I had always considered myself a decent liar, able to spin a tale on command whenever I needed to, or to simply redirect attention away from whatever it was that I needed to hide. But it dawned on me, as I stood there in the common room alongside most of our house, listening to Daphne's explanations to the adults and prefects, that I was still but an amateur.

At first glance, the girl looked and sounded as calm and measured as ever —despite the late hour— and yet anybody paying the slightest bit of attention would immediately realise that something was off: her tone subtly tinged with worry and distress, her mouth tripping, stuttering over the odd word here and there, her hands continuously tugging at her silver dressing gown, her eyes darting towards the windows to the lake —currently covered by the hideous yellow drapes that Professor Flitwick had just conjured up.

And that subtle anxiety —as if she was trying, and failing at acting composed— proved the best misdirection one could ever wish for, as she told Snape a rubbish story about how she'd woken up to find Perks missing, went to the bathroom in case she was sick, then finally wandered to the common room to find her friend petrified there.

A misdirection that was laced with truth, as all the best lies are, because she was indeed worried, and distressed at our discovery. But I knew Greengrass well enough to know that she would have never allowed her anxiety to show like that in front of our gathered housemates, no matter how frightened she really felt. She would have bottled it, hiding any weaknesses deep inside her soul, well away from sight.

Except that right now it suited her, to hint at them. Now her reputation as the composed, unflappable heiress was something that she could weaponise. Successfully, judging by how I couldn't see any traces of suspicion in Gemma Farley, or Professor Flitwick, or Madam Pomfrey —who was tending to Sally-Ann— or even Gilderoy Lockhart, hovering awkwardly by the secret entrance, as if afraid to fully step into the vipers' nest. And while I could see suspicion in Snape's dark eyes, it was wholly directed at me instead. Which... fair enough, I guess.

I —and by extension, Tracey— were sticking to our own story, one that we had quickly assembled as we rushed back to our dorm right before Daphne went to look for Prefect Farley: that we'd been sleeping peacefully like the well-behaved pre-teen girls we were. Full stop. A story that most people had believed without further questioning, too focused on the drama in the common room to pay us an iota of their attention.

Snape was just that perceptive, it seemed. A double-edged sword, as it had been his perceptiveness that had put an end to my housemates' wild search of a basilisk all across the Slytherin dungeons, right before they could stumble upon the two broomsticks hidden underneath my bed. His curt "stop with your clattering, you fools; the creature is obviously in the lake" had been enough to save our hides.

Snape let Daphne walk away to join us when Pomfrey approached to tell him that Perks was safe, but needed to be moved to the Infirmary Wing. Professor Flitwick quickly volunteered to help, perhaps noticing that the attention of our Head of House had gone elsewhere. To the yellow drapes —which didn't fit the Slytherin décor at all— or most accurately, to what lied behind them.

He seemed to reach a determination then, striding fast towards the main entrance as he extracted his wand. He said: "This trouble has gone on long enough; it ends now. Farley, make sure none of these idiots," he paused, his gaze lingering on me briefly, "get any bright ideas."

"Ah... are you going to hunt the creature, then, Professor?" asked Lockhart, sounding eager. "Perhaps I could join you, offer my help in the..."

He trailed off when Snape didn't pause to listen, didn't even acknowledge his presence as he walked past the blond man, his dark robes melting into the deep shadows of the corridor outside. And for a second, for a brief moment there was this look of pure, loathsome rage in Lockhart's face; there one moment and gone the next.

Then, a few seconds later, Lockhart too walked away from the common room.

Uh.

"Very well," said Farley, clapping her hands once to grab everyone's attention, as soon as Flitwick and Pomfrey had removed our petrified friend from the scene. "Time for you to go back to bed."

"Oh, please," protested Burke, making a show of very slowly walking up to his usual chair and sitting down, "as if anyone could sleep now after all these disturbances."

"Burke–"

"Professor Snape has gone to hunt down the monster, hasn't he? So I say we wait for news here," he added, waving his arm magnanimously at the common room, as if it belonged to him and he was inviting us to join him. "Who knows... we might need to evacuate if he fails to find and kill it. I for one don't wish to be drowsy with sleep, if that's the case."

The prefect crossed her arms, and I could see the calculation in her eyes: she wanted us safely contained within our rooms, but Burke's logic was hard to argue against. Plus, there was just too much nervous energy in the air for her to expect us to peacefully go back to sleep. People wanted to stay awake, to talk and discuss about the new development, the new twist to this year's drama; to air out their fears in the best way that Slytherins knew how to: by pretending there was nothing at all to worry about, while at the same time stealthily gathering as much information about the threat as possible.

"Fine," she conceded at last with a carefree shrug, seating down on a nearby sofa. "But don't complain to me when you can't stand on your own feet tomorrow."

That was enough of a green light for many of the students to remain, circles and cliques taking up their usual spots. Others though, seemed hesitant to enter the very same chamber where Perks had just been attacked —less than half an hour ago, even— and so they instead gathered in the stairs and corridors leading up to the different dormitories, crowding them.

I simply stood there, not paying much attention to the jockeying for influence and control over the common room. My mind was far way: still stuck in that foreboding, eerie look of Lockhart, a sense of undefined danger surrounding everything. The vague notion that something was off, and not only because of what had happened to Perks.

Closing my eyes and focusing, I tried to picture what Snape would do next, what his coming steps would be: get himself a rooster, probably —the one by the Entrance Hall would do. And then walk up to the lake's shore and... what, exactly? Use some sort of bait, perhaps, to lure the beast out of the water? I could almost imagine him there, Snape, huddling behind a tree as he waited for the creature, the lake's surface still and reflecting the moon's–

And then the picture in my mind shifted to one of Diagon Alley, out of a sudden, without any conscious thought on my part. A large crowd was gathered by the door to Flourish and Blotts, and a sign on the bookshop window announced... something. I scrunched my brow, trying to make out the shifty, blurry words. It was hard, like there was something I had to... push against, in order to focus.

"Brawling with Basilisks," it read. "Buy now your copy of the latest book by Gilderoy Lockhart, the famed Hero of Hogwarts!"

The surprise I felt made me stop focusing for a beat, stop pushing. And it hit me like a shockwave, then; the image dissolving in front of me as I was summarily sent back to the surface of my own mind, the sound of blood rushing into my ears filling it all for a moment. When I opened my eyes to the normalcy of the common room, I took a deep breath —as if I'd just emerged out of a deep dive into the lake myself— and stumbled back, suddenly filled with a sense of vertigo and a deep unease. I reached with my hand for one of the marble columns, steadying myself against it.

"Sylvia?" asked Tracey. "Are you all-right? You look a little... green."

Nauseous, rather. I was reminded of when I'd first met with the Weasley twins in the Transfiguration Courtyard last year. But unlike then, my stomach wasn't so upset that I'd need to rush to the loo. Still, I suspected there were... implications, in this.

Ones that I decided to shelve for a later time. I took a few, deep breaths to calm myself. Then, in lieu of answering, I simply grabbed hold of her sleeve, tugging at her. I signalled Daphne to follow us as I lead them towards our own dorm, pushing through the crowd blocking the stairs.

I thought I heard some clatter from within as I opened the door, but a quick look revealed the dorm to be empty. And Parkinson and Bulstrode had been in the common room, thankfully, so we had the entire place to ourselves.

I sat down on my bed, trying to regain my bearings and find my words, absently running a hand through the tangles in my hair. Both Daphne and Tracey remained standing in front of me, their expressions growing more worried by the minute.

"Lockhart," I muttered at last, because I had to say something to the two girls before they carted me too to the Infirmary Wing.

"Lockhart?" asked Daphne.

"I... I think he's going to attack Snape."

They traded looks, their incredulity written on their faces.

"Didn't you notice how he looked at him, as he left?" I insisted.

Daphne shook her head, but Tracey adopted a pensive stance: "He was angry, wasn't he?"

"Yes!"

"But Sylvia, that doesn't mean he will attack–"

"He will. It was..." I shook my head, looking for a way of making them understand. "He wasn't just angry, he was furious! He looked like... like those pictures of people as they get sent to Azkaban."

Another shared, sceptical look. They still didn't fully believe me.

"Well... but what is the matter then, if he's angry?" asked Daphne. "There isn't much he can do to hurt Professor Snape."

Tracey nodded. "That's true. It'd be his funeral, if he tried anything."

And just like that all the disparaging of Lockhart I'd indulged in during the whole school year —making fun of his antics, snorting at his rambling nonsensical stories, and overall making fully certain the girls would be aware he was nothing but a charlatan— came back to bite me in the arse. Because of course, what could useless, pathetic Lockhart do to Professor Severus Snape? Nothing at all, right? Nothing, except...

Except stealing his memories away; his one trick. And the effects of that could range anywhere from simply forgetting about the basilisk itself, to... what? Forgetting he was supposed to be a spy, and not a real Death Eater? Now that would suck, if it happened.

But I didn't want to explain the whole memory charms angle to the girls. Among other things, because they'd be able to put two and two together and deduce that must have been what Lockhart had taught me, in between classes. And yeah, you could argue that I was falling back into old habits, withholding information and all, but what can I say: at least I was aware of that, and self-awareness is always the first step towards rehabilitation. I could deal with the following steps later.

"He's not completely useless," I argued instead. "There must have been a way for him to claim all those successes, no? It wasn't by actually defeating the creatures, so this must be his pattern: stealing glory from other, more capable wizards and witches. And Snape will be focused on the basilisk, won't be expecting a betrayal."

"He must be using memory charms, then," reasoned Daphne after a beat; and I could have hugged her right then and there. "Otherwise somebody would have exposed him as a fraud by now."

I said: "All the more reason to stop him. And besides, if Snape gets magically lobotomised, would you still trust him to brew the Mandrake draught for Sally?"

That gave them pause. Because sure, if Snape got sent to St. Mungo's because of a too strong obliviation, Sally —and Longbottom too— would end up getting unpetrified by somebody else, at a later time. But there was always the risk that Snape's mind would be merely destabilized, not outright broken. And in that case, he'd brew the concoction with the same finesse and care to detail as that of a drunk Peeves. With nobody being any the wiser until it was too late.

Yeah, a worst-case scenario... but still one that was possible.

"We could tell the prefects," suggested Tracey.

I'd thought about that, but... "Too slow. By the time we finish explaining ourselves and they believe us, it will be too late. No, I have another plan."

Tracey pinched the bridge of her nose. She muttered: "Here we go again..."

I got to my knees, extracted my broomstick from below my bed, and turned to face the two suspicious girls. "I go out there, and–"

"Fight him?" asked Daphne, unbelieving. "Inept or not, he is still a professor, Sylvia."

I crossed my arms. "What, do you think I'm a Gryffindor? No, I will just distract him. Give time for Snape to finish with the beast."

"He'd just obliviate you," said Tracey.

"Not if he wants to know where the Chamber of Secrets is he won't," I replied, giving them a wide grin, as I revealed the pure, undiluted Slytheriness of my plan: "He wants glory, right? Well, then what better triumph than not only defeating the basilisk, but also unveiling the Chamber to the whole wizarding world? Imagine, the headlines in the Daily Prophet. He won't be able to resist that temptation."

They still seemed undecided, but the window of opportunity was quickly closing, the clock running out. So I forged ahead, opening the door to the corridor before they could gather their wits: "I need you two to go ahead of me and talk to Prefect Farley. Tell her of Lockhart's plans, so that she can put a response into motion. Also... that way she'll be distracted."

"Distracted? Oh..." said Daphne, as I cast a quick disillusionment charm on myself, becoming almost see-through.

Getting back to the common room was more difficult than I'd anticipated, having to step around the crowd without any of them noticing my presence. In the end the girls were kind enough to lead the way, with me right behind them. I skittered towards the main door as they approached the prefect; Farley's mood already crashing down in anticipation the moment she saw them both.

I waited, my hand holding tight the broomstick, my heart beating fast. Wait... wait... and now! Daphne was smart enough to subtly position herself towards the now draped windows, forcing Farley to turn to her. The moment I was out of her line of sight, I opened the door and slid outside.

To the dungeons. The empty, cold, dark and foreboding dungeons.

No time for those thoughts, however. I was very aware of those massive walls that were the threads of destiny, fate or what-have-you closing down on me like an avalanche. Closing down on us.

I needed to move.

I dispelled the charm, sat on the broomstick, and flew forwards, aiming towards the end of the corridor, the spiralling stairs.

Flying on a broom within the confines of Hogwarts was strictly forbidden, and I quickly learnt why: because this was bonkers. There was no way in hell I'd have been able to do this on one of the school's worn down broomsticks, and my own antique Comet was barely managing to pull it off. I was moving faster than I could react, desperately pulling on the neck of my broom as I dashed up the stairs, a hair's breadth away from colliding outright as its bristles scrapped against the stone walls.

I was flying purely on panicky instinct and my own familiarity with the dungeons' layout, with no way at all to dodge if I shall come across anybody —say, Filch— taking a stroll around. Which I hoped would not happen, being this late already and all. But still, I let out a breath the moment I emerged into the wider space of the Entrance Hall, finally being able to raise higher. Then, twirling in mid-air —a move I was finally good at, after having practised it ad nauseam in our Quidditch games— I aimed myself towards the single open door and dashed out of the castle.

I was hit by the cold air of the Scottish highlands' nights the moment I emerged to the world outside, raising even higher to get a better view of my surroundings. I realised with a start that I was still wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown, and so I was utterly unprepared for the outdoor weather. The thought of casting a heating charm on my attire crossed my mind, but I pushed it aside in favour of focusing on my task: my eyes scanning the grounds as I willed the broom slowly forwards, towards the lake.

It was a clear night sky, a waning gibbous moon —yes, that was something I'd learnt in Astronomy— casting its silver, eerie pallor across the landscape. The lake's surface was still, reflecting the moonlight and the few stars that shone alongside it. Beyond the lake, the Forbidden Forest rose suddenly, a dense wall of trees; thick, inky darkness trapped under their branches.

I took two wide, slow loops as I impatiently waited for my eyes to adapt to the darkness, and patted my pocket to make sure the sunglasses were still inside —I was going to be gallivanting right by the lake, after all. Behind me, the windows dotting both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers shone with warm light. I guessed the faculty must have waken up the other houses too after the attack on Sally, to do a headcount at the minimum.

Not my concern, though. I turned my gaze back towards the shore of the lake, and the expanse of land that stretched between it and the castle's main doors, trying to catch any movement. I didn't expect any of the two men to have any light on them, Snape because he was Snape, and Lockhart because he too was on a hunt, albeit of a different–

Uh.

Lockhart was carrying one of those lanterns that Filch liked to use, as he ambled by the shore and in the direction of the forest.

Well, that made this easier. I landed a good distance behind him and dismounted my broom silently. Upon some consideration, I stashed it away under a shrub; I didn't enjoy having to leave it behind, but I liked the thought of having my hands and mobility hampered by it even less. Instead I put on my sunglasses —immediately losing much of my hard-earned night vision— grabbed my wand, and advanced at a good clip towards the lone figure facing away from me.

I must have rushed too much, in my impatience and anxiety at what was coming, because Lockhart heard me coming. He turned quickly, his wand aimed my way, his other hand holding the lantern aloft.

"Sa– Sarramond?" he asked, frowning at me in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Professor!" I exclaimed, chipper, trying to subtly position myself so that he wouldn't notice my own wand aimed back at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

I expected him to lower his wand, but he didn't. Instead he said: "You should have stayed in your common room, Sarramond. This place is dangerous."

Uhm... worrying.

I took one, two steps forwards, lowering my voice into a conspirational tone: "I know, sir. But there's something I needed to tell you: I know where the Chamber of Secrets is! I tried to tell Professor Snape, but he wouldn't believe me."

"Oh, I believe you," he said. "Yes, I certainly do." But still, his wand didn't move; and he was smirking at me, his posture almost relaxed. I realized with a deep shiver that he was breaking character. And that could only mean one thing. I held tight to my wand, flexing my legs slightly as I prepared to jump out of the way of whatever he was planning to cast at me.

He continued: "I should have seen that you were the Heir of Slytherin the moment you asked for those private lessons. It is now clear as day: you were using my own teachings to cover the tracks of your nefarious crimes! Of course, that's why poor Luna Lovegood was unable to recount us of her ordeal; because you had erased her memories after she accidentally stumbled upon you, and saw what you were up to the night of Hallowe'en. How could I have missed it?"

Are you fucking kidding me?

"That's not true! You want to talk about obliviating people? Well, I have some–!"

"Don't think you can fool me again, young lady! I saw you fight at the Duelling Club, remember? It was then that I started doubting your intentions, when I asked myself why someone so skilled already at Defence would ever fear an attack from a fellow student." He smirked. "And this story of a basilisk? I suspect it's a mere ruse, isn't it? A clever deception. Oh, Professor Snape will look very foolish indeed, when he returns empty handed to realise that it was I —not he— who defeated the real menace terrorising Hogwarts. But of course, we can't have our monster spreading tales of how she used my own knowledge. So... I believe it's time for a final lesson on memory charms–"

I didn't let him finish, twisting to the side and thrusting my wand forward in a desperate move: "Expelliarmus!" I cried out.

"Obliviate!" shouted Lockhart at the same time, but he didn't manage to finish the incantation before his wand was already flying away from him into a random direction. He paused, muttered "Ah..." as a look of pure terror invaded his face, while I prepared to cast a stunning spell next. But then, I noticed he wasn't looking at me.

No, his eyes had drifted above my head. His lantern fell to the grassy ground, and I saw how all colour melted away from his face, leaving her skin stiff and grey —almost stone-like— as he became immobile.

And I knew —I knew!— what had just happened, and that the worst possible thing I could do was to turn around and look myself. But I simply couldn't avoid it: I turned around, and looked.

The bulk of the giant snake rose right in front of me, its dark scales glinting in the light of Lockhart's lantern. But I didn't focus on that, or in how it was cutting off my escape back to the castle, or even in its sharp fangs dripping with venom.

No, it was the eyes.

Twin, hypnotising yellow eyes, glowing in the night; disproportionately large. The two orbs almost seemed to float in the air as they bore down on me, digging deep into my soul and mind, crushing them with the weight of a thousand years.

I was aware enough to realise that I'd made a mistake; a grave one. But I couldn't do anything else, couldn't even blink away, as I stood there paralysed in front of the beast.

And then my sunglasses shattered.

A crack first, making me blink, breaking the spell for the briefest instant. Just enough for me to gather my wits and close my eyes for good, right before the glasses exploded into tiny shards, making dozens of little cuts into my eyelids, cheeks and eyebrows.

I gasped, staggering back and flopping down to the ground, then shouted "Sectumsempra!" as I slashed my wand horizontally at where I guessed the basilisk's eyes were. It wasn't hard, as I could still see their after-image burnt into my retinas even with my own eyes closed, as if I'd just been staring at two twin suns.

I didn't know if the curse had been on target, but the creature emitted a loud hissing cry nevertheless, so I chalked it up as a hit. No time to dilly-dally, though; I climbed back to my feet, turned around, and started running, opening my eyes only after I'd taken a few steps away. Immediately my right eye filled with blood and began stinging so much that I had to close it once more.

With only one eye half-open, and with the monster cutting the way back to the castle —and possibly angered and hot on my heels— I cursed under my breath and rushed the only other way I could: towards the blasted Forbidden Forest.

In retrospect, I wished I wouldn't have abandoned my broomstick, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I had the presence of mind to shoot a couple of red sparks high into the sky —hoping Snape would see them, wherever he was— and then plunged into the woods, stumbling into roots and pushing off trunks as I dashed forward, barely able to see my surroundings and quickly becoming lost.

It wasn't quite enough to loose the snake, though, as I could still hear its hissing and rustling in the distance when I paused to catch my breath. Probably following the smell of the blood on my face, or something like that. I tried calling to mind Scamander's book and its neatly ordered list of factoids about basilisks, but I wasn't nearly calm enough to focus on that. I just hoped against hope I'd run into some centaurs or a pack of hippogriffs, rather than a troll or the acromantulas I knew were around. But even those wouldn't be that bad an option, as long as they managed to attract the attention of the one predator already after me.

I discarded my ruined sunglasses, then trampled my loud way across the forest for a little longer, until I finally tripped on a protruding rock that I couldn't see in the deep darkness under the canopy —half-blind as I was. I dragged myself off the trail I'd been following, resting my back against the closest birch tree, and did my best to prepare for the upcoming encounter by shooting a quick discharge of magic in the direction away from me —my best attempt at distracting the creature— then producing the same pocket mirror I'd used earlier in the night. It was a last resort: if the distraction didn't work, my last hope was that if I looked at the basilisk through the mirror rather than directly, I would only get petrified and not killed outright.

Like Lockhart. Probably. Shit.

Not that I could see that much, with my only open eye burning as it was. I could only hear the creature as it approached: the rustle of leaves and the snapping of twigs under its weight.

And then a voice, coming from somewhere up above me, loudly hissing in that hideous language. Parseltongue. I tried to locate its source, but to no avail.

Whatever had happened, the basilisk had gone silent. Had it gone away? Or was it simply bidding its time, waiting in hiding as it stalked me?

I held my breath, waited for one, two minutes; then I heard a noise to my right, way too close for comfort. I twirled quickly, wand thrust forward and a curse already in my lips.

"Wait! It's us!" exclaimed Granger. Or someone with Granger's voice, at any rate. I couldn't see much more than a vague silhouette in front of me.

I lowered both my wand and my tone: "The basilisk is around here," I warned her. "And I... might have angered it somewhat."

"We know," she replied. It took me a moment to notice she was offering me a hand to help me stand up. "Harry is attempting to draw it towards the acromantula lair in the forest, just as we planned. Come on, we should head back to the castle!"

"Blimey, what's up with her eyes?" muttered a boy. Ron Weasley.

"Is... is it that bad?" I asked them as I stood up.

There was a pregnant pause, then Hermione replied: "I think it's just blood from your eyebrows. But we should take you to Madam Pomfrey."

"Snape is around here," I said, doing my best to follow them as we made our careful way back across the vegetation. Ron was looking left and right, his head on a swivel.

"Snape?" said Hermione. "We saw Professor Lockhart. He's been petrified."

Not really. But I held my tongue, simply nodding at her —which caused more blood to enter my good eye, forcing me to blink hard. At some point, Hermione simply took my free hand in hers, guiding me forward like I was a blind grandma. Bloody hell... rescued by a couple of Gryffindors; I hoped nobody in Slytherin would ever know about this humiliation.

But that reminded me...

"How is it that you're here? I mean... why?"

"Professor McGonagall woke us up," replied Hermione. "Well, it happened so quickly after we got back that I hadn't even managed to fall asleep. She told us that there had been another attack by the basilisk, in the Slytherin common room, and then Dob–" she interrupted herself when Ron gave her an elbow nudge. "Um... and then... we spotted you from the Gryffindor tower windows!"

Right.

"Couldn't miss you, really," added Ron. "What with all those red sparks you sent up. We used our brooms to fly down from the tower."

That was when I realised he was carrying a couple of broomsticks in his other hand. For a moment I considered suggesting we ride them, but then I realised Potter must be the only one among them quick and dextrous enough to fly inside the maze of vegetation that was the Forbidden Forest. Granger herself was no better flier than me, and I knew I would end up eating bark if I tried riding a broomstick here myself.

So walking it was.

At our slower pace, it took us five minutes to trace back all the terrain I'd covered in my mad dash —something that to me seemed had lasted barely a few seconds— and exit the forest, getting back to the open grounds by the lake. Lockhart's lantern remained where it had fallen, next to his body.

"Do you reckon the Giant Squid is safe?" asked Hermione, in what was a very obvious distraction not to talk about what the three of us were thinking about. Her voice quivered slightly: "I hope so. It must be sheltering in some underwater cave, don't you think?"

She went silent at our lack of response, perhaps realising that neither Ron nor I were in the mood for idle chit-chat right next to... well, next to it. Or perhaps because she already noticed what took me a few beats to intuit myself: another shape approaching us, tall and brooding.

Severus Snape walked up to us menacingly. Or as menacingly as one could be, while carrying a caged rooster around. He gave us a quick once-over, then pretty much ignored my wounds to say: "Where is Potter?"

The two Gryffindors clammed up, but it's not like they needed to open their mouths, because Snape's gaze immediately turned towards the Forbidden Forest behind us. He muttered "idiot boy," and simply strode past us, disappearing under the trees without paying us the slightest attention.

There was a moment of shared silence, before we resumed our walk. And then something, some sort of shape flew right above our heads.

"It's Dumbledore's bird!" exclaimed Weasley.

I could feel Hermione hesitating, after that, her pace slowing, her gaze following the phoenix even after we kept walking forward. So I sighed, stopped and said: "I can get back on my own from here."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "We can–"

"Yes. Go help him, you bloody heroes."

Ron didn't need any more encouraging. Hermione though, she paused for a moment longer, squeezed my arm, nodded, then rushed back alongside the boy. Both of them quickly vanished back into the woods, leaving me alone under the light of the fallen lantern.

Well, almost alone. Ahead of me I could see the silhouette of the castle, and a couple of people in the distance, rushing towards me. Professors? Perhaps. Or maybe it was Prefect Farley ready to give me the dressing down of a lifetime. I found it hard to care.

My only open eye drifted to the body on the ground. Lockhart's expression was as still, as devoid of life as the last time I'd seen him.

"I won't feel guilty," I lied to him, my voice barely a whisper. "It's your own fault, you know."

But I knew it wasn't, not really. Because it had been me, my combined acts during the entire year, my very presence here... it had been me who had derailed his future.