Emerald sat on her narrow bed in the locket underneath the staircase of Number Four, Privet Drive, staring blankly at the ceiling. The familiar musty smell of old carpet and the faded wallpaper surrounded her, bringing a bit of peace to her mind. She had only been back for a week, but the suffocating routine of the Dursleys already weighed heavy on her chest.

Emerald wasn't sure anymore. Since coming back, she'd done her best to keep to herself—anything to avoid Uncle Vernon's rage, Aunt Petunia's scoldings with her annoying high-pitched voice, and Dudley's so-called "little jests". She didn't have the energy to deal with them this year, not after everything that had happened.

Just as her thoughts drifted deeper, the sound of a door slamming downstairs startled her. Heavy footsteps thundered through the hallway, followed by a deep, familiar grumble. Uncle Vernon.

Emerald's stomach tightened. She didn't have the energy to deal with him today. She hadn't said much since she'd been back—keeping her distance had been her strategy, but it never lasted long with Uncle Vernon.

"EMERALD!" came the thunderous roar from downstairs.

She winced, her heart sinking. What now?

"GET HERE! RIGHT NOW!"

Emerald dragged herself off the bed, shoulders slumping as she made her way out of the locket. She had barely made it into the kitchen when Uncle Vernon turned on her, his face already flushed with anger, his mustache twitching furiously.

"Do you want to explain this?" he barked, waving a crumpled piece of black paper in his hand. Emerald's eyes widened in recognition. The familiar silver ornamental ring still dominated it. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'Why is it here? I thought Hermione took it with her.'

"I don't know how it got here," she said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl!" Uncle Vernon's face turned an ugly shade of purple as he shoved the paper toward her. "It looks like something your freaks would scribble. How many times do I have to say it—no more freakishness in this house! No more of your mad freaky contraption cluttering up my home!"

He didn't wait for her response, his voice rising to a roar. "You think you can come back here, ignore the rules, and do whatever you please? We feed you, give you a roof over your head, and this is how you repay us? Freaky papers, freaky school—it's bad enough we have to tolerate you, and now we have to deal with—"

Emerald snapped.

She had been holding everything in—Hermione's constant worry that she was broken, the strange events following her everywhere, and now, Vernon's never-ending shouting. All the near-deaths, all the frustrations—everything came surging forward, fast and uncontrollable.

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" she shouted, her voice trembling with fury. Heat and coldness raced through her body at the same time, settling in her eyes, her throat. "CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME BE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE? I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"

The kitchen fell into dead silence. Emerald stood there, her fists clenched, her breathing ragged. She was shaking, burning with an anger that felt far too intense, like a fire raging inside her that she couldn't put out.

Uncle Vernon's face twitched, his hand still gripping the crumpled parchment. But then, something strange happened.

He froze.

His anger flickered out in an instant. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes glazed over as though he had forgotten where he was.

Then, without a word, he nodded stiffly. The crumpled paper slipped from his hand, fluttering to the floor. Emerald watched, stunned, as he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, his movements rigid and mechanical, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Emerald stared after him, heart pounding in her chest. That wasn't normal. Vernon never backed down, never walked away without having the last word. He always shouted louder, always doubled down.

But this time, he had just… left. No parting threats, no angry grumbles. Just a stiff nod and silence.

It was wrong.

Emerald stood there, frozen, her mind racing. The anger that had surged through her—that wasn't normal either. It was more than frustration, more than just fury at Uncle Vernon's constant berating. It felt like something had snapped inside her, something bigger than she could control. And the way Vernon had acted... It was as if her outburst had pushed a button like she had switched him off like she'd commanded him to leave.

Emerald's eyes drifted to the crumpled black parchment on the floor. The same slip of paper that had appeared mysteriously on the train, now here in the Dursleys' house. Did it follow me?

She crouched down, picking up the paper cautiously. It was cold to the touch, just like before, the intricate silver ring and its strange, angular designs glinting faintly. Her heart raced as she flipped it over, the silver text almost glowing on the dark background.

"Pray and offer to the guiding star, and your wishes shall become true."

Emerald recited the silver words over and over. Who or what is the guiding star? Is it a literall star in the sky or just some metaphor?

Overflowing with curiosity to learn more, Emerald returned back to her locket. Plopping herself on top of her old wiggly bed, she shut her eyes. Pray? That part seems easy. But, offer? What should I offer you?

Emerald's blood ran cold as her mind spiraled into a disturbing thought. A human offering?

She shook her head. Even if it was true, she refused to even think of doing something like that. Suddenly, she sprang up to the sitting position, and her eyes widened—she had an idea. I am a witch! What else could I offer besides my magic?

Grasping the paper even tighter, she focused on the feeling she felt when casting magic—the weak warm, tingly sensation running down her arm all the way to her fingertips grasping the wand. It was as if a gentle current poured down her. It was as if she could feel her own blood flow.

She stopped. She couldn't risk doing it. Ministry could track underage magic outside the school in some way. Magic and the friends it brought her were her everything, she wouldn't be able to life any further if they took it away from her.

Emerald slid off the bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor. She lifted the mattress with shaky hands and tucked the slip underneath. When she flopped back onto her bed, she exhaled deeply. What was I even thinking?

The next evening, Emerald lay on her bed, sweating in the stifling heat. She stared at the ceiling, bored and lonely. Her thoughts drifted to her friends.

Ron's probably with his family, she thought, and Neville's catching up on his studies. Hermione's probably relaxing in some fancy place.

The Dursleys had locked all the windows, and Hedwig was still trapped in her cage. Emerald felt completely cut off from the world. She longed for some form of contact—anything that wasn't insults or orders.

The doorbell rang, startling her. She almost got up to answer it—old habits—but stopped herself. Uncle Vernon had visitors coming, and she was supposed to stay out of sight, as always. It wouldn't do for me to show my freakiness to the world. She chuckled weakly at her imitation of her aunt's voice inside her head.

A heavy creak echoed through the house, followed by the familiar thud of Uncle Vernon's footsteps as he headed to the door.

Emerald sat up, listening closely. The front door opened, and she heard voices—muffled, unfamiliar. Two, maybe three people, their tones formal and sharp.

Then came Uncle Vernon's voice, louder now. "Emerald! Come here!"

Slowly, she got up, opened the cupboard door, and made her way to the hallway. Her heart pounded, a flicker of hope sparking inside her. Maybe someone had come to take her away—maybe Dumbledore had sent help.

But when she reached the front door, she stopped.

Two figures stood just inside the entrance. The first was a tall woman in a sharp, midnight-blue dress, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Next to her stood a stocky man in a dark trench coat, his expression unreadable.

They didn't look like anyone Emerald had ever seen before. They definitely weren't from school.

Her hope faded as quickly as it had come.

"Go with them." Her uncles waved in their general direction. Emerald didn't move, seemingly unable to comprehend her uncle's words—he wanted her to go up into the night with a bunch of strangers. That was an exact opposite of what he should be saying! Her instincts screamed that something was off, but Uncle Vernon just waved toward the door like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Her stomach turned into a pit. It was wrong, she could feel it. She had to fight the urge to grasp the wand tucked inside her sleeve. I can't. I don't even know if they are muggles or not. Drawing her wand now might only make things worse.

"Is this her?" the woman asked, her voice as sharp as the cut of her dress. She didn't wait for a response. Her eyes remained fixed on Emerald, watching her closely. "Emerald Potter?"

Emerald swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Uh, yes?" she said, her voice faltering slightly. "What do you want? Why should I go with you?"

Uncle Vernon's face turned a deep shade of red. His mouth opened and closed, but before he could let out whatever fury he had building up, the man in the trench coat cut in.

"Someone wants to meet with you," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Someone who doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Emerald frowned. His answer only raised more questions than it solved. Someone wanted to meet her? But who? Why? For a moment, her mind raced to Hermione. Could she have sent them? Maybe she had gotten worried when she didn't hear from Emerald all summer. Hermione's parents were well-off, after all. Maybe they had hired someone to check on her?

Or maybe they work for Voldemort?

Emerald's pulse quickened. Her fingers twitched under her sleeve, brushing the smooth wood of her wand.

"Come and maybe you can meet a certain star." The woman continued, her words striking Emerald like a chord. A star? Guiding star? It once again all connected to the black slip of paper. She wanted to fight. Maybe to try and run away, or maybe even simply refuse if she could.

Everything that is happening to me. Maybe they know what it is. This was her chance to get the answers she wanted. This was her chance to finally find out what was truly going on.

Finally, she took a deep breath. "Fine," she said, her voice steady despite the unease crawling up her spine. "I'll go with you."

Without another word, Emerald stepped outside into the cool night air, the door closing softly behind her.

The two strangers led her toward a sleek black car parked at the curb. The woman opened the back door, gesturing for her to get in.

Emerald paused, glancing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, distant and indifferent.

Pray and offer to the guiding star, and your wishes shall come true. As her eyes lingered on a peculiarly bright star, a sudden realization struck her. The guiding star! The start that guided travelers and sailors for centuries. The morningstar!

She shivered.

Taking a deep breath, Emerald climbed into the sleek black car, her movements stiff with apprehension. The door clicked shut behind her with a quiet finality, the two strangers up front saying nothing as they settled into their seats. The engine thrummed to life, pulling away from Number Four, Privet Drive, and soon the familiar suburban street dissolved into the deepening night.

Outside, the world was shrouded in thick, impenetrable darkness. Shadows consumed the shapes of houses and trees, and even the occasional streetlamp flickered before disappearing altogether. Something was wrong.

Emerald shifted in her seat, fingers brushing the reassuring weight of her wand hidden in her sleeve. Since her strange awakening in the hospital wing, her eyes had adapted unnervingly well to the dark. But now? Now, the night seemed dark once more. It was as if the darkness wasn't natural. Her pulse quickened. Why had her uncle let them take her? He may have been cruel, but Vernon had never crossed the line of violence—he'd never dared to, for fear of Dumbledore.

The silence in the car was as oppressive as the darkness outside. Neither the man nor the woman said a word, and the minutes dragged by with a weight that made the air thick. Emerald felt a knot tightening in her chest. She couldn't shake the sensation that something was terribly wrong.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, voice tight. No response. She caught the woman's gaze in the rearview mirror—an unreadable glance, cold as ice.

"Answer me!" she snapped, her tone sharper, more forceful. Her foot stamped against the car's floor, a tiny gesture of defiance.

The man spoke, at last, voice low and indifferent. "Someone important wants to meet you. You'll be safe. No harm will come to you."

His tone gave no comfort. Emerald frowned, glancing back outside. The darkness was gone; she could see once more. The landscape had changed, the neat rows of houses replaced with dry, cracked earth and bare, skeletal trees. The grass outside looked... purple. Her breath caught in her throat as her face pressed closer to the glass. This is definitely magical!

A massive structure loomed in the distance like an imposing silhouette against the night. As they drew closer, she could make out its towering black stone walls, the eerie gleam of polished stone catching faint purplish light. The castle was ancient and monstrous, stretching far beyond her line of sight. Its grand pillars, akin to those from ancient Rome, melded with decaying Gothic towers. Some parts had crumbled into ruin; broken windows, collapsed walls, and twisted iron gates gave it an ominous look.

Her chest tightened with unease. Is this where they're taking me?

The car slowed to a stop, and the doors clicked open. A cold wind swept in, biting at her skin.

"Go on," the woman said, her voice stiff. "Lady Lucifer is waiting."