Gravel crunched under tires as the Chief Inspector brought his car to a stop. The sight of the picturesque house sitting on the hill overlooking the village, with its well-maintained grounds and graveyard, was marred by the half-dozen police vehicles parked haphazardly on the grass and a score of men trying to look busy.

As he stepped out of the car, the Chief Inspector glared at the beautiful blue sky, where there was hardly a cloud in sight. He just knew that it was going to be hot later.

Spotting his arrival, one of the sergeants from CID hurried over to meet him.

"Morning, sir," the younger man said.

"Good morning," the Chief Inspector replied gruffly. "What have we got?"

Having expected that his superior would want to get right to business, the sergeant had his notebook already open.

"The groundskeeper made a 999 call from the phonebox down the road at one-oh-six last night. He reported that a bomb had just landed outside his house. The local constable was woken up and sent over and that's when he called into Greater Hangleton station that something had exploded. The patrons at the local all agree that they heard something at about half-twelve."

The Chief Inspector looked at the huge hole blown into the ground and the tons of earth spread out around it. People in white overalls could be seen working in and around it. "What do the experts say?" he asked, nodding towards them.

"Dynamite," the sergeant said.

"Dynamite?"

"Yes, sir. At least fifteen pounds of the stuff."

Mentally shelving that mystery for the moment, the Chief Inspector looked towards the impressive house. "And whose lordship's lawn are we stepping on at the moment."

"No one's," the sergeant answered. "The house has stood empty for decades. I checked and it's owned by some banker in London. I spoke with his secretary, but she said it was just for some vague tax purposes."

"So, it's just the groundskeeper then," the Chief Inspector concluded, spotting the man in question at the far end of the cemetery. "Who's he?"

The sergeant turned a page in his notebook. "Frank Bryce, seventy-four. He's been working the grounds and living here for the past half-century. No criminal background."

"And who's the, ahem, victim?" The Chief Inspector nodded towards the disturbed grave.

"Tom Riddle, not to be mistaken with his father, Thomas Riddle. Ninteen-oh-five to 'forty-three. Not much left of him, now."

"He died young. In the war?"

"No," the sergeant said. "And here's where the story gets interesting. The maid goes down one morning and finds Tom and his parents all dead at the dinner table, still in white tie from the evening before. They arrest Mister Bryce but they can't determine the cause of death and let him go. Bad lab work, do you reckon?"

The Chief Inspector spared his subordinate a glance. "You think he did kill them and then what?" he asked rhetorically. "He patiently waits for… forty-eight years before finishing the job by blowing up one grave with dynamite? What's his motive? Where's his means?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd say something like that."

The Chief Inspector looked over at the old, grumpy man sitting on a chair that clearly one of the constables had taken out of the man's kitchen. "What did he do in the war?"

"Served in a rifle company in Egypt. Caught a nasty piece of shrapnel in his leg, was sent home and he's had a limp ever since. He had nothing to do with explosives, though. I checked. He thinks that some local teenagers are responsible but I seriously doubt that children had anything to do with this."

The Chief Inspector hummed thoughtfully. "Anything interesting about Tom? Other than his manner of dying?"

Another page turned.

"He worked with his father, all set to take over the family's investments. Somehow weaselled his way out of military service, then he ran away with some local girl, far below his station by all accounts, for six months. Came back alone, tight-lipped about the whole affair."

"The girl's name?"

"Something Gaunt."

The Chief Inspector sighed. "It's not much to go on, is it, sergeant?"

"No, sir."

Well, ask around the village if anyone knows the name of the girl. These types love to gossip. Someone will know."

"You think she might have done it?" The sergeant asked with a slightly sceptical tone. "She'd be… well, pretty old by now, sir."

"Possibly. It could also be a child by the two of them. Getting payback on the rich father who abandoned the mother of his child to single parenthood and poverty."

"Ah, that's a good point, sir."

The Chief Inspector looked around the whole scene again. It was certainly one of the stranger cases he'd come across in his long career. Everything about it just seemed… abnormal. Especially the tall, elderly gentleman examining the torn-up grave.

"Who's that man, sergeant?" the Chief Inspector asked.

The sergeant turned to look at the strange man, his forehead slightly creased. "He's a professor of… something. He had all the right documents, though. He said he was personally interested in the case."

"Part of the original investigation, perhaps?"

The Chief Inspector's curiosity was piqued and he wanted to go ask some questions, but the desire was suddenly banished from his mind. Instead, he turned back towards his car.

"Try your best to find the Gaunt girl, sergeant," he said. "Or any children she might have had with him. I doubt you'll have any luck, but the Chief Superintendent will be wanting results when he hears that somebody planted a bomb. Ask any questions you want to Bryce, but don't bother bringing him in."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and sergeant," the Chief Inspector stopped, his car door open, "good job, today."

"Thank you, sir."

The young boy stared out of the window, but he didn't pay attention to anything the train was leading him past. It rumbled and jostled as it steamed along the tracks.

The door slid open and the boy glanced at the three children at the threshold.

"Do you mind?" one of the boys asked with a smile, gesturing at the almost empty compartment.

The young boy paused, then shrugged by way of response and returned his gaze to the window, though he did pay attention to the reflection of the two boys and a girl as they levitated their trunks to the luggage racks and made themselves comfortable.

"Hi, I'm Lucy," the blonde girl said to his back, after she had sat down on the seat next to him.

He blinked, a little surprised that she was talking to him when he was trying so hard to radiate that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Uh, Kyle," he eventually responded, sparing her a brief look before returning his gaze to the window.

In the reflection, he saw the girl give a helpless look to her two companions.

"You know," she said to them, after a moment had passed, "I always thought that Chamber of Secrets was one of the weaker books."

Kyle spun around, his previous disinterest vanished and a look of shock on his face.

"You think so?" the older of the two boys replied to her casually. It's got a mystery, a big monster fight, and some neat twists."

"I didn't say it's bad," she protested, "just compared to the other instalments…"

Kyle's eyes were wide and his mouth worked, but no sound came out.

"Oh, stop teasing him, you two. You're scaring the poor lad," the other boy said.

Kyle spent a moment continuing to gawk at them, then visibly composed himself and turned himself around properly. He sat up, his body tense as if he was ready to dash for the doorway.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I told you, I'm Lucy," the girl said, smiling cheekily. "This is John and Henry." She pointed at them in turn.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It's alright," Henry said, holding his hands up placatingly. "You're not in any danger. We're friends and we're in the same boat as you."

"I thought we were in a train," Lucy said, looking around in an exaggerated manner.

"Hush, you," Henry said before turning back to Kyle. "We're Readers, too."

Kyle absorbed that for a moment, recognising that that word had significance.

"I'm… I don't know what you're talking about."

John shook his head, smiling slightly. "That won't work," he said. "You don't have all the reasons to understand why but we can tell that you're also someone who read the Harry Potter books, then found themselves in this fantasy world on Platform Nine and Three-quarters this morning."

Instead of denying it, Kyle pushed himself to his feet, not that it made an impressive sight as an eleven-year-old. "Tell me what's going on!" he demanded.

"Okay," John said, holding up a hand. "We will. But like we said, you're not in any danger. We're here to help you. In any case, there's a lot to talk about and it's a long train journey, so why don't we calm down and take a seat."

Everyone watched Kyle's face as he considered this and eventually he nodded and sat down slowly.

"Sorry," he said. "You shocked me, that's all."

"Which is totally understandable," Henry said.

"So," John said. "Three years ago today, I suddenly found myself stumbling onto Platform Nine and Three-quarters just like you did a short while ago. I went to Hogwarts, got Sorted, studied magic and then two years ago today, Henry appeared, too."

"And then I did, last year," Lucy interjected.

"In that time, we've been practising, planning and working towards defeating You Know Who and saving the world. Are you with me so far?"

Kyle hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"Also, we've been having some fun sometimes, as well," Lucy added.

"Probably the most important thing to explain," John continued, "is that there is an effect, of an unknown source, that prevents us from revealing information that we know from reading the books, intentionally or otherwise. As I'm sure you can imagine, this has made things quite complicated but we have managed to get Pettigrew captured and Sirius on the path to freedom. Oh, and Quirrell outed but that should have happened without us. Oh, and it's 'ninety-two, by the way, so Harry's second year."

Kyle coughed lightly into his hand, buying himself a moment to think. It was quite a bit of information to receive rather quickly.

"I know," he said finally. "About the year, I mean. I heard Colin Creevy all excited about his first year, so…"

"Oh, I forgot that he was coming," Lucy said morosely.

"He's eleven," Henry said. "He's allowed to be excitable."

"I'm just glad he's not going into Ravenclaw," said Lucy.

"Can we try and resist becoming sidetracked please?" asked John before turning his attention back to Kyle. "There are a couple more things you should be aware of. First, You Know Who's name is Cursed, so try to avoid saying it out loud. Second, we're… not on script any more. We're not following the plot of the books, so don't get complacent; anything could happen."

"Yeah," said Lucy. "And don't get your hopes up too high about magic because, let me tell you, that stuff is harder than you think."

"Can I just… have a minute," Kyle said, placing a hand over his face.

Lucy observed the new guy while he was reeling from the multiple revelations.

Even if it's petty, I am upset that it's not another girl joining us, although at least Kyle doesn't tower over me like almost everyone else does.

Dirty blond hair, glasses, he didn't really stand out in appearance.

But it's hard to tell, isn't it. John and Henry are starting to show the kind of men that they'll grow into, but Kyle isn't even a teenager yet. Neither am I, I suppose, but thirteen is just a few months away now.

She glanced at her early birthday present, carefully stowed with their trunks.

The saleswitch said that it wasn't the top-of-the-line broom like the new Nimbus 2001 was, but the Cleansweep 6 was fast and nimble, which suited Lucy's build well.

Honestly, those two. With such a strict budget, they spend so much on me. And I already bought a new flute on the Muggle side!

"Okay," Kyle said, placing his hands on his lap in a show of calmness. "Please continue."

"So," John continued. "I'm John. I'm a fourth-year Slytherin, which is fourteen going on fifteen, but I'm actually forty-three. I used to be a business analyst, which basically meant I stared at spreadsheets all day. Besides the core subjects, I'm taking Arithmancy and, well, Divination, but don't ask why because I'm not a Seer. Anyway, what I'm really focussing on is Occlumency, Legilimency, Memory Charms… that sort of thing."

"You're a mind reader!?" Kyle half-shouted, suddenly breaking eye-contact and scrambling to his feet.

"Relax," John said quickly. "It's only actively, not passively. So, unless you see me pointing a wand directly at you, your secrets are safe."

"Don't worry," Lucy said to Kyle. "I had almost the same reaction."

Kyle sat back down, again, visibly calming himself.

Poor guy. It is rather a lot to pile on at once, isn't it?

"Well, I'm Henry," Henry said. "Nice to meet you. Feel free to call me Harry, but for some reason Lucy refuses to."

Lucy stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'm a third-year Hufflepuff, thirteen going on seventy-six. I was a primary school teacher for forty years. Here at Hogwarts, this year I'm taking up Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy, but I'm probably best at Charms."

He looked at Lucy expectantly and she jumped when she realised it was her turn. "Oh, right. So, I'm a second-year Ravenclaw; I still have no idea why. I used to work part-time at a cafe, but I did some work for some local orchestras every so often. I'm not taking any electives yet, obviously, but… well, I've got good grades in History and… potions, I guess. Oh, and I'm an alright flyer. And…"

"The flute," John supplied.

"Oh, right. I play the flute… magically. You'll understand when you see it… hear it."

"Right," John said, turning to Kyle. "So, do—"

"Oh!" Lucy interrupted. "And I'm actually twenty-three."

"Do you want to—"

"Oh! And my name is Lucy. Sorry, John!"

John was doing his best not to react, but Henry wasn't even trying to hide his sniggers.

"Anyway," John said, "would you like to tell us a little about yourself."

Kyle took a breath.

"Uh, right. I'm Kyle. Kyle Smith. I'm a… I mean, I was a student. I'm only nineteen, see. To be honest, I'm still feeling a little…"

"Overwhelmed?" Lucy suggested.

"Yeah, that."

"What were you studying?" Henry asked.

"At college? I was majoring in Computer Science, with a minor in French."

Lucy gasped. "You're an American, too? Thank goodness. I need all the help I can get with these tea-drinking, umbrella-wielding—"

"Hey," Henry objected.

"—color-misspelling Brits."

"Uh, right. So, do you know why my accent has changed?"

"Not a clue, sorry."

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, looking between his lap and the other occupants of the carriage. "So, uh, what have you actually been up to for the last…"

"Three years," John said.

"Yeah, that."

What followed was quite a long explanation of what John, Henry, and Lucy had been doing for the last three, two, and one years respectively.

As they talked, the scenery gradually transitioned from the countryside to cities to the countryside again. The Trolley Lady came and went, though John, Henry, and Lucy had brought sandwiches from the Muggle side. The excited cries of children up and down the train were replaced by the murmurs of hundreds of distant conversations.

Kyle mostly listened quietly to their summary of their time already spent in the wizarding world. He asked questions but mostly appeared to be deep in thought.

"I have a question, actually," Lucy said, after their summary of the previous summer had come to an end. "How come I didn't get this?"

"Get what?" asked Henry.

"This. This gentle, immediate introduction on the train. Why did I have to stumble my way through the train journey and the Sorting Ceremony alone?"

"Well," said John, "we didn't know you were a Reader before you were Sorted."

"How did you not see me at the station? I was wandering around like some gormless idiot, staring at everything and rubbing tears out of my eyes."

"Well, we were almost late," John admitted.

"And why was that?" Henry asked.

"Look," John said hotly, "the food at Hogwarts is great but ten months without pizza is a long time."

"You were almost late because of pizza?" Lucy asked, incredulous.

"It was good pizza," John said.

"You know what, that's fair."

Kyle cleared his throat, getting their attention. "So, you've given me a lot to think about. Do you mind if I… uh, ruminate on things for a bit. I haven't actually had a chance to look through my trunk yet."

"That's fine," John said. "I'm going to give you the same advice I gave Lucy last year, which is to not make any decisions about what you want to do yet. Wait until you have a better grasp of how things work here. Wait for the shock to wear off. In a week or so, then you'll be in a much better position to decide what you want to do. Anyway, we've been mostly on the Muggle side all summer, so I wanted to catch up on the wizarding news." He rummaged through his pockets for a copy of the newspaper.

"And I'm going to say hello to some other people," said Henry.

"Oh, good idea," Lucy said. "I should check in with friends, too. It was nice meeting you, Kyle."

"Oh, you, too."

Over the next hour or so, Lucy managed to say hello to all of her dormmates, plus Hermione, who was still hanging around with Neville. She reluctantly had to rescue an excitable Colin Creevy from getting squashed by Malfoy's goons. Like most bullies, the two half-trolls gave up as soon as someone confronted them. She had to hide in the toilets to get Creevy to stop following her around though.

When she stepped out into the corridor though, she ran into someone else that she didn't really want to interact with.

"Oh, you must be the new Weasley," Lucy said.

"Uh, yeah," Ginny said.

She even has the damn diary with her!

The thin, black, leather-bound book was clutched tightly in her hands.

I could just grab it and run… or throw it out the window… but then we'd lose it. And, honestly, I think that Ginny would probably beat me in a fistfight. Even a year younger and she's still got two inches on me. On top of that, she grew up with six older brothers. No, immediate violence is not the solution here.

"Are you finished in the loo?"

Huh? Oh, right. The bathroom.

"Uh, sure, kid."

Lucy continued down the length of the train.

Poor girl! We did try to intercept the horcrux in Diagon Alley but Lucius Malfoy was sneakier than we expected. Still, perhaps we could have tried harder. Even if— even when we get the diary away from her, we're still taking away a pre-teen girl's 'friend'.

Lucy spent much of the remaining train ride reading in a compartment with Padma and Lisa, having found herself unwilling to continue plotting with the others. Besides, it was nice to hang out with other girls for the first time in many weeks.

"So, what did you think of Kyle?" Lucy asked Henry and John as they walked away from the station.

John pondered the question for a moment. "He was very… quiet… reserved."

"Cautious," Henry added.

"That's right. Cautious."

"Oh, stop it you two," Lucy chided them both. "He's just gone through what was certainly the most shocking day of his life. He's allowed to… take it at his own pace… What house do you think he'll be in?"

John and Henry both considered the question for a moment.

"With how little he shared, it's hard to say," John said. "I couldn't guess."

"Me neither," said Henry.

It was only a short walk from the station to where the carriages were waiting for them. Even though she knew that she wouldn't be able to see the thestrals, she hadn't seen somebody die in either her current life or her previous one, she was still slightly disappointed.

She caught the direction that Henry was looking and the frown on his face.

"You can see them?" she asked out loud, then realised what she had said. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright," he responded quietly. "My wife, my parents, my wife's parents… when you get to my age, you end up spending time at quite a few people's death beds."

"That's not the theatrals fault, though," Lucy said, reaching out and slipping her hand into Henry's and giving him a comforting squeeze.

"No, I know that… I guess they just remind me of unhappy times."

When the perfects had corralled the last of the stragglers into the carriages, they began to trundle down the path towards Hogwarts.

"Happy to be going back?" John asked Lucy.

Lucy hummed thoughtfully. "You mean, despite my mixed experience last year? Almost failing half my subjects. Almost being turned into a Lucy-pancake by a troll?" Lucy only kept her face straight for three seconds before grinning widely. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Urgh, I'm starving. Why is this kid taking so long?

Finally, after what had felt like ten minutes, the Sorting Hat shouted 'HUFFLEPUFF!"

There were cheers from all the tables then, but for three-quarters of them it was just because they were now a little closer to food being served.

"Creevy, Colin!" Professor McGonagall called.

And we're only in the Cs? Hang on, is this year going to be a big one? Because of some post-war baby boom or something?

Lucy tried to quickly count how many first-years were waiting to be Sorted, but they kept shuffling about and she couldn't remember how many had already been under the hat.

I'm not even sure how many are in my year off the top of my head. Let's approach this another way. The current second-years were born from September 1979 to August 1980, which makes the current first-years born from September 1980 to August 1981. Harry beat You Know Who in October 1981, so after these kids were born… next year's cohort though… they'd have to be conceived in November or December to get in, but then again, there were probably lots of, ahem, celebrations… on November 1st.

Colin was sorted into Gryffindor, which made Lucy think that it was strange that none of the changes they had wrought on the timeline had affected anyone's school house, and the Sorting continued.

She had already checked that Ron and Harry hadn't arrived, which probably meant that Dobby had stopped them at the barrier again.

Lucy thought more and more uncharitable thoughts about the first-years as they continued to delay her dinner until it was Kyle's turn to be judged.

"Smith, Kyle."

Suddenly looking much more nervous than he had at any point during the day, Kyle approached the stool and slowly lowered the Hat over his head.

And it's another slow one. I know it's an important moment and all, but come on people, Lucy has needs and right now those needs start with 'm' and ends with 'ashed potatoes'. Why does he get such a long conversation, anyway? I didn't get two seconds before the hat plonked me here.

Evidently the Hat came to some conclusion, because the nervousness on Kyle's face was replaced by relief and a moment later the hat said "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Do you remember that after my first day of lessons I said that it was bullshit?"

"I remember," Henry answered her.

"Well, I take it back. That was fine. This… this is bullshit," Lucy said, gesticulating at the scene in front of them.

"Oh, I quite agree."

Before them, in their classroom, John was directing Kyle through some wand movements.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Kyle cried.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Lucy felt a small pang of hope… which was mercilessly crushed by the sight of the feather of Kyle's attention rising into the air.

It took me hours to get that far. Weeks, even. And he manages it just like that?! After a single day of lessons? When he was supposed to be learning 'lumos'? It's just not fair!

Ignorant of Lucy's internal complaints, Kyle continued to practise the Levitation Charm. Quickly deciding that she didn't want to be outdone by someone whose time in the Wizarding World would be best measured in hours, Lucy rummaged in her bag to find her own feather that Flitwick had given to her last year. She had taken to bringing it with her and using it sometimes when practising the charm herself.

She was glad to see that her long break from casting magic hadn't lessened her skills too much, and she quickly engaged Kyle in an aerial game of tag. Her experience gave her an advantage but Kyle was catching up in competence quickly. Lucy stopped playing before she could embarrass herself any further.

"How is this possible?" she asked John and Henry.

"How is what possible?" asked Kyle, but Lucy ignored him, looking at her two friends.

"It's not unheard of," John said. "Every so often, someone turns up who just has a natural aptitude for magic. You Know Who, naturally, was using magic before he even came to Hogwarts. On the slightly less incredible side there's Hermione in your year and Cedric Diggory in mine. Both of them are semi-famous for picking up new spells quickly."

"What's the big deal?" Kyle asked. "It's just…" he gestured randomly, "swish and flick."

"Believe me," Henry said, "you're ahead of the curve."

"Far ahead," said Lucy.

"Huh." Kyle was thoughtful for a moment. "I've been thinking," he said, "and I know you said I should wait a week before deciding, but I honestly don't think I'll change my mind. With all the foreknowledge we have and without the ability to share it, it would be stupid to not work together to… you know… defeat Vol— You Know Who."

Lucy cheered softly and Henry smiled.

John nodded. "That's good, because there's something you can help us with right away. But first, Henry has to leave."

"Just act like you belong and no one will even look at you twice."

"That's easy for you to say, John," Lucy said back, fiddling with her robes. "You're safe down here."

"No one is suggesting you won't be safe," he said. "Now hurry up, dinner has already started."

Lucy grumbled half-heartedly, but stopped fidgeting and turned to the door. "Come on, then, Kyle."

"Sure."

It was a little ways from their destination, so Lucy had her first chance to talk to her fellow American alone.

"So…" she stretched out the word, "how are things back in the States? Anything interesting happened in the last year?"

"Uhh…" Kyle said, a strangely troubled look on his face. "You've been gone since September 2015, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, you know it's an election year, yeah?"

"Oh, that's right!" Lucy said. "It must only be a few months away, now. So, who's running?"

Now Kyle had a very troubled look on his face. "Well, on one side is Hillary Clinton."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense," Lucy said. "And on the other side?"

"Uh, Donald Trump."

"Donald Trump? The reality TV star?!"

And who's running for Vice-president? Kanye West?

Lucy giggled to herself, then let her thoughts settle for a moment. "Who's going to win?" she asked eventually.

"Well, they say that Clinton's going to win by miles, but you never know…"

Before either of them could consider what a Donald Trump presidency might entail, they reached their destination.

"Hang on," Lucy held up a hand, "I know this. Caput Draconis? No, wait. That was last year."

"Wattlebird," Kyle said.

The Fat Lady swung open to let them into Gryffindor tower.

"Hey!" Lucy protested. "I knew that. I would have gotten it eventually."

Kyle ignored her and climbed up through the portrait hole. He held out a hand to help Lucy but she was too proud for that.

Maybe a little help would have been alright, Lucy thought to herself as she heaved herself into the Gryffindor Common Room. I'd almost prefer the Ravenclaw Riddle to climbing through this everyday… almost.

They had timed their daring mission during dinner so the Gryffindor Common Room was almost deserted, just a couple of older students studying and someone sleeping in one of the armchairs.

It's nice. Warm and comfortable, even.

John had Charmed the trim of Lucy's robes to Gryffindor Red earlier, but none of the occupants of the room even looked up as Kyle led Lucy to the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls' dorms.

"I don't know how high up it is," he said quietly. "You got everything?"

Lucy patted her school bag, which was slung over one shoulder. "All here."

"Okay, then. Good luck."

Hesitating for only a moment, Lucy put a foot on the stairs and began climbing.

You know, if it can detect boys trying to climb up, why didn't they make it able to detect non-Gryffindors.

The first-years' dorm wasn't at the bottom, so Lucy continued climbing.

Knowing my luck, it'll be on the seventh floor.

It ended up not being on the sixth floor.

Lucy gingerly opened the door and peeked inside. She let out a sigh of relief when it was empty.

It was easy to spot Ginny's bed when all the beds except one had bright, shiny, brand-new trunks next to them and only one was old and scuffed.

Lucy checked the school bag thrown at the foot of the bed and opened the trunk, before berating herself for being stupid.

She's an eleven-year-old girl hiding her diary, stupid.

Returning to the bed, Lucy picked up the pillow.

Gotcha.

A handsome, black, leather book had been hidden there.

It's smaller than I expected… oh, shit! That's a part of You Know Who's soul! This is suddenly a lot more daunting than I first imagined. No! Come on, Lucy. You can do this.

Reaching into her school bag, she retrieved her dragonhide gloves.

Slowly, she reached out her hand and tapped a finger against the leather for a split-second. When her hand didn't burst into flames or fall off… or both, she picked it up and stuffed it into her school bag.

Wasting no more time, she put everything in the room back the way it was, then hurried down the stairs again.

"Did you—" Kyle began to say.

"Let's go," Lucy whispered urgently. Moving as quickly as she could without making it look as if she were fleeing the scene of a crime, she crossed the Common Room, pushed open the Portrait Hole and sped off towards where John was waiting, Kyle following closely behind her.

"My biggest worry at this point is probably the young Miss Lovegood," Professor Flitwick said to his colleagues. "Her father has never really recovered from his wife's death and now I'm worried that Luna hasn't grown up to be very well adjusted."

The other staff members nodded along, sharing his sentiment.

"She is a… strange child," Professor McGonagall agreed.

"We can hope that in time, being around other children will help her," Professor Dumbledore said. "In the meantime, let's pay a little extra attention to the girl, agreed? Good. Next, the new Gryffindors. Minerva?"

But before McGonagall could speak, there was a knock at the Staff Room door.

"Enter," Dumbledore called.

The door opened and Henry took a step inside.

"I'm sorry for bothering you during a staff meeting," he said to the group of professors. "But I have a piece of lost property." He reached into his book bag and pulled out a black, leather book. "Is there a 'Riddle' in the new first-years?"

Before he had even finished his sentence, Dumbledore was out of his chair and was striding across the room. He took the book out of Henry's hand and peered at it severely.

"There is not," he said seriously. "Where did you find this?"

"I just found it in my bag," Henry said honestly. "I don't know how it got there."

Dumbledore turned his attention away from the book and looked into Henry's eyes. For a moment their gazes met, then Dumbledore blinked and looked away.

Thank you, Mister Owens," he said. "I'll be sure to take care of this. Run along now."

"Yes, sir."

Henry closed the door behind him and Dumbledore slipped the book into his pocket and turned back to his staff.

"Now, where were we?"