A/N: Weird to be writing a winter holiday chapter in June...
ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ "ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴍᴇ," ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪꜱᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀʟɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ʜᴜʀʀʏ. "ɴᴏ, ɪ'ʟʟ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ," ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴀɪᴅ, "ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ 'ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ' ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ."
—ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀʀᴏʟʟ, ᴀʟɪᴄᴇ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ
Chapter Twenty-Four: Through the Looking-Glass
It slowly became clear that no one was going home for Christmas until the Aurors sorted out the imposter business, and no one was more annoyed about it than Slytherin House, which, according to Gemma, usually emptied out over the holidays first.
As it were, they were doing their utmost to make the best out of a disappointment and devoting most of their energy to hoping that the imposter was caught in the next few days.
"Do you want to make bows to decorate the fireplace?" asked Daphne, to no one in particular. She was holding a length of maroon ribbon.
Pansy sat down with a huff and sprawled herself out on the armchair opposite them, her legs dangling over the arm. Tracey had caught a head cold and was sitting in another armchair wrapped up in blankets with smoke coming out of her ears (an unfortunate side-effect of Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up Potion). Theodore was watching Malfoy and Zabini play wizard chess with a miserable expression.
Clearly, no one wanted to make bows to decorate the fireplace.
"On the bright side," said Daphne, "it's almost Christmas." Then, turning to Ruby, she added politely: "Are you planning on going home once everything gets sorted out?"
"No," said Ruby.
"We're all stuck here for the foreseeable future," said Alastair, sauntering past the sofa. "Too much to risk if they lose the imposter. Haven't you heard?"
He sat down on the chair opposite them and took a noisy bite of his apple.
"The Auror with the pink hair told me." Alastair snapped his fingers. "You know. Tocks, Tacks, er, Tonks, that's it! She only graduated last year."
"Really?" asked Ruby. She dropped one end of the ribbon, and Daphne glared at her. "I didn't realise she wasn't that much older than us. She must have been Head Girl or something."
"No, no," said Alastair, laughing. "She was always in trouble."
"Were you friends?"
"She was a Hufflepuff!" said Alastair, mock-offended. "What do you take me for, Potter!"
"This isn't neat enough," said Daphne, inspecting Ruby's small pile of finished bows. "They're all too lopsided."
Do it yourself, then.
She half-heartedly set about undoing her work, thinking that if it weren't for the fact that Daphne was a witch, she and Aunt Petunia would get along like a house on fire.
Ruby fumbled with the slippery fabric for about five more minutes and then gave up. Wasn't there a spell for this?
Five more minutes later, and she decided that she was sick and tired of being cooped up below sea level in the common room all day.
"Where are you going?" asked Alastair as she grabbed her cloak and started to leave.
"Library!" she lied, pushing the door open and stepping into the dark dungeon hallway. From here, as usual, the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon looked nothing more than an ordinary panel in the wall (if you looked closely, perhaps a door), just like the ones beside it.
Instead of the library, she went up to Gryffindor Tower (why did there have to be so many staircases, and why couldn't they be bothered to stay in the same place once in a while?) and asked the Auror standing in front of the portrait hole if he could go and check if Harry Potter was inside and if so his sister would very much like to see him if he wasn't busy at the moment and also he should put on something warm.
Muttering that he wasn't a "concierge to the young and famous," he went in and came back out five minutes later with Harry in tow. There hadn't been another incident since early in the month, and he looked better for it, although still a little tired.
They went for a quiet walk around the grounds, and Harry spent most of the time talking about the third-floor corridor and the Mirror room.
"I bet there's a portal to the room the Mirror was in inside that room with Anthony's dogs. I bet that's what they're guarding. Not that I'm sure portals exist anyway, but it seems like the kind of thing they'd have in a magic school, don't you think? Or at least a secret passage; castles have always got a lot of those."
"Yes," said Ruby.
"What's wrong? Don't you think I'm right?"
He looked wildly excited about this for some reason. Probably, she thought, with a sinking sort of feeling, because he thought the cure for his Obscurus was in there, somewhere.
"I don't know," said Ruby. "I just don't think you should be messing with this stuff. It's really dangerous."
"Quirrell said it was just someone messing around."
"Well, both Dumbledore and the Bloody Baron seem to think it was serious."
"No," said Harry. "They seem to think Voldemort's servant corrupted whatever was in that room with Dark magic. If we can get it back to whatever it was before, couldn't it be something good? Something really helpful that Voldemort wouldn't want us to have because it would give us an advantage."
It was a very nice, optimistic and even clever way to think, but it sounded too good to be true.
"Or maybe it's just something that Voldemort really wants. Maybe it's a weapon, something really bad. Like a bomb or poison gas."
"They wouldn't keep a bomb in a school," said Harry.
"But Dumbledore said whatever's in the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side would cause a painful death," she insisted. "It's got to be something horrible. Voldemort probably wants that and the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry was quiet for a minute; he appeared to be thinking about this.
"Anthony's dogs could cause a painful death."
"Dogs don't eat people."
"But maybe enormous, three-headed ones do."
"Right," said Ruby. That was pretty hard to argue with. "Anthony's dogs cause a painful death. So then, what are they guarding? Or are they the weapon?"
"I don't think so," said Harry. "Remember that package that Hagrid picked up at Gringotts? It was pretty small. Stone-sized. Maybe even stone-shaped. It hasn't just got something to do with the Vanished room, Ruby!"
He took a deep breath.
"That's what Anthony's dogs are guarding. It's got to be. And the Mirror must be part of some kind of puzzle that lets you find it and use it, and Voldemort's servant tried to get at it or summon it, but they failed, and Dumbledore locked it away so they couldn't try again. It's never been the Philosopher's Stone and something else. That's all they're after."
"We need to get it first, then," said Ruby. So Harry's original idea was right, after all. She wondered if he realised that he'd just admitted that Quirrell might have been lying.
"We're not stealing from Hogwarts! Are you crazy?"
"Not stealing. Borrowing," said Ruby. "We'll put it right back when we're done using it."
"I don't want to be immortal, do you?"
"No," she said, annoyed. "Don't you get, it Harry? The Philosopher's Stone makes the Elixir of Life. And the Elixir of Life cures all diseases."
Harry let out a slow, shaky breath.
"Like..." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Like an Obscurus. Do you really think it will work?"
She shrugged. "Only one way to find out. We've got to figure out how to break in, and maybe we can even catch the imposter while we're at it."
There was a lemon-coloured jumper with a red 'R' on it at the foot of her bed, which she thought was a weird combination, but she didn't mind because it was the first Christmas present she'd ever gotten, as well as some chocolate from the prefects.
(Well, Dudley had given her and Harry his shoelaces once, but that didn't really count).
Christmas in Slytherin House was a very stuffy and private affair, so she quickly slipped out. The atmosphere wasn't exactly welcoming.
The Gryffindor Tower Auror was in a festive mood and let her go inside without a snide comment.
"Oh, Mum made you a jumper!" said Fred Weasley, beckoning her over.
"Thank you," she said quietly, pulling down the sleeves. "I didn't know who it was from."
Ruby cleared her throat and decided to at least try not to be awkward.
"Well, this is very cosy," she said, gesturing at the common room, with its cheerful atmosphere and evident focus on comfort rather than impressiveness.
"Not at all like yours, is it?" asked Fred with a cheeky grin. "Of course, we've never been in the Slytherin Dungeon, but we can imagine."
"Snakes for pillows," said George, sitting down next to them. "Skins of your enemies for wallpaper."
"Dead snakes for furniture," added Fred, waving to Padma Patil, who had just come in to visit Parvati. "Got to have somewhere to sit."
"Don't forget skeletons for coat racks."
"Giant Squid comes for tea every third Saturday in the month."
"Hey!" said Ruby, suddenly feeling very defensive of her House. "We've only got skulls, and we have really nice tapestries and nice pillows and sofas. And no snakes or squids."
"Only joking," said George. "They are the skulls of your enemies, though?"
Just then, Harry, Ron, and Hermione raced down the stairs.
"You've got to have a look at this, come quick!" said Harry, and without waiting for an answer, dragged her upstairs with him.
The thing that it turned out was causing all the excitement was an ordinary-looking, brown paper package with a note that read, in unfamiliar handwriting:
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
A very merry Christmas to you.
"Maybe you shouldn't open it," said Hermione. "It might be something dangerous. What if it's from the imposter?"
What happened to be inside was a very large wizard's cloak, made out of silky, almost fluid-like fabric.
A curious glint had come into Ron's eyes.
"Try it on," he said. "I think I know what that is."
Harry did, and Hermione let out a small shriek when he disappeared.
Ron grinned as Harry's head suddenly reappeared. He looked down at where his body should have been and gaped. Then, as he shrugged off the cloak, he reappeared completely.
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron. "They're really rare, and really valuable. Dad's only seen a handful of them, and this must be a pretty good one if it belonged to your dad and it still works perfectly. A lot of Aurors use them, but they're popular on the black market, too. Must be made from Demiguise hair; Dad said those ones were better."
Ruby couldn't help but think what a lucky thing it was that the Dursleys hadn't gotten their hands on anything that had belonged to their parents because they surely would have either thrown the Invisibility Cloak away or sold it off for as much money as they could.
Meanwhile, Hermione was all too happy to tell them all what a Demiguise was, much to the displeasure of the other inhabitants of the dormitory; Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Neville Longbottom was watering a weird looking plant and shuffling around the room wearing fluffy slippers and what looked like a tea cosy on his head, but it didn't look like he minded.
After that, they all went down to the Great Hall where the students were decorating for later in the evening, except Quirrell stopped Ruby outside and asked her to stay back a bit.
It sounded weird, but she agreed. It shouldn't take longer than a few minutes, should it? Quirrell didn't seem to think so; he was too lightly dressed for the cold weather.
As they left the castle for the grounds, Quirrell began to ask her all the typical questions: how she was settling in, if she was liking Slytherin House, did she miss her Muggle relatives, et cetera.
"Why are you helping Harry, sir?" she finally blurted out.
Quirrell's expression went very odd, and Ruby realised that she wasn't as cold as she expected.
"Why do you ask, Miss Potter? What has he told you of our meetings?"
"Enough, sir," said Ruby. "He's my brother. I wouldn't tell on him for anything."
"I understand," said Quirrell, inclining his head. "Even so, I have his best interests at heart. I am an expert, world-renowned in this area. Your Harry is exceedingly lucky."
"Is he?" Somehow, she felt emboldened enough to step closer and stare up at Quirrell. "Why should I trust you, Professor? How do I know you're being honest?"
Quirrell glanced behind them as if to check that they were alone.
Slowly, as if not to frighten her, he took out his wand. A sheepish smile accompanied the movement.
It was then that Ruby realised that not only were they on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but Hagrid's hut was nowhere in sight.
They were alone.
They were alone.
And, for some reason, it terrified her.
"Quirinus!"
Quirrell turned around, smiling.
"P-Professor Dumbledore."
Ruby let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding and stepped forward to meet Dumbledore. Quirrell followed.
"I apologise," said Quirrell, folding his hands in front of him and striding towards Dumbledore, "if I have seemed a little bit, well, off."
Ruby stiffened, recalling her conversation with the Bloody Baron.
"Mmm," said Dumbledore, regarding Quirrell expectantly. He stepped beside Ruby and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently moving her away from Quirrell.
It was the same way that he looked at her from across the desk during their meetings; it was abundantly clear that not only was Dumbledore his employer, but Quirrell was the student, and Dumbledore was the professor.
"T-To tell the truth," said Quirrell, his gaze downcast, "I have not been the s-s-same s-since Elise died. Being here once m-more has brought back so many m-m-memories. So m-many of them p-painful."
"Elise?" asked Ruby before she stop herself from asking. Dumbledore shook his head slightly, but nonetheless, Quirrell answered.
"My wife was M-Muggle-born, and the Death Eater, Rosier S-S-Senior, cursed her while s-s-she was still a student. It appeared that the effects had been reversed completely by the Healers at St. M-M-Mungo's—" Quirrell's voice cracked "—but when s-s-she gave birth to our daughter, Elise, s-s-she was... affected. The Healers c-c-could not save her. It was kinder to let her die... quicker. Less p-p-painfully. My wife died of grief s-s-soon after."
How terrible it must be, thought Ruby, to bury your family and remember it. That would make anyone a little bit off.
"I think," said Quirrell, his voice sounding and his face looking strangled, "that it has finally hit me that Elise never had the chance to attend Hogwarts. Especially during the holidays, I must admit that it has been difficult... it has been so long, and I have been so lonely."
Dumbledore put a hand on Quirrell's shoulder. Ruby craned her neck to try to get a glimpse of his expression, but she couldn't tell if the suspicion was gone entirely from it.
"You are always welcome to my office to talk, Quirinus," said Dumbledore, his voice heavy with compassion. "Is there anything at all that we can do for you?"
"No," said Quirrell with a tight little smile. "Quite alright. I shall be right as rain by the morning."
And with that, he walked off quickly towards the castle, leaving Dumbledore and Ruby alone.
Maybe he's not so suspicious after all, thought Ruby. Just a sad, lonely, awkward man.
As soon as Quirrell had gone, Dumbledore retrieved a small box from the folds of his robes.
"Merry Christmas," he said, holding it out to her.
"Thank you," she said, carefully turning the box in her hands. "The Cloak was from you, wasn't it, Professor?"
"Yes," he said. "I suggest you open that away from prying eyes, as well. While the cloak was a family heirloom, your mother had stricter instructions for delivery should she die. I only received this a fortnight ago."
Ruby turned the box so that the bottom was facing up.
Dumbledore was right about the strict instructions. In tiny gold print, it read:
𝔇𝔢𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔐𝔶𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔐𝔬𝔐, 𝔚𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔏𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔫, 𝔈𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡, 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫
𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 1991
𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯
𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢
ℑ𝔣 𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰, 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔶.
𝔏.𝔈.
The postmark was stamped 'February 1980.'
"L. E.?" asked Ruby, although she already had an excited sort of suspicion about who the sender was.
"Lily Evans," said Dumbledore, nodding.
"She liked to prepare for the worst," explained Dumbledore. "And somehow, I do not believe that this box was intended for me."
"But February 1980 was before I was born!"
"Yes," said Dumbledore solemnly, "but not before your family was in danger."
How long had her parents had to live in fear before Voldemort killed them? The entire thing was patently unfair.
"Shall we go back inside?" asked Dumbledore. "I must speak to Professor McGonagall, and I don't suppose you're fond of standing outside in the cold."
Mafalda was having a shouted argument with Filch in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Ruby didn't see any defaced statues or tapestries or mud or leaves scattered on the floor, so she couldn't quite work out what was going on.
It wasn't her business, anyway.
Inside, the Great Hall was filled with laughter and chatter. A dozen enormous, spectacularly decorated fir trees lined the walls, filled with giant icicles and glittering candles. Today, the ceiling was charmed to show a beautifully clear winter sky (although it was snowing buckets outside).
Ruby was sure Harry was going to make himself sick on treacle tart. Hermione was harping on about the horrors of a heavy sugar intake, and Ron was losing a game of Exploding Snap to George when she walked by the Gryffindor table.
The Christmas crackers (Wizard crackers, apparently) were filled with live mice, which made Hephaestus very happy and proper hats instead of the flimsy paper ones that you got in the Muggle version chess sets, and balloons. Even Daphne and Malfoy managed to get over themselves and have a bit of fun. And to the displeasure of most of the Slytherins, Harry, Anthony, and Lavender came to sit with her. Christmas had never been something either Ruby or Harry had particularly enjoyed, but even Harry seemed to forget about the Obscurial problem and let loose a little bit.
After dinner, Lavender went off somewhere with Parvati and Ruby, Harry and Anthony went to the library with Ron and Hermione, where they sat in their usual spot and Ruby took out the box that Dumbledore had given her earlier and placed it on the table between them.
She didn't want to open it, too afraid of what mysteries might lay inside, so she pushed it towards Harry.
They all leaned over to watch as Harry lifted the shiny black lid.
Something golden and sparkling was nestled inside the maroon velvet of the box's interior.
A tiny golden hourglass swung suspended between two golden rings, like the meridians on an old-fashioned globe. When Harry tilted it, a teaspoon's worth of pure-white, pearly sand tipped from one side of the hourglass to the other.
"It's a Time-Turner!" said Ron, leaning over Harry's shoulder to get a closer look. "Dad's mentioned them, but I've never seen one. You wind it up and put it around your neck, and it'll let you go back in time. Only for a couple of hours, though."
"It's not a Time-Turner," said Hermione, "or at least, not one that works."
Ron rolled his eyes. "How do you know?"
"Well," said Hermione, with a disdainful shake of her head, "it hasn't got any knobs. It's supposed to have two, there and there—" She pointed at the furthest points of the rings from the centre. "How else are you supposed to turn it?"
"I dunno," said Ron. "There's got to be a way. It's magic, after all, isn't it? Harry and Ruby's mum wouldn't bother leaving all those instructions if it didn't do anything."
"I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do," said Anthony from his perch. When they all stared up at him, he said: "That's what all the Time-Turners say. Read the rings. If it's got that, it's got to be a Time-Turner."
"Well, that's helpful," said Harry under his breath. "If it's a necklace, it's probably for you, anyway," he added, turning to Ruby. "I'm going to bed."
Sure, it was dangling from a long gold chain, but Ruby hadn't thought of it as a necklace. It was quite the opposite from Aunt Petunia's fussy little Tiffany chains, purchased by Uncle Vernon every Valentine's Day like clockwork.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Ron as Harry stomped out of the library. "It's only seven."
"He doesn't like Christmas," said Ruby. Then she stood up too and replaced the necklace, or Time-Turner, or whatever it was in its box. "I'm going to go back to the dungeons, actually. Goodnight."
As soon as she gave her name, year and house to the Auror at the door and went out into the hallway, Filch spotted her. He gave her a very nasty look, then turned back to continue polishing the suits of armour lining the corridor.
Filch's Mrs. Norris, a large cat (and according to both Ron and Blaise, probably at least half-Kneazle) with shaggy, dust-coloured fur and yellow, lamp-like eyes, watched her. A tiny brown mouse was struggling beneath her paws.
Occasionally, Mrs. Norris would let it escape and then catch it again, her great tail swishing behind her. Ruby had seen Hephaestus do the same thing before, and Gemma explained that cats did that to tire their prey and reduce the risk of injury, but she still thought that was pretty cruel. The older Slytherins had told the first-years harrowing tales of Mrs. Norris catching them trailing mud on the floor after Quidditch practice or finding them out of bed after curfew.
Ruby wondered if the Death Eater was possessing Mrs. Norris. That would explain why no one had found them yet.
Filch barked at her to stop gawking and leave, so she did, heading down into the damp. If she had thought the dungeons were cold in September, they were positively icy, now that it was the coldest part of the year. Even with the roaring emerald fire in the common room fireplace, there was still a definite chill about the place.
The small fir tree, conjured and charmed by the seventh years to smell as sweet as the forest, was standing in the middle of the common room, its boughs filled with flickering tapers and Daphne's maroon bows. Ruby even noticed the bows that Daphne had re-done because hers were too crooked for Miss Perfect's liking.
"We should get Professor Snape to check the heating charms," said Daphne in her most sensible voice. She graciously offered Ruby some of her eggnog, but Ruby found it too rich and too slimy and passed it back to her.
"Mmmm," said Pansy, who was sprawled out on her stomach on the rug and was watching one of the third-years recite one of Hamlet's speeches from Act V while holding the skull of Baldur the Brilliant.
Even the Bloody Baron appeared to be in a festive mood because once the third-year finished his performance, another did the beginning scene with the Baron giving an enthusiastic portrayal of the King's ghost.
Mafalda was lurking in the shadows of the common room.
She walked over to the middle of the common room and sat down beside Ruby, to Daphne's displeasure, muttering, "Merry Christmas."
"How'd you get that?" asked Ruby, pointing to the angry red scratch on Mafalda's hand.
"Mrs. Norris," said Mafalda, sneering. "Too bloody nosy for her own good, that cat. Somebody should give her a good kick; that's what I say."
Ruby wondered what Mafalda had been doing to draw Mrs. Norris's ire but deemed it pointless to ask. Besides, she didn't believe in kicking animals. Even if they were mean-spirited like Mrs. Norris, they were nicer than most humans.
Mafalda sighed. "What am I doing here, anyway? I shouldn't've bothered. I was going to go to Roedean. I should have gone. I would have loved it there. "
"You can turn down Hogwarts?" asked Ruby.
"Of course," said Daphne, with an affected little sniff. "Some parents elect to teach their children magic at home or send them to another school. Mr. Malfoy was going to send Draco to Durmstrang, for example, until Mrs. Malfoy convinced him not to. Besides—"
"God, Greengrass!" said Mafalda, sitting up straight. "Did anyone tell you that gossiping endlessly about other people's private business makes you sound like a prat?"
Daphne's face went red and pinched, and she looked about to cry. The only thing probably stopping her was the thought of ruining her complexion. Pansy looked up and gave Mafalda an evil glare, which she shrugged off.
Draco, who had been sitting across the room and showing off his new eagle owl to Blaise and Theodore, strode over to stand in front of Mafalda, puffed his chest up, and told her in no uncertain terms that she "wasn't to speak to Daphne in such a way."
"Right," said Mafalda, glaring at all of the first-years. She took her wand out of her pocket and brandished it threateningly. "That's it. The next one of you little buggers to speak gets hexed."
Blaise, Daphne, Theodore, Pansy, Draco, and Ruby were all silent. Tracey Davis whimpered.
Ruby wondered if Professor Snape was retiring anytime soon because, with Mafalda's constantly sour personality, she'd make a fantastic replacement.
"Bad day, Prewett?" asked one of the sixth-years, leaning over the back of the sofa. Ruby thought she recognised him.
Mafalda stiffened.
"If you knew what was good for you, Shafiq, you'd piss off."
Oh, yeah. That mean boy who was obsessed with the idea of Harry being a Dark Lord and hated Dumbledore.
Shafiq seemed not to remember her, luckily. Either that, or he was distracted by Mafalda.
"Pureblood families like mine control all the industries in the wizarding world, and you'd better remember that, Prewett. You might have had a privileged upbringing, and your father's blood traitor family might have been in the Sacred Twenty-Eight and on the 'right' side of the war, but I'll make sure to let everyone know that you're the dirty, dirty daughter of Squibs!"
Ruby half-thought Mafalda was going to fly into a rage, but she didn't. Instead, she said, as cool as a cucumber:
"Well, it's a good thing I'm not relying on your recommendations, then."
"Oh, yeah," said Shafiq, jeering. "When you're working in some dirty shop in Knockturn Alley for a shite salary, you'd better remember me."
"What?" asked Mafalda, smiling in a very Fred-and-George-like manner. "Can't handle the fact that the dirty, dirty daughter of Squibs got more O.W.L.s than you?"
Shafiq's eyes widened. He looked enraged.
"You threaten them again," he said before walking away, "and you'll regret it."
Ruby couldn't tell who had gotten the upper hand, but Mafalda's mood seemed to have been improved by the argument because she helped Alastair and Gemma conjure tons of fairies for decoration, who flew around, giggled, and admired themselves in every reflective surface.
They reminded her of Lavender. But that was sort of a mean thing to think.
Eventually, she wandered down the stairs to go to bed, but as she was trying to fall asleep, she thought about the Time-Turner again.
It did read exactly what Anthony said it would. Nevertheless, Ruby really didn't want to believe that it was just a Time-Turner that didn't work like Hermione said.
The only thing was, she couldn't figure out how to make it work.
And the only person who can tell me is dead, she thought with a pang.
Lily Potter — Lily Evans — must have been not quite the sort of person Aunt Petunia seemed to think she was if Dumbledore spoke about her like that. But then, Aunt Petunia's teachers probably said nice things about her, too.
Maybe Aunt Petunia had been right about her being pretty and clever, but she had a hard time seeing how she could possibly be as mean and irresponsible as she was always told. She certainly hadn't 'gotten herself blown up' the way Aunt Petunia said she did. Ruby didn't know very much about her parents, but she didn't think that if it was the other way around, that smiling woman in the Mirror of Erised could make Dudley sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.
(Actually, she imagined that their house wouldn't have a cupboard under the stairs in the first place.)
Either way, Ruby could see why Aunt Petunia disliked (hated) her so much, if Lily was the kind of person to send strange, maybe Time-Turner necklaces to people eleven years in the future. Aunt Petunia liked everything nice and normal.
And Ruby laid there, half-asleep, half-awake, in the latest hours of December 25th, and wondered not for the first time at what a strange place she'd found herself in, far away from everything nice and normal.
It was strange, she decided, in a good way.