"ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀʟ ꜱʟᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱ ʀɪᴅᴇ,
ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ ɪ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇ,
ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ."
― ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ꜱʜᴀᴋᴇꜱᴘᴇᴀʀᴇ, ʜᴇɴʀʏ ɪᴠ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2
Chapter Six: The Doubled Pawn
The early October afternoon was wet. In the halls of the Ministry, however, the air was bone-dry and stale, yet, a refuge from the constant assault of Dementors. Many of the office staff slept at their desks these days for the assurance of safety. Malfalda Prewett was one of them.
Better here than her barely-furnished flat.
Apart from protection from the Dementors, being at the Ministry during the night gave her the opportunity to access information that she would never have had the chance to otherwise.
Over the years, she had honed her skill with the Disillusionment Charm to the point that she was as adept at concealment as any Auror. Though she was nowhere as skilled as Dumbledore, who had practically no use for an Invisibility Cloak, she could more or less disappear in dim enough lighting as long as no one looked too hard for too long.
These days, that ability had come in exceedingly handy. She'd used it to tail several upper-level Ministry officials over the past few weeks and discovered an off-schedule meeting tonight between Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, and three highly-ranked Death Eaters. They wouldn't be there in person, of course, only over a magic mirror. Still, Mafalda was determined to listen in on the conversation.
At least, she would know whether it was worth fleeing the country. At this point, she was seriously considering it. She'd heard there was a teaching position available and Beauxbatons.
Today, she sped through her work at a voracious pace, churning out three complete reports on malfunctioning Sneakoscopes.
"Plans tonight?" asked her least-favourite co-worker, Hassan Shafiq, peering over the top of her cubicle with an impish expression.
"Don't," said Mafalda emphatically. "Really, don't."
He stared at her for a good while longer than usual, taking in her dishevelled appearance. It must have disturbed him because he turned up during lunch with a lemon and poppy seed muffin for her, made her a cup of tea (she discreetly checked it for tampering before she drank it), and brought her a fresh quill.
As both of them were former Slytherins, this made Mafalda incredibly wary. Favours always came with strings in their House.
Her worst fears were soon confirmed. As she began to make her way to the fifth floor two hours after closing, a shadow darkened her path. Sandalwood cologne permeated the air.
"Where are you off to?"
Mafalda glowered at him. She was a Chaser, and he was a Bludger, an irritating and possibly injurious presence dogging her every step towards her goal.
"Move," she hissed and stalked past him. Surprisingly, he didn't budge until she was a good ten paces away.
"I want in," he said, turning and crossing his broad arms.
Not again! She dreaded a do-over of the Lockhart debacle in their seventh year.
"You want in on what, exactly?" Mafalda feigned ignorance.
Hassan tsked. "Come on, Prewett, you know me better than that. You're always on someone's trail. Like a bloodhound, you are."
He wasn't wrong. She'd gone down to the third-floor corridor and gotten bitten by that horrible dog, suspected Lockhart and been hit with a real Bludger for her troubles.
Me getting too close to the truth never tends to work out well.
Mafalda sighed, softening a little.
He's really not so bad, said a small voice, and he might be useful.
Out loud, she said, "Keep a secret, Shafiq, or else I'll Oblivate you," and then cast her Disillusionment Charm on both of them. Hassan let out a surprised gasp at the cold, slippery sensation of the charm taking effect.
The room, once they got to it, was an ordinary Ministry conference room, replete with antique furniture and old-fashioned wallpaper. The only notable thing about it was the magic mirror leaning against one of the walls. Its surface remained more opaque than that of a regular mirror, fog seeming to swirl in its depths.
Magic mirrors were expensive and tricky to make. At least one person tried each year for their Ancient Runes project and usually failed miserably.
When the door swung open, Mafalda and Hassan barely had time to situate themselves discreetly against a wall. In walked Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, with his lime-green bowler hat missing, and the Senior Undersecretary and former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge. Fudge was cowardly, and a poor leader, but Umbridge was a loathsome individual with a twisted sense of morality and a lust for power. Between them, Mafalda was certain many concessions would be made to the Death Eaters.
The question is, which ones?
The surface of the mirror began to shift from foggy to clear. She could make out three figures; two tall, one short, all masked and hooded.
Fudge approached the mirror uneasily. Even though his pin-striped robes, Mafalda could see the weakness in his knees. There was a small, subtle smile upon Umbridge's face as she followed him.
Mafalda wrinkled her nose as the sickly sweet vanilla of Umbridge's perfume began to permeate the air.
"Thank you for your punctuality, Minister," began the middle Death Eater, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "We hope that you will also be cooperative."
"Oh, yes," Umbridge put in, the black bow perched on top of her head quivering like a plate of jelly, "we come with the intention of making a negotiation that is quite amenable to both parties."
"Much appreciated, Dolores Umbridge," said the short Death Eater, inclining his head.
"Now that the niceties have been observed," said the last, a woman with a haughty, refined voice, "may we begin?"
Now, Mafalda shuddered, only vaguely aware that Hassan, standing close enough to brush her shoulder, might have felt it. The female Death Eater was unmistakably Bellatrix Lestrange, infamous for her fierce and dangerous temper, with the lethal skill to match ― and one of Mafalda's uncles' killers.
How can the Minister bear to negotiate with such people? Terrorists! Murderers!
She clenched her fist, nails biting into her skin.
"The main concern, of course," said Fudge, "is the Dementors. It is evident, I believe, that I would like them to leave―"
"You mean to order about the Dark Lord?" asked Bellatrix, her tone strident. "As the party at a clear disadvantage, you shall not dictate terms, Fudge."
"I meant no insult, madam," said Fudge hastily, "only the matter that we are most concerned with."
Mafalda wondered if he recognised Bellatrix, too. The fear in his voice tainted every word.
"Minister," said the tall Death Eater, "we understand that it is not currently in your power to dictate terms with Albus Dumbledore. What is in your power to give us that is equal in weight to the Dementors?"
Fudge had been turning greener and greener in the face. His fingers fiddled clumsily with the hems of his sleeves, and he appeared to be attempting to stammer out the beginning of a sentence.
Umbridge easily beat him to the chase.
"One thing, perhaps... an official Ministry position? Some sort of advisory role might be amenable."
"And what will this role entail?" asked the short Death Eater.
"Veto power, for one―"
"Dolores!" Fudge exclaimed in a quiet, scandalised tone. Umbridge gave him a stern look, and he resigned himself to muttering under his breath.
"Do not mutter in my presence, Minister," hissed Bellatrix, and Fudge shrunk back.
"―the ability to propose new laws and ordinances in addition."
All three Death Eaters were silent for a while. Mafalda wondered if they were communicating amongst themselves.
Finally, Bellatrix Lestrange spoke. "Very well, Dolores. The Dark Lord will hear your... suggestion."
She snapped her fingers, signalling the end of the meeting, and the mirror once more turned opaque.
"Let us return to my office, Dolores," said Fudge hastily, his face blotchy and reddened, "and discuss the matter further."
As soon as they did so, Mafalda dropped the Disillusionment Charm on herself and Hassan. The familiar cold-egg sensation subsided, and she sunk heavily to the floor.
"That was Bellatrix Lestrange," said Hassan, his voice breathless.
"Yeah," said Mafalda weakly.
"So the Dark Lord's serious about this, then. Serious about Dolores Umbridge."
"Yeah."
"Yeah? Is that really all you've got to say for yourself, Prewett? You've gotten bloody reticent in your old age."
She grimaced at the floor.
"You couldn't tell who the others were, could you?" Mafalda peered very intently at Hassan, who did not so much as flinch.
"No, I couldn't."
It was best not to press it, so she got to her feet and started to leave.
A hand landed gently on her shoulder.
"What are you planning to do with this information? Are you a spy for Dumbledore?" His eyes bore into hers, unblinking and piercing.
Acid began to rise in Mafalda's throat. Why would he say something like that? Is he having me on?
"You might as well have just flat-out asked, Who is your handler? Besides, no one can get any information in or out of Hogwarts."
"That's not what I meant," Hassan insisted, the tips of his ears growing slightly pink. In response, she took hold of his hand and extricated it from her shoulder.
"Don't touch me," she instructed. "And who's your handler?"
"It's not true that no one can get information into Hogwarts," said Hassan. "The enchantment must be lowered once a year so that Hogwarts letters can be sent and professors may visit Muggle-born first years. Incidentally, students could smuggle messages into their luggage. Don't you think the Dark Lord will have made use of his followers' children?"
What does he mean by that? But she decided to not think and just move.
The next motion was pure instinct. Mafalda wondered if it was her Prewett blood, if she was meant to be as skilled a fighter as her uncles were.
In one fluid motion, she relieved Hassan of his wand and the ability to command his body below his neck; her wand was pressed firmly against his jugular.
"Is Voldemort your handler? Bellatrix Lestrange? Lucius Malfoy? Your father?"
"Stop rattling off names," said Hassan in a furious tone.
"You seemed very familiar with how Bellatrix's voice sounds."
"So do you."
"She helped kill my uncles."
"You were six years old!"
"You knew that all of this was happening tonight. You knew where I was going when you stopped me in the hallway."
"Bellatrix Lestrange isn't the Dark Lord's intelligence officer," said Hassan coldly.
"You're not," said Mafalda disbelievingly. There's no universe where it's possible. He's much too young.
"No, I'm not the Dark Lord's bloody intelligence officer, Prewett! I thought you were supposed to be smart." He sounded almost exasperated; Mafalda was furious. She was the one who deserved to be frustrated! She'd almost decided to forgive him for being an absolute and utter prick―
"But you do work for him." The hand holding her wand tremored.
"I..." He grimaced. "Not in any meaningful aspect; I was just meant to stay close to you. I don't even report to anyone. I don't have a handler."
He was rambling. Mafalda didn't believe him, but still, she removed her wand from his neck and stepped back slightly.
"For what?"
Hassan sighed heavily. "You're being headhunted for a position in the Dark Lord's ranks. I was supposed to sway you."
"Sway me to the 'Dark Side?' Like Luke Skywalker, I suppose? Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "My parents are Squibs. Nice bluff, Shafiq."
"The Dark Lord has been known to make a rare exception. And otherwise, your bloodline comes very highly recommended despite that hiccup when warranted. So, Prewett, the time has come ― join the Dark Lord or rot in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects forever. Your choice."
"I'll do neither, thanks," said Mafalda coldly and Stunned him before sweeping out of the conference room. She returned to the office, but not without a detour to pick up an application form for Auror Training.
The morning of Quidditch tryouts was overcast and grey. According to Ginny's report and the state of her boots, the rain had left the pitch muddy.
Harry's stomach turned over as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice at breakfast.
"What a horrible day," said Hermione, absentmindedly stirring her tea with Hogwarts: A History balanced on her lap.
"Good luck, Harry," said Ron pointedly.
"Oh, yes ― Quidditch tryouts! Good luck! Got your broom ready and everything?"
He nodded. Ruby, Lavender and Parvati, as well as Ginny, Anthony, and even Colin Creevey, had already wished him luck.
It was a shame he couldn't get his mind off Quirrell and first year.
It won't happen again, he told himself firmly. It's not that kind of year. I won't let it be.
After breakfast, he found his way onto the muddy pitch. It had started to rain properly, and water droplets began to form on his glasses. Within five minutes, he was already soaked to the bone and shivering.
Hermione was making her way out of the stands and across the field, hurrying over to him.
"Glasses!" she said breathlessly, and he handed them over to her. Hermione tapped her wand to the lenses, muttering, "Impervious!"
"There!" She thrust them back at Harry. "They'll repel water!"
He thanked her profusely, and a few minutes later, he was lined up side-by-side with the other hopefuls; a scrawny second-year and two fifth-years.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team had formed a loose, loudly chattering mob. Angelina Johnson, newly minted captain, instructed them to mount their brooms.
"Now, I hope I don't have to explain what the Snitch does." She held up the familiar golden ball between her forefinger and thumb.
They all nodded in agreement.
"Two qualities are important in a Seeker; avoiding being fouled and catching the Snitch before the opposition. Try your best to accomplish both ― may the best flyer win!" And with that, she released it, and play began.
Harry had never experienced Quidditch with four Seekers in play. The pitch seemed even more crowded and chaotic than usual; he felt at imminent risk of flying headfirst into someone at every turn.
By the ten-minute mark, the second year had been fouled and sent off by Angelina. Not long after, he spotted the Snitch flittering merrily near the stands. He was grateful for the rain-repelling charm Hermione had placed on his glasses; he'd never have been able to see it through wet lenses.
Harry sped after the golden glint of the Snitch, reaching out for it, but it darted away suddenly, and he was forced into a barrel roll by one of the twins' Bludgers. When he came out of it, the two fifth-years had already changed direction, and they were neck-and-neck.
He could see a path to get to the Snitch faster, but it was a bit dangerous. Katie, Ginny, and Angelina were passing the Quaffle back and forth just under the fifth-years.
He'd have to risk it. Harry gritted his teeth and dove.
The wet, vicious wind tore at his hair and attempted to wrest his grip from the broomstick, but he held on tighter. Everything around him narrowed and faded until he could only see the path to the Snitch; the Quaffle sailed a few inches over his head, and then, in the space of a blink, the tiny golden ball was clutched in his fist.
The fifth-years didn't look pleased, but Angelina was shaking the water out of her long, tiny braids and grinning.
"Pleased to have you on the team again, Harry!" she said cheerfully.
"Thanks," he said, shifting his grip on his broom and then shaking her hand when she offered it. Could this year be normal? Harry pondered this. It seemed cautiously plausible, at least.
Afterwards, a hot shower was had, and then he made his way down to the Great Hall quite early and was greeted with many effusive congratulations.
"Sorry about taking your position," he said when Ginny sat down.
"Oh, don't worry about it," she said airly. "I wanted Chaser, anyway."
"Do you mind passing the pumpkin juice?"
A few minutes later, while listening to Ron and Hermione having a whispered argument over the Potions homework, utter terror seized him. All he could process was that his throat had narrowed to the size of a pinhole, and he tried to scream and gasp, but nothing came out. His vision blackened. People were shouting all around him, but it all seemed so far away from the dark sleep that had cradled him in its arms.
And then, bright as daylight, there was Snape's face scowling down at him and the bright, pure white ceiling of the Hospital Wing above him.
"Is he alright, Professor?" Several people were hovering over him. Harry's stomach churned.
"What happened?" He felt as if someone had wrung the life out of him. There was an acrid taste in the back of his throat. Harry tried to remember, but the only thing he could recall was the darkness closing in on him in the Great Hall.
"You were poisoned, mate," said Ron grimly, kneeling down to be closer to eye-level with him.
That made sense in some disturbing way. His stomach squeezed miserably around emptiness.
Ron offered Harry a hand up, and he pulled himself into a sitting position. He watched as Hermione handed a goblet to Snape, who sniffed the dregs tentatively. Harry watched Snape's face carefully, but the professor's expression remained as stony as ever. Finally, he began to pace off, and Harry saw him go across the room to Madam Pomfrey, who started discussing something with him in low tones.
Poisoned... The word floated around aimlessly in his head without anything meaningful to attach to it. Who would want to poison me?
"Drink this; I got it from Madam Pomfrey." Ruby knelt down next to the bed, holding a vial of something and looking as grim as Ron sounded. Harry recognised the woodsy, herbal scent of Wiggenweld Potion. He hesitated, fingers closing around the cold glass.
"It's not poisoned, see." She took it from him, gulped down some of it to demonstrate, and then passed the rest to him. Nodding shakily, he tipped the remainder back and felt the strength in his limbs slowly start to return.
Ruby started to rise to her feet, but Harry reached out and grasped the sleeve of her robes.
"Riddle," he whispered hoarsely in her ear, his eyes darting around the room in search of the tall, black-haired figure, but it was nowhere to be seen. Not that it meant anything. Only an idiot would lurk around a crime scene, and Riddle was no idiot.
"Not here," she pleaded under her breath. Her expression was wide and frightened, but Harry believed her. "He's not here; he would have shown himself to me."
"Then who?" His fingers knotted tightly in the fabric of her sleeve, holding her fast.
Her voice was pale and frightened, her posture limp and expression drained. "I don't know, Harry, I... I don't know."
She might be formulating in her head that this was some sort of karmic justice for Uncle Vernon, he suspected. Harry wasn't keen on such philosophising.
"It's not your fault," he said under his breath, and he wasn't even sure if she had heard him, but he didn't try again.
The quiet in the Hospital Wing made his head buzz. Then, in the blurry, soft silence, something came to him.
"Lovegood," he said, remembering the girl's vague and odd warning, "she said something funny about the pumpkin juice. Not to..."
"So it was Nott," said Ruby venomously.
"No, we mustn't jump to conclusions," Hermione interjected. "It could be anyone. Besides, he hadn't come anywhere near the Gryffindor table."
"You don't think it's a Gryffindor who poisoned him?" Ron looked positively green at the mere suggestion.
"Not likely," said Hermione. "You know what they say; poison's a coward's weapon."
"Or a Slytherin's," Anthony put in (Harry hadn't noticed him at first, standing by himself next to the window) and shrank back a little when Ruby glowered at him. She had started to pace in front of the bed, her hands crossed behind her back.
"If it's Nott, we'll know. He said it himself; if anyone breaks the truce, it'll be all-out war. And Hermione's right. He didn't come near the table at all. He was sitting with me the whole time. Either he's got the world's best poker face and can be at two places at once―"
"Probably has, the little slimeball," Ron cut in.
"―or he's got nothing to do with it, which is unlikely at best, so the only solution is that he's got an accomplice," Anthony finished. He and Ruby exchanged a grim look. Some silent communication appeared to have passed between them.
"Could be anyone," she said. "He's been popular this year with everyone except Daphne. I'm sure he could convince anyone else in our year to stick something in Harry's food for a laugh."
Hermione's brows were knit together; she leaned forward, staring out the window thoughtfully. Harry found a chance to finally get a word in, but Hermione started talking before he could even open his mouth.
"You know, Snape didn't find anything in your food. Or the pumpkin juice, for that matter. Goblet wasn't tainted, either."
Did I make myself sick with paranoia, Harry wondered.
"Maybe it's Snape," Ron pointed out.
"Maybe it's cantarella," said Hermione. "It looks like sugar and tastes like it, too."
"Canta-what?"
Hermione shrugged. "You know, undetectable poison used in political assassinations by the Borgias, a Muggle aristocratic family who exchanged poisons and potions for protecting wizards while they held control of the papacy? It was on the last History of Magic exam."
At least a full thirty seconds of utter silence followed.
"Alright," said Harry, "so what family made cantarella for the Borgias?"
Hermione took a deep breath and shuddered as she breathed out. She spoke tightly and through a grimace. "Perhaps unsurprisingly, it happens to be the Zabinis."
"The Zabinis!" Ruby exclaimed in surprise. Harry shared the sentiment; Blaise was sometimes annoying but mostly benign. His family weren't Death Eaters. His family wasn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Harry wasn't even entirely certain he was pureblood.
Only Ron didn't look shocked. "Well, his mum's seven very wealthy husbands didn't all drop dead of natural causes."
"But you think Blaise really wants Harry dead?" asked Ruby, aghast.
"He didn't come near the table, either," Ron pointed out. "And what if someone else drank from that jug of pumpkin juice? They'd be poisoned, too!"
"Ron's right," said Anthony thoughtfully. "It's a bit sloppy. Well, more than a bit. Very sloppy. Unless they wanted it to look that way, do you think..."
"That's the thing about cantarella, though," said Hermione. "Someone could have been dosing you since term started, and that was enough to put you over the edge but not affect everyone else."
"Or maybe," said Ruby slowly, "Harry wasn't supposed to get poisoned at all. Maybe he was just unlucky. After all, if the pumpkin juice had been laced ever since Lovegood warned Harry, doesn't that mean we've all been drinking it for the past few weeks at least?"
"You think someone poisoned me by accident?" Harry spluttered.
"Well, if the poison works the way Hermione says it does, it's not impossible. That's all I'm saying!"
Wishful thinking, Harry thought to himself, unless I really am that unlucky. Then, out loud, he said: "Do you think you could find out if anyone in Slytherin's got cantarella?"
Ruby shrugged a shoulder. "I don't think I'd get very far asking around, and if Snape can't detect it, I don't think I'll have much luck."
"What about your lessons?" Harry pressed. He imagined that if she really was a Seer, Trelawney had to have been teaching her something at least remotely useful for the past month.
"It's not that easy," said Ruby crossly, "I can't scry all the details on demand. Besides, the lessons aren't going so well."
"You used to use a marble, didn't you?" asked Ron, pulling one out of his pocket. Ruby took it from him tentatively, grasping it between finger and thumb.
Tapping her wand to it, she mouthed, "Wingardium Leviosa," and then, "Incendio!"
The flaming marble rotated slowly on its axis, heat rolling off of it. Harry watched Ruby stare deep into the marble, a trance-like state coming over her.
Everyone held their breath for a few minutes, but then she started blinking rapidly, rubbing her eyes, and extinguishing the fire.
"It's not working," she said, staring at her shoes. Harry thought there was guilt on her face under the strain. "It's all muddy. I couldn't see anything but flashes; I'm not sure if it'll help much, or at all... There was a house-elf, I think, and a sachet of powder, but I couldn't see them in focus. I haven't been able to focus properly since..." She trailed off. Harry was no Seer, but even he could divine the end of the sentence: since Riddle.
"That's a lead, though, isn't it?" asked Anthony excitedly. "The house-elves in the kitchen must know something, then!"
"Snape only had whatever was in Harry's pumpkin juice," Ron pointed out, "and it was all dissolved."
Hermione nodded. "But if it was a sachet of the stuff, someone might be able to figure out what it was. So at least you know what you're looking for."
"There's always good, old-fashioned sleuthing," said Ruby grimly. "I'd better go and have a look now before everyone goes to bed. Wish me luck."
What followed was the systematic and thorough surveying of her yearmates' personal affects. Hephaestus proved a steadfast ally, serving as Ruby's watch in case anyone came down the stairs and toward the dormitories.
She thought the fourth-year boys' dormitory might prove more fruitful than the girls'; she spent a full half-hour riffling through most of Theodore's belongings, perplexed, until she found a little wooden panel at the back of the trunk.
Ah-ha! This must be where he hides things!
"Alohomora," she whispered and was surprised when the panel popped open to reveal a small glass vial filled with crystals like white sugar.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Ruby started at the sound. Steps fell, far, far too heavy to belong to Hephaestus.
"Have you tried Accio?" asked Theodore, holding up a disgruntled Hephaestus by the scruff of his neck.
"Put him down!" said Ruby fiercely, holding the vial behind her back and pointing her wand at him. "Expellarimus!"
Theodore seemed not to have been expecting Ruby to actually use her wand; Hephaestus flew out of his hand, landing rather ungracefully on the ground.
Now, he looked furious, too, gritting his teeth.
"I did tell you that you wouldn't want me as your enemy," said Theodore. "We had something nice going on, but you've ruined it all by showing how little you trust me."
"Should have thought of that before you poisoned Harry." She took a step towards him; to his credit, Theodore held his ground.
"You wouldn't believe me if you told me I didn't intend to do it. That's the problem with you Seers; you always think the world behaves so predictably."
Ruby flinched. "How do you know about that?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she stared him down.
It's not the best-kept secret, she reflected. Maybe he thinks I'm good at it.
Out loud, she said, as grandly as she could: "Maybe I've seen the outcome of this, Theo. Maybe I know I'm going to win."
"I wouldn't be so certain. Flipendo!"
Ruby threw herself to the side to avoid the jet of light, nearly stumbling headfirst into one of the four-poster beds. Before she'd managed to regain her balance, he'd already turned on his tail and left, stumbling loudly up the stairs.
Now or never.
She hurried up the stairs, her robes billowing around her, and desperately searched the busy common room from Theodore.
There!
In a flash, the door had shut swiftly behind him. Ruby kicked it open again with her foot and raced out of the corridor, her eyes fixed on Theodore's retreating figure.
People were just starting to leave the Great Hall en masse when they arrived. Theodore had gotten on top of a plinth (whose usual resident, a bust of Morgana, had been removed for cleaning after a Fred-and-George-related incident).
"You've all heard by now," said Theodore loudly, "that Professor Snape has strong reason to suspect there's been poison in the food for a while. A rare and fairly undetectable poison that might be mistaken for sugar."
Panicked, Ruby attempted to force her way through the crowd, but there was no use. She only made it to the middle, behind some rather large sixth-year boys and beside Lavender and Parvati.
"Oh, what's he up to now?" griped Parvati, glowering between two boys' heads at Theodore. Lavender looked askance at Ruby, who could only shake her head.
The only answer might lie in the sickening pit of shivery ice at the bottom of her stomach. All she could think was, he knows, he knows, he knows...
"Everyone's been wondering how Harry Potter became an Obscurus, haven't they?"
Oh, no. No. Please no.
From here, she could see Anthony standing beside Daphne and Luna and watching Theodore intently, a furrow forming on his forehead as his eyebrows began to knit together in dismay. He caught her gaze briefly before looking away.
"Well, spit it out then, Nott!" called someone from the front of the crowd. "Don't keep us in suspense!"
A slow, wide grin began to spread across Theodore's face. Ruby thought she was going to be sick. It was coming now, as swiftly and surely as a knife to the heart. Close your ears; she wanted to tell everyone around her. Don't listen to him.
Almost without her intending it, her arm began to rise, a spell on her lips as she angled it at Theodore.
"What are you doing?" burst out Lavender, scandalised. Ruby put her arm down and shook her head, but not before noticing that there was a faint shimmer around him.
A shield, she realised. It would take curses that were currently beyond her to penetrate it. Theodore was determined not to be interrupted.
You don't want me as your enemy.
Not even Dumbledore could fix this. None could save her from the truth.
"Alright, alright then. Well, you see, I was able to get my hands on this coroner's report before I came to school―" Here, he held up a sheet of paper, not parchment, but ordinary Muggle paper, like the kind you could find in a printer. Ruby's heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach at the sight of it.
"―which says that Vernon Dursley died of a heart attack. Vernon Dursley, by the way, is Harry and Ruby's uncle, who died mysteriously―"
"What's he talking about?" asked Parvati, turning towards Ruby, her swinging plait punctuating the movement. Ruby could only shake her head, her teeth gnawing at her lip until it bled.
"―and even though Mr. Dursley's heart definitely stopped beating, apparently, he hadn't had any heart problems until he died suddenly. And then, the day he died, the Potters disappeared, at least until they came to Hogwarts. Isn't that funny?"
"He shouldn't talk about stuff like that!" said Lavender indignantly, placing her hands on her hips. "Who does he think he is? It's none of his business!"
If only I deserved the self-righteous anger, thought Ruby.
"But what the truth is, what Dumbledore knew all this time, is that Mr. Dursley's death isn't a mystery."
A loud gasp escaped Parvati. "Was it Harry? His Obscurus? Did he kill your uncle? Why didn't the Muggles notice the markings?"
Mired in utter horror and misery, the only things Ruby could focus on were Parvati's horrified eyes and Theodore's triumphant voice, the latter gleefully sealing her fate.
"It wasn't Harry," said Ruby quietly, "it was―"
"Ruby Potter killed Vernon Dursley. And I can prove it!" He flung the paper away. "There was another report from Dumbledore, and it gives the full and true report. You'll find copies of it in your common rooms."
The words sliced through the crowd like the blow of a sword; they silenced every errant whisper. Above them all was Theodore, clutching a sprig of dried monkshood in his fist, a beatific smile painted lavishly on his face.
The clamour began instantly.
"I think," said Lavender, barely audible over the shouting, her voice wobbling, "I think I need a minute, Ruby. Just ― I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?"
Ruby made a sound like a wounded animal, her feet fixed to the spot.
With one long, last long look of pity and betrayal, Lavender and Parvati turned and left without another word.
The crowd in front of her had begun to disperse, and she had a clear view of Anthony, who was staring back at her in silent shock. His chest was heaving up and down, and he turned towards Theodore, his hands balled into fists.
"It's not true, Nott!" he shouted at the Slytherin, the pain and fury evident in his voice. "Take it back!"
Theodore turned to her, the shield shimmering around him. "Goldstein, you need to develop better taste in girls, or else something might happen to you one day. By the way, do you deny it, Ruby?" he asked mockingly.
Anthony's face started to redden.
"It's ― she's not ― it can't ― you dirty liar!"
"No," she said. Everyone who hadn't left had turned around to watch. She mustn't cry. She must keep her chin up and―
"I wish it hadn't happened. I'm sorry it happened. I didn't want it to. But I did it. And you can take that however you want―" Her voice nearly broke. She was dangerously close to screaming and crying, and she swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke again. "But your brother isn't an Obscurial. So I wouldn't expect you to understand."
Harry himself had just come from the Hospital Wing. Ron and Hermione stopped immediately in front of the stairs, and the crowd parted for Harry as he walked towards Theodore.
"Very touching," said Theodore. "But you'll always be a cold-blooded killer. But, then again, snakes are cold-blooded animals, so maybe that makes you the perfect Slytherin."
"Enough," spat Harry. "Don't talk to her like that."
"Et tu, Harry?" Theodore wet his lips like a wolf before a meal.
Quick as a flash, Harry made to knock him off the plinth, not noticing the shield. Mocking laughter ensued.
"The Potters, everyone. The Boy-Who-Lived, and the Girl-Who-Killed. Right?"
Scattered laughter echoed up and down the hallway; Ruby saw Anthony turn on his heel and storm off in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.
Unbidden, her feet traced out a tight semicircle. Her vision was blurry; she could only make out silhouettes of the people around her.
"Let's go," muttered Harry, seeming to appear by her shoulder out of nowhere, grabbing her wrist and starting to lead her towards the stairs. Some of the paintings heckled her as they went.
Theodore leaned over the bannister, his face hidden from the crowd by her hair, to whisper, "Checkmate, Potters!"
As she looked up and away from him in a haze of tears, Ruby saw only a tall figure off in a corner, dark and silent as a black rook on a chessboard.
Riddle was watching. Her only thought at that moment was a question: whether or not he had orchestrated the entire thing.
She didn't think it mattered.
It's been a while! IRL has been quite hectic, and I wanted to make sure this chapter was properly edited before I posted it :)