the name of Myrtle Warren, was killed. After that, the Heir of Slytherin disappeared from the surface of the planet as if he had never existed.

It was a lie.

Rubeus Hagrid, a man of questionable origin who had been working as the school's gatekeeper for the past forty-eight years, was declared as the culprit for those crimes; involuntary homicide, to be exact From what we know, there never was strong evidence about his dark deeds, but neither was there about his innocence.

How so? Well, thanks to these reports the information has been revealed. Rubeus Hagrid never killed the muggle-born student with his own hands; in fact, he might have never known the power he came to wield. He was the Heir of Slytherin, a person who could control the Monster of Slytherin, but yet he had no power over its will. Maybe because of that, he was pardoned from Azkaban, or perhaps it was Armando Dippet, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, who allowed this vile man to live in the castle's grounds so it would be easier to keep a close watch on him.

But that is a story from the past. In the present, despite the great efforts from the many Professors and the three brave Aurors who were deployed in Hogwarts, the Heir had yet to be captured. Why couldn't so many very capable people find one person in such a specific place? This was the question which had deprived Cornelius Fudge of innumerable nights of sleep. Fortunately, he was able to find an answer for it.

There was an imposter among us.

Ron didn't bother to continue. "What a piece of trash," he cursed in a low voice. He hadn't realised it, but his wand was ready in his hand. "Incendio," he muttered with a bit of rage. Under the surprised look of his three friends, the newspaper was burnt to a crisp.

The redhead had no appetite, but he couldn't leave the Great Hall until his entire class was finished; they needed to be accompanied as a group to the next period. However, that waste of time also granted him enough of it to ponder about the one question which had made him sleepless. Harry, Neville or Tracey, who is gonna be? He hadn't met their gaze that morning, and so far only Tracey had noticed about his change of attitude towards them. Who is the traitor?

The day ended without any events of importance; all they could do after classes was to have dinner, and then they needed to be escorted back to the common room. As they walked through the lower corridors of the castle, Ron felt the heavy atmosphere of the place; from his housemate's gesture, they also did.

Truth to be told, there was nothing out of place; the same metal armours, paintings and moving staircases. Yet the air felt colder and harder to swallow. There weren't any ghosts around—some of them too scared of the Heir after Headless Nick's petrification, and others too busy collaborating in the search to make an act of presence.

It didn't feel like Hogwarts at all.

Once they reached the common room, the redhead stormed into his bedroom, not caring about what his friends could think. There he closed the curtains of his bed and fell into a deep slumber the moment his head hit the pillow.

That night, the dreams visited him again.

As he did every day, Ron went down the corridors; this time, he did much faster and stealthier. The boy couldn't hear the noise of his footsteps, and his breathing was deep enough to barely cover his need for oxygen. It was dark out there, but his eyes had no problems adjusting to that endless, black sea.

Out of a sudden, a light enlightened the corridor. It came from the tip of a wizard's wand; the young, male Auror with whom he talked once. Serenity was written all over his face, and yet his eye moved in a frenzy, trying to notice the faintest of the movements. Ron directly stared at his eyes, but if the Auror felt his presence, he didn't give any signs of it. In fact, he walked past him without sparing a glance in his direction.

In his way, Ron met more people; those ghosts who aided in the Heir's search, the Professors and the other two Aurors—none of them noticed the way he walked past them. It felt like hours, but his body finally came to a halt. He stood in front of a classroom's door. It was old and scratched, but made of a very elegant, dark wood which embellished it despite its poor state—it probably was one of those rooms which hadn't been used in centuries.

It had a sign, made of a lighter wood, right over the knob. 'Potion's Laboratory,' was written in golden letters over it. Those letters caught all his attention; nothing else mattered. The door was important, he could tell.

Suddenly, the door disappeared. His eyes didn't close for a second, but it didn't matter; what was the point when there was darkness all around. He blinked twice. A trace of colour finally appeared—it was green, and it belonged to his bed's curtains.

"It was a dream," Ron stated with a dead calm. It surprised him, but there wasn't fear in his mind. The boy snorted—oh, how ironic was it?

He had utterly believed Gerd to be responsible for his nightmares. How could he not? He knew nothing about her real origin apart from the few glimpses of her past the Essentia told him about; if they were even real, to begin with. Hell, she had even used the realm of dreams to meet him for the first time. Then he dispatched her and the dreamless nights came to him again.

Deep inside him, the redhead could still feel their strange link; it was very weak, but it was there.

People used to say one couldn't understand the real value of the things they had until they lost them, and it was now when he realised how accurate the saying was. In those past years, a part of him had embraced his connection with the Essentia to a point in which it felt like another limb—like his wand felt in his hand. He paid no attention to it since it felt very natural. However, it wasn't there anymore; not like it used to be.

And it was now that the dreams were back when he felt that emptiness. Their disappearance had coincided with Gerd's parting—it had been a temporal patch, one he had embraced with open arms. However, it turned out she wasn't the one to blame, and now he was alone. Harry, Neville or Tracey, who is gonna be? He could trust no one but himself.

For the next two days, all remained the same.

Ron would have breakfast in the Great Hall, then he would attend classes, and lastly he would have dinner to be escorted back to the common room. His days had been reduced to that routine. However, his nights turned out to be quite eventful.

It didn't matter the way those dreams started—whether it was with him standing at the end of that huge chamber, with the cold statue behind him, or with him walking through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. Ron always ended up at the very same spot; in front of that door made of dark wood. It was the only constant.

Throughout the day, his friends would look at him with worried eyes. The redhead saw many questions in them, but they didn't search for their answers—not after seeing the way he coldly snapped at Tracey the first time she asked about his state. Harry, Neville or Tracey, who is gonna be?

It was on the third night, when he woke up after observing the damned door, that he realised something.

The dream had started in the huge chamber with the endless pillars of stone surrounding him, but as soon as he stepped out of it, a blinding light had enveloped him. First, it was their laughs that he heard, then, as soon as his eyes grew used to the clarity, his three friends walked in circles around him. Harry, Nevilled and Tracey sent him cruel looks—their eyes didn't look human-like, in fact, they resembled those of a snake, of a yellow tonality that looked oddly familiar. "Who is gonna be?" They chanted again and again. It was all he could hear. "Who is gonna be?"

Ron finally opened his eyes.

He was awake, but not nearly as calm as the other nights. His heart hadn't beat this fast in years; maybe it had never been this accelerated. His breaths came out raggedly, but he didn't even try to calm them. Why would he do that when there was a certain thought in his mind?

I was also there, he felt on the verge of madness. I also knew about Hermione's plans. What the hell was I doing when she got attacked? He tried to remember, and he found the memories with ease. He had been immersed in one of Tom's experiences from his past life. He had walked through the same corridors he did in the present. Then came a blurred face. Lastly, he woke up in his bed with a huge headache.

Minutes after that, the Slytherin common room was filled with students—the Heir had just attacked.

Ron felt a cold dread over him. Who is gonna be? His mind repeated that sentence again and again. Who is gonna be? However, this time the name of his friends wasn't mentioned. Who is gonna be? You already know the answer.

With trembling hands, the boy pushed his pillow aside. He felt his heart leaping out of his body. "No… Where is it?" Ron muttered. He looked under the covers, and even in his vault. "Where is it?" He couldn't think about anything else. The redhead tried the pockets of his robes, but there was nothing.

The black diary had disappeared.

He sat back, the weight of his body leaning on the cold, wooden wall. Ron felt like laughing—it was the only thing he could do. He felt like the worst bastard to ever walk the planet. "For days, I've been thinking one of my friends was a traitor," he whispered. "When it probably was my fault…"

How had he not realised it sooner? It was as clear as water! The attacks had stopped a short amount of time before the diary fell into his hands. Then, as Tom gained his trust, the school fell into a long period of peace. His silky words now resounded in his mind; how flattening they had been!

He lacked pride, the bastard said—he wanted to prove to him how others shouldn't even send a bad look in his direction. Parkinson and Crabbe had only been the perfect instruments for Tom to prove his point. Ron had felt very powerful and safe with the diary by his side…

All his actions had been a total success.

How much of all he said had been a lie? At least, how the Chamber involved Hagrid had been very true, otherwise he wouldn't have been sent to Azkaban as a scapegoat. Despite that, was the role Tom had as good-intentioned as he said it was? What was his connection to the Heir of Slytherin? What was Ron's role in all the tragedies which occurred that year?

"You remind me a lot of my younger self, Ronald," Tom told him once. He wanted to vomit and scream. Who was Tom Riddle? Why and how did his diary fall into his hands? And most importantly, where was the cursed diary?

To that one last question, he knew the answer—at least, he felt like he knew it. The diary was inside that abandoned classroom; the one with the golden letters over the black wood.

Ron felt like he was seconds away from losing his mind, but he also felt hurt—someone he had considered a friend had betrayed him. He needed answers. About everything: the diary, Tom Riddle, the Chamber and the Heir… and why was Ron in the middle of everything.

"This morning," the redhead made a vow to himself. "As soon as no one notices me, I'll run for the classroom. I don't even care what happens to me anymore… I just want answers…"

---

His chance came after the double period of History of Magic they shared with Hufflepuff.

It came out of nowhere, and Ron didn't even think twice about it. The moment a loud explosion resounded in the nearby corridors, he ran for his life away from the group. Thomas Greene, the Auror who escorted them, was totally focused on the mysterious noise and protecting the students from it, who were too scared to pay him any attention. On another day, the redhead would have freaked out because of it; a sudden explosion, in the middle of Hogwarts, when they were on maximum alert? It was very suspicious, indeed. However, there was only one thought in his mind.

His need for answers.

Ron ran and ran—he didn't look back for an instant. His body knew the way, after all, he had visited that forgotten classroom every damn night. He found no one in his way; not a single ghost, Professor or student. Moreover, even those curious wizards from the paintings, who used to pester the student just because of how boring their lives were, remained silent.

He had never been the most athletic Weasley, not even close. Yet neither his legs nor his breath faltered.

Corner after corner, one to the right and two to the left; corridor after corridor, one longer than the former; one stairway went upwards while two did it downwards… He finally made it. There it was, that damned black door with the golden letters over it.

"Potion's Laboratory," Ron read between ragged breaths. The exhaustion had finally caught up with him, even though he barely felt it. It was there, of course, but it didn't grab his muscles and lungs like it should; it was more of a distant sensation, all thanks to the adrenaline which ran through his body.

It was time.

Before his body could doubt, the redhead pushed the door open. At first he needed to push harder than he expected, but as soon as the door jambs first creaked, it quickly gave up.

He stood at the entrance of an abandoned studio, one slightly smaller than the one he used to visit in the dungeons. There were no instruments for the brewing of potions around, but the large tables, which seemed to be made of polished stone, had a layer of dust over them. Just like the floor, made of wooden plates.

None of that mattered, though. Not when the black diary rested atop of the Professor's table, at the end of the room. It was opened by the first pages, but the paper was all white.

Ron walked towards it with a trembling stride. All he wanted to do was run away from the notebook as far as possible, but his body kept moving forward as if it was pulled by some puppeteer's strings; there was no magic involved, just his need for answers. He came to halt as soon as he felt a set of eyes fixed on his back.

He didn't need to turn back to know to whom they belonged.

"You figured it out sooner than I expected," the voice of Tom pointed out. It didn't sound behind him anymore, no, it came from every direction.

Ron couldn't move as a ghostly silhouette formed by the diary's side—pearly white, with the hair and eyes of a darker shade, Tom Riddle took a seat on the table. He looked relaxed, there was no other way to describe it. One leg flexed over the wooden surface, with his left arm resting on top of his knee, as the other swung freely in the air. His eyes stared at the scared redhead with evident mirth in them.

"Our meeting was bound to happen," Tom continued after getting no answer from him. "I made sure of it."

"W-What do you mean?" Ron managed to say with a raspy voice.

"Come on, give it a thought," Tom smirked. "It was a very fun ride, not gonna lie; you have a very interesting mind, Ronald Weasley. You are a very simple boy, one very easy to manipulate. Yet you have a tough spirit to break, that along with that stupid need to make good deeds, almost made me lose my temper inumerable times. Oh, it was a very interesting game of chess, the one I played with you. Sometimes, it was some tough love that you needed, others it was some silly encouragement… What an interesting puzzle you turned out to be!"

Tom let the words hang in the air as he let out an exasperated sigh. "However, it turned out to be way more complicated than I expected; more than the girl, at least," he went on with a shake of his head. "There was one enormous problem with you, Ronald. To be honest, you had me both scared and excited for quite some time, even if you completely ignored it; props to you for that."

Ron tried to salivate, but even that was an impossible feat to accomplish.

"You are speechless, eh?" Tom raised a brow at him. He jumped from the table and walked towards him as he resumed talking. "I couldn't believe it, but that friend of yours by the name of Gerd… Oh, you can't imagine how hard it was for me to get rid of her. Such a faith you had in her! I was shocked when you first told me about her! I couldn't believe there was another one like me—moreover, from the little information I managed to get, hers looked to be way more powerful than mine!"

What is he talking about? Ron tried to find his voice, and he finally did it. "What are you?" The redhead asked. "Was…, was there anything true of all the things you told and showed me? The vision about Hagrid and the spider… All the advice you gave me… All the times you told me how much I resembled your past self… What are you, Tom? Are you the Heir of Slytherin? Why me?"

"You just happened to be the perfect fool for me to control; always at the right time and place." Tom stood in front of him. He placed a hand over his shoulder—he couldn't feel it, but a cold sensation struck him, as if a bunch of needles went through his skin. "About the other questions… Well, that's not for a pathetic wizard like you to know," Tom said. "Anyhow, as I said, it was a fun ride, Ronald Weasley, but chat time is over. We talked for a bit because I needed to make time for him to come, but that bastard should be around the corner. He's a very special person to me, you see."

The instant those words left his mouth, the classroom's door was kicked open. "Ron! Are you okay!" Harry asked between ragged breaths. The boy had his wand on his hand, and he looked around in a frenzy. When his quick search around the place ended, his eyes fell on the redhead. "I thought… I was told you had been attacked by the Heir!"

"Harry?" Ron asked with a hoarse voice. All he wanted to do was to crumble and cry, but he didn't even have the energy for that. He stood in the middle of the class, staring at Harry with glassy eyes. "It was me, Harry…" he muttered as the sobbing started. "It was me… I swear I didn't know…"

The boy didn't think twice before running towards him. He managed to catch him on time before his head could hit the ground—at some point, his legs had given up and Ron hadn't noticed. "Ron! What is the problem! Talk to me!" Harry asked. He sounded really worried and scared. He took off his tunic and placed it under his friend's head, who could only stare at the ceiling as he muttered nonsense.

"The Professors must be on their way," Harry told him as he got up, wand ready at hand once again. His eyes scanned the room as they did when they looked for the snitch in a game of Quidditch. "The moment Ginny came to us with tears in her eyes I expected the worst, but when she told us about how you had been attacked by the Heir in front of her… I came here as fast as I could. Neville also wanted to come, but I can't run if there is another person under the cloak."

That information pulled Ron out of his fear-induced slumber. Ginny? Did he just say my sister's name? He sat up with great effort and started his question, but Harry shushed him as soon as the first word was pronounced.

"Did you hear that?" The boy asked. "Wait, the voice is getting closer…" Ron heard nothing, but Harry's face started whitening. "It says he's gonna kill us!"

Ron felt that moment oddly familiar. We've already been through this once… The answer came to his terrified mind. Harry heard that voice when the Heir attacked for the first time! A minute ago Tom had told him that he was waiting for a special person to make a presence… All the dots connected.

"Harry, we need to get out of here!" Ron screamed at the top of his lungs as he leaped at his friend, who could do nothing but stare back at the redhead with a shocked look. He found the strength out of nowhere, and his legs took the lead as his arms got a hold of Harry's white shirt.

They made a run for the exit.

There, in a large hole over the black door, a large, yellow eye stared at them through a very faint and bright curtain of crystalline water which seeped through the tube.

The world around Ron started to spiral as his limbs went numb. No, it was the entirety of his body that went numb. By the time his head was about to hit the wooden floor, it all turned black. There was no noise, not even the one from his breathing; he felt neither cold nor warmness… It was as if an endless void had enveloped him.

Then, the first trace of light in what felt like hours appeared; far from him, but its presence was enough to make him feel alive again.

"We meet again, Ronald," a voice pulled him out of the darkness. For a few seconds, his heart forgot how to beat. He was back on the beach where it all started. "I have just saved your life, so the minimum you can do is concede to me a little conversation. It is time for us to settle everything."

It belonged to Gerd.

---

Well, here it is!

Not gonna lie, I found it very challenging to write this arc; more than I first thought, at least. Showing the reader how Tom's diary could work and its own psyche was an idea I already had in my mind when I started the first year of Hogwarts. It was very exciting, and I really enjoyed giving a twist to this second year of the story.

Now, the next chapter is gonna be one of the most important and spiciest in the whole story; maybe top 5, I'd say. So I really hope my motivation doesn't abandon me, because I really wanna get started with it!

See you!