"ɪꜰ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀʟᴀᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜰɪʀᴇ, ᴀꜱ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ꜰᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪᴄɪʟʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴏɴ ꜰɪʀᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴛɪQᴜɪᴛʏ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴜꜰꜰɪᴄɪᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴇxᴀᴍᴘʟᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ." — ꜱᴀɪɴᴛ ᴀᴜɢᴜꜱᴛɪɴᴇ, 5ᴛʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀʏ
Chapter Seven: Bump in the Night
It was about the fifth library they'd been in.
W-O-O-L-S O-R-P-H-A-N-A-G-E
W-O-O-L
W-O-O-L L-O-N-D-O-N
Tee didn't pay attention to her while she tapped away at the giant, humming computer, only to inevitably wait ages for the next page to load, this title is not available.
Who was the Heir of Slytherin?
She changed her mind, and put in an unrelated query, and pulled up a few books about a famously haunted graveyard, which seemed to fit.
It just felt as if she was hurtling towards something strange. Something cataclysmic.
Second sight, Lavender would have called it, some people are very drawn to their ultimate fate.
After all, dead Tom Riddle had left his signet ring for her. She had seen those red strings, floating around her and Harry and Tee, and if the Death Eater Pettigrew knew about it, so did Voldemort.
All of a sudden, a hand came down and clamped around her mouth, and she started screaming for help. because if she couldn't speak, she couldn't cast, even if she dared to risk—
"Will you quiet down?" asked a peeved, familiar voice. "It's only me. And where have you been?"
Ruby stepped away from Mafalda, goosebumps already coming up on her arms, half from the fear, only slowly wearing off, and half from relief.
The older witch's bright red hair was pulled back in a claw clip, only a few loose strands framing her nearly-permanently furious expression, and dressed as if she'd just come back from work.
Work at the Ministry. If she was here on Ministry business...
Ruby started looking around. Aurors wore scarlet robes, but if they were looking for her, they'd probably wear Muggle clothes like Mafalda.
"Have you got your wand?" asked Mafalda in a harsh whisper. "You've not been followed, Potter, I hope?"
She thought of telling Mafalda about Tee, just a few shelves down. Ruby could even see him through the gaps in the shelves, the dirty sleeves of his shirt and his shaggy black hair.
If she spoke just above the whisper that she and Mafalda were using right now, he would hear her.
But Mafalda was already shrugging her coat off and draping it around Ruby's shoulders, fixing her hair to obscure her face...
"Am I in danger?" asked Ruby, but the necklace was already hot against her throat with the answer. And she knew she should have picked it up, heeded her mother's warning, but Mafalda's next words quelled the last of her desire to do so.
"No. You're with me. Now, here's what we'll do. We'll walk out of here, not looking at anyone, go into the alley, and I'll Apparate us right into another alley, cast a charm to obscure you from sight, and we'll go right in. Thank God I live in Muggle London. Last thing we need is Hassan on my case."
And, with a last, forlorn thought at this terrible, selfish thing she was doing, she lingered slightly when Mafalda led her by the rest of the shelves, and, half meaning to, half without meaning to, caught Tee's eye. Of course, he immediately strode towards her, just as Mafalda had caught her arm to drag Ruby off again.
"Stupefy!"
"Aspida!"
Ruby realised, with a funny sort of horror, that Tee hadn't even made to reach for his wand, and yet, the red jet of light bounced harmlessly off of the silvery shield that had flickered up around him, glinting off his empty eyes.
And she hadn't expected Mafalda to launch herself physically at Tee, which, upon reflection would have been a good move if he'd been a Death Eater and trained in nothing else but wizard's duels, but in this circumstance, ended up with Mafalda in a headlock.
"Tee, let her go!" Someone was sure to have heard a scuffle, and the last thing they needed was security to throw them out and make a fuss—
"I'm not letting go of the kidnapper—"
"Death Eater!"
Tee's eyes widened in surprise, and in that same shock, Mafalda had wriggled out of the headlock, her wand against his throat, while she rolled up the sleeve covering his left arm, to reveal, not the twisting shape of the Dark Mark, but, drawn in thin red lines that demarcated a newly healed series of scabs, the words, mudblood scum. Tee shuddered; a tense, short, full-body shudder of pure terror. Ruby thought how that scar must have been made, and shuddered, too.
Mafalda seemed surprised, but all the same, she did not falter, the tip of her wand still scraping his throat.
"I want a name," she growled. "Hands where I can see them."
"Mafalda, honestly, you don't need to—"
"Be quiet, Potter, and let the adult handle it. And you — start talking!"
"Riddle," he said, his Adam's apple flexing against the point of Mafalda's wand, the flesh there already beginning to redden.
But why doesn't he do anything? Clearly, he can cast wandlessly, too.
He must want Mafalda to trust him. Of course, that will make things easier.
"How old are you, Riddle?"
"Sixteen. I think."
"What school were you attending?"
"Hogwarts."
"What House?"
Say you forgot.
"Slytherin," he answered, in that same monotone voice, and Ruby's heart leapt into her throat.
"Liar!" hissed Mafalda, the wand pressing deeper into his throat.
"He's telling the truth, Mafalda, please!"
"He was never in the dormitory with us!"
"He was in the dorms before us!" Ruby shot back.
Something about Mafalda seemed to soften, and she finally stepped away from Tee.
"Time Room escapee, then? You look the part, at least. I always knew the Department of Mysteries made mistakes that they kept secret."
Ruby breathed out. Mafalda Prewett was nosy above all else, and consumed with schadenfreude. This, for her, was an incredibly satisfying experience. And with his... unusual appearance, Tee definitely made for a convincing experiment gone wrong.
She pocketed her wand, only looking slightly ashamed, and nodded her head.
"Well, I suppose they're looking for you, too. Come on then, er, Riddle. Let's go."
It was then that the sensation of terrible cold began to come over Ruby. The sunlight streaming in through the windows began to grow dull and dim; even the artificial lights in the library flickered out. Mafalda and Tee had gone tense beside her; Mafalda had her wand out, unconcerned of who noticed them, and she saw Tee beginning to reach for his.
People came stumbling out of the shelves around them, as if they'd been herded into their corner of the library by something in the stifling air around them.
After darkness came sound; long, rattling breaths that seemed to suck something from the air. Ruby felt something missing; felt she could only think horrible, depressing thoughts... she couldn't run... couldn't hide... was going to die here, killed by whatever monster that had caused this, a horrible, pointless death, and she was never going to see Harry again... her breathing was coming out short and puffy, like she was trapped in a snowstorm... her joints were frozen solid and her stomach full of icicles...
Everything was grey. All colour had been sucked out of the world.
They rose up, part of the darkness, a foul mist of creatures... ten feet tall and garbed in robes the colour of shadows... whatever they smelled like, they smelled like Death, empty and cold, bony-fingered, slimy and scabbed all over...
Mafalda reached for her hand, but it wasn't comforting. Just cold and clammy, bloodless fingers sliding against numb fingers.
Of all the terrified people clustered in the wooden bookshelves, Tee was the worst.
He looked as dead as he had in the Chamber, all those months ago; bone-white, even his lips, his eyes wide and glassy and completely still.
"Expecto, expecto, expecto," Mafalda was whispering, voice deader than dry leaves, even as the monsters glided towards them.
One of them moved in front of Tee, and pulled its hood back to reveal its face; Ruby felt herself shudder, and not just from the terrible cold, watching its terrible, empty eye sockets, all grey and scabbed over, too, and move over Tee like some perverted kind of lover, its bony hand cradling his face delicately.
You're next, you're next, you're next... She could feel her heartbeat stuttering against her ribcage, to that awful rhythm. The monster sucked in another rattling breath...
Rattling, howling, thrashing.
Waiting.
In utter despair.
The necklace was spinning, but she couldn't drudge up the determination to read it.
Something brushed against her fingers; the marble, warm, slippery, real, and she found herself able to look up.
The monster had drawn away from Tee, seeming confused, as if it had not found whatever it was that it intended to feed on. It loped a few steps away, making an awful, bird-like, clicking noise, as it regarded its other two options for a meal.
But in the time it deliberated, Tee seemed to have regained a portion of his strength. He reached out to grasp the monster by its thin, weak, scabby neck, stared deep into its abyss-like eyes, and demanded, in a strange, clear voice that filled the entire library from floor to roof, "GO AWAY."
It might not have worked if it was anyone else. But Ruby felt the magic in his voice from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and even though the monster struggled for a brief moment, drooling at the sight of its remaining prey, it could not resist.
All of them had disappeared. Tee was still slumped against the bookshelf, but the blood was starting to return to his face, and he was breathing, sucking in air in quick, greedy gasps.
The people around them were moving, too, crying, screaming, shuddering. Alive.
All of a sudden, she felt very young, and felt like crying, then realised that she was crying. Tee had sunk to the floor, his head in his hands.
"Dementors," she heard Mafalda say, and then she turned and grabbed Tee by the shoulders, her face very close to his and her eyes very wide. "How did you do that? How did you know how?"
For a few seconds, he said nothing, his lips pressed tightly together, expression stony. He, too, looked on the verge of crying.
"We need to get out of here," said Tee finally, in a jittery sort of way, his hands trembling at his sides. "And I need a smoke."
Now they were sitting on a bench in a park, Ruby still wearing Mafalda's coat, and Tee, sucking in smoke as if it was his favourite dessert with a weird sort of contented sigh and exhaling foul puffs of floral and tar-scented air, and Mafalda at the very end, making a face.
Once Tee seemed to have calmed down sufficiently from the initial shock, Mafalda asked, "How did you just tell a horde of Dementors to go away?"
He pulled in another gulp of smoke, side-eying Mafalda, exhaled, and said: "I asked nicely. You should try it."
Ruby snorted, then cupped her hand over her face to hide the rest of her laugh after Mafalda shot her a dirty look.
"You told a Dementor to go away."
"Yes."
"And it did." Mafalda sat back, clearly confused. "No one has any business ordering around a Dementor like that ."
Ruby didn't understand what was so strange. The Heir of Slytherin could command the basilisk. Why not any other monster?
She relayed the less incriminating part of this to Mafalda, who responded: "No. Dementors aren't creatures. They're not even beings. They're immortal, unkillable soul-suckers that feed on happy memories and sow despair in order to paralyze their prey. Just like it was about to feed on him."
"It didn't seem to find me particularly interesting," said Tee in a monotone voice.
"And why not?" asked Mafalda. "Dementors tend to find humans intensely interesting. They're full of well-articulated happy memories, which are practically catnip—"
"I don't have many well-articulated memories," Tee interjected, "let alone happy ones."
Mafalda was quiet for a minute. "It didn't seem to be interested in sucking your soul, either."
"No. I s'pose it didn't." He flicked an excruciatingly evaluative glance over Mafalda, and dragged at the cigarette unblinkingly.
"And you behave convincingly like a human with will."
"Congratulations to me."
"What could you have done with your soul to make it utterly unpalatable to a Dementor?"
"Haven't the faintest clue," he said blandly.
Ruby thought of how he had found himself trapped in the diary in the first place. Probably that, whatever happened. It only takes one wrong move to change everything.
Everyone was silent for a while.
"Benjamin Goldstein will be calling another meeting, I suppose," said Mafalda slowly. "Something to the tune of I told you so. I gather you two are on the run," she added, "so I'll have to come out with a sufficient excuse. Word is, according to Thaddeus Nott and Dolores Umbridge, that Ruby killed Lockhart last year. Of course, no one can explain who was teaching Defence for the following two months before school let out, so that theory hasn't got a leg to stand on—"
"I killed Lockhart," Tee interrupted, quite unashamed.
Mafalda gave him an odd look, and Ruby saw her hand go to where her wand was hidden. She was looking at Tee as if he was a mad dog that she intended to put down, but Ruby could tell she was frightened of him, by what he had done to the Dementors.
And if she knew what I did to Vernon, would she look at me like I'm a mad dog, too?
"Well. That certainly clears some things up."
Tee continued to stare unblinkingly at her.
"Something is wrong with you," she whispered, shaking her head. "Something is wrong with both of you. Look. I'd better get back to the Ministry before Hassan starts sowing chaos, and you two need to get out of London before someone comes looking for a suitable explanation — and inevitably find you. There are Aurors stationed on the other side of the street."
"But—" Ruby began.
"Now! Take a bus, hitchhike, walk — don't Floo, Apparate, anything involving magic! And don't contact me!"
"Mafalda—" Ruby started again, but she was already hurrying off. Tee had stood up too, brushing his trousers off.
"We'd better get going, too."
Ruby did not get up.
"Did you — did you Legilimize her?"
"I'm certain that's not a word," said Tee, frowning.
"I'm certain you mind-controlled her," she said hotly. How many times has he tried it on me? It's a real stroke of luck I was able to get Nott's monocle.
Tee shrugged. "She'll have to tell her boss, then they'll come and lock one or both of us up. Do you want to go to— to—"
"Azkaban," Ruby finished softly, dragging her boots in a slow circle in the gravel, then pulling them back together. "I want— I want to go home, Tee."
"We can't go back to Hogwarts. Not yet, at least, if you're still wanted. At best, Mal-whatever-her-name-is will lie us both into the clear and then we can think about it."
"Not Hogwarts, then," Ruby agreed. "But home."
"Little Whinging?" asked Tee, and Ruby couldn't remember when she mentioned it.
But the picture of her, Harry and their parents had a note on the back of it — 1981, Godric's Hollow. She'd circled the red dot on the petrol station map months ago.
"No, I'm never going back there. After the cave, I want to go and see it. The house, I mean."
If Tom Riddle would talk to her from the dead, why not them?
Even Snape, Harry noticed with great surprise, had the capacity for empathy every so often, or so he discovered during Potions with the Ravenclaws.
"Do Goldstein a favour and help him dice the other share of dragon liver, Longbottom," drawled Snape from the front of the classroom, and that was that.
The dragon liver was challenging enough to handle with two hands, Harry thought. Ideally, one person held the slippery, noxious-smelling liver down while wearing heat gloves while the other carefully diced it with the knife, taking care to avoid the first person's fingers.
"I don't know why we've got to bother with Doxycide," Ron grumbled under his breath. "All you have to do to avoid them is clean out often—"
"Silence, Weasley. Detention with me is always an option, as there is quite a large quantity of cauldrons to be cleaned."
They were all upset by the Ministry's recent decrees, which had been read aloud by Umbridge to a very displeased Great Hall during dinner; upset enough to make Snape if not an ally, at least only a mild annoyance.
Ginny's room had indeed been found; a door that only popped into existence if you paced up and down the seventh floor corridor in front of a specific tapestry. Cedric and the Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater, were supposed to be organising the study group, but as far as Harry had heard, nothing had come of it yet.
Everyone was too scared of Umbridge. Amos Diggory, who he gathered was Cedric's dad, had been quoted in the Prophet, saying how pleased he was about the Ministry's efforts to make Hogwarts safer and how Umbridge's presence as High Inquisitor had quelled most of his worries.
What's stopping me from telling Lupin?
Simply, Harry supposed, the fear of getting him in trouble. So far, no none had managed a trip to Umbridge's class for detention; from the first to the seventh years, they were all perfectly behaved. Umbridge's reign of fear worked wonders for politeness, concentration, and abolishing tardiness.
Meanwhile, Lupin put Defence textbooks from previous years at the front of the library to encourage students to read them; surely, the Ministry couldn't pass a decree banning students from borrowing library books without looking ridiculous.
McGonagall, in particular, was at the end of her tether. Umbridge had taken to visiting her classes quite often, sitting in the back of the classroom and scribbling notes, interrupting the lecture every so often with a "Hem, hem, Minerva?" and a critique of her teaching methods (primarily, the use of practical spell-casting).
Some of the older students whispered that she'd had an altercation with Dumbledore in the hallway recently, concerning their differing opinions on the oversight the Ministry had over the school.
Recently, according to the Hogwarts rumour mill, Dumbledore had given a speech about the return of Voldemort and that the Ministry needed to focus its efforts on security rather than intimidating Hogwarts into submission. It was not taken well, and as a result he'd been demoted from positions and stripped of titles, following which, he was quoted as saying that he 'did not care as long as they did not take him off the Chocolate Frog cards.'
The old fool's comeuppance, Blaise Zabini had called it, which had started a full-on fistfight between him and Ron. Luckily, Flitwick was the one who'd broken it up, and they'd both gotten off easy writing lines after dinner.
Worse yet, the Ministry was looking into Lockhart; or at least, that was what Umbridge insinuated by bringing him up at the slightest opportunity, until everyone started to pester Harry about it.
What happened to Lockhart, Harry? What happened to Ruby? Why did she have to leave for her safety? Has it got something to do with how you recovered so quick?
Fred and George had taken to escorting Harry up and down the corridor at near enough all times and wearing sunglasses like Muggle bodyguards, carrying his bags, loudly declaring "NO COMMENT, NO COMMENT, MR. POTTER IS A VERY BUSY MAN AND HE DOESN'T HAVE THE TIME TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS." Harry, for one, found it immensely irritating, but at the least, it quickly diffused everyone's burning interest.
How long he would be able to keep silent, however, Harry didn't know.
The next morning, it was evident that chaos had descended once more on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Great Hall was filled with even more owls than usual during breakfast, and even though December was coming on quick, too early for Christmas presents to arrive.
Hermione was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, her wide eyes fixed on the morning's issue of the Daily Prophet placed in front of her, and unresponsive to her name being called.
Ron looked over her shoulder and blanched immediately. With a grim expression, he beckoned Harry over, too.
When Harry closed his eyes, he could still see the heading of the article behind them, angry, black, typeface — DEMENTORS IN LONDON, DETECTED IN MUGGLE LIBRARY
No casualties, the next line said.
Dementors, Harry knew, were the monsters that guarded Azkaban. The monsters that had somehow left, and ended up here.
"Look at Nott," he muttered to Ron.
"Nott couldn't have set Dementors on the library," said Hermione huffily, "he's a student, and you're being paranoid."
"I'm not talking about the miniature git," said Harry through gritted teeth, "I'm talking about Nott Senior."
"Harry, we don't have any proof—" But Hermione was drowned out by the clatter of the doors swinging open, to reveal Lovegood, the soft pad of her bare, dirty feet resounding in the suddenly-gone-silent hall. Her hair was a waist-length mass of split-ends, and her robes creased, the hems just as dirty as her feet.
Harry was surprised that Filch didn't chase her around the school with a mop.
Most people, when they saw who it was, shrugged it off, and turned around. But before it got loud again, she coughed.
"Miss Lovegood?" Dumbledore had stood up, regarding her quizzically from above the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Is something the matter?"
"D-D-Dem, I saw..." The rest petered out into an inaudible whisper.
Harry had never heard Lovegood speak before. She had a feather-light voice, and sounded as if she were six instead of twelve or thirteen years old.
"Poor Loony," said Ron, under his breath. "Ginny says everyone makes fun of her."
Harry nodded, but was left to wonder if Loony was really her first name, given that Ron didn't say it in a particularly insulting manner. Maybe it was short for Loonella or Loonette or something.
"Miss Lovegood, if you would speak up?" asked Dumbledore.
"I saw..." Her voice petered out again and she seemed to wilt, her hands trembling in front of her as if she was drawing a picture in mid-air. Lovegood beckoned to Theodore Nott (her cousin, Harry remembered), who stood up and went to her in a surprisingly sympathetic manner, even holding her dirty hand, for her to whisper something in his ear.
"She says she was in Ravenclaw Tower by herself," Theo relayed back, and Lovegood nodded along, swaying like dry grass in the breeze. "Professor Dumbledore, she saw Dementors. Dozens of them."
One of the older Ravenclaws stood up immediately. "Lovegood's mad!"
"Then I suggest that you hurry to the window and check, Mr. Grey," said Snape from his perch. "If only you would apply the same skepticism to your Potions essays, rather than copying the conclusions directly from the text."
"If I may, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge was standing up.
Dumbledore winced.
"Yes, Dolores? If this was sanctioned by the Ministry, let it be known that Hogwarts does not take kindly to threats."
And an instant, spreading chill settled all over the room.
"Threats, Professor?" Umbridge's high, tinkly laugh resounded off the ceiling, filling the room with a noxious jingle. "It seems that something lethal regularly finds it way to Hogwarts these past few years, which you claim is nothing but a stroke of bad luck. Is not it strange, then, in this case, that you instantly leap to blaming the Ministry of Magic?"
Harry saw a few people nod, mostly from the Slytherin table, but a few Hufflepuffs, too; the Houses that had a pureblood majority, he noted. Daphne Greengrass, in particular, was bobbing her head enthusiastically up and down.
"Well, you see," said Dumbledore, in a deliberately humble and perceptibly amused tone, "I only drew the mere obvious conclusion given the fact that the Ministry exerts total control of Azkaban, which is the only known origin of Dementors. But I will hold my tongue, Dolores, for your much more complex and clever explanation."
For a second, Harry thought Umbridge might launch herself at Dumbledore, for she was standing like a cat ready for a fight, bristling and almost snarling.
Instead, she regarded a trembling Lovegood out of the corner of her eyes.
"The girl may well be lying; after all, Miss Lovegood is not all there."
Lovegood, thought Harry, might be about to get Umbridge's first detention. She'd probably lock her in a pink and fluffy iron maiden, he imagined, and no one would ever see Loony Lovegood again.
He could see the front page now: HOGWARTS STUDENTS SACRIFICIAL LAMBS, UMBRIDGE SAYS DUMBLEDORE EATS CHILDREN.
You hurry to the window and check. Harry couldn't get Snape's words out of his head even as they were going up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. McGonagall and Dumbledore had gone to seal off entrances, and they'd all been strictly warned not to open windows so much as to let in the smallest draft. They were to be shut up tight, like a bottle sealed with wax.
No letters. No Quidditch.
His scar had been hurting recently. Not much; just as little, insistent twinge, as if to make Harry remember it was there.
"I don't see the point of all this," Ron grumbled as he made his bed later that night. "Dementors wouldn't be able to get through a crack the size of a—"
Something hit the window with a loud thump, and Neville let out a terrified squeak, which set off a torrent of laughter between both Dean and Seamus.
"It's not funny!" retorted Neville.
Another thump.
"Alright, someone should check the window."
Harry, who was the closest to the main window, stepped towards it, and pulled the heavy, velvet scarlet curtains to the sides, staring out at the grounds, which were already covered in a light blanket of snow.
Thump.
His stomach churned, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up.
A scabby, scaly eyeless face, with a gaping abyss for a mouth, was pressed against the foggy window.
He was shivering.
He could almost hear the hunger emanating off of it. Its desperation to get on the other side of the enchanted glass for a bite of tasty kid wizard.
"Harry, what do you see? What's out there?" came Neville's shaky voice.
"A Dementor," he said, then looked into the distance at what he had at once thought a cluster of dark birds. "Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe."
"All around the school, same thing! They're holding us hostage!" said someone in a horrified voice, and Harry turned, and realised it was Hermione.