I saw how Professor Lockhart tensed the moment my words registered, his whole posture suddenly becoming subtly guarded, his eyes darting around, as if scanning the classroom for anyone who might be overhearing.

"Oh? Mem– memory charms?" he asked. "And... ah... what makes you think I know those?"

"Well, I figured you must know them, sir, being such as accomplished wizard as you are," I simpered, rehashing his own words from earlier and throwing them back at his face.

I tried to look relaxed, non confrontational, my hands still inside my pockets as if this was a simple and innocent, carefree conversation —and because that allowed me to keep my wand grasped tight, incidentally; just in case the man panicked and did something stupid.

I really, really hoped he wouldn't, though. This was a calculated risk, as I didn't know what my chances would be against an adult wizard and I wasn't dying to find out. Still, it was Lockhart, so I guessed I might have at least some chances of coming out on top if he attempted something as crass as trying to obliviate me. As long as I reacted quickly, that is.

This was also why I'd decided to approach him in the classroom —the door to the corridor outside still open, other students walking past— rather than somewhere more private such as his own office, where he'd have an easier time attacking me without anybody else noticing.

But if he was thinking of doing that —and he was definitely thinking of doing that, judging by how eerily silent he had become out of a sudden— it was better to simply nip that idea in the bud. So I said: "You see, I'm really afraid of somebody obliviating me. Can you imagine, losing your memories without even realising it? I know it's unlikely here at Hogwarts, of course; but still, I've taken precautions."

"Precautions?"

I nodded. "Yes. I send letters to myself regularly, and I also have a system of codes that I write on them and across my notebooks. That way if someday I receive a letter in my own hand that I don't remember writing, I'll know for sure that I was obliviated; and using the codes I'd be able to work out exactly when it happened! Say for example it happened right now: then by this time tomorrow I would already know that somebody obliviated me after our class of Defence ended, but before I could get to Charms, which I have next. It would narrow down the list of suspects, when I went to tell the Headmaster."

He blinked at me, pausing for a few moments. "That is... quite thorough," he said at last. "Well... I don't think you really need my help with–"

"But that's the thing, sir; I'd rest easier if I could learn more about how memory charms work themselves. It's like what you wrote in 'Wanderings with Werewolves': the fear of the unknown is the worst kind of fear there is."

Yes, I had ended up reading more of his stupid books. Skimmed through them, at least.

"I... I did write that, didn't I?"

"I know you are a very busy professor, of course, and I wouldn't want to impose on your time." Not yet, at least. "So I was wondering if you could simply... hmm... write me a permission slip for some book on memory charms that I could get from the Library?"

That seemed to steal all the tension from him, his smile returning at last as his body relaxed once more. He half-sat on the teacher's desk and said: "Oh? A... book? Is that all?"

I nodded. "Books on memory charms are in the restricted section of the Library, so I need a teachers' permission to check one out."

"I see... I see... but don't you think you are a little young for those books, Miss Sarramond? Even I didn't start learning memory charms until a later age."

I shrugged, trying to look guilty by averting my eyes, but not too much. "Well... I'm ahead of my course. Last year our old Defence teacher —Professor Duskhaven— was very kind to accommodate me by giving me some personal book recommendations. I know you're not really obligated to do the same, of course, but since I read in 'Marauding with Monsters' that you pride yourself in always going beyond the line of duty... well, I was hoping you'd do that for me too?"

My shameless tugging at his self-professed image seemed to do the trick, because he nodded with exaggerated movements, producing a quill and a piece of parchment: "Indeed! as a Ravenclaw myself, I certainly don't see the harm on learning more!" He started writing, but then paused and eyed me once more. "Now... this is only... theoretical knowledge you're after, right?"

"Of course, sir! I would never dream of performing a memory charm without your supervision."

"Of course," he nodded to himself, resuming his writing and handing me the piece of parchment with a smile. "Here you go! And rest easy, Miss Sarramond: nobody would dare attempt to obliviate a student of Hogwarts, not least with me here as a Professor!"

I gave him my best overacted, impressionable smile as I thanked him again and took the slip, escaping the classroom as soon as he turned back towards his own table. I didn't even allow myself permission to relax my face until I was well away from the man, already walking down the stairs towards Charms and in sight of other students. I released my wand at last, realising it was coated in sweat.

Wow, that had been bloody tense.

But worth it too, judging by the not one but two books Lockhart had written on the slip for me. And on the plus side, hopefully he'd think it twice now before he dared obliviate me, if it ever came to that. I'd been bluffing about that whole sending letters to myself with a system of codes, but I did have a page inside my special, purple-covered notebook meant to warn me in case of sudden, unexplainable memory loss. With this man around, though, I judged it might pay off to go the extra mile and actually implement some of those ideas, no matter how bothersome they might be.

In any case, I was already beginning to relax and relishing my success by the time I reached the Grand Staircase: this had been a victory, at least so far. I had skirted the line, sure, but hadn't stumbled —at least, I didn't think so— emerging out of the encounter with as much value as I could reasonably get from the man, for the time being.

These books promised a good introduction to the topic, even though I highly doubted they'd be quite enough to master its intricacies. Very few fields of magic could be truly grasped just from the theory —at some point, you needed to cast the spell, brew the ingredients, or work the ritual. But this was a start. And maybe I could even go back to Lockhart after reading the books, with some of my questions about the memory spells. Just as long as the classroom's door remained open, of course.

But for now: baby steps.

I hadn't lied, though: it's not like I was planning to obliviate anybody; it was simply about gaining yet another weapon for my growing arsenal. Just as with last year's Sectumsempra, it meant one more ace up the sleeve, should it become necessary.

Which it might, in the future. Because I couldn't kid myself: the information I held inside my head, the nature of my memories... it was dangerous stuff. Pretty much so. Knowledge that not only Dumbledore would love to get his hands on, but also the... less well-meaning people. The Death Eaters and their ilk, mostly.

I planned to be careful, of course, but there was always the chance for a mistake; especially as time marched on and the plot became gradually harsher, with even more lives on the line as the war loomed ever closer. I would need to become more active, such as with the basilisk this time around. That meant higher chances that someone would learn something they shouldn't about me; and if that someone happened to be in the more reactionary camp of my house, that risked being... catastrophic. Very much so.

I mean, with how I remembered Voldemort was pictured in the books in regards to prophecies and the like, I could only shudder thinking of what would happen if my existence somehow reached his ears. Someone who knew how his war would end? Who knew exactly what Dumbledore was planning, or who among his followers was a traitor?

You didn't need to have a dark lord's mind to know how invaluable that sort of intel would be. And that was without factoring the bloody Horcruxes. Because he might very easily opt to have me murderized just to keep his own secrets safe; and I couldn't count on Potter's blood charm protection. If an enterprising Death Eater crept into the Residence at night, there was nothing that would stop them.

So yeah, better to have a safety net of sorts: a way to quickly press the 'undo' button in case I messed up and showed my hand. Information was the name of the game, here, and as such memory charms could easily prove to be an invaluable tool to control it.

I was distracted and musing about that as I descended the stairs, when I heard a soft 'whoosh' and something solid hit the top of my head. It wasn't painful, not really; but I felt some sort of thick liquid running down my hair. For a moment I panicked, thinking it would be my own blood, or brains —perhaps because I'd been just psyching myself out over Voldemort— but it only took me a few moments to realise the truth, sticking my fingers in the substance and bringing some of it into view.

Egg. Runny, disgusting egg white dripping down my hair.

I was still trying to come to terms with it when I felt a second hit, drenching the back of my head this time. I shouted a curse as I turned and belatedly grabbed my wand, searching for the attacker. And talk about my defensive skills; Mr. Malfoy would certainly rescind that offer if he could see me now.

I didn't have to look for long to find my target, though; mostly because he wasn't trying to be sneaky at all:

"Green and clean you were at dawn, but now let's add some egg; be warned!"

Peeves was floating near the span of stairs right above me, and carrying a basket full of eggs that he must have snatched off the kitchens. He smirked and threw yet another one at me, but this time I was smart enough to side-step the projectile. Using my wand, I then replied with a chaotic burst of magic of my own —not a real spell, just a nasty package full of vicious retribution— that he dodged easily thanks to his unnatural manoeuvrability.

"You piece of shit!" I shrieked. "I will fucking banish you from this castle!"

"Oh ho! The Slytherin lass thinks she's quite the mighty class!" He readied another egg and sent it my way.

"DEPULSO!" I cast at the flying egg. The projectile stopped and reversed directions mid air, shooting backwards towards him. I had tried to aim roughly at his figure, but my accuracy left much to be desired; and it simply flew off into the depths of the Grand Staircase. To ruin the day of another student down below, perhaps.

"With a splat and a splatter, Peeves makes your day go madder!" the poltergeist cackled, this time flying straight over my head as he tilted the full basket, emptying its entire contents on top of me.

I let out a cry of indignation as I crouched and invoked my trusty shield charm with a quick 'Protego!'. Just in the nick of time, as it turned out: the eggs rolled off it as if it was an umbrella, crashing instead against the stone steps around me and spilling their insides all over the place, leaving a pretty mess for the castle's house-elves to clean up.

I stood up again when the last of them had hit the floor, verifying I wasn't hit —or at least, not hit again, because I had yolk running down the back of my neck and starting to drip under my robes... ugh!— and turned my gaze to see Peeves disappearing through the nearest wall. I reflectively aimed my wand at him, but there was nothing I could do, to be quite honest. While I was sure there might have been spells to fight him off, I didn't know enough about his nature to tell for sure what those were. With all my worries last year and this one too, the pranking poltergeist had never been a priority of mine.

Then again, he had never targeted me before. So perhaps that would have to change now.

I ground my teeth in frustration, then resumed my descent; my shoes leaving messy imprints on the steps, my face a rictus of annoyance.

I paused for a moment when I came across a first year girl climbing the same staircase: Luna Lovegood, who carried a handful of books braced against her chest, and passed by my side with her gaze down. I half-expected her to make some comment to me —maybe about my head being full of Nargles, to which I could always reply wisely that no, that it was full of egg— but she simply walked past me, without so much as a glance.

Which sure, it shouldn't surprise me, right? Because real people weren't just stereotypes. To Luna I was simply another face in the crowd, and she had no motive to stop and talk to me. Not when the only reason I knew who she was in the first place was only because of my fore-memories. And perhaps all my shouting and cursing before had made her a tad nervous to spend more time than strictly necessary around the obviously short-fused bomb about to explode that she likely thought I was. That, too.

But still, I couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed; I had liked Luna —the character— back in my previous life, and I had half-hoped —and half-dreaded— that with her odd outlook she might have noticed that something was... well, different about me.

Whatever. There was no way I was going to go to Charms now; not like this. So instead I kept my descent until I reached the dungeons, and set towards the nest of vipers. At this time most other students were at class, so there were only a group of three sixth-years when I entered the common room. They had been discussing something in hushed tones, and went fully silent the moment they noticed me around; but I completely ignored whatever suspicious conspiracy they were weaving and marched instead straight towards the girls' bathrooms, where I took a very long shower —scrubbing my hair over and over again until it felt sufficiently clean once more, and muttering curses the whole time.

After that, and since I still found myself with ample free time before it would be time for dinner, I decided to go visit the Library and cash in Lockhart's slip already. Madam Pince gave me a sceptical stare down when I presented it to her with a guileless grin, but I stood resolutely and in the end she went and retrieved the books for me. I also got myself a copy of 'From Calorifors to Torridus: A Practical Guide to Heating Charms' because I had already endured enough freezing cold last year, and I wasn't planning on a repeat of that come winter.

The Memory Charm books were on the advanced side, judging from the quick leaf-through I gave them on my way back to the common room, before I finally left to meet up with my housemates. It was to be expected, but I judged it was something I could learn given enough time and effort. The theory, at least, and the invocation and wand movements —although it also appeared there were several variations, depending on the type of memories you wished to edit and such.

I'd need to go through it all slowly... and in secret, obviously. I was in fact trying to come up with a suitable excuse for when the girls inevitably asked me what it was that I'd wanted to talk to our Defence teacher about, given that I'd made my lacklustre opinion of him very clear to them, very often; so now they were likely to feel a tad curious about my change of heart. I could always tell them the truth, but my knowing of the Memory Charm would be more effective if nobody else —not even them— knew about it.

Not that I planned to obliviate any of them, of course. There were my friends! But still... what they didn't know, couldn't hurt me. Or them.

The excuse I came up with was that I had tried to ask for permission to access some books on more advanced hexes and curses, but that Lockhart had rebuked me. It was close to the truth —in that I only wanted to use his role as a professor— but not quite.

In the end though, it turned out to be unnecessary, because the moment the doors to the Charms classroom opened and the students started to file out, I noticed many subreptitious looks going my way. And then Tracey, Daphne and Perks walked out, and they too stared at me with eyes wide like saucers.

"What is it?" I asked them, trying to keep my voice low and even. It was obvious there was something wrong here, and I hated not knowing what it was.

"Your... hair," said Daphne; which made my stomach drop to my feet.

"What– what is wrong with my hair?!" I all but cried, reaching for it, and forgetting all about keeping my voice low. It didn't feel bad to the touch, but when I grasped a few strands and brought them in view of my eyes, I felt my breath leaving me.

That total piece of...

"Shit," I muttered, looking around for any reflective surface. "Shit, shit shit..."

"Did you dye it?" asked Perks. "I think you might have gone... uh... a little overboard with it?"

I stepped in front of the protective glass that covered an old shelf full of brass knicks and knacks that belonged to this or that witch, I didn't care. What I cared about was the way my hair looked: all of it a fiery, bright red.

Not even the soft, almost chestnut red that you'd find naturally in a redhead, no. This was clown-red; it was telephone box red.

It was... it was hideous! Red didn't fit my complexion at all!

I clenched my fists, muttering "Peeves..." under my breath. But even then, this didn't feel like his doing, right? Because Peeves' pranks tended to be on the simpler side. Eggs? Sure, whatever. Red hair? No... this was much more like...

"Look George, what we have here!"

"Is it...? Could it really be, an honorary Weasley?"

I turned slowly to face the two newcomers. I questioned for a moment the perfect timing of their arrival, but then realized they probably had been stalking me all this time through the Marauder's Map, ever since I left Lockhart's class. Because how else would have they known if their prank had worked, right?

Fred and George's eyes were glinting in satisfied mischievousness, taking the sight in front of them as if I was a particularly hard-earned trophy.

"It's got to be," said Fred. "Because only a Weasley would dare a stunt like that, eh?"

I frowned, not quite following what he meant. But George quickly clarified:

"Right. After all, everybody knows that Ginny's our sister. Trying to prank her, that would be asking for trouble."

"Not the sort of thing one would walk away unscathed from."

"Definitely not."

Okay; message received. I would have asked them how they'd known —after all, I had been cautious enough to keep out of sight, and then walk the long way around the lake just to avoid exactly this kind of scenario— but it must have been that bloody map once again, right?

Bloody cheaters.

"How did you get Peeves to do it?" I asked instead, pointing at the disaster sitting on top of my head.

"Are you joking?" replied George "It's Peeves! Barely needed a nudge!"

"The real trick was keeping him from throwing those eggs at everybody else in sight; save them all just for you."

I crossed my arms. "Well, I'm honoured for sure... uhm... but how do I clean it off?"

They acted affronted, gasping as if insulted.

"Clean it off?! Did you hear that, Fred?"

"The sheer ungratefulness! Outrageous!" said the other twin, already the both of them walking away.

"To put down a gift like that! How can she be so rude?"

"Shameful, George! Just shameful!"

I watched them leave, shaking my head slightly. To be fair, I hadn't really expected for them to hand me a potion I could use to remove the dye —and if they had in fact handed me one, I certainly wouldn't have been enough of a naive idiot to actually use it. But with no clue at all as to the nature of whatever they'd put into those eggs, I wasn't willing to experiment, not even if the Cleaning Charm was in the third year coursebook and so at last within my reach.

And so I meekly followed the girls to the Great Hall instead, tried to act high and confident, my head up as if my brand new looks had been entirely my own idea. And they did attract some curious looks —courtesy of the vibrant hue the twins had chosen— even those of Headmaster Dumbledore —who smiled grandfatherly— and Snape —who frowned and muttered something under his breath.

I started to worry for real a couple of days later, when I noticed that not only wasn't my hair back to normal, but it in fact looked like the redness was actually increasing, somehow. It took Daphne's suggestion that perhaps whatever substance the eggs had contained was in fact reacting to all my shampooing to realise that the Weasley twins were indeed two very, exceedingly devious individuals.

Exceedingly intelligent, too. Something which I had already known at some level, thanks to my fore-memories, but that it was also very easy to forget. It was a very common mistake, I also knew: seeing them day in, day out one would think them to be little more than silly pranksters.

Not that this was one: a prank. Like sure, it technically was one, but it was also a warning of sorts. A warning to me. A line drawn in the sand, in what regarded Ginny Weasley. A 'no further', delivered with a wink and a smile, sure... but that also betrayed the absolute nightmare my life at Hogwarts could become should the twins get wind that I was back at harassing her in any way, shape or form.

So I was stuck between a rock and a hard place —or well, between the Weasleys and a basilisk. Of course, of the two of those I knew which one I'd rather face, so I was still willing to step across the line if I saw the chance, if it meant putting an end to the plot. I just would need to be more careful about it.

I didn't find any chance, though, as the following days slowly turned into weeks —and my hair finally lost the last traces of the red colouring. And if the diary was at Ginny's dorm, I'd need to get creative —and very daring— to retrieve it.

I did have some ideas of how to go about it —featuring one Neville Longbottom, who I half-remembered had the habit of writing down the common room passwords not to forget them, and whom I had easy access to during the remedial Herbology lessons. While I was grateful to him for his help —I was marginally better at Herbology now, as long as I remembered to keep my focus on acting nice to the plants, something easier said than done— I wasn't above using him if that would help prevent the future events from the book.

But the password was only part of it: there was also the Fat Lady to consider, as the portrait was likely to tell on me, correct password or not. And finding the right moment where I could get to the Gryffindor common room with no lions around to notice and confront me before I could take even two steps inside it... well, it seemed unlikely.

In the end I decided to wait: focus on my studies, my homework, my friends... and wait for the chance I knew would come to me anyway. Because I already knew there would be one day where Ginny would need to take the diary out of the tower for a walk, no matter what:

The day of the Hallowe'en Feast.

I had it all perfectly planned out, see: I couldn't simply leave in the middle of the feast to go hunt Ginny —that would be quite suspicious, of course— so instead I told the girls that I needed to pay a quick visit to the Library to return one of the books on advanced combat spells I'd been perusing —an excuse that had the benefit of happening to be true— and to go ahead; that I'd be joining them as soon as I was done there.

I did not, though. Instead I was now biding my time hidden inside one of the stalls of a very particular bathroom on the second floor; a bathroom that nobody used. Perhaps because it looked like it had came straight out of some horror film: complete with a coat of dust covering the sinks, walls missing tiles here and there, rust stains in the toilets and a lighting so poor that it made the place feel much more gloomy and foreboding than it had been in the films.

I was sitting there on top the closed toilet lid, wearing my protective sunglasses and with my magic wand already out and ready for action, hoping my target would make her appearance already and I'd be able to join the festivities sooner rather than later —so that my delay wouldn't be as noticeable.

And that was the plan: Ginny would need to access the Chamber of Secrets through this very bathroom, wouldn't she? And she was pretty much guaranteed to carry the diary when she did. So I would simply wait here and ambush her, knock her down with my superior duelling skills —and the element of surprise, that too— the moment she stepped in, and snatch the book off her inert hands.

Unlike with Hopkins last year, I wouldn't even need to hide my face for this, since according to my memories she would be in a trance induced by Tom Riddle. Which meant she wouldn't be able to remember me; she would simply wake up later in the bathroom, confused and with no idea of what had happened. The perfect crime.

Not that it was a crime, really; I was in fact helping the girl here.

Or I would, once she appeared. Right now, though, I had a different wrinkle on my plan to deal with:

"Oh well, at least you could have asked for my permission first, if you wanted to hide in my bathroom. It's only proper, isn't it?"

"Shh!" I hissed at the ghost for what felt like the twentieth time. She was sticking her head through the closed stall door, her semi-transparent face eyeing me with annoyance. I said: "I told you I would leave soon."

"And what do you think you're doing, pointing that wand at me?"

"I'm not pointing it at you," I lied, tilting the end of the stick away from her face. "You were just in the way."

"Oh, of course!" she exploded. "Sad Myrtle always a nuisance, always in the way! 'Go somewhere else, Myrtle,' they said. 'You're such a burden, Myrtle'. And now here you are, telling me to move away even after I'm dead! As if I hadn't been shooed away enough in my lifetime!"

"But I didn't say–"

She wasn't listening, though. Instead her head retracted through the door as she wailed about the injustice of it all, followed shortly by her cries coming from somewhere near the ceiling.

I closed my eyes with a soft sigh, then shifted posture once more. I had been waiting there for about twenty minutes already, and I didn't know how longer I could last before it was me who exploded at Moaning Myrtle. I had tried being nice to her at first, of course, but she had a way of grating on my nerves. It didn't help that I was already tense because of the anticipation.

Also, because there was no point in doing all this if Ginny —or Riddle, rather— would immediately realise somebody else was in the bathroom with them, thanks to the bloody ghost. At least if she was crying by herself she wouldn't be giving my position away. Harsh, maybe... but also true.

In the end she turned out to be useful, though, as the first indication I got that something was happening outside my door was her going eerily silent, her moans and cries suddenly stopping. I tensed up then, holding my breath and grasping my wand tight as I waited for something to happen. For anything.

I heard the scraping of stones first. A low, grinding sound that I took to mean the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was finally opening. Somewhat subtler than what I'd expected —because of magic, I guessed. The odd thing was, though: I hadn't heard Ginny speak first.

Hadn't Harry needed to order the sink to open, for it to... well, to open? But it was Parseltongue, something I didn't fully understand. Could it be that that other people simply couldn't hear the words when spoken along?

No, that made no sense. People knew Harry was a Parselmouth after that scene during the Duelling Club, which wouldn't make sense at all if nobody else could hear it. So maybe Ginny had simply whispered the password to the sink; or perhaps Tom Riddle didn't need to speak it to access the Chamber, being so in league with the magic infused in it that the entrance simply opened to its mere will.

Never matter; this was the moment. I reached with my free hand and ever so slowly pulled at the stall door, opening it. I bit my lower lip, and stood up with measured movements, then took a step forward.

And my foot landed on a puddle of water.

A puddle of water filtering below the stall door's lower opening, and that hadn't been there a few moments before, I was sure of it. I paused, my breath catching, and that's when I heard it.

It was a young girl's voice, sure enough, hissing in some disturbing, eerie way. The sounds somehow taking the shape of eldritch words. But unnerving as that was —and I could right away understand why Potter had found such prejudice when his being a Parselmouth became common knowledge— it wasn't that what caused the blood in my veins to run cold.

No, it was the other voice: the one that replied to her. A lower, murderous voice hissing back; the voice of a monster come from some nightmare, the thing living under your bed. And now that I cared to listen, I could also hear the heavy rustle that the creature made as it slithered down the bathroom's floor.

My mouth went completely dry, and I took a step back —taking my foot off the puddle— without even realising it. My traitorous heart started beating like a drum, so fast that I was sure the basilisk would hear it; because how could it not?

Shit. What the hell was I doing here? Alone in this stupid bathroom? Was I a complete idiot? If Ginny... no, if Riddle ever suspected somebody was here... well, he only needed to say a word, right? A word I wouldn't even understand, and then the basilisk would be onto me. It wouldn't matter one bit that I was wearing my sunglasses: the monster could simply bite me, inject his venom into me. I would be dead long before anybody downstairs could wonder what was taking me so long.

Shit.

I'd been caught by this rubbish thing again: this... overconfidence, wasn't it? I had expected —been completely sure— that I could catch Ginny going into the Chamber; not that she would be getting out of it already... alongside her giant pet.

Yeah... this might have been a serious miscalculation.