"ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ 'ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ' ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪꜱᴀɢʀᴇᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴᴇʀ ᴏʀ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ."
― ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀʀᴏʟʟ
Chapter Seven: Nigredo
Please?
A shock — the abyss shook — then something.
Something.
Something existed, ephermeral and potent.
Something stirred in the abyss. Dark and horrifying, and yet eerily familiar. If he had blood, it would have made it run thrillingly cold.
The word reeked of desperation. Tasted of pain.
After sound, this second sense was feeble, and yet, powerful. If he could just get close enough to this power...
He edged towards it, if there was such things as space and positions to speak of. Clawing, and — let me through! — But nothing. Usual. Alone. Empty. Resigned.
I can help you, Ruby.
And she did not answer, but still, Tee went on.
What do you want?
A deal! (A deal!) he crowed. The little speck of desperation was a tiny rip in the fabric of the abyss, and, unashamedly pathetic, desperate being that he was, he tore at it until his entire self stung with numbness. Because he, too, craved one thing over all else; something he truly knew nothing of, and yet, he knew he would do anything for it.
It was a strange kind of source-less déjà vu.
So, Tee answered Ruby's question truthfully.
Set me free. Then I'll help.
He listened as the response came.
How?
You have to tell me how you got like this.
It was a good question. Tee did not know. It was something sharp and horrible and terrifying in some way, something buried very deep inside the particles of dust that were him.
The answer bubbled up, the same as usual, garbled, tainted, but distinct.
"I've checked my calculations so often that I could recite the whole thing in my sleep."
Nothing will go wrong. You are in control of the situation. You have been through this several times.
Something that he had been intending had gone terribly wrong, something to do with magic. Tee was sure of that.
It was an accident? he thought sheepishly.
An ACCIDENT?
Burning the eggs is an accident!
Perhaps I did something I shouldn't've.
I'll say!
Well, you were a student at Hogwarts.
How's this? I'll borrow Harry's cloak, sneak in to the Restricted Section, and see what I find.
I'd ask Dumbledore for help, but he might confiscate you.
Dumbledore. The word wobbled through the abyss, slightly amusing in its childish alliteration and yet fearsome for some unknown reason at the same time, and Tee tried to place it.
He struggled to decide whether he liked it or not.
And would that really be so bad?
Theodore thinks you're dangerous.
Do you think I'm dangerous?
Ruby did not respond for a while.
Very.
You're unpredictable.
One minute you're a helpless diary, and the next you're floating around like a magic carpet.
For all I know, you climb out and watch me while I sleep.
That's preposterous, Tee scoffed, bristling at the thought. Why not get rid of me, then?
I think the fact that I'm still alive and well is pretty promising.
And Harry is seriously ill.
It's a matter of life and death.
I'll take my chances.
Is that all?
Honestly... I suppose... I'm curious.
Curious?
Whether you are really a person trapped inside a diary, or just a cursed object.
I'm not saying that you're a liar. It's just hard to believe.
I don't believe in cards and scrying and all that stuff, but Lavender does, and she'd say you're real. Maybe she's right this time around.
Nice to know that my survival relies on your curiosity, thought Tee, but now he knew that the real reason was much more complicated.
I should sleep, or else Madam Pomfrey will be on my case tomorrow about proper bedtimes.
We'll talk later.
Indeed.
Tee remembered, a long time ago, someone explaining the perception of dimensionality. Imagine if you were a two-dimensional ant, moving along a line. You'd only see one dimension. A line.
And if you were a one-dimensional ant, sir? he remembered asking.
Nothing of particular interest, I suppose. A dot of colour, perhaps, though you would be able to move left or right.
But what if you existed as a single point?
He attempted to reach out to the other quasi-presence, a shadow moving along the walls of a cave.
Still hungry?
No... not for now...
The next day, Hagrid came to visit with an abundance of treacle tart, hoping it might cheer Harry up a bit. Madam Pomfrey, for her part, wasn't sure whether to disapprove or not. Flamel and Dumbledore lingered, and so did McGonagall and the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The others floated in and out during lunch and after dinner, bringing homework, notes, and gossip.
By far the most dreaded visitor was Gilderoy Lockhart, whom Pomfrey watched from afar, rolling her eyes and sharing annoyed glances with Harry when he began to give 'advice' on both Anthony and Harry's conditions.
"Professor Lockhart, the boy needs his rest," Madam Pomfrey protested, trailing him to the bed.
"Nonsense, nonsense," said Lockhart, grinning down at Harry as he swept over. "How are you feeling, young man? Of course, if I'd been there, this all could have been averted..."
"Sure, Professor," Harry muttered under his breath, hoping desperately that Lockhart didn't get any bright ideas for a magical mystery cure. "Just like with the Wagga Wagga Werewolf."
But Lockhart took him all too seriously. "Oh yes," he said, nodding. "Just so. Now, you'd hardly believe it, Harry — if you'll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus, with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm — he let out a piteous moan — the fur vanished, the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and the village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks. But excellent, excellent, glad you remembered. Important stuff, you know."
"Just like Occamy hair gel, sir," said Harry, unable to help himself.
Lockhart beamed and winked at an irate Madam Pomfrey. "Precisely, Harry, precisely!"
"Madam Pomfrey—" someone began.
"—Good heavens, it's like a museum in here," the matron complained, her tone and her words not matching at all. "I am afraid you'll have to go, Professor; family visitors come first after all."
So it must be Ruby. Harry sat up, relieved to see the back of Lockhart.
"No more sweets!" chided Madam Pomfrey, checking Ruby's pockets to ensure she wasn't carrying any 'contraband.' "The Weasley boys will be the death of your brother's enamel, I swear!"
Not that Harry was sure how much longer his enamel would be needed.
"So Ginny hasn't been in?" asked Ruby, with a sly look at Harry, at which he rolled his eyes.
"I brought your things," she said, walking over to his bed. It wasn't much; a photo album from Hagrid, the Invisibility Cloak, some gifts from the professors, a chess set (from Ron), a book about Quidditch history (from Hermione), his school things, and a few changes of clothes.
"Great," said Harry half-heartedly, looking at the pile. "Now I can get started on Binns' essay."
"Mmm," said Ruby, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. "Who's this — oh, Dumbledore again — anyway, what's going on with you and Ron?" she finished, in a blatant attempt to ignore the pressing situation at hand.
Harry sighed, staring at the wriggling frog.
"I set a snake on Ginny, apparently."
Ruby let go of the Chocolate Frog, and it hopped onto the floor, her mouth dropping open in shock. "You didn't!"
"Of course I didn't! Ginny thought I did, and it's bad enough as the real thing because she couldn't tell that I was actually telling the snake to leave her alone. She thought I was egging it on."
"I'll talk to her," said Ruby, starting to get up.
"No, you won't; it's for the best. It's better that she doesn't think I'm the great Boy-Who-Lived, or whomever."
"Of course not," said Ruby, with a bit of a smirk. "You're Saint Potter, ooooh, with his scar and his broom."
"Stop teasing, or leave," muttered Harry, putting a hand over his face. "Not in the mood."
"Fine." Ruby looked over at Madam Pomfrey, then waited until she turned away. "I need to borrow the Invisibility Cloak."
Harry shrugged, watching as she retrieved it. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Would I ever?"
"I don't know," said Harry in a thoughtful tone. "Would you ever set the professors' box on fire, for example?"
"It was one time!" she insisted. "One!"
Shaking her head, Ruby turned towards the matron.
"How's Anthony, Madam Pomfrey?"
"Not much better, poor thing," said Madam Pomfrey, making a sympathetic face. "Mr. Goldstein has reached out to his contacts, Professor Dumbledore has advised Professor Kettleburn to look into it... and Hagrid, as well. As soon as we find out what attacked him before the venom poisons his organs, we'll cure him."
Pomfrey looked down at Anthony's expressionless face, seeming withdrawn.
"Never seen anything like it in fifty years," she muttered, glancing between Harry and Anthony. "A monster in Hogwarts, once more. I shudder to even think it."
"And what was the monster last time?" asked Harry.
"No one knows," said Madam Pomfrey, smoothing her apron.
"How is that possible?"
Madam Pomfrey was quiet for a long time.
"It is not the same monster," she said, pressing her lips together. "That one attacked a very specific type of person for a very specific reason. And it did not leave marks. Victims were either Petrified or... or killed."
She turned away and began aggressively fluffing pillows, so both Harry and Ruby correctly took that to mean that the conversation was over.
"How's your scar?" asked Ruby.
"Fine, why?"
Ruby shrugged and got up.
"No reason. I'd better go."
No doubt, Harry thought, to do something immensely stupid.
She hurried through the Slytherin common room as quickly and discreetly as she could, but Theodore Nott was more than a match for any mundane sneakiness.
I have the Invisibility Cloak! she scolded herself when he popped up from his hiding-place behind the sofa. What a little creep. I should have used it!
Defeated, Ruby followed him to the Owlery, where she presented the diary to him, her hand on her wand in case she needed the upper hand at any moment.
Mafalda always said one of the best ways to resolve a conflict was a swift Knockbank Jinx and an even swifter retreat.
"Oh, he must have been a Mud—" Theodore began confusedly as he sat down, then caught Ruby's gaze "—Muggle-born, then. It's just an ordinary Muggle book. But I don't understand how..."
Ruby breathed out a sigh of relief, though she tried not to show it. Perhaps he would find the diary uninteresting and give it back to her. After all, Snape hadn't noticed anything strange about it, either.
Theodore raised his wand. "Nox."
She gasped in poorly-suppressed surprise as the lanterns in the freezing room flickered, some of the owls shrieking or hooting indignation. Theodore spoke, but the fluttering of hundreds of wings drowned him out.
"...and watch this!"
Now, in the weak, bluish wandlight, the diary stood stark against the dark, empty surroundings, illuminating Theodore's eerie, focused expression.
And stranger still, the diary sparkled when Theodore turned the light source a certain way, like a spray of airborne dust brushed silver by an errant moonbeam.
He said something — Ruby thought it might be Arabic, but she wasn't sure — and the dust snapped up towards the ceiling, rearranging itself into a moon-lit human form, lying prone and suspended in the air.
"How did you do that?" she asked, staring at the dust. "That's got to be at least O.W.L. level stuff."
"I didn't. I asked him to show his true form, and he did his best."
"Is he a djinn?" asked Ruby, thinking of Flitwick's suggestion. "He said he wasn't."
"Then he wasn't," said Theodore. "He's bound to the diary; I couldn't pull him out any further. I don't think he could leave it properly, even if he wanted to."
So he wasn't lying about that, then.
Ruby frowned regarding the sparkling, still-suspended dust. There was something familiar about it.
How does Theodore know that specific spell? It's certainly not part of our Charms curriculum.
"Theodore," she said, pushing those thoughts away, "if hypothetically, I wanted to know how to scry, how would I learn it? Could I be born doing it?"
Theodore snorted. "Shouldn't you be asking that dizzy friend of yours?"
"Lav's not dizzy," said Ruby huffily, "and I've only just thought of it."
"Well, you ought not to scry, in case you can actually do it," said Theodore shrugged, standing up and going over to re-light the lanterns.
"People," he said, holding his lit wand to each wick like a match, frowning with concentration, "don't usually like what they see."
And if hypothetically, I wanted to help Harry and maybe even Anthony as soon as I can, I'd go to the Restricted Section now.
She told Theodore that she was going back to the common room, walked in that direction for a while, then hid in an alcove, put on the Invisibility Cloak, and hurried back upstairs. The library was gloriously empty, and there was something perhaps thrilling about being there when she clearly wasn't supposed to.
Ruby folded the cloak over a chair, lit a few of the numerous candles strewn about the library tables, and began going through the shelves of the Restricted Section. Not for the first time, she wished that the Hogwarts library had a catalogue as she settled down to a few hours' worth of searching; the books weren't terribly well-organised as it were.
Magick Moste Evile, despite the foreboding title, seemed as good a place to start as any other. Unlike the majority of the books, which were oddly specific (A Treatise on Brain-Switching Spells and An Encyclopedia of Abrasax Stones and their Make came to mind), it was a sensibly-written guide to very unapproved and extra-curricular pursuits, including, very importantly for her, a fairly thick section on binding non-beings to objects, and a lengthy discussion on the reversal of such kinds of spells.
Just as she was standing up, ready to collect the Invisibility Cloak and leave, someone coughed. Ruby tried to hide the book as quickly and discreetly as she could, then turned, hoping it was not Snape.
Perhaps, she thought with great trepidation, curiosity has finally killed the cat. Well, as long as he doesn't find the diary, the worst he can give me is more detention.
She gulped.
It was not Snape.
Ruby locked eyes with the ghost, a demure young woman in flowing robes with long hair. She was, of course, the reclusive ghost of Ravenclaw House — known only to most as the Grey Lady, and to a select few (Ruby was not included), Helena.
The Grey Lady didn't speak to most (and certainly not non-Ravenclaws), and harboured a dislike of Slytherins (mild in the case of its students, extreme in the case of the volatile, pompous, and ill-tempered Slytherin House ghost, the Bloody Baron).
As it were, the Grey Lady only gave her a piercing look but said nothing.
She'll probably report me later, thought Ruby, as she walked out the library, hidden safely under the cloak. Or maybe not. I don't know if she even speaks to the professors.
To her sorrow, Ruby was greeted in the girls' dormitory by a very awake and very irate Daphne Greengrass.
"What do you think you're doing, coming in at this time of night, Potter?" she seethed, a vision of anger in a lace nightgown and ringlets. "Where have you been?"
"Library," said Ruby truthfully. "Mind turning around? I need to get changed."
Daphne slid off her bed and walked up to Ruby, arms crossed, expression fierce.
"Tell me where you've been, Potter!"
Ruby glared at her, annoyed that she had to tilt her head up slightly to do so.
"You're not the Head Girl yet, Greengrass. Just a snitch."
And not Head Mean Girl-In-Charge either, thought Ruby. Pansy's got that covered.
"But this snitch can tell Professor Snape where you've been," whispered Daphne.
She really didn't want detention...
"Looking at books in the Restricted Section," said Ruby, with her best attempt at nonchalance. "What, haven't you been?"
Daphne frowned, adjusting her curlers.
"I think you're up to something Potter, and I intend to find out."
Ruby would wager that she did. After all, Daphne Greengrass could never pass up the chance for gossip. Especially high-quality gossip.
"I'm always up to something, Daphne. Now stop being so nosy and go to sleep, or else you'll have dark circles in the morning."
Daphne turned crimson, but there was nothing left to say. Ruby climbed into the bed, shut the curtains, and pretended to go to sleep.
Once she was certain that there would be no more protests from Daphne, she opened Magick Moste Evile, turned to the marked page, and began to read.
She read the first sentence, then the second, then the third. That was the first paragraph. Hmm. She went back to the beginning and reread it, then repeated the paragraph until she felt very sleepy.
It was clear as mud.
Just before she drifted off, Ruby thought vaguely that this would be a rather difficult favour to ask of Professor Dumbledore.
"Is that porridge?" asked Harry, regarding the contents of the bowl with a raised eyebrow.
"Fibre is good for you, Harry; it lowers cholesterol," said Hermione, contently scribbling notes for her Potions essay.
Harry sighed but said nothing as he stared across the hospital ward at Anthony.
At least he's unconscious, thought Harry, with a bit of misplaced jealousy.
Even though he knew Hermione's heart was in the right place, he didn't think fibre was going to be much help.
"Where's Ruby?" he asked.
"Dumbledore's office," answered Ron. "She got in a row last night, heard it from Lavender... with some Daphne Lemongrass?"
"Daphne Greengrass," Hermione corrected. "Come on, Ron, she's been in half our classes for the past year!"
"Is that the blonde one?"
Hermione looked aghast.
"You're as bad as Ron! Honestly! No, the brunette... tall, pretty... nice, straight teeth," she finished, a bit enviously.
"And what am I going to do?" asked Harry.
"Rest, that's what Madam Pom—" Ron shut his mouth at Harry's glare.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs!"
To his horror, and theirs, he bent over and dry-heaved, shadows collecting in the hand he cupped to his mouth.
"That doesn't look good, Harry," said Hermione worriedly.
"Yeah, I've noticed," he muttered. But the constant nervousness had made him numb to further trepidation; Harry could barely remember a time when his stomach wasn't tied up in knots.
"Sorry, I know," she said. "We just feel so useless."
Harry shrugged. "You don't have to; Flamel's in to see me in a few minutes. You can take stay if you want."
And indeed, he did arrive, folding his cloak over his arm and handing it off to Madam Pomfrey. Flamel cast a questioning glance at Ron and Hermione, but Harry insisted that he wanted them there, and Flamel acquiesced.
"Voldemort's best work, I'd wager," he said, inspecting the ouroboros ring on Harry's hand.
"And this?"
Both Harry and Flamel turned towards Ron, who was holding a stoppered vial, the contents of which were the wisps of shadow that Harry had just coughed up.
"Yes, I hadn't thought, Mr. Weasley," said Flamel, taking the vial from him without ceremony. He shook it, and Harry thought vaguely of the mysterious hair, collecting dust in a similar vial on the window ledge between his and Ron's beds in the Gryffindor dormitory. "Perhaps an analysis may be enlightening. Harry, I don't suppose I can convince you to part with the ring?"
"Something bad might happen if I take it off," said Harry heavily. "I'd rather not chance it."
"And I would rather find out what it does before it causes more damage," said Flamel, which the tone of someone reasonable and exhausted.
"Isn't there anything you can give him, Mr. Flamel, just to tide him over for a few hours?" asked Hermione. "Just so you could inspect the ring, I don't know how long it will take."
"A few hours is preferable to nothing at all," Flamel agreed. "Harry, if you will?"
Harry sighed, looking down at the ring.
I can make it a few hours, he promised himself. He twisted off the ring and handed it to Flamel, who, in exchange, passed him a beaker full of charmed fire and hurried off towards Dumbledore's office.
Harry wrapped his hands around the beaker. He wasn't quite sure if he was panicking or not.
"You'll be fine, Harry," said Hermione, patting his arm reassuringly.
"Will I?"
"What if Flamel's wrong?" asked Ron. "What if you can control it?"
The boundaries of magic exist to be pushed, do they not? Quirrell's... Voldemort's words were tempting.
In some horrible, ironic way, Harry hoped Voldemort was right.
"He was just manipulating you, Harry," said Hermione quietly, as if she could tell what he was thinking. "You can't believe anything he says."
"But what if that part of it was true," Harry insisted. "What if I can..."
He looked down at the sputtering fire in the beaker and wondered if he could gather the self-control and the courage to try dissipating it. If he could control the rest of his magic, why not this?
If I can, everything can just be alright.
I have to get better. I have to recover.
I don't want to die.
Like it or not, I'll tear you apart,whispered his shadow, lying flat and still on the floor. I'll rip you, Harry... I'll eat you all up...
He held the beaker so hard that his knuckles paled, and the fire blazed brighter. Finally, the shadows retreated under the bed, cowering, but alive.
If you hang on, so can we, Harry... so can we!
White pawn to e4.
Ruby frowned, reaching for the pawn in front of her bishop and nudging it two spaces forward. Why Dumbledore chose to play with a Muggle chess set, albeit a very nice one, eluded her. Perhaps he thought the familiarity would set her at less of a disadvantage.
"The Sicilian Defence," murmured Dumbledore, regarding the board. "A combative answer to an early attack."
"Ron taught me, Professor," she said, sitting up straight. Here, with Fawkes presiding over their conversation and the sunset staining the office brass and scarlet as his feathers at golden hour, the circumstances could almost be forgotten.
"The surest offence is a good defence," Dumbledore agreed and proceeded to move his knight forward.
"Professor Dumbledore," said Ruby about halfway through their weekly conversation, twirling one of the marble chess pieces between her fingers, "could I ask a favour?"
Dumbledore coughed. "That all depends, of course, on what it is."
"Could I sit in on the third-year Ancient Runes lesson? Of course, I'll have missed a lot of it, but..."
There was a strange glint in Dumbledore's eyes as if he was not quite certain that he believed her. That he knew something more was going on.
Ruby could not say that she was surprised by his perceptiveness.
"And why, may I ask, have you developed a sudden passion for Ancient Runes?"
Ruby sat up straighter; she did not make eye contact with Dumbledore.
"No reason, sir, just... curious."
Dumbledore said nothing for a long time, studying her expression.
"Very well," he said finally. "I will speak to Professor Babbling."
Just then, the door to Dumbledore's office swung open, and Flamel stormed in, just as an unexpected clap of thunder struck the sky.
Without greeting either of them, he went to the small alchemy laboratory set up in the opposite end of the room from them and begun puttering around frantically, Harry's ouroboros ring in one hand and a bottle of shadows in another.
If the ring's here... where's Harry? He wouldn't let it out of his sight.
After about five minutes, Albus cleared his throat.
"Nicholas," he said quietly. "May we be of assistance?"
Flamel looked up from funnelling quicksilver into a crucible and frowned. "You may enlighten me as to how Voldemort acquired a Selwyn family heirloom."
"Their family, as you will remember, stood amongst his ranks," said Dumbledore. "I am sure they would only be overjoyed to contribute to the cause. And what else have you discovered?"
"It does as Voldemort says it did; stopped you from using Legilimency on Harry, in case you discovered their conversations last year, and allowed Voldemort alone to control Harry's Obscurus. He may have tricked Harry into thinking it was possible for him to control it and use it in a constructive manner."
"And?" asked Dumbledore, seeming unconvinced.
Ruby was silent, waiting for Flamel's verdict.
He merely shrugged. "Of the centuries of spells woven into it, by each of its countable owners? Nothing unordinary."
Flamel tossed the ring as he would a coin, hefting its weight.
"It is little more than a trinket. The boy is doomed."
"The boy needs help, Nicholas!" shouted Dumbledore, and though Ruby was not the target, she still shrank back on instinct. Even Flamel seemed to quail under the headmaster's anger.
For some reason, she could not shake the strange, cold numbness, her gaze locked to the cross attached to the black king's 'head' as he cowered behind the protection of both her rooks.
The king, the king, the kingdom.
"I know what happened to your sister," said Flamel quietly, but his voice sounded as if it was coming through water. "It is not reason enough to—"
"It is exactly reason enough. I lost my father, then my mother, then Ariana and Aberforth. Why should two children who have lost so much already stand to repeat history?"
"There is no cure, Albus! There is no solution! All that I can do is to prolong his suffering — it might be kinder to cut short his—"
"How can you suggest—"
"As if you are above this!"
It was impossible to get a word in edgeways.
"Are we to give up?"
"We are to be pragmatic! Life ends, Albus, we are all simply cogs in a machine... or do you not remember... Für das Größere Wohl... or have you forgotten the folly of your youth?"
Ruby didn't think she had ever seen Dumbledore this angry.
"And it was just that, Nicholas. Folly."
"Do not speak to me in that boorish manner, Albus; I am not your brother, and I am certainly not Gellert!"
For a second, Dumbledore looked terribly furious, eyes flashing, Flamel faltering as Fawkes fixed him with an intense gaze.
Who's Gellert?
She wasn't quite sure what they were talking about, but Harry's survival was at stake, and she was going to take advantage of the lull in the argument.
"How's this, Mr Flamel?" said Ruby, finally realising why she had been so fixated on the king. "For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. For want of a horse, the rider was lost. For want of a rider, the message was lost. For want of a message, the battle was lost. For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail. So please, save Harry. Or else," she said hotly, "you might regret it later, even if you don't care about him. If Voldemort can control the Obscurus, why can't Harry?"
Please don't let Tee be my only hope.
"Keep him alive, for her sake, if not his," said Dumbledore. "Regardless of whether you help me, I will. You must believe in him, Nicholas... if anyone can replicate the Dark Lord's control of an Obscurus, it is he. But without your skill..."
Flamel sighed. "And the saving of the nail is beyond me. Unlike you, Dumbledore, I set no store in the prophecies of foolish frauds... The Dark Lord mark the boy as his equal, bah!"
With that, he returned to the table to meticulously count, label, and store his ingredients, before sweeping out of the office.
Ruby, still rooted to her spot, stared at the chessboard. Her king had toppled over, knocking down the other pieces with it.
Then Tee is my only hope. Flamel doesn't care.
You can't live that long and care about death that much, anyway.
And what prophecy?