"ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴍɪꜱᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ; ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙʟᴏᴡꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ; ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ. ᴀʟʟ ɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ; ᴀʟʟ ʏɪᴇʟᴅꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴇꜱ; ᴛᴏ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴇᴠᴇʀᴇ, ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜱ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ, ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴀɪʀꜱ." ― ᴇᴜʀɪᴘɪᴅᴇꜱ
Chapter Thirteen: Discovered Check
After such a triumph as succeeding in infiltrating the Ministry undetected, perhaps a failure of this magnitude was inevitable.
That rationalisation was a cold comfort, that is to say, none at all.
Albus Dumbledore cannot be allowed to live.
He had determined that months ago. He had manoeuvred all the necessary players into place. They had all performed beyond reproach.
All but Wormtail.
Why is it that when I am thwarted, it always seems to be connected somehow to Wormtail?
Could he be working against me?
No. I would see the truth in his worthless mind. Besides, he would not dare lie to me.
But that assurance did nothing to fix his current problem. Dumbledore was not supposed to have left the Ministry alive. Nothing short of Fiendfyre could destroy that many Inferi. Escape should have been impossible.
He knew this. He had worked it out for himself. It had all been planned exquisitely.
Where did the miscalculation lie? He must understand this. It was absolutely crucial.
A noise by the door. Voldemort lifted his head.
Bellatrix, like clockwork, had appeared in the open doorway. The chill of the topmost room of Malfoy Manor, especially with all of the windows open in December, letting freezing wind rush in, and the unlit fireplace, was deterrence enough for most. That was all it took for him to be left in peace. But that would not deter Bellatrix Lestrange. He should have known.
"My Lord," she murmured, taking in the trail of crumpled pieces of parchment, the sour expression he had failed to wipe from his face. "I wanted to ask if I could help. Narcissa—" There was a bite in her tone as if irritated that she'd had to hear of the matter secondhand "—said that Wormtail had been taken aside for… education, so I assumed…"
"Dumbledore lives," said Voldemort, hating every syllable, not meeting her eyes.
Her thin mouth formed a silent 'oh' even as she stepped fully into the room, her steps loud on the stone floor. A shiver passed through her shoulders as the winter wind blasted through the windows, though she tried her best to suppress it.
Unwilling to suffer through a performance of stoicism, Voldemort waved his hand in the general direction of the fireplace; the logs within sparked to life. The windows swung shut, and Bellatrix turned towards him with a strange mix of gratitude and consternation glowing in her eyes.
"Lives… My Lord…" Now, she took a collision course, her steps quick, just stopping short. Her fingers clutched at her robes, breathing fast and shallow as she looked up at Voldemort as if hoping he would dismiss this as just a rumour. When he did not, she cast her eyes aside.
"I knew I should have gone myself."
Voldemort knew the feeling.
"That would be an undue amount of danger. You would be returned to Azkaban."
"I do not fear capture, My Lord," said Bellatrix, looking up again, eyes blazing. "I fear failure, and that is what Wormtail has brought us. But…" She stilled, swaying slightly. "How was Wormtail compromised?"
Despite himself, Voldemort flinched. Compromised. How he hated that word.
He was compromised. It was true. There was Narcissa's description of Dumbledore's new 'assistant,' whom she had seen at the Halloween feast and again at the fateful meeting.
"Not long out of school, I think — but I have never laid eyes on him before, and nor had Dolores, whom, as you know, My Lord, taught Defence at Hogwarts only two years ago. He was tall, dark-haired, pale… he spoke very little. Dumbledore simply introduced him as Tom. He said he was orphaned as a child, but I am not sure what to believe."
Could it be that he had aided in Dumbledore's escape? Though Voldemort doubted a single ally would have made much of a difference, the boy's existence — and apparent alliance — was a grave miscalculation in and of itself.
Dumbledore has somehow lured him to his side. How, I do not know. I have certainly lost an important advantage.
He would have to study Wormtail's memories. He must be sure.
"You are quiet, My Lord."
Bellatrix glanced towards him again, wary of what he might be contemplating.
Voldemort did not respond, instead turning towards one of the windows, looking out on the snow-covered grounds. The long driveway and the courtyard were clear, a dull, pale grey, but the rest — the hedges, the grass, the trees — were all reduced and decayed, sagging under a heavy white blanket. It was only half past three in the afternoon, but already the low, cloudy sky was darkening.
This is the time of year when Death approaches closest.
"Another trap must be laid," he said, laying his fingers against the cold sash. "And, as for Wormtail, tell him he is summoned — but heed my words, Bellatrix — speak to no one of this but us four."
Harry woke with a start.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sensation of double vision — half the stone interior of the topmost room of Malfoy Manor, half the familiar, dark red of the bed curtains. His mind still buzzed with bits and pieces of conversation.
Dumbledore lives… Another trap must be laid.
It was too cold. It didn't make sense.
Harry sat up, tugging the blankets over his shoulders. The quiet sounds of the dormitory echoed around him — Ron's snoring, Neville's shallow mouth-breathing, the wind whistling past the windows.
He rubbed his eyes again, scar throbbing under his fringe. Why do I keep dreaming about Voldemort?
Ever since that night second year, he'd had these on-and-off dreams — sometimes he forgot them by the time he woke up, but the sense of foreboding always remained. This one, too, was quickly fading.
Still, with only a week left in autumn term, it wouldn't do to sit in bed feeling sorry for himself. Stifling his confusion, Harry reluctantly removed the blanket and got up. The fireplace heating the room had died down to embers, and he shivered at the unexpected cold.
The sound of wingbeats made him turn. Hedwig had landed on the mantelpiece, tucking her snowy, black-speckled wings into her sides.
At least there's one good thing this morning. Harry ghosted a hand over Hedwig's soft feathers, and she nibbled his fingers as he stared out at the still-dark sky, framed by the frosted window. It did little to dissolve the knot in his stomach. When he closed his eyes, he still saw the stone room, Bellatrix's furious gaze, heard Voldemort's cold whisper.
One of Hedwig's talons scraped against his wrist, and Harry's eyes flicked open, noticing the folded-up piece of parchment. An invitation to tea from Hagrid.
Harry sighed, slipping the piece of parchment into his pocket. Maybe it would be a nice distraction from… everything.
No use trying to get back to sleep; he never managed it after such dreams. After stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash the sleep off his face, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall, which was only just starting to fill, less than twenty or so early birds sat at the nearly-empty tables. Professor McGonagall was the lone professor at the staff table, her nose stuck in this month's issue of Magic. To his surprise, the Head Boy, Cedric Diggory, waved him over to the Hufflepuff table.
Harry looked around for Hermione, but she must still be asleep, too. Ruby and Anthony were similarly nowhere to be seen. With no excuse to refuse his invitation, Harry made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, and sat down opposite him.
To be honest, he had been avoiding Cedric ever since the Snitch incident after the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Their acquaintanceship had always been somewhat… rocky, and a near-death experience didn't help clear the waters.
"You're up early, Harry," said Cedric, smiling. His pleasant expression flickered, taking in Harry's appearance — if the mirror in the dormitory bathroom could be trusted, dishevelled and with dark circles under his eyes. "Is everything alright?"
Well, if you don't count dreaming about Voldemort attempting to assassinate Dumbledore, then—
"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry. He glanced up at the staff table again, but no one had joined Professor McGonagall.
Cedric was smiling again, warm and reassuring. "At least it's the end of term, that's something to look forward to."
"Yeah," said Harry again, wishing the ground would come up and swallow him.
"I suppose you're staying for the holiday?" asked Cedric, seemingly unruffled by Harry's reluctance to talk to him.
"Ye— no, we're staying with a, uh," Harry trailed off. "Family friend."
That was an accurate way to describe Sirius, after all. Cedric's face pulled into a confused expression, studying Harry, concern in his bright grey eyes.
"Are you sure you're alright? I mean, after the—"
"I'm fine, Cedric," said Harry tightly. He was sick and tired of pity, especially from the Golden Boy of Hogwarts.
"You'resick,Diggory — big Quidditch hero, prefect, whatever else — you're a coward!"
"I'm scared of you, all right, Potter! That's what you want, isn't it!"
There were times when Harry wished he could be a different person altogether — less argumentative, less affected by the world around him — someone who didn't let everything get to him, every bad memory sear into his brain. But those all felt like insurmountable flaws.
Now, Cedric finally looked put off, pressing his lips together.
Happy now? asked a small, peevish voice. Satisfied?
Harry tried, but could not ignore the cold, slippery feeling of guilt. It wasn't Cedric's fault. It was Voldemort's. When was Dumbledore going to show up, anyway? Snape had already joined Professor McGonagall at the staff table. Surely it would not be much longer.
"You know," said Cedric, startling Harry out of his thoughts, "you don't have to push everyone away."
Harry nearly scoffed out loud.
"That's not what I'm doing."
You don't know anything about me, he thought, with a twinge of resentment. Harry wasn't prepared for this. His nerves were still raw after that dream, after having his mouth form Voldemort's words. He felt like he was going crazy. It was beginning to feel like second year all over again.
The very idea of telling Cedric half of what was weighing on him was unthinkable.
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall were flung open, and Harry turned, hoping it was Dumbledore.
It was Cho Chang, some Ravenclaw girl Harry didn't know trailing behind her.
As if this morning couldn't get any more uncomfortable. He really should have tried to just go back to sleep.
Before Harry could make his escape, though, Cho and the other girl had somehow changed course, heading for the Hufflepuff table. Now he really wished the ground would come up and swallow him. Maybe—
"Good morning, Harry," said Cho, appearing at Cedric's side, smiling brightly.
I thought they broke up, thought Harry, and then he wondered why that thought had decided to wander through his head at that time.
The other Ravenclaw gave Harry an evaluative glance, but said nothing.
"Morning," said Harry, trying to sound normal, not sure quite where to look.
Cho tucked a piece of long, shiny black hair behind her ear, leaned over to Cedric, and said something too quietly for Harry to hear. Cedric smiled, shaking his head, and looked down, and they both glanced at Harry.
What was it Ruby had told him Lavender had said? I heard it was amicable.
"Harry, this is Marietta," said Cho. Marietta condescended to look up at him, and even managed a closed-lipped smile.
Harry managed one of his own, and then they both went back to ignoring each other. He could not shake the embarrassing thought that the last time he'd seen either Cho or Cedric, he'd been lying barely conscious in a hospital bed…
Where was Dumbledore?
"Did you hear there was some kind of disruption at the Ministry last night?" Cho was saying. Harry's head snapped up.
The usual breakfast spread had appeared on the table, and the enchanted ceiling had changed from dark, deep blue to the vibrant red of sunrise. Marietta looked sideways and Cho, shrugged, and continued pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice.
Disruption at the Ministry.
Could it have something to do with Voldemort and Dumbledore? He did say Narcissa Malfoy was involved.
Cedric looked unsettled, glancing away from Cho, who was peering at him, an uncharacteristically hard look in her eyes.
"What kind of disruption?" asked Harry, leaning across the table.
Now, Cho turned to look at him, and Harry shivered.
"Oh, I'm not sure. I just heard from Mum Level One finished early yesterday, and she had to move all the Minister's afternoon meetings."
"So?" asked Marietta in an accusing tone. Cedric swallowed tensely.
"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," he started.
"Dumbledore was at the Ministry," Harry burst out, without meaning to. He instantly regretted it, as all three turned to stare at him; Marietta looked incredulous, Cho evaluative, and Cedric slowly shook his head 'no,' as if to implore Harry to say no more.
It didn't matter. He couldn't say any more even if he'd wanted to; he already perhaps said too much. And his scar hurt again. Harry put a hand to his forehead, wincing.
Dumbledore lives… Another trap must be laid.
Voldemort's voice rang in his head, a lingering nightmare. Where was Dumbledore?
Harry caught a flicker of movement by the door — Ruby shuffling in with Lavender and Parvati, bleary-eyed and yawning. Well, now was as good of a time as any for an escape. Despite Cho and Cedric's surprise, Harry stood up from the Hufflepuff table, making his way through the just-beginning-to-become-crowded hall. His head spun. What was going on? A disruption at the Ministry? This couldn't be good. What if Voldemort had been there? As far as he could tell from their fight at the Siege, they were equally matched.
But Voldemort, if Harry could trust the dream, had been thwarted. What was going on?
Ruby hadn't noticed him dashing over, but Parvati pointed him out from halfway across the Great Hall. Lavender caught sight of him too, and giggled, but the sound was swept up in the dense chatter.
"Hey—" said Harry, catching Ruby's arm, and she looked up in surprise. "Dumbledore's password?"
Ruby frowned, wrinkling her nose, taking in his frantic appearance; and Harry was aware of Parvati and Lavender's curious gazes. The latter was whispering something under her breath that made Parvati respond, "Shut up, Lav!"
His blood rushed in his ears. His head was pounding. It was his scar again.
"It's, uh, toffee eclairs, but—"
Harry was out of earshot, squeezing past the throng of shocked students entering the Great Hall before she could finish the sentence.
Breathing hard, he finally emerged into the Headmaster's office. Red sunrise had turned into yellow morning, streaming golden out of the windows; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses were all still asleep but for Phineas Nigellus Black, who regarded Harry disdainfully.
Harry, hearing a noise, turned his head. The tableau before him contrasted starkly with… whatever he had been expecting. Dumbledore, today lavender-robed, flicked his wand at a intricately patterned teapot, which rose a few inches in response.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Harry?"
It seemed an absurd proposition. He could not shake the sense of still standing in that cold room in Malfoy Manor. Unable to use his voice, Harry nodded, trying hard to swallow the lump in his throat.
A black-haired figure stood against one of the tall windows looking out onto the grounds, glass panes shimmering with sunlight.
Of course. He's always around when something bad happens.
Now, Dumbledore regarded Harry over his half-moon glasses, gaze flicking to Riddle occasionally, who hadn't moved since he came in or even acknowledged Harry's presence.
"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" asked Dumbledore. "Forgive me, but your entrance was rather… abrupt."
Harry took the proffered cup and sat down, a little unsteadily, groping for the chair behind him. Staring down at the dark liquid, his head spun again. Could it — was it possible that it was all a mere dream?
No.
There had been a disturbance at the Ministry. It had to be true.
"Professor," said Harry, setting the cup on the table. Dumbledore looked up, quirking an eyebrow. "Did—" He felt ridiculous "—did you get attacked at the Ministry?"
Now, Riddle finally moved, standing up straight and heading for the desk. Dumbledore sat back in his chair, pensive.
What now? Harry's stomach turned. Their reaction all but confirmed it.
"Yes," said Dumbledore softly. "Tom and I were attacked during our visit. It appeared that Narcissa had laid a clever trap for us."
"How does he know?" asked Riddle, swooping down into a chair with his usual, contemptuous air. He crossed his arms, giving Harry a long, sweeping look, and then turning to glower at Dumbledore.
"I dreamt it," said Harry, feeling stupid even as he said it. "I saw Voldemort, in Malfoy Manor. He said—"
Dumbledore lives… Another trap must be laid.
"—He was trying to find some way to attack you again, and he wants to keep it all a secret."
Bizarrely, Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, that does sound like his modus operandi. He does not like to lose, Voldemort—"
Riddle bristled, jaw clenching.
"—yet, like many venomous creatures, he is most dangerous and innovative when backed into a corner."
"And we're meant to glean all of this information," said Riddle, layering a particularly sardonic tone on the last word, "from a dream?"
For a long moment, Dumbledore was silent, regarding them both, strangely without words. And then, he sighed heavily, laid his half-moon glasses aside, and said:
"It is my belief that a connection was forged between you and Voldemort on that fateful night, Harry. That is the reason why you dreamt of his resurrection nearly three years ago, why you dreamt of his resolution to address his failure last night. But I cannot be certain. There is only one person who could possibly have any grasp of understanding what happened that night."
"Lily Evans."
Never in a million years would Harry have expected to hear his mother's name from Riddle's mouth. Anger bubbled up in him. What would he know? Even Dumbledore looked surprised, but Riddle merely shrugged.
Just then, the double doors were flung open again, and Ruby trailed in, looking sheepish. At least she seemed more well-rested than Harry, and even Riddle, who appeared not to have slept.
"Sorry for the, uh, disturbance," she said, looking around at all three of them. "It's just that Harry came up here in a hurry — I thought something might be wrong."
"No, not at all," said Dumbledore, smiling warmly. "Please make yourself comfortable."
Riddle snorted under his breath, uncrossing his arms as Ruby sat down on the other side of Harry and glowered at him. Again, Harry found himself in an unenviable position — the pinning piece.
As if he hadn't noticed the tension in the room, Dumbledore poured another cup of tea with a serene air. Ruby still seemed bemused, looking between all three of them, trying to assess the situation.
What was it Sirius had said? Dumbledore's charity cases? Well, it certainly felt like it.
"Now, where were we?" asked Dumbledore, as if he had left off on telling a story.
Riddle's smile was lifeless. It did not meet his eyes, nor signal any joy. "I believe you were going to broach the subject of blood magic?"
That was a leading question if Harry had ever heard one. A rustle at his side told him Ruby had sat up straight. He could not help but be reminded of the rusty bloodstains swabbed across the floor of the Mirror room. Despite himself, he shuddered. Harry had no idea what state the room was in after Mordred had destroyed the artifice. Was the Mirror of Erised still whole or reduced to dust, the bloodstains buried forever in debris?
Dumbledore held Riddle's gaze for a while.
"I do not think we are ready for that conversation yet, Tom," he said, his tone soft, but laced with danger.
In his mind's eye, Harry saw the blood-red strings that had floated between him, Ruby, and Riddle in the Hospital Wing after the reveal of Peter Pettigrew.
Blood. Connections. Bonds.
It was like something at the back of his head, something he couldn't quite reach — perhaps because he felt he shouldn't.
"You told me about something she discovered," said Ruby, lifting her head, leaning closer with an almost eager expression. "In the Department of Mysteries. You told me first year."
Her tone was almost imploring now, covetous.
"I did," said Dumbledore archly. "I also spoke of its danger. Besides, I do not know the truth of the matter; I can only guess."
She flopped back in the chair, small, angry face surrounded by a mass of curls. Harry knew that particular expression; when accompanied by such resigned silence, it usually signalled that she would begin poking her nose in places where it didn't belong.
Dumbledore clapped his hands, with a jovial smile that Harry didn't have to be a Legilimens to deduce was false.
"It would be a shame to waste such a pleasant morning with dark matters. I understand you are having tea with Hagrid to-day?"
It was as close as Dumbledore would ever get to explicitly shooing them off. Harry leapt to his feet, but Ruby stood up far more slowly, lingering until Harry grabbed her by the elbow and shepherded her out of the room. She wriggled out of his grip by the time they passed the double doors, and her feet on the stone steps below were staccato and furious.
It was the silence that bothered Harry. He could only shudder at what she might thinking of attempting next, after that hare-brained venture into Hogsmeade in the middle of the night.
"Er— any progress with getting Malfoy and Nott to Dumbledore's office?" asked Harry as they emerged past the gargoyle statue, hoping to diffuse the situation.
"No," she snapped, sticking her hands in the pockets of her robes, glaring at nothing in particular. "Nott's clever enough to hide behind Daphne or Blaise at all times and keep to himself, and Malfoy's been avoiding me."
They had been remarkably well-behaved, Harry noted. What was it Snape had whispered to Malfoy in Potions — "Careful, Draco. Wouldn't want to end up in the Headmaster's office, would we?"
It was as if they had both become very aware of that threat. Was it guilt?
"Anyway," said Harry, as they came to the Great Hall again, "see you at Hagrid's."
Ruby turned to face him, still looking sour. "See you," she muttered, and then stormed off in the direction of the Slytherin Dungeon.
Harry stood and watched as her figure grew smaller and smaller, and eventually disappeared around a corner. This whole day had been rotten since the moment he'd woken up, he decided.
Here's to hoping there's no disaster waiting to happen at Hagrid's.
The blanket of snow covering the grounds was just beginning to ice over, a firm crunch beneath Ruby's boots as she made her way across the grounds. It was biting-cold, the wind nipping at her nose and trying its utmost to tear her scarf away. Even her fingers were starting to freeze in her mittens, and she curled them against her palms to keep the heat in.
The way to Hagrid's hut had never before felt so long. All she could think about right now was warming her hands before the fire.
A bark resounded through the trees, and Ruby picked up speed. The clearing must be close.
Squinting in the blinding, white vista, she stumbled down the slope of the treeline into the clearing, in the middle of which stood a small, wooden hut. The puff of warm smoke rising out of the chimney and the warm glow from the window made it look like a scene from a card, or an illustration in a children's book.
Fang barked again, and something clattered to the door. The door burst open, and the dog sprang out and bounded towards her, tail wagging like a windmill.
Oh, no—
Ruby barely had time to brace herself for impact as the massive dog nearly knocked her over in an attempt to slobber all over her face, only just thwarted by Hagrid.
"Get down, Fang," Hagrid boomed, his oversized feet leaving footprints the size of dustbin lids in the snow.
A flicker of movement beside one of the glowing windows caught her eye.
"Don' jus stand there freezing, come inside!" said Hagrid, grinning.
Ruby didn't need to be told twice, with the bottom of her cloak sodden and socks ever-so-slightly damp, and she hurried after him, Fang racing ahead up the snow-covered steps.
The roaring heat inside was almost overwhelming as she went to hang her damp cloak by the fire, bumping the pink umbrella in the corner as she did.
"Hi!"
It was Anthony, righting the umbrella and looking at her with a wary expression.
"Thanks," said Ruby, all of a sudden rather lost for words. Is everyone invited? I thought it was just me and Harry!
Her eyes made a quick circuit around the room. Lupin was politely nibbling (or at least attempting to) on one of Hagrid's infamous rock cakes, and Ron and Hermione arguing over a chessboard. Fang had finally settled in a corner, and Hagrid ambled past to take the copper kettle off of the fire.
"You're not expecting anyone else except Harry, are you?" asked Ruby.
"No, jus a small group o' friends, don' yeh worry!" said Hagrid, straightening up with the kettle.
Ruby would hardly call seven people small. Assuming Harry was still coming.
Just then, the door flew open with an icy blast to reveal Harry, his glasses fogging up as he stomped the snow off of his boots. Fang, spying his next victim, raced to the door, tail wagging.
Hagrid went to go extricate Fang from Harry just as Anthony appeared at her elbow again, still looking wary, and handed her a steaming mug of tea which warmed her cold fingers to the bone.
"Thanks," she said again, like an automaton. Feeling all legs and arms, she sat down in the chair next to him, staring into her cup of tea as if trying to divine the future.
"How are you?"
"Fine," said Ruby, glaring at her cup.
"Don't worry," said Anthony hoarsely, curling his fingers around the mug. "I'm not going to ask you about what happened in the dungeons. I promise."
Now, she turned to look at him. His eyes were strangely bright, or perhaps that was just the reflection of the firelight, casting a warm glow across the whole room.
It was all her fault for snapping at him last time, thought Ruby. All the same, what could she do? Ruby just wanted to forget the prophecy Mordred had forced her to make. If she was right — if the power of prophecy worked through belief and Divination truly was a woolly subject, then never speaking of it was the best thing she could possibly do.
"Thanks," said Ruby, softer this time, and Anthony flashed her a warm, genuine smile.
Ron and Hermione's bickering floated over to their side of the room as Harry went to hang his cloak up next to hers:
"Oi, you moved your rook, that means you can't castle!" shouted Ron triumphantly. "Take that back!"
"Oh, you're only saying that because I messed up your check! I didn't touch my rook!" said Hermione, tossing her voluminous hair.
"Yes, you did! You moved it here—" Ron picked up the disgruntled, wriggling rook to demonstrate "—and then you moved it back! You think you're sneaky!"
Lupin, who appeared to have been nodding off by the fire, cracked an eyelid open and winced. Harry turned away from his cloak, and sighed resignedly, exchanging a look with Ruby before crossing the room — whether to spectate or referee, she had no idea.
"Harry, mate," said Ron, swivelling around. "She's cheating, this isn't right."
"It's just a game," said Harry in a pacifying tone. "I'm sure Hermione wouldn't cheat, would you Hermione?"
Hermione shook her head no with an air of unruffled innocence, but Ron reared up, jabbing a finger in her direction.
"You don't know what she's capable of!"
Beside her, Anthony snorted, nearly sloshing tea over his hands. Despite her low mood, Ruby couldn't help but find herself grinning too, and there was something strange in the next moment where their gazes locked. She looked away.
"Look," Ron grabbed Harry by the hand and started manoeuvring him into place at the other side of the chessboard. "You'd better watch her, she can't be trusted."
After a while, they quieted down, the only sounds the clicking of the pieces against the chessboard and the occasional angry whisper. Hagrid soon engaged Anthony in a very animated conversation about Mooncalves, leaving her alone with Lupin, who seemed to still be half-asleep.
All of a sudden, he stirred, running a hand down his face. It hadn't been too long after the full moon, and he still looked a little drained, despite the Wolfsbane.
"How's that Ancient Runes project coming along?" he asked, startling Ruby as he reached for his tea, which must be stone-cold by now.
"It's fine, I think," said Ruby. I hope. To tell the truth, she hadn't done nearly as much work as she'd ought to. It would be a miracle at this point if she had anything to present at the end of the year.
Lupin laughed softly, tilting his head towards the fire. "I promised Sirius I'd keep an eye on both of you. It occurred to me that I might not be doing the best job."
"It's not your fault," said Ruby quickly. "I didn't tell you we were going to go sneaking around Hogsmeade after you mentioned the secret passage, as it was the full moon when Harry got cursed, and then—"
Lupin cut in, shaking his head. "I always find a way to make myself useless, don't I?"
"You saved me from the Dementors," said Ruby, almost without thinking. "You and Sirius fought Mordred."
"That may be so," said Lupin, but he didn't smile, falling silent as he gazed into the fire.
The peacefulness of the room seemed almost treacherous; Ruby leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and listened to the wind whistling around the windows, but not even the slightest draft penetrated the room.
They might be insulated for now, but Ruby knew in her heart of hearts that danger was lurking close-by.
Almost as if it had been waiting somewhere to prey on her conscious mind again, the words of the prophecy thundered through her mind.
The shadows douse, but yet the fire burns.But Death shall not be satisfied until he has crossed his waters. Bound by mother's blood, he and Death walk side by side. Should it come, the end of the eldest at the hands of his brother will be his pride.
Her eyes snapped open, and the teacup flew out of her lap, landing on the dull wooden floor with a violent clatter, splitting into a dozen pieces, lying in a dark puddle. The clicking of pieces on the chessboard had stopped. Lupin sat up straight, blinking.
It was over. The peace had been forever disturbed.
"It's just a cup," said Anthony, pointing his wand at the mess. "Reparo."
The fragments of the cup lifted and spun midair, joining back together with a small flash of light. But the puddle of dark liquid still remained.
Anthony smiled at her, warm and reassuring. But even through the woollen sleeve of her jumper, she could feel the coldness of his copper hand.
The heat of the room was oppressive, now, no longer welcome and comforting.
"Is she alright?" Hermione whispered.
Ruby's head was spinning. Blood, death, shadows, fire, brothers. The words danced in her head, swam before her eyes, a mocking chant. She could see Harry getting up now, moving closer, very slowly as if not to spook her.
"Ruby?" said Lupin, clear as a bell through the maddening din in her head. "Is something the matter?"
Oh no. Oh no. They were all looking at her. They would all want to know.
"Ruby," said Lupin again, low and concerned — Harry was right in front of her now, crouching down to be eye-level. "Can you tell us what's going on?"
All she could think was that she needed to get out of here. In a rush she was on her feet, somehow weaving past Harry, despite the shouts behind her, and dashing to the door, wrenching it open, and escaping into the cold, wet air. Her feet flew down the stairs and it was then that Ruby realised she'd left her cloak by the fire. No use going back in to get it.
Ruby gulped in mouthfuls of icy, lung-stinging air. Snow had begun to fall again, collecting on her hair, and her face, and soon she was sniffling. The cold made it hard to think about anything else but getting warm again, and she was grateful for it. With a last, long, regretful look behind her, she started to trudge through the clearing in earnest. Someone would be following soon, Harry probably, and Ruby wasn't anywhere near ready to talk.
The icy wind sliced through her jumper as she made her way up to the tree line, whistling through the pine branches, swaying and raining needles.
Just then, a crack resounded. Ruby stopped dead, shivering.
A shadow moved amongst the trees, and, still shivering, Ruby drew her wand.
She had just cleared her throat to ask when he stepped out fully and threw back his cloak. She didn't know whether to be alarmed or relieved and just stood there, shivering, wand pointed at him.
Something long and black waved around his shoulders, like a rope that had been spelled to life, and he stroked a long, pale finger down it.
"They're supposed to be asleep in winter, but I found this one in the snow," said Tee, still stroking the black adder.
Ruby, who had little knowledge of the life-cycle of snakes, said nothing, edging away. It was still bitter cold, and she wanted to get back to the castle before evening came.
But Tee was coming closer now, eyes flickering from her to her footprints to the direction of Hagrid's hut.
"Running, were you?"
Legilimency? Or just ordinary nosiness?
"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Ruby, her hands balling into fists — partly from annoyance, and partly to protect her fingers from the cold.
"You have power," said Tee, low and grave as he moved closer. "Don't be an idiot. Don't waste it."
"It's not a power! It's a curse!" Her voice rose at the end of the sentence, wavering and breaking on the last word. "Don't you get it? I see and see and see and I can't do anything about it but watch!"
She glared at him, running her clenched hands up and down her arms for warmth. It didn't help much.
"Calidum aerem," Tee muttered, and all of a sudden there was a warm pocket of air surrounding her.
Tee's eyes were large and dark and all-knowing as he stared at her, the adder too, red-eyed and undulating. They both seemed to be studying her, and Ruby had the unpleasant sensation of being a bug trapped in a glass.
For the second time today, she turned tail and sped off the direction of the castle, as fast as she could through the thick snow.
"You can't run from it, you know!" called Tee, voice fading as she stumbled through the snow.
I hate you, she thought. I hate you and your stupid pet adder and your nose that you can't help but poke in everything.
The castle was still far uphill, thousands of lit windows glimmering with inviting light. There would be a hot dinner in the Great Hall, and hopefully a warm bath after now that she knew some kind of heating charm that didn't require fire — begrudgingly, she had Tee to thank for that one. And then she could go to sleep and forget about the prophecy all over again.
You can't run from it. Tee's words echoed in her head, and Ruby stopped in the snow, halfway to the castle, to look behind her. There was nothing behind her but her own footprints, slowly being erased by the falling snow.
She turned back towards the castle, and sighed.
I know.
A/N: There it is, the end of autumn term. I originally intended this to be chapters 5.4-5.8 rather than 5.4-5.13, but it turns out that you can't always fit all of your bullet pointed plot points into a chapter. It does feel fitting for next week's post, Chapter 100 (overall), to be a holiday chapter though. Hopefully posting this goes okay because I think FFN might be having a moment.