"ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ."
Chapter Seven: Faustian Bargains
Harry stared down at the mug of tea, curling his fingers around the warmth. Next to him, Ruby had her feet tucked up, gazing into space. The fire snapped and bristled, and the cold autumn wind whistled past the windows.
Hagrid was one of the only people who would see them, having been once accused of murder himself. He poked at the fire with a grim expression, sniffling occasionally and rubbing his nose with an enormous handkerchief.
Fang lay in front of Lupin's feet, and Sirius sat in front of the fire, silently warming his hands and avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The Headmaster looked incongruous in this setting, his star-studded sky-blue robes the only bright thing other than the fire in the dark, drab room. He stared down at his own cup of tea, eyes nearly closed. Professor McGonagall, who was sat beside him, looked even more pinched and severe than usual.
"Is it true, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked finally, ending the long silence.
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, giving him a pleading look and hoping he understood. Meanwhile, Ruby seemed to have shrunk in on herself.
After a long pause, Dumbledore sighed and opened his eyes.
"Yes," he said, and though Harry knew it was coming, his stomach turned.
We all knew it, after all.
"It's true, Minerva. And young Theodore is correct in saying that I have known for years and concealed the truth."
Instantly, McGonagall blanched. Her eyes went to Ruby's downcast face, searching his sister's expression — an impossible task because she'd slumped over completely and her face was hidden in her hair. It was as if her spirit no longer inhabited her body.
"Why?" asked McGonagall, her voice hollow. "I need to understand. Miss Potter — Ruby."
"I think you do owe us an explanation, at least," added Lupin, his voice tense. Harry watched his knee jiggle up and down.
He felt sick to his stomach. What explanation could Ruby give? Who could possibly understand? Fury built in him. Why couldn't Dumbledore cover for her? How could he let someone like Theodore Nott get ahold of the truth?
Ruby shook her head silently, her eyes glued to the floor. Harry reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently, but she didn't react.
He closed his eyes, the memory of that fateful day forming behind them.
I had better tell the story, Harry realised. Ruby's in no state to answer anyone's questions.
When he cleared his throat, everyone looked up.
"Will you tell us what happened, Harry?" asked Lupin heavily, the lines around his eyes deepening.
Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The memories of Number Four Privet Drive were ones he never wanted to recall willingly, but still, just as he had with Quirrell-Voldemort, he forced himself.
"The Dursleys never wanted us there," he began, his voice quiet, as if he were telling a bedtime story. It made everyone lean a little closer. "Aunt Petunia took us in and let Professor Dumbledore seal our mum's charm, but that was the end of it. Ever since that day, they hated us. And they never let us forget it."
He could see Number Four more clearly than the fire-lit room. He was once more crouched in the narrow space of the cupboard underneath the stairs, the bare ceiling above him, a naked lightbulb dangling from it. Vernon's key rattled in the door, his taunts only barely muffled. Harry's stomach gnawed with the ghost of hunger. He touched the left side of his face, and it felt tender and swollen.
"Harry," said Dumbledore, startling him out of his reverie.
"Sorry. I was... lost in thought."
Sirius had gone pale, his hand clenching into a tight fist. He studied Harry for a few seconds; a dark look drew over his face.
"Your uncle, did he hit you?" Sirius's voice was tight and pinched.
"Sure, loads of times," said Harry acidly, avoiding his gaze. He glowered at the fire instead. If I say it like it didn't matter, it won't. "She did, too. Hit, starved, locked up, the works."
Lupin's eyes went wide; he looked physically wounded. Sirius's head swivelled around to glare at Professor Dumbledore.
"Professor!" hissed McGonagall. "What about Arabella Figg?"
Old Mrs. Figg? Did Dumbledore know her?
Dumbledore seemed to be in a sort of stupor, still mulling over Harry's words. When he spoke, it was more tentatively than Harry had ever heard him before, bordering on nervousness and choosing his words very, very carefully.
"Neither she nor I was fully aware of the situation until after the worst occurred. I must admit that there has been... extreme negligence on my part, to say the very least. I had promised myself, despite my better judgement, that I would not interfere. Harry... Ruby... I knew you had suffered..."
Harry's face heated, and he curled his fingers tighter around the still-warm mug. Everyone except Ruby gazed very intently at Dumbledore.
"...I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. I... I had hoped that being raised in the crucible would have formed you to be strong enough for the coming war; I had never anticipated that the fire would scald you. What occurred, I'm afraid, was the worst consequence of such a decision. Words cannot atone for these mistakes of the past... but I am truly sorry for what has come to pass. At the time... I could not see an alternative in which you both survived."
A cold, miserable silence filled the room.
"But how did Vernon Dursley die?" asked McGonagall.
"I didn't know how much more Harry could take. Someone had to get burnt, and I wasn't going to let it be him. I knew I could make it all end, so why wouldn't I? I just wanted it to stop. I don't want to be a killer. I didn't want this. But I just felt like I had to. I didn't know what else to do. There was no one to turn to."
It was the first time Ruby had spoken, and everyone turned towards her. Her eyes were red, and there were tear tracks smeared down her face. The bitterness in her voice was evident.
"So you took matters into your own hands," said Lupin, his tone impossible to decipher.
Professor McGonagall was staring at Ruby very intently, a mix of fear and something else behind her eyes.
"Try not to see Tom Riddle when you look at her, Minerva," Dumbledore chided gently. Harry wasn't quite sure what Dumbledore meant by that, comparing his sister to Voldemort, but it certainly couldn't be good.
"How long did you three intend to cover all of this—" Professor McGonagall waved her hand as if to encompass the entire disaster "—up?"
A cover-up. Harry bristled at the thought. And what about Aunt Petunia? What about Uncle Vernon? Did they live in the light? Did their neighbours know their niece and nephew slept in a cupboard under the stairs every night?
"I hoped to carry it to the grave," said Dumbledore. "I am certain she is no danger to herself nor others. I will not say what you did was right, Ruby, but all the same, I cannot find it in my heart to unequivocally condemn a ten-year-old child who had been raised by such people. If only one of us was there to stop it... I suppose it might have been prevented."
"Yeh think this Vernon deserved what he got, then, Professor Dumbledore?" asked Hagrid softly. There might have been an accusing note in his voice. He hadn't spoken at all before.
"Damn right he did," said Sirius, his eyes glinting hard, grey flints in the firelight. For the past few minutes, he appeared to have been silently fuming.
No wonder it was so easy for everyone to believe he killed Peter Pettigrew, thought Harry.
"Sirius!" Lupin reprimanded. "You can't possibly justify— Professor Dumbledore?"
"That is not what I said," said Dumbledore in a level tone. "I did not speak of justification, merely reality. Of course, Ruby holds some responsibility for her actions, but to characterise what happened as senseless and gleeful violence would be a grave misjudgement. And, as, for example, Miss Patil or Miss Brown would be able to attest, given her past, she is reasonably well-adjusted."
Professor McGonagall's mouth pressed into a thin line, but her expression was otherwise unreadable. "I suppose I did say they were the worst kind of Muggles."
She gave Ruby a long, evaluative look, and Ruby gazed back emptily.
The abyss stares back into you.
"I must admit, Professor Dumbledore," said Professor McGonagall, still frowning. "I am utterly flummoxed. This is not... something I've dealt with or have expected to. There is no rule-book."
Dumbledore's voice was feather-light and creakier than Harry had ever heard it. "You might consider her to be on some sort of probation if that makes things easier."
McGonagall stood up, her hands folded in front of her.
"It'll have to do."
The moment she and Harry parted ways at the Great Hall, Ruby caught sight of him. Her stomach clenched the exact way it did in a Dementor's presence, and for a moment, she froze on the spot. The moment she regained control of her muscles, she nearly turned tail and fled, still reeling from the conversation earlier. But before she could, Riddle turned his head to look at her and spoke.
"You know, someone once told me... things whispered in the dark always come to light anyway."
Riddle stared at her awhile but said nothing more. Instead, he turned back to gaze out of the window; his arm braced on the frame.
Tentatively, Ruby cleared her throat and asked of the origin of this odd wisdom:
"Dumbledore?"
He didn't look at her. There was discomfort in his posture.
"Minerva, actually."
"I s'pose you're enjoying this," said Ruby venomously. She took what she hoped was a menacing step towards him. I think he had something to do with this.
Could Theodore Nott really hold the power to turn them all against her, him alone? Surely Riddle's masterminding must lie somewhere in Nott's trap, in the wave of mistrust that had flooded out around her. Anthony's seat beside her in Ancient Runes was empty now that he sat with Hermione instead, and Lavender and Parvati whispered to each other in low tones when they saw her, slipping around a corner when she grew close. Ruby didn't think she could bear the hurt in their eyes, full as she was to bursting with rage and sorrow and loneliness. She had never thought of herself as someone who cared much for what others thought, but the shunning stung like salt in a wound not yet healed.
"What's this?" asked Riddle.
From here, she noticed that he wasn't wearing Slytherin's Locket. Would he really leave such a thing lying around?
"Needed cleaning," he answered smoothly, the tell-tale intensity of Legilimency in his eyes, and then his head turned again to look out onto the grounds.
"Don't do that," snapped Ruby, clutching the pocket of her robes where she used to keep Nott's monocle. She would have fought back again him if she could, but she couldn't feel a trace of him in her mind; he was as elusive as a cat burglar.
He snorted rather inelegantly. "Being a Seer, I'd expect you wouldn't mind nosiness."
Ruby stiffened. "I'm not a Seer." Trelawney hadn't been able to eke out one drop of true clairvoyance from her in all her lessons. And Ruby was half-sure she liked it that way. Let the future remain foggy as ever. If doom was inevitable, there was no use in fearing it. It wasn't as if preparation could save them; if the prophecy about Harry had never been spoken, her parents might even still be alive.
A sanctimonious expression appeared on Riddle's face, but he said nothing in response to that.
"I suppose I am enjoying this," Riddle said. "It's been so long since we've talked. You've been so... preoccupied."
Ruby's spine went rigid, and she gazed determinedly out of the window.
"So you weren't bluffing that day in the Chamber," he went on. "I half-didn't believe you. We really are all cut from the same cloth, you and your brother and I."
There was a strange lilt in his voice; one Ruby thought she recognised.
"You're bored, aren't you?"
Riddle let out a puffy sort of breath, and then a sigh. "Very," he admitted quietly.
In other circumstances, it might have been amusing, but Ruby wasn't in a laughing mood.
"I'd ask you if you're the one who tipped off Nott." Ruby trailed off. "But you don't have the best track record when it comes to honesty."
Riddle snorted again. "What could I possibly have to gain from Nott winning a game of Hogwarts politics?"
Blood of the mother... will you finish what you started?
"Who knows?" asked Ruby airly. "Maybe Voldemort asked you to?"
"Why aren't you sure, Seer Potter?" He seemed to stare straight through her and at the wall behind her.
"I told you," said Ruby fiercely, refusing to falter under his gaze. "I'm not a Seer!"
"What you are is afraid. LOOK AT ME!" Riddle demanded, in the same strange and terrible voice in which he had bellowed at the Dementors, to GO AWAY, and like the Dementors, Ruby found herself compelled.
She should have known better than to look a Legilimens in the eyes, but it was too late now.
It was as if someone had blown all the locked doors in her mind wide open, just as Trelawney had instructed her to every week, and light came rushing in, searing and blazing behind her eyeballs.
The blaze of light died down, and again she saw Slytherin's Locket, and along with it, a green light in a small, cramped room, a woman collapsing to the floor, the whispered word — Horcrux — and the green light reflected in Riddle's eyes, a Riddle older than Tee but younger than Voldemort. Again, Riddle whispered, Horcrux, and she saw Harry's ouroboros ring sparkle on his finger.
Who? What is a Horcrux?
She stumbled back, and it felt as if cold water had passed over her, like walking through a ghost. Riddle — Tee — stood behind her, his eyes the same bright white they'd been when he'd guided them through Sirius's memories.
"But this isn't one of my memories," said Ruby, turning to him. She didn't remember being down here in the room the Mirror was held in without Harry.
No... not a memory.
Older Riddle stood with her in the old rune circle drawn in blood, his wand pressed to her temple, her eyes clouded and unseeing, pointed up to the sky. Ruby tried to circle the two figures, but the world rotated around her instead. They were frozen, like a tableau, two figures trapped in a snow globe.
"This... this hasn't happened yet. But it will happen?"
She turned to the older Riddle with her hands clenched at her sides. My vision, she thought, so maybe he'll answer me.
"Who are you?" she demanded, and the other Ruby looked at her, eyes still clouded with visions of other worlds, and said, very clearly, "Horcrux."
"What is a Horcrux?" Ruby demanded of herself, but there was no answer.
And then, Tee uttered a brief, pained cry, and the dungeon room faded and blurred back to the ground floor hallway, and both of them collapsed onto the floor, heaving with exertion.
"Did you see any of it?"
"No," said Tee coarsely, still gasping for breath. Ruby frowned. She'd never be able to tell whether he was lying or not. For all she knew, he wanted to see the future as badly as Dumbledore did.
The word, Horcrux... it makes sense to him, he knows what it means. But I mustn't ask him again.
Horcruxes are important, I know that much, but why?
He coughed a little, and took hold of the window ledge, pulling himself into a sitting position. "But that proves it, Potter, doesn't it... you are a Seer."
"Doesn't mean it'll come true." Ruby gazed staunchly out of the window. She shuddered involuntarily. Is Riddle trying to kill me, in the future? But that Riddle looks ten or so years older than him, and I look about the same.
Can I even trust that vision? Could he have planted it to confuse me, to lead me astray?
I just have to find out what a Horcrux is. Shame he won't tell me. It's got to be the key to Harry beating Voldemort, if I even believe that's what Harry's meant to do.
But... Tom Riddle Senior's spirit spoke to me and gave me his signet ring when I went to the place he died. I found out how Regulus Black died when I went to the Black Lake.
That green light, that's the Killing Curse. Maybe if I find someone he killed, their spirit might help me.
"Myrtle!"
Tee's head snapped up. "What?"
"Myrtle, Moaning Myrtle." Ruby got to her feet, her robes swirling around her. "And don't follow me!"
"I don't need to." Tee got to his feet, too. "You'll be back when you need my assistance again."
And with that, he strode off.
Ruby huffed to herself. What makes him so sure?
All the same, she feared she might have to seek his assistance at least once more, and soon.
As she made her way to the second floor, the few people milling about the corridors pointed her out, whispering and muttering under their breath. A pit of ice forming in her stomach, Ruby drew the hood of her cloak over her head.
Ignoring the Out Of Order sign on the door, Ruby went into the second-floor girls' toilets without hesitation and asked: "Myrtle? Myr-tle!"
"Oh, what do you want now?" The silvery outline of a girl about the same age as Ruby phased out of one of the stall doors, trailing water as she went. "Come to laugh at Myrtle?"
"No, no," said Ruby hastily, hoping not to offend the famously-touchy ghost. "I need your help."
"You need my help?" Myrtle floated closer to Ruby, her arms crossed. "Hmph."
"Yes." Ruby crossed her fingers. "Do you know what a Horcrux is or where I could find out? You see, I need to know about Tom Riddle."
Myrtle stiffened, and a pleased look came upon her face. She floated down onto the window ledge and sat daintily.
"Oh yes, Tom Riddle. Charming boy and ever so handsome." Myrtle giggled. "Is he a great wizard now?"
Ruby, having no time for Myrtle's foibles, stepped forward and said:
"Something like that. Look, Myrtle. Horcruxes and Tom Riddle, they've got something to do with each other, and I think why he can make more of himself, you must remember!"
Myrtle sniffed. "Sounds like Dark magic. I wouldn't know."
"Well, of course, it's Dark magic!" Ruby shouted at her, but the ghost had already dove back into her favourite toilet and was at once busy splashing yet more water onto the floor.
Under Hermione's insistence, Harry had borrowed a book on poison detection from the library, and now sat attempting to follow its instructions under her watchful gaze in a secluded corner of the common room.
"Ten of these vials contain water, but only one isn't spiked with a mild poison."
"What if he picks wrong?" Ron had asked exasperatedly.
Hermione held up a small bottle of antidote. "No harm, no foul," she said with a shrug.
Now, Harry was glaring intently at the fifth vial and had been for the past ten minutes, trying to figure out if the spell he'd cast on it made it glow green (poisoned) or blue (not poisoned) or at all (he'd cast it wrong).
"I think it's this one," he said, and, trembling a little, took a small sip. Harry relaxed. It tasted just like regular water. He drank the remainder of the vial, and his face suddenly began to grow hot. Ron shoved the antidote into his hand in the blink of an eye, and Harry downed it.
"So, it wasn't that one, then," said Harry uneasily.
Hermione frowned. "No, but I'm sure you'll get it eventually."
"We haven't got eventually," said Ron. "What if Nott tries again?"
"He's made his point," said Harry venomously, but the sickly-sweet aftertaste of the antidote lingered in his mouth. What if he does try again?
For a few minutes, they listened to the fire crackle in silence. Then, Ron asked, quite hesitantly: "What did all that stuff Nott said about Ruby mean? It's true, isn't it?"
Harry swallowed, gazing straight ahead into the fire. You knew this day was coming from the start. It couldn't be a secret forever.
"Yes." His voice wavered. "It's true."
A cold silence filled their corner.
"Harry — bloody hell — didn't you think you could have told us at some point?" Ron spluttered, whirling around to face Harry and grabbing his arm.
"Obviously not," said Hermione in a monotone voice, "that's why we're in this mess, to begin with. Did she do it on purpose?"
Harry flinched a little. "Yes," he said tightly, extricating Ron's hand from his arm. "Look. I didn't tell anyone because you wouldn't understand." Then, despite himself and despite knowing it was a bad idea, he looked back at his friends. Ron had gone a little green, and Hermione's expression looked pinched.
"All this time," said Ron shakily, "she's been a— a—"
"—Murderer," Hermione finished.
"I knew you wouldn't take it well."
"How were we supposed to take it?" Ron spluttered. "And she's been hanging around with You-Know-Who, so who knows—"
"She's not dangerous!" said Harry, knowing how feeble and unconvincing that must sound. "Look, if she wanted to hurt someone, she'd have done it already and besides, that's not her! I'm sick and tired of everyone acting like we had some kind of normal childhood! HOW DO YOU TWO THINK I ENDED UP BEING AN OBSCURIAL?" He whirled on the rest of the common room, who were already staring. "REALLY, I'D LIKE SOME ANSWERS, SEEING AS EVERYONE MUTTERS ABOUT IT BEHIND MY BACK! DON'T THINK I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
The entire room was utterly silent.
"Harry," Hermione started tremulously, reaching out for his arm, but Harry swatted her away, stormed through the crowd, and out of the common room.
It wasn't until he had gotten to the Owlery that he started to calm down slightly. He went over to the nearest window and leaned out of it, gulping cold, wet air that fogged up his glasses when he put his head back inside.
Someone said his name, and Harry thought it might have been the wind or the owls skittering around. But the person said his name again and clearer, so Harry reached up to wipe the condensation off his glasses.
His scar was throbbing with intense, stabbing pain. It was a strange sensation, like his skin was trying to tear itself off. He winced, his fingernails curling into his palm as a feeble attempt at distraction.
The moment his eyes focused on Riddle's face, Harry's wand was in his hand, and the first syllable of a Stinging Hex was out of his mouth—
"Look, I'm completely defenceless."
Riddle spread his hands wide to accentuate his point, but Harry, already on the knife's edge of rage, only gripped his wand harder and began to make another attempt.
"I know you were poisoned."
Harry stiffened. "So it was you."
"No," said Riddle softly, his hands still raised in surrender as he stepped towards Harry. "Think about it. What would I have to gain? Why would I try to kill you?"
I don't know. He thought of Voldemort that night on the Hogwarts grounds, certain that it was Harry's fate to die and of Ruby's whispers about a prophecy.
"What was that you said about the seventh month dies?"
"There was a prophecy. Made from Professor Trelawney to Professor Dumbledore before we were born."
"About me?"
"Yes."
He glanced up at Riddle, the fear still coursing through his blood. But I don't think he can hurt me here. "Because I'm born as the seventh month dies."
A flicker of recognition passed through Riddle's eyes. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." he said, with a quiet sort of reverence — fear, maybe?
A strange sort of thrill went through Harry.
"...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."
So... is that why? Despite himself, he felt his eyes get a bit wet, but Riddle was staring at him still, so he swallowed. Is that why Mum and Dad had to die?
He looked again at Riddle, and found himself feeling an odd mixture of hate and pity.
"You think I can kill you?" And do you think I can kill Voldemort, too?
A joyless smile pulled at Riddle's mouth. "I don't think you will. You're not a killer like her."
It was obvious who the 'her' was. Why does it hurt less when Riddle says it than Ron and Hermione?
Probably because I'm expecting him to be horrible.
"No," said Riddle. "I didn't poison you. You're interesting. And maybe useful. I haven't decided."
"Well," said Harry glibly, "when you change your mind, send me a letter." He turned towards the stairs, but before he was out of earshot, Riddle called out:
"I need your..." He looked conflicted and perhaps a little disgusted "...help."
"Why would I help you, Voldemort?" Harry spat.
"Because I... need to talk to someone down there."
Harry stood and stared at Riddle and for the first time, noticed the silvery rune under his eye. An idea came to him.
"Oh, not again!" cried out a familiar, high-pitched voice as the door to the second-floor girls' toilet swung open. "Make my death even more miserable, why don't you!"
Myrtle swooped down from the ceiling, wearing a furious expression, and then she caught sight of the two new occupants.
"Harry, so lovely to see you," she said graciously and turned to the boy behind him. Her ghostly face went a little paler than usual, and she squeaked out, "Tom?"
Riddle himself had blanched, and he leaned away from her peering face. "Who're you?"
Harry did not miss the look that came over Riddle's face, a mixture of horror and recognition that he'd never seen before.
A cacophony of giggles followed. "Myrtle, silly, Myrtle Warren! So it is you, isn't it? So funny, that horrid girl came in earlier asking about you! Are you dead, too?" She drew away a little and batted her eyelashes coyly. "You'd be welcome to share my toilet. You could have that stall over there." And she pointed at the stall door with the nicest coat of paint.
"I'm not a ghost!" snapped Riddle.
Myrtle seemed unperturbed. She tapped a finger to her silver lips, her brow furrowing. "Well, then you look awfully like your father? Or grandfather?"
"Who is she?" Riddle demanded of Harry, who shrugged. Ruby had explained to him how Myrtle's death was linked to the Chamber of Secrets and, therefore Riddle, but he couldn't be bothered explaining it all and risking Myrtle going into a rage and sending them all to a watery grave.
Riddle marched in front of one of the sinks, pointed at the snake on the tap, and said to Harry, "Open it."
Harry had the distinct feeling he was being set up. Just to prevent any impending disasters, he pointed at Riddle's hands and said: "Incarcerous."
Riddle jumped a little in surprise as his hands were bound in front of him. The result wasn't anything like Professor McGonagall's metal chains, but a sturdy length of grey twine wound around Riddle's wrists and tied itself in a half-hitch knot. Riddle flexed his wrists a little, and the twine held.
"Whatever makes you feel better," he said coolly. "Open the entrance to the Chamber."
Harry turned towards the sink once more. From this angle, the snake's eyes seemed to sparkle with life, and the sunlight on its carved scales gave the impression of movement.
He stepped back behind Riddle and said, very clearly, "Open."
The snake opened its jaws, wider and wider, until the tap and then the entire sink was swallowed by darkness, leaving a hole in the tiled floor leading straight down into the abyss of the Chamber of Secrets.
"Now," Riddle began to instruct.
Now or never. Harry shoved Riddle off-balance, and he stumbled forward. The momentum easily carried him forward, and he plunged headfirst into the abyss. Harry scrambled to the edge, only to see Riddle's furious eyes glaring up at him and hear the beginnings of a curse as he struggled to right himself in midair. He mustn't lose his nerve, not now.
"CLOSE!" shouted Harry and the hole shrank and shrank, the sink rising back up out of the floor as if nothing had happened.
He broke out in a cold sweat, and his knees gave out under him. Harry collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily.
"What did you do that for?" asked Myrtle irritably, emerging from behind a stall door.
"If he starves to death down there, he can share your toilet," Harry pointed out.
He very much did not relish the thought of having to explain this to Dumbledore, but at least Riddle was gone, and the maddening pain in his scar had dulled.
Now it's time to go to the Halloween feast in the Great Hall, pretend nothing's happened, and test my food for poison. Nott's next.
The moment the door shut behind Harry, a loud pop resounded. A familiar house-elf stared up at him.
"Dobby?" he stammered out.
Dobby gazed at Harry with the utmost seriousness. "Harry Potter must come with me. The walls have ears, they do."
Sighing, Harry nodded and began to follow Dobby down a dark hallway. The house elf had warned him and Lupin of danger before, so Harry trusted him. He could only hope whatever information Dobby had would help them get out of this mess.
Guess who's alive!
(I promise the four month-long cliffhanger on that particular, very dramatic reveal, was not intentional).
So, a lot of things happened. I took the MCAT (medical school entrance exam) and finally got my score back which I am very VERY happy with, and when I got the score report, it was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and suddenly my anxiety-induced RFMD-specific writer's block was gone. It's nice to be able to work on something fun for a change; reviewing flashcards and writing application essays makes me a very dull girl.