#Chapter 27
#Crema Catalana

As though the heavens are trying to punish the earth with all their might, heavy rain keeps pouring tonight, all along to roaring thunder. Impressive without effort – I have always appreciated the destructive fury of dark clouds blending to create a natural phenomenon. And yet, we have no time for any of it now.

"How fortunate you're a Prefect."

"It can be advantageous to walk the corridors at night, yes."

"Walk?" Harper is struggling to keep up, as she so often does. "You're literally running, Tom …"

I slow my steps for her, but she abruptly stops anyway.

"Since we're here, excuse me for a moment."

I can barely turn around before she disappears into the girls' bathroom. Inwardly groaning, I lean against the wall outside the door for a few heartbeats – until I hear it again.

The voice that makes my blood run cold. Louder than ever before.

So close, come to me!

At once I feel juvenile panic. Panic of possibly losing the only thing that ever mattered to me, just because of yellow eyes.

"Harper, come back!" I shout, I rush after her – only to see her eyes wide in the mirror at one of the sinks in the middle of the lavatory. She's washing her hands, indirectly smiling at me thanks to the reflection.

"I'm flattered you miss me so dearly," she says, finally turning around to me, "but you really don't have to follow me to the bathroom …"

Closer! I'm here! Come closer!

I hurry towards her and pull her with me, despite her bewilderment.

"Come on," I say, but of course, this blunt command is not quite acceptable to her.

"What's wrong?" she asks while I still urge her to move. "Tom, what's got into you?"

The Basilisk's whispers fade as we follow Hogwarts' corridors; they become less audible, but they're still there.

I'm waiting for you!

"You hear it again." Harper grabs my hand, finally forcing me to pause. "You didn't forget an essay in the library, did you? You hear the voice again."

I shake my head, knowing her curiosity all too well. And if my theory is correct, she'd better stay away …

"Tom, it's like before Christmas in the Prefects' Bathroom," she claims. "You heard a voice, and you answered it in Parsel."

A mistake. I should have shut up … If she pursues that thought, she'll only end up putting herself in danger.

"Anyway, it sounded exactly like it did in the front yard with Viper. You hear a snake, don't you?"

"Why, really," I almost hiss while still shaking my head, "are you that convinced I'm not just going mad?" I look down at her, I sense it's only when I hurt her that she might stop her interrogation. "You know a lot, but you don't know everything. And what you certainly don't know is when it's better to let something go. So, either we go to Dippet's office now and look for facts, or you continue with insubstantial speculations in front of a bathroom – but in that case without me."

Silent indignation clouds her facial expression, but at least she knows me well enough to avoid any further discussion.

"Fine," she mumbles, walking on, "then we'll do just that – even if it's unclear to me why I should be of any help with my usual insubstantial speculations …"

"Occasionally, you guess right."

All I get is a dirty look. Nevertheless, we are closer than ever, heading right for the gargoyle below the headmaster's office – just when I hear footsteps.

"Into the side corridor," Harper whispers, darting around the corner with me until the caretaker finally hurries past us.

"Now?" she soon asks. I nod.

"Let's hope the password works." She comes to a halt with me in front of the giant gargoyle. Its stern gaze wants to forbid our venture, but we are both too cynical to give a damn.

"Have you been up there before?" I ask, she just shakes her head.

"Well, about time then," I mutter, taking a last look around again. When I'm sure we're indeed alone, I address the gargoyle.

"Crema Catalana!"

Nodding stone shouldn't surprise us at Hogwarts, but we both raise our eyebrows ever so slightly as it begins its spin.

"Come!" I take Harper's hand and take her with me, up the already magically rising stairs.

Before we know it, we enter the large, round main room of the office. It's much too dark, but we can see we're surrounded by paintings of blissfully sleeping headmasters on every available spot on the walls. There are open books spread over all the desks, including the Sorting Hat and a wine goblet, likely just as Dippet left it, and apparently he also forgot to close one of the windows before he went away. The rain is forcing itself into the castle through that small gap thanks to relentless wind, so consequently, there's already quite the puddle on the ancient stone floor.

"Fabulous," Harper whispers, "we'll freeze to death up here, but if we close the window we'll unnecessarily touch something, won't we?"

"Probably." I take my jacket off to drape it around her shoulders.

She gives me a warm smile, and it makes me say, "Let's get started."

I'm not eager to come across a past that might change my priorities. But nothing ventured, nothing gained …

Harper follows me into one of the two side rooms where I suspect the school archives to be. The old castle might rarely ever reveal its secrets – the book may have been right the other day – but every now and then, with focused research, it could still provide some answers.

"Aberto!" I say, swinging deep drawers on one of the shelves in front of us open, which, as is usual for the magical world, turn out to be long enough, despite the supposedly narrow housing. It almost bumps into the pillar of the main room, a testament to the insane tons of parchment we will now have to touch.

Harper pushes up the sleeves of my jacket. "Let's see then … Lumos!"

"It's sorted by school years," I quickly realize, "not by surnames …"

"Let's make up our minds," Harper says. "Who was Marvolo? Your grandfather? An uncle?"

"Harper May. May was your grandmother, wasn't she?"

She nods. "Then let's indulge in the art of mathematics. You were born in 1926, two generations back …"

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down," I groan, already skimming through the first few files, "even within the year it wasn't sorted by surname …"

"What did you expect?" Harper grins, already on her knees to go through the first documents. "That we'd come up here, reach for three or four files, find what we're looking for and then go to sleep?"

She's right. We have one night, no more, no less. I take a bow – literally – to the drawers, yet again I sigh.

"We have to start somewhere," she gently reminds me.

"Sure. Alright, I'll go with 1860 up to 1879 for now, you check the next twenty years."

For the better part of two hours, old parchment rustles incessantly, the only audible sounds being rain and thunder, along with the occasional gusts of wind and lightning that make the old window creak behind us.

"How far along are you?" I eventually ask, quite exasperated.

"1883," she admits. "You?"

"1864," I mumble. "Harper, we won't find anything …"

"Don't whine, read!"

Shaking my head in tired protest, I continue to rummage through the records, and just as I'm putting back the very file I inwardly swear to be my last, Harper takes in a surprised breath.

"Tom, 1890! This is it!"

I circle the columns to get to the other side of the drawers to her, then I glance over her shoulder.

The title of the file is Gaunt, Marvolo.

"Gaunt," I promptly repeat aloud, "that name sounds familiar." Lost in thought I add, "Quite a thin file …"

"There are only five school years in here – 1890 to 1895. It looks like he dropped out."

"Why's that?"

"No details." She shrugs, then reads aloud, "Student of Slytherin at his own explicit request, yet disinterested in his nature. Otherwise quick-tempered and headstrong."

"Well, splendid," I grumble. "May I?"

She hands me the file and I skim through it at lightning speed, but I can't find what I'm looking for.
No references to Parsel …

"That might just be a coincidence," I finally say.

"Or we found it. The surname we can go on with."

"If that really is my grandfather, he must have had at least one child."

"True, so let's look for more Gaunts."

Maybe thirty minutes pass, maybe another two hours, but eventually I hold another file in my hand.

"Gaunt, Morfin," I read, "Student of Slytherin, aggressive behaviour, expelled from school in year four, 1914, for multiple acts of malicious violence, animal cruelty and vulgar insults."

I give Harper a mirthless smile as we exchange a glance. While I find in this lethargy is what I had suspected deep down, she just shrugs it off.

All sober, she says: "He could've at least hung the animals high enough so that no one would suspect him …"

I can't help it – in amused apathy I rub my temples, then I smirk at her. Of course, she was fully aware of me being lethal to that rabbit at the orphanage …

"Nothing can shock you, huh?"

Unexpectedly serious, she replies, "Nothing about you. You should know by now."

Silence briefly arises except for the pattering rain, then she asks, "What do we do with this information? Should we look for more Gaunts?"

"No, Dippet will likely be back by twilight, we should leave …"

"Alright." She puts the files back to close the drawers with a wave of her wand. "We've got a name, Tom. That's good. I'm sure we'll find some records of the name Gaunt in the literature. We're getting closer …"

"For better or worse." I wink. "You, me, the library – first thing tomorrow afternoon?"

She nods. "Of course."

"Then let me take you to the tower now."

"I can find the tower on my own, you realise that, yes?"

"I do," I assure her, "but I need to know you get there safely."

She rolls her eyes, yet she's holding out her hand to me. "That's the kind of care that poor rabbit would have deserved as well, Tom."

"I'll be a more balanced child in my next life," I vow.