When Astraya entered the Great Hall the next morning, she found Riddle and his friends already gathered around the Slytherin table. They were discussing something quietly, their eyes straying to the staff table. She followed their gazes and faltered for a moment as she approached the table.
The man she'd seen yesterday with Dumbledore was sitting at the staff table next to Merrythought. His features looked less severe without torchlight throwing shadows on them, but she could still see the harsh angle of his cheekbones and jaw, the long nose, and the dark narrow eyes. His long hair was neatly pulled back, and he was dressed in moss green robes that were simple yet finely made.
"Who's that man sitting at the staff table?" came Cora's voice, distracting her from her contemplation. "I've never seen him before," she said as they sat down.
"Professor Blackwood," said a girl sitting near them. Her hair was jet-black, tied into a high ponytail falling in lively curls to her shoulders. Her bold, dark eyes didn't glance up as she spoke to them, focussed on meticulously buttering her toast. Everything about her, from the straight-backed way she sat to the way she gripped her knife as she spoke exuded elegance and refinement. "He's a new Defence teacher."
"Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Ophelia asked, blinking in confusion behind her spectacles. "But what about Professor Merrythought?"
"They're going to split the classes between them. Dippet said Blackwood's going to take fifth-years and above, while Merrythought takes first to fourth-years."
"That's Lucretia Black," Cora whispered to Astraya, seeing the way she was studying the girl. "Not as crazy as her cousin Walburga, but just as stuck-up."
Astraya believed it as she watched Lucretia put down her toast, take out her wand and use it to bring a pot of tea further down the table towards her, holding it as delicately as a conductor leading an orchestra into a great concert.
Her eyes drifted back to Blackwood. There was something in the way his eyes moved around the hall, something in the lines of his face that sent her danger censors into a panic. She spun her head away from the staff table and busied herself with her breakfast.
They had Herbology first period, so they ventured out to the greenhouses after breakfast. The three glass structures looked magnificent in daylight, their long windows glinting iridescently as the morning sun caught on their surface.
Their lesson took place in the middle greenhouse. They gathered around it with the Hufflepuffs, waiting for the Herbology teacher, Professor Beery, to arrive and let them inside. They waited for ten minutes until a short, rotund man showed up, red-faced with indignation. He muttered vehemently as he fumbled with his keys, looking for the one to unlock the greenhouse, seeming to talk more to himself than to them.
"…no appreciation for my talents at all. My own fault for trying to bring more spirit into this insipid school… Right, come in, fifth-years." He flung open the door, his expression still grumpy as they entered the greenhouse.
Warm, steamy air hit Astraya the minute she stepped inside, carrying the scent of green leaves and blooming flowers. The interior was overflowing with vegetation, potted plants covering every inch of the tables spanning the middle of the greenhouse. She could see leaves of every shape and size and flowers of every colour and shade, some of them still buds and young shoots, some in full bloom.
Beery seemed uninclined to teach them properly, his annoyance still visible on his face, and only gave them a half-hearted introduction on Screechsnaps and how to care for them before telling them to collect the seedlings and get to work.
The thick, humid air soon formed beads of sweat on Astraya's brow as she fetched her pot of Screechsnap seedling, a somewhat cute, purple-stemmed flower, whose bulbous head let out a soft, squeaking sound reminiscent of a kitten mewling for its mother. This had nearly every girl in the room melting, until they discovered that they had to fertilise them with dragon dung.
In no time, putrid fumes were drifting about, and most faces had scrunched in disgust. Astraya's nose wrinkled as she emptied a trowel of pungent, brown-coloured compost.
"What was wrong with Professor Beery?" she asked, trying to distract herself.
Cora looked similarly repulsed, her brown bob turning frizzy because of the humidity. "Probably because Dippet won't let him make a play this year too. He's been asking permission to run a Christmas pantomime for years, but Dippet won't let him. Not after what happened the last time he tried that." This was said with a trace of amusement as Cora remembered the event, snorting a little.
Intrigued, Astraya asked for details. The lesson passed quickly as Cora relayed the story of how the Christmas pantomime of the Fountain of Fair Fortune had engendered a duel between two of the actresses, a fire that had left the Great Hall filled with wood smoke for months, and a multitude of injuries and casualties, including an excessive inflation of Professor Beery's head. By the time Cora was done, both of them were snickering, and even Ophelia managed a few giggles.
They emerged from the greenhouse, sweaty, their uniforms rumpled and smeared with mud and fertiliser. The fresh, morning air was jarring after the humidity they had been in for the last hour. They were still laughing as Cora regaled them with stories of Professor Kettleburn's past blunders, which had played a major role in the disaster that was the Fountain of Fair Fortune play. Even Ophelia, initially reluctant to mock a teacher, related the story of how he had once tried to demonstrate how to ride a Hippogriff during a lesson, then accidentally pulled on its feathers mid-flight and was upended into the Great Lake, where they found the giant squid twirling him in the air with its tentacles like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Astraya had never known anything like the giddy happiness she felt as she laughed with the two Slytherin girls. She was so immersed in this newfound feeling that she didn't glance in Riddle's direction, or notice that he was strangely content to ignore her today. Her attention was once more occupied by Riddle, however, when they entered the Potions dungeon for their afternoon lesson. Slughorn was in the store cupboard, scouring the shelves, reading the label on every jar and vial.
"Is something the matter, sir?" Riddle asked with polite concern, stepping forward.
Slughorn looked up, apparently not having realised he was no longer alone. His tense face relaxed a little at the sight of his favourite student. "Tom, m'boy." He left the store cupboard and surveyed the class with his round eyes. "Some ingredients have gone missing from my stores. I've looked for them everywhere, but they seem to have vanished." He squinted at the class. "Do any of you know anything about this?"
There was a collective shake of heads, and a subtle exchange of glances between students.
"This is not the first time supplies have gone," Slughorn started. "I do not think the culprit is any one of you, but I should warn you that potion-making is not something to be taken lightly. Whatever potion these ingredients were intended for, if it is brewed incorrectly, it can cause all kinds of harm. And if the person responsible is caught, there will be serious repercussions." He sighed. "I don't want this to set a bad precedent for this new year, but I hope that if any of you know anything about this, you will come straight to me."
The class murmured in affirmation. Astraya's gaze was drawn to Riddle. His expression was sincere, clear of any ulterior emotions; there was nothing suspicious about it. But it was his friends that caused wariness to stir inside her. Nott and Avery exchanged a nervous glance, first at each other, then at Riddle, then darted their eyes away. It was an easy gesture to miss, but her suspicion had already been kindled, and this confirmed it.
She tried to concentrate on brewing a proper Everlasting Elixir. But her mind kept wandering to the stolen ingredients and the potion they'd been intended for. Or rather, who that potion was intended for.
At the end of the lesson, Slughorn inspected the steaming cauldrons, and once again rewarded Astraya and Riddle with hefty points for Slytherin. Astraya's deep purple elixir was bubbling gently, exactly as described in the textbook, but she was disgruntled. She knew she could have done a better job had she not been so distracted.
The store cupboard contained ingredients used for potions which were essentially harmless, or could cause no serious damage, like the ones they brewed in lessons. The more valuable, selectively used ingredients were kept in Slughorn's private storeroom, which was kept tightly locked. What in Merlin's name was Riddle planning?
Over the next two days, Astraya tried to find an opportunity to sneak off to the Restricted Section in the library to peruse its contents, but she had no luck. The girls always stayed up till late, and she didn't want to answer any questions they might have about where she was going. And Riddle and his group most often stayed in the common room after most people had gone to sleep. She didn't want an altercation with them, especially since she was sure they were planning something. Riddle had been distant and polite these last few days, and hadn't tried to approach her. She wasn't so stupid as to think he'd given up so easily.
On Thursday, they had their first lesson with Professor Blackwood. It was held in an ordinary classroom on the second floor, filled with curious objects and disturbing paintings that Blackwood appeared to have hung himself. The cramped, slightly musty atmosphere suited him, with his severe face and cold attitude.
"I understand," he drawled, his black eyes moving around the class as he moved between the desks, hands clasped behind his back, "that much of your studies so far have depended on practical usage and duelling. Which is why I think we will get on splendidly, since I do not believe in theoretical learning but in putting what you have learned into practise. But before we get to that, we will look at some of the theories that your curriculum will be based on. Let me take the register so I can get to know your names," he said, strolling back to his desk, "then I would like you all to turn to page 33 of your textbooks."
He called out the names in his drawl, looking up after each name to catch that person's face. When he reached hers, his eyes settled on her with a curious glint that made her tense.
"Ah, yes," he said. "You are a new student here, yes?"
She nodded. He smiled, the expression somehow out of place on his face. "Seeing as how we're both new here, I hope we can help each other get settled." He waited until she nodded again, then went back to the register. "Ava Selwyn?"
There was no reply. Astraya looked around with a frown. Ava wasn't there, but she'd been present for every lesson that day. Where had she gone?
"Selwyn?" Blackwood repeated. "Does anyone know where she is?" At the class's mute shake of heads, he shook his head and wrote something on the register. "Right, please turn to page 33, Jinxes and Counter-Jinxes."
The lesson was the opposite of the previous one. Whereas that had been filled with activity and frolics, this lesson consisted of theories, laws and logistics. In spite of his supposed preference for practical work, Blackwood spent the lesson lecturing them on what jinxes were, the counters for each of them, and giving them their first Defence essay.
After the lesson had concluded, they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, where they found a grumpy Ava already sitting at the table.
"How was Defence?" she asked when they sat down, a tinge of contempt leaking into her voice.
"A bit boring," said Cora. She was frowning at Ava. "Why didn't you come to class? Blackwood's probably going to give you a week of detention for that."
"I don't care," Ava said defiantly. "I'm not attending a lesson given by… him. Even my brother didn't go to his lesson yesterday. Blackwood ratted on him to Slughorn and we lost a lot of points."
"What's your problem with Blackwood?" Astraya asked, surveying the food laden on the table and helping herself to a large slice of shepherd's pie, the top layer glazed and crisped at the edges, hot minced meat crumbling out from the side, steaming gently.
Ava stared at her for a long moment, as if deciding whether she could be trusted or not. "Blackwood used to work at the Ministry with my father," she said eventually in a low voice.
Astraya paused mid-way through lifting her fork. "The Ministry?"
Ava nodded. "They used to be very good friends. He often came to our house, and Father spoke highly of him." She stabbed her fork forcefully into her slice of pie, speaking without looking up. "A few years ago, there was some trouble in the Ministry, specifically in the department where my father worked. I don't know what it was about. All I know is, when it was over, Blackwood got promoted, and my father went to Azkaban."
Astraya's eyes drifted over to the entrance of the Great Hall, through which Blackwood was entering with Slughorn, chatting amicably. His gaze skimmed the room before landing on Ava, who glanced up from her plate and stiffened.
"I need to go," she muttered, and before they could say anything, she'd walked away to the double doors, pushing her way through the crowd of students coming to lunch from lessons, and was gone.
By the time Friday's lessons had concluded, Astraya was exhausted. A small pile of homework had already accumulated, mostly consisting of long, tedious essays for nearly every subject. Astraya, who wasn't used to homework or essays spent her free afternoons perusing the library for information to use in her essays. Every time, her eyes were drawn to the Restricted Section, which she still hadn't had an opportunity to investigate.
Riddle hadn't made any move so far, and she'd made sure to keep a careful watch on what she ate, in case he or one of his gang tried to sneak whatever potion they'd made into her food or drink. She'd tried looking for a spell, but she couldn't find an enchantment that could protect food from potions. And even if there was one, it would have been tedious to do it every meal, not to mention the effort it would've taken to hide it.
Friday dinner was splendid. The ceiling mirrored a clear star-spangled sky the colour of blackberries, and the tables were laden with golden plates glittering in the candlelight, heaped with roast chicken thighs smothered in gravy, tureens of mashed potatoes and peas and boiled carrots, sausages and thin slices of roasted pork. For pudding, there was treacle tart, small toffee cakes covered with caramel sauce, and chocolate pudding topped with whipped cream.
Astraya found herself piling her plate with bits of each dish, the rich scents of gravy and roasted meat penetrating her olfactory senses, making her stomach growl.
Halfway through the meal, one of the pitchers of pumpkin juice nearby was knocked over, causing a great commotion as it slammed into the edge of a plate, overturning it and fracturing, orange liquid spilling down the table and seeping over the edges.
Astraya shot up from the bench as the juice spilled over the table onto her robes, making a large wet patch. Cursing, she held the wet fabric away from her body and reached hurriedly for her wand, cleaning it off with a wave. Many students around her had found themselves in a similar situation.
The table was ruined, the fractured shards of glass lying in a pool of spilt juice. Astraya was about to clean it when the shards vanished, the table drying instantly, the setting as good as new. She turned to find Riddle pointing his wand at the former mess, and rolled her eyes, sitting back down. He probably never missed an opportunity to show off his talent and supposed helpfulness, she thought derisively as she reached for her own glass of pumpkin juice, taking a sip.
She'd started on her treacle tart when she noticed something strange. At the start of dinner, Riddle had been surrounded by his friends, as usual, but now she saw that at least three of them were missing, namely Rosier, Lestrange, and maybe Mulciber. They'd likely used the commotion over the spilt pitcher to get away without attracting attention. But where had they gone?
Astraya massaged her forehead with a grimace. A dull pressure was growing behind her eyes, like something was pressing against her forehead, causing a steady headache to grow inside her skull. The din inside the Great Hall only made it worse, each noise like a pin being pushed into her brain.
"I'm going to go. I'm feeling tired," she said to Cora. Her voice sounded as if from the end of a tunnel. She didn't go the common room, but instead climbed the stairs all the way to the fourth floor, hoping to go to the library, where the quiet and the smell of books could soothe her head.
She wondered what had caused this sudden migraine. She'd been completely fine a few moments ago. But after she'd drank that pumpkin juice –
Then it hit her.
Befuddlement Draught.
She looked back with a glare towards the staircase, as if she could see down three floors to the Great Hall where Riddle sat. His friends must have slipped the potion into her juice when she was distracted, then slipped away after their work was done.
She went still, some sixth sense coming to life inside her, setting her heart beating in a frantic rhythm.
She moved to the side just in time to avoid a Stun spell that came from one of the darkened corridors. The potion made her less agile, and she slammed into the ground hard, her knee receiving most of the impact.
She looked up to find that her vision had started to blur, another effect of the Befuddlement Draught. She used her hands to lift herself from the floor then hurriedly tugged her wand out of her pockets, just as three figures emerged from the shadows.
"Protego," she muttered, erecting a shield around herself as more spells came. The shield was strong, but in her weakened state it wouldn't last long. She needed to get out of here.
She fumbled to her feet, her wand pointed vaguely at her attackers. Her knee sent subtle waves of pain up her legs, but she managed to make her way to the staircase, muttering any spell that came to mind. They missed, her attackers having better concentration and co-ordination. One of them – Lestrange, it looked like – fired a spell that destroyed the remnants of her shield, leaving her as vulnerable as a blind kitten.
Getting desperate, she shouted a spell that would have probably led to her expulsion had it been known she used it. It hit Rosier in the shoulder, and she barely stopped to watch him crumble to the ground, clutching his injured shoulder, before she pointed her wand up the staircase and shouted, "Ascendio!"
Her wand rushed forward as if pulled by a powerful invisible force, sending her gliding over the stairs and stumbling onto the fifth floor. She heard heavy footsteps hurtling up towards her, and hurriedly repeated the motion to get to the sixth floor, then the seventh, where she crashed into the landing, flinging out her arm under her, which slammed into the hard floor.
Her head was pounding, her vision so blurry she could barely see in front of her. The Draught was in full effect, so that she even the sounds of multiple footsteps coming up the stairs reached her as faint, foggy sounds, taking a moment to register in her befuddled brain. When they did, she used all her remaining strength to get up, making her way to the left of the landing, trying to hasten her pace without collapsing or bumping into a wall.
She turned around the corner, and barely manage to walk three steps before she crumpled. Panic threatened to overcome her, hearing the distant sounds of feet hitting the floor, then someone speaking in a distorted voice. Her breathing caught as she heard someone approach the corridor where she hid.
She couldn't muster the energy to get up, nor could she summon a single spell to ward her attackers off when they found her. She needed somewhere to hide, somewhere they couldn't find her, just until the effects wore off enough for her focus to return.
The footsteps were closer than ever. They would turn the corner any minute. Her hand tightened on her wand uselessly.
A motion appeared at the edges of her blurred vision. She blinked up dazedly, barely making sense of what she was seeing. With astonishment, she saw that a door seemed to have appeared in the wall. Half aware of what she was doing, she pushed herself enough to push it open from the bottom, then shuffled inside, hearing the slam it made as she collapsed once more in the great empty room.