The thought of the creature or its master possibly noticing me was chilling, and it caused me to become utterly, completely still; not even breathing. So still one would wonder if I'd already been paralysed myself, simply because of being in the general vicinity of the basilisk. I didn't even dare to blink, focusing all my attention into the sounds, the strange words someone was speaking just a few meters away.
The door to my stall was still ajar, but I didn't risk reach for it either, didn't risk trying to close it again. In fact, I didn't even dare closing my very eyes —still fixated on the puddle of water. Although I had the vague notion that I should totally close them, to protect myself in case the basilisk decided to stare at me and my sunglasses proved themselves ineffective. But closing them and not seeing, not having any idea at all if the creature was or not right in front of me... no, that was simply unthinkable.
So instead I remained there, trying to become like a ghost myself. And I heard the rustle, the soft rub of its scales against the floor tiles. Slowly but surely, the noise got closer, and I could almost imagine the basilisk right outside the door, tasting the air, smelling me.
Ironic, that it was Ginny —or more accurately: Riddle— who saved me, in the end. His vengeful spirit must have grown impatient, because I head the girl make a short, commanding hiss. And at last, the creature seemed to recede. Another hiss responded hers, this one heavier and fuller and a little further away from my refuge.
I kept waiting, until at some point I heard the bathroom's door open and then close again, but still I didn't venture outside. I remained there instead. One minute, then two...
I guess I was hoping for Moaning Myrtle to return, perhaps; for her to signal to me that the coast was clear once more. But it seemed like she was in no hurry, and had better places to be. Something which didn't really surprise me at all, to be honest, given that it was this same basilisk that had caused her death in the first place. Ghost or not, something about seeing the image of the monster again, seeing its very eyes must still have been pretty traumatic to her, even if at some deep level.
It was fear that pushed me to risk moving again, though. Fear of being still in this very same bathroom, getting caught here when the creature eventually returned back towards its lair in the Chamber beneath. So clenching my jaw I dared a quick look outside the stall, verifying the place was indeed empty. The hidden entrance had closed again, and nothing looked out of place in the bathroom. Nothing but the large puddle of water.
I hurried then, doing my best to step around the puddle not to leave any footprints that could give my presence away later on. Then I exited the bathroom and crossed the corridor outside, hiding behind the closest corner. Only then I allowed myself to breath again, panting quickly as if to vent my fear away.
Footprints.
Yeah, Riddle hadn't been as cautious as me in that respect, it seemed like: from my position I could see a couple of wet footprints exiting Myrtle's bathroom and heading down the corridor. Small footprints, like they could belong to a first year girl... a barefoot first year girl, apparently.
Who the hell walks barefoot into a bathroom, of all places?
And just like that... it clicked.
Because I hadn't seen the notebook in Ginny's hands... ever, had I? Which sure, I had been hoping it meant she kept it safe inside her trunk, back at the Gryffindor tower; but deep inside I feared it could also mean she never got it back after we stumbled into each other that day in Diagon Alley. That the diary had remained there, forgotten on the floor of Flourish and Blotts until somebody else picked up.
Somebody who would have been curious enough to notice it, and to write into it. And who must have been feeling lonely enough to pour their secrets, their soul into it. Somebody who... didn't wear shoes.
"Fuck," I muttered, hitting softly the back of my head against the cold stone of the wall behind me.
So what I could do now, then? Wait right here for them two to come back? That sounded... well, insane. This had already been too bloody close for comfort.
And yet...
It had been so close.
If not for the basilisk, the plan would have worked. I could have snatched the diary. I knew that. If only I had arrived sometime earlier, caught her going in rather than out.
But she would still be around, right? She would do her dastardly deed, at Riddle's command and with the basilisk, and then... then what?
Then she'd need to leave, not to get caught herself. Towards her common room, too, because she couldn't simply enter the Great Hall with the Feast still in progress. Arriving this fashionably late would be too incriminating. And Riddle would no doubt anticipate Dumbledore consigning everybody to their respective dorms after his message is discovered, too.
Right, that was probably his plan: take the girl back to her common room ahead of the main throng of students. But if she went to her dorm, then Riddle would need first to order the basilisk back to its lair, towards the Chamber of Secrets. So the girl would be on her own when she returned. Alone, with no monstrous escort.
So this wasn't a total failure yet. A new plan started to take shape in my mind. There was still a chance, here; one that wasn't entirely suicidal: she would be coming up the stairs alone and unguarded. I only needed to intercept her there, knock her out and get the stupid book.
Yes, it would be Riddle puppeteering her, of course. So that made the calculation a tad riskier. But it was still early in the year, and his control over the girl shouldn't be that absolute, that iron-clad, right? I doubted he could get her to fight that effectively. But more importantly: he wouldn't have a reason for it.
No, Riddle wouldn't be expecting my attack any more than any actual first-year would. I was only a random student, after all. He would try to play the part, most likely. Try to look like the inoffensive, naive eleven year old girl he was inhabiting. A girl that just would have no reason to suspect she'd be attacked out of a sudden by somebody she probably didn't even know the name of.
Yeah... yeah, it could work.
But I had to move. Like, right now!
I scampered away, rushing as fast as I could go without breaking into a sprint that would risk making too much of a ruckus in the empty stone corridors; call too much unwanted attention to myself.
I didn't have much time, though, and to intercept her I'd first need to get ahead of her and then come the opposite way. Which meant I had to go around the Grand Staircase —ascending through the Astronomy tower's stairs instead, taking the steps two at a time— and then and only then running like a pixie on fire across that one large hall with all the sets of armours to get to the short corridor that lead towards that painting of the drinking goblins, and then descending back down the Grand Staircase.
By that point I was sweating and panting like... well, like I had just run my way across half the bloody castle, which I had. Thankfully I hadn't encountered any professors, prefects, cats, wayward students, ghosts, caretakers or any other of the nuisances that populated the insides of Hogwarts. The Grand Staircase was completely deserted, in fact; so I found a good vantage point, one where I was safely out of sight while I recovered my breath, and waited some more. I observed the rotating staircases idly, waiting for the telltale figure of the first year old girl returning home.
And I waited.
And waited some more...
And... well, by that point I was starting to get suspicious. Because the girl wasn't coming back, apparently, and I didn't believe it would have taken her this long to set up the message, Mrs. Norris included.
No. Judging by the books I'd read a lifetime ago, the basilisk's attacks must have happened rather quickly, for it never to get caught in the act by any authority; not even when the professors were actively looking for the cause of all those petrifications. So this first attack was probably done already, and if my guess was right the creature should be back at the Chamber, or well on its way there by now... hopefully.
And yet no girl around.
Could it be that Riddle's control had faded away already? It would be a likely explanation for her apparent absence. That would mean she'd be somewhere down below; probably all confused and dizzy. Which would work for me, in fact. A confused and dizzy opponent is always easier to safely subdue. Or at least, a tad easier than one actively controlled by the murderous spirit of a dark wizard.
But that would be too optimistic.
"Stupid!" I cursed myself, taking off again as fast as my short legs allowed. "Stupid! You stupid girl!"
I flew up the Grand Staircase once more —which was kind enough not to misdirect me this time around— and into a long corridor decorated with ornate tapestries. I was taking another detour into a part of the castle I didn't visit all that frequently, but that I more or less knew well enough —from all those walks last Christmas— to navigate towards my destination.
Because sure, the Grand Staircase was the fastest path towards her common room... but that was precisely why Riddle had her avoid it, right? Because he didn't want to run into anybody else, anybody that could put two and two together. No, he'd have her take this same detour and come from the Gray Lady's corridor instead.
I arrived at the Ravenclaw tower staircase a couple of minutes later, and took a quick and hopeful look down, then up the spiralling steps.
And... it was empty, nobody around. Which meant either I was early, or —most likely— too late to intercept my quarry.
I cursed some more, hit the metal railing with the heel of my hand, and then resumed moving without wasting any more time, starting to climb upwards as fast as I dared —because the Ravenclaw tower wasn't the kindest of places to those with a fear of heights, and I doubted there would be a cushioning charm at its bottom if I somehow managed to trip over the railing.
The climb was tiring, hard enough on my mistreated calves that for once I wished I had my Comet broomstick with me —or even any broomstick, truth be told— to simply raise through the centre of the cylinder that was the tower without any effort at all. And perhaps this was why Flying was so prevalent in wizarding culture, I wondered idly: half the students in Hogwarts lived in towers, and if they had to climb up and down so many steps in the regular, I could certainly sympathise if they decided that enough was enough.
The exertion and stress all combined to make the ascent feel like an eternity, the staircase turning and curving seemingly without end, to the point that I began to wonder whether there would be some sort of protective spell on it, some extension charm that made it effectively endless for those belonging to the other houses.
But that didn't mesh with my fore-memories, and sure enough, eventually the staircase ended onto a wooden door under a pointed arch. A door with a bronze knocker on it, shaped like an eagle.
To be quite honest, I was sort of disappointed at the sight. After the Hat didn't sort me into Ravenclaw, I had purposefully avoided coming anywhere close to here, out of a desire not to torture myself with what could have been. But in my imagination I had expected the eagle to be larger, more ostentatious, the door more... well, majestic.
But no, it wasn't any different than any other of the hundreds of wooden doors that dotted Hogwarts. Except than when I knocked on this one, the eagle opened its beak and asked: 'What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?'
Oh, how I hated these things.
I opened my mouth almost instinctively, to try and... I didn't know, negotiate with the knocker, try to fish for more information, for a clue... maybe? But I closed it back with a snap, because I remembered last year I had heard some Ravenclaws complaining about how picky the door to their common room was, that it would take almost anything spoken aloud as an attempt at an answer. And you only got the one try, it seemed like.
So I bid my time instead, looking down the staircase once more —holding tight to the railing— in the hope that I'd see my target returning, ascending towards me. But no, still deserted. And it should say something, that I'd rather face that Riddle —albeit in a somewhat reduced capacity— than try to work out the bloody answer to this one.
But nothing to it. So I closed my eyes, tried to breath evenly, and started thinking.
It said 'walks', so it had to be some sort of creature, right? And the legs thing couldn't be literal, riddles never were. Not literal, but also not completely figurative, or else it wouldn't make sense. So what was a leg that wasn't a literal leg?
And also, why did this riddle sound somewhat familiar? Like I'd heard before, even if I'd forgotten what the answer was. Like I should know this.
Maybe something I'd heard in my previous life? Or read, perhaps. A vague, half-remembered memory pushing through, of a book I had once owned, back when I'd last been this age. I knew it'd had red covers... and black and white illustrations inside. Pictures of... rabbits? No... all kind of animals, dressed in cute little human outfits.
A book of fables, yes; and riddles. I could almost see it now, almost hear the rustle of its pages, the noise my family made in the living room. It had been a Christmas present. I felt the bite of a wave of dizzying nostalgia, a sob almost escaping my lips.
"Focus," I muttered to myself, and thankfully the stupid eagle didn't take that as my answer. I scrunched my face, impossibly trying to remember the contents of the book. Though the only thing I could recall with any clarity was a story about a hedgehog that had given away all of his spikes for his neighbours to use, leaving him defenceless when a snake tried to eat him. But then of course the neighbours came to the rescue, each carrying a spike like they were swords; and together they'd skewered the poor snake to death.
And wow, no wonder so many people in the other houses were predisposed against Slytherins, uh? But yeah, it was to no avail. My memories of the riddles themselves were too foggy, too distant. Perhaps if I could use Dumbledore's pensieve...?
No. No time for that. And that was a stupid idea, anyway.
I pushed the memories aside, focusing instead on the riddle itself, trying again to figure out its logic. I should be able to: I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw myself, and the students there apparently had no problems doing this in the regular. So... what was a leg that wasn't a leg?
An arm, perhaps? But what had three legs? Three arms? No, that's stupid... but what about the morning, afternoon...
"A cane!" I said instead, and then rushed to give out my entire explanation: "It's... people! Four legs when we crawl about as babies, then two legs when we grow up, then three when we get too old and have to use canes and stuff!"
"Correct," replied the door, and it opened to me.
I rushed to take my wand out, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold into the Ravenclaw common room; my eyes alert and scanning everything around me.
It was a wide, circular room, with constellations painted on its ceiling and tall windows with blue drapes spaced regularly around its outer wall; windows that now only showed the cloudy night sky. The wooden benches, couches and seats all had blue cushions as well, and many of them were tucked into nice, cosy reading nooks. Yet another, narrower spiralling staircase descended down to where I guessed the dorms themselves must be.
Not that I would need to use them now, because the lone figure of Luna Lovegood waited right by the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw, her wand already out and aimed at me.
"You seem to be lost," she said, her tone unreadable, her face an inexpressive mask. "Your common room is down in the dungeons, not here."
"Oh? How silly of me," I replied; but all of my focus, all my attention was on her hands —his hands?— The one with the wand... and the one carrying Tom Riddle's black leather bound diary.
I guess something of my intentions, of why I was really there must have come across, because Luna's own eyes dropped to the notebook for a single beat —one that I'd have missed, if not because I already knew about the diary— and then an eerie, sardonic smile crossed her face. One that didn't fit right with the young girl.
"I wonder... how did you figure out it was me?" she said, the words smooth, almost silky.
I was about to reply something about the diary —guessing that maybe if Riddle suspected that I knew about his whole plan with the Horcruxes it would throw him for a loop— when I realised how that might not be such a wise idea. So instead I simply said: "You aren't wearing shoes."
It was such a non-sequitur that for a moment, she looked puzzled. And for a moment, her gaze went to her own bare feet.
A moment was all I needed.
"Stupefy!" I shouted, discharging my magic at the girl in front of me, at the same time I took a step sideways. But my spell didn't connect, instead Luna simply intercepted it with her own wand. And in a move that would have been impossible for any first-year —or for any second-year, for that matter— she simply slung it back at me, the bolt of energy whizzing past my head, flying through the space I'd occupied just a moment before to crash against the common room's door behind me.
I silently thanked Oleander Rook and his defence book —for the stepping sideways technique thing— then kept moving, circling around the wide room as I shot one, two tentative spells at her. But her defence was impeccable, and she returned them back with vengeance. Her eyes were cold and calculating, as if judging my very worth. There was nothing of the whimsy, curious Luna Lovegood in them, nothing at all of what I remembered from my fore-memories.
And as if to drive the point home that this wasn't quite the same girl that had sit under the Sorting Hat earlier in the year, she said: "You'll have to do better than that," the words a mix of malice and sick amusement. "Let me show you how."
She cast a spell of her own, then. An invocation that she only whispered, her lips moving silently as she waved her wand to encompass the whole room. But I felt the effects immediately, the discharge of magic saturating the air itself, the flames on every sconce around us twisting, somehow. I stared unbelieving as shadows grew from behind every piece of furniture, every bookshelf. They moved in spasms, morphing and sprouting dark, crooked tendrils that slithered along the floor right towards me. I took a step back to dodge one of them, but didn't see the one behind me.
It was so cold that it burned, as it grasped my left ankle and pulled me down. The pain shot up and through my leg, so sudden and intense that I immediately felt to my knees with a cry. I reflexively tried to scoot away, but the shadow's grasp was like iron; it only became tighter the harder I pulled.
Luna advanced towards me slowly, her expression one of gloating as she regarded me.
"Not too bad, for a second year," she commented. Then her eyes landed on the silver snake brooch pinned to my robes. "As befits a Slytherin, of course. You might still prove yourself useful to me. Tell me... do you wish to learn this sort of power? I can show you the depths of it, if only you pledge yourself to my service."
What was it about all the Death Eaters throwing job offers at my face? I guessed this time a polite refusal was out of the question, though. I doubted Riddle would take rejection well, especially now that he knew that I knew he was in Hogwarts.
Yeah... so I had no choice, really. It was either that or... well.
But it still made me angry beyond belief, the way Luna's guard was down. As if I hadn't turned out to merit that much caution, after all. As if this fight was already over.
So I rose my wand back towards her face as my only reply, and at least I got the satisfaction of forcing her to stop her advance and return to a defensive stance.
"Lumos Maxima!" I cast instead. The light burst from my wand's tip like it was a lighthouse, bathing the entire common room in its pure white shine, dispelling the strange shadows. I still felt the pain, the burning sensation on my ankle; but I was no longer grasped by it.
Both Luna and I were forced to look away from the light not to be blinded outright, but I'd had a moment's warning that she hadn't. So I tried to take advantage of that, to act as fast as I could now, aiming my wand at the book in her hand and shouting the most critical spell: "Accio diary!"
The notebook jerked visibly, but it wasn't enough to break her grip on it. My summoning spell still was a work in progress, and I was pained and unfocused, and this was bloody Tom Riddle in front of me. So of course it wasn't enough.
But it was enough to make Luna's whole demeanour change. Out of a sudden she wasn't interested in playing with her food anymore; all of a sudden her expression morphed into one of alarm, then fury as she aimed her wand back at me.
She said: "Avada—"
I didn't think about it; I simply surged ahead, jumping straight at her. She was close enough now that she didn't have time to react when I bodily charged into her, wands forgotten; couldn't finish the invocation with all the air escaping her lungs as I fell on top of her, when we both crashed down to the floor.
It wouldn't have worked on any other opponent, that's for sure. Oleander Rook would've been appalled. But I had a year on Luna, and we were both of the age when those differences still mattered. And besides, she'd always been on the frail, fey-ish side. So I simply punched her gut, then grasped the diary with both hands and pulled with all my might. Under me the girl trashed, and screamed in rage, but one by one her fingers slipped, and then she finally let go of the book.
And the moment she did, she promptly fell unconscious, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
I clambered back to my feet, then quickly gathered both our wands from where they'd fallen, making sure not to let Luna out of my sight for even an instant. I took a few limping steps backwards, but after a few more seconds had passed without she opening her eyes —or without the creepy shadows coming back after me— I began to relax.
My eyes went to the diary in one of my hands —old, its pages slightly frayed around the edges— to Luna's wand alongside mine in the other —a soft and polished bright wood, with little engraved acorns— and then landed on the girl herself. Her hair was splayed out around her head like a golden halo.
"Okay," I muttered. "... okay."
Making sure to leave the book on one of the desks around, well out of Luna's reach just in case she wasn't as unconscious as she appeared, I picked her up with some effort and half-carried, half-dragged her towards one of the blue-trimmed couches. I laid her on it, worked my lip for a beat, then nodded to myself and placed her wand back into her own robe's pocket.
After that I collected the diary once more, took a last and quick look around the airy common room to make sure there was no incriminating evidence of my being there, and limped back towards the exit door.
Descending down the Ravenclaw tower was an endless nightmare, my ankle radiating pulses of pain with every single step, one hand gripped to the railing and the other to the diary, so hard I was sure my fingers were leaving imprints on both. And I simply couldn't take it slow, couldn't pause to rest; not when I knew the entire Ravenclaw student body would be climbing up these very stairs any moment now, returning to their dorms after the Feast.
But I wasn't interrupted, and I was already two full floors below them when they eventually burst into the staircase above me, speaking loudly about this 'Heir of Slytherin' and Filch and Dumbledore and whatever. I waited in silence, but none of them went downstairs, and a couple of minutes later the sounds of their conversations receded in the distance.
That was when I had to sit down right there on the steps, less I collapse like I was the puppet myself. Because suddenly my legs were trembling, unable to support my weight. And my hands were shaking. And even my lips were shaking, my teeth chattering. Like I was about to freeze, except that I was sweating under my robes, big drops running down my forehead too.
And I couldn't think.
I couldn't think at all; because the moment I did, it was that image that came to mind. Luna's expression of fury as she aimed her wand at me, as she pronounced the last words that I would ever–
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Okay," like a mantra.
"Okay..."
So close. It had been so close.
My eyes wandered to the notebook in my hand, to the hideous, murderous entity stored within its pages. Almost without realising it, I noticed my wand was back in my right hand, its tip pointed at the diary.
It would work; it had to. It was a soul, right? Or a piece of one, at any rate, and that's what that spell targeted. Just two words, and a zig zag motion of my wrist, and the diary would be simply... a diary.
God knew he deserved it.
But I didn't do it. Maybe because I still expected the book to play a role in the future, like it had in the original timeline I remembered: setting Dumbledore on the trail of the Horcrux hunt. I had vague notions of how I could get it into the Headmaster's hands, where it would be safely contained and could provide him with valuable info —the problem here was doing so without incriminating myself in the process.
Or maybe it was because I was too much of a coward, despite it all. But still, with a deep sigh I eventually returned the wand to my pocket —not having cast any spell— and slowly stood back up and resumed my walk down the staircase.
I was still limping, but only slightly, and it seemed to be improving slowly. A quick examination didn't reveal any visible injuries —just a redness on my skin, in the shape of five long fingers— and the burning on my ankle had transformed into more of a dull pain. More tolerable that way.
It helped that getting to the dungeons was the polar opposite of the mad rushes from before: slow and meditative steps; paying more attention to my environments, to the noises around me. Partly because I knew the professors and prefects might be looking into the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, after Riddle's message. But also because I wanted the moment to drag on... I wanted time, before I had to face my housemates. Before I was forced to explain my absence to my friends.
But while I had time, it didn't do me much good, unable to concentrate as I was, walking as if in a trance. And soon enough I found myself in front of the Slytherin common room's secret entrance, spoke the password aloud —'Dominion'— and went through.
I tried to relax my grip on the diary. I was already likely to attract some attention to myself merely by being the last one to arrive to the common room, but it would be no good to also make them wonder why I was trying to hide a notebook from their collective eyes. Misdirection was the name of the game, then.
There were quite a few students hanging around, sitting by the fire or the windows to the lake, all of them busy commenting the events of the night, apparently. Most of them belonged to the older years, but I saw a handful of first and second year students here and there too, including my own circle. I strode towards them, and tried to ignore how the conversations died in my wake, how they all went silent the moment their eyes landed on me. Even Prefect Farley gave me an unnerving, pensive look, opting not to confront me directly this time.
Only one person spoke aloud, though not to me: one of those girls who liked hanging around the Carrow twins. She said: "What about her? Do you think–?"
"Don't be daft," interrupted one of the twins, Flora or Hestia, I could never tell them apart. "She's only a half-blood."
And yeah... that benefited me, actually. I'd rather people suspect Malfoy, or pretty much anybody else other than me. If they thought only a pure-blood could possibly be Slytherin's heir, well... that would only protect me from any unwanted attention.
Not all attention, though, because while many of my housemates returned to their gossiping, I could still feel Zabini's gaze burning a hole in the back of my head. And he wasn't the only one. I pretended not to notice as I sat next to Perks. I also pretended I didn't see the way Tracey frowned at the sight of me.
"What's the matter?" I asked to the girls, acting all innocent. "What did I miss?"
That seemed to be a faux-pas, because Tracey suddenly went very rigid. Then she stood up without looking at me and said to the other girls: "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
She didn't wait for a reply, turning around instead and marching straight towards the dorms.
I blinked, surprised at her intensity. "Uhm... did I say anything wrong?"
There was an uncomfortable moment, when none of the two girls responded, both of them waiting for the other to take the leading role. Then Daphne said: "I believe it's more... what you don't say, that she is angry about."
"Like where you were all evening," clarified Perks, helpfully.
I nodded for a moment, unsure as to what to say to that.
"I went to the bathroom, then remembered I still had to pick up this book," I explained after a beat. The good thing was that I was being completely honest, on both counts. Withholding information is not quite the same as lying, is it?
But Daphne's polite, neutral expression as she nodded at me without further questioning told me I hadn't been as convincing as I'd hoped. I blamed Riddle for that: he'd left me shaken, off my game.
Oh, well... things would calm down soon enough, now that I had the book. With the basilisk back under control there would be no more attacks, and in a couple of weeks everybody would be back to normal, including Tracey, Daphne and Perks. They would all think the business with the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin had been just a poor taste prank.
Speaking of which...
"So, what happened?" I asked once more. "Why is everyone so bloody tense?"
There was another pregnant pause, then Perks said: "Somebody killed Mrs. Norris."
"What?!" This time I didn't have to pretend, didn't have to fake the horror and surprise in my voice, the way my hands started trembling once again. "Ah... are you really sure?"
"Yes," added Daphne. "The Headmaster confirmed it. There was also a most impolite message written on the wall, by somebody naming themselves the Heir of Slytherin. It threatened their enemies–"
"Muggleborns," clarified Perks.
"Yes, Muggleborns. It also warned about the Chamber of Secrets being open. It's an old legend of Hogwarts. One I had heard about before, but I couldn't remember the details. Bletchley explained it to us a few minutes before you arrived. Apparently it goes back to Salazar Slytherin..."
I half-listened to her explanation, unsure as to how to respond to all this. The revelation that Mrs. Norris... that... well, it simply didn't feel real. My mind rejected it, didn't want to believe it, despite what I already knew about the threads of fate and the dangers of foretelling. Somehow, I was still sure tomorrow morning Dumbledore would announce to us that the cat was simply petrified; and of course he would, how could he not? Just wait for this strange evening to end, wait for tomorrow's dawn to come and put everything back into place.
Back into order. Back to how it should be, just like I remembered from my fore-memories.
"... and Filch was beside himself," the blonde girl continued. "He even pushed Harry Potter against a wall, and had to be restrained by the Headmaster... I would suggest you don't use any of those Weasley joke items for a while, Sylvia, at least not until he calms down."
"He thought it was Potter?" At least that seemed within the plot line.
"He was already there in the crime scene, when everybody arrived to discover Mrs. Norris' body," replied Perks, nodding. "He and Granger and Ron Weasley. Dumbledore took them away to interrogate them."
"To punish them, one would hope," interrupted Malfoy, escorted by his two thugs and with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott next to him, as they all walked by our side on their way towards the boy's dorms. "Murdering the caretaker's cat in cold blood; now that's a new low, even for that lot!"
"You can't really believe it was Potter," commented Nott.
Draco shrugged and moved on, but it was Blaise who replied: "You have to admit it's quite suspicious, how they missed the entire Feast." Then, he paused to look straight at me, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. He nodded and said: "Goodnight, Sarramond."
"Uhm. 'night."
He smirked, then walked away to follow his dorm mates. I endured the girls' silent stare for a few more beats, before the awkwardness grew so large that I too stood up and announced: "I think I'm also going to bed."
They remained behind, then, to talk about me or something, I guessed. But yeah, no need to worry yet, it would all certainly go back to normal by the morning. Or in a couple of days at most.
I entered our dorm to discover Tracey's four-poster's curtains were already closed, even when the room's lights were still on —Bulstrode and Parkinson up and going through their respective bedtime routines. It was almost like a cloth fortress, as if Tracey had wanted to separate herself from the rest of the world. From me.
Well, that I could respect, at least. I'd done the same thing that one day last year, after all. And so I simply opened my own trunk and placed Riddle's diary deep into it, right next to my own notebook of future prophecies. Then, after a moment's indecision, I separated both books so that they wouldn't be touching each other.
Just in case.
I extracted my pyjamas, changed into them, and stored my robes before latching the trunk closed once more, Horcrux inside. And yeah, I wished I had somewhere safer at hand to contain it —like a Gringotts vault— but this would have to do in the meantime. Leaving it lying around in some hidey-hole where any enterprising student could find it by accident would simply be too irresponsible.
I would have to trust the enchantments on my trunk and its brand new padlock would suffice to keep it safe. And that it would be far enough from my head for it to be able to affect me indirectly. I'd thought about acquiring some sort of lead-lined box to put it inside of, or the magical equivalent to that —the box's material would not matter, after all, only that it be charmed to constrain powerful magical effects within its walls. But the Room of Requirement hadn't been helpful there, it being too specific an item, and crafting one myself was beyond my meagre skills as a novice enchanter.
So yeah, the trunk would have to do. I didn't think it would put me at risk, though, not really. After all, I didn't plan on doing anything as stupid as writing on the diary.