My plan took a couple of days to come into fruition. I was at the common room after dinner, working through the 'History of Magic' book and exchanging notes with Tracey for our upcoming exam, when the door opened and Professor Snape entered in angry, foreboding silence. He regarded all of us there —most of the students in our house— as if we were nothing but a bunch of squatters he'd just discovered inside his property.

It took a few seconds for his presence to become noticed by all —a hush of silence radiating out from the room's entrance, conversations dying abruptly as people turned to look at the cause. There was a certain unease; not surprising, given that Snape never deigned to visit the common room in person. He preferred instead to communicate mostly via the prefects, who routinely went to his office and then relayed his instructions to us —as if they were teenager Moses-es descending from the mountain to share the Ten Commandments with the rest of the flock.

So everyone waited with tense anticipation for him to speak, all the while I had a sinking feeling: because I'd explicitly told Farley two days ago not to go to our Head of House with Selwyn's matter. My fear was that Snape might very well opt to use this as an opportunity to reinforce his image as a friend of the Death Eaters —by protecting Selwyn and earning some brownie points from the other blood purists in the process. But I could hardly explain that to the Prefect, so I'd had to dress my reluctance in vague words about him having 'that sort' of reputation and such, encouraging her to tell either Dumbledore, or maybe Duskhaven —since even if she turned out to be in cahoots with Quirrell, she had at least presented a public image of despising the Dark Arts, so she'd have to follow through if only to preserve it.

It wasn't that surprising that Farley hadn't listened to those suggestions, though. She was meant to tell our Head of House, after all; and jumping over his head to go straight to the Headmaster, or to this year's Defence professor could have landed her in hot water of her own —which, with how vindictive Snape was, might very well have resulted in her losing the Prefect position come next year.

So, yeah, not surprising; just annoying. But now Snape was here, and the Slytherins waited in silence for a few more beats, until he decided the tension was high enough that he could start speaking at last. He said: "Word has reached my ears that some of you are harbouring certain... forbidden items. Things that don't belong in Hogwarts..."

He droned for a little longer, but my eyes went to the new movement by the common room's entrance, where a tall figure lingered.

Dumbledore, waiting patiently for Snape to stop threatening us.

Uh.

So, had Farley listened to me? Had she gone to Dumbledore instead? No... that didn't track. The Headmaster's presence was starting to get noticed now, with more eyes going from Snape to him —to the growing annoyance of our Head of House— and the older girl looked as surprised to see him there as everyone else.

Snape then. He must have told the older wizard. Which meant he was playing this straight, hopefully... but why? I doubted both he and Dumbledore valued Selwyn getting arrested so highly in their hierarchy of priorities; certainly not higher than reinforcing Snape's dubious reputation. Not to look a gifted Supreme Mugwump in the mouth, as his presence here pretty much ensured due process would be followed, and so dispelled the risk of Farley's warning falling through the cracks—one of the main risks in my plan. But I still preferred it when things were predictable.

Hmm... could it be related to the unicorn attacks? Both professors had to have known about them, from Hagrid at least. And so if Farley had told them about what it was exactly that Selwyn had in his possession... but no... I had told Snape about wanting the blood for my ritual. So he should have been able to put two and two together, and already suspect that the older boy only had the forbidden substance because of me.

So what gives?

Perhaps I was reading too much into this. Perhaps it was as simple as them using the opportunity to taint Selwyn's public reputation now that he was about to leave Hogwarts and enter the real world for good.

Or maybe... maybe they had suspicions of their own about the boy. It wouldn't be that surprising, right? A teenager Death Eater sympathiser? After what happened with Harry Potter and his poisoning earlier in the year? After the attacks against unicorns in the Forbidden Forest? After the thing with the acromantulas on Hallowe'en? Worth getting to the bottom of, at the very least. Check if he was connected to any of those. The forbidden substances angle could be simply a convenient excuse.

"Seventh year students," said Snape at last, after a subtle cough from the Headmaster. "Follow us to your dormitories. The rest of you will wait here."

He marched ahead towards the stairs, not pausing to see if he was followed. There was a momentary pause, where none of the teenagers moved and I wondered if they would dare defy his orders, but the Headmaster's presence proved to be too imposing. At Dumbledore's silent stare, Selwyn stood up with a clenched jaw and marched after Snape, followed soon after by the rest of his dorm mates.

And then the whole common room exploded in conversations. There were people gossiping, and people whispering. And there were a couple of urgent attempts from other students to get to their own dorms —'uh, I have forgotten my homework,' and 'a... book in my trunk, I need it for the exam'— which were swiftly stopped by the Prefects.

I tried my best at looking nonchalant, not to show everyone a guilty smile, not to even look in Farley's general direction. But inside I felt like jumping on top of the table and starting to dance and cackle. Mess with the best, lose like the rest, Selwyn!

There was only a tiny speck of doubt —as the minutes passed and nobody returned— that the older boy might've been sharp enough not to put the unicorn blood inside his own trunk. But I doubted it; from what I knew of Selwyn, he seemed like the kind of person who would want to have its illegal stuff where nobody else might accidentally find it —and what better place than your own trunk for that?

Or more like, I desperately hoped that it wasn't the case.

It took almost half an hour —at which point I was about to start gnawing my nails— for them to emerge out of the stairs: a furious Selwyn followed by an impassive Snape. I couldn't see any little vials in Snape's hands, but still... Selwyn's stance looked resigned, and Snape prompted him to march towards the common room's entrance, which was enough to clue me in what must have happened. I let out a relieved sigh.

It was a short lived one, because as Selwyn passed by Farley's side, he shot her a look of pure, raw hatred. One that caused a new hush of silence, as we all waited to see if he'd try to do something stupid like casting a killing curse; because he totally looked like he wanted to. I was about to congratulate myself on my clever idea having worked: the little misdirection of going through the Prefect rather than being the snitch myself. But before I could do so the boy also burrowed his frown at me, making me tense for a beat.

And then Dumbledore descended the stairs, a hint of weariness in his eyes and posture, and carrying... something... wrapped in cloth. Some kind of object, one that immediately attracted every gaze in the common room, because it oozed ruin and corruption. Like a putrid smell, except that I felt it through this odd, new magic sense of mine. Something dark, something evil.

I stared after it with eyes wide open. This hadn't been in my plan, not at all. Just what the hell did Selwyn keep inside his trunk?

None of the older men felt necessary to give any explanations to us. They simply retreated back towards the common room's entrance escorting the little psychopath between the two of them. And good riddance.

But as Dumbledore and Selwyn were already leaving, Snape lingered behind.

Slowly but unstoppable, almost like an avalanche, he turned back to face us. His eyes scanned the gathered crowd of students, until they fell on... me.

Shit.

He said. "First year... female students. Follow me."

Oh, come on!

I stood up with a little sigh, and together with the rest of the girls we walked towards the stairs. Snape wasn't waiting for us, though, he simply charged ahead and led the way at a rushed pace. We entered our own dorm to find he was pretty much ignoring everyone else's trunks, and had placed himself squarely in front of mine. His wand was already out and he was waving it in proximity of the trunk's lock.

"Open it," he ordered me the moment I step foot into the room. Then, turning to the other girls: "The rest of you, wait outside."

I had to get uncomfortably close to him to unlatch the trunk, but he never even took a step back to give me some more space. What, did he think I was going to try and hide my remaining unicorn blood vials from right under his enormous nose?

Joke was on him, because I had already done so. I'd put them into the Room of Requirement after I concocted this little plan —because of course I did, in case something exactly like this happened. It was risky leaving the vials hanging around somewhere else, but to my knowledge I was the only one in the castle who knew about that room —other than the elves, perhaps?— so I was fairly confident it would be there when I returned for it.

I had to crouch and dodge out of the way of Snape's arm the moment the top of the box swivelled open, because he immediately cast a spell: "Accio unicorn blood."

Nothing happened, which seemed to frustrate him immensely, judging by the looks he was giving my trunk.

"Accio vials."

A couple of glass containers floated out, and he caught them in mid-air to examine them. They were empty.

He then turned and aimed his wand at me. I took a reflexive step back, but he simply repeated the incantation, aiming at my pockets.

Nothing happened. Although I was lucky he didn't think to say 'Accio mysterious key', because I had the one that Squeeble had lost earlier in the year hanging off the necklace I was wearing under my robes.

"Do you think yourself smart?" he asked me, all but spitting the words out at me. "What do you believe will happen, when the Ministry's Aurors question Mr. Selwyn on the provenance of the materials we found?"

I shrugged and said: "What materials? That thing the Headmaster was carrying away? I don't even know what it was."

"Don't play stupid! The materials for your ritual!"

"So... a ritual that is a secret of the Nott family? Selwyn won't throw them under the bus by speaking about it, not if he wants to remain in their circle."

Which I guessed he'd pretty much need to, right now, if he wanted help with his newfound legal problems. And in fact, I was quite sure nobody in the common room would risk angering the Notts. 'Ritual, what ritual? Oh no, Mister Auror; we were just playing a game of charades!'

I wasn't an idiot —or at least, I liked to think I wasn't. It was indeed a risky plan; but it also played on the Slytherins'... dispositions, so to speak. Plus, hopefully the Aurors would be distracted by whatever that other thing had been.

Snape wasn't as convinced, though: "He merely needs to speak about you."

"A Muggle-raised orphan getting unicorn blood? How?" I challenged him, my arms crossed. "Everybody knows I don't have that sort of money! And the only unicorns around here are in the Forbidden Forest; which certainly Hogwarts would never let first years to enter without any sort of adult supervision, no?"

I guess that might have been a tad too smug of me for him to bear, because he turned again to my trunk to cast a spell I didn't know, but that caused all of my belongings to parade out one after another. I tried my best not to pay any special attention to the notebook with purple covers, but he didn't seem particularly interested in my books and school paraphernalia —not even the Self-Writing Quill, which danced in mid-air as if trying to note down a scathing chronicle of the events. Instead Snape just splayed everything all over my bed, not caring one bit about all my clothes getting wrinkled in the process. He even smirked at my silent indignation, like the bloody, bitter git he was.

Then he grabbed a yellowish, creamy bar of soap and asked me: "What is this?"

"Soap."

"What kind of soap?"

"... Frog Spawn Soap."

He tutted. "A prank item, then; which you very well know are not allowed in the school. Twenty points from Slytherin!... I see that you continue determined to be a hindrance to our house, Miss Sarramond."

"Twenty?! But..."

"Thirty! Do you want another detention, you idiot girl?! Perhaps you are in need of it, if you believe you can flout all of the rules without consequences!"

When I didn't say anything, he simply turned on his feet and left our dorm, taking the stupid soap bar with him and not even bothering to go through the other girls' trunks —all of whom let out matching sighs of relief as he passed by their side without even a glance.

My sigh was more one of annoyance at having to repack everything back into the trunk, but in truth I was also relieved that the Professor's search hadn't turned anything else too incriminating. Although I had to wonder what the hell all this had been for. Of course he already must have known the blood had come from me, but didn't he realise that by only inspecting my belongings and nobody else's he was pretty much singling me out as the snitch who had told on Selwyn?

Not that the others wouldn't be able to reach that same conclusion on their own. But still, it was confirmation on his part.

And perhaps that might have been the intention: making himself look like he was angry on Selwyn's behalf, reinforcing his image as the stereotypical Death Eater. Or maybe not, and it was simple spitefulness for spitefulness' sake. With him, you never knew.

Although I suspected he didn't like me all that much, all things considered.

I went back to the common room a few minutes later, which by that point had exploded once more into wild gossiping. Apparently I hadn't been the only one to notice the... icky feeling that emanated out of whatever that thing of Selwyn had been, and everyone seemed to have their own idea of just what the mysterious object was: 'a Hexbound Tome, I think,' was one of the Carrow twin's theory. 'No, clearly a Nethering.' 'It was certainly a Nightshade Box,' said that one fourth year boy.

It was worrying, the amount of collective knowledge the Slytherin house had on dark, cursed items. But at least I didn't hear anyone speaking of Horcruxes. Which I guessed it couldn't have been, as from what I recalled of my fore-memories Horcruxes weren't supposed to visibly reek of malice like that. They were subtler and more... subversive, you could say?

I myself was more focused on the reactions of Selwyn's own court of worshippers, and mainly that of his mate Burke —who, if my predictions came true, had just graduated to 'Top Racist' in the building. Really, he should be thanking me for the promotion.

He didn't look to be in a thankful mood, though. There had been confusion at first among their little group, when Snape and Dumbledore had made their appearance; but by now Burke seemed to have retreated into a deep, foreboding kind of brooding. Hunched down in his seat —Selwyn's throne remained empty, at least for the time being— and with his gaze put on his own wand, that he twirled in his fingers.

Probably planning who to move against or something. Because it was clear that this had been an attack on them, and so it merited a response.

Which would put me straight into his sights, of course; if not for Farley. The Prefect was standing up, talking relaxedly to a variety of people as she fluttered here and there across the common room like a social butterfly, making herself into a bigger threat. A bigger target.

"What's she doing?" asked Perks when she saw me looking at the teenage girl.

It was Daphne who replied —we weren't around the tea table now, but still seated close enough to each other that it was clear to all that we belonged to her circle, and we could hear each other's comments. She said: "Mingling. She is gathering support."

"Support? For what?"

Daphne was prevented from replying by one of Farley's own girls, in fact, who chose that moment to approach our little group. The heiress stood up to follow her, retreating a few steps away to have a hushed conversation.

"For taking over the common room, of course," I replied instead. Because without Selwyn, the balance of power had shifted in the Prefect's favour, and she was probably keen to fix this new situation in place before Burke and the others had time to react.

And if that's what she wanted —to be the undisputed Queen of the Snakes— she could count with my vote. Firstly, because she'd helped me survive; but mostly because she obviously was the better choice —not that it was a particularly high bar to clear: you only needed not to be a raging arsehole. Plus her... proactivity would act as a lightning rod of sorts, hopefully redirecting any and all anger from the blood purists camp onto her person, as they'd see her as the bigger menace. Hopefully they'd even think that it had been her using me all along to strike at Selwyn, rather than the opposite. So yeah, better her than me.

"Well, doesn't matter to us, does it? Greengrass has always been neutral," said Perks to us, eyeing the blonde heiress still in her conversation.

"Right," I muttered. But I wasn't so sure about it, about that supposed neutrality. Sure, Greengrass had never wanted to be seen too close to me while my blood status was in dispute; but she also had discreetly helped me during that time. And then she had jumped at the chance to claim me for her circle the moment I became non-toxic. Or... well, less toxically lethal.

And sure, I might have been a half-blood now —not really, but let's just don't think about that, okay?— but my feud with Parkinson and the treatment by Selwyn meant my public image was by now firmly entrenched in the more... progressive side of Slytherin, you could say. And so by welcoming me, Greengrass had taken a pretty visible step towards that same side.

So yeah, that didn't scream "neutrality" to me. But she was still guarded about going all in into Farley's camp. So I wasn't too surprised when Daphne returned to announce us that she —and by extension, us too— would only back the Prefect if directly challenged, but would not make any moves in her favour otherwise.

Tracey, though, was surprised: "If Farley wants to take over, she probably will win now. So shouldn't we support her then?"

"Yeah; what's the downside?" I pitched in, feeling a little curious myself. Supporting the side you already knew was to win always seemed like a clever move.

Daphne looked oddly discomfited for a moment, before answering: "My family. Everybody knows we're neutral."

Ah.

"And the world outside is not the common room," I added, nodding to myself.

"No, it isn't."

Tracey and Perks seemed like they hadn't caught on yet, but I didn't want to keep poking at a sore spot, so I let the matter lie. Because really, it wasn't something I hadn't noticed before: that the youngest Slytherin pure-bloods weren't actually child politicians —although some, like Greengrass, had certainly been trained into acting exactly like one. But no, the reality was more complex: the common room and in-house politicking just didn't happen in a vacuum.

Rather, it happened through all those owls flying around: the ones delivering letters every morning as we ate our breakfast, and then taking the students' replies back to the wider world. Meaning, the kids were in constant contact with their families, sending letters back and forth. And so the parents of the more politically minded families —Lucius Malfoy in Draco's case, the Greengrasses in Daphne's— told them what to do. Who to befriend. Who to support. Who to snub.

And yeah, Farley might have won her battle against Selwyn here in our common room, but that didn't really mean much in the wider world outside the walls of Hogwarts —which was sometimes too easy to forget it existed at all, at least for me. The old families still had their priorities, their ties. And so the Greengrasses might very well prefer to protect their neutral reputation, rather than risk angering the Selwyns or the Carrows or whoever just to get in with the Farleys. From what I knew, 'Farley' wasn't a surname you'd find in the Sacred Twenty-Eight list, after all.

But of course, just because their families said something, it didn't mean the kids always did as told. I quite suspected Lucius Malfoy never told Draco to go and pick a fight with the Boy Who Lived, of all people. Which begged the question: why had Daphne invited me to her circle, then? Had she been following her family's suggestions, or had it been her own idea?

I preferred to think it had been the latter; that it was my enchanting personality that had won her over.

But I wasn't going to get an answer to that particular question that night, because all that sudden burst of politicking and moving of chess pieces by Prefect Farley had left Daphne acting more guarded than usual. So I returned to my notes on History of Magic, andthen Transfiguration —working through the remaining equations in the exercise set— and tried to relax and put those thoughts —and those of Aurors arriving to interrogate me— out of my mind for the time being.

Plus, I actually needed to work on this stuff. McGonagall had given us this homework in preparation for the exam —which loomed closer every day— and it was one of my least favourite aspects of her subject. While I was pretty good at the practical side of Transfiguration, there was a whole lot of theory to go along with it; and Transfiguration was particularly tricky because it wasn't just about learning a handful of specific spells —such as the ones we used in Charms or Defence— but rather their underlying rules.

So while I could easily repeat any of the transformations we'd already practised at class —say, turn a match into a needle, or a stone into a sponge— the exam would certainly feature a new type of object we hadn't used before at class. It would require doing the maths first, to figure out the elemental decomposition and the precise incantation and wand movements to perform as a result of those.

Long gone were the days where I could cheat at school thanks to my fore-knowledge providing me with the answers. And in fact, my Muggle brain didn't serve me as well for that sort of Wizarding logic either —which is to say: no logic at all. Although Greengrass would disagree there, seeing as she was pretty good at navigating those exercises.

It was a good thing that she was helping me with them, now that we were part of the same circle and such. I in turn helped the other girls with Charms and Defence —and it wasn't that complicated to figure out the causes of their botched spells and charms, given that I had already noticed how almost no one put as much focus and work into perfecting the exact wand movements as I did.

Like say, how when Perks did her tight loops she actually moved her whole arm slightly in a circular pattern —which was how you did wide loops; but for tight loops you were supposed to keep the arm steady and rotate only your wrist.

It was something that Flitwick tried to correct every now and then, but that by now he took as something of a losing battle. Because in the end there was a limit to how many hours you could have your students practising nothing but the basic wand motions —there were many Leviosa variations to teach, after all. And so as long as your spells worked more or less as intended, you could pass his class even if your casting wasn't as perfect or efficient as it should be.

That didn't work so well in Defence, though, when the quality of your casting could literally save or doom you, but then again most people without lighting scars in their foreheads didn't find themselves in life-and-death situations in the regular, did they? Which I guessed explained why not everybody in Wizarding Britain was cut out to be an Auror. The whole 'being able to keep your mind focused while deadly spells fly overhead' was probably another factor to that, too.

But it was easy for me to see where the other girls' wandwork had turned lazy after months of schooling, and a little extra focus on those simple motions always resulted in visible gains that made Greengrass and Perks quickly realise I was a useful addition to their group in the practical side of things too.

And yeah, all this schoolwork was exactly what I had expected my life would be like, back when I was at the Residence and in those strange days right after Dumbledore's visit: learning and perfecting my domain of magic, all the while socializing and making friends, and maybe subtly helping them to be better prepared for when the war started. So it was a good thing that I could finally get to experience this whole side of Hogwarts —rather than, you know, running around hunting unicorns and dodging Death Eaters— even if it was only now, so close already to the year's end.

But in the end, all those months of tribulations had resulted in a victory. I had won, and Selwyn was gone.

Selwyn was gone.

Gone for good, probably, hopefully... after having being found with whatever that dark thing was. Not that I'd expected him to end in Azkaban or anything like that, but with so little of the year —his last year at the school— remaining I doubted his newfound legal issues would be resolved in time for him to return. Which meant there was a fair chance I'd never see him again. Fingers crossed.

So yeah, it was a victory. Anticlimactic? Perhaps; but that was what Slytherin victories were supposed to look like, I guessed? Let the Gryffindors have their heroic feats and public accolades; our house was more of the opinion that if you were fighting someone, the best move was to stab them in the back with as much prejudice as humanly possible.

It wasn't a clean victory, though, because I was certainly implicated in the whole ritual and unicorn blood matter; but there were no definitive proof against me, so even if the Aurors came pay me a visit I should be able to navigate that to safety. Plus, I was a Muggle-raised first-year: if push came to shove I could always claim I didn't know what I was doing, and that Selwyn had pressured me into it. In a way, it was even true.

Whatever. In the end, it meant I was finally —finally— allowed to relax a bit, to simply breath out and be one more student in our house, only having to deal with the low-grade, low-stakes politicking twelve years old like me were meant to engage in. Which in my case meant mostly Parkinson and Bulstrode and their stupid, infantile shenanigans.

It also meant Draco Malfoy, who approached me as we entered the Training Grounds for our Flying class the following morning, the grass lit in a warm, bright late Spring sun. He said: "Sarramond. I wrote to my father about you. I just received his letter this morning."

"Uhm... okay?"

"My father says that now that your status is clean, it's only appropriate I welcome you to our house... so, consider this your formal welcome to Slytherin."

"Welcome me?! Malfoy, I have been in Slytherin for months now; the year is almost over already!"

He shrugged. "It's not my fault that you took so long to prove your blood. But you are allowed to sit with us now, at the Great Hall or at the common room, if you wish."

And by 'us' he meant Goyle, Crabbe, Bulstrode and Parkinson —who was overhearing our conversation and looking certainly queasy at the shape of the things coming out of the heir's mouth. But yeah, not the most engaging company that you could hope for.

"Thanks Malfoy," I replied politely, trying not to sound too sardonic. The boy was giving what I suspected was a heartfelt try for once, after all, albeit in his own particular style. "But I believe I'll keep sitting with Greengrass and her circle. They accepted me first, you see."

He nodded at that, as if he'd already expected it but still had to go through the motions his father had outlined for him in his letter or something. He said: "That's well enough. But now that you are a Slytherin, there are certain expectations of you."

Now that I'm a Slytherin? Scratch the heartfelt thing, I suddenly wanted to punch that snobby nose of his. He certainly deserved it more than Hopkins had. I replied with an icy: "Oh?"

"Yes; now you must act as befits a member of our noble house," he explained, not noticing or caring about my growing scowl. "You can't associate with the likes of Granger anymore, for example. She is a Mud– a Muggleborn, rather. It wouldn't be proper for someone of a higher standing —even a mere half-blood like yourself— to fraternize with her any longer."

I was about to reply that he need not worry, now that my relationship with Hermione was dead and buried, but at his mention of her my eyes drifted towards the group of Gryffindors now spreading around the Grounds; and I paused.

"Uhm... they aren't here," I mumbled, realising the Golden Trio was entirely missing.

Draco turned to follow my gaze. "Carrying out another of their stupid pranks, most likely," he said with distaste. "The great Potter, always with some childish foolishness or another. He is..."

But I wasn't listening, because all I could hear was my own heartbeat in my ears, at the sudden realisation of what I'd done.

Inadvertently, yes; but I'd just derailed the bloody plot.

In retrospect, it should have been obvious. I'd thought I still had a few days —maybe one or two weeks— before the final confrontation between Harry and Quirrell was meant to take place. I knew it happened after the exams, so I'd relaxed on that front. Dealing with my own matters regarding the ritual and Selwyn had occupied most of my focus, the rest of it going now into my homework and exam preparations.

But of course, Quirrell only made his attempt when he did it in the book because that was when Dumbledore had left Hogwarts for London. He had been waiting all along for the right time to strike.

And by having Selwyn get arrested —probably, but that's what everyone believed— that meant Dumbledore would most likely be forced off to London today, to deal with the sudden influx of legal work that I'd so carelessly placed on top of his desk. Something that hadn't happened in the original timeline.

So it was my fault: I'd sent Dumbledore away from the castle. And in so doing, I'd both precipitated Quirrell's own attack, and the Trio's response to it.

Which... should be fine, right? Harry was protected by his blood magic, after all. So why would the specific date matter at all?

Except that I couldn't get rid of that notion of things being askew —that dry mouth, that foreboding sense of premonition. Because during the entire year, time and time again, all the key events on what had to do with the main characters' trials and tribulations... they all had somehow turned out worse than expected: from the acromantulas in Hallowe'en to that one poisoning attempt on the boy.

And out of the sudden I had this bad, bad feeling about today. An image of a smiling Quirrell holding a red stone as he towered over an unconscious Harry Potter flashing across my mind.

I started heading back towards the castle's entrance then, ignoring Draco's indignant surprise with a muttered, half-arsed apology while I mentally went through my options. I paused right after I left the Training Grounds, though, to consider them fully.

I could go to a teacher. That would be the wisest thing to do, of course. I wasn't protected by a sacrifice out of love myself, which meant I had little to no real chance of facing Lord fucking Voldemort and make it out alive to tell the tale. But did I have time to do that? And if so, which one?

McGonagall? Hadn't the Golden Trio gone to her in the first place, just to be snubbed away? Or had that happened only in the movies? In any case, I wasn't that sure she'd believe me, if they had failed to convince her. She already considered me a liar, and what excuse could I give when she asked me how I knew what I did?

No, wait. In the book, they had petrified Neville, right? But Neville had been there on the Grounds just now. And they had petrified Neville because... what was it? I racked my head, trying to remember the plot of the stupid book... right, it was at night! This was supposed to happen at night, not in the middle of the day! So maybe I was overreacting, and this was just a perfectly normal absence on the Trio's part.

No, you stupid girl, I told myself. It happened at night because somebody would have missed Professor Quirrell during the bloody day! But Quirrell was not a professor anymore, which meant he was free to act whenever he wished. As in, right now.

Shit.

Fine, fine. What about telling Snape?

He would listen, I was sure of that. But he'd be forced to move openly against Voldemort if he went to protect Potter, which could risk destroying his cover, wouldn't it? Hmm...

Duskhaven, then? But could I really trust her?

"You are doing it again, aren't you?!" said an accusing voice from right behind me.

I jerked and turned to face its source. Tracey was staring me down with her arms crossed, not looking very happy.

I said: "Doing–?"

"The same thing from Hallowe'en! You're going to go after Potter and get into danger again, for whatever crazy and stupid reason!"

I looked at her with eyes wide open for a beat, not sure how to respond: "Uhm–"

"Don't try to lie to me," she pre-empted me. "Just tell me why."

"I think they're in danger?" I admitted, rushing a quick explanation out: "Has to do with the thing about that elf, Squeeble, remember? I think his master is trying to steal whatever it is Dumbledore has in the forbidden corridor, and the Gold– I mean, the Gryffindors are going to face him. But I fear they're probably going to get hurt if they do. Like really hurt."

Tracey blinked at the onslaught of words, then sighed. "What?... how do you know–?"

"No time, Tracey! We have to do something! Warn a teacher, of course. But which one?"

"What do you mean, 'which one'? Professor Snape, of course!" she declared, then she simply marched ahead, not even waiting for me.

I remained standing for a beat, blinking at this ferocious side of her. Then I shook my head and followed her into the Entrance Hall and towards the stairs leading down to the dungeons.

Which was when we ran straight into Burke and Flint.