Chapter Seventeen: Still Dark Inside

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"Continuing with our developing story in Brycetown. The village was placed under a twenty-four hour quarantine yesterday after twelve residents abruptly passed away and fifteen more were taken to hospital after exhibiting severe flu-like symptoms. Public Health England officers have completed health evaluations of all 258 Brycetown residents, and while some have tested positive for influenza and other common respiratory viruses, no new vector of disease transmission has been identified. Health officials categorically deny that this could be the beginning of an epidemic, but caution the public of a particularly severe flu season and urge residents to be vigilant and to seek out their health care provider if they develop any symptoms.

"Brycetown is still reeling from the after effects, with the small village remaining isolated into the early morning hours. Health officials will continue to monitor the situation into the weekend. This isn't the first time tragedy has struck the small village, leaving its residents perhaps more capable than most of dealing with disaster. Brycetown, which was rechristened in 1996 in honor of a war hero who was—"

There was a sudden flash of flame, startling Ella, and she turned away from the telly to see a single golden feather floating gently to the floor. She reached out to grab it, and it unfurled in her hand, revealing a small scroll of parchment. Dumbledore. She unrolled it as the feather burst into flames and vanished, her eyes scanning the neat cursive.

The note was frustratingly short. Ella, several concerns have come to my attention, and we must speak urgently. I fear that everything may be connected, and, in this regard, I may have made a grave miscalculation. Please come to Hogwarts at your earliest convenience. Yours most sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

Ella frowned, turning the parchment over to see if there was anything on the back. There wasn't. The note very effectively sent chills down her spine. A grave miscalculation? What did he mean? What was connected? Dumbledore wasn't often in the habit of sending out cryptic warnings. Lately, anyway. She glanced at the sitting room clock, but there was no time to run to Hogwarts now. She had to be at the Institute in fifteen minutes, and she could hardly miss another class without notice.

Not that Dean Greengrass, Graye, wasn't understanding. More than she could have hoped, really, when she had sat down across from him on Monday two weeks past and explained her situation while resolutely forcing the tears back from her eyes. She was learning to walk with them, to shelve them, but these days they still seemed to live on the fringes of her being. They followed her constantly, waiting for their opportunity to stream down her cheeks. Perhaps the GTD was pushing them out, taking up residence in her body until there was no room for her tears anymore. Perhaps GTD couldn't coexist with tears… or perhaps that was the only way it could coexist. She was sure Graye had seen their shadow behind her eyes, had heard it in the matter-of-fact mask of her voice, though he chose not to comment.

"Of course we'll do everything we can to accommodate you, Ella. If you do not feel up to teaching for the present, we can—"

"I'd like to continue," she had said. "This class is important to me, Graye. As long as I feel all right, I don't want to leave the students hanging mid term."

"I understand." His expression had been unreadable — Graye had always had a poker face she could never decipher. "I value your commitment. Please continue with your class as long as you feel able, and Ella… Please keep us updated, and we will revisit this as needed. And should you feel the need for time off, we do have an excellent disability policy. Are you aware of the details?"

"Yes, more or less." Disability leave… She had never...

"Good," Graye said. "I know you haven't been here long, but you are part of the team. And all the benefits that come alongside that. Don't be afraid to ask if you need help."

"Thank you." Her words had been a whisper; a humiliating admission she could barely voice. She could have never, in a million years, imagined having this type of conversation. Was it really real? Was this really her life?

"Ella, if I may…" Graye added, eyeing her seriously. "Perhaps it would be helpful if you had an assistant. We can assign you a T.A. if you would like. Someone to help with assignments and grading, who can also fill in if you're feeling unwell."

It was an offer of help, and yet she had run the second it was on the table.

"I think I'm all right for now," she said quietly. "But I'll think about it, thank you."

And then she was off, mumbling a hurried goodbye. She had stepped back into the flat before remembering that Graye also had a daughter who was battling an illness. A terminal blood malediction. He understood perhaps more than she realized. But no, she couldn't think about Astoria, she was… No...

With a shake of her head, Ella turned back to the telly, where the newscaster was halfway through a segment on the history of Brycetown while images of a beautiful old house flashed across the screen, and turned it off with a flick of her wand. She wasn't sure about the efficacy of the Ministry's cover story — it was likely to start a mass panic, despite the PHE's Confunded promises that it wasn't an epidemic. She still remembered how concerned the entire population of London had been with the swine flu around the time she, Daniyel, and Robert had found their way back to Hogwarts...which, incidentally, would be later this year if the timelines remained intact.

But she couldn't worry about Brycetown and the Ministry; she had too much on her plate as it was. Her class, for which she still felt utterly unprepared despite her insistence to continue pretending that everything was normal… pretending that the pregnancy and the chemo weren't eating her up from the inside and spitting out her remains, broken and exhausted. The latest number Hannah had pulled from her veins yesterday morning, before administering the final injection of her second round of methotrexate — 9,000. 9,038 if she was being exact. It was a significant drop, down from 15,000 the previous week. Not as big as the drop during her rest week, but according to Hannah, that was to be expected. The MTX needed time to work. And Hannah had been pleased. And she should have been pleased, too. She had survived her second round. Her numbers were dropping. She had six days off to enjoy, before it all started again. But it ate her up inside all the same. She could hardly tell her heart to cheer up and just expect it to do so on command.

And now she had to worry about whatever on earth Dumbledore was on about too... A grave miscalculation… what the bloody hell did that mean? Was it related to their research? But the Stone worked, she had tested it. Harry had tested it… inadvertently. But it worried her. Perhaps she would stop by Hogwarts in the evening.

She hurried into the bedroom, where she quickly fixed her hair in the mirror before grabbing her bag and rushing back out to the sitting room. She looked pale and exhausted, and the shadows under her eyes seemed to slice into her skin despite the layers of magic concealing them. She didn't care. She rubbed Snowy behind the ears, slipped into her shoes, and Disapparated with a nauseating jolt, reappearing moments later in the Apparition nook of the Magical Institute.

She stumbled upon landing, and for a moment, she couldn't catch her breath. Her stomach contracted painfully as black dots swam across her vision, and she leaned over, grabbing onto the wall as she tried to draw in air. Somehow, it all seemed harder than last week, even with the bloody sandwich. Twice harder than the week before that. Was it a mistake, insisting on staying at work when every dose of MTX just compounded the one that preceded it? Was it all too much? For a moment, she wanted to run. She wanted to turn right back into the compressing air, despite how unpleasant it was, and reappear in the safety of their flat. And not leave it again until the world had been fixed somehow.

But there was no fixing it. No magical solution. This was her new normal after all. And she would have to learn to live with it, to move on with her life along with it, no matter how much it all hurt. She had already lost so much, she refused to give up anything else. She pushed off from the wall, taking her resolve with her, and gulped in air until her stomach settled. Then she straightened her sweater dress and walked determinedly out into the hallway, the mask of a smile plastered across her face.

It wasn't that bad, really. Work. Teaching. She fell into the familiar, letting it lift her up as she turned to her students, smiled, and launched into another lecture. For a moment, she forgot her grief. Her exhaustion. She had earned this; she wouldn't lose it.

Three hours passed by in a flash.

And then it was over, and she was back to square one. She sat down in her usual spot on the edge of the stage as her students filed out, and the exhaustion crawled out of the cracks it had been hiding in and snaked around her once more. Her eyes were painfully dry, itching with tiredness. She rubbed at them absentmindedly, letting the world momentarily vanish into darkness as she listened to the happy chatter of her students rushing past. And of course they were pleased; she hadn't given them homework. She didn't want to grade homework, to be honest. Perhaps she would feel better tomorrow, but tonight just the thought of looking at the completed worksheets on parallel world positioning in space she had assigned last week was enough to make her feel like she was drowning in a well.

She was so tired. More than she wanted to admit, even to herself. But she was sure it would pass as she put more days between herself and the chemo. The last resting week had been easier after all, why shouldn't this be the same? The exhaustion was the only side effect she had noticed so far, aside from the stomach aches. The constant tiredness followed her everywhere and refused to let up. She had managed to forget it for moments only by throwing herself wholeheartedly into action and pretending. And now she was paying double.

She heard a familiar shuffling of feet and looked up, smiling, to see Siggy standing before her. Siggy smiled shyly back.

"Great class!" she said.

"Glad you liked it," Ella offered. "Makes teaching worthwhile and all."

Siggy let out a small laugh. "Are you… doing all right?" she asked tentatively. "Dan said this week was… was harder for you."

Ella nodded. "Hanging in there. The prospect of grading your guys' homework is definitely keeping me going."

Siggy contemplated her, seemingly trying to decide if she was serious. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I wish I could do more to help. But I really enjoyed doing the homework, though." She smiled.

"Did you really?" Ella said. "Let's see then." She dug into her bag and Accio'd Siggy's worksheet, glancing over the calculations, the white glare of the parchment stinging at her eyes.

"Er, yes," Siggy said, thrown off track. She watched Ella look over her work. "It's my favorite class, Professor. Honest. It's fascinating. I love it."

"You know it, too," Ella said, offering her a smile as she lowered the parchment and blinked its brightness away. "This is all correct. Well done, Siggy."

"Thank you." Siggy blushed, glancing at the floor again. "I've been reading your papers in Science Magic."

"Really?" Ella said, amused now. "I didn't think anyone bothered reading those. Even Harry."

"Oh, yes." Siggy picked at the edges of her notebook. "It's really helped me understand the material more."

"How about a trip to Muggle London?" Ella asked with a small grin. "Did that also help?"

"Oh!" Siggy hesitated. "Er, yes, with Dan. He's told you?"

"He may have mentioned it," Ella admitted, putting down Siggy's worksheet. "What did you think?"

"Oh, it's fascinating! I mean, we didn't get to see very much. I don't know if he's mentioned the… er—"

"Yes, he did," Ella said, still smiling as a surge of pure warmth flashed through her chest. "He told me what you did. And honestly, Siggy, I'm so proud. And very impressed."

"Thank you," Siggy mumbled, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she glanced away, decidedly studying the tips of her boots. "It just happened, and, well, Dan said I should have thought it through better, but there wasn't time, really, and—"

"Oh, stop," Ella said. "Was it dangerous? Sure. But you did the right thing, and it's done, and it worked out. Don't let Dan make you feel bad about that, all right?"

"Right," Siggy said, flashing her eyes up to meet Ella's. "I mean, he didn't really. He was right, it was dangerous. I could have done it differently..."

"Maybe," Ella allowed. "And hindsight is 20/20. But you analyzed that situation in seconds and reacted the way you thought best. There's not really time to make a plan in these situations. You just act. And you acted heroically."

"I suppose that's true." Siggy offered her a tentative smile. Ella contemplated her, a bit torn over Siggy's lack of self-confidence, even now, and a sudden idea bloomed in the dark recesses of her mind. She couldn't quite decide if it was stupid or brilliant, but in her exhaustion, brilliant seemed to be winning. Perhaps it wasn't the ideal solution, and maybe it wasn't the one Graye had intended, but she thought it might be oddly perfect for both of them. "Would you like to take a more active role in the class?"

Siggy looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Ella said, "to be honest, I could use an assistant. Someone to help grade assignments... maybe have a go at teaching the class sometime. I'd revise the material with you in depth, one on one. It would pay some, even. What do you think?"

"Oh!" Siggy stared at Ella again, her eyes brightening. "More in depth than with the class? I'd love that! And I'd really love to help you, too."

"That's great," Ella said, relieved that Siggy hadn't run for the hills. And she suspected the validation the extra responsibility would provide would help her find her place. "Let's start with something simple. Maybe you can grade a few of these worksheets?" She held up Siggy's again and smiled. "We can do it together, if you like. Maybe this weekend?"

"Absolutely!" Siggy said. "I'd love to grade them. But, er, this weekend I can't. I'm going to— to visit my sister… That is, my mum and I..." She trailed off, shooting Ella an anxious glance, as if afraid she'd said the wrong thing.

"That's OK," Ella said quickly. "Family's definitely a priority. Especially now. It doesn't have to be done this weekend at all. And we can meet during the week instead if you want to."

Siggy brightened. "That's perfect, then! I can definitely have it done by next Friday. I really do want to help. And this is a great opportunity, I'm so happy you thought of me."

"Of course," Ella said, reaching into her bag again and withdrawing half of the worksheets. "You were my first and only choice." She handed them over. "You can use yours as a base, but owl if you have any questions, all right? Let's check in next week."

"Sure." Siggy took the worksheets with a smile and hugged them to her chest. "I'll make sure they're perfect."

Ella grinned. "Thanks so much, Siggy. Honestly, you're a hero. You don't know how much this helps."

"Not at all," Siggy said. "I'm happy to do it, really!"

And she all but bounced out of the hall, making Ella feel like dragging herself to work had been worthwhile after all.

The sound of the Floo startled her awake. Ella sat up abruptly, her eyes darting to the clock above the mantel as the green glow of the flames lit up its face. Nearly eleven. She watched as Harry's shape materialized out of the flames amidst a shower of ash and stumbled into the sitting room. He slipped off his cloak and dropped it on a chair before turning and spotting her on the sofa.

"Hey," he said wearily.

"Hey." She twisted around until she was sitting properly and lowered her feet to the floor. Snowy gave her an annoyed look and slipped off the sofa to wind around Harry's legs. "How was work? Have you got anything?"

"No," Harry said, sighing. He slipped out of his shoes and wordlessly Banished them to the entry nook as he walked to Ella and kissed her lightly on the lips. "How are you feeling? How was class?"

"It was fine," Ella said. "Just a bit tiring. I asked Siggy to be my assistant."

"Oh, really? How—"

"Never mind that," Ella said, pulling him down on the sofa beside her. "Have you really not found anything? I feel like you live at work now. What are you lot doing over there?"

Harry sighed again, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. "All right. We canvassed the whole area round Brycetown, but we haven't found a trace of the person the little girl saw. There's no individual magical signatures anywhere, though the storm and the mist might have wiped them all. That's the running theory, anyway. And we can't fully analyze the mist with Mysteries out of order — but we've confirmed it's Dark magic overflow. It's possible the village wasn't the intended target, but we can't find the point of origin."

"Sounds like a mess," Ella mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"Yeah, a bit," Harry said wearily. "All right, a lot. But we're not giving up. Mind you, if we don't sort it out Robards might actually chuck me out, so I'll have loads of time to spend with you."

"Haha," Ella said, leaning lightly against him. "Who'd be in charge of keeping our world safe and crime-free, then?"

"Hmmm," Harry said. "Dan, I suppose. He's new and full of promise."

She laughed at that. "Siggy might never see him again. She might get mad at me and quit, so don't you dare get sacked, all right?"

"I was considering it, but I'll stay just for you." Harry turned to her with a grin. "Did you eat?"

"Ah… no," she said, and the emptiness in her stomach suddenly became terribly pronounced as she thought about food. She had sat down wearily on the sofa after making her way home earlier that evening, and she didn't remember much past that, so she supposed she had fallen asleep almost immediately. "I haven't made anything, sorry. And we finished Sirius's roast last night. We can—"

"It's all right," Harry said, kissing her cheek and climbing back to his feet. "I'll make some bangers and mash."

"But you must be exhausted," Ella said, following him. "We can just get a takeaway."

"We could." Harry opened the magicked fridge and Summoned a handful of potatoes that he directed to the sink, where they began peeling themselves. "But it's so bloody easy to cook with magic. It'll be faster anyway."

"But—" Ella began.

Harry turned to her. "I don't mind, really. Besides, I've claimed cooking as my chore, remember?"

"Right," Ella said, "but—"

"I'm not going to stop doing it now," Harry said, directing the peeled potatoes to the chopping board as he grabbed an onion from below the sink. "Which I've told Sirius, by the way, not that he listens." He placed it next to the potatoes in the chopping line and reached for a pot, which he placed on the stove.

"Right, me too," Ella offered.

"Aguamenti," Harry said, filling the pot with water and then igniting the stove with a prod of his wand. He turned to Ella again as he Summoned a skillet. "All that fun training with the Durlseys had to come in useful somewhere. Ah, if only Aunt Petunia could see how simple this is. I reckon she might reconsider tolerating magic." He frowned slightly as he withdrew the bangers and butter from the fridge, contemplating it. "Well, maybe not. She likes her life difficult, I suppose."

"Fine," Ella said, giving up. "I'll make a salad then."

"If you insist." Harry grinned at her in a way that filled her heart with warmth, and she smiled back before turning to the fridge to dig out some tomatoes, cucumbers, and spinach, which she directed to the sink for a quick wash.

They worked in companionable silence for a bit, easily navigating round each other in the small kitchen as Harry cleared his vegetables off the chopping board to make room for hers. She loved the way they fit; with each other, around each other. Like two pieces of a puzzle that, together, formed a perfect image. She didn't know how she could have managed any of this without Harry by her side. Did he even realize how much his strength kept her from falling apart? From crumbling under the weight of every painfully hard thing she was carrying? They had become routine, somehow, these things. Just life. And she was stronger than she'd realized; strong enough to carry this too, and keep walking. But she knew her strength wasn't hers alone. Harry was fueling it. Her friends and family too. With their smiles, and love, and dinners cooked in the late evening hours. And their love — his love — it meant everything.

They had sat down with their plates before the conversation shifted to Brycetown once again.

"We've never seen anything like this mist before," Harry said, practically inhaling his banger. "Penelope's been analyzing it all day, and she found so much Dark magic energy, she said it's a wonder it didn't kill all the Muggles outright. It looks like it was diluted by oxygen, so it may have been out in the air for some time. She reckons it's meant to function as a defense mechanism. If we can just trace where it came from…"

"It's odd, isn't it?" Ella twirled her empty fork over her plate. "It must be hiding something very Dark and dangerous, if it's a defense mechanism. And doesn't it make you think of all those wards you found at Rookwood's?"

"It does," Harry admitted. "Though the magic feels even Darker. More dangerous. Like it's evolving. This, Rookwood, Mysteries — almost all back to back. It feels like there's a connection. We need to dig deeper. We need to find—"

Ella froze, the fork slipping out of her fingers as a connection sparked in her own mind. Shit. She had forgotten. Entirely bloody forgotten.

"What's wrong?" Harry was looking at her with concern, his face drawn into a frown.

"Dumbledore," she muttered.

"What?"

"He sent me a note," she said slowly, her mind twirling through hoops a million miles away. "Earlier today. It was ridiculously sinister. And kind of concerning. He said that everything was connected, and that he'd made some sort of mistake, and that we needed to talk. I thought it was about the Stone, but maybe it was about this. About Rookwood."

Harry frowned. "What else did he say?"

"Not much." She glanced at the clock. It was close to midnight. "Do you reckon it's too late to visit Hogwarts?"

"Now?" Harry frowned. "McGonagall would have our heads. We can visit in the morning. I'll come too. But, El, if it was something he wanted to discuss with you specifically, it does seem more likely it's related to your work. Otherwise he'd come to us, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose."

She picked up her fork again, taking a bite of her banger. Harry was probably right — her research made the most sense. If Dumbledore had discovered information about Rookwood, he certainly would have brought it to Harry. Still, she felt unsettled. On edge. Sick to her stomach, really. The banger had turned to cardboard in her mouth, scratching against her throat as she forced herself to swallow, and chills broke out across her arms. The food Harry had cooked so lovingly was suddenly the last thing she wanted. She cursed silently.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, laying a hand on her arm. She blinked, focusing on his face.

"Just nauseous," she muttered. "Again." It was hardly anything new; she had been nauseous for weeks, and right now she was no longer sure if it was from the GTD, or the chemo, or just the perpetual anxiety that trailed her like a dark cloud.

"C'mon." Harry gently squeezed her arm. "It's been a long day. Let's go to bed."

She nodded and let him pull her from the kitchen, let the hot water of the shower cascade through her long, tangled curls while Harry cleaned up the remains of their dinner. She let herself stumble into bed after, and allowed the blanket of exhausted sleep to wrap around her as she laid her head against Harry's chest, locking up her angry tears and cursing her broken body all the while.

In her dreams, all was black. Not the kind of black that replaces a dream upon waking, because the dream is lost to memory. It was the black of horror, of shadows, of chains in darkness. The black of monsters and tears that stole out into the light of day and left her cold, even upon waking. The kind of black that stayed… that she knew would stay with her until this was all over. It was the kind of darkness that left her afraid.

She blinked out of its clutches in the early morning, letting the memory of its details slip into half-hidden cracks, and squinted at the bright glow that was lighting up the room. There was a familiar shape within the brightness, an otter coming slowly into focus. Speaking. It was the sound that had awoken her, after all, not the glowing light.

"...about Brycetown. It's terribly important. We can come to you. Can you speak now?"

The Patronus vanished, shattering into a thousand sparkling lights. As she stared, her eyes re-adjusting, Harry's stag burst into being and galloped out into the early morning light.

"What's up?" she said groggily.

"El." Harry turned around. "Sorry, did that wake you? It's just Hermione. Go back to sleep."

"What did she want?" Ella said, sitting up. "What about Brycetown?"

"I dunno, she—"

There was a sudden roar of flames from the sitting room, followed by the sounds of somebody stumbling out of the Floo. Harry broke off, turning towards the door.

"I'll be right back."

He hurried from the room before Ella had so much as rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Frowning, she dragged herself out of bed, threw on the sweatshirt she had left on the dresser, and followed Harry into the sitting room. Once there, she stared at the new arrivals in surprise. Hermione was standing beside the fireplace, her robes partially covered in soot she hadn't bothered to brush off. And beside her, was…

"Rob," Ella said, surprised, staring between them. They both looked utterly exhausted, like they hadn't slept for days. There was a shadow of a beard working its way along Robert's jaw which certainly hadn't been there Thursday, and Hermione's hair had slipped partially out of its bun and was hanging around her face in limp tangles.

"Hey, Ella." Robert shot her a small smile. "You all right? So sorry about showing up like this."

"What's going on?" she asked, suppressing a yawn. Her eyes inadvertently drifted to the clock. It was just after eight in the morning. On a Saturday. Were they bloody mad?

"We've found something," Hermione said in a tight voice. She pushed the loose hairs out of her face as she spoke, tucking them behind her ears. "It couldn't wait. I hope we didn't wake you."

"You did," Harry said, deadpan. "Coffee?"

"Please," Robert said.

Harry flicked his wand in the direction of the kitchen, where the coffee appliances immediately ground to life, before turning back to Robert and Hermione, who had sunk wearily onto the sofa.

"What is it?" Harry said, staring between them. "What did you find?"

"I've been looking into the history of the village," Hermione said. "The magical history. There have been several magical incidents there in the past."

"What? What sort of incidents?" Harry said.

Four cups of coffee floated over from the kitchen, and they all reached out to take them in silence. Hermione clasped both hands around hers, but didn't take a sip.

"Attacks on Muggles," she all but whispered. "Murders."

Ella felt a chill run down her spine. The world seemed to have taken on a dreamlike quality. She was hovering on the edge of something. A precipice so high up, the ground below was lost in fog. Her heart was thudding painfully against her ribcage.

Harry's eyebrows practically vanished into his fringe. "When? By who? Were they caught?"

"Yes… and no," Hermione said. She paused, taking a careful sip of her coffee, seemingly struggling to find the words she had burst into their flat to say. She glanced at Robert, a silent exchange passing between them.

"I was watching the Muggle news coverage on Brycetown," Robert said, filling the silence. "It was… interesting."

"I was watching it too," Ella said, growing frustrated by their inability to get to the point. "Fake flu, town in mourning, dead Muggles… it's horrible. What is it, already?"

"Did you watch it all?" Robert shot her a glance she couldn't quite decipher.

She frowned. "Enough to get the gist."

"Then you didn't see it."

"I didn't see what?"

"The village was renamed," Hermione cut in. "In 1996, after a war veteran. He had been living in the village since 1945, but was shunned by the villagers, who believed him responsible for murder. A triple murder. Until he was also murdered. In 1994. And in 1996, his name… was cleared."

Ella felt her mouth go dry. "What are you saying?" she gasped, staring between Hermione and Robert. "Are you implying that he was—"

"Frank Bryce," Robert said, looking intently at her. "And the village is…"

"Little Hangleton," Harry gasped. His face had gone entirely white. The coffee cup was trembling in his hand, drops of the dark liquid sloshing over the edge.

Ella reached out, weakly grasping at his arm. "What does that mean?" she managed, staring at Robert and Hermione. "What's the connection?"

"We don't know," Robert said. "But there's got to be one, hasn't there? It's too much of a coincidence otherwise."

Ella stared between them, her mind churning furiously, her thoughts brushing up against the shape of it — of the name she didn't want to think or say. Harry, it seemed, had frozen into silence. Perhaps trapped in memory.

"How did this happen?" Ella whispered. "What — the Muggles were sure Frank killed the Riddles. How were the murders explained? Who cleared his name?"

Hermione glanced up, her fingers clasped so tightly around her cup that it trembled. When she spoke at last, her voice cut through the silence of the room, its whisper ringing as loudly as a shout.

"Professor Dumbledore."