I regretted it immediately, casting that spell. And not only because of the obvious: the fear of getting caught. A fear that manifested itself the moment that I left Healer Cross' office behind and started my descent back to the waiting room below; steadily growing with every nurse and healer that I crossed paths with —and that I couldn't help but wonder if they knew what I'd just done— or with every patient that my imagination turned into Aurors in disguise, hot on my trail, ready to ambush me and cart me off to Azkaban. And more importantly, with the doubts about whether I should have taken the time to remove all traces of my info from Cross's parchments —it would have taken too long— or if I should have done something about that Trueguise Scope.

It was too expensive an object for me to simply destroy or steal —somebody would certainly notice its absence, wouldn't they?— but its very presence in his office also risked reawakening Cross's curiosity. I had done my best to remove the emotion, as the late Lockhart taught me, but there was always the very real possibility that seeing it again in his cabinet would have him question why he'd seen fit to order such a thing in the first place.

And then there was Snape, of course, who was there to pick me up right on the hour —as if he'd been waiting behind the corner counting down the minutes, for greater dramatic effect— and who was possibly the most dangerous threat of all, with his uncanny way of simply sniffing the guilt off people, however it was that he did it. As if being a legilimens wasn't enough.

But no alarms sounded, no Aurors chased me, no indignant Healer Cross came running down the stairs, and my Head of House was too hurried about getting back to Hogwarts to notice the tortured expression I was sure was written on my face —my fake, wooden mask of a face. He accepted my curt 'he said I'm good' without further questioning, sequestering himself into his man-cave the moment we arrived back at the school.

But the real regret would come later, when I was finally on my own again in a Hogwarts that felt larger that ever —as if I was suddenly so very small, so very young again. It would grow and fester over the following days as our exams finally arrived, while I pretended to study —my eyes running again and again over the same sentence of my History of Magic textbook, but the meaning never registering, my brain too preoccupied to care about twelfth-century crises caused by lost Goblin gauntlets.

It had to do with a single emotion, one I'd felt back at Healer Cross's office, but that I'd ignored at the time. It had been wrapped and suffocated by the entire whirlwind of emotions that the reveal had unleashed on my mind. But underneath all that, underneath all that fear and chaos, there had been something else: there had been relief.

Not at the discovery, at what I'd learnt about my origins and what exactly I was —no, that was terrifying. But at the fact that for my entire life —ever since that fated day when I turned seven— I'd been keeping secrets. Secrets about my nature, my fore-knowledge, my uncanny abilities... secrets about my very identity, my origins and the core of who I was. I'd been carrying this load for so bloody long that I'd grown accustomed to it, to the point I didn't even notice it anymore. It was just the way life was; the way this life was.

And then Healer Cross had gone and lifted it off my shoulders —not all of it, not even the largest chunk of it; but just enough. Enough that I'd felt the change, the sudden relief of not having to hide what I was, of not having to worry about someone figuring out my lies, discovering the truth. Because at fucking last, someone had figured it out.

I had felt seen, then. Unexpectedly, I wasn't alone with my secrets anymore. And not only that, but he had gone and sided with me. With the strange outsider to this world, this forgery of a girl who shouldn't exist here, this... freakish thing. He'd seen what I was, and he'd decided to help me anyway. Not despite that, but because of that.

Because somebody had done this to me.

Odd, that a simple statement could mean so much. It meant that it wasn't my fault, after all. I discovered there was a world of difference between being cursed, and someone having cursed you. The latter shifted the blame, the responsibility onto them. It exonerated me.

Because somebody had done this to me. The question of course, being: 'who?'

And I'd been tempted then, to let him walk through that door, call the Ministry and escalate the matter further. It was soothing, the idea that I would have been listened to. That the Ministry's Aurors would have understood me to be the victim, and hunted down those responsible. That all of them —Dumbledore as well— would have been my allies, my protectors and helpers, and would have poured their minds and resources into finding an answer to the mystery of my existence.

For a moment, I'd glimpsed a world in which I could just be, without having to keep all these walls and shields around my soul —my tampered-with soul— always protecting my real nature and the truth of what I was. And maybe, if I was really lucky... a world in which I could simply exist like a leaf on the wind, not having to fight against the threads of destiny, fate or what-have-you all on my own. Let them care about saving or not saving wizarding Britain for once, about murderous psychopaths coming back from the grave. Let them do it. It was their world, after all, not really mine.

Let me rest instead. Let me heal. From my death, my loss; from the existential horror that was my rebirth here.

But then I'd said a word, a single word and I'd snuffed out that warm light in an instant. One word, and the burden was back on my shoulders —heavier than ever, thanks to the new knowledge Healer Cross had imparted on me— the walls rising once again to fully encircle my soul. To protect my strange, impossible truth.

Mine; nobody else's.

In a kinder, better world, I would have taken the hand he'd extended to me. I would have accepted his help and allowed him to walk through the door. Maybe I wouldn't have shared my fore-knowledge, sure, but I would have accepted the reveal of my own nature.

But I had my fore-knowledge, it couldn't be helped; and so I knew that this world wasn't as kind as Dumbledore liked to pretend it was. In this world, the Ministry leaked secrets like a sieve; and while I was reasonably certain the Headmaster would side with me and protect me while at Hogwarts, I also knew what the general wizarding population thought about certain kind of beings and their respective half-breeds. To say nothing of the less progressive side of my own house, of Slytherin.

If it was known that I was some sort of fae science experiment gone wrong, I was sure sooner or later they'd go after me for the crime of being such an abomination. Dumbledore's reach, long as it was, it had its limits. It hadn't protected me from Selwyn last year, and it wouldn't protect me by the time Voldemort's supporters took over the Ministry. I'd need to get on the run then, if I didn't want to end my days dissected in some dark dungeon, my organs repurposed into potion ingredients.

So it sounded very reasonable, why I'd had to obliviate Healer Cross. I hadn't had much of a choice, had I?

Except that, even if all of that was true, it wasn't the full truth. No, the full truth was that I'd been fucking terrified.

Perhaps that was the side-effect of keeping all those deep, world-shattering secrets tucked inside me for so long. The need to protect them so ingrained at this point, so instinctive that my reaction was simply unavoidable, a foregone conclusion; the invocation escaping my lips even before my brain had had the time to fully evaluate the pros and cons. Whatever relief could be waiting for me on the other side of that leap of faith, it was completely drowned by the lorryloads of vertigo at the very thought of my secrets getting exposed like that.

But I still could regret it. I could mourn the loss of that other life I could have chosen; the one of a Sylvia who didn't need to lie about who she was.

I almost welcomed the exams, in the end. While my mind wandered at first, reading those textbooks and studying those subjects started to feel... soothing, after a while. Meditative. I realised that they allowed me the opportunity to put my mind away from the existential crisis for a little longer.

And maybe, if I pretended like nothing had changed, it would all start making sense. Maybe in a couple weeks I would stop feeling that overwhelming desire to spend minute after minute simply staring at my face on the girls bathroom's mirror, examining my eyes and hair, looking for subtle cues of the truth hiding beneath the reflected image.

Funny, that even that wish of drowning my woes into academic work was denied to me, when Professor Sprout congratulated me after our Herbology exam, commenting on how much I'd improved since the year started. And it was true: I still disliked her subject, but in the days leading to the exam the inhabitants of the greenhouses and I had reached a kind of understanding, a truce of sorts. Where I had once felt peeved and annoyed at having to work with them, there was now only a forlorn resignation. As if my new knowledge —my true nature— made impossible to keep getting truly annoyed at the plants, when I knew most of what I felt was nothing but the spillover effects of a magical ritual.

Of course, Sprout assumed it was all thanks to her stupid remedial lessons. But whatever; at least the Giraffe wouldn't get on my case about my grades. Small mercies.

"What is it, then? It's not that long of a letter," commented Daphne, taking me back to the present. Our last breakfast at Hogwarts.

I rose my gaze from the parchment I'd just received. Teegee was still hopping about the Slytherin communal table —I'd given him the customary piece of bacon after his flight, of course; but now he was fishing for more, and dangerously approaching the plate of a distracted Sabine Rosier. I shot the owl a warning look, but he totally pretended not to notice me.

"It's from Gringotts!" exclaimed Tracey, reading over my shoulder. "What is it for? I've never got a letter from them. I have a vault of my own, but Mom always handles everything."

I said: "It's the balance of my investments in the Muggle markets."

"Not as good as you wished for?" asked Daphne.

I turned the parchment around to show her. "Depends. Ten percent in six months? That's brilliant, as returns go. But with the amount I invested... well, I ended up earning all of nine Galleons. Now I get why they say that you need money to make money."

Because yeah, it wouldn't matter if I knew which companies would make it big in the future, when the extents of my wealth could accurately be described as 'some spare change'. It was dawning on me that at this rate I wasn't going to become a millionaire until I was in my thirties, at the very soonest. Sucks, I know.

"Ugh... I'll need to wait until we're out of Hogwarts and I land a job for this plan to work," I commented with a resigned shrug. "Then I can use an actual income instead of... or... well, I guess I could get a loan? It'd need to be the Goblins of course; nobody in the Muggle world would let me borrow any money, and–"

Both Sally-Anne —who was by now recovered from her bout of basilisk-induced petrification— and Tracey looked at me with confused expressions; but Daphne said: "Oh, if it's only money that you need, I could talk to my parents about loaning you some."

I blinked, and stared at her for a beat waiting for the punchline. When none came, I clarified: "But... Daphne, I don't mean some money, I mean like... adult amounts of money."

She gave the subtlest of shrugs. "My father is always investing in many ventures started by other wizards and witches: he loans them the money they need to open shops or fund their apprenticeships. And since you are part of my circle, it stands to reason that he'd be willing to fund you as well. But of course, since we are still too young I don't think he'd agree to a very large sum at first. Maybe two or three thousand Galleons. Would that be sufficient for your plan?"

Holy shit.

I gulped. "Um... sure... Daphne. Say... why don't we talk again about this later, once we get on the train?"

Meaning, once I didn't have to witness Zabini's bloody smirk out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm not really looking forward to the train ride today," mused Sally-Anne, her tone slightly irritated as she played with her fork. "It was fun at first, last year; but now it just feels so slow, being stuck in that carriage until evening."

"It's how Muggle travel always feels like," I said, shrugging. "Guess I'm used to it myself."

"Why don't they simply apparate us to London from Hogsmeade, instead?" asked Tracey. "Or they could use portkeys. Mom is always saying it would save parents a lot of time."

"The train is a snake," interrupted Theodore Nott, his gaze lost in his plate of beans on toast.

Which caused all of us girls to fall silent and stare at him in some bewilderment. One, because Nott hardly ever butted in on anyone's conversations —less so ours— and two because... you know, he'd just gone and said that the train was a snake.

"Metaphorically," he clarified, still without looking at us as he traced a circle with his fork. "An ouroboros, the symbol of renewal."

"So is it a ritual, then?" asked Daphne.

He nodded. "Yes. One that benefits only us. Think about it: the train is a manifestation of Slytherin's legacy, and every journey it makes helps to reinforce our house's connection to the school. It transforms the ambitions of dozens of students into good fortune... for Slytherin."

Tracey frowned, looking sceptical: "Does it make that much of a difference?"

"Of course. There is a reason our house is always on top of the others. Every year we end up with the best, most capable students–" I eyed Goyle and Crabbe, who were nodding eagerly at the boy's words. "–and we've won the House Cup more times than any of the other houses." I rose my gaze to the loud red Gryffindor banners dominating the Great Hall. "The rite of passage is always strengthening us. That's why the Board of Governors would never consider replacing it with something like a portkey. Most of them are Slytherins too, so they are in the know."

There was a beat of silence, in which I noticed that the boy's short speech had gathered the attention of everyone around us, first-years included.

Then I said: "Is that the true reason, Nott? Or is this just some rubbish story that your parents told you?"

He reacted at that, sighing softly and muttering "Nevermind" as he rose from the table, leaving behind half his beans and an untouched pastry that Teegee quickly claimed as his own. Daphne frowned at me —just a slight furrowing of her eyebrows, something that might have passed unnoticed on anyone else, but that on the polite and measured girl might as well have been a loud curse at my faux-pas.

I shrugged at her, unapologetic. I was well aware that the Greengrasses liked to play both sides, liked their mixed alliances and their appearance of neutrality, and that she wouldn't appreciate me burning bridges with the scion of another powerful family. But that was another luxury of hers I didn't have: I couldn't be just neutral —that ship had sailed last year. And leaving such obvious Slytherin supremacist rhetoric go unopposed simply rubbed me the wrong way; like I was already losing ground in a battle that I was only vaguely aware I was fighting.

More aware now that I'd been in the past at least, thanks in no small part to the firsties visibly paying more attention to my diatribes. My previous warnings to Draco Malfoy must have seemed prescient, now that his father's short-sightedness had lost him his famed post at the Board of Governors —the blond boy sporting a sullen expression as of late. And so I noticed when Thomas Avery and Sean Higgs perked up at my words, then started to discuss the whole exchange in hushed tones.

But perhaps I hadn't needed to be so harsh. I chalked that to my overall state of being these last days, and made a mental note to assuage Daphne's ego later, hoping that my loud mouth hadn't just cost me two or three thousand Galleons.

Holy shit.

We started filing out soon after that, heading towards the grounds outside and slowly boarding the thestral-led carriages that would carry us to Hogsmeade and the train —sorry, the snake!— station, under the warm glow of the early Summer morning. But before I could follow the girls and step into my carriage, a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned to find Headmaster Dumbledore standing by my side.

"Ah, just the person I was hoping to catch before your departure," he said with a gentle smile, as if he'd just stumbled upon me by pure chance while taking a stroll. "Would you mind sparing a minute of your time for me, Miss Sarramond?"

"Um. Sure," I muttered. With no sunglasses anymore, I simply let my gaze rest onto his robes' detailed embroidery.

And then I waited for the other shoe to drop. Because there was no way this was just a casual chit-chat. Not with Dumbledore, and not after I'd just obliviated an adult —an adult that he personally knew, no less.

Hell, he most likely had contacted Healer Cross right after I left the hospital, inquiring about whatever it was that was off about my magic. Because he had to have clued in, the Headmaster, after Cross' initial diagnosis. And I could almost imagine how that exchange would've gone: "Girl? What girl? No, nobody visited me today, Professor."

Right, not suspicious in the least, no sir. Nothing to see here.

But then he went and surprised me again by saying: "I couldn't help but notice that you have acquired an owl of your own."

I blinked, my eyes drawn to the cage at the back of the carriage. "Teegee? Yes, he was Daphne's Christmas present for me."

He nodded at that. "A fine choice of gift indeed. I'm glad to learn that from now on you will keep in closer touch with your friends during the Summer months. And with myself as well, should circumstances require it. I am after all —as you did well to remind me— your designated representative within the magical community. Therefore, please don't hesitate to pen me a letter should any matter arise that demands the attention of an adult, and that is beyond the scope of the staff at your Residence. For example, should there be a need to revisit Saint Mungo's."

I stilled under his hand, shifting my posture in an awkward shuffle. Was this a jab? A warning of sorts? Was he telling me that he knew —or suspected— of my crime?

I doubted that. If he knew what I'd done, he'd be liable to drag me into his office and interrogate me fully at the very least, rather than simply implying it. He was somewhat tolerant of students testing boundaries, sure; but what I'd done went way beyond childish mischief.

I risked a quick glance at his face nevertheless, letting out my held breath when I didn't see any accusation in his eyes.

Could it perhaps be related to my other visit to Saint Mungo's? The one with Astrid last year? God, stupid Dumbledore; I'd rather he confronted me with whatever it was he actually knew, rather than keep lording it over my head, like we were playing cat and mouse.

"I will; sure," I replied at last, because I realised he was still waiting for my answer.

"Very good, then," he said, smiling as he began to walk away. Then he paused, and turned back to me as if a brand new thought had just hit his noggin. "Oh, I almost forgot: I have arranged a little surprise for you. It will be waiting for your arrival at your Residence. Safe travels, Sylvia."

And with that he departed, leaving me in a confused, dumbfounded state. Which seemed to be as per usual when dealing with him. I shook my head once, clearing the last vestiges of dread at the short exchange, and finally rushed into the waiting carriage, not wanting to tempt chance any longer by standing out there.

It was smooth sailing after that, and soon enough I found myself aboard the Hogwarts Express and on our way back to London, sitting across Daphne and Tracey —both of them gushing over some moving pictures of Shambhala, that one hidden city in the Himalayas. Apparently Daphne would be 'summering' there.

Sally next to me seemed transfixed by the landscape outside the window, her gaze lost in the distance, her whole posture listless and radiating fatigue. One would have taken it as boredom at first blush —especially after her words during breakfast— except that I didn't think that was all there was to it.

No; I suspected the whole experience of being petrified had impacted her deeper than what she was showing us. Gryffindors like Longbottom —and Hermione in the original story— seemed to bounce back from these things, as if there were mere bumps in the road. But Slytherins... we had a different disposition, it turned out.

I figured we tended to linger on setbacks more, dwelling on them from days on end. A side-effect of not always chasing after the next shiny thing. Or of our support networks being... lacklustre in comparison to those of the lions, perhaps.

Whatever the case, Sally had been in a rut ever since she was reawakened, and none of us girls appeared to know what to do about it —other than exchanging worried glances now and then. It didn't help that I'd been busy myself with my own worries and identity crisis.

Or that the faculty, in their infinite wisdom, had decided that those students that had been victims of the basilisk's stare wouldn't need to take their exams this year. It was probably a well-intentioned measure, as Sally had indeed missed quite a lot of classes by the end of the year, and was lagging behind in many subjects; but it also meant that she was separated from the rest of us that did have exams and had to focus on them.

She followed us into the Library at first, and remained by our side during those endless studying and review sessions at our common room; but eventually she started to drift away. And since she had her own schedule —filled with remedial classes and the like— our diverging scholastic paths meant we spent less and less time together as the days went on, eventually reaching the point where she simply couldn't even take part in our discussions, as we were going over material she hadn't seen at all.

It left her isolated, when I guessed what she most needed was to feel normal again. A sentiment I could empathize with, but that I didn't know how to mend.

Perhaps because I had my own soul-searching to do —somewhat literally— and I couldn't seem to find the energy to deal with someone else's troubles at quite the same time. So instead I spent the trip reading one of the summer books I'd borrowed from the Library: 'True Tales of the Forest Folk' by Isaiah Stinkwood.

I had also grabbed a couple of more... academical books on the fae topic, that were currently safely stowed inside my trunk. But this was the only one I thought I could get away with reading in front of the girls, given that it was just a collection of oral stories, many of them resembling fables.

And being Muggle-raised, it wasn't like this was the first such book I'd read. I was always curious about the true magical nature of our world, and enjoyed digging deeper into matters that still felt fantastical to me. Like those three weeks earlier in the year when I'd been obsessed about vampires and their interactions with Muggles —there had been at least one vampire Pope!

It now served me as cover, as I dug into my secret nature. Not that the book itself was that informative: I'd learnt that fae folk often have hidden names that hold some sort of power over them —although the extents of such power seemed to vary from story to story— and that they were able to create magical bindings with other people simply by stating something three times.

The hidden name thing was true in my case, oddly enough. As if I needed another reason not to reveal my before life, my actual origins to anyone. And as for the magical bindings, the stories weren't that clear about the extents of those effects —they went from minor charms in one tale, to major transfiguration, and in one particular case to something akin to manipulating the very fortunes of an entire lineage of nobles— and while it could be a useful tool in my arsenal, I wasn't sure how to go about experimenting with it, given that I'd need to speak those three statements to someone. And that was likely to raise some eyebrows.

So yeah, not so useful in terms of information, but at least the stories were good at conveying the vibe of these people, their whole shtick. That of a secretive, insular community that wasn't as overtly hostile to humans —and wizards— as others, but that still liked to take advantage of some of them now and then. Not a good look, in other words.

And I was one of them now, I guessed.

Only... no, not really. I might share their nature —or part of it, because I did have a human soul after all, and that seemed like a big difference right there— but there was more to belonging to a community than that, wasn't it? I hadn't been raised by them, didn't know their customs, didn't share their values.

Yes, they might have created me. My body might be akin to theirs, and the blood of one random wizard or witch might be running through my veins —or vines, whatever. But none of them were my family.

No. My true family —just like my true name— existed within my fore-memories. A family I couldn't return to, but that still took precedence in my soul to whomever had been involved with my rebirth here. And in a way, it was a relief. That I could be faithful to the family I remembered. That I didn't have a mother, or a father here, not truly. That my loyalties needn't be divided in that way.

But that didn't mean I couldn't build myself a new, extra family, right?

"You know," I started, lowering the book and taking a look across the compartment, the girls glancing back at me. "I was thinking... we are not just a circle anymore. I mean, not like Malfoy's. After everything that's happened, I feel that we are... actual friends, no?"

"Of course," confirmed Daphne, easily. Tracey hummed in agreement, and after a beat Sally nodded too.

"We are friends," I repeated.

"You just said that," said Tracey, rolling her eyes.

I shrugged, then smirked and said: "We are friends."