The Dream of Serpents' Song

by Aethir

Summary:

Having survived her first year, Adelia wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts. It was safer there, for there she would be out of reach of both Voldemort and the Dursleys. She didn't imagine that a barmy house-elf, a precious snake, and a series of petrification's would prove her wrong, and yet once again she is thrust into the centre of mystery.

It's a good thing she's got faithful friends and an insatiable thirst to protect, and a nifty little diary she found that was definitely written by somebody who was most assuredly brilliant and mad.

Notes:

And here we have the beginnings of the major canon divergences. I hope you enjoy the journey that's coming, and as always, feel free to let me know what you think down below.

Chapter 1: Prologue: Ron's Worries

Summary:

Ron's summer.

Notes:

To Nina, this is for you.

Ron had enjoyed the first few weeks of being home in the Burrow. It was different to Hogwarts, nowhere near as grand or specious, but it was still so very magical. Yet, as the weeks turned and the weather grew finer and summer settled, Ron felt as though there was something very, very wrong.

 

See, throughout the summer he’d had a couple of postcards from Hermione was out in France with her parents. Ron had loved the postcards, had marvelled at how they hadn’t moved but were still so very beautiful. He kept them in the drawer beside his bed and when he found himself missing his friends, he’d take them out and read them again.

 

The problem, however, was that Adelia Potter, his best friend, his first friend had not written a single letter. Ron had written her countless letters, had sent them off with Errol and every time the bird returned with no letter nor a response. Ron was sure the bloody menace was losing them, dropping them as he flew into windows and trees and whatever else was in his way.

 

There was a hopeless, sinking feeling in Ron’s heart as he went to Fred and George’s room. He knocked on the door, didn’t want to walk in if they were in the middle of experiments that their mum would skin them alive for doing. Ron waited and after moment filled with hushed, hissed whispers, George opened the door.

 

“Have you gotten a letter from Adelia this summer?” Ron asked quickly.

 

“Nah. Would have told you if we did. Sent a couple with Errol though, checking in on her but we never got any response.” George admitted, frowning.

 

“Errol’s losing them.” Ron said assuredly. “He has to be. Adelia wouldn’t just not answer.”

 

The twins shared a look and their lips pursed into mirror images of one another. Ron knew what they were thinking, for he himself had been thinking it too. They’d all remembered Adelia’s excitement at Christmas, remembered  the muttered comments about her muggle relatives. More than that, they had seen how Adelia’s uncle had spoken to her at the train station.

 

“Has Hermione?” Fred inquired.

 

Ron shook his head, that hopeless feeling getting worse. He wanted to do something, wanted to see Adelia in front of him to make sure she was alright. Hermione had been worried too, so worried in fact that she’d sent Adelia’s postcards through the muggle post. Yet not once, all summer, had anybody seen Hedwig’s fluffy snow-coloured feathers.

 

“Right.” George moved past Fred. “Follow me.”

 

George led them down to the sitting room. Only Percy was in it, reading through the Daily Prophet like the boring old man he was. Errol was on his perch out by the kitchen window and George plucked the bird into his hand. There was squeak as he went lax, large, clouded eyes staring up at George.

 

“George, why are holding Errol?” Percy asked.

“Because he’s a useless, useless owl and I want him to know that.” George huffed, checking the bird for injuries. “He’s not hurt.”

 

“I should hope not. Put him down, George.”

 

Ron turned to look at his older brother and frowned. Percy had an owl, and Hermes didn’t seem to be as useless as Errol was. No, he never lost any of Percy’s post, and Percy had been sending and receiving quite a lot of it. Ron slunk over the sofa, peered at the cover page of the Prophet and then at Percy.

 

“Yes Ron?” Percy asked, flicking through the pages. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I need to borrow Hermes.”

 

“Why? So George can ruffle his feathers?” Percy inquired drily. “He isn’t here, anyway. He sent the letter to Charlie, remember?”

 

“But we need him.” Ron whined. “Please, Percy. It’s important.”

 

Percy sighed and put the paper down on his lap. He was staring at Ron now and Ron never really liked it when Percy looked at him like that. It reminded him too much of their mum when she knew they’d done something they shouldn’t have and was waiting for them to admit it.

 

But Ron had done nothing wrong.

 

“Adelia hasn’t written all summer. We’ve all sent letters; Hermione has sent letters and postcards and we’ve heard nothing.” Ron admitted mulishly. “And we just wanted to see if she was alright. That maybe Errol lost the letters, so she wasn’t getting them, and the muggles well… they’re horrible.”

 

Percy was silent for a moment. Fred and George had joined them now. Beyond their kitchen window Ginny was helping Mrs. Weasley pluck potatoes and carrots from the earth for their dinner. The silence seemed to stretch and then Percy sighed.

 

“You can borrow him when he gets back.” Percy decided.

 

“Wait, really?” Ron hadn’t been expecting that. Not at all. “I thought-.”

 

“Contrary to certain people’s opinions.” Percy cast a cutting look to Fred and George. “I’m not a… what did you call me, Fred?”

 

“A perfect poncey prat.” Fred said cheerily.

 

“Yes. That.” Percy clucked his tongue with a withering glare that chilled Ron. “I’ll tell you when Hermes gets back.”

 

“Thanks Percy.” Ron grinned, but then he remembered that Hermes was a nippy thing who seemed to only like Percy. “Eh, you’ll be there, right? I like my fingers attached.”

 

“Fine. Hermes is a prideful thing, isn’t he?” Percy hummed to himself, looking back to the paper. “Oh, fake pewter cauldrons found in Diagon. How delightful.”

 

“I don’t think Hermes is the only prideful thing, do you, Freddie?” George asked, elbowing his twin.

 

“No, Georgie. Only difference I can see is that Percy doesn’t bite people.” Fred replied.

 

“Charlie would beg to differ.” Percy said eerily from behind the paper.

 

Fred, George and Ron retreated. Sometimes Percy was really odd, and though Ron knew Fred and George didn’t like Percy all that much (even if they did love him) Ron never really knew where he stood. He remembered when he was younger and missing Bill and Charlie after they’d left for Hogwarts, it’d been Percy who had read their letters to him over and over again and never complained once.

 

The other thing Ron remembered was the troll. He remembered Percy afterward and how he could hardly move without those cold, icy eyes on him and at the time he hated it. It had been his dad who had set him straight, after Mrs. Weasley had finished crying over the entire troll thing.

 

“He followed you to keep you safe, Ron, because he was terrified that something could have happened. Percy isn’t like you, or Fred or George, or Bill and Charlie, or even Ginny, but never think that he doesn’t love you.”

 

“But he, he’s Percy.” Ron had whined. “He’s always so cold and distant.”

 

“I think.” Arthur began. “That Percy hides his hurts, so he doesn’t hurt us. Foolish boy, I wish he didn’t.”

 

“It’s because of the war, isn’t it? But Bill and Charlie…”

 

“Were older. The remembered the light before the dark but Percy didn’t. It was different then, so, so different. But Ron, don’t badger Percy about it, alright? His reasons are his own, and when -if- he’s ready, he’ll talk to us.”

 

Ron had accepted that, even if he didn’t like it. He wanted to tie Percy to a chair and question him, he wanted answers. But his dad had been so soft when he’d said it, his own aching melancholy so raw and vulnerable. Ron knew if he told Fred and George that they would scoff and shrug, or they’d do what their dad didn’t want and badger Percy.

 

And Ron knew if that happened then the argument that followed, the hurt that followed, would never scar over but rather exist as a fetid scab that would get picked at and picked at until something was bled dry.

 

Ron didn’t want that to happen, because as much as he envied his brothers, as much as he didn’t like them sometimes, he loved them so much that the thought of a fracture cut him deeply.

 

So, Ron didn’t push, but he did slink into the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley and Ginny came through the back door with a few baskets floating behind them. He set himself at the sink and washed the muck off the potatoes and carrots and Ginny chatted excitedly about the upcoming owls from Hogwarts, their mother humming along and waited patiently for Hermes to come back from Romania.

 

**

 

It took three days.

 

Hermes flew through the open door, his dark wings flaring before he settled on Percy’s shoulder. The demon bird clacked his beak, letter tied to its leg. Percy huffed out an amused sound and plucked a piece of pudding from his plate and fed it to the owl before he snagged the letter. It was passed down the table to where Mrs. Weasley and Arthur were sitting.

 

Ron eyed Hermes greedily, though he shrunk back when luminous orange eyes, as orange as the Weasley’s hair, turned to him. He turned his attention back to his breakfast, and it was only when they cleared away the plates did Ron realise that he didn’t even have a letter written to send.

 

Well, that wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d written three and each one of them was wrong. Ron didn’t think Adelia would appreciate the simpering concern that the letters carried, no Ron’s best friend preferred the direct approach, but he couldn’t very well write Hello Adelia, are the muggles treating you horribly? Is that why you’ve not been writing? Please don’t kill them.

 

Or maybe he could. Adelia had, after all, laughed in You-Know-Who’s face, had stopped Quirrell from getting the Philosopher’s Stone through sheer spite and sarcasm. She could have given him the Stone, You-Know-Who had even offered her clemency, but she’d refused. Ron didn’t dare put that in a letter, however, not if the muggles were the ones keeping them from her. They didn’t know to know about what happened in Hogwarts, Adelia had told them how they’d hated magic and hated Hogwarts for teaching it, how they’d tried to stop her from ever attending…

 

No, if they knew that, then they might just stop Adelia from returning and Ron couldn’t let that happen. Adelia deserved to learn the magic that Ron sometimes took for granted because it had long ago lost it whimsical delight for magic had been his constant. Magic was threaded into every inch of the Burrow, surrounded them all in soft warmth that reminded Ron of his mother’s jumpers.

 

“Write your letter, Ron.” Percy appeared beside him, and Ron startled because he still had the bloody bird on his shoulder. “We’ll send Hermes after lunch. Do you know where Adelia lives?”

 

“Surry.” Ron said. “Little Whinging, I think.”

 

“Perfect. Just write the one, I’ve to talk to mum and dad.”

 

Ron nodded, watched as Hermes flew from Percy’s shoulder and settled on Errol’s perch. The older owl made a noise and Hermes chirped and nipped at a loose feather pulling it free. Ron rather thought that Hermes was the perfect owl for Percy: Cold and off standish but if you needed help, he’d be there.

 

As he turned to the stairs, Ron looked back and saw his parents and Percy, and he wondered what his brother was saying because his parents’ lips flatted into concerned frowns.

 

Retreating to his room, Ron pulled out a half-chewed quill and a pot of ink and snagged a piece of unused parchment. He stared at it for a long while and then he started writing. It was nothing like the other letters he composed but it was perhaps the best of them. in the end he read over it, waiting for the ink to dry before he folded it into the envelope that was waiting.

 

Hullo Adelia,

 

This is the twelfth letter I’ve written you all summer and I still haven’t heard anything back. I hope everything is alright and that it isn’t because of what happened at the end of the year. Mum and dad have said you can come whenever you like, just send us a date and we’ll pick you up.

 

I’m worried, Adelia. This isn’t like you. Hermione’s worried. Fred and George are worried too. They even told me that Oliver Wood’s been onto them. Merlin, even Percy’s worried (he gave us Hermes because we’re convinced Errol our ancient owl is losing our letters on the way to you).

 

If you get this letter, or even if you see Hermes and can’t get it from him, send it back. We’ll know then, and we’ll come and get you.  I hope everything is alright and it’s just Errol being stupid and not something worse.

 

Your best friend,

Ron Weasley.

 

Ron refused to listen to the silken whisper that taunted his mind. He refused to hear the words it spoke. If he thought about it, if he lent it any notion of credence then it would consume him. Voldemort had been scared off by Dumbledore, Adelia had told Ron and Hermione that herself. There was so way he could have found her now way her could have…

 

No. No don’t think about it Ron. Don’t think about it. Adelia’s fine. He didn’t get her. She’s fine.

 

Ron read the letter again before he placed it into the envelope. He wrote Adelia’s name and what he knew of her address onto the front of it just to be safe. He waited until the afternoon to knock on Percy’s door and his brother called him in, irritated somewhat by the ruckus Fred and George were making in their own room.

 

Percy’s room was different to than Ron’s, different to the organised mess of the twins’ and the bright, pale colour of Ginny’s. Percy’s room was like something out of a penny dreadful: dark and oppressive and crammed full of second-hand books and loose sheafs of parchment. Sunlight streaked across the wall opposite the open window, painting with rich navy hues. Percy, however, was sitting on his bed and didn’t look well at all.

 

Ron wondered what had happened in just a few short hours.

 

“Perce?” Ron called, watching as his brother flinched as though Ron had screamed. “Are you alright? I-I’ve got the letter.”

 

“I’d be better if those two kept the explosions to non-existent.” Percy said as he hefted himself up and to the window where he whistled shrilly, wincing as he did so. Hermes appeared in a heartbeat. “Good boy. You’re going to deliver this to Adelia Potter in Little Whinging, Surrey. Come back if you can’t deliver it to her directly.”

 

Hermes hooted and popped out a taloned leg for Ron to attach the letter to. The moment Ron had tied it around his dark leg, the owl was gone in a prideful flaring of dark wings. Percy then retreated back to the bed, but Ron lingered for a moment.

 

“Why’d you ask him to bring it back if he couldn’t give it her?”

 

“A theory.” Percy shrugged. “Have you started your summer homework yet, Ron? None of the teachers will be forgiving if you don’t have it done.”

 

“Hogwarts is ages away.” Ron grumbled, heading to the door. “You’ve gotten yours done though, of course you have. That’s why you’ve been shut up in here all summer.”

 

“I didn’t have any.” Percy said simply.

 

That confused Ron even more. What was Percy doing, hiding up in his room, if not for his homework?

 

Ron huffed, returned to his room and lay back on his bed staring at his trunk at the end of it. He hadn’t looked at it since he’d returned home, and his mum had taken his uniform and wand like she did with all of them. Percy was the only one allowed to keep his, because apparently, he was trusted to not break the law unlike Ron and the twins. It was a bit unfair really.

 

**

 

Hermes returned the letter unopened, and Ron felt the panic truly set in.

 

Fred and George weren’t as bad as him, not in the least, but Rom recognised the crinkling of their eyes for what it was. He wanted to go to his mum and beg her to go and check, beg her to believe that it hadn’t just been Quirrell that had tried to steal the Stone but You-Know-Who too. But Ron didn’t know if she would believe him, didn’t know if she’d act the same way McGonagall did.

 

Ron knew his uncles had died because of the war; knew they had died in the very room he sat in now as he listened to the wooden wireless. Maybe, maybe his mum would believe him. Or maybe his dad could check, he worked in the Ministry, surely, he’d be able to find out where Adelia lived so they could at least see if she’d alright.

 

Percy, it seemed, was the only one that wasn’t outwardly concerned. Ron didn’t know why and when he asked Percy’s eye twitched in the way it did when he was frustrated, and he had simply said:

 

“It’s a mailing re-direct ward. The whole school knows what happened, Ron, or the truth we were told. Imagine the number of letters being sent to the Girl-Who-Lived after doing something like that.”

 

And alright, Ron conceded that made sense. Yet he still shouldn’t shake the paranoia that the reason Adelia had replied had been because she wasn’t able to because she was…

 

No. Ron refused to entertain that thought, banishing it as swiftly as it came.

 

But then four days before Adelia’s birthday, Arthur Weasley came home from work later than usual. He was red in the face, and he had looked at his wife, and then at his sons and daughter and went to speak, and though the words soothed Ron’s fears that his best friend had been dead, they sent another dribble of fear down his spine.

 

“Adelia wouldn’t do magic outside of Hogwarts.” Ron protested, Fred and George chiming out their agreement. “She wouldn’t risk it. She wouldn’t risk getting expelled.”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ron.” Arthur sighed. “The letter was sent out tonight, I tried to see what it was about, but it isn’t my department.”

 

“The only reason Adelia would do magic is if she was in trouble.” Ron continued on as though his father hadn’t spoken. “What if… what if.”

 

“What if what, Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked, peering at him.

 

“What if she’s hurt?”

 

“I’ll make inquires in work.” Arthur promised. “See if I can find where she lives. Your mum and I will handle it, Ron.”

 

And Ron wanted so very badly to believe him, but his dad was already bogged under in work. He’d heard Arthur talking about night-time raids and overtime to get Ginny her school things and Ron made a decision. He made the same mad decision Adelia had when she had planned to steal the Stone just weeks ago.

 

They can’t hurt what they don’t have.

 

Adelia’s birthday wasn’t far away, they all knew it. Everybody in the Wizarding World knew when she’d been born, everybody knew where her parents died… Adelia had told him that she learned that she was a witch on her birthday and what better way to bring her back to the people she belonged with than on that very same day?

 

The plan formed in Ron’s mind. He couldn’t go on his own, but Fred and George would come with him, he knew that. He didn’t even have to ask them, not really. Ron knew his parents would lose their minds if they found out, but it didn’t seem to matter in that moment. All that mattered was getting Adelia from the muggles and back to the Burrow.

 

So, at half twelve at night, Ron, Fred and George Weasley slunk down the creaking steps of the Burrow’s many staircases and went to the enchanted Ford Anglia their dad had been working on in the garage. The three of them got into it, Ron in the back, Fred and George up front.

 

They headed toward the road in silence, and once they were there, they would take to the skies in the flying car and head to Number Four Privet Drive. The only reason Ron knew that had been Hermione who had written it on the postcards she’d sent Adelia throughout the summer.

 

“Did you even bother to leave mum a note?” Three terrified shrieks sounded in the silence, and they all turned to the sound of the voice. There, in the back of the car, was Percy and not one of them had seen them as they made their midnight break. “It’s alright, I did.”

 

Chapter 2: A Strange Warning

Summary:

Adelia meets a new friend and a rather odd little fella named Dobby.

Notes:

It's my birthday so I said I'd give you all a gift. I hope you enjoy 💕💕💕

Adelia sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that summer. In her room in the Dursleys’ house there was nothing except for Hedwig’s cage. Her poor girl was hooting sadly, amber eyes awash with melancholy as she stared at Adelia. Adelia had scarcely been allowed to wander as she used to be, the Dursleys afraid that she would make a mockery of their name in a show of freakishness, and Hedwig wasn’t even allowed of her cage.

 

Adelia had begged and pleaded, had promised Vernon and Petunia anything to let the poor owl out of her cage, to let her fly and hunt but they had refused. They’d been worried about that the neighbours might thing about an owl flying around.

 

More than that though, they had been worried that Adelia might contact some of her freaky friends.

 

Her friends… yes, they were a rather tender spot. None of them had written despite their promises to do so, and Adelia did not think Hermione’s parents or Ron’s were like the Dursleys. No, when they had spoken of their mothers and fathers it had been with unadulterated love.

 

It had taken Adelia a while to get over the flaring jealousy she felt every time it happened.

 

It wasn’t their fault her parents were dead. No, that rested solely on Voldemort’s head, as withered and horrified as it had been when she’d seen it. Adelia had spent many a day waiting to see if he’d poop out of the shadows and try to claim her life, or if one of his followers could come and try to finish the job on their master’s behalf.

 

If they did come, there would be nothing Adelia could do. There was no way to free Hedwig from her padlocked cage, no way to free her wand from the boot cupboard that had once been her bedroom. Vernon had the key to both of them hidden away, for the first thing he had done when they’d arrived back from King’s Cross had been to lock them all up ever mind Adelia’s protests.

 

What did they care about her falling behind on her summer homework? What did they care about the scathing rant from Oliver Wood that no doubted awaited Adelia in Hogwarts when she got back because she hadn’t been training? Nothing. It meant nothing to them. They would have preferred if magic had stayed in books.

 

But Adelia didn’t care for their preferences. She’d swore to herself a year ago that she would be free, and now she was a prisoner to the mundane. She had nothing to connect her to the Wizarding World, had no idea what the fallout form Quirrell’s attempt to steal the Stone had been…

 

Nor had she heard from Nicholas Flamel like Dumbledore had told her she would. Adelia got the sense that something was very, very wrong. Had Voldemort found another way to come back? Was he hunting her down at that very moment?

 

It was such a lovely thought for her twelfth birthday but in the end, what did it matter? It wasn’t like the Dursley’s ever remembered it, and they surely didn’t now because Vernon was rabbiting on like a madman about the biggest deal of his rather boring career.

 

Honestly, who cared about drills? Mr. Mason apparently.

 

“And girl, where will you be?” Vernon demanded staring at Adelia with hate. “Well?”

“In my room, making no noise and pretending I don’t exist.” Adelia replied drily. “You should probably let Hedwig out, otherwise I’m sure the Masons would love to meet her.”

 

“And let you contact those freaky friends of yours? Do you think me a fool girl? No. You’ll keep that ruddy owl silent if you know what’s good for you.”

 

Vernon’s face had flushed red in anger, or it could have been his high blood pressure, Adelia wasn’t sure. She nodded in the face of his threat, for it had hardly been the first one she’d heard directed at herself and Hedwig since she arrived back in the house. It seemed that in the year she’d been gone the Dursleys’ had found a way to get worse.

 

She dipped out to the garden when Vernon left, sunk to her knees dew-soaked grass. Hedwig needed food and Adelia would do whatever she needed to see her owl well. Adelia had gone without many a part of her meagre dinner in order to see Hedwig fed and she would do so. The summer could only drag on so long before she was returned to Hogwarts’ hallowed halls, before she had her friends…

 

No. No there is a reason they have not written. Maybe it isn’t safe… they wouldn’t just forget my birthday.

 

Adelia’s fingers curled around the loose soil of the flower bed in search of worms and spiders that Hedwig could feast upon. When she looked in through the window, all she saw was Petunia by the sink, washing the breakfast dishes. No doubt sometime soon Adelia would be confined to her bedroom, locked in like a prisoner, so she did not sully the normality of the house with her freakishness.

 

She needed to feed Hedwig no matter the cost. Words wriggled in her hand, three of them tapered red and white. It was nothing, nothing at all like the feasts that Hedwig was used to in the Hogwarts owlery. Her girl was as caged as Adelia was, but somehow it was much, much worse. Hedwig should be soaring through the skies and carrying letters filled with pointless joy that was spread between children bound in tragedy and blood……

 

They wouldn’t have abandoned her. No. They wouldn’t have. If Hermione and Ron were to abandon her it would have been long ago, back when the school hated her, before her bid to steal the Stone and everything that came after it. There was a rustle, the same sound Voldemort had made as the cloak he’d worse twisted over the leaves and branches of the Forbidden Forest and Dumbledore had been wrong. Voldemort was back, he was here…

 

“Where are my mice?”

 

Adelia fell backward, away from the sibilant hiss. It reminded her far too much of Voldemort’s laughter and she hated it. She was sure she was going mad, was sure that there was some lingering effect from being so close to the thing that had murdered her parents.

 

“Food.”

 

“Who’s there?” Adelia demanded ni spite of the terror that blossomed in shades of ice, words distorted and distant. “Who’s there?”

 

“A speaker? How rare. I am down here, speaker.”

 

Adelia’s eyes travelled down the blooming rose bush and she gasped, for there lay a snake, its scales glittering like crushed emeralds and obsidian. It peered up at her much like the snake in the Zoo had done a year ago. Adelia regarded it curiously, fingers itching to reach out and touch…

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“My lake has few frogsss and I am hungry.” The snake replied as though that was obvious. “I hunt mice now.”

 

“Are there many about? My owl is hungry.”

 

The snake hissed out a terrified sound and seemed to slink into the underbrush even further. The snake’s tongue lashed out, tasing the air. Adelia stilled her fingers in the muck and waited for the sing of pain that would inevitably come. The snake was small, and there were no venomous snakes in England, she knew that, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

 

“She’s locked up.” Adelia whispered trying to calm the scared snake. “She cannot hunt. I need to feed her.”

 

“You care for the winged hunter who cannot hunt?” The snake inquired, confused hisses pulled long and scratching. “Why?”

 

“She’s my friend.”

 

“You are kind-hearted, speaker. You are a good den-mother.” The snake’s head slipped around a fallen rose and once again its tongue came out. “But why are you on your knees. You are a wizard.”

 

“How do you know I’m a witch?”

 

“You are speaking the noble tongue of serpents, only wizards may speak it.”

 

Adelia fell back on her haunches. Could wizards talk to animals? No, surely Hagrid would have mentioned it, or maybe one of the others. Why would it just be snakes she could speak to? Hedwig always understood her well enough, but it was always expressed through blinks and hoots rather than twisted words.

 

She looked down at the snake, at the earthworms on her hands and made a decision. Hedwig came first, would always come first. Watching the snake curiously, Adelia opened her palm and pressed her knuckles into the moist soil. The snake hissed questioningly but Adelia urged it forward.

 

“Take them. It is not much, but take them.” Adelia said. “And bring me a rat in return.”

 

“I will do this for you speaker.” The snake hissed. “If you give me sanctuary.”

 

“You don’t want to stay here, believe me.”

 

“Not here. You. The weather will grow cold, and I have no den mates to warm me, no eggs to guard. I am… alone.”

 

And any resolve that Adelia may have felt in denying the snake crumbled. It was a curling thing, scarcely a meter long and the thickness of Adelia’s wrist. She watched as the snake devoured the earthworms and the ants that wandered about the soil and their bargain was struck.

 

Bargaining with a snake, what has my life become?

 

“I know what day it is.” Dudley’s grating voice sang, and Adelia urged the snake away from them with a hiss. “I know what day it is.”

 

“You finally learned to read?” Adelia questioned waspishly. “Maybe Smeltings is worth the price.”

 

“It’s your birthday.” Dudley cackled delightfully. “And nobody cares, not even those freak friends in that freak school of yours."

 

“Best not let your mum hear you talking about Hogwarts.” Adelia reminded. “Or do. Maybe then she’ll take your food off you and you might be able to sit on the chair properly.”

 

“What’re you doing to mum’s rosebush?” Dudley demanded, his bravado lost

 

Talking to a snake. I wish it was bigger so it’d bite you. But no, if Adelia said that, the Dursleys would do Merlin knew what to not only Adelia, but the poor snake and Hedwig too. Their cruel and sharp words would transform into the ravenous pain of hunger, the itch of dehydration. She’d been so good since she came back but here and now Dudley was about to ruin it all.

 

“Thinkin’ about setting it one fire.” Adelia turned glittering green eyes on him. “I have a reputation to maintain, you know?”

 

Dudley fell backwards with a whimper and Adelia huffed out an amused snort. He scrambled away, but there was some part of his that was morbidly curious beneath the fear of magic. Adelia turned back to the rosebush, to the snake underneath who was hissing out its own humour. It wasn’t like she could actually do magic, if she did, she’d never get back to Hogwarts and then she’d be stuck.

 

“D-dad s-said you’re not allowed to do m-magic. He said he’d chuck you out.”

 

“Hocus pocus.”

 

Dudley screamed and ran into the kitchen, ran to the safety of his mother who came out brandishing the frying pan as though it was her only defence. Petunia knew she couldn’t do magic, didn’t she? Or had she forgotten in the interim?

 

It didn’t matter. The snake hissed as the frying pan whacked the side of Adelia’s head and the world spun, her yes blurred and ears ringing. Tears welled in her eyes at the sudden bite of pain, made worse when Petunia shrieked…

 

The snake had bitten her ankle.

 

“Get inside girl, no food for you until the house is spotless.” Petunia raged, though she looked stricken.

 

Adelia nodded numbly. That had been the first time that somebody other than Dudley had actually hurt her, had actually raised a hand against her. It stung, not of betrayal, but rather of fear. The first time had come to pass, and now there was nothing stopping a second and so many more from following.

 

Adelia kept her head down for the rest of the day, well into the evening. The headache that blossomed behind her eyes, the hot pulsing flesh of her temple, they were only made worse by the scent of bleach and chemicals. Petunia had been true to her monstrous word, there wasn’t a crumb of food, or a drop of water send Adelia’s way as she dusted and polished and washed and swept.

 

As dusk fell, Adelia slipped back out into the garden under the guise of emptying the bucket of sudsy water into the shore. She found the snake in the rosebush again, a fat grey mouse dead in front of it, its own stomach distended from its own meal. Adelia picked up the dead mouse and shoved it into her pocket, thinking of how though she may go hungry, Hedwig wouldn’t.

 

“I will come, speaker.” The snake declared. “There is magic in the air. You will need a protector.”

 

Adelia didn’t think that a common grass snake would be much defence against whatever magic lingered in the air. She didn’t understand it, Privet Drive was the most mundane place in the world, so abjectly normal, what magic could be about? Was the snake simply recognising her own scent?

 

“Come.” Adelia knelt and splayed her hand in the grass. “Do not be seen. They will not be kind.”

 

“I will bite them.” The snake was coiling around her arm, cold and slick and hidden beneath her jumper. “My fangs are small but mighty.”

 

Adelia hummed and grasped the empty bucket. Inside was covered in newspaper, a pathway for her filthy freakishness to walk so she did not disturb the twisted sense of perfection. Petunia was already dressed for the dinner, and she avoided Adelia as though she had the plague, pointing to two slices of hard bread and piece of cheese. Adelia, starving, wolfed it down as though it was one of Hogwarts’ fine feasts.

 

“Remember girl.” Vernon whispered threateningly as he squeezed her shoulder. “Not a sound out of you or that ruddy owl or there’ll be consequences.”

 

Adelia nodded. Vernon released her with a sneer, but a smile was pulling at his face when he heard a car door open in the distance. Adelia went to her room, the snake hissing at her in confusion, and when she opened the door, Hedwig’s eyes found her instantly. So bright and golden, they seemed to have dimmed in recent weeks.

 

“Shh girl. We have to be quiet, alright?” Adelia whispered, forcing her finger through the cage to smooth down Hedwig’s fluffy feathers. “I have a new friend for you, girl, but you can’t eat him, alright?”

 

Hedwig’s head tilted curiously, and Adelia peeled back the end of sleeve and the snake stuck its head out, tongue flicking. Hedwig’s beak clacked and the snake hissed, retreating with an I’m not food. Adelia huffed and plucked the dead mouse from her pocket and forced it into the bottom of the cage. Hedwig hooted only once and then tore into it.

 

Adelia heard the locks on the outside of her room click shut and knew that she was stuck here. She turned to her bed and took a step back, for there, sitting in a ratty old pillowcase was the oddest thing Adelia had ever seen. Twin bulbous green eyes stared at her; large, twitching ears were pointed at the tip.

 

The silence was strained, tense. It was only broken by the snake’s hissing, by Dudley’s voice offering to take the Masons’ coats as though there was a single kind bone in his body. The creature stared at Adelia, trembling. Then he got off her bed with a noise and bowed so lowly his nose touched the floor.

 

“Hello.” She offered lowly.

 

“Adelia Potter.” The creature squeaked. “For so long has Dobby wanted to meet you. Yes. For so long.”

 

“Who are you, Dobby?” Adelia questioned suspiciously. “And why are you in my bedroom?”

 

 “He is the magic I have tasted. Can I eat him?”

“I’m Dobby, miss. Dobby the house-elf. Dobby wonders where to begin…”

 

“From the start is usually the best.” Adelia said and she moved to sit on her bed, patted the place beside her. “Sit down with me.”

 

That was the wrong thing to say. The house-elf shrieked and burst into tears, very, very loud tears. Adelia heard the conversation from the sitting room falter and she rushed to soothe Dobby, to make amends for any offence she might have caused. Dobby wilted when she placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw the snake’s head that was inches from his own eyes.

 

“Can I eat him?”

 

“You’re alright Dobby, nobody is going to hurt you here, alright? I just, I need you be quiet, please.” Adelia whispered, her eyes on the door.

 

“Dobby has never met such a kind wizard.” Dobby said pitifully and then he was gone, whacking his head against the table. “Bad Dobby. Bad Dobby. Bad.”

“Stop it.” Adelia ordered horrified. “Please. You’re hurting yourself.”

 

“Dobby must punish himself. Dobby nearly spoke ill of his master, miss. Dobby was bad.”

 

“If they have you do this to yourself then they are the bad ones.” Adelia retorted. “How could your family do this to you?”

“Dobby is a house-elf. Dobby has no family but the wizards he serves. Theirs is the family Dobby is bound to serve. When Dobby displeases them, Dobby must punish himself.”

 

“Please don’t hurt yourself Dobby, not because of me.” Adelia pleaded and the snake slithered down her arm and settled on her pillow. “Dobby, please. Just, stop wailing. They’ll come up here.”

 

Dobby peered at Adelia through luminous, watery eyes. he had stopped bagging his head, but he had not stopped sniffling. Adelia didn’t mind, sniffling was easier to deal with. What did bother her, however, was the searing pain behind her eyes, the ringing in her head. It had not stopped, made worse by the phantom strikes of hunger.

 

The room spun.

 

“Dobby is sorry, miss. Dobby is bad. Dobby is sorry.”

 

“Can anybody help you, Dobby?” Adelia asked, clutching the side of her bed as her legs shook. “Can I?”

 

But Dobby’s squeaking voice was lost to the sound of his piercing wails as he tried to explain. “O-Only Dobby’s family can set him free. Dobby will die in their service… Adelia Potter is kind to care about Dobby. So kind. So kind. That is why Dobby…”

 

“Why Dobby what?”

 

“Adelia Potter triumphed over He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Adelia Potter is noble and kind, Dobby heard how she saved Hogwarts. Dobby had heard of Adelia Potter’s greatness and now he knows of her goodness…”

 

“Greatness? I’m hardly that great, Dobby. I’m locked in my room; I’m not even allowed to do my homework. I can hardly feed my owl.” Adelia scoffed. “Even my friends have left me.”

 

“Modest too.” Dobby whimpered. “Dobby heard that Adelia Potter faced down the Dark Lord weeks ago… that Adelia Potter escaped again.”

 

Adelia could only nod because how could he know? Who was the family that he served? Adelia had no clue what to say, and even her little snake friend seemed to be struck dumb over mention of Voldemort’s name. Dobby was crying again, shaking as he peered at her.

 

“Dobby must warn Adelia Potter even if he must shut his ears in the oven later. Dobby knows Adelia Potter is brave and kind and good and that is why Dobby must warn her. Adelia Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.”

“Not go back to Hogwarts? Absolutely not. I don’t belong here Dobby, I don’t. Hogwarts is my home.”

 

“Adelia Potter is too great to lose. No. She must not go back to Hogwarts, not where mortal danger awaits.”

 

Adelia thought of Fluffy and the troll, her cursed broomstick and Voldemort. Danger lurked everywhere, and yet Adelia would take it over the hate of the Dursleys every day. It wasn’t like she was safe here, not if Voldemort was lurking about in the shadows, not the only safe place for her was Hogwarts.

 

Because Hogwarts was where Dumbledore was. Where Ron and Hermione and Hagrid were. Where Lavender and Parvati and Dean and Seamus and Neville were. Where the Quidditch team were, where her life was.

 

“I have to go back.” Adelia protested. “Dumbledore is there. He’s the only one Voldemort’s ever been afraid of.”

“Speak not his name.” Dobby whispered fearfully. “Speak not.”

 

“Sorry, Dobby.”

 

And Dobby fell to his knees screeching because apparently no wizard should ever lover themselves to apologising to a house-elf. Adelia, who’d never even heard of them before, wondered what the hell had been done to the poor things. Or maybe it was just Dobby, he did seem a bit odd…

 

But any thoughts of questions, any want of answers was lost when she heard the stairs creaking. She knew it was Vernon, knew that they must have heard Dobby’s cries down in the kitchen. Adelia hissed at the snake and pointed to her wardrobe and all but pushed Dobby toward it. she glanced at Hedwig was had finished her pitiful meal and was trying to flare her wings s though she sensed danger.

 

Vernon opened the door and thundered toward her, his fat fingers gripping the top of Adelia’s Christmas jumper that Mrs. Weasley had made for her. She silently pleaded for the material to not rip as Vernon glared down at her.

 

“What are you doing? I told you to be silent.” He seethed, breath scented of brandy and gravy. “You ruined my Japanese golfer joke… One more word and you’ll regret ever being born.”

 

And then Vernon was gone, and Adelia rubbed at her neck with a wince. New fire met old and then everything seemed to hurt. Tears bloomed wet and hot along her lashes, scratching at her eyes like a hundred shards of glittering glass. The snake had hissed and reared up, its tiny fangs glinting in the light.

 

“He hurt you. I smell blood.”

 

Adelia fell onto her bed with a sharp breath. There was a creak as Dobby left the wardrobe, a chirp from Hedwig and the sensation of the snake curling around her arm. Adelia was numb to it all. Dobby had said she was great, Ollivander had said so too and yet there she was, crying because everything hurt. Adelia swallowed down the sob, wished for Hermione and Ron and the silken feel of her father’s Cloak so she could just vanish.

 

All she had instead was Dobby.

 

“Do you see now?” Adelia asked, throat hoarse and dry. “I can’t stay here. I have to go back to Hogwarts. It’s where my friends are, where I belong.”

 

“Friends who don’t even write to Adelia Potter?” Dobby said slyly.

 

“Now can I eat him?” The snake questioned with a sibilant drawl. “You taste angry.”

 

Angry? Angry? Adelia was furious. Dobby seemed to understand that, and he shook, and then there was a thick wad of parchment in his spindly grey hands. Adelia recognised Hermione’s writing, Ron’s scrawl and Hagrid’s own. There were other letters too, three or four whose handwriting she didn’t recognise.

 

“Why did you stop my mail, Dobby?” Adelia questioned sharply. “How?”

 

“No post could reach Adelia Potter, miss. It is house-elf magic. Dobby only did it to protect you. To save you.” Dobby whimpered. “Dobby thought if Adelia Potter was lonely, she would not go back.

 

“Give me my letters, Dobby.” Adelia demanded. “Give them to me now. My friends are worried sick! They haven’t heard from me in weeks, and they know what that lot are like. Give them to me, please.”

 

“Dobby will give the letters to Adelia Potter if she promises not to go back to Hogwarts.” Dobby whispered.

 

“Give. Me. My. Letters.”

 

“Adelia Potter has given Dobby no choice. She must not go back to Hogwarts. Dobby is sorry for what he must do.”

 

And then the house-elf was gone, and a locked door was no trouble for him it seemed. Adelia darted after him, jumped the last six steps of the stairs and stuck the landing like a cat with nine-lives. She’d had to thank Oliver for that one if she ever got back to Hogwarts.

 

She peered into the sitting room, the Dursleys were there, the Masons nodding along to Vernon’s words like they actually cared. Adelia careened into the kitchen and all but stumbled back for Dobby was there, hiding atop the cupboard and Petunia’s dessert masterpiece was floating. Her heart sank.

 

“Dobby please. Please. They’ll kill me.”

 

“Promise Dobby that Adelia Potter will not go back to Hogwarts.” The house-elf croaked.

 

“I-I-I can’t.” Adelia murmured. “I can’t. It’s my home.”

Dobby regarded her sadly and to the sound of a whip cracking, he was gone and the pudding was falling, falling… splat. Adelia stood there, covered in cream, in the violet dustings that had been about it. Petunia shrieked when she saw her, Vernon was apologising to the Masons’, told them at Adelia was disturbed as Petunia forced a mop into her hands. Vernon grabbed her again when Petunia led the guests back to the kitchen, his nails biting through her skin as he gripped her throat.

 

He did no more, but Adelia knew that pain was in her future. Knew that the waves of starvation would great her like an old friend, knew that the pain in her gut would come back. Already she could feel her throat thickening, in desperate need of water that had already been denied to her…

 

Vernon’s irate temper may have cooled in the morning, or maybe the day after, but Adelia knew there was no hope of that when a great big barn owl swooped through the open kitchen window and deposited a letter. Petunia’s face scrunched and she handed out after-dinner mints. Mrs. Mason shrieked like a bloody banshee when she saw it and Mr. Mason started shouting about birds and fears and jokes…

 

Then they were gone.

 

Adelia clutched the handle of the mop and wished it were a broomstick so she could fly away, but even if her things hadn’t been locked under the stairs she couldn’t have left. No. No there was no way Adelia would abandon Hedwig, nor the snake that seemed to attach itself to her. Vernon was stalking toward her like some sort of ghastly beast, a demented grin on his face.

 

“Somethin’ slip you mind, eh girl? Not allowed to do magic outside of school, you never told us that.” Adelia stared at him, her throat quivering. “Any more funny business and you’ll be expelled.”

 

He thrust the letter at Adelia, and she took it in her shaking hand. Her eyes glanced along the parchment, that sickening feeling in her gut worsening as the seconds dripped by.

 

Dear Ms Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk,

 

Improper Use of Magic Office,

Ministry of Magic.

 

“You’re never going back there, girl.” Vernon said manically. “You try and spell your way out and you’ll have nowhere to go.”

 

Vernon’s hand tightened on her shoulder, and he dragged her up the stairs before he threw the door shut, locking it. Adelia stumbled over to her bed, took refuge beneath the ratty cover and pleaded with Hedwig to be quiet. The snake twisted and coiled around her arm until its head was pressed into the hollow of Adelia’s throat.

 

Her actions, Dobby’s actions, had condemned them all.

 

“You should go.” Adelia told the snake. “You can still be free.”

 

“I will not abandon my den-mother to predators. My fangs are small but mighty, and they are yours, speaker.”

 

Tears dripped from Adelia’s eyes and the snake’s tongue lashed out to taste them. She curled tighter around herself, hoping it would stave off the pain of hunger, but it never had in the past. Her head still throbbed; her neck ached from the bite of Vernon’s nails. Her friends had not abandoned her, they had not left her to suffer the summer alone but thoughts seeing them were fleeting, were raw…

 

Adelia was never going to get out. The Dursleys would manage what the Darkest Wizard of all time never could: Destroy her.

 

“Do you have a name, serpent?” Adelia asked lowly, snuggling closer to the wall as she stared at its dancing spots of silvery threads that did not exist. “One that I may call you?”

 

“My nest mates called me Small.” The snake said, and Adelia knew that tone. “But I do not like it.”

“Then you will have a new name.” Adelia promised, blinking away the darkness that threatened her. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

 

“I am an egg-layer.” The snake huffed. “And one day I will be the mother to many. Will you name me, speaker?”

 

“Corra.” Adelia whispered, her eyes slipping shut. “Corra.”

 

When she awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of drills and it only made Adelia’s pounding headache worse. There were bars on her window, tiny things that she could scarcely get her hand through. A cat flap had been cut into the door though it was locked from the outside unless food was being shoved through it…

 

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. The days blended together in a mirage of hunger and thirst and pain. Her had had stopped aching by the third day and it gave way to numbness as the colours of the world began to leach into one another and bleed together. The hunger grew worse as Adelia gave Hedwig half of her meagre portions and her water was split between three.

 

Petunia’s hand rattled through the catflap and she snatched it back as though Adelia would bite it clean off. If Petunia feared that then perhaps, she shouldn’t be starving her sister’s only child. The soup was stone cold and congealed but Adelia didn’t care, food was food, and she drank at least half of it, hoping its ice would soothe the void of explosive hunger.

 

Hedwig simply looked disgusted when the rest of it was tipped into her cage.

 

“It’s all we have.” Adelia whispered grimly, somewhat grateful that Corra didn’t need to feed yet.

 

Hedwig clacked her beak in frustration and Adelia fell victim to the taunting horrors in her mind. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for that bloody house-eld. There was no way she’d survive the last few weeks before Hogwarts started, no way at all…

 

Would they look for her? Would they come to Privet Drive and find her body? Would the Dursleys bury her in field somewhere and then claim she ran off, that the madness had finally gotten to her?

 

Such horrible thoughts for a girl who had just turned twelve.

 

Time bled together, lost in the haze of hunger and dehydration as it often was these days. Adelia squeezed her eyes shut and some part of her, a tiny part of her, wished that she never opened then again. The loudest and largest part of her heart and mind urged her to fight, to win. Adelia remembered her parents in the Mirror, remembered Quirrell’s taunts and Voldemort’s promises.

 

She wouldn’t let them win. They wouldn’t beat her down and break her apart. Adelia wouldn’t let them.

 

“Speaker.” Corra hissed in the darkness as the night grew darker and darker. “There is magic here. I smell them. Like firesmoke and earthen dens.”

 

Adelia blinked her eyes open, groped for her glasses, but she did not need them to see the beam of headlights that shone through her barred window. She rushed it, opened it and ignored the pulsing thunder of her mind and gasped.

 

There, in a floating car, were four flaming redheads and Adelia knew she was safe.

Chapter 3: The Rescue

Summary:

The Burrow is nothing like Adelia expected, and yet she loves it all the same.

Notes:

I hope you all enjoy.

“Ron?” Adelia questioned.

 

“Oh Adelia. What have they done to you?” Ron whispered.

 

“I- there was…- Ron. You came.”

 

“You didn’t answer any of our letters and then Dad said you used magic…” Ron explained.

 

“As touching as this is, we’re breaking fourteen laws currently.” Percy’s impatient voice called, and Adelia had no idea why he was there, breaking said laws. “Wrap this around the bars.”

 

He threw a thick, heavy rope to her and Adelia slid it around the outside of the bars. Fred, who seemed to be flying the floating car, urged her back before he revved the engine and took off. The bars fell with a clatter against the cobblestones of the Dursley’s patio.

 

“Invisibility booster, now.” George hissed to his twin. “Where’s your stuff, Adelia?”

 

George was climbing out of the car and in through her window. Hedwig hooted a greeting and Corra hissed threateningly as she rose up on the bed. George blinked in confusion.

 

“There’s a snake in your bed.”

 

“She’s a friend.” Adelia admitted. “But the Dursleys, they locked my stuff up. My books, my homework, my wand and broom. All of it. It’s in my cupboard.”

 

“Your cupboard?” Ron questioned.

 

“Under the stairs.” Adelia corrected. “But I’m locked in here. Even the cat flap is latched shut.”

 

It was only then that four pairs of eyes saw the little flap that had been cut into the door. Fred cursed viciously from where he was up front. George was staring in dawning horror and his hand curled about her shoulder, but Adelia hissed, stumbling backward as he pressed into violent purpling bruises.

 

“I’ll take the wheel. Get her things.”

 

“Mind the stairs, it creaks.” Adelia warned.

 

It was a testament to the situation’s severity that Fred did not complain at Percy’s order. He simply shuffled about and slid through the window too, Ron stayed in the car, but he was shaking with rage. Adelia could only watch as Fred and George picked the lock like a pair of burglars and crept into the darkness of the night. Adelia was frozen still as she waited to hear if the Dursleys woke.

 

All she heard was snores. Then coughs. Then snores.

 

“Are these friends, speaker?” Corra questioned from Adelia’s bed.

 

“Friends. The young one, Ron, has a rat. He is not food.”

 

“You’re a bloody Parselmouth?” Ron exclaimed. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

 

“A what now?” Adelia asked.

 

“Later.” Percy urged. “We’re trying to not get arrested Ronald, stay quiet.”

 

What followed was a few moments of tense silence. Vernon coughed and Adelia trembled in fear. Then he coughed again. There was the sound of his weight hefting up in his groaning bedframe. Adelia suppressed the urge to be sick. Ron was staring at her, Percy too through the rear-view mirror.

 

Fred and George arrived carrying her trunk and broomstick and Adelia heard the harried tones of her wand’s core for the first time since she had returned to the house. They urged her out of the way and Percy popped open the boot, and  then Fred climbed in, took his place by the wheel and Percy was moving to the back seat.

 

George and Adelia hefted the trunk into the boot. Its latch closed with a resounding thud. George climbed into the front of the car as Fred tilted it dangerously close to the house.

 

Then Vernon screamed as Hedwig shrieked. His footsteps were thundering, and Adelia grabbed her cage and forced it through the window and into Ron’s lap with a huff. Corra was slithering in Adelia’s grasp, hissing about danger and Adelia knew she meant Vernon.

 

“GIRL.” Vernon thundered as he pushed into her room. “That ruddy owl is going to get it.”

 

But Adelia, near the window as Fred got the car in position for her to climb in, froze. Ron’s arm was grabbing at her, Fred’s too and she reached for them. Ron caught her and pulled, but Vernon was there, and when the bloody hell had he gotten so fast? He grasped at her ankle, nails biting into her skin until blood welled. Adelia tried to kick him off, but it did nothing.

“Drive.” George urged. “Hold on.”

 

“PETUNIA. PETUNIA SHE’S ESCAPING.” Vernon screeched.

 

“Get off me.” Adelia snapped. “Get off. Get off. Get off.”

 

She was out the window now, suspended in the air as Ron’s sweaty grip kept her up, Fred’s hand on her shoulder despite the pain. Percy and George were reaching for her as well, grasping at whatever they could so she didn’t fall.

 

“You will not torment my speaker again.” Corra hissed.

 

Her head darted down, her small by mighty fangs biting through Vernon’s nightshirt as she snapped at his shoulder. Vernon roared and his grip faltered, and Petunia and Dudley were coming through the door just as Fred accelerated. Adelia was hoisted into the car as it twisted and Vernon fell, lost his standing and tumbled out the window and onto the flowerbed below.

 

Petunia shrieked. Dudley cried. Vernon cursed her from the flower bed even though could no longer see her now that she was in the car.

 

And Adelia laughed. She was sure if she didn’t, she’d be sobbing in the back seat of the Weasley’s car. Corra’s head appeared in front of her, tongue flicking outward. Ron was staring at her, all of them were, and somehow Hedwig had ended up on Percy’s lap, but despite her girl’s ruffled feathers she was hooting.

 

Adelia was heaving, her head spinning. Whatever adrenaline was within her had burned away the second the door had closed. Ron helped her to right herself, to sit up, but it felt as though her bones had turned to mush, as though they had been vanished from her flesh. She was so hungry, so thirsty, so tired.

 

“My speaker needs sustenance.” Corra screeched in angry hisses.

 

“They can’t understand you.” Adelia murmured.

 

But it appeared as though they knew, for a thermos of tea was pushed her way and a sausage sandwich. Hedwig hooted and Adelia plucked a piece of sausage from the bread and handed it to her between the bars.

 

“I’ll let her out in a moment.” Percy promised. “She’ll find the Burrow if she needs to go hunting.”

 

“Didn’t know you knew how to pick a lock, Perce.” Fred called.

 

“Bill taught me when mum and dad locked up the books the year before I started Hogwarts.” Percy shook his head. “Honestly, boys, do you think you’re the only one who realised that wizards are incompetent fools?”

 

“Suppose that’s why you want to go into the Ministry.” Geroge sang. “Percy here fancies himself a politician, you know. Our big brother, Minster for Magic.”

 

“Though George, I don’t reckon the Minister is breaking quite as many laws as dear Perfect Prefect Percy, do you?” Fred said mockingly as Adelia sipped at the tea. It was lemon and sweetened with honey.

 

“It’s Fudge.” Percy reminded drily.

 

“What did the Muggles do to you?” Ron whispered. “And why the bloody hell do you have a snake?

 

Adelia couldn’t speak, too busy enjoying the tea and sandwich. It filled the aching void within her ever-so-slightly, but the thing that really made her feel better was seeing Hedwig free from her cage and soaring alongside the car. Corra made a noise and slithered around her throat, soothing the aching heat of the bruises.

 

Adelia told them what she knew: Dobby stopping her letters, the plot at Hogwarts, the pudding and everything that came after it.

 

“She hit you on the head with a frying pan and then they starved you?” Fred snarled. “Right, I’m turning this car around.”

“You will not.’” Percy snapped. “Wands snapped, expelled and muggle-baiting, you won’t see the outside of Azkaban before you’re ninety.”

 

“Right. Right.” Fred nodded and turned when George told him he was going too far west. “Adelia, those plots you don’t think they’ve…”

 

“Something to do with Voldemort?” All of them winced. “Sorry. But yeah. I mean. You said it was old rich families, right? And Malfoy’s dad is a git and was definitely one his followers, so who’s to say he wasn’t just lying to make sure I don’t come back?”

 

“But the snake? Adelia, did you even know you were a Parselmouth?” Ron asked.

 

“I thought I could talk to a snake in the zoo last year, set it on Dudley when he was being an absolute prick. Was worth it though.” Adelia hummed. “But then I found Corra in the grass, and we made a bargain: She got me a mouse for Hedwig, and I think I became her den-mother…”

 

Silence reigned. It was then that Adelia understood that no, no it was not normal to be able to speak to snakes. Beside her Ron had gone pale, and up-front Fred and George were looking at each other with quirked lips and bunched brows that only they could decipher. She sunk back into the seat and Corra nudged her with a cold nose.

 

“You are a speaker. It is a wonderful gift.”

 

“It’s not normal, is it?”

 

“It’s rare.” Percy corrected. “Very rare over here and on the continent, not so much in Asia I think.”

 

“Will your mum and dad care? Will… will they send me back?”

 

“You’re never going back there.” George vowed seriously. “Even if we have to dye your hair red.”

 

“They won’t. Others will though. The last person reported to speak Parseltongue was You-Know-Who.” Percy explained. “So of course everybody thinks it’s evil.”

 

After that there was a subdued silence and Adelia found herself clinging to land of the living by a single strand. Her head was pressed against Ron’s shoulder awkwardly and it caused the throb of the bruises to grow worse and worse. She didn’t care to look at herself in the mirror, didn’t want to see the full extent of what the Dursleys had done to her.

 

Thoughts of Dobby and the threat at Hogwarts seemed to lessen the closer they came to the Burrow. Adelia had known from the moment the Weasleys had appeared at her window that she was safe, and safety had been a thing that had abandoned her in King’s Cross station. She had Hogwarts to look forward to, and no threat could sour them. Not now.

 

Fred let the car drift down to the road, and it was only then she woke. Adelia blinked open her eyes to the see the Burrow in all its brilliance. It was once a stone pigpen, though now it appeared to be a patchwork quilt of oddly stacked rooms. Five chimneys seemed to extend into the sky, three of them smoking in the dawning light. There was a garage before it, a pond and clucking about were fat chickens. A rooster’s cry sounded.

 

“It isn’t much.” Ron said quietly. “But it’s home.”

 

“This is brilliant, Ron.” Adelia whispered, staring out to the swathes of fields that surrounded the house. “I love it.”

 

Fred drove the car into the garage. He looked sheepishly up at the house, no doubt noticing the fires and he didn’t seem to want to go inside. He looked at Adelia though, tired and hungry and hurt, and decided that his mother’s protective rage would melt away in the face of a child in need.

 

“Maybe we can sneak in.” George murmured as they walked toward the house. “Say Adelia’s been here all along. Five, six what’s the difference?”

 

“Morning mother.” Percy called, for Mrs. Weasley was marching toward them with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Did you get my note?”

 

“Get your note? Get your note? Percival Ignatius Weasley I never would have expected this from you!” Mrs. Weasley growled. “Those three yes. You? What on earth possessed you to abscond in the night? Hello, Adelia dear.”

“My duties as prefect don’t simply end when Hogwarts does.” Percy said primly.

 

“Yeah mum. They were starving her. There were bars on her bloody windows.” Ron objected.

 

“And look at her.” Fred cried hysterically. “The uncle did it. Her aunt whacked her with a frying pan and didn’t even care. Mum, we couldn’t just leave her there.”

 

Adelia had shrunk back into a sea of redheaded bodies. Mrs. Weasley was looking at her now, and oh Adelia didn’t like what she saw. The portly woman’s deep brown eyes were like unending pools of sadness, of heartbreak and the unrelenting glint of fury.

 

“Oh Adelia.” Mrs. Weasley whispered, anger fleeing from her in the face of a scared child.

 

“Hi Mrs. Weasley.” Adelia said softly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“You didn’t do anything, dear. And call me Molly.” Mrs. Weasley offered. “Come on inside, I’ll get you something to eat and then you can get cleaned up. How does that sound? You four, we’ll be having words later. You should have told your father and I.”

 

“The muggles wouldn’t have let her go without a fight.” Percy huffed. “Screaming about escaping like she’s a cat. I told you and dad about the mail ward; she thought nobody cared.”

 

“It was a house-elf stealing my post, actually.” Adelia reminded, and she grinned when Percy rolled his eyes.

 

“A house-elf dear? That’s nice.” Mrs. Weasley murmured as she led Adelia into the house carefully. “Yes. Some Dittany and Murtlap I should think. Maybe a splash of Wiggenweld.”

 

Adelia looked back to the brothers Weasley, and it was George who spoke, who explained. “Healing stuff. Mum’s as good as it as Pomfrey.”

 

“Would need to be, with children like us.” Fred added sardonically.

 

Mrs. Weasley sat her down at the table and cut two slices of warm bread and put them to toast. There was a spelled pan in the sink, a scrubber washing it. Around Adelia magic seemed to glint and chime and she had been right, the Burrow felt exactly the same as her Christmas jumper: Warm, golden and cozy. She’d never known another place like it, not even in Hogwarts.

 

The boys tried to sit around the table, but Mrs. Weasley had shooed them away with a huffed warning that Adelia didn’t need to be gawked at. She’d sent Ron to clean his room since apparently that was where Adelia’d be staying until Hogwarts started up again…

 

Adelia got the feeling if it were up to Mrs. Weasley, she’d never see Privet Drive or the Dursleys again. She was perfectly fine with that.

 

“There’s a snake around your neck, Adelia.” Mrs. Weasley said as she tipped a luminous green potion into her orange juice. “Did you know that?”

 

“Oh, she’s Corra.” The snake peered up at Mrs. Weasley and blinked, tongue scenting the air. “She won’t be a problem, I promise.”

 

“It’s hardly the first snake I’ve had in the house.” Mrs. Weasley huffed. “Better than the baby dragon Charlie tried to bring home his first Christmas in the Reserve.”

 

Adelia remembered Norbert and shivered. Mrs. Weasley apologised, thinking her tender ministrations were causing Adelia pain. The girl just shook her head, so very tired, and continued to nibble on her toast. Once Adelia had eaten the third and fourth slice of toast Mrs. Weasley had slathered in toast and sent her way, the kindly witch showed her to the bathroom on the fourth floor after she summoned Adelia’s trunk from the boot of the car.

 

“Now. When you’re finished, just pop some of the salve on your bruises, and do it again tonight before bed, alright?” Mrs. Weasley smiled. “I’ll have George bring your trunk up to Ron’s, his room’s above us. Alright?”

 

“What about Corra?”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll transfigure her a nice warm rock and a mouse or two. Will that be alright?”

 

“That’s fine. She is a good den-mother.” Corra hissed. “She tastes like sadness. Is this your den-mother?”

 

“My den-mother died when I was a hatching.” Apparently, there was no word for baby in serpent speak.

 

Mrs. Weasley was staring at Adelia, and it dawned on the girl that while she’d told the Weasley matriarch that she had a snake, she hadn’t told her she could speak to it. Nor that she could understand it. Mrs. Weasley regarded the pair of them for a moment, a tight-lipped smile that caused the lines around her mouth to twitch.

 

“Parseltongue is a very rare ability to have you know.” Mrs. Weasley murmured. “Some of the best healers the world has ever known were snake-speakers.”

 

“I don’t think most people would agree with you.” Adelia murmured and Mrs. Weasley took hold of Corra with gentle hands. “Percy told me about Vol-Him.”

 

“Percy should know better.” Mrs. Weasley muttered. “Go on, nobody will bother you here. Just give me a shout if you need anything. And don’t mind the groans, that’s just the Ghoul.”

 

Adelia blinked at the woman’s retreating back. The Weasleys had a Ghoul in their house? Ron had mentioned it before, she was sure of it, but she had thought he’d been joking.

 

Apparently not.

 

Adelia entered the small bathroom, clutched her clothes close to her. Above the sink was a mirrored cabinet and for the first time in days Adelia Potter looked at herself. She hated what she saw. Evidence of Vernon’s brutality was still purple and yellowing on her throat, the darkness beneath her eyes stark against pallid flesh. She shouldn’t look like this.

 

She couldn’t kill Voldemort like this.

 

She turned the taps on, and water spurted to life in thick streams. She brushed through her hair with her fingers, trying to pick apart the worst of the tangling but it was of little use. Beneath the stream she scrubbed herself almost raw with citrus scented gel, hoping that it would remove the taint the Dursleys left upon her.

 

She wasn’t sure it would, wasn’t sure that anything ever would. The hopelessness of the last few months seized her heart and Adelia sobbed only once before fire gave way to ice, to the promise of magic to fix her woes. Soon enough she’d have her wand in her hand again, soon enough she could sit in her bed and practice spells she had no business learning yet.

 

Soon she would be back in Hogwarts, but until then, she was safe with the Weasleys. She knew that. Though she couldn’t escape the what ifs her mind whispered silkily, as though they hoped to drive her mad.

 

Adelia finished in the shower, rubbed the thick, moss-scented slave into her bruises and dressed herself. There was an echoing rattle from somewhere above her, and as Adelia left the bathroom, she did not turn to ascend the stairs to Ron’s room. Instead, she descended when she heard hushed but carrying voices.

 

“Your father and I were going to get her if she hadn’t responded by Friday.” Mrs. Weasley said. “Why did none of you, why didn’t you, Percy, come and tell us? We would have done something.”

 

“They’re her legal guardians.” Percy said, hands clasped behind his back and head staring imperiously forward. “You’d have done the same thing and there would have been magic and what will it look like when the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts is charged with muggle baiting or worse muggle hunting the muggle relatives of the Girl-Who-Lived’?”

 

“That isn’t an excuse, Percy Weasley. And don’t take that tone with me.”

 

“Percy’s right, mum.” Fred admitted, though it seemed to pain him. “The uncle was horrible. He only let go of her because the snake bit him. Bloody prick deserved it, really. You saw the state of her, covered in bruises, half-starved. There was a cat flap on her door, and I think that’s how they were giving her food so she wouldn’t die in their house.”

 

“Fred. Watch your language young man.”

 

“We found this too mum.” George said sadly and oh no, he was holding a childish drawing. “Elia’s Room. In the bloody boot cupboard where her trunk was. Where a mattress was.”

 

Mrs. Weasley released a painful noise. Adelia swallowed down her embarrassment. Nobody was supposed to have ever known about that. Nobody. It was a pitiful, stark reminder that she had never, not once, been wanted by the Dursleys. Ron was stricken, his face flushed with anger. Had he felt betrayed that she’d never told him how horrible they’d truly been?

 

“She asked me last year if she could have been an obscurial.” Percy murmured. “She- I thought it was just because she didn’t know about magic not- not this.”

 

“Adelia won’t be going anywhere.” Mrs. Weasley decided, firm tone. “You four, out and de-gnome the garden. Percy, no books, no Hermes. Fred, George, no Lee, no experiments. Ron, no flying for a week.”

 

The boys turned away from their mother muttering, but there didn’t seem to be any fight in them. Adelia watched them go, guilt bubbling within her. She remembered all the times last year where her own actions had caused others to be punished, to be put in harm’s way…

 

Why can’t I do anything right?

 

“You can come down now, Adelia.” Mrs. Weasley called. “Don’t worry, none of them are angry at you, and nor are Arthur and myself. Why don’t you have a seat in the sitting room, any one you’d like, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

 

“Mrs. Weasley-.”

 

“Molly, dear.” The woman corrected gently as she turned to Adelia who was walking down the last few steps. “You should take it easy for a bit.”

 

“I think the shower woke me up.” Adelia admitted. “If I wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I go help Ron? It’s just, I’ve never seen a gnome before.”

 

“They’re not much to look at.” Mrs. Weasley huffed and she pulled a book from the shelf, blushing at the winking wizard on the cover. “Not like that one. You can read outside if you’d like, but I don’t want to see you with a gnome in your hand at all. Oh, morning Ginny dear.”

 

Ginny Weasley, the youngest and only girl of the family, was staring at Adelia with wide eyes. Adelia was used to it; it was how most of the people in Hogwarts had looked at her for the first few weeks. Adelia gave Ginny a small wave as she took the book in Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched hand and the girl eeped.

 

Adelia thanked Mrs. Weasley and went into the sunshine, and she walked beneath the pale, cornflower blue skies until she happened upon Fred and George on their knees in the garden. In their hands were three gnomes, and it seemed they were making a game of throwing them over the far wall.

 

Adelia settled on the stone bench and flicked open Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests, though it did not hold her interest for long. She stared out at the vastness of the Weasley’s garden, past the vegetable gardens and the flowers that she didn’t recognise.

 

Along the stone walls there were patches of towering grass and bushes, gnarled, ancient trees. Ron was by a peony bush and then it shook, and he stood with a wriggling gnome in his hand. It was squealing like a dying boar.

 

“I’m sorry about you getting into trouble.” Adelia said, voice carrying over the garden despite the gnomes.

 

“We’d be out here doing this anyway.” Fred shrugged. “Mum knows why we did what we did.”

 

“Still can’t believe she took Lee off us though.” George huffed. “He’s a person, not a bloody owl… but she did take Hermes so…”

 

“Where is Percy?” Ron hollered.

 

“Actually doing work.” Came Percy’s irritated, clipped tone as he carried a bundle of mewling gnomes.

 

“I can help.” Adelia offered, flicking through the pages of the book with a frown. “Who wrote this rubbish?”

 

“Don’t even think about moving, little Seeker.” George called; eyes narrowed at her playfully.

“Lockhart’s book? Mum’s obsessed with him -mind you most witches are. He’s about as useful as an ashtray on a broom, that one.” Fred muttered as he flung a gnome. “Reckon I can hit that stump there, George?”

 

Adelia watched as gnomes went flying. They seemed to be stealing them from Percy’s laden arms, getting them violently dizzy and then flinging them over the wall. The fanciful words of Lockhart’s stupid book were no longer entertaining. Fred, George and Ron were catching and throwing the gnomes, and they were looking at Percy to judge them with pleading eyes.

 

None of them had made it to the stump yet.

 

Then Adelia saw a flash of red, and well, she was trained to catch flashes of colour, though it was usually gold instead of red. She had it in her hand and went to present it to Ron, who currently had no gnomes to throw, when the dammed thing bit her.

 

She yelped, caught it by the legs and it went sailing through the air and it landed with a thump far past the tree stump.

 

“Nice going, Potter. Could’ve made a good Chaser out of you.” Fred hummed appreciatively.

 

“Better Seeker though.” George reminded. “We’ll have to practice some, otherwise Oliver will go mad.”

 

“And I’ll have to listen to it.” Percy huffed. “There is a life outside of quidditch, you know.”

 

“Spoken like a man who has no taste for the magical game.” Fred’s singsong voice said amusedly. “Tell me, Percy, have you ever been on a broom since flying lessons?”

 

“Of course he hasn’t.” Ron teased. “There’s no OWL for flying… if there were I guarantee you he’d have endured it.”

 

“Did you get your results?” Adelia wondered.

 

“Day before we broke you out.” Percy said proudly. “Twelve Outstandings.”

 

“Makin’ the rest of us look bad he is.” George complained humorously.

 

“Another Head Boy in the family in our future.” Fred said. “Bill got twelve too.”

 

“Congratulations, Percy.”

 

He was smiling now, even as Fred and George teased him, as Ron moaned about more expectations to live up to, but Adelia understood it. The Weasleys didn’t have much, and that they did have was shared amongst them, was offered freely in a way that made Adelia’s head spin… but Percy was like her in a way: Their minds, their drive, it would always belong to them. She had no doubt that Fred and George excelled at whatever they put their minds to, she’d seen that too, and Ron was a chess genius, always five moves ahead in the game.

 

And that was just the four she knew. She wondered what Bill and Charlie were like, what Ginny was like. She had the rest of the summer to find out.

 

“Speaker.” A distressed Corra called, slithering along the dirt. “Speaker there are predators here.”

 

“You’re fine.” Adelia promised, lowing her arm so the snake could coil around her. “Did Mrs. Weasley feed you?”

 

“Three white mice.” Corra said proudly. “But I let one escape so I can chase it. But there are predators, and the den-mother told me I couldn’t eat the deformed one.”

 

Adelia choked on her laughter, thumbing at the snake’s scales. When she looked up all four Weasleys had fallen silent and were staring at her. Immediately Adelia felt her face flood with heat.

 

“Percy would you, eh, could you ask Hermes to not eat Corra please?” Adelia asked. “She’s afraid of him… And she won’t eat Scabbers, I promise. Isn’t that right, Corra?”

 

The snake blinked at her and then seemed to nod her little head. “Can I eat the frogs? Can I swim?”

 

“Hermes won’t eat her.” Percy huffed amused. “What’s she saying?”

 

“She wants to know if she can swim.” Adelia replied and panic was rising within. “I didn’t even know snakes could swim. What am I supposed to do at Hogwarts? Snakes aren’t on the list, and I already have Hedwig and it think Mrs. Norris had first dibs on the mice and what if something happens to her?”

 

“Calm down.” Ron soothed. “I’m sure between the five of us we can sort something.”

 

“Probably best not to discuss an illegal pet in front of the prefect, Ron.” Fred teased and Percy rolled his eyes. “And Lee’s got Gerturde , and Katie’s got a pygmy puff and Ron has Scabbers...”

 

“The tarantula’s name is Gertrude?” Ron asked horrified.

 

“Lovely little thing, isn’t she?” George grinned wickedly.

 

“I don’t know how to take care of you.” Adelia realised. “I would be a horrible den-mother.”

 

“I will sleep for many weeks.” Corra promised. “And I can tell you if there is something I want. You will be a good den-mother.”

 

Don’t cry over the snake’s faith in you. Do not cry.

 

Thankfully she didn’t, for her rush of emotions was lost to the loud bang of the Weasley’s front door. The four of them rushed toward the door, and Adelia plucked up the book and followed the in the calls of hi, dad and how was the raid? She placed the rather terrible book on the table and stood awkwardly behind Ron and George, getting her first proper look at Mr. Weasley.

 

He was older, his hair thinning but still as red as his sons. There were deep set laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, and when he looked at his wife and his sons and daughter, gathered around the kitchen table, he was smiling. The Weasleys might not be the richest people on the planet, but they had something so few truly ever experienced:

 

Pure, untouchable, unattainable, love.

 

Mr. Weasley collapsed in his chair when Mrs. Weasley pushed a mug of tea in front of him. He looked so very tired, his robes askew and dirty from both work and travel.

 

“Nine raids. Nine. All I got were a few shrinking door-keys and a biting kettle. Old Mundungus Fletcher tried to hex me when my back was turned.” Mr Weasley was shaking his head. “Oh, hello. Who might you be?”

 

“Oh, I’m Adelia sir, Adelia Potter.”

 

“Are you really? Why my boys have told me all about you of course, we were starting to get a bit worried when they didn’t hear back from you… When did you get here?” Mr. Weasley was blinking at her now. “There’s a snake around your arm, you know.”

 

“Oh, that’s Corra, dad. Adelia had a knack with animals.” Ron explained. “She wants to know if she can swim in the pond.”

 

“Of course she can, dear. Just make sure to be with her, we get all sorts of birds around here.” Mrs. Weasley assured. “Now, do you want to tell your father how exactly Adelia got here this morning?”

 

“We might have taken the car to get her.” Ron said glumly.

 

“Th-the car?” Mr Weasley questioned.

 

“Yes. Arthur. The car.” Mrs. Weasley said piercing her husband with a look. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really, he was enchanting it to make it fly. And then his four sons go off in it in the middle of the night.”

 

“Four?” Mr. Weasley turned to Percy. “Percy?”

 

“My prefect duties include the health and safety off all my charges, and since I’ll be the Prefect for the second years this year, because Jessica’s Head Girl, why would I knowingly allow myself to be in dereliction to said duties? Just because it’s summer?” Percy was staring at his father now, lips twitching in a supressed smile.

 

“Right. Well done son, all of you.” Mr Weasley nodded sharply. “Always best to stand by your convictions.”

 

“Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley warned. “We will be discussing the car later.”

 

“Of course, Molly-Wobbles, now, why don’t we have some breakfast, hm?”

 

Chapter 4: The Burrow

Summary:

Adelia enjoys the peace the Burrow has to offer, and a trip to Diagon Alley offers more questions than answers.

Notes:

Terribly sorry for leaving y'all hanging for a month. It hasn't been a good time. In this chapter we get to find out about a silly little black book (not the one yours thinking of) that changes one character's serpentine fate.

Life at the Burrow was very different than Adelia was used to. She had tried to help with the chores, had tried to do anything, but there was always somebody there who would point and tell her to go sit down and then they’d do it.

 

It irritated her to no end. But it was the only thing that was. She loved the rest of it though, loved all of the people that surrounded her.

 

Mr. Weasley was as kind and jovial as she thought him to be when she first met him. He questioned her on the muggle world, though he didn’t ask about her muggles in particular. He’d even shown Adelia around his shed, and she marvelled at the bits and pieces he’d charmed and enchanted over the years. In return he answered every single one of Adelia’s questions about the Ministry and about what he did as the head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.

 

Mrs. Weasley had taken her aside just two days after Adelia had arrived. She’d be going on at Fred and George for the hair for weeks and finally they’d allowed her to cut it and she offered to Adelia’s too. The girl was glad, because Petunia hadn’t touched it since before her birthday last year and Adelia so wished for the blocky cut of her horrible fringe to be gone. Mrs. Weasley had smiled at her, patted her shoulder and promised she’d do her best.

 

Her best, it turned out, was brilliant. No longer was the fringe feathered across Adelia’s eyebrows, no longer was there even a fringe at all. Since it curled around the end of her jaw It still seemed to eat the comb every time Adelia brushed it, but that was solved with simple braids and evenings where Mrs. Weasley would sit her down and teach her different styles, Ginny acting as the mannequin.

 

It seemed the youngest Weasley had gotten over her star-stuck clumsiness when Adelia was about. She was sure Mrs. Weasley was glad for it, one less mess to clean up, one more mug saved.

 

Ron had introduced her to the ghoul who dwelled above them, had showed her his collection of Chocolate Frog cards more than once. Adelia learned that the explosions from Fred and George’s room were completely normal and that they irked Percy to no end.

 

It was nice. It was good. The Burrow felt like everything Adelia had been missing. There was a sense of closeness, even if the family only saw each other at mealtimes sometimes. Fred and George could be found in the sitting room with Exploding Snap cards and Ginny watched them, Adelia would be by Ron, and he’d be teaching her chess moves in case they ever found themselves on another transfigured set and had to play for their lives.

 

But Adelia noticed things, so many things. She’d always been observant; it was a skill she’d honed well in her young youth with the Dursleys.

 

She watched Mrs. Weasley cast household charms without her wand, as she gave George extra beans and Ron extra pork. She saw the way Arthur wasn’t home all that much, but when he was, he made sure to talk to all of them, Adelia included. She noticed the way Ron would blush violently whenever somebody agreed to play a game of chess only for their little brother to beat them.

 

She realised that Percy liked so much sugar in his tea that her own teeth hurt. How he read the paper Arthur was sent ever morning because he was a Head of Department, and how he’d always hand it to her when he was finished.

 

Adelia realised that Ginny was itching to get to Hogwarts and each of her brothers regarded her with tales of truth and fiction. None of them had mentioned the Sorting Hat and wondered if it was some sort of tradition.

 

More than that, Adelia understood that before her, was a family accepting her with open arms, not only because she was the Girl-Who-Lived but because she was their son’s best friend.

 

For the first time in her rather short life, Adelia Potter felt wanted.

 

She saw it in the way Mrs. Weasley gave her extra veg and more meat on her plate and always offered seconds and thirds of whatever Adelia liked. She saw it now, sitting at the breakfast table, when Fred poured a glass of orange juice for Ron without ever being asked, and how Ron passed it to her.

 

“Mornin’.” Percy yawned, descending the stairs. “Can I’ve Hermes back, mum? Prefect business.”

 

“Prefect business.” Fred said suspiciously.

 

“Oh hush, it’s too early in the morning for you.” Percy had only sat down before he was back on his feet. “Oh Errol.”

 

The ancient owl chirped in recognition of his name as Percy set him on the table, fixing his ruffled feathers. There was a letter attached to his leg and it was passed down the table to Ron who grinned.

 

“It’s from Hermione. I told her you’d be here.”

 

Then, another owl flew in through the open kitchen window. Corra, who was lounging on the rock Mrs. Weasley had made for her, shrieked and wriggled beneath the sofa. Adelia only huffed as Mr. Weasley passed the letters around to them.

 

“Dumbledore doesn’t miss a trick.” Mr. Weasley grinned handing Adelia hers. “Knew you were here all along I’d say.”

 

Adelia thanked him before she ripped into the parchment. She noticed on the booklist then that everything, save one, was written by Lockhart. Adelia didn’t hold out much hope for a competent teacher, not when she’d already read the one Mrs. Weasley had given her on her first day.

 

But maybe this teacher wouldn’t be possessed by Voldemort and try to kill her.

 

“Hermione’s going with her mum and dad on Wednesday, mum. Can we go then too?” Ron asked.

 

“That should be fine, dear.”

 

“Must be a witch.” George huffed, looking over the list, though he withered under the combined strength of Mrs. Weasley and Adelia’s gaze for two different reasons. “Won’t come cheap this lot, not with Lockhart on the list.”

 

“Oh, we’ll manage, we always do.”

 

“We’ll share.” Fred hummed.

 

“Boys…” Mr. Weasley began.

 

But Fred and George had already decided, and when that happened nothing could change their mind, though Adelia could see that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still worried. The first year was always the most expensive and they had Ginny starting, and Adelia wondered how handy Mrs. Weasley was with tailoring charms…

 

Suddenly, Adelia felt very guilty again. She knew in her vault beneath Gringotts there was a mound of money, and she’d taken so much of it last year and had nothing to spend it on, knew that there was still enough to cover her school things in her trunk upstairs. Yet, the Weasleys had so little and the offered her so much and there was no way she could ever repay them…

 

And there was no way they’d accept her money, Adelia already knew that much. it didn’t mean she couldn’t try, however.

 

When breakfast was finished, Mrs. Weasley shooed them all away and the twins and Ron grabbed their brooms and Adelia took hers. She’d promised them all some time on it, it was the least she could do after the horrors they’d saved her from because Adelia was sure she wouldn’t have survived until Hogwarts.

 

She just hoped Mrs. Figg didn’t worry herself too much. Maybe Adelia would write her a letter and walk into Ottery St. Catchpole, the muggle village closest to the Burrow and pop it in the muggle post. Vernon would probably shoot Hedwig if he saw her.

 

“Why so glum?” Fred questioned as they walked toward the hill where they could fly.

 

“Thinking about the Dursleys.”

 

“That would do it.” Fred said sagely, nodding his head like Dumbledore would. “You heard mum, she’s not going to let you go back there.”

 

“They’re my only living relatives.” Adelia reminded. “And I don’t want to be burden on another family.”

 

“Listen to me, Adelia Potter.” Fred murmured, his hand on her shoulder that had long been healed. “You’re never gonna be a burden to us, right? Mum’s basically adopted you, she doesn’t just make Christmas jumpers for anybody, you know. Dad’ll talk himself silent with all his questions about the muggle world, and even Percy likes having you around. Apparently, we mere mortals aren’t intellectually challenging enough for him.”

 

“And well, you know you’ve got us, and Ron obviously.” George continued coming up on the other side of her. “Gin’s always been a bit shy around new people, but there she was, letting you practice on her hair even though she wouldn’t let us do that.”

 

“Might’ve been because we were trying to cut all off.” Fred interjected.

 

“Besides the point, dear Freddie.” George huffed. “And wait ‘till you meet Bill and Charlie. Bill’ll go on and on about ancient wizarding history and Charlie will be begging to bring you to the preserve to see if Parseltongue works on dragons.”

 

“And then he’ll find a way to get you to stay until he learns the language through sheer willpower and spite because he wants to make sure his little dragons are all doing well.” Fred finished, and he looked at George who tilted his head. “You don’t-?”

 

“-I think she is.”

 

“What?” Ron questioned as he came toward them, apples in his hand.

 

“Adelia here is Weasley-nip.” The twins cackled simultaneously.

 

And just like that, Adelia’s worries melted away in face of warm, bubbling laughter. Joy soared within her as she zipped around on her broom, catching apples at breakneck speed, and something she didn’t recognise bloomed brightly in a garden, blossoms replacing the withered weeds of what the Dursleys had left within her.

 

That garden continued to flower as the days passed, as Adelia and Ron did bits and pieces of the homework during the day, as she listened to Ron whine beneath Mrs. Weasley’s clucking tongue and my baby’s growing. It flourished when the day before they went to Diagon Ginny awkwardly pushed a pile of cards toward Adelia and Ron and together the three of them played together, Mrs. Weasley grinning at her children as she made the supper.

 

Then, on the morning of their trip to Diagon, Mr. Weasley returned from work just as Mrs. Weasley was setting out the sausage and bacon sandwiches around the table. Like the first time Adelia had seen him, he is cloak, though blue this time instead of green, was streaked with soot. She wondered if it was the remnants of spell fire during the raids he’d been undertaking.

 

“Come on now, children. Off we pop.” Mrs. Weasley called. “And stick together, all of you. No wandering off. Fred and George, I’m speaking to you.”

 

The twins rolled their eyes in eerie synchronicity and their mother only laughed. Then, the burning fire in the centre of the largest hearth was snuffed out with a wave of Mrs. Weasley’s wand and the woman was reaching over toward a large flowerpot. She clucked her tongue, and Adelia understood where Percy got it from.

 

“We’ll have to get some more, Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley murmured. “Right, Adelia, guests first.”

 

Adelia blinked owlishly. She wished she wand Corra coiled around her neck like an odd, wriggling scarf but no, that wasn’t an option, the Prophet’s headlines would go from Ministry raids to her, and Adelia didn’t want that sort of attention.

 

Nor did she quite enjoy the attention that was focused on her now as she glanced between the fireplace, Mrs. Weasley and the flowerpot. Somebody was giggling and Adelia knew her face was scrunched up in confusion.

 

“She’s never used the Floo before, mum.” Ron explained.

 

“But then how did you get your things last year?” Mrs. Weasley wondered.

 

“Underground.” Adelia shrugged. “What do I do?”

 

“Just have a watch here, Ron, up you come.”

 

Ron stepped into the fire and dipped his hand into the flowerpot. The tips of his fingers were stained with green powder, and he threw in into the stone hearth, green flames swallowing him whole as he called out Diagon Alley. Adelia eyed it warily; why did wizards have to have so many different types of fire? Then Fred and George did the same thing with a reassuring wink each.

 

“Just mind you get the right gate; your first time is always the worst.” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, but Adelia could tell she was fretting.

 

“And keep your elbows tucked in.” Ron advised as Mr. Weasley disappeared in a flash of green.

 

Adelia stepped up to the fireplace, stuck her hand in the glimmering green powder that felt more like ash than anything else. Soot made her eyes water as she pulled her hand out and as she threw the powder down, she inhaled and coughed out a rather stilted sound. It seemed to have worked for Adelia was being sucked down a plug, spinning violently like she had during her first quidditch game.

 

People were slapping into her, hands cold and distant, but she was still spinning, spinning, spinning, and she was sure she caught a flash of red hair and then she was gone. Mrs. Weasleys’ delicious breakfast was churning within her as she hastily got to her feet, glasses cracked, and vision distorted. Adelia didn’t know where she was, but it wasn’t the type of place she intended to stay.

 

The shop was old and cast in gloom, a heavy dampness in the air. Around her there were walls of wares, blood-coloured gems set in skulls of polished ivory, withered, clawed hands atop a velvet pillow. There were tiny, bulbous heads floating in green solution and Adelia knew she needed to get out, because she wasn’t in Diagon Alley.

 

The door chimed open, but Adelia caught sight of a flash of silver and quickly hid behind one of the tall, towering sets of drawers. She surely didn’t need Malfoy to see her in this state, not after the past year of antagonism, and the older man beside him had to be his father. The same father Adelia had called a git on more than one occasions, who was more than likely one of Voldemort’s followers…

 

She couldn’t be seen, not by them. But there was no way out.

 

“Don’t touch, Draco.” Mr. Malfoy said lazily.

 

“You said you’d buy me a present.” Draco whined.

 

“And I will buy you a racing broom.” Mr. Malfoy replied.

 

“What good is that if I’m not on the house team? Adelia Potter got a Nimbus 2000 last year. Dumbledore even gave her special permission to play. It’s only because famous because of that stupid scar.” Draco was looking away from his father, examining shrunken heads. “-Everybody loves her, wonderful Potter and her dead parents and her broomstick.”

 

“So you have said. Repeatedly.” Mr. Malfoy gave his son a quelling look. “It would be prudent to not appear so antagonistic toward her, Draco. Many of our kind see her as a saviour for making the Dark Lord disappear- Hello Mr. Borgin.”

 

The chime of the bell ringed out in the silence and there was a call from the back of the shop and Adelia could only watch as another wizard came out, haggard and greasy looking.

 

“Mr Malfoy, young Master Malfoy.” Borgin greeted. “How may I be of assistance today? We’ve just gotten a lovely shipment of-“

 

“I’m not buying today, Borgin.” Mr. Malfoy cut across, handing the man a scroll. “But selling. The Ministry, as you know, have become more meddlesome.”

 

“Surely they would not seek to bother you, sir?”

 

“There is talk of a new Muggle Protection Bill, no doubt the result of that tiring, flea-bitten Arthur Weasley.” Mr. Malfoy drawled. “I have some items I would rather not be found in my possession.”

 

Adelia watched, a furious fire burning within her. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

 

“Can I have that?” Draco asked, pointed to a shrivelled hand.

 

“Ah the Hand of Glory. Best friends to thieves and plunderers! It gives light only to those who hold it.” Borgin exclaimed. “Your son has excellent taste.”

 

“I should hope my son amounts to being more than a petty thief, Borgin.” Mr. Malfoy said drily. “Though if his marks at school do not pick up, he might have need of it.”

 

“It isn’t my fault.” Draco whined. “They all have their favourites that Hermione Granger-“

 

“- I would have thought you would be ashamed to have been outstripped by a girl of no wizarding kin.” Mr. Malfoy intoned coldly.

 

A flare of pride in Hermione warmed Adelia in the rather cold shop. Hermione, her best friend, Hermione who would prove all those bigoted idiots wrong.

 

“It is the same everywhere.” Borgin said gravely. “Wizarding blood is mattering less and less.”

“Not with me.”

 

So, Adelia’s assumptions had been correct: Malfoy was one of Voldemort’s. He had to have been among those who claimed they were bewitched, the ones who threw piles of galleons at the problem to make it go away. Adelia wondered how many there were.

 

She didn’t move as Draco’s wanderings brought him closer to her hiding place, nor when she heard Mr. Malfoy and Borgin haggling. It reminded her of Petunia on the phone to the electric company trying to get a better deal, but Adelia didn’t think either of them would enjoy the comparison.

 

Perhaps that was why she enjoyed it so much.

 

When the Malfoys left, Adelia carefully climbed out of the wardrobe and though there were many things that had caught her eye, she knew that none of them could be wholly legal. She did, however, believe that Borgin would have no problem selling her anything in his shop, even with the scar on her head and the blood in her veins.

 

Adelia slipped out of the shop and found herself in a thin, winding Alley. It was nothing like Diagon, no light and whimsical displays of magic: No everything here was grey and smoking. Everything here was Dark. People groaned around her, pushing past her in the narrowness of the street. Adelia stumbled and when she looked up there was a terrifying face staring down at her, and in her hands was a tray of fingernails.

 

Adelia stood quickly, pushed her way through the crowed. She wished for her wand even if she couldn’t use it magically, she could still jab it in an eye or an ear like she had done with the troll. She wished for Corra’s whispered hisses that brought her a never-ending source of comfort, wished for her small but mighty fangs.

 

“Adelia.” Hagrid’s booming voice seemed to scatter the denizens of whatever place she had found herself away. “What’re yeh doin’ in Knockturn?”

“Lost in the Floo.” Adelia explained, relaxing under the heat of Hagrid’s hand on the top of her back as he guided her. “Mrs. Weasley must be terrified.”

 

“The Weasleys?” Hagrid questioned.

 

“They rescued me, after the Dursleys, and the house-elf, incident. I got a warning from the Ministry for using magic, but I swear I didn’t.” Adelia explained quickly. “Dobby took my post.”

 

“Tha’ your cousin?” Hagrid asked confused. “Is tha’ why you didn’ write?”

 

“No. Dobby is the barmy house-elf who stole my letters. Dudley is my cousin. And I couldn’t write because Vernon locked Hedwig up.”

 

“Ruddy muggles.” Hagrid huffed.

 

There, in front of them was the gleaming white stone of Gringotts, and Adelia released a sigh of relief. There were no creepy old crones trying to feed her fingernails anymore, only the sight of Hermione coming running toward her, her parents following behind her at a much more sedated pace.

 

“Adelia!” Hermione shouted, throwing her arms around the other girl. “Oh I’ve been so worried. Are you alright? What happened? Why didn’t you write back?”

 

“I’m fine, Hermione.” Adelia promised. “And remember to breathe.”

 

“But you’re all dirty and your glasses are broken.”

 

“A mishap in the Floo.” Adelia soothed. “Hagrid rescued me.”

 

“There she is.”

 

It was Fred’s voice, slightly lower than George’s, that seemed to part the crowd around them. The Weasleys were rushing toward her, Mrs. Weasley breathing harshly as she all but ran to Adelia, Ginny clutched tightly to her arm, her face flushed.

 

“Oh Adelia, we only hoped it was one grate. Where did you end up? Oh, look at you.”

 

“In a really creepy shop. The Malfoys were there.” Adelia said. “Selling stuff. And then I left, and Hagrid found me.”

 

“She were wanderin’ around Knockturn.” Hagrid added with a shake of his head.

 

“Knockturn? You ended up in Knockturn.” Mrs. Weasley turned a daring shade of grey and whimpered.

 

“Wicked.” The twins breathed in unison.

 

“We’ve never been let it.” Ron explained.

 

“Not a place to be wanderin’ aroun’ in boys. No one good is down tha’ way.” Hagrid reprimanded gently. “Not safe at all.”

 

“Then why were you there?” Adelia asked.

 

“Needed Flesh-Eatin’ slug repellent. They’re a terror to the school’s cabbages.” Hagrid patted the bottle in his hand, a massive white thing with green letters. “Bes’ be off now. Otherwise there migh’ be no cabbages for the feast.”

 

Hagrid left them with a chorus of goodbyes as Hermione continued to pat away the soot on Adelia. There was a keen glint in Mr. Weasley’s eyes that Adelia caught before he tapped his wand against her glasses, fixing them for her.

 

Mrs. Weasley was still fretting about her, spelling about the soot and dust that covered her. Fred and George were trying to peek around the crowds to see if they could get a look at the infamous Knockturn Alley, while Hermione’s parents stood there with awkward introductions sounding.

 

“Do you often find yourself in these situations?” Mr. Granger inquired kindly, ignoring Hermione’s hushed dad.

 

“Every other day.” Adelia replied embarrassed.

 

The man huffed, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Adelia wondered what exactly Hermione had told her parents about Hogwarts that they seemed to just accept it, but then, Adelia and Hermione had both just accepted it themselves. It was best to face the fantastical than go mad trying to ignore it, after all.

 

“Would you mind having a chat with me later, Adelia?” Mr. Weasley questioned lowly as they walked up the steps to Gringotts. “Anything the Malfoys are selling in Knockturn isn’t good. I’d love to get them for something.”

 

“Be careful, Arthur dear. The Malfoy’s are as rotten as they come, I don’t want you biting off more than you can chew.” Mrs. Weasley fretted.

 

“You don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley asked indignantly.

 

“In a fair game? Yes. But they don’t play fair.”

 

Adelia nodded absentmindedly, agreeing with Mrs. Weasley’s assessment. She was quiet in the cart on the way down to the vaults, that sickening coil of guilt back within her worsening when, after Mrs. Weasley had pocketed all of the coins within hers, they stopped at Adelia’s. She wasn’t even sure if she needed more money,  but the goblin had simply opened it before she could tell him no.

 

Hastily she threw a few Galleons, Sickles and Knuts into her pouch and returned to her seat in the cart. It was only outside of the bank did Mrs. Weasley allow them to separate with a stern order to Fred and George, and Lee Jordan who joined them, that if they even thought about going near Knockturn Alley there would be hell to pay.

 

The Weasley twins wisely followed their mother’s wishes.

 

Percy  seemed to melt into the crowds in search of a quill while Mrs and Mr Weasley took Ginny to get the bulk of her supplies. Very quickly it was just Adelia, Hermione and Ron and they wandered down the winding cobblestoned streets with three large ice-creams in their hands. Ron was staring at things in the window, until Hermione dragged them both into the quill and ink shop.

 

“Do the feathers make a difference to the quill?” Hermione asked the sale’s assistant.

 

“Not most of the time unless it’s a magical feather.” They explained, eyes roving over the shelves. “We have pre-cut feathers on aisle three.”

 

And so, to aisle three they went. There were bound packets of feathers found in thick cartons of all colours and types. Hermione perused them as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world, while Adelia grabbed a pack of ivory and grey coloured feathers that reminded her of Hedwig. She wondered, however, what sort of magical birds might have left feathers around, because she wanted them, wanted to see how exactly they were different.

 

“Oh, that’s beautiful.” Hermione whispered, staring at what could only be a peacock feather quill, a silver nib attached to it. “Mum and dad said I wasn’t allowed to buy more than three types…”

 

Hermione walked away from it, though Adelia could tell she was itching to have it. There was only one of them, she found, and she placed it in her basket. Hermione’s birthday, after all, was coming up in September. Adelia plucked a few bottles of ink off the shelf then, one a vivid purple, another a pale, glittering silver that reminded her tragically of the unicorn blood, and a few black ones.

 

“How can you spend so much time looking at quills?” Ron complained as they walked toward Gamol and Japes. “I mean, they’re just quills.”

 

“Wait until you see how long we can spend in a bookshop.” Adelia huffed.

 

Ron seemed horrified at the prospect, but he quickly brightened within the shop. There wasn’t much there that truly interested Adelia, though Fred, George and Lee seemed to be stocking up on Dr Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks’ and she saw mayhem in their future. Next, they found themselves within an old junk shop that reminded Adelia of the charity shops that Petunia used to bring her to.

 

She quite enjoyed the magical version of them as well, it seemed.

 

She walked through the narrow, piling stands while Ron went off to bother Percy who was looking through a book entitled Prefects Who Rose to Power. Hermione stuck by her though, equally interested in what wizards thought of junk: potion-stained scales, ancient wizarding robes that were tatted and books.

 

So many books.

 

“Do you think-?”

 

“We can share.” Adelia nodded. “No more than five though.”

 

“Each?” Hermione asked, eyes bright.

 

“Each.”

 

And so, they filled the basket with dog-eared books with curling, cracking ink in the margins. Most of them seemed to be old history books, a few of them old study books that had Hermione practically salivating but there was one of them that Adelia wanted more than anything. It had a cracked black leather spine embossed with gold, and inside the pages were written in red ink…

 

Or at least they hoped it was red ink.

 

She looked over her shoulder, and saw Hermione was too busy scanning through a few books that seemed to be of interest of her, and so Adelia did the same. The book was old, that much was clear, and curling down the perimeter of the first page was a series of symbols Adelia had never seen before.

 

“Runes.” Adelia jumped at the sound of Percy’s voice. “That shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s written in blood.” Percy huffed. “You can tell because it’s yellowing in some places. It’s common practice for protection runes to be drawn in blood, makes them last longer. Only place I’ve ever seen it is in the bowels of the restricted section.”

 

“Maybe they don’t know what it is.” Adelia shrugged, flicking though the pages. “What?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I don’t think they should be selling this.” Adelia admitted, looking at the pictures.

 

They weren’t traditional wizarding pictures but rather old, shadowed drawings and illustrations. One of them was of a wizard lying down, something dark seeping beneath him like a puddle of spilled ink. Adelia realised it was more than likely blood. Still, she wasn’t horrified, not in the least. She wanted it, flicked through the pages a few more times with Percy peering over her shoulder.

 

“I think it’s a joke.” Percy mused. “It’s just a bunch of random letters, Adelia.”

 

“Who’d put blood runes on a joke?” She returned.

 

“Good point.” Percy relented. “There could be a spell on it to make it unreadable to anybody who isn’t the writer or their blood. Loads of old families do it, horde knowledge like they horde galleons.”

 

But there was something else about it, Adelia realised. The letters made no sense, that much was true enough, there was something familiar about it. An innate sense of comprehension. She sounded out the opening line…

 

“My secrets and sins...”

 

The book was snapped shut and Adelia glared up at Percy who wasn’t phased in the least. There was something in his eyes though, a glimmer that Adelia had seen often enough in her own, in Hermione’s and even Ron’s: Want.

 

“Did I just-?”

 

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

 

 They wouldn’t say it out loud, not here, and Adelia had been foolish enough to even speak Parseltongue in the open where anybody could have realised. She added the book to her pile, covering it with a worn copy of Evile With Envy, a book on various grooming charms.

 

Wizarding World authors really loved odd titles, it seemed.

 

“I have half a mind to tell mum you have that.” Percy mused.

 

“There’s no rules against pursuing knowledge.” Adelia hummed. “I’ll translate it for you, if you teach me how to conjure mice to feed Corra.”

 

“And you won’t practice anything in it until we see what it is.”

 

“It could just be an old man’s diary.”

 

“And the only other Parselmouth in Britain was You-Know-Who.” Percy reminded testily. “And Salazar Slytherin.”

 

“I won’t practice anything in the book.” Adelia huffed. “Deal?”

 

“Deal.”

 

“How come Adelia’s allowed to bother you?” Ron whined, Hermione beside him carrying seven books with a sheepish smile.

 

“The pursuit of knowledge is never a bother, Ron.” Percy said drily. “Come along now, we’ve to meet mum at Flourish and Blotts.”

 

Ron reminded Percy that they weren’t little first-years anymore and he didn’t need to guide them around like ducklings, but Percy had simply clucked his tongue and reminded his little brother about the troll. Ron flared a brilliant red and Hermione and Adelia were tittering to one another as they paid for their  hodgepodge collection of old books.

 

When they left the shop, they were greeted with a sea of people standing about gossiping excitedly. They pushed through them, and it suddenly became clear why they were all there: Gilderoy Lockhart was doing a book signing. Only Hermione seemed excited by it.

 

“Oh it’s good that you’re here, dears.” Mrs. Weasley said over the din of the baying crowd. “There he is.”

 

Gilderoy Lockhart cut an image, that was to be sure. Not a single piece of him was out of place, his forget-me-not blue robes were the same colour as his eyes, and there, seating in front of him were no less than three wizarding photography. His coiffed hair the shade of autumn grass was hidden beneath a pointed hat.

 

For some reason he reminded Adelia far too much of Dudley dressed in his Smeltings uniform.

 

“Out of the way.” And angry wizard with a camera said. “This is for the Daily Prophet.”

 

“Big deal.” Ron muttered, wincing.

 

Lockhart’s eyes zeroed in on him and then they flicked to Adelia who was beside him. The gleam of recognition was almost as bright of Lockhart’s teeth. He leaped up at once, grinning as he she called her name. The adoring crowd silenced, and then Lockhart’s hands were on her and Adelia was staring at a wall of greedy, wanting faces.

 

“Nice big smile now.” Lockhart urged.

 

The camera clicked and there was a flash of light, purple smoke billowing like a blanket around the Weasleys who all seemed to cough. Adelia was sure the photo immortalised her glaring at Lockhart for dragging her into this farce. She tried to escape him, but Lockhart threw an arm around her shoulder and dragged her closer.

 

She stared at the Weasleys to help her, but what could they do? The crowd wanted her, Lockhart wanted her. They wanted her for her name, her supposed deeds, for the scar on her forehead and the loss in her heart.

 

The Weasleys wanted her because she was simply Adelia.

 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen what an extraordinary moment this is.” Lockhart said delightedly. “When young Adelia here stepped into Flourish and Blotts no doubt she only expected to meet me, to get my autograph -which I shall gladly give to you-, but I have much more joyous news. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class and six-time winner of Witch Weekly’s best smile award, will be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.”

 

The crowd was cheering, even Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were clapping, and Adelia gave Ron a horrified look. The entire courseload was dropped into her arms and Adelia nearly staggered beneath them. Ginny was the closest to her and Adelia welcomingly dropped the books into her cauldron.

 

“If that man ever touches me again, I’ll bite of his fingers.” Adelia hissed to Ron. “I will.”

 

“Maybe don’t.” Ron murmured. “You know, in case his slime is contagious.”

 

“Bet you loved that, eh, Potter?” Draco Malfoy’s obnoxious voice called. “Famous Adelia Potter can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave her alone.” Ginny snapped. “She didn’t want any of that.”

 

“Aw, does Potter have an adoring fan?”

 

“Leave my sister be, Malfoy.” Ron snarled.

 

“Surprised to even see you in a bookshop, Weasley.” Malfoy taunted. “Suppose you family has to go hungry for a month to afford this lot, though it might do your mother some good.”

 

Ron went for Malfoy who stumbled backward, eyes wide. Adelia and Hermione caught him back the jacket as the rest of the Weasleys tried to battle their way through the crowds.

 

“Now, now, Draco, play nicely.”

 

Mr. Malfoy appeared behind his son, the same haughty, imperious look on their faces. His hand settled on Draco’s shoulder, and he glared at the Ron, Ginny Hermione, and Adelia with foul derision.

 

“Miss Potter.” Malfoy drawled icily, extending his hand and Adelia clasped it in tight, iron grip. Malfoy smiled and it was not a nice thing and his blue eyes settled on her scar. “Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last. Forgive me, but your scar is legendary, as of course is the wizard who gave it to you.”

 

“So legendary of course he is, that Voldemort had to possess a Defence Against the Arts teacher.” Adelia scoffed staring up at him with dangerous green eyes. “And lost -again.” Adelia smiled wickedly. “Voldemort is nothing more than a cowardly murderer and a parasite.”

 

Mr. Malfoy regarded her, something keen and assessing in his pale, glittering eyes. Hia head was tiltedto the side, his long hair flowing like a silver shadow. His lips thinned, and his words were cold amd crisp and curling. “You must be very brave to say his name, or very foolish.”

 

"That reminds to be seen, doesn't it?"

 

They seemed to stare at one another for a long while, their hands still clasped together. Adelia would not be the first one to release it, not against Malfoy who seemed to be sniffing for weakness, and he would find none there. She had stared down the twisted face of Lord Voldemort and Malfoy’s face was nowhere near as terrifying.

 

“Come on, kids, it’s mad in here. Let’s go outside.” Mr. Weasley announced, his children around him.

 

“Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley.” Malfoy finally let Adelia’s hand go and she stepped away, though Malfoy did impart one final look upon her.

 

She wondered who he saw when he looked at her.

 

“Lucius.” Mr. Weasley said coldly.

 

“Busy time at the Ministry I hear. All those raids, I do hope they’re paying you overtime.” But Mr. Malfoy was reaching toward Ginny’s cauldron, and there was a hand on Adelia’s shoulder because she wanted nothing more than stand in front of the girl, to take the attention away from her, and pulled out an old copy of a transfiguration book. “Obviously not. Dear me, what is the excuse for being a disgrace to wizards if they don’t even pay you well?”

 

“You and I have two very different ideas about what disgraces the name, wizard, Malfoy.” Mr. Weasley said, flushing darker than Ron and Ginny combined.

 

“Clearly.” Malfoy tutted, eyeing the Grangers who had a protective hand on Hermione. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could stoop no lower.”

 

And then the hand on Adelia’s shoulder pulled her back. Ginny’s cauldron went flying with a thud. Several people were trying to break up the fight, Fred and George were shouting their support for Mr. Weasley. Books came tumbling down, the shop keeper was begging them to stop, Mrs. Weasley was shouting at her husband. Then Hagrid appeared and pulled the pair of them apart as though they were two errant pups.

 

Mr. Malfoy had a cut eye, Mr. Weasley a split lip. The crowd watched on. Mrs. Weasley was shaking with rage. Yet somehow, through the entire fight, Mr. Malfoy had kept a hold of Ginny’s transfiguration book. He thrust it as her after he righted himself with a snarled:

 

“Here, girl -take your book- it’s the best your father can get you.”

 

Then he was gone. The shopkeeper warred with herself to stop them from leaving too, but apparently Hagrid scared her off and they hurried out of the shop. Hermione’s parents were shaking with fright, and Mrs. Weasley was irately badgering her husband about examples for their children. Nobody dared speak as they said goodbye to Hermione’s parents and her, nor when they walked into the Leaky Cauldron to Floo back to the Burrow.

 

It was only with the Floo powder in her hands that Adelia realised she never told Hermione about Corra. She hoped Hermione wasn’t afraid of snakes.

Chapter 5: The Return

Summary:

Though there was trouble at the barrier, that did not prevent Adelia and Ron from getting to Hogwarts (and Hermione might be the tiniest bit jealous that they got there first). The first quidditch training session ended in a brawl, Malfoy deserved it.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this instalment (:

The last few weeks in the Burrow were the best time of Adelia’s life, even if Ron grumbled about her nudging him into doing his homework. Most of her time was spent flying on the hill, and Ginny had even joined them once, after much begging from her brothers. Her eyes had brightened when Adelia offered her the Nimbus 2000 and Adelia waited for the day, she joined the quidditch team.

 

There was only one tiny snag, however, during those final few weeks. Dumbledore had apparently returned her notes on the entire mystery of last year by slipping it into her History of Magic notebook. Percy, who had kindly been assisting her since Binns was beyond useless, had promptly choked.

 

“Why in the name of Godric Gryffindor-“ He had said rather harshly. “-Did you not tell anybody?”

 

“Well, we tried to tell McGonagall before you sat our OWL, and she didn’t believe us.” Adelia had shrugged. “Dumbledore was supposed to have burned that.”

 

“If I hear even a whisper of you and my brother investigating this fictitious plot that a mad house-elf told you, I’ll make sure you’re in detention until you graduate.”

 

“The last, and only, detention I’ve ever had was to go into the Forbidden Forest.” Adelia reminded. “And well, Voldemort was out there eating the unicorns. The centaurs said there was no act more reviled.”

 

Percy made a wounded noise, no doubt remembering that he had been taught by said dark wizard for a year, and that his vileness had no doubt sunk deeply into the castles’ stones. Adelia could only offer him a wry smile and his cheek twitched in frustration. Then he repeated centaurs and seemed to realise that Malfoy had indeed been telling the truth about the dragon.

 

Adelia was sure she’d broken something in Percy Weasley’s rather brilliant mind that day.

 

But it was the night before they left for Hogwarts that Adelia felt the melancholy seep in. She didn’t know when she’d be able to see the Burrow again, if she ever would and she’d miss so very much. She’d miss its warmth, the pictures that told her to smarten herself up, the Weasley family clock that seeped with glorious golden magic. Most of all though, Adelia was sure she’d miss the peace because she knew there was something waiting for her in Hogwarts.

 

Morning came too quickly, and Mrs. Weasley woke them all up when it was still black outside. She ordered them about, fed them a feed and muttered about socks and books. Adelia watched her as she did, staying out of her way with Corra coiled around her, the snake seemed to be rather dissatisfied by the idea that Adelia couldn’t, in fact, carry her around the castle and to classes.

 

“But I want to learn magic, den-mother.”

 

Adelia didn’t give her snake’s sad, pitiful hiss of complaint much attention, too busy watching Mr. Weasley nearly break his neck as he fell over a chicken in the garden. She had no idea how all of the, were going to fit in the car, though it quickly became apparent that Mr. Weasley had made some adjustments.

 

It seemed to take an age, and then they were all in the car, Adelia sandwiched between the door and Ron, while Percy looked rather put out at being put in the middle, or it might had been because he was sitting beside Fred and George who were whispering to one another near silently. Mrs Weasley was mumbling to herself, her hand on Ginny’s shoulder while Mr. Weasley drove, and the Burrow was behind them.

 

And then it was in front of her again because George had forgotten his fireworks. Not ten minutes later were they on their way back, Fred forgetting his broom. Nearing the motorway it was Ginny’s turn, shrieking about her diary. Adelia just sunk deeper into the seat, Hedwig and Hermes both voicing their displeasure, while Corra slept.

 

But tempers were flaring, they had been all morning. Everybody was tired, everybody was stressed, and Adelia watched as time slipped by, as the deadline came closer and closer. Mr. Weasley pleaded to be allowed to fly the car but Mrs. Weasley had sharply turned him down at every single point. Adelia itched as each moment passed because the Dursleys had impressed upon her a sense of timeliness.

 

She couldn’t stand the idea that they might be late.

 

Somehow, in the end, they weren’t, but it wasn’t by much. Mr. Weasley unloaded the expanded boot with fevered need, stacking everything onto trollies that everybody had wheeled toward him. There was scarcely five minutes before they reached the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Percy rushed though, then Fred and George, then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran with Ginny and then…

 

Adelia and Ron crashed into the barrier, their trollies going sideways, and Hedwig was screeching. That seemed to have awakened Corra, and she hissed out an annoyed found and Adelia told her to stay put because the Muggles were already looking at them oddly.

 

“What’re you two up to?” One guard hollered at them.

 

“Lost control of the trolly.” Adelia huffed, righting herself.

 

Beside her Ron was staring at the clock and Adelia realised with dawning horror that it was after eleven. The train was gone. They shared a look, set about fixing up their things, and took refuge on a bench, heads bent together.

 

“What do we do?” Adelia asked. “Has this ever happened before?”

 

“I don’t think so. Adelia, what if mum and dad can’t get back through?” Ron asked worriedly. “What do we do?”

 

“Your mum and dad won’t leave the car.” Adelia reminded. “We can go back there. I’ll write a letter to Dumbledore, tell him we got stuck because Ron, Ron I don’t think that should have happened.”

 

“The car!” Ron exclaimed. “We could take it.”

 

“Are you mad? Ron, your mum would have our hides. Not to mention muggles aren’t exactly used to a flying car. Your dad could lose his job.” Adelia said sharply. “Worst’s worst, we go to the Leaky Cauldron. It isn’t far from here.”

 

“Let’s go back to the car, you can send your letter.” Ron nodded agreeing. “Do you have muggle money?”

 

Adelia did not. Ron huffed as he sat up, and together they returned to the car, leaving the whispers and the stairs behind them. Mr. Weasley’s car was still there, and Adelia rummaged for the first quill and pot of ink she could find. She hoped Dumbledore didn’t mind a bright purple letter of distress.

 

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

 

Ron Weasley and I (Adelia Potter) are stuck on the muggle side of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Something seems to be blocking the barrier and we’re worried that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might not be able to get back through.

 

I’m writing this to inform you that we might be a little late to Hogwarts, or perhaps a lot. Hopefully they’ll figure out the problem.

 

Regards,

 

Adelia Potter.

 

“Take that to Dumbledore girl and fly fast.” Adelia pleaded.

 

Hedwig seemed to sense her distress in the same way Corra did, for she took it and to the skies in the blink of an eye. Adelia sat on her trunk, head bent into her clasped hands and Ron was pacing at her. She knew he wanted to take car but the very idea turned her stomach. She’d already had one warning for using magic, and she didn’t think a second would end in anything more than an expulsion.

 

And if she was expelled, they’d snap her wand and she’d be forced to endure the Dursleys until she was eighteen. She’d hardly survived a summer with them, and if Vernon had been hurt by Corra’s bite then Adelia would surely die.

 

“I can’t believe you just wrote Dumbledore a letter with purple ink.” Ron muttered, breaking the mounting tension. “We’re going to look like right tools.”

 

“I really don’t care.” Adelia laughed. “I rather think he’ll like it. Dumbledore’s an odd one. He sent me the Cloak you know; my dad left it with him.”

 

“And he just gave it to you?” Ron huffed. “We couldn’t even manage the train without getting into a fight. Do you think he knew about the other things you used it for?”

 

“Oh I have no doubt about it. Hermione gave him my mad ramblings on the Stone, you know. He said we don’t do things by half-measures.” Adelia grinned. “Besides, maybe we’ll get house points for being law abiding citizens.”

 

“Percy’ll love that.” Ron replied and then his face fell. “Oh no. Hermione must be panicking something wicked.”

 

“Maybe we should have sent a letter to her instead.” Adelia admitted.

 

“She would have gone and told Percy and he’d have turned the train around through sheer force of fretting.” Ron said. “He’s as bad as mum, you know, though he just won’t admit it.”

 

Silenced reigned between them for close to an hour and there was no sign of anybody coming back to the car. Another hour passed and there was nothing. They’d even walked back up to the platform to see. It was still stone. They didn’t go back to the car, even as the third hour trickled closer. Even Ron’s cheerful commentary had died away.

 

Adelia felt her stomach sinking, wondering if this was it. Had Voldemort realised that the Flamels weren’t dead and taken their Stone and forged himself a new body? Had he massacred everybody on the train platform through some ancient ritual.

 

“You smell distressed, speaker.”

 

“Hush yourself, Corra. Talking to snakes isn’t good here.”

 

“I am hungry, can I have the deformed one?”

 

“No. Mrs. Weasley gave you two mice. I read the books; you wouldn’t be eating half as much as I’m feeding you.”

 

“Adelia.” Ron nudged her, pointed down the length of the platform toward the stairs. “Dumbledore.”

 

“Hide.” Adelia hissed lowly. “He cannot see you.”

 

Corra wriggled slower until she was beneath Adelia’s sleeve, and she shucked her jacket closer. Adelia had no idea if Dumbledore would think her evil for speaking Parseltongue, and it wasn’t something she intended for anybody to find. She especially didn’t want them to find about Corra in case they took her a way, because within a month (three days, really, once she had stayed faithfully by her speaker’s side) she had coiled herself around Adelia’s heart in the same way Hedwig had.

 

“Adelia. Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore greeted. “I must impress upon the maturity the pair of you have shown in this matter. The Ministry is working on unblocking the barrier.”

 

“Thank Merlin. I was going barmy sitting here.” Ron muttered. “Eh, sir, how are we going to get to Hogwarts?”

 

“Magic of course, Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes. “Now, why don’t we go somewhere quieter. Muggles tend not to appreciate it when people vanish in front of them.”

 

The two Hogwarts students followed their Headmaster like little ducklings lost in a riptide. They found a quiet alcove and Dumbledore waved not his wand by his hand, and all their belongings shrunk so small that they could be placed within their pockets. Both Adelia and Ron were in awe at such a display of magic.

 

“I will warn you both, this next step might be a bit unpleasant.” Dumbledore huffed, his wand in his hand now, its wood notched with baubles. “If you would please? And hold tight.”

 

Ron and Adelia shared bemused looks, but each took one of Dumbledore’s arms and then they were gone. It was like being squeezed in a tiny tube, dizzying and itchy all at the same time, and then they were upright, standing in an empty room. No, not room, the Great Hall.

 

“Wicked.” Ron murmured.

 

“I’m going to be sick.” Adelia gaged, stomach rolling in revulsion.

 

“Here you are.” Madam Pomfrey said kindly, handing Adelia a pale blue potion. “Most people get sick their first time with magical transportation. Mr Weasley, have you Apparated before?”

 

“A few times.” Ron admitted with a shrug.

 

Potion swallowed and tongue tasting of sweet syrup, Adelia finally looked toward Dumbledore who was regarding them both kindly. “Thank you for coming to get us sir, we had hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would come back through.”

 

“Help will always be given to those in Hogwarts who ask for it, Adelia.” Dumbledore said sagely as Hedwig soared to Adelia’s shoulder, nipping at her hair in affection. “The magic at the barrier is a conundrum, I will admit, for it even seems to block both the ability to Apparate and the Floo. Though I did quite enjoy the ink, Ms. Potter.”

 

That couldn’t mean anything good, Adelia decided, nothing at all. It wasn’t just them being late that had caused it, but somebody or something had actively laid down spell work that seemed to confuse the Ministry. That didn’t bode well. But neither did the sight of Professor McGonagall striding toward them in black and violet tartan robes.

 

“You two.” She breathed. “Why must it always be you, Ms. Potter? When I got Mr. Weasley’s owl I feared the worst. Twenty points to Gryffindor for keeping your heads about you.”

 

“Percy sent you an owl?” Ron echoed, confused.

 

“Ms. Granger alerted him the moment she could not find you on the train.” McGonagall said, looking at her two Gryffindor’s with pride. “The train is still some hours out, are you both alright?”

 

“Dear Minerva.” Dumbledore said jovially. “Term has not yet begun and so no points can be given. However, I would much appreciate it if you could see Ms. Potter and Mr. Weasley to their dormitories.”

 

“Of course, follow me.” McGonagall nodded.

 

Ron and Adelia followed her through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts’ ancient walls. The portraits on the wall pointed and whispered about them as they walked, and the ghosts that floated about just seemed to nod along as though two students arriving early was nothing out of the ordinary.

 

“Now, the password is waterebird.” McGonagall said as they walked up a flight of the moving staircase. “Where are your belongings?”

 

“In our pockets. Headmaster Dumbledore shrunk them, but, Professor, how do we unshrink them?” Ron wondered.

 

“I will see to that.”

 

“Professor.” Adelia questioned as they claimed yet another set of stairs.

 

“Yes, Ms Potter?”

 

“It’s a transfiguration question.” Adelia admitted, Hedwig still on her shoulder, Corra still wrapped around her.

 

“You may ask.” Professor McGonagall’s lips twitched. “So long as you do not attempt it.”

 

“You said last year that transfiguration isn’t permanent, but what about animals that we conjure? Does that mean that if I were to conjure a mouse to feed Hedwig, it wouldn’t actually sustain her?” Adelia inquired.

 

“Of course it would. The magic, though limited in its timeframe, does transmutate matter into the thing you wish it to be.” McGonagall explained. “The exception comes with creating food from nothing, though that is veering into NEWT territory.”

 

“Gamp’s Law.” Adelia nodded, understanding. “But if I conjure something, they say birds and snakes are easier, is it actually a snake or a bird?”

 

“Are you asking does it have a soul, Ms. Potter?” McGonagall questioned, somewhat impressed, and Adelia nodded. “No. It does not. They are creations of magic, via one of the branches of Transfiguration, but they are not real, not alive in the sense you and I may understand. They simply exist. You have been studying over the Summer, haven’t you?”

 

“She spent hours over the break asking Percy.” Ron agreed. “And mum and dad. It was brilliant.”

 

“All three fine students of transfiguration that I have had the pleasure to teach.” McGonagall said proudly, ordering the Fat Lady to open. “Now, in you go. I’ll resize your belongings and the second-year dormitories are two flights up, same as last year. We will send word when the feast is set to begin.”

 

They both removed their trunks and McGonagall tapped her wand against them. the second they were enlarged, they vanished, and Ron and Adelia looked at one another. McGonagall only looked at them with her lips twitching in amusement before they bid her good afternoon. Together, the two of them settled on the sofa in front of the fire that seemed to roar to life. Hedwig had hooted once, clacked her beak against Adelia’s braid once again and she flew out through the window.

 

Such and odd owl that one.

 

The time before the feast passed quickly, Adelia and Ron both going to set their things about. Adelia had made Corra a pitiful nest in the cool darkness of her trunk, and but the snake seemed to love it, though she did ask for a few warm rocks to be placed in it. Adelia, who had been able to cast the warming charm by February last year because of Astronomy class, promised to find her the best rocks.

 

Such was her life now, it seemed.

 

Most od Adelia’s time was spent organising her books, both study and pleasure, onto the wooden shelf by her bed. There was only one book she did not dare to place out in the open, however, and that was the one that seemed to have been written by a snake speaker.

 

Seated on her bed, Adelia had pulled out a piece of parchment and with her quill and purple ink she had set about writing a list of spells she wated to learn. It was far long than last year’s, but Adelia felt that Lockhart would be undeniably useless and with Voldemort out there she wanted to be prepared.

 

Though somehow, she doubted Voldemort would be on the back of Lockhart’s head. He didn’t seem to be the type to try the same thing twice.

 

Looking out her window as she darkened, she saw the lights of the first-year boats as they made their way toward the castle, and she excitedly called Ron from his dorm. Together, dressed in their robes, they made their way down to the Great Hall, students already spilling into it. Hermione screeched as she saw them, running over and wrapping her arms around the both of them.

 

“I was so worried.”

“We’re fine. Dumbledore came and got us.” Adelia soothed. “How was the train ride, you weren’t alone were you?”

 

“I sat with Neville.” Hermione nodded. “It was fine.”

 

They went to the table, Hermione seated between them like she was afraid they’d disappear into nothingness if she didn’t have a hold on them. Fred and George patted Adelia and Ron on the heads as they passed them, sitting further up the table with their year mates. Percy was simply glaring, joined in his effort with Jessica Cole, Hogwarts’ Head Girl and Adelia could all but taste the concern.

 

“Make room.” Adelia urged.

 

“Why?” Ron asked.

 

“For when Ginny’s sorted.”

 

“We don’t know if she’ll be in Gryffindor.” Ron reminded.

 

“Do you remember how she stared down Malfoy? She’s a shoe in for sure. Now shush, the sorting is starting.” Adelia huffed.

 

Ron made space, and sure enough, Ginny Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor.

 

**

 

The morning dawned quickly, and so did Professor McGonagall handing out the timetables. Whoever thought Astronomy at midnight on a Tuesday was a fine thing needed seeing too, though the Gryffindor’s first class was Herbology, something that while Adelia didn’t find particularly interesting, was calming with its rhythmic movements.

 

As the trio descended to the greenhouses, Lockhart seemed to be skulking about and Adelia ducked her head and walked faster until she was in Professor Sprout’s domain. Inside the class she handed them earmuffs with a warning that they were repotting Mandrake seedlings, and Hermione gladly explained what exactly were.

 

The sight of them, however, made Adelia giggle. They were loud, squalling roots, that kicked and nipped and screamed. Adelia had a hard enough time dealing with hers when the boy beside her, Justin Finch-Fletchley droned on and on about Eton. And here Adelia taught Hufflepuff’s were supposed to be the most modest of the Hogwarts houses.

 

Transfiguration followed. McGonagall had got them to change a beetle into a button and it was the first time in months that Adelia had both felt and heard her wand sing. With a simple command, magic flowed forth and the black beetle turned into a gleaming button. McGonagall awarded her five points for that and gave her a rare smile.

 

It seemed Adelia had her father’s skills with transfiguration.

 

Ron, however, was fairing worse. His wand had cracked during their escapade with the barrier, and now it was held together with Spellotape. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick grey smoke which smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing; Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

 

At lunch, Ron was morose, glaring at his wand as he ate. Adelia felt her heart quicken. She knew it wasn’t as simple as just writing home and asking for a new wand. It had been Charlie’s she knew, and before that, it had been Fabian’s, Ron’s uncles. Fred had told her how Mrs. Weasley had gone mad when she learned that Ron had already had a wand during his first trip to Diagon.

 

She also knew that well it never seemed to work perfectly for Charlie, it had for Ron. He’d been bonded to it the moment he’d first picked it up when he was nine and Charlie was in his sixth year. He’d told her how it just felt right and well, Adelia couldn’t imagine anything happening to her holly and phoenix-core wand.

 

The very thought made her stomach twist.

 

“Maybe Ollivander can fix it.” Adelia urged.

“Maybe, but I’ll have to survive the year with it.” Ron huffed, irritated. “If something happens, how is it supposed to be useful?”

 

And no, Adelia had never imagined a world where Ron believed her safety was important. It was her fault that danger lurked in the shadows, the entirety of last year had been her fault. She had dragged him and Hermione and even Neville into danger at every turn.

 

Dobby’s warnings sounded in her head.

 

“Why-“ Ron began, voice high and distorted as he looked at Hermione. “-have you got Lockhart’s lessons surrounded by hearts?”

 

Hermione glared at him, flushing violently. The three of them went out to the quad, enjoying the autumn sunshine and golden leaves. If Adelia had to anything to say it was lost to the flash of a camera and she came face to face with a tiny first year. She blinked at his excitement and early bit back a groan.

 

“Hiya, Adelia. I’m Colin, Colin Creevy.” He grinned so brightly Adelia was sure her eyes were burnt. “I’m a Gryffindor just like you. D’ya think it’d be alright if I took a picture?

“A picture?” Adelia asked, dumbfounded.

 

“So, I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forwards. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead. And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.’

 

Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and continued, ‘It’s brilliant here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you –“ he looked imploringly at Adelia, “– maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

 

He was so earnest, so excitable that Adelia felt like saying yes. Ron had his face screwed up Hermione was blinking rather like Hedwig did. Colin was still staring at Adelia with wide, blue eyes and his cheeks flushed pink when she smiled at him.

 

“Giving out signed photos, Potter?” Malfoy mocked, Crabbe and Goyle following him like they always were.

 

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Adelia growled.

 

“You’re just jealous.” Colin huffed.

 

“Jealous of some hideous scar and dead parents? I don’t think so.” Malfoy retorted. “That one’s not even wanted by the muggles.”

 

“Shut your gob, Malfoy.” Ron snarled.

 

“What’s this about signed photographs?” Lockhart questioned, sniffing out the opportunity. “Come on then Creevy, a double portrait and we’ll both sign it.”

 

Colin grinned and so, Adelia endured Lockhart’s arm around her shoulders for the sake of the tiny first year. Adelia didn’t remember being that small. Had she been that small when she’d faced Voldemort down? Lockhart turned to her offering a garishly pink and gold feather quill that seemed to be self-inking. Adelia signed the bottom of it, her letters curled and joined.

 

“Have a good first day at Hogwarts, Colin.” Adelia smiled. “It’s brilliant here.”

 

Colin grinned and scurried off, but Lockhart did not. He simply guided her toward his classroom, his arm still around her shoulder and Ron had been right, she couldn’t bite him like she wanted to. He was going on about the power of fame and how to build upon it as though he didn’t realise -or care- that Adelia’s fame had been built on the remains of her parents.

 

She hated how he was right, though. Her name carried weight, carried power. She would need it in the wars to come, for Voldemort still dwelled in the shadows.

 

“Let’s hope Ginny doesn’t meet Colin, yeah? Adelia Potter fanclubs will be popping up everywhere.”

 

“Lockhart doesn’t need any more ideas.” Adelia huffed, sitting beside him.

 

Once the rest of the students arrived, Lockhart handed them a quiz. Adelia stared blankly at the questions which ranged from Lockhart’s favourite colour to his greatest ambition and Adelia groaned. She’d be learning nothing useful in his class. Nothing at all. Hermione, however, seemed delighted, blushing when Lockhart called her out for full marks. Ron and Adelia shared a look.

 

“Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.” Lockhart called moving toward the fabric covered cage on his desk.

 

He pulled it away with a flourish and there were gasps in the room, In the cage there were a dozen or more tiny Cornish Pixies, their iridescent wings glowing as they sprouted from deep blue skin. Seamus snorted and Neville cowered.

 

“They’re not exactly dangerous.” Seamus choked.

 

“Are they not?” Lockhart grinned devilishly.

 

The he released them. It was pure chaos the likes of which the Weasley twins could only dream of. They attacked the students, grabbing at their hair, their clothes, and four of them seemed to have rounded on Neville, tiny fingers clutched around his robe.

 

“Now, they’re no challenge to a good witch or wizard. Peskipiksi Pesternom.” Lockhart called.

 

Absolutely nothing happened. Well, nothing other than one of the pixies throwing Lockhart’s wand out the bloody window that was. The students screeched, Neville was being lifted into the air and hung on the iron light, Lockhart cowered behind the desk.  Then the bell rang, and they all ran to the door, Lockhart included.

 

“Neville. Take off your cloak.” Adelia shouted over the pandemonium. “I’ll catch you.”

 

But Neville didn’t have a choice for the light gave way and Adelia caught him with a flawless Wingardium Leviosa, and Hermione was trying to immobilise the pixies, but they were just too quick. She caught some of them, and they lay suspended in the air.

 

“Yes, yes, you three take care of them.” Lockhart grinned as he fled.

 

“Can you believe him?” Ron hissed as s pixie bit his ear.

 

“He just wants to give us hands on experience.” Hermione defended.

 

“Descendo.” Adelia cast, ignoring the flying pixies that slammed to the ground.

 

“Hand’s on experience!? The man’s a bloody farce, Hermione. He hadn’t got a clue. At least Voldemort bloody taught us something.”

 

Neville whimpered and Adelia helped him up.

 

“Rubbish. You’ve read his books -I know you have- look at everything he’s done.”

 

“Things he’s said he’s done.” Ron muttered darkly and Adelia agreed.

 

**

 

For the next few days Adelia avoided Lockhart like the plague. Ron’s wand continued to malfunction in class and each day had had looked worse and worse. To cheer Ron up, they’d planned to go down to Hagrid at the end of the first week. It had also been the day Adelia had planned to introduce Corra to both Hagrid and Hermione, but that plan was so rudely interrupted. Adelia had been in her bed practicing turning bits of thin silver wire into beautiful hairclips when the door to her dormitory was opened gently.

 

“Adelia.” Katie Bell whispered. “Oh good, you’re up. Oliver wants us down at the pitch.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Now.”

 

And then Katie retreated into the darkness and Adelia stared down at her work. It was pitiful, but she had vowed to get it by Halloween no matter what it took. She wrote Hermione a note to tell her where she was, hissed goodbye to Corra who decided to make a nest in Adelia’s bed until she had the sufficient rocks for her den, and grabbed her quidditch robes before she went to the bathroom.

 

Not ten minutes later was she standing in the common room, her hair braided, her glasses affixed to her face. Oh how she wanted them gone. Katie and Oliver were the only ones there, broom in hand. Oliver was watching her, studying her form and Adelia stood straighter.

 

“You didn’t answer my letters all summer.” Oliver accused. “We don’t do that here. I write, you respond.”

 

“Barmy house elf stole all my post.” Adelia shrugged.

 

“You live with muggles, don’t you?” Oliver peered at her.

 

“Yup.”

 

Any words he may have had were lost in the face of his confusion. Even Katie looked confused. Eventually they shrugged it off as the oddity that was Adelia Potter. Slowly the rest of the team joined them, and they were off toward the quidditch pitch for a very early morning practice. The entire team seemed to be huddling for warmth in the face of the September breeze.

 

“Warming charms exist, you know.” Adelia huffed.

 

“They’re taught in seventh year.” Fred moaned, holding onto her. “So warm.”

 

“May I?”

 

The shivering team stopped just before the steps staring at her gratefully. All of them had apologised to her before the end of the school year for the way they had treated her in face of the loss of house points, and again for stopping Quirrell. Oliver hadn’t even mentioned the fact that it was her fault they had lost the house cup in the end.

 

“This is delightful.” George grinned after Adelia cast the spell.

 

“I’ve missed doing magic.” Adelia admitted.

 

“Come on team.” Oliver called. “Double time it.”

 

The other six players rolled their eyes but followed their Captain as they always would. They may grumble about Oliver’s methods, but none of them would try and ignore him. Adelia was reigning herself to more dinners of protein-laden meat and she hungered for a taste of Mrs. Weasley’s feast already.

 

Maybe she’d get some fudge for Christmas. Mrs. Weasley’s on the second day had been so terribly apologetic even if the bother at the gate had not been her fault.

 

Oliver led them to a chalkboard hidden beneath a red and gold tent. They’d been spelled to make sure each team couldn’t enter and snoop. Adelia seemed to be the only one watching, for the others were still fighting the pull of sleep, but she’d been awake since Corra had headbutted her.

 

Such a rude, needy snake she had.

 

“Right, Potter. Since you missed the letters, I’ve a new strategy…”

 

The first board bled into the second and then the third. Adelia was sure Fred was asleep on Angelina’s shoulder, his eyes closed and lips twitching. Oliver, however, was as impassioned as always, his accented words carrying thick and heavy in the otherwise silent air. Finally, it seemed as though Oliver was finished.

 

“Any questions?”

 

“Yeah, why couldn’t you have said this to us yesterday?” George mumbled, apparently awakening in the silence.

 

“Now look here.” Oliver began. “Because of evil bloody wizards, we couldn’t win last year. But there’s no Quirrell here now.”

 

“It was Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head, actually.” Adelia corrected, cracking her neck. “Horrible looking thing if I’ve ever seen one.”

 

“Right.” Angelina murmured.

 

“This year.” Oliver continued. “There’ll be none of that. Now, let’s go.”

 

“Is there a way to fix my eyes?” Adelia wondered, twitching her nose. “The sticking charm is itchy.”

 

“Not until you’re thirteen.” Alicia commiserated. “And even then, it isn’t a guarantee.”

 

Adelia hoped she would be able to do it. Dudley had always enjoyed breaking her glasses, and well, if she were to lose them in a fight, she would be essentially half-blinded. Better to get it fixed in her opinion and tell Oliver it was for the good of quidditch. He’d probably like that.

 

“How’s it going?” Ron called, wandering down with toast slathered in marmalade.

 

“Haven’t started.” Adelia admitted, eyeing the toast. “Please?

 

Ron rolled his eyes and tore the piece of toast in half, offering it to Adelia with a grin. She bit into it savagely, the beginning of hunger rumbling in her belly and she had vowed never to feel the twist and fire of it ever again. Once she had scarfed it down, Adelia mounted her broom and soared through the skies.

 

Oliver released all four balls and Adelia lost sight of the Snitch almost instantly. She simply flew around, evading the Bludgers Fred and George sent her way, diving beneath the Quaffle that Katie, Alicia and Angelina passed to one another in even more intricate patterns. But then there was a click of a camera and a flash of light.

 

Colin was here.

 

“Who’s that?” Wood questioned suspiciously after he beckoned them over to him. “He could be a Slytherin spy.”

 

“He’s a Gryffindor.” Adelia muttered. “And well, he’s rather obsessed with the Girl-Who-Lived.”

 

“Besides, Oliver.” Fred said gently. “I don’t think the Slytherins need a spy.”

 

“Why?” Oliver demanded; voice taut with tension.

 

“Because they’re here.”

 

“I booked the bloody pitch.” Oliver raged.

 

Then he was gone, but of course the rest of the team followed him. Oliver landed harshly, feet kicking up sand as he marched right up to Flint, the Slytherin captain. The team landed behind him.

 

“Flint. This is out practice time. I booked the pitch.” Oliver all but snarled.

 

“Enough room for the both of us, Wood.” Flint replied nastily.

 

“Get behind me.” Angelia urged Adelia, hand on her shoulder. “Hexes are gonna come.”

 

“I booked the pitch. I booked the pitch!” Oliver all but screamed.

 

“But we here have a note from Professor Snape to train our new Seeker.”

 

No. Adelia knew who was standing behind the wall of green. She’d heard it in Borgin’s awful shop. Sure enough, Malfoy pushed himself forward, smirking as though he was the cat that got the cream. Adelia hated him.

 

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” George asked as though he didn’t already know.

 

“Funny you should mention Mr. Malfoy. He equipped the team with Nimbus 2001’s, and I’ve heard they outstrip the 2000, let alone the Cleansweep.” Flint grinned menacingly. “Top of the line. Only released last month.”

 

“Probably the only reason you were let onto the team, Malfoy.” Adelia taunted, Anglina’s hand tightening in silent warning. “What do you have without daddy’s stained name?”

 

“Oh look, a pitch invasion.” Flint said, ignoring Adelia.

 

“What’s happening?” Ron demanded. “Why are they here?”

 

“They were just admiring our brooms, Weasley.” Malfoy heckled. “That my father bought our team.”

 

“At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in.” Hermione said sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

 

“Nobody asked you opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”

 

There was rage, violent, bitter rage. Ron’s wand was in his hand, Fred and George were diving to pull him back, but he was already doubled over, thick strands of slimy saliva dripping from his mouth as shudders wracked his body.

 

Malfoy was standing laughing as though he’d just witnessed the funniest thing in the world, as though he wasn’t some vile git. Adelia just wished he’d fall flat on his face as she and Hermione went to gather Ron. She wished, just once, that it would be Malfoy humiliated… The handle of Malfoy’s brand-new Nimbus 2001 jerked in his hand and there was an echoing crunch as he staggered backward, clutching his broken nose.

 

Then fists were flying, and Colin’s camera was flashing, but no-one could say for sure what exactly had happened to Malfoy's broom.

Chapter 6: The Voices

Summary:

Strange things happen, and Adelia and Percy have their first lesson.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy. Things will be going a little au from here on out, but tat's not surprising.

It had been Hagrid who had broken it up. Lockhart was there too, giddy with glee despite the blood and hisses of discomfort as he demanded both teams -and Ron and Hermione- follow him toward the hospital wing. He didn’t quite seem to care that not all of them could walk.

 

Madam Pomfrey had glared at them all, separating the Slytherin and Gryffindor to either side of her infirmary and sent a message zipping through the air for both McGonagall and Snape to come and dispense justice.

 

Adelia didn’t think there would be justice if Snape were involved.

 

Oliver was getting his nose fixed, though he looked a little bit loopy from the knock he’d taken to the head. Both Katie and Alicia were groaning, their faces inflamed after one of the Slytherins caught them both with a Bee Sting Hex.

 

“Right Ms. Potter, what seems to be the problem with you?” Madam Pomfrey questioned.

 

Adelia, who was being held up Fred and Angelina on either side of her, glared at the matron. It was quite obvious what was wrong with her: her knees were backward. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the Stinging Hex that hit Bletchley (the one who had her in the first place) had, if his hisses of pain were anything to go by.

 

“Right.” Madam Pomfrey nodded, eye twitching as Ron coughed more slugs into the bucket he was holding. “Just a moment.”

 

The woman was gone in a flash, but she returned just as quickly, a thick, green-hued glass bottle in her hand. Madam Pomfrey poured a splash of it into a glass of conjured water, the pale lilac tones shimmering before she cast the counter-hex that had Adelia’s knees returned to normal.

 

That’s when the pain came, blooming hot and throbbing. Adelia bent forward and Angelina was already pushing the potion-tainted water to her lips. The relief was instant, soothing and cooling until there only the barest ache. Fred petted her shoulder -he’d broken his hand punching Flint in the face, but Madam Pomfrey didn’t even blink twice as she fixed it up- with a grin.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall thundered, sweeping into the hospital wing with Snape hot on her heels.

 

Though there were only sixteen students in the hospital wing it sounded like there was a thousand of them. Each one was shouting, each one was demanding attention. Oliver was perhaps the loudest of them all, screaming about booking the pitch, but it was Ron, continually choking on the slugs that tried to escape from his mouth, who was so righteously furious, that McGonagall listened to.

 

Malfoy had called Hermione a mudblood, and even if Adelia didn’t know for certain what it was, she could guess.

 

Malfoy was sprouting his father’s blood supremacist nonsense. Malfoy had already said the other kind, shouldn’t be allowed near Hogwarts. Even the Slytherins had been shocked that he’d said it out in the open, and they were the sons of Voldemort’s followers who had claimed to be bewitched, the brothers of the of those locked up or interred.

 

It was never going to end, Adelia realised as she watched both McGonagall and Snape round on Malfoy, who was groaning in the bed even if his nose had already been healed, hate begets hate begets hate. Voldemort might have been little more than a shade cursed to a half-life but his ideas, his beliefs were still alive.

 

“Wizarding blood is counting for less and less…”

“Not with me.”

 

“All of you-.” McGonagall began after a moment of terse silence. “-Will be given detention. Brawling in Hogwarts like ruffians, never in my day. You are lucky that there no permanent damage done to one another, lucky that I do not see feet to strip you all of your positions. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin will lose forty points, and Mr. Malfoy, for your use of such foul language, you shall also lose a further twenty points.”

 

“Why’s Hermione being punished?” Adelia questioned. “She did nothing wrong.”

 

“Guilty by association, I should think.” Snape drawled.  “Were they not her words that sparked off this brawl?”

 

“Severus.” McGonagall hissed, glaring at him. “Ms. Granger, did you turn your wand against any of your peers today? Did you intend to cause violence to them?”

 

“No, Professor.” Hermione said.

 

“Then return to your dorm, Ms. Granger.” McGonagall sighed. “You will face no punishment. The rest of you, however. Detention once a week until Halloween, and if another toe is stepped out of line, none of you will be seeing the first quidditch match, am I clear?”

 

There were subdued nods from the Gryffindors and heated glares from the Slytherins, but they couldn’t exactly argue with the Deputy Headmistress. Both she and Snape corralled them, sending them back to their common rooms with one final warning, and since it was nearing a Saturday lunchtime, there weren’t many people about.

 

It was strange, Ron still puking up slugs into the bucket that spelled them away almost instantly, Oliver still moaning about the pitch and practice, Fred and George sharing secretive looks on how to get some payback. All of them were stewing in the disbelief of what had occurred though, Hermione in the confusion of it all.

 

“What is a mudblood?”She asked eventually. “I know it’s an insult, Malfoy made that clear, but what was he insulting? Even Professor Snape didn’t seem to like it, and Malfoy’s his favourite.”

 

The six older students regarded the three younger ones as if wondering if they should reveal the truth of pure-blood supremacy to them. None of them were muggleborn, Adelia remembered, but that didn’t mean their parents hadn’t been, like Adelia’s own mum.

 

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone who’s muggleborn.” Ron said, coughing up yet another slug. “Means common blood, dirty blood. It’s not the type of thing you say, but we all know where he learned it from. Malfoys think they’re superior because of their pure blood.”

 

“Magic is magic.” Adelia huffed. “Malfoy’s about as useful as superior as a sagging flobberworm.”

 

“Who did break his nose?” Katie asked. “Because none of us touched him.”

 

“The broom did.” George said, eyeing Adelia with half-quirked lips. “Just snapped and whacked him right in the face.”

 

“Let’s hope it does that on game day too.” Oliver said darkly.

 

Slowly but surely the rest of the quidditch team seemed to slip away to go down to lunch to fill their aching bellies, but Ron was still spitting up slugs, though they were indeed getting smaller as time passed. It was Hermione who suggested going down to Hagrid, and well, both Ron and Adelia agreed because seeing Hagrid always made things better.

 

Adelia had left them, though, to change out of her quidditch robes. Darting her eyes around the room she noticed that Lavender and Parvati were nowhere in sight and Adelia slipped her curtains opened with a low come, Corra. The snake hissed, curled around the wooden notch of Adelia’s four-poster bed before she slithered around the girl’s arm.

 

“Am I allowed to speak, den-mother?”

 

“You can always speak to me, Corra. I just cannot always answer.” Adelia huffed, thumbing the hood of dark scales around her neck. “But tonight, we will learn magic.”

 

Corra’s tongue flicked out into the air, and she gave a serpentine huff before she nosed against Adelia. Before they  left however, Adelia grabbed the present she’d bought Hermione in Diagon and left it on her nightstand with a small note. Hermione’s birthday was in only a few days, and well, she needed a gift after today.

 

A small part of Adelia was nervous that Hagrid and Hermione wouldn’t like the fact she was a Parselmouth. The Weasleys as a whole didn’t seem to mind it, though Mr. Weasley would sometimes startle if he randomly heard her doing it, and Ginny, well Ginny had always been a bit odd around her at the start. Hermione didn’t have the same prejudice that most of Wizarding Britain had when it came to the serpent’s tongue.

 

She hoped she was right.

 

Hagrid had greeted them warmly, a pot of tea boiling on his stove. He cut the three of them thick slices of treacle cake and set them around the table, though Ron was ignoring his in favour of spitting up tiny little slugs every so often. It seemed as though the backfired spell was finally wearing off.

 

“Better ou’ than in, Ron.” Hagrid said sagely as he drank his tea. “How’re yeh, ‘ermione? Don’ be listen’ to a word tha’ comes outta Malfoy’s mouth, righ’? The whole family’s rotten I tell yeh.”

 

None of them were going to argue: They’d all met Mr. Malfoy and that had been delightful, though Adelia wondered what Mrs. Malfoy would be like. The entire family just seemed to be the anthesis to the Weasleys: Cold and haughty and unfeeling compared to golden warmth and freely given love. Adelia knew which one she would choose every time.

 

“C’mon, I ‘ave somethin’ tah show yeh.” Hagrid said excitedly.

 

“The last time you said that you a dragon egg, Hagrid.” Adelia reminded with a grin.

 

“Nothin’ like tha’, I promise.”

 

Indeed, Hagrid’s giant pumpkins were nothing like Norbert’s egg had been. Though there still seemed to be a fair amount of illegality with the towering pumpkins because Hagrid admitted to using the Engorging Charm on them.

 

“They’re really good, Hagrid.” Hermione said nodded.

 

“That’s jus’ what your little sister said.” Hagrid agreed, looking at Ron who had finally stopped puking. “She was down this way yesterday, jus’ lookin’ around she said. Never really gets old, ‘ogwarts.”

 

No, it really wouldn’t. Even as Adelia looked up to it in the distance, to its curling towers and its enchanted stain-glass walls she found her wonder had not dimmed since the first time she had laid her eyes upon it. Adelia doubted that anything could truly taint the castle, thoughts of Voldemort and Malfoy and whatever else be damned.

 

“Adelia. Your jumper is wriggling.” Hermione said, blinking owlishly.

 

“You’re not afraid of snakes, are you?” Adelia asked impishly. “Hagrid?”

 

“Never met an animal I were afraid of.” Hagrid huffed. “Come on then, show us the little fellah.”

 

Adelia turned to Hermione was nodded, though she did look a bit confused. She tapped the end of Corra’s tail and felt the snake slither around her arm until her little head peeked out from beneath the thread of Adelia’s jacket. Corra’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air and Hermione jerked back, then narrowed her eyes at Adelia.

“How long have you had a snake?” she questioned.

 

“Found her in the garden on my birthday.” Adelia shrugged. “She stayed with me when the Dursleys locked me up, and well, the Weasleys didn’t mind her, and she’s been with me since. Her name’s Corra.”

 

“Adelia?” Ron inquired, looking between Corra and Adelia.

 

“It’s alright Ron. I trust Hagrid and Hermione with my life.” Adelia said, but she remembered Ron’s words. “I just hope you don’t think differently of me.”

 

“Think different? Why would yeh ever think tha?” Hagrid questioned, eyes alight with confusion.

 

“Say hello, Corra.”

 

“You smell of fear, den-mother.”

 

“You’re a Parselmouth.” Hermione said, skin paling. “Oh Adelia. Do you know what means?”

 

“That I can talk to snakes.” Adelia replied blandly. “Don’t make it weird, Hermione. I already know most people here would think I’m the second coming of Voldemort if they knew.”

 

“Don’ say ‘is name.” Hagrid chastised. “Not easy business carin’ for a snake. Castle gets cold.”

 

“I’ve gotten really good at Warming Charms.” Adelia promised. “And well, if she needs anything she can tell me.”

 

“I want a rock to nest on, and a burrow to coil beneath. And leaves. Lots of leaves.”

 

“You are a demanding little thing.” Adelia hissed fondly, before she looked back to Hagrid and Hermione. “Freaked out?”

 

“A little.” Hermione admitted. “The hisses just sound odd. What was she saying?”

 

“She wants rocks, a burrow and leaves.” Adelia huffed. “I think Mrs. Weasley spoiled her with the conjured mice so she wouldn’t eat Scabbers. She’s also bit Vernon.”

 

“Wha’ did yeh say ‘er name was?” Hagrid asked, looking intrigued.

 

“Corra.”

 

“Righ’ well, I reckon we bes’ be findin’ those fer ‘er.” Hagrid said. “Jus’ be careful with ‘er, there’s roosters abou’”

 

And so the four of them spent the better part of the afternoon searching out various leaves and twigs and burrows and rocks for Corra’s new den. Hagrid had even promised Adelia to help with Corra brumation if she needed it and Adelia was grateful that he had seemed to just take it in his stride. Adelia wondered if Hagrid would be bringing her snakes from now on to see what they were saying.

 

Hermione, however, seemed a bit awkward about it at first, but it slowly melted into intrigue and academic interest, though she wasn’t best pleased that Adelia was breaking a school room so openly. She was, however, shocked to learn that she’d been sleeping four feet away from a snake for the better part of two weeks.

 

 By the time they’d gotten back up to the girl’s dormitory however, Hermione seemed to have gotten past her discomfort and proceeded to launch into a thousand questions as they made the nest in Adelia’s trunk. There was a part of the girl that felt bad, Corra deserved for than her trunk, but the snake had said it was the best den she’d ever known.

 

“How do you feed her, though?” Hermione asked suddenly.

 

“She doesn’t eat that much, one or twice a week.” Adelia shrugged. “Hedwig brought her a field mouse the other day. A snake and an owl being friends, who’d think it?”

 

“If anybody finds out about her-“ Hermione began. “-I’ll say she’s mine. But Adelia, please, please, don’t tell anybody else you’re a Parselmouth.”

 

“I know, Hermione. I know everybody is scared of it because of Voldemort, because everybody associates snakes and the Dark Arts and whatever else goes bump in the night.” Adelia said. “But I’m still me.”

 

Hermione had moved over to her bed as Adelia settled the final rock in place, shuffling her trunk so Corra could easily climb into its darkness and to her bed if she wanted. There was a moment of silence, long and tense broken only by the sound of Corra snacking on one of the slugs Ron had coughed up.

 

“What-?” Hermione muttered to herself, and Adelia heard the rip of paper and understood. “Adelia. Adelia you shouldn’t have.”

 

“I was saving it until your birthday.” Adelia admitted. “But after this morning well-“

 

Hermione hugged her tightly, crushing Adelia’s arm between them. By the time Hermione let her go, Adelia’s fingers had gone numb and the pair of them settled beside each other on Adelia’s bed in companionable silence. Hermione flinched when she felt something cold and smooth rove over her hand, but it was only Corra settling onto Adelia’s lap.

 

She watched Adelia slowly drag her thumb across the serpent’s head, touch fleeing and soothing and oh so careful.

 

“You’re right you know.”

“About what?” Adelia wondered.

 

“You’re still you.” Hermione smiled. “Still the same girl who was nice to me when she had no reason to be. Still the same girl I’m glad to call my best friend.”

 

Adelia simply smiled at her; a pressing weight eased from her heart.

 

**

 

Monday night was important for two very different reasons: One, the first of the detentions were to be served, and two, Percy was giving Adelia her first conjuration lesson. It had been something she was looking forward to, even if it were sixth-year material, because she wanted to be able to provide for Corra without having to rely on others.

 

“Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall announced at the end of the transfiguration lesson. “You will be helping Mr. Filch polish the trophy room tonight -and no magic- at eight. Ms. Potter, you will be assisting Professor Lockhart in answering his fan mail at the same time.”

 

“Oh please, Professor. I’ll do anything else.” Adelia pleaded.

 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you brawled the Slytherin quidditch team.” McGonagall said primly. “It is like every mature choice of yours must be followed up with a foolhardy display of immaturity.”

 

“I’m not going to apologise, Professor.” Adelia said stubbornly. “Malfoy started it the second he called Hermione that foul name.”

 

“Be that as it may, Ms. Potter.” McGonagall said sternly. “It was not on you to finish it. Now, I suggest you go to lunch and do remember, eight o’ clock sharp.”

 

Adelia said nothing, just nodded toward her head of house and followed Ron to the Great Hall. Ron was huffing about Filch but honestly, Adelia would rather spend hours scrubbing at old trophies than endure Lockhart for a moment longer than she had too. It was made worse by the fact his was also the next class.

 

There was an unsettled current within her as Lockhart droned on about things he apparently did, and it only got worse as the rest of the day passed. Dinner all but turned to ash in her mouth, Ron and Hermione looking at her oddly as she picked, the other second years confused because so rarely was she ever silent.

 

She just felt off.

 

It was like the aftermath of those mind-melting migraines she’d endured because of Voldemort, where there was just a sense of unease, of lingering phantom danger. It steadily grew worse as eight o’ clock came, and she said goodbye to Hermione and Ron and walked toward Lockhart’s classroom.

 

He had her writing out the addresses of his adorning fans, and Adelia was content to let him talk and talk and talk, for his voice was little more than an underwater echo to her ears. Her hand moved rhythmically, scrawling out names and places until it ached from the constant repetition.

 

Then there was a sound, distant and distorted. It was so cold, a chilling, venomous whisper that seemed to cut through Adelia. Her heartbeat quickened; her hand trembled around the fuchsia quill.

 

Come… come to me… let me… let me rip you… let me tear you… let me kill you.

 

Frantically she looked around the room, but there was nobody there by Lockhart who was still prattling on about himself. There was nothing but the trickle of hardening wax on the golden candelabra. Adelia’s eyes darted around but there was nothing, now was there any other sound.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“Hear what?” Lockhart questioned. “Perhaps you’re getting a little drowsy? Great Scott – look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! I’d never have believed it – the time’s flown, hasn’t it.”

 

“Yeah.” Adelia nodded jerkily. “Yeah, it has.”

 

“Off you pop to bed and I’ll see you next Monday.” Lockhart said cheerily.

 

Adelia swallowed and quickly left the room before he found an excuse to keep her. Outside, in the corridor, she tipped her head against the cool stone of the wall. Something inside of her was screaming to flee, to run, that danger was lurking in the shadows.

 

There couldn’t be a way for Voldemort to be back in the castle, could there? No, Dumbledore would know… but he hadn’t last year, had he?

 

She was crossing the corridor, the castle darkened by the lateness of the hour, when something creaked and Adelia spun, wand in hand and pointing threateningly toward…

 

“Percy?”

 

“Put down your wand or I’ll take points.” He threatened. “Where have you been? I finished my rounds half an hour ago.”

 

“Lockhart.” Adelia murmured. “Were you near his classroom? Did you hear a voice?”

 

“I heard his voice. Man likes to talk about himself -we haven’t learned a lick of the proscribed syllabus.” Percy huffed. “Your wand, Adelia. Put it down.”

 

“I think there’s something out there.”

 

“It’s just Peeves.”

 

Adelia wasn’t too sure. The Poltergeist had never made her feel like that before, not once. No, the thing she head was different, cold and insidious and terrifying. Perhaps Lockhart had been right, and it was just the lateness of the hour getting to her. She’d love nothing more than to sink into her bed and sleep, but that wasn’t possible, not yet. She had no idea how long it would take to successfully conjure mice, or even if she would be able to do it.

 

The common room was blissfully empty when they arrived back, though it was still cast in its carmine flow from the fire. Already were the beginnings of winter making themselves known, colder this year than it had been last. She made herself comfortable in the armchair by the charmed window, ignoring the pitter of rain that dashed against it.

 

It just made her more discomfited.

 

“Did you read the book I gave you?” Percy inquired.

 

“I read the conjuration part.” Adelia corrected. “I hope none of them come out horrifically deformed.”

 

“They will in the beginning.” Percy shrugged. “And they’ll be vanished. Avis conjures a flock of birds, but we only want one to begin with, so we’ll start Ales. Al-ess. Just watch.”

 

Adelia did. She watched as Percy demonstrated the wand movements, a sharp flick downward and a half counterclockwise turn before it was twisted upward in an arcing sweep. He did it again. Then again. On the fourth time, however, he intoned the incantation and a bird appeared in a puff of yellow-green smoke. It was a tiny thing, a jewel-toned hummingbird that took to the air.

 

“You have some degree of control over a conjured animal.” Percy explained. “it won’t do anything more than hover there until I tell it to do something. Do you know why?”

 

“Spells find their basis in the three W’s. Want. Will. Wish.” Adelia said. “Professor McGonagall said that conjured animals have no soul, so it’s easier to overcome their will.”

 

“And where did you learn about the three W’s?” Percy inquired lightly. “That’s not taught until sixth year.”

 

“And neither is conjuration.” Adelia reminded, but she relented under his glare. “The book… Whoever wrote it had ideas.”

 

“You haven’t been neglecting your classwork, have you?” Percy questioned seriously. “There were conditions to this, as you should remember.”

“I haven’t been.” Adelia protested. “Potions is the only problem.”

 

No doubt it would always be a problem. Professor Snape never found her potions to be anything more than waste, even when they did exactly what they were exactly what he wanted. Potions, though finicky, though exact, was rhythmic and soothing, familiar almost. She would enjoy them a lot more if it weren’t for the Slytherins sabotaging her and Ron, and Snape.

 

“Have you translated them into English?” Percy asked and Adelia nodded, though it wasn’t much. “Excellent. You can get them, and I’ll read them while you practice the wand movement. Tea?”

 

Percy liked tea; Adelia had found. Not normal black tea like most other people, but floral, fruity teas. She had no doubt that when she returned it would be lemon. When she got to her dorm, she found her roommates were all asleep, though Parvati seemed to be hanging on to her quilt by a thread. Corra was in her nest, though she poked her head up when Adelia went to take her notes from the corner of her trunk.

 

“Can I come? This place is cold and you are warmth, den-mother.”

 

Adelia rolled her eyes and offered her arm, the twin journals in her free hand. She arrived back to the wafting scent of lemon and honey, Percy looking gleefully intrigued when she handed him the journal. She didn’t have much of it translated, starting from the beginning and working her way through so that the translated copy would follow always perfectly -though without the drawings because she was rather terrible at it-.

 

“I hope to have most of it done by Christmas.” Adelia said in the silence. “But it’s slow going. I can’t really have anybody waking up to use the loo and asking why I’m hissing to myself now, can I?”

 

“No. I would imagine not.” Percy huffed dryly. “Practice the spell, though try to keep ess sound on this side of Parseltongue.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh. You haven’t realised, have you?” Percy clucked his tongue. “Your s sounds are well, more hissy, I suppose.”

 

“I haven’t realised. Do you think anybody else has?”

 

“Probably not. Wizardkind aren’t exactly the most observant bunch.”

 

While Percy wasn’t wrong, Adelia didn’t quite understand the bitterness in his words. It had been the same way a year ago at the Welcoming Feast when he’d spoken about Dumbledore. Back then Adelia thought it was because Percy hadn’t liked the Headmaster, but it seemed more personal than that, more biting and colder.

 

It wasn’t her business to pry, not in this anyway. Not when Percy had been helpful despite everything else, despite the scorn he faced from his brothers for knowing what he wanted and taking it because he could. She wondered if it was like that in all families as she picked up her wand, that earlier unnaturalness fleeing from her at the sound of crackling flames and high, haunted humming.

 

Not for the first time did Adelia Potter wonder what other people heard when they wielded their wands.

 

Minutes ticked by. The hummingbird was snatched and gorged upon, lemon scented steam wafting in the air. Percy was quiet, Adelia was not as she practiced the spell’s incantation, though she could see the concentration on his face when she flicked her eyes up.  She tried the spell again and nothing happened. Tried it again and the same.

 

She wouldn’t be discouraged, couldn’t be when Corra had hissing her support from where she coiled, watching intently.

 

“Do you think spells could be cast in Parseltongue?” Adelia wondered.

 

“It’s a language.” Percy hummed. “Did you translate this right? ‘Lies breathe truth: For what is done can be undone if only one is wilful, if one is true.’ What does that even mean?”

 

“How am I supposed to know? I’m just writing what I’m hearing.” Adelia huffed. “I could be wrong.”

 

“Do you know who wrote this?”

 

“No. Everything is just I.” Adelia admitted.

 

“You know who the last known Parselmouth was yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And do you know Parseltongue is hereditary?”

 

No. Adelia hadn’t known that.

 

“Are you telling me I’m related  to Voldemort?” She questioned, voice edging on hysteria. “Absolutely not.”

 

“I don’t know. Look at the Potter family tree, you’ll know then.” Percy sniped. “But Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth and his line too. If this book is from one of them…”

 

“Magic is magic.” Adelia defended. “It’s why you use it that matters, how you use it. Will and wish and want. They are what matters.”

 

“Hardly anybody else sees it like that.” Percy said gently, pouring more tea.

 

“You see it that way, don’t you? You want to pick it apart and find out why not just how.”

 

“If I’m not Minister, I’d be an Unspeakable.” Percy admitted. “The world is flawed, people even more so. They want and want and want, but in the end, it is never enough. We are greedy by design, especially those of us who have so little to call their own.”

 

Adelia had no clue what an Unspeakable was, but she was sure that if Percy wanted it, he’d get it. they were so similar in that regard: If they wanted something, they’d find a way to get it no matter the cost. To them, there was no greater boon than their loyalty, no greater burden than it.

 

The only way to save it, to save us is to burn it all down, to start again.

 

What a horrible thought.

 

“What’re you doing up?” Ron’s tired voice questioned as he trudged into the common room holding his arm.

 

“Feeding Corra.” Adelia said, her noise wrinkled. “Why do you smell like you’ve took a bath in polish?”

 

“Filch. My arm seized up.” Ron explained, wincing.

 

Percy rolled his eyes, standing from the sofa before he strolled across the room. He tapped Ron’s arm twice before it relaxed beside him, and Ron shot his older brother a grateful look as he flexed his fingers. Adela busied herself with gathering her wand, both journals and Corra.

 

She didn’t know what awaited her, but it couldn’t be good.

Chapter 7: Accursed Halloween

Summary:

Dobby had been right, there was a plot at Hogwarts, and somehow Adelia was the only one who could hear it.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this update. We see the Adelia Potter defence squad come out to play

September melted into October with a chill. Adelia suffered through Lockhart on Monday evenings only to find solace in her conjuration lessons with Percy. As the days passed the students fell victim to the change in weather, seeking out Pepper-Up potions, including Ginny who had needed to be bullied into one. Adelia knew Percy worried about her.

 

She knew that Fred and George and Ron worried for their little sister. Even Adelia herself was concerned, for Ginny often seemed pale and jittering in the face of Hogwarts. It was quicky chalked up to nerves and excitement and a healthy dose of fear. But something felt off. Adelia didn't know how to explain it, couldn't even if somebody was to ask her. But there was just something, a tangled thread of shadowed darkness, a melancholic ache and fear that Adelia knew all to well.

 

She wondered if Hogwarts scared Ginny. If the burden of her brothers' had been too much for her thin shoulders to bear. Adelia wished she could take some of the burden, to help the child with green eyes that seemed shiny with trepidation, her cheeks stained pink and her eyes dark. Yet Ginny, headstrong Ginny who was like her mother and her brother, Percy that was, refused help and insited that nothing was wrong.

 

Adelia had busied herself with her classes, with Oliver’s manic training sessions and her own particular, peculiar interests. She wasn’t sure if Hermione and Ron would enjoy knowing that she was researching the war, that she was translating a book that was definitely what one would consider dark. She didn’t tell them about that, nor the voice that she sometimes heard, no, they’d drag her to Madam Pomfrey or worse -Dumbledore.

 

Adelia didn’t need the Dursleys’ words to have truth to them. She wasn’t mad. She wasn't.

 

Rather quickly did Halloween loom, hazy and aching. It was when the longing and loss was heavy. Corra had begun the start of her brumation, tired and lazing about as the weather turned even colder. Adelia hadn’t managed to conjure an edible bird (there had been one with three eyes and other with no mouth that had haunted her dreams for a week because Transfiguration, when right, was beautiful and when it went wrong, it went horrid) but Corra did not go hungry. How could she when Hedwig would swoop through the charmed windows of the girl’s dormitory and deposit a still alive mouse for the snake to hunt?

 

Adelia was sure she had the strangest of pets. She was sure Lavender and Parvati thought the same when they woke up to Hedwig in their room, but they’d gotten used to it by this time last year. It was nice, being around them again. It was nice to just exist with people Adelia could call friends after so long alone. Sometimes the three of them would just sit, practicing the different cosmetic charms from Evile with Envy while Hermione read her own books, and sometimes, rare as they were, Hermione would join them.

 

It was a stark difference to how it had been at the beginning of last year, that much was clear.

 

However, on a Saturday morning, a week before Halloween, Adelia, alone, had been mud-covered and dripping water all over the castle as she returned to her common room after quidditch practice. Oliver always had practice early Saturday morning, but Adelia would always remain behind when the others left so she could simply fly, simply be free. When she was in the air, Adelia was sure it was the only time she felt truly alive, where she felt warm, free of the dripping ice and shadows that slithered through her veins like a lead serpent.

 

She’s also been trying to find a way to make her broom go faster with nothing but sheer want and will, especially after Fred and George had told the team just how fast the Slytherins were. Oliver haddtold her that speed wins nine times out of ten, but Adelia was spiteful, and she’d do whatever it took to make sure Malfoy didn’t win.

 

“You look most troubled, young Potter.” Nearly Headless Nick said as he floated through the walls.

 

“Thinking about beating Slytherin.” Adelia admitted, staring up at the ghost who seemed somewhat harried, staring at a silver, smoky piece of parchment. “Are you alright, Nick?”

 

Adelia liked the the ghost. He was always there to cheer up the maudlin first-years, always ready to share an ancient tale. On those nights when sleep evaded her and Adelia sat down by the fire in golden darkness, he would appear, silent and cold, but his presence was peaceful, gentling even. He did not question her even as Adelia murmured to herself as she flicked though the Ministry's version of the war with Voldemort, short as it was. He was simply there, and that meant more than questioning, harried concern. 

 

It reminded Adelia that no matter what, now that she had Hogwarts, she was never alone and that meant more than anything to a child who had been lonely and alone since a madman murdered her father and mother. 

 

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes. It’s not as though I really wanted to join… but what harm could there have been?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You would think being hit with a blunted axe forty-five times would qualify one for the Headless Hunt, would you not?”

 

“Of course.” Adelia agreed easily even if she was beyond confused.

 

“Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on. A half-inch!” The ghost raged, looking at the letter again. “Is there anything I can help you with, Adelia?”

 

“Don’t suppose you could get us new broom?” Adelia questioned sardonically. “If we lose it’ll be unbearable.”

 

“You won’t lose.” The ghost assured, then his head snapped down the corridor. “You best be going, Adelia. Filch is rather under the weather and more horrid than usual. He won’t take kindly to you dripping on his floors.”

Adelia nodded and turned away from the ghost. She hadn’t made it far before Mrs. Norris slunk in front of her, staring at Adelia with glowing eyes. Filch wasn’t far behind, he never was, but he did look rather ridiculous: His head was covered in a thick tartan scarf and his nose was an alarming shade of purple.

 

Adelia suffered through him ordering her to his little office. She suffered through the words he spoke even if she wasn’t properly listening to her. That unease was back within her, that thread of longing that was ice cold and nefarious. She had felt it only once since that night but there was no denying that it was the same blood-chilling want to run.

 

As Filch lectured her, Adelia glanced around his dingy office. She would have though Filch was a vampire with the lack of windows and the shadowy darkness, but she’d seen him in the daylight, and he looked nothing like the illustrations in her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook that she'd pinched from Percy, which had notes from Charlie and Bill both. She’d taken to reading that since it was obvious Lockhart wasn’t going to teach them anything more than how to smile for the camera.

 

Their comments, their questions, they made her think, made her question, and she loved it.

 

Filch was muttering to himself as he searched for his quill and punishment forms and Adelia wanted nothing more than to leave but she couldn’t. It was always worse if you tried to escape it, she’d found. Instead, she cast her gaze to the drooping iron chains that hung from Filch’s ceiling and was so very glad that he’d never been allowed to use them.

 

“Yes.” Filch murmured. “Yes. Here it is. Name… Adelia Potter… crime-.”

 

“Crime? It was a bit of muck; I’ll clean it if you want.” Adelia huffed.

 

It wouldn't have been the first time she'd been on her knees, scrubbing the floor.

 

“No magic in the corridors.” Filch shouted, his bulbous nose quivering like an unruptured boil. “Crime… befouling the castle.”

 

There was a knock, a shout and then a crash. Filch screamed knowing the source of the chaos was Peeves and Adelia resigned herself to silence until the foul man came back. She sat herself in the moth-eaten, fraying seat by the table. There was an envelope there, violet and glimmering and Adelia plucked it from the table.

 

Her eyes narrowed as she read it. Kwikspell sounded familiar to her, and Adelia understood why when she read on. It was a course for wizards who weren’t very good at being wizards. Malfoy had once told Neville he’d benefit from it and Neville had turned bright red in embarrassment. Adelia wondered what Filch could want with such a thing, she’d never even seen him with a wand before…

 

Is he-?”

 

“I told you that vanishing cabinet was good my lovely.” Filch murmured, stroking Mrs. Norris. “Yes, I did.”

 

Adelia stuffed the letter back into the envelope and placed it on the table but Filch had noticed it had been moved immediately. For the school caretaker he didn’t seem to dust his own office nearly as much, and so the thick ring of dust around it had been disturbed. Adelia felt her heart stutter as Filch turned his furious gaze upon her, his pallid face now a furious shade of red to match his tartan scarf.

 

“Did you- did you read it?” He questioned sharply.

 

“No.” Adelia lied easily. “I just moved it so I couldn’t get it dirty.”

 

Filch was furiously muttering to himself, so obviously ashamed that he was a squib. Adelia understood why, she’d seen what wizards thought of muggles, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that squibs would be met with equal, if not worse, derision.

 

He snatched the letter up and shooed her out angrily, muttering about Peeves and reports. Adelia wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth, even if it was Filch and she left quietly. Filch being a squib was nobody’s business but his own…

 

“Adelia. Did it work?” Nearly Headless Nick inquired when she’d passed the main landing.

 

“You sent Peeves?” Adelia questioned.

 

“Sent him to distract Peeves, why yes my lady, I did.” Nick replied proudly. “Always up for chaos that one.”

 

“Thanks Nick.” Adelia beamed at him. “I didn’t even get detention or anything.”

 

“That is excellent news.” The ghost replied, though he was still looking at the rejection letter in his hand sadly.

 

“I wish there was something I could do.” Adelia whispered. “Maybe there’s a spell to take the rest of your head off?”

 

Never in her life did Adelia think she’d be looking for a way to behead a ghost, and yet the wizarding world was chock full of surprises and reality-defying things. She didn’t even think it would be the strangest thing she’d research.

 

“There is not.” Nick hummed. “But there is something you could do for me, perhaps. Yes. My deathday, five hundred years this Halloween. Perhaps you could come?”

 

Halloween. Adelia had always hated it. She’d never been allowed out and she’d always had terrible dreams on that night. Only last year did she learn it had also been the day of her parents’ murder. It had also been the night Quirrell had let the troll in.

 

Her parents had died on Halloween.

Ron and Hermione had almost died on Halloween.

 

She wondered what would happen this time, but surely nothing terrible could happen at a deathday party- everybody was already dead.

 

Except her.

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Oh down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends from all over the country are coming, you know? It would be such an honour to have Adelia Potter among our number. Oh, and Mr Weasley and Ms Granger are more than welcome too.”

 

Ghosts, those who lived in Hogwarts, were strange. Dead as they were, they lived on as essences of the soul and perhaps that was why they didn't make the hair on Adelia's neck stand up, why it didn't disgust her as much as immortality did. It was such a strange thing for a child to be obsessed with, but she had been born and reborn in death.

 

“Okay.” Adelia nodded.

 

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at her, floating off as Adelia headed toward her common room. She wanted nothing more than to stand beneath the spray of boiling hot water and wash the rain-chill and muck from her. When she walked into the common room, however, she was faced with the sight of an irate Percy bellowing at Fred and George.

 

She walked past them, though she did see a charmed Salamander and wondered what on earth they had gotten up to. She waved to Ron and Hermione who were watching the scene before them with wide eyes and ducked up the stairs.

 

The water had been as refreshing as she’d hoped, boiling hot and free flowing, and one of her favourite things about Hogwarts. The Dursleys had always made her shower within ten minutes, and even in the Burrow she hadn’t felt right lingering for much longer. But in Hogwarts she could simply stand beneath the spray of the cubical and think.

 

Eventually, Adelia dressed herself in a steam cloud scented of lotus flower and white tea, spelled her wet hair into a crowning braid and twisted her shoulder until the ache from early settled. She’d probably have to see Madam Pomfrey and get a Pepper-up Potion before the quidditch match because Adelia felt so tired.

 

It was her own fault. Sleep had never come easy to her, and that hadn’t changed in Hogwarts. She simply stayed up later instead of waking at five in the morning. It was difficult, trying to stay quiet for the sake of her roommates who all seemed to enjoy sleep.

 

Maybe there was a spell she could learn that make her quiet, so they’d be none the wiser of her night-time hissings.

 

“Oh, hello Adelia.” Parvati said from her bed, one of Lockhart’s books open on her lap. “Horrible weather for flying, isn’t it?”

 

“I like it.” Adelia admitted. “I’d rather fly in a storm than against Slytherin. Less broken bones.”

 

“I’ve seen them on their new brooms.” Lavender said brightly. “Do you think you’ll be able to win?”

 

“Of course we will.” Adelia said assuredly. “I just have to catch the Snitch.”

 

“You’re a better Seeker than Malfoy.” Lavender agreed. “I mean, we all saw you during flying lessons and that was your first time on a broom!”

 

“And don’t forget last year when you were jinxed. But just, please don't jump. I don't think we could survive Oliver if that happened.” Parvati reminded with a wry smile. “But we’ll all be there to support you. I’m pretty sure Dean’s making a new banner.”

 

“Then I really need to catch the Snitch.” Adelia joked.

 

The three girls tittered. Adelia went to her drawer and pulled out her charms homework, a series of quizzes about proper wand movements and incantations, and bid the girls farewell before she went downstairs.

 

The twins looked furious, no doubt because of Percy, but they were whispering to one another, parchment between them before they vanished through the portrait hole. Ron and Hermione were both doing their homework when she joined them, and together the three of them worked.

 

Hermione seemed rather excited about the prospect of a deathday party, but Ron found it rather odd to celebrate the day you died. Adelia wasn’t quite sure ow to feel. Death wasn’t something that she was afraid of, no not in the least. It was inevitable and, she hoped, peaceful and free of the constraints of life.

 

Perhaps that why the idea of immortality irked her as it did. Death was the only thing guaranteed of life and she could not comprehend why somebody would fear it so much that they wished to spend an eternity fleeing from it. Not did she understand who would want to live forever.

 

Adelia thought of the letters Dobby had stolen from her. Most of them didn’t matter now, but there was she hoped was in the pile of them. Nicholas Flamel had lived for nearly six-hundred years and no doubt he had forgotten more about magic than Adelia could ever hope to learn.

 

And she wanted to learn, no matter the price. Magic was her mother and father’s final gift to her. It was because of them that she was who she was, and she would spend the rest of her life honouring their sacrifice in any way she could.

 

Adelia wanted her parents more than anything and yet they were the one thing she could not have. The idea of them alive again was not a comforting one, not in the least. No, death was permanent and promised and to cheat it was one thing, but to steal from it? To dare defy the Lord of the Inevitable?

 

Even Adelia knew that was a bad idea.

 

But still she wanted.

**

 

“Why is your classmate so intent on turning water into rum?” Percy questioned on the day before Halloween.

 

“I don’t know.” Adelia shrugged. “But why can you conjure water and wine and rum but not food? I can transfigure a matchstick into silver, and it is silver, so why can’t I turn a rock into a chicken?”

 

“You know why.” Percy reminded, fixing his glasses. “Transfiguration isn’t permanent. You’d just be eating a rock.”

 

“But why?”

 

“Adelia, think.”

 

There was a tone to his voice, and not for the first time did Adelia think Percy would make an excellent teacher if people actually listened to him. She did as he bid, scouring through the book on her lap. It was Percy’s, worn and with maddening questions and notes drawn around it, but that was expected. What she was asking wasn’t taught to the younger years, examined instead in sixth year.

 

But transfiguration fascinated her for it was one of the few subjects where instead of how, she found herself wondering why. Perhaps it was because she had a competent teacher and that made her want to push herself, or perhaps it was because it was her father’s best subject and she wished to be close to him.

 

She wondered what her mother’s best subject had been, wondered where her passion lay. What would her parents be doing now, if they had not been murdered?

 

Then, as she stared down at the page, the answer to her question hit her like a bludger to the chest.

 

“It’s not real, is it?” Adelia murmured. “It doesn’t last. You have only the illusion of relief. If you’re thirsty you can conjure water and drink it, but it never fully quenches the thirst unless you keep casting it.”

 

“That’s correct.” Percy nodded. “And something that most people in my class couldn’t even tell you.”

 

“But if there’s no substance to it, how is Corra not constantly starving?”

 

“She is fed two mice, twice a week.” Percy reminded. “In the wild she’d eat one every week or so.”

 

Suddenly Adelia felt horrible. Corra deserved to be able to slither around the grasses of Hagrid’s hut and feast on the field mice and birds. She deserved real food and not some twisted version of it. Had her snake been hungry all this time? Surely not, she could just tell Adelia.

 

She took her wand in her hand then, listening to the chime and crackle of phoenix son and fire. Adelia’s fingers were lazily draped around the end of it, and then, nearly two months after she began these lessons in order to be able to provide for her snake, she willed herself to be successful.

 

Will. Want. Wish.

 

But will would forever be the most important aspect of it all.

 

“Ales.”

 

The word was low and commanding, like the crack of ice when it shifted and broke away. Her wand movements were flawless, almost second nature to her. She wanted a mouse, fat and healthy. She wished to feed her faithful snake could have abandoned her to face the horrors of isolation and starvation. She willed herself to be the provider and protector Adelia knew she was.

 

A single sparrow with earthen hued feathers appeared before her in a whisp of silvery-hued smoke. A chirp sounded and black beady eyes stared back at Adelia who was grinning wildly.

 

She had done it. She would conjure a bird every day for Corra is she wished it, if it would see her well.

 

“Excellent work.” Percy praised, eyes wide in academic interest. “Five points to Gryffindor.”

 

“Can you even do that?” Adelia questioned, willing the bird to rest on her outstretched hand.

 

“It’s a show of academic brilliance.” Percy defended. “It’s a sixth-year spell that requires knowledge more than wand work. I have no doubt if you performed it for Professor McGonagall, she would do the same.”

 

Adelia thought of her list: The spells she wanted to learn, the spells that Lockhart should have been teaching them but wasn’t. It was long, rudimentary things like cosmetic charms so she could play around with her hair and see if she could tame it. Defensive hexes and jinxes in case Malfoy tried to be a git again, offensive spells in case Voldemort came knocking again.

 

Dumbledore had told her last year that he was weakened, that her mother’s protection had weakened him even more. Yet there was nothing stopping him from gaining his strength again. The wizarding world thought the Flamels were dead, that the Stone had been destroyed. Only four people knew the truth.

 

She looked to her wand, to its holly wood and the phoenix core that dwelled within. The song was the same, haunting and ethereal and yet soothing to her. She wondered if her parents’ wands had sung too. Adelia curled her fingers around the thick, bleached wood of its hilt and looked back to Percy who was watching her intently.

 

“What happens to a wizard’s wand when they die?” Adelia asked.

 

Percy blinked in the face of her question. “Usually, they’re buried with them or cremated in some cases. Sometimes they’ll tell the family beforehand if they want it to be kept and passed down. A spare wand, even if it isn’t bonded to you, is still useful.”

 

“Do you think my parents were buried with their wands?”

 

“I would assume so.” Percy paused, his following words awkward and stilted. “How are you?”

 

“We’re going Nick’s deathday part tomorrow.” Adelia said.

 

“The Halloween feast is mandatory.” Percy reminded with icy eyes that were near silver in gentle reproach.

 

“I just- I don’t want to be around people who are celebrating and are happy. It feels wrong. Halloween to me has always been… heavy I suppose- Like people are watching me.” Adelia admitted. “I used to think it was my mum and dad.”

 

“It could be.” Percy said gently. “Samhain was always the known as the thinning of the veil between life and death. Some say that the dead wore masks because otherwise they couldn’t interact with their living kin.”

 

Though that thought may unsettle some, it did not unsettle Adelia. She wondered if there was a difference dying on the day the veil was thinner, if it made a difference.

 

It hadn’t made that much of a difference since her parents were dead, but Lord Voldemort still clung to the mortal realm. Adelia wondered how exactly he had done it. She wondered what she would need to do to finally end him.

 

It was a thought that plagued her the following day. Most of the students were excited for the feast’s dancing mice and massive pumpkins that were carved not only with faces, but famous witches and wizards from wizarding history. There were excited for the feast of sweet treats and games, goblets full of butter beer and juice. But all Adelia could see was the flash of green light and high, cold laughter that was with an edge of delighted cruelty. 

 

That trickling sense of unease had returned to Adelia's mind, had set her nerves alight and it had only worsened when she conjured a bird to feed Corra. Even in her state the snake had a fear of predators and she had hissed angrily and slunk under her burrow when Adelia had asked her why.

 

She had been quiet for most of the day, morose and melancholic but nobody had truly commented on it. All of them knew what the day was, and they had remembered how Adelia had acted last year. They also remembered the troll, spoke of it like it was some funny story and not a creature that had nearly bashed Hermione to bits with its spiked club.

 

Let me out… hungry…feast.

 

The voice was back, sibilant and icy. It chilled Adelia to the bone and she was constantly looking over her shoulder, fearful of what lay behind her. Hermione and Ron had shared concerned looks over Adelia’s bowed head in charms but they didn’t push.

 

By the time the feast was starting the chill of unease had been replaced by the chill of gathered ghosts. Adelia cast three Warming Charms but there was nothing she could do about the rancid smell of rotting food. Beside her Ron complained about being hungry and Adelia huffed but it was not an amused sound.

 

Her breath chilled in the air.

 

“Oh no.” Hermione murmured. “She’s here.”

 

“Who?” Ron wondered.

 

“Moaning Myrtle. She haunts the first-floor bathroom. It’s been out of order since the start of term because she keeps flooding the place with her tantrums.

 

Adelia hummed. Her friends might not have enjoyed being surrounded by death and ghosts, but she did. The frigid cold cloaked her in a blanket of shadowy peace. Adelia wished she could ask the ghosts what death felt like, but they wouldn’t know, would they? They’d never experienced true death, only a twisted facsimile of eternity.

 

Then there was a flash of colour amongst the sea of silvery-grey ghosts. Peeves was floating in front of them, grinning manically. His eyes narrowed in on Hermione with mischievous glee.

 

“Heard you talkin’ about Mrytle. Mean things too.” Peeves clapped his hands together. “Oi. Myrtle.”

 

Myrtle floated over, wide eyed and childish. Her clothes held the eagle crest of Ravenclaw, her hair done in pigtails. She was so young, Adelia noticed. Myrtle had to have been a student when she died and Adelia wanted to know how, but before she could, Myrtle was crying because she thought Hermione was making fun of her.

 

She was so young.

 

Then she was gone, fleeing from the dungeon with Peeves hot on her ghostly trail.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Nearly Headless Nick inquired as he floated over to the three of them.

 

“Very much so.” Hermione lied.

 

“Come, come, it’s almost time for my speech.” Nick said excitedly. “An excellent turnout I must say. The Wailing Widow even came from Kent.”

 

But then Nick’s enjoyment of his night ended with the sound of a horn. A dozen headless horsemen and their steads burst through the walls, and Adelia realised it had to have been the headless hunt that refused to take Nick over that half-inch of skin.

 

Then the leader leapt from his horse, his head in his hand before he squished it back onto his neck. Nick glowered at the other ghost and Adelia got the sese that there was a long-standing resentment on the Gryffindor ghost’s side.

 

“Nick!”

 

“Welcome, Patrick.” Nick replied stiffly.

 

“Live ‘uns.” Patrick exclaimed excitedly.

 

Adelia watched as Nick’s deathday celebration turned into Patrick’s party. All of the other ghostly guests seemed enthralled by him, but Adelia, Ron and Hermione weren’t. By now they were so very cold, the Warming Charms no help in the face of nearly a hundred ghosts, and Hermione and Ron were hungry.

 

Adelia’s mouth felt like ash.

 

Something vicious slithered around her gut, icy and strangling. Her heart was thumping in her chest, the tremble in her hand worsening as each second passed. It was so bad that Hermione had grabbed it as they made their way back to the common room. It was a lifeline, warm and pulsing and soft. Hermione grounded her to the mortal realm, and Ron, sweet Ron, bit at his lip, unsure of what he could do to help, for he had recognised the signs that had been evident back in the Burrow. In the end, he fell in beside her, curled his thin, bony fingers around Adelia's wrist.

 

Soo hungry… rip, tear kill… hungry… I’m soo hungry.

 

“Do you hear that?” Adelia asked, madness in her voice.

 

“Hear what?” Ron wondered.

 

“The voice. The voice. Please tell me you hear it.” Adelia pleaded.

 

“There’s no voice, Adelia.” Hermione said, concern in her tone, her fingers tightening around Adelia's own.

 

Kill, time to kill. Hungry. So hungry.

 

Adelia ran, ripped herself from their hold, following the icy tendrils of terror. The voice was real, she knew it was. she just didn’t understand why nobody else could hear it. It had been plaguing her for weeks and now it was right there. Somehow it seemed to be moving upwards and so Adelia followed it, Ron and Hermione right behind her as they always would be.

 

They passed the Entrance Hall that was alight with the babble of the Halloween feast. It drowned out Ron and Hermione’s concerned pleas. The voice was growing more distant even as Adelia raced to follow it, however its final words were far more chilling than that its arctic bite.

 

Blood… I smell blood.

 

“It’s going to kill someone.” Adelia whispered.

 

She was horrified. Was somebody else about to die? Was Halloween forever cursed to be a day that taunted her? There was one thought, however, that was stronger than all the rest.

 

What if Voldemort’s back?

They climbed the final stairs and were greeted with puddling water. Adelia didn’t dare as it sloshed behind her, splatters soaking into her legs as she walked. Hermione gasped and Ron froze but Adelia could only walk forward.

 

There written in blood and between two arched, pointing windows, was the most sinister of messages.

 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

“What’s that?” Ron asked, pointing to the wall.

 

There was something there, something tawny and fury. Adelia felt her stomach sink and Hermione took a horrified step back. Attached to the lamppost was Mrs. Norris, hanging by her tail. Her lamp-like eyes wide and dull. She wasn’t moving.

 

“We need to leave, now.” Ron murmured. “Right now. We don’t want to be found here. You don't want to be found here.”

 

But it was too late. There was a boom and a crash, and the feast was over. All of Hogwarts was about to converge at this very point and Adelia knew that whoever did this had intended it to be that way. The students came from both sides and their chatter died and turned to horrified murmurs.

 

“Enemies of the heir beware.” Draco Malfoy called pompously from where he had pushed himself to the front of the crowd, a smirk on his face as he stared at the cat. “You’ll be next, mudbloods.”

 

“Twenty points from Slytherin, Malfoy. Mind your tongue.”

 

It was Percy, pale faced and with a hand on Colin’s camera to stop the boy from taking pictures. Adelia stepped back, trying to shield Ron and Hermione as the teachers pushed through but her green eyes met Percy’s own and she tried to impart that she hadn’t done this, that she would never do this.

 

Percy’s lips thinned and then he was roughly pushed to the side, stagging against the wall, but she was sure she had seen the belief in his eyes and that was enough.

 

“My cat. My cat. What happened to my cat?” Filch cried clutching his face and then he saw Adelia and all but charged at her. “You. You did this. You did this.”

 

“I didn’t touch your bloody cat.” Adelia hissed as she stepped away from him, put herself between the raging man her friends. “We found her like this.”

 

“Enough, Argus.” Dumbledore called and the crowd fell silent as he ditched the cat. “Come with me, you as well Ms Potter, Ms Granger and Mr Weasley. The rest of you, back to your common rooms now.”

 

“My office is closest, Headmaster.” Lockhart announced cheerily.

 

Dumbledore thanked him, cat in his arms as he led them through the silent, parted crowd. McGonagall and Snape followed, and Adelia felt her stomach sink lower. There was no way he didn’t think they’d done it, he hated them.

 

The eight of them and an unmoving, frozen cat found themselves in Lockhart’s classroom. With a wave of his hand Dumbledore lit the candles. He peered so closely at Mrs Norris that Adelia feared his half-moon glasses would fall from his crooked nose. McGonagall was just as close while Snape loomed in the background like a shadow given face while Filch was rocking back and forth.

 

Lockhart was, unsurprisingly, calling out ridiculous suggestions.

 

She stood there silently, just a bit in front of Ron and Hermione who clutched her with a terrified, iron grip. Adelia knew this couldn’t be good, knew that there was something larger at play but who would believe her?

 

“She’s not dead, Argus.” Dumbledore comforted gently.

 

“Not dead? But why- why is she all stiff and frozen?” Filch questioned rapidly.

 

“She’s been petrified.” Dumbledore said gravely. “How I cannot say.”

 

“She did it. She did. She knows what I am.” Filch cried rounding on Adelia with a face burning red with fury. “Ask her. She did it. She knows how to fix Mrs Norris.”

 

“Ms Potter did not do this.” Dumbledore said firmly. “No second year could. It is dark magic, powerful dark magic.”

 

Adelia closed her eyes for a second, saw the flashes of the ink on old, yellowed parchment. Though she had not uttered a single spell from the book, she wanted it. The book was warm and inviting, familiar even.

 

“Rubbish.” Filch snarled. “She knows I’m a squib. She did this.”

 

“I didn’t touch your cat.” Adelia snapped. “And I don’t care about you being a bloody squib.”

 

“Ms Potter.” McGonagall chastised, though her tone was quiet, her eyes were bright with concern, for she stood there, in no man's land but closer to her students than any of the others. “There is no need for this. Temper yourself.”

 

“No need? He just accused me of attacking his cat in front of the entire school! I didn’t do anything.”

 

“If I may, Headmaster.” Snape cut in silkily. “Perhaps Potter and her friends were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have suspicion. Why were they in that particular corridor at that time? I do not recall seeing any of them at the Halloween feast either.”

 

Nothing good could come from this, Adelia knew. Ron and Hermione defended them, explained the deathday party and the ghostly witnesses. Snape’s lip curled into a sneer.

 

“But why go to that particular corridor?” He questioned, eyes glittering like black beetles.

 

“I wanted to go to bed.” Adelia said staring at Snape’s crooked, hooked nose. “I just wanted a bit of peace today.”

 

“Without supper?” Snape questioned darkly. “I did not think ghosts provide suitable food for the living.”

 

“We weren’t hungry.” Ron shrugged, though his stomach grumbled, and he flushed red.

 

“I suggest, Headmaster that Potter and his cohort are not being entirely truthful.” Snape said, eyes gleaming with malice. “I think perhaps, she should be deprived of certain privileges… quidditch perhaps.”

 

“Really Severus.” McGonagall scoffed sharply. “The cat wasn’t beaten over the head with a broom. There is no evidence that Potter has done anything wrong.”

 

Dumbledore looked to Adelia, and she stared at him in return. It was like he was searching for something, and it seemed he found it for his blue eyes twinkled and he nodded almost minutely.

 

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.” Dumbledore intoned.

 

“What is to be done about my cat?” Filch demanded, as incensed as Snape seemed to be. “My cat has been petrified!’ he shrieked, his eyes popping. ‘I want to see some punishment!”

 

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently. ‘Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris.”

 

“I’ll make it,’ Lockhart butted in. “I must have done it a hundred times; I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep –“

 

“Excuse me,” said Snape icily, “but I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

 

Adelia’s eyes flicked between the pair of them, her face scrunched in the face of their rather awkward silence. She wouldn’t trust Lockhart to make a cup of tea, but she also wouldn’t trust Snape not to poison it either. She remained silent until Dumbledore waved them off and Adelia felt the pressure in her temples build.

 

The three of them found an empty classroom and ducked into it, Adelia all but collapsing onto the chair, her fingers squeezing at her eyes to dispel the floating silver worms that tormented her.

 

“They wouldn’t have believed me.” Adelia whispered. “About the voices.”

 

“No, No I don’t think they would.” Ron said without hesitation. “Even in the wizarding world hearing voices isn’t a good sign.”

 

“You believe me, don’t you?”

 

“Of course we do.” Hermione said quickly.

 

“Even if it is a bit odd, ya know?” Ron added.

 

“What in the name of Merlin is the chamber?” Adelia questioned.

 

“I think Bill might’ve mentioned it before… it’s an old story I think.” Ron shrugged.

 

The clock chimed; November had officially arrived. Adelia got up even though her legs felt like bricks that weighed her down and she looked at her friends’ darkened faces. They were concerned, she could tell, worried even. They hadn’t heard the voice, yet she had.

 

Why was it always her?

 

One thing was for certain, however: Dobby had been right. There was a plot at Hogwarts and once again Adelia found herself right in the centre of it. There was no way that this hadn’t been the thing Dobby had warned her about.

 

It was time to break out the colour-changing ink again, it seemed.

Chapter 8: The Bludger's Wrath

Summary:

Adelia Potter's no good very bad day.

Notes:

I hope you're all doing well and enjoy this update 💜

The school was on edge for days following the events of Halloween night, but none of them were like Adelia. It seemed as though sleep evaded her, haunted her even with icy words and a yearning to end the hunger. She spent most of her time with her head in books, practicing her spells in the middle of the night. She was like a woman possessed, but since Voldemort had possessed her teacher last year, she really hoped that wasn’t the case.

 

Adelia checked her list again, staring down at the black ink as though it would come to life. The list seemed to grow longer and longer, but Adelia did not include the spells she learned in class. No, they were on a separate list.  The ones on the list were varied, sorted into the branches of magic they belonged to. Some of them were harmless like the hair-braiding charm, or the one hid the dark circles under her eyes.

 

Some of them were simple charms, Augamenti for example, or the bluebell flames that Hermione adored. Others were transfiguration based, Evenecso a favourite to remove the mad scribbles she had on parchment. Perhaps the longest list of all were the offensive and defensive spells but they were not ones Adelia could so easily practice hidden behind the curtains of her bed.

 

Langlock so they could not speak.

Glacius to encase a part of them in ice so they could not attack her.

Expulso to put distance between them.

Confringo to blow them away.

 

The list went on and on. Adelia sighed as she looked at it, her glasses slipping down her nose. She affixed them, then reached for the book that she had found in the dingy little wizarding junk shop. It was not junk. It was the life’s work of a man who thought magic had no bounds, only human nature.

 

The very thought chilled something within Adelia. Percy had been right, it had belonged to a dark wizard, but Adelia didn’t care. Her love of history had taught her one thing: It’s never a level playing field. If Voldemort was to come at her again, or if his followers were to, or if the thing that had petrified Mrs Norris came for her, she would be ready.

 

No matter the cost.

 

Adelia blinked down at the words, nonsensical to any who did not speak the serpent’s tongue and she began to read it aloud, quill in her hand. She was not translating it in order, not as she once had been. No. Now she searched out the magic rather than the ramblings, searched out salvation and ruination in one. Not only could her life depend upon it, but so would the lives of her friends.

 

She wondered if they would be disgusted in her for even thinking about the spells in the journal. But how could she not? They may very well be the difference between life and death.

 

Adelia flicked through the book, when she had first looked through it, she had learned it was divided into sections. Whoever had written it had liked to experiment with spells, had liked to try and adapt them will alone. Adelia felt as though will was perhaps the most important part of spell crafting.

 

But she had no idea what to do with the potions that seemed to be in the back of the journal. Instead, Adelia focused on the pictures as a guide and transcribed what she found.

 

Excoria. Excoh-ria The Peeling Curse. It strips the flesh of mine enemies in the same way mine own elves peel my potatoes. It is rarely lethal, but it is unhealable. The skin will scar and blister and forever be a source of pain.

 

Whoever wrote the journal was wicked, Adelia had already known that much, but such a spell did seem useful to her. If it flayed the skin from her enemies’ hands, then how would they use their wand? Most wizards were not adept at performing wandless magic, not when it came to duelling. It required too much focus, too much intent and want and so few had the capacity for it.

 

Adelia would ensure that she had the capacity for it, the will for it. She had read about Grindelwald’s war and how the aurors of the time had taken to snapping the wands of their enemies and though it hurt to think of her holly wand cracked open and useless, she would never again be powerless. Her wand was an extension of her will, it was not the wand who made the witch, no it was simply a means to channel what existed in the air.

 

The man had spoken of magic as though it was an element, and though Adelia did not trust his words entirely because he seemed to be a tad bit mad, the books she had read in the library under Madam Pince’s watchful eyes had all but agreed to his sentiment. If the mad man and the learned man agreed, then who was to say it was a lie?

 

Sitting back, the journal splayed open, Adelia searched out the picture that had originally interested her. It was a sketch of a man laying prone, blood pooling beneath him, the ink black and thinning. There was section written beneath it and Adelia hissed it out, the words coming to her with ease where once they were stuttered.

 

I find the best combination for subduing mine enemies is a chain of spells. Here is a spell of mine own design, dark and deadly. It thins the blood, and pairs well with the Severing Charm. There is little respite for life with this combination and proves my theory that common charms may be well suited to combat.

 

Exilis Coumadin. Many a subject was it tested on, and success followed. Ex-ilis Cou-mah-din. The wand most be flourished with a jerk to the right followed by  three sweeping wipes from left to right. Used in a battle against Apollonia Black when she dared to deny the noble line of Slytherin.

 

Adelia read the words again and again until they were all but burned into her mind. It seemed like such a horrible thing to do, but yet she wanted it. The sorting hat had told her that Slytherin would help her achieve greatness, but she did not want power for the sake of having power.

 

No, she wanted it for protection. Voldemort was still out there his followers too. She had seen Mr Malfoy in Borgin’s store, and she had known then that his claims of being bewitched had been a lie. He believed in the idea of pureblood supremacy and that was something he had passed on to his son.

 

She didn’t understand it. Magic was magic, it flowed freely through them all. Purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, werewolves, vampires, centaurs, house-elves….

 

There was only magic.

 

But Adelia’s mind wandered to Filch, who no matter how horrid he was, didn’t deserve to be treated with scorn simply because he was a squib. Adelia knew they were seen as muggles by many, that they had no place in the wizarding world, but she wondered why. Surely, you’d want to keep your population strong and rising and not everything required magic.

 

A place where we all stand side by side. Filled with families and jovial children. A place where we are all free because we are one people made up of different clans. No one of us is better than the other for in the end we are all the same.

 

What would that world look like?

 

But Adelia could not make it alone, no one person could birth a dream as great as hers. It was a dream built upon corpses, atop the ash and bone of the old world. She would do it, she vowed staring down at the next page of the journal as her eyes ached. She would do it for her mother, her father, for everybody else who had fallen to a system of hate and greed.

 

She would do it even if it took Adelia her entire life.

 

Those were the thoughts she had finally fallen asleep to. She dreamed of open, flowering fields, the crowds of Diagon Alley as parents shopped for their children’s school supplies, as witches and wizards browsed and perused. She dreamed of a shadow casting is malevolent hues until the laughter had grown silent, as the joy of the world was sucked dry by hate.

 

The morning saw Adelia tired, the skin beneath her eyes dark and bruised but one of the charms from Evile with Envy had seen it covered and hidden. Poor Ginny was still devastated about Mrs. Norris and no matter how hard her brothers and Adelia herself tried to comfort the girl she remained terrified.

 

She wasn’t the only one.

 

Hermione had taken Malfoy’s words to heart. She was usually silent, and so was Adelia, which meant that it was usually Ron’s voice that could be heard. Hermione was usually reading, but now she seemed almost obsessed with it, as though she was searching for something. Adelia had no doubt it pertained to the chamber mentioned in the bloodied writing.

 

On the following Wednesday, after Snape had kept Adelia behind to scrape the tubeworms from the desk, Adelia made her way to the library. She stopped by Madam Pince’s desk at the front of the library and returned the book she had taken before Halloween and exchanged it for Magical Moral Perspective. It was a thick book, yellowing parchment pages and printed black ink, its golden spine cracked.

 

Adelia thanked the librarian before she went to find Hermione and Ron. However, she nearly bumped into Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology who could have gone to Eton. Just as Adelia went to say hello, he turned around quickly and all but fled in the opposite direction. Adelia huffed an irritated breath. It was not the first time it had happened since Halloween.

 

She found her friends in the back of the library in the study area. Ron was measuring their History of Magic homework with a frown and Hermione was over scurrying through the shelves of the library as though all of the books would disappear. Adelia sat down in one of the chairs beside Ron who was muttering about the length of his essay compared to Hermione’s, but Adelia just looked out the window.

 

Thick heavy grey clouds were drifting closer to the castle. Adelia wouldn’t be surprised if the castle was battered by storms when night came and perhaps the sound of clattering thunder would be her companion on yet another sleepless night. She didn’t know how much longer she could continue on like this, but she was sure she’d find out.

 

“All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out.” Hermione said, voice tinged with irritation. “I shouldn’t have left mine at home.”

“Why do you want it anyway?” Ron wondered. “Didn’t you memorise the entire thing before you even came to Hogwarts?”

 

“Evidently not.” Hermione said primly. “Everybody wants it to read about the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

 

“How long is the waitlist?” Adelia inquired, eyes flicking to her best friend.

 

“Two weeks.” Hermione huffed, sitting down beside Ron.

 

Adelia glanced at the book on the table and to the window before she finally settled on reading the introduction. Her two friends were bickering beside her, Ron pleading to look at Hermione’s homework and Hermione refusing. Even if Ron’s essay was a little short, Adelia doubted Binns would either notice or care since he couldn’t even his student’s names.

 

Honestly, how hard could it be to get rid of him and get somebody competent?

 

Eventually the bell rand and they made their way to the History of Magic classroom, but Adelia who had a love of history, would endure Binn’s monotone teachings with little care. Her thoughts had been preoccupied since Halloween night, and that was nearly a week ago.

 

Binns’ lecture was as boring as it always was. Adelia scarcely paid attention to it, preferring her wandering thoughts to the drollness of Binns’ words. Hermione, however, was intent on taking down every slow word that escaped from the ghost’s mouth while Ron seemed to be dozing off on the other side of her. Nobody would notice her writing here, and even if they did, Adelia doubted they would understand her flicked, maddening notes that only made sense to her.

 

“Professor.” Hermione began bravely near the end of class. “Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

 

At once it seemed as though the entire class had found its focus: lavender had shot up as though her name had been called by an irate Professor McGonagall, Dean, who had been yawning had closed his mouth with such force his teeth clacked together with a wince. Even Ron had managed to wake up, though that might have been because Adelia poked him.

 

“I deal in facts, Ms Grant, not myth and legend.” Binns said in his dry, rasping voice. “As I was saying…” Hermione’s arm was in the air again, her lips pursed. “Yes, Ms. Grant?”

 

“Granger, sir.” She corrected. “Don’t all myths and legends have a basis in truth?”

 

“Well yes but that does not mean it is not rather sensationalised nonsense that we know today.”

 

But Binns conceded when he realised for the first time since he died -and probably before- that he had the undivided attention of every student in his classroom. The ghost spoke of the four Hogwarts founders, spoke a disagreement they had about who should be allowed to attend (Of course it was Slytherin, Adelia thought bitterly, of course it was.). Binns told them of a monster within the chamber and how one day the heir would return to purge the school of all those who were unworthy of magic.

 

“None of it is real.” Binns dismissed. “The school has been searched many times over of course-“

 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Parvati huffed. “You might need Dark Magic to open it.”

 

“Or maybe you need to be related to him.” Dean added.

 

“It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!” Binns snapped.

 

But Adelia didn’t agree. There were too many coincidences at play for it to be anything other than a planned endeavour. Dobby had warned her about a plot in Hogwarts, had warned her that she would not be safe. Everybody knew she was a half-blood; it would stand to reason that Salazar Slytherin had disliked them just marginally less than muggleborns.

 

Was it a coincidence that she, Hermione and Ron had found the petrified Mrs. Norris? Was it coincidence that it was Adelia who led them there, following only a voice she could hear? Was it a coincidence that Dobby had warned her and no others?

 

No. No it couldn’t be. It was not coincidence, and it was not chance: It was centred around Adelia just as Voldemort’s last attempt had been. It was her the madman wanted and it was her he would get.

 

The guilt she felt about learning spells she had no business dabbling in yet receded. Voldemort was coming for her, and if not his twisted miasma, then the flesh and bone and blood of his followers.

 

Flesh and bone and blood that she would split, shatter and spill.

 

Excoria.

Ossio Fractum.

Exilis Coumadin.

 

Those had been the three spells of the journal she had studied, even if she had not dared practice them. She did not know if she could without being found out and Adelia doubted if her preparing for another meeting with Lord Voldemort would suffice as both an explanation and as an excuse…

 

“-Who do we know who thinks muggleborns are the scum of the earth?” Ron questioned as walked toward the common room.

 

“If you’re talking about Malfoy-“ Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Of course, I am. You heard him, we all did. You’ll be next mudbloods. I bet he’s loving every minute of this.” Ron huffed. “It’s no wonder Slytherin are as rotten as they are: Do you see who founded their house?”

 

“I doubt it’s him.” Hermione said. “He seems like the type to watch, not do.”

 

“Adelia. Adelia.” A harried Colin called, rushing past them. “A boy- there’s  boy in my class-“

 

Adelia sighed, pointer finger scratching at the hangnail of her thumb. She’d expected this, of course she had. Dudley had been right apparently: She was a freak, and now the school thought she was a dangerous one to boot. It was exhausting. She could only imagine how much worse it would have been if she wore silver and green rather and red and gold.

 

She never had told anybody that the hat had wanted to put her in Slytherin, and right now she was grateful for it.

 

“What in Merlin’s name was that about?” Ron wondered but Hermione huffed at him to be quiet.

 

“Thinks I’m the heir of Slytherin I’d imagine.” Adelia shrugged.

 

“People will believe anything.” Ron said consolingly. “D’you think there is a Chamber?”

“It’s Hogwarts.” Adelia muttered. “Nothing would surprise me.”

 

“If Dumbledore couldn’t heal Mrs. Norris.” Hermione began. “I don’t think it’s human magic. He’s an expert. No. It has to be something else.

 

They found themselves at the scene of the crime in less than a blink and Adelia stood, staring at the message that was still on the wall. Beneath it was a chair, and she knew Filch had taken to sitting in it in hopes of catching whoever had petrified his cat. She blinked up at the stained blood, magically preserved so it did not flake, and hate, ice-cold and venomous sparked within her.

 

There was a tug on her arm, a pale faced Ron pointing to where Hermione was following a trail of spiders toward a bathroom. They seemed to be feeing from something, scurrying away as though their lives depended on it. Adelia already knew Ron hated spiders, but she had to follow Hermione, couldn’t allow the twisted facsimile of shadows do harm to her best friend.

 

Ron followed as he always would.

 

“Have you ever seen them act like that?” Hermione asked interested.

 

“No.” Ron said quickly, supressing his shivers.

 

“Are you afraid of spiders, Ron? But we use them in potions all the time.”

 

“I don’t mind when they’re dead.” Ron defended hotly. “It’s just- when I was younger Fred and George… they turned my teddy into a spider and… ever since…”

 

“That was cruel of them.” Adelia murmured.

 

Ron shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter but Adelia could see it had, that it did. Hermione was ahead of them again, opening the bathroom door despite the out of order sign that was emblazoned on it. Adelia suspected it was where the water had come from on Halloween night.

 

“It’s the girls’ toilet.” Ron mumbled. “I can’t go in there.”

 

“Nobody else will.” Hermione said. “It’s Moaning Myrtle’s.”

 

That did not reassure Adelia in the least, but she would never leave them alone to face something. Especially not something that could hurt them. It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Adelia had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked and spotted mirror were a row of chipped, stone sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

 

“This is the girls’ bathroom.” Mrytle’s squeaking voice sounded. “He’s not a girl.”

 

“We wanted to ask you if you’d seen anything funny lately.” said Hermione quickly, “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

 

“Did you see anyone near here that night?” Adelia wondered. “You came back here after Nick’s deathday party, didn’t you?”

 

“Iwasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m – that I’m –“

 

“Already dead.” said Ron helpfully.

 

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight; from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Hermione shrugged wearily.

 

“Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle … come on, let’s go.”

 

The door had scarcely closed with a quiet snick when Adelia turned around to be the recipient of Percy’s arctic gaze. His fury was palpable in the way both his eye and jaw seemed to have taken on a life of their own. The silence lingered for only a few brief seconds, but it seemed to stretch to the ends of eternity.

 

“What are the three of you doing here?”

 

“Lookin’ for clues.” Ron shrugged. “Why’re you here?”

 

“Because I knew the three of you would be.” Percy said scathingly. “What on earth possessed you to be so stupid? Do you know how this looks? Coming back here when everybody else was at dinner was foolish.”

 

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” Ron questioned darkly. “We never laid a finger on Mrs. Norris.”

 

“I know that.” Percy snapped, rounding on Ron with a look that reminded Adelia viscerally of Mrs. Weasley. “I know that, Ron. It’s what I’ve told anybody who will bloody well listen to me- what I told Ginny when she was crying because she thought you were all going to be expelled! You might think about how this impacts other people rather than your own need for glory.”

 

“You don’t care about Ginny.” Ron snarled; his pride hurt and face flushing. “You only care about yourself- You’re worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy.”

 

Percy, who had been busy herding them away from the bathroom froze in a way that was eerily similar to Mrs. Norris’ petrified form. Adelia didn’t think that Ron’s words were fair, not in the least, and she wondered if it was normal between to brothers to keep each other so deeply. She remembered last Halloween, even if the night was somewhat of a blur because of the Dreamless Sleep…

 

“Don’t you dare, Ron. Don’t you dare think that that I don’t care about you, or Ginny, or Fred and George.” Percy said so very quietly, his voice as sharp as steel and as cold as ice. “Five points from Gryffindor. No more investigating, no more parchment detailing moments of madness. None of it, or I’ll be writing to mum.”

 

I’m so very sorry, Percy, but I don’t think I can do that.

 

**

 

Nearly a week and a half later and Hermione had a rather terrible but brilliant plan. It involved brewing a potion, stealing from Snape and imitating some Slytherins to see if Malfoy -who Ron still believed to be the cause of everything- knew anything. The easiest part had been getting Lockhart to give Hermione a slip to enter the Restricted Section. Adelia didn’t think anything that followed would be quite so simple.

 

But the thoughts of petrification and muggleborn attacks was pushed to the side in the face of the first quidditch match of the season. Adelia found herself in the centre of the huddled breakfast, even if nobody was speaking much. Food seemed to have become her enemy, its flavour leeched and greying on her tongue as she rhythmically ate it.

 

Adelia was so tired.

 

Everything was a haze, not quite real and not quite fiction. The only thing that seemed to sober Adelia was Oliver’s massive hand on her scarlet and gold covered shoulder just before the game began.

 

“Percy told me I’m not allowed to tell you to die trying to get the snitch because you bloody well will do it.” Oliver huffed, lips twitching in amusement before his face fell into its blank mask of seriousness. “But it’ll be down to you. Show Slytherin, show Malfoy that it takes more than a fancy broom and a rich father to be a seeker.”

 

“We’ll win.” Adelia promised. “Even if I have to die trying.”

 

“No pressure.” Fred winked. “And no dying.”

 

But it had been Adelia’s fault that they had lost last year. She wouldn’t be the cause of it this year. Percy was right she would get the snitch or die trying with the hope it didn’t stick because there was so much she needed to do still.

 

The Heir of Slytherin.

Voldemort.

The wizarding world.

 

She had vowed to fix it all in the names of her parents and all those who had had come before her.

 

“Three…two…one.” Madam Hooch called.

 

She was in the skies, a place she favoured above all. The muggy weather did not bother her, not when Adelia found solace in flying through storms and anguish. This would be no different. Malfoy taunted her, but she paid him no mind, insignificant little gnat that he was. She stayed high, a part of her waiting for her broom to begin jerking beneath her but it did not come.

 

Only a bludger did.

 

She evaded it by a hairsbreadth, its black iron shooting around like a tainted fallen star. George hollered at her, having been the one to beat it away. Adelia  saw George give the bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Pucey, but the bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for her again. No matter how Adelia evaded it, the bludger came again and again.

 

Not again. Not again.

 

The darkened sky had finally released its dews. Fat rain drops clung to Adelia’s already sodden form and a thick mist seemed to have settled around the field like a blanket of dampness. Adelia, as high as she was, was not paying attention to the game below her, searching instead for the snitch.

 

“Slytherin lead 60-0.” Lee Jordan’s charmed voice called.

 

Fred and George had been trying to protect Adelia from the mad bludger despite her reassurances that she could outfly it and outmanoeuvre it if needed to. Neither of them had cared, sharing a single look of concern. George had signalled Oliver for a time out, beating the bludger away from Adelia as she twisted on her broom away from it.

 

“Somebody’s messed with the bludger.” Fred said anxiously. “It hasn’t left her alone the entire match.”

 

“But the bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then …”  Oliver worried at his lip.

 

“The snitch won’t come near me if you two keep hovering.” Adelia reminded. “It won’t. Go, I’ll be fine.”

 

“It nearly took your bloody head off.” George snapped.

 

“This is mad, Oliver.” Alicia huffed. “Just ask for an inquiry.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Adelia protested. “What’s a bludger compared to Voldemort jinxing me? If we stop now, we forfeit and give the Slytherins exactly what they want. I’ll be fine, go.”

“This is your fault.” Fred hissed, jabbing his captain. “I never thought I’d agree with Percy and now look. Get the snitch or die trying.”

 

“It’s my choice.” Adelia snapped. “Do you want to win or not? Help the girls get some scores on the board and I’ll worry about the bludger and the snitch. I’ll be fine.”

 

They looked to Oliver since it was his choice in the end. Adelia wouldn’t let another loss be on her shoulders. Madam Hooch was coming closer and closer as Oliver’s eyes flicked from the twins to Adelia, and then to the three chasers who were firmly on the side of the twins.

 

“The lass has made her choice.” Oliver said after a moment of awkward silence. “Just don’t crack your bloody skull open, right?”

 

“Ready to resume play?” Hooch questioned.

 

“Ready.”

 

The game resumed. It was raining heavier now, darker too. Adelia zipped around the skies, dodging the bludger left and right, feinting when it was too close to do either. She wondered what she looked like to the spectators, to the teachers who were present.

 

Adelia willed her broom to heed her every want, for their wishes to become one. Slytherin would not win, not today. She zoomed toward one of the towers, only to pull up at the last moment so she was facing the silvery sheet of falling rain. The budger just ripped a hole through it, continuing on its path.

 

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” Malfoy called.

 

Adelia, stuck to her broom through sheer will, jerked to the side as he bludger passed her head with an ear-splitting whistle. She glanced up at Malfoy and barely controlled her facial expression.

 

There, right by Malfoy’s laughing face, was the snitch.

 

Adelia didn’t move, and that was her greatest mistake. The bludger twacked her arm with a sickening crunch and it was a pin she remembered well. Hot and blooming, electric and agonising, it was the very same. The damned thing had broken her arm.

 

She definitely wasn’t going to lose now.

 

Adelia urged her broom forward, chasing after the flying golden ball. Malfoy jerked back, afraid that she was going to attack him. He realised, however, that the snitch had been beside his head the entire time and cursed. Adelia’s hand, however, had already curled toward the snitch, grasping it in her hand.

 

Such a shame she was hurdling toward the ground.

 

The bludger didn’t seem to care, for it was still following her. Adelia’s broom, one with her in a way that would seem impossible, tilted and the girl went rolling into the sodden sands of the bunker. The bludger followed the broom and Adelia lay back, panting through the pain as darkness threaded her vision. Her broken arm cradled to her chest; she held the snitch of all to see before she closed her eyes.

 

She opened them to glittering ivory teeth and cursed her non-existent luck.

 

“Get away from me.” Adelia snapped, trying to drag herself away from Lockhart with her broken arm only to swallow down the burn of bile. “Away.”

 

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Lockhart promised. “Not to worry, I’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

 

“You won’t bloody well touch me.” Adelia continued, a camera flashing. “Not now, Colin, please.”

 

“Not to worry, Adelia. I’ve used this charm countless times.” Lockhart promised.

 

“I don’t care. Can I go to the hospital wing?” Adelia pleaded, staring up at a soaking Oliver who looked both delighted and crestfallen.

 

“Of course.” Oliver agreed, delight winning out as he came closer to help Adelia to her feet. “Absolutely amazing dive. That trick with your broom? You’ll have to teach us. And we won.”

 

But Lockhart wasn’t letting her go. It was only then Adelia realised that his jade green robes were all around her, that he was too. He was flourishing his wand and there was a light and then Adelia’s arm flopped. Colin of course took pictures.

 

“You absolute flobberworm.” Adelia growled, glaring at Lockhart who retreated. “I said no.”

 

“Ah well, that can happen sometimes.” Lockhart said sheepishly. “Why don’t you go along to the hospital wing. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can tidy you up.”

 

“I’ll tidy you up.” Adelia, standing up, snapped. She was held back by a thick arm across her shoulders. “Oliver.”

 

But he just shook his head, darting a furious look at their incompetent teacher who curried off like an overdressed rat. Ron and Hermione joined her on her journey, and Oliver left her to the ministrations of a rather irritated Madam Pomfrey who promised Adelia it was not her she was angry with. She poured out a clear potion from an industrial sized bottle and pushed the glass toward Adelia with a grim sort of look and a promise that she’d be in overnight.

 

Adelia understood why the second she had it in her mouth. It burned like liquid fire. She swallowed down the rest of it, letting it settle in her stomach like a crackling acid.

 

“No standing up for Lockhart now, Hermione.” Ron said grinning.

 

“Anybody can make a mistake.”

 

“At least we won.” Ron said jovially.

 

“I’d like to know what they did to the bludger.” Hermione said darkly.

 

“Add it to the list for when we interrogate Malfoy.” Adelia huffed, relining against the stiff pillows. “I hope Polyjuice doesn’t taste as bad as that stuff.”

“With bits of Slytherins in it, it will.” Ron joked.

 

“Listen, Hermione.” Adelia began suddenly. “Can you feed Corra tonight? I don’t think I’ll be out of here tonight.”

 

“How on earth am I supposed to do that?” Hermione all but shrieked.

 

“Ask Percy for a bird.” Adelia pleaded, “And just drop it into my trunk. She’ll recognise your scent; she won’t hurt you.”

 

It was that moment that Oliver arrived with the rest of the sodden quidditch team and all of them were beyond elated. Apparently, Flint had ripped Malfoy a new one for missing the snitch by his head. Cake and sweets and pumpkin juice surrounded Adelia’s bed, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed them out the first time Adelia yawned.

 

“The girl needs rest.” She said firmly. “Thirty-three bones to regrow is no easy task.”

 

It was hours later when Adelia awoke. Her arm was radiating heat and it felt as though somebody had peeled back her flesh and stuck a hundred pins within her nerves. There was something cool and damp on her forehead and she startled, groping for her glasses. Massive tennis ball-like eyes stared back at her.

 

“Dobby?” Adelia murmured. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Adelia Potter came back to school.” Dobby whispered. “Dobby told her not to… Dobby thought that when she missed the train…”

“You blocked up the entrance?” Adelia questioned incredulously. “I had to ask Dumbledor for help, Dobby! We could have been hurt.”

 

“Dobby had to stop the noble Adelia Potter from being harmed.” Dobby said. “Dobby had to iron his hands… and when Dobby learned that Adelia Potter had arrived within Hogwarts, he burned master’s dinner and was flogged.”

 

“The people you serve, Dobby.” Adelia began slowly. “Are horrible, horrible people. They never should have done that to you.” The house-elf nervously smoothed out his ratty pillowcase. “What is that, Dobby? Why do you wear it?”

 

“This, ‘tis a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house for ever.”

 

“Dobby.” Adelia said gently. “Do you have my letters? There’s one of them that I need.”

 

Dobby snapped his fingers, a pile of letters appearing at the foot of Adelia’s bed. She thanked him gently, an itch in her hands to leaf through them in the hope of finding Nicholas Flamel’s.

 

“Adelia Potter must go home. Dobby thought his bludger would be enough…”

 

“Your bludger?” Adelia questioned sharply. “So much for saving me Dobby, oyou bloody well could have killed me.”

 

“Kill you?” Dobby whimpered. “Never kill you. No. Dobby wants to save you.”

 

“Why? What’s the plot, Dobby?”

 

“Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that,” He admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. “But mostly, Adelia Potter, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Adelia Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn. Adelia Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, … And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Adelia Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more –“

 

“You know. You know about the Chamber of Secrets.” Adelia breathed.

 

But Dobby didn’t seem to care for he was too busy whacking his head with the lamp on Adelia’s beside table. She used what strength she had to seize him, to stop him hurting himself despite her own pain. Dobby stilled, eyes bright and wet.

 

““Dobby, Dobby you have to tell me, please. It isn’t just me in danger. My best friend is muggleborn.”

 

“Adelia Potter risks her own life for those of her friends. So good and noble, so valiant.” Dobby whispered. “But she must save herself.”

 

He froze, and Adelia understood why for she heard the echoing footsteps that were coming closer. Dobby snapped his fingers and was gone, and Adelia grabbed her letters, stuffing them beneath her blankets before she lay down against the pillows, feigning sleep.

 

Dumbledore, dressed in wool and McGonagall with her hair braided and face contorted into anguish, were carrying something. They heaved the stiff body onto the bed and Adelia felt her heart sink as her head of house went to get the matron. She watched though the crack in her arms, but she already knew…

 

A student had been petrified. Adelia moved to look closer, and she felt ill. It was Colin, frozen still like a marble statue illuminated in the pale moonlight.

 

No.

 

“You don’t think he got a picture of his attacker, do you?” McGonagall questioned.

 

Dumbledore opened the camera to a hiss and a puff of smoke and Adelia bit her lip, forcing her eyes shut so she did not have to look at Colin.

 

“What does this mean, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

 

‘It means,” said Dumbledore, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.”

 

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

 

“But Albus … surely … who?”

 

“The question is not who,” said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. “The question is how.”

 

He’d been coming to see her, Adelia realised, there was no other reason for him to be near the hospital wing…

 

This was her fault.

 

Chapter 9: The Serpent's Tongue

Summary:

The duelling club.

Notes:

Sorry for how short this one is.

Sunday saw Adelia released from the hospital wing with all thirty-three bones regrown and the letters that Dobby had stolen from her returned. Something else had been returned to her too, it seemed, for that icy slip of acid continued to eat away at her, continued to wrap itself around her organs in an attempt to squeeze the very life from her.

 

The Chamber of Secrets is open again.

 

It had happened before, Adelia realised, it had to have. Why else would Dumbledore say again? If she found out when perhaps she could find out the how of it all, even if it continued to evade Dumbledore. But McGonagall had also been correct, and Ron had been of the same thoughts- the easiest way to stop it from happening was to find out who.

 

If they were gone, no other students, no other animals, would be petrified. Hermione was overseeing the Polyjuice potion, and if they already knew about Colin then it would stand to reason that she had already started. Malfoy’s taunt had been correct, it had been a muggleborn that was petrified next. An innocent, excitable first year even more awed by magic than Adelia had been.

 

She knew, however, that Colin wouldn’t be the last. She could only wonder how long it would take before the bodies were stiff and cold in another way.

 

The mandrake restorative draught might have been enough to remove the effects of petrification, but the plant would no doubt be useless if whoever was doing it grew tired of their low-stakes game of fear. Whoever it was, whatever it was, it wanted to feed, Adelia had heard it, had heard that it was so hungry, and perhaps it had to feed on fear.

 

Firenze had said unicorn blood was a curse. Was this Voldemort drinking his fill of children’s fears in order to gather strength? Was he cursed to live his life as some garish, vulgar creature because of what he had done to the unicorn? Was he out there in the Forbidden Forest again, watching and waiting?

 

She would never find him out there, so Lord Voldemort would just have to find her instead.

 

Adelia paused as she passed the library and for a moment, she thought about slipping through the shelves, scanning the titles and flicking through the pages but she was still reading  Magical Moral Perspective. It was still incredibly dry, so incredibly mind-numbing but so very necessary. Adelia understood the inaction more now than she ever would have, understood why everything was the way that it was- greed, corruption, complacency and denial.

 

Dumbledore had been right: the truth was a curse. Yet Adelia found that the truth did so rarely matter to the people who would twist and tear and reform it to fit their own perceptions, their own beliefs.

 

“Adelia.” Percy greeted, exiting the library. “How’s the arm?”

 

“No longer floppy.” Adelia nodded, eyeing him. “Do you know about-“

 

“Professor McGonagall told us this morning.” Percy said and his bright mood seemed to diminish somewhat. “The whole school is in a tizzy about it for obvious reasons.”

 

“How many of them think I did it?”

 

“More than a few I suspect. Everyone knew Colin was always following you around, no doubt they think you snapped.” Percy shrugged and then he narrowed his icy gaze. “Do not do anything foolish.”

 

Then Percy was gone, and Adelia was perhaps more confused than she’d ever been before. She went to the one place nobody would think to look for her two friends, and of course that was where she found them. Hermione was bent over a steaming cauldron, bluebell flames bright beneath it. She was stirring it absentmindedly as she read through the potions book that lay on her lap.

 

“D’you think she’s alright?” Hermione questioned lowly and Adelia froze.

 

“Of course she isn’t.” Ron muttered. “I just wish she’d tell us what was wrong, I mean, she knows we know she’s innocent, right?”

 

“She hasn’t been sleeping.” Hermione admitted. “I just- I wake up at night sometimes and she’s always awake, I know she is. I think she found a spell to not be noticed.”

 

Not quiet, Hermione. Mr Journal Man was very private and a rather good teacher it would seem. I hope Hogwarts doesn’t mind that I carved some runes into my bedframe, but at least I know they’re working.

 

Adelia crept back away from them, closer to the door before she opened it with more force than necessary, her anxiety coiling around her stomach like an angry snake. She called out once, peering around the corner and saw Ron stumbling to wave at her.

 

Adelia didn’t need for them to know she had heard them; she didn’t want to worry them even more than they already were.

 

“I can’t wait until we get Malfoy for this.” Ron said sometime later as Hermione prodded leeches to the bottom of the bubbling cauldron. “He was in a foul mood after the match… maybe he took it out on Colin.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Hermione huffed.

 

“Dobby paid me a visit last night, just before…” Adelia worried at her thumbnail. “He cursed the bludger and closed the train platform. He knew about this from the start, this is what he was warning me about. He told me that the Chamber had been opened before.”

 

“Lucius Malfoy must’ve opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now, he’s told dear old Draco how to do it. It’s obvious. Wish Dobby’d told you what kind of monster’s in there, though. I want to know how come nobody’s noticed it sneaking round the school.” Ron groused. “Not even the paintings or the ghosts have.”

 

“Maybe it’s invisible.” Hermione mused, adding lacewings to the potion.

 

“I don’t think a demiguise is petrifying people, Hermione.” Adelia shook her head, braid swinging.  “And I don’t think it’s a student.”

 

“You think it’s him, don’t you?” Ron whispered, face paling.

 

“He’d be a fool to come back.” Hermione huffed. “Dumbledore-“

 

“Didn’t notice anything amiss last year.” Adelia reminded. “And if he did, he didn’t do anything about it.”

 

Her words were sharper than she had intended, and Adelia felt that knot within her tighten at Hermione’s confused face. Adelia understood, she was just as confused and being confused left her with an inescapable sense of helplessness and coupled with the feeling of a thousand and one eyes on her, both real and imaginary, she was losing it.

 

Everything was fraying within her. Everything was either too grey or too much. Even the silence wasn’t a respite anymore and deep inside of herself Adelia knew it was going to get worse.

 

And get worse it did.

 

 Students didn’t dare venture out alone anymore, traveling in packs as though that would deter whoever or whatever seemed to be hunting them in the castle. Poor Ginny was beside herself; she’d been good friends with Colin, and she seemed paler and more terrified than usual and no number of jokes from Fred and George could get her to smile.

 

They were all worried about her, but Ginny would just clamp her mouth shut and stare into the distance, or she’d cry and go to her dorm. Ginny wasn’t the only one terrified beyond belief.

 

As there always was when there was fear, there was a profit to be made. Hidden from the staff, and in the Gryffindor common room, Percy, there was an underground trade of supposed protective talismans. Neville had bought three of them, and even Lavender had one of them. It was a horrible sight.

 

Days stretched long and the nights even longer. Aware that Hermione and Ron’s concern was growing steadily with each day, with each whisper that Adelia didn’t even know were real, she had taken it upon herself to be happy for their sakes. Thankfully the teachers did not notice the change within her because they were drowning under not only their own fear, but their student’s fear too.

 

Inside herself, Adelia was cold, so very cold.

 

Her days were lived for her friends, and her nights were haunted by her mind. Adelia did not even have Corra’s company, for the snake was in brumation and in the darkness of night, only a few feet from her best friend, Adelia had felt so alone. The only company she had was a sprawling sheet of parchment that was creased with folds and detailed everything she knew. No detail was left out, not a single one.

 

Dobby.

Lucius Malfoy.

The platform.

The voices.

Halloween.

The voices.

Colin.

 

All of it was there, written in colour-shifting ink. She wrote her thoughts, her beliefs, Ron’s and Hermione’s. Perhaps the only thing she did not include was the bubbling potion in the first-floor girls’ toilet. Adelia could go days without updating it, but every night she looked at it. Every night she hoped that there would be some spark, some flash of understanding and yet there was nothing.

 

The other thing she focused on were not the spells of the Parseltongue journal, but its enchantments, its runic wards. It required taking books out of the library in order to comprehend what any of it meant, but Madam Pince had thought she was just reading herself for her subject selection that would happen after the easter holidays.

 

Adelia was fine to let the librarian think that. Hermione and Ron too, though the latter grumbled about how it was ages off. He tried to keep his levity with each passing day, but Adelia knew the circumstances were weighting upon his shoulders too.

 

She rubbed at her eyes and glanced at her watch, its cracked and scratched face long ago repaired by a handy spell that Hermione had used. Adelia reached for the journal, for the letter held within and its silver words on golden parchment. That was something else she had read every single night. Adelia’s eyes flicked over the curling script once again

 

Dear Miss Adelia Potter,

 

Pardon my writing to you in such a clandestine manner, Miss Potter but there are only four in this world who know my wife and I still draw life. I do not know where to begin in my thanks, dear child, I do not. Not only did you thwart Lord Voldemort (Albus tells me you a propensity for saying his foul name and I see no reason to allow his veil of fear to grow) but you did so at great risk and for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.

 

It is not only I who owes you a debt, Miss Potter, but I fear I am the only one who will strive to pay it. Albus told me that you have an interest in history, and while I have also preferred magical research, Perenelle has always been a champion of the arts. On Christmas, expect a gift as a token of our appreciation and no that we neither need nor wish for a thank you.

 

The very old should always endeavour to teach the very young, after all. No greater boon is there than the sharing of knowledge.

 

Sincerset regards,

Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel.

 

Yet even the thought of Christmas, so very close now, was not enough to brighten the darkened mood that clung around Adelia. Hermione had promised them that the potion would be finished during the holidays, and with Malfoy staying there would be no better time to ascertain exactly what he knew. Adelia hoped his father had continued the trend of talking too much but it wasn’t like hope had gotten her very far.

 

Adelia turned back to the journal, to the random page she had placed the letter in for safe keeping. She blinked down at it, then pulled the book closer to her.

 

We are the serpent’s kin. We are their brothers and sisters and masters. No snake would dare strike at us save their King. We are untouched by their venom, and they are touched by our will. Even the wildest of them, the greatest of them will bow to the will of fire-touched blood.

 

Will, after all, is a wizard’s greatest power.

 

**

 

“Come on, I know you want to.” Ron huffed, nudging Adelia playfully.

 

“I do not want to become Crabbe, thank you very much.” Adelia snorted. “The very thought is sickening.”

 

It was. Polyjuice required bits of the person you wished to turn in to, and who better to turn into than Crabbe and Goyle if you wanted Malfoy to talk? Hermione was wisely staying silent since she was going to be imitating Milicent Bulstrode, but her eyes were dancing in amusement. Adelia pursed her lips, her faux irritation and outrage a blissful reprieve from the fevered need to be ready.

 

Ron and Hermione grinned the moment she giggled, and Adelia was sure it was a plot to see her smile at least once a day. Adelia was entirely sure she did not deserve her friends.

 

“What’s this?” Hermione wondered as she stared at the knot of students outside the entrance hall. “You don’t think-?”

 

“It better not be.”

 

The three of them walked toward them, but there was no solemn silence that you would expect if another student had been petrified. Instead, there was excitement, cloying and thick and so very loud. Dean waved them over animatedly, Seamus grinning widely.

 

“They’re starting a duelling club.” Dean said.

 

“First meetin’s tonight.” Seamus added. “Could come in handy these days.”

 

“Maybe we’ll learn something about actually defending ourselves since Lockhart’s so bloody useless.” Ron muttered darkly. “Shall we go?”

 

Adelia and Hermione shared a look. Adelia thought perhaps it would be a good way to practice spells even if they weren’t the ones she wanted to learn, a good way to burn off the energy that seemed to itch under her skin. Hermione simply delighted in learning new magic.

 

In the end it was a very simple choice.

 

Adelia wasn’t as excited as her friends were, but she listened to them all the same as they ate dinner. Everything still tasted like ash, and she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her, casting everything in tones of grey because she was so maudlin. They had returned to the common room, but nobody actually tried to do their homework for they were far too busy talking about the club.

 

Then, at eight o’ clock, it seemed as though the entire school was walking toward the great hall. The tables had been banished and there, in the centre of the room was a gilded platform adorned with the phases of the moon atop a midnight blue background. The enchanted ceiling burned with the light of a thousand silvery stars and Adelia felt the urge to leave.

 

Something terrible was about to happen, she just knew it.

 

“Who do you think it’ll be?” Hermione questioned excitedly. “Flitwick’s a duelling champion, maybe it’ll be him.”

 

“As long as it isn’t... oh bloody hell.” Adelia groaned. “Why did it have to be him?”

 

There, striding through the crowd was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart looking like a rather proud peacock in his ivory and plum robes. Beside him, glowering as though he’d rather be anywhere else, was Snape.

 

This was going to be a nightmare; Adelia just knew it. Ron’s face had screwed up, and even Seamus didn’t look as excited as he had been all day. Ruefully, Adelia noticed that most of the girls, including Katie and Hermione, were still in awe of the man. There was something not quite right about him, she thought, but she didn’t know what.

 

Adelia watched as Snape and Lockhart went to either side of the duelling platform. She could hardly believe that she wanted Snape to win, but Lockhart had vanished the bones in her arm, and she wanted him to suffer for it. Lockhart was loud and flourishing, Snape silence and brooding.

 

And then Lockhart threw his cloak into the crowd and the girls seemed to be fighting over it. Adelia huffed, her eyes trained on Snape’s fluid grace as he took his wand in hand, as he and Lockhart took their positions. A bright, arching bolt of red energy went careening for Lockhart’s slack-faced person and then his wand was sailing through the air.

 

So that’s that the disarming charm looks like, Adelia mused as Lockhart stood, the girl who had caught his wand offering it to him as one would offer a sacrifice to their god. Adelia had to give it to him, Lockhart knew how to play the game, yet Adelia was still learning.

 

But she was a quick learner.

 

“I think now we shall have some student volunteers.” Lockhart called, his hand sweeping across the murmuring students. “Yes. Ms Potter against hm… Mr Longbottom I should think. Yes.”

 

Neville went pale-faced as he glanced at Adelia with wide, worried eyes. Adelia huffed and clapped a hand on his shoulder with a reassuring smile. She wouldn’t hurt Neville, not in the least. None of those spells that she coveted would be used on her friends, only Voldemort and his ilk and whoever stood in the way of her vision.

 

“I don’t think so.” Snape said menacingly. “Mr Malfoy, why don’t you see what Potter is made of?”

 

Adelia glared at the potions master. Of course he’d pick Malfoy. Ron grinned at her as she climbed onto the platform, taking the side that Lockhart was standing on. He offered her a blinding smile which Adelia ignored; her eyes focused on the pompous blond git in front of her.

 

“Now, we’re going to bow to one another.” Lockhart called. “And disarm only. The rest of you pair up.”

 

Adelia doubted Malfoy would stick to that. He had a mean grin on his face, but Adelia didn’t care for it. Beneath the hum of the gathered students, the wand in her hand thrummed with light, ivory threaded with vermillion as it sang its haunting, raising tune.

 

Adelia smiled. Her wand was simply an extension of her will, of her, and she would not falter. Not here, not now, not ever, not even as an icy whisper sounded in her mind.

 

Malfoy fired a spell on two, but Adelia had been prepared. With a sharp jab of her wand to the left, it went flying at Lockhart who fell to the ground. Malfoy looked shocked, Snape looked angry, and the students were too busy fighting each other to notice. Adelia fired back her own spell, the Tickling Charm, and she laughed as he fell over wheezing.

 

“I said disarm only.” Lockhart called, righting himself with a heaved huff.

 

“Tangerella.” Malfoy snapped.

 

Adelia’s legs may have moved of their own accord, but her hands did not. She would not be humiliated in front of the entire school because of Malfoy. The hit him with a Full Body Bind and watched gleefully as he fell over, stone cold.

 

“Finite Incantatum.” Snape said with a fiery hiss as he pulled Malfoy up.

 

Adelia looked around the room. Seamus was pale-faced and holding his stomach as Ron apologised hysterically. Neville and Justin were both on the floor, their chests heaving. Fred and George were grinning manically which could never be good. Hermione and Bulstrode were both a mess, robes askew and hair a mess but Hermione looked victorious.

 

She’d gotten her hair then. Adelia winked at her, and Hermione flushed.

 

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells.” Lockhart said, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?’

 

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart.” Said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.” Neville’s round pink face went pinker. “How about Malfoy and Potter finish this?”

 

Oh I’ll finish it, Adelia promise herself, for Hermione.

 

“Now, Adelia.” Lockhart began, hand on her shoulder and his golden head bowed to her, eyes glittering. “When Malfoy begins, I want you to do exactly what you did earlier, and then do this.”

 

He followed it up with a twisted wand movement that did nothing except end up with the wand on the floor. Adelia’s lips thinned and she looked back to her friends, all of them cloistered close to her left, watching her intently. Nobody else was duelling this time, instead all eyes were on her and Malfoy. In her hand, her wand seemed to grow warmer, its song higher and higher until it was like an ethereal voice come to guide her to victory.

 

Adelia knew exactly what she was going to do.

 

Snape bent down to whisper something into Malfoy’s ear and the boy smirked. Never before had Adelia imagined that she’d find somebody she hated more than Dudley, and yet there he was. They took three paces away from the two mentors and did the perfunctory bow.

 

“Scared Potter?” Malfoy taunted; lips twisted into a sneer.

 

“You wish.”

 

“Three… two… one.” Lockhart called.

 

“Serpensortia.” Malfoy bellowed.

 

At the same time Adelia incanted. “Expelliarmus.”

 

Malfoy’s wand went flying just as a snake appeared in the puff of blue smoke. It was an Egyptian Asp, beautiful and deadly and it looked so lost. Its black eyes seemed to stare right through Adelia, and she realised that McGonagall had been right: Conjured animals have no soul. But it would not attack her, no snake would.

 

“Step back, Potter. I’ll get rid of it.” Snape said.

 

“Allow me.”

 

And Lockhart was brandishing his wand, but the snake was not banished. It’s ropy form simply went flying in the air and when it landed it was enraged. It was so close to the students, to Justin and it reared back, ivory fangs coated in venom and poised to sink into the poor boy. Everybody was frozen. Snape wasn’t doing anything, and thankfully Lockhart wasn’t either.

 

“Stop.” Adelia ordered, outing herself to spare a boy she barely knew  of the snake’s potent venom. “Leave him be. He is not prey.”

 

The snake’s tongue lashed out and then it slithered away, settling in a coiled pile of glittering black scales in the centre of the duelling platform. It was only then that Snape banished it, but the damage had been done. Adelia looked at the students that surrounded her, all of them pale-faced and terrified and set her shoulders with iron defiance.

 

She did not flee, but it was a near thing, for Ron had grabbed her hand and all but pulled her from the whispering crowd. Hermione was beside her, Fred and George behind her ready with their wands because they seemed to fear that Adelia could be cursed then and there. Percy was leading the pack of them, glaring at the pointed fingers and the harsh condemnations.

 

It was pointless though, for Adelia Potter had been cursed the moment Death had murmured his blessing.

 

Chapter 10: Suspicions

Summary:

In which there is condemnation and truths.

Notes:

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter

“What did you say to the snake?” Hermione wondered, tugging gently at Adelia’s sleeve.

 

“Not to attack Justin. That he wasn’t prey.” Adelia felt sick, panic burning and bubbling like lava. “And I hit Malfoy with the Full Body Bind. They’re really going to think I’m the bloody Heir now, aren’t they?”

 

“They don’t matter.” Ron promised. “We know the truth.”

 

“Course you’re not the Heir.” Fred said.

 

“Yeah, because if you were, it’d be Malfoy and the gang you’d be petrifying, not a cat and Colin.” George finished with a smile.

 

“Not helpful, either of you.” Percy snapped, leading them down a corridor that did not bring them to the common room, but rather McGonagall’s office. He knocked twice and the door opened from the other side. “Professor, we have a situation.”

 

“What is it?” McGonagall asked, looking up from a mound of essays she was correcting.

 

“Percy.” Fred hissed. “Really?”

 

“We need to get ahead of it.” Percy reminded.

 

“Ahead of what, Mr Weasley?” McGonagall questioned; her eyes narrowed.

 

“The accusations that Adelia Potter is the Heir of Slytherin and thus responsible for the petrifications of Mrs Norris and Colin Creevy.” Percy said calmly. “As you know there was already gossip since she was found at the scene of the first petrification, and it’s going to get worse.”

 

“Just tell me what happened.”

 

“I’m a Parselmouth.” Adelia announced, standing beside Percy. “I’ve known for months. I found a snake in my aunt’s garden and well, she stayed with me. Tonight, during our final duel, Malfoy conjured a snake. Lockhart tried to remove it and failed miserably, and he just scared it. It was going for Justin Finch-Fletchley and I told it to stop.”

 

McGonagall was silence for a long moment. Adelia continued to her look at her. The woman massaged her temples and when she finally met Adelia’s gaze there was anguish in them, as though she knew the storm had finally arrived. Adelia already knew how the gossip network in Hogwarts worked, she’d been the centre of the words passed along its silvery threads.

 

It was going to be horrible; Adelia knew. If any other students were petrified it would only get worse. It always would always get worse. She blamed Voldemort and the stupid scar on her forehead that was proudly displayed as a mark of her parents’ sacrifice.

 

“This is indeed a conundrum.” McGonagall sighed. “Did anybody know you were a Parselmouth?”

 

“We all knew.” Fred said. “Mum and dad too.”

 

“Hagrid knows too.” Adelia added. “I think he’s trying to find a Runespoor to see if the different heads say different things. But Professor, please believe me when I say I am not the Heir of Slytherin.”

 

“I do.” McGonagall promised. “But there is little I can do with the students’ speculation unless it turns antagonistic. If that is to be the case, inform either myself or any of the prefects and we will see to it. I should hope than none of the antagonism comes from my own house, and if it does it will be dealt with swiftly.”

 

“Thank you, Professor.”

 

“Go back to your common room, all of you. I will speak with the Headmaster and the other heads of house. We will not tolerate hate in Hogwarts of any kind.”

 

The mood was morose as they returned to the common room. Some of the students had already returned and their conversation silenced when they spotted Adelia there, nestled in the middle of a rather protective circle of redheads and Hermione. Lavender and Parvati were eyeing her, Seamus and Dean too. Neville was as white as a sheet. The entire quidditch team was there and Oliver was stalking forward.

 

Pery stepped in front of him, Fred and George were glowering at him from the back. Adelia swallowed, wondering if this was it, if she was off the team for a magical gift, she never asked for but adored because it had gifted her Corra.

 

“Chin up, Potter.” Oliver murmured, Katie, Alicia and Angelina around him. “Anybody says anything, anybody tries anything they’re gonna regret it, right lads?”

 

“And ladies.” Angelina rolled her eyes fondly. “But yeah. What our captain said. We know it isn’t you, Adelia. Anybody who thinks it is a bloody fool.”

 

Adelia nodded, but the sting of worry did not vanish like she wished it would. In fact, it only worsened to that same icy drip that plagued her. She didn’t say anything, skirted past the group that would stand by her, caught the faces of those who were scared and confused, and climbed the steps two at a time.

 

She would not cry. She would not.

 

Instead, she looked into her trunk and spotted Corra’s unmoving form and wished that her girl would come alive if only for a moment. Adelia wanted Hedwig on her shoulder, nipping at her ear and her hair in shows of love and affection. The sick feeling returned to her stomach and Adelia tried to ignore it as she reached for the Ancient Runes book she had checked out of the library, and the journal that kept her sane.

 

“Adelia?” Lavender called gently. “Are you alright?”

 

“Not really.” Adelia admitted, her finger digging into her temple to stave off yet another headache. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“You know, my granddad is gonna be so jealous.” Parvati said smiling.

 

“Why?”

 

“He’s a magical language expert.” Parvati explained. “He’s called in to help the curse-breakers with old tombs and stuff, and well, he can speak Mermish and Troll and Gobbledegook but well, you can’t learn Parseltongue, can you?”

 

“I don’t think so.” Adelia shrugged, and Hermione came to sit beside her, offering a watery smile. “You really don’t mind?”

 

“You’re our friend.” Lavender said. “Come one, why don’t we do something fun?”

 

“Braiding with no magic?” Parvati suggested.

 

“No magic? Where’s the fun in that?” Lavender huffed, smiling. “We could try a few spells out of that cosmetic book. Hermione?”

 

“Oh I suppose.” Hermione, who had never joined them before in the endeavour, flushed at the offer.

 

And so the four girls stayed awake late in the night, practicing spells from Evile with Envy. Their tittering laugh could be heard by any who walked past the door. The went to bed after midnight, though Adelia could not sleep. She simply sat there, staring at the list of spells she had curated.

 

She needed to find a place to practice them, but Adelia wasn’t stupid enough to take her father’s Cloak and wander the halls. Not when something hunted the students within, and she could not go the Forest, Firenze’s warning from last year sounding in her mind.

 

Pluto returns to us.

 

She had no idea what that meant. Centaurs were stargazers, she knew, but they were also masters of Divination. Adelia would have to take the class next year in order to parse together a meaning to such ominous words. Her problem was she wanted to take all of the classes except Muggle Studies. Eleven OWLs seemed like a nightmare, but she would endure because magic was magic and it was hers.

 

She found Percy the following morning at breakfast. Professor Sprout had cancelled Herbology on account of tending to the Mandrakes, and so the second years were free for the first period. Adelia ignored the stares and whispers, especially those coming from the Hufflepuff table, even though their russet-haired male prefect was trying to shush them.

 

“I need help.” Adelia said, sitting beside him.

 

“I’m teaching you conjuration, not curses.” Percy murmured, reaching for a pot of steaming tea. “Tea?”

 

“Lemon?” Adelia wondered and Percy nodded, pouring two cups. “How do you get lemon tea?”

“Prefect’s secret.” Percy said drily, his lips twitching. “You said you needed help?”

 

“You took all twelve subjects.” Adelia said. “I want to take eleven and I want to know what it’s like.”

 

“Which one are you excluding?”

 

“Muggle Studies.” Adelia shrugged. “I mean, I could still take it if I didn’t go to class, couldn’t I?”

“That’s what I did.” Percy admitted. “Professor Burbage is decent; she’ll assign you the work and you can do it and give to her. It isn’t particularly difficult, especially if you’re muggle raised. All of it comes down to timetabling, really. And what you want to do when you graduate. Do you know what you want to do?”

 

Adelia did know, but she didn’t think she could say it aloud when people already thought she was evil. She’d read the books; she’d seen the state of the magical world she lived in. Her parents had died fighting for a better world, a free world, but how could it be free when werewolves were scorned, when vampires dwelled in the shadows and magical beings were thought to be little more than savage beasts?

 

She wanted her golden dream to be reality. She wanted sprawling families and freedom, wanted love to triumph over hate. She had a chance of it, her name carried power, even if people thought she was mad. Adelia would see the shadowy shackles that chained her magical brethren broken, would see them for the people they were, the beings they were.

 

She would do it for Dobby, the barmy house elf that had nearly killed her trying to save her. For the other house elves that were beaten and forced to punish themselves for their supposed misdeeds. She would do it for the werewolves who were hated because of a sickness they had. For the vampires who were shunned.

 

Adelia would fix it all, or she would die trying.

 

“I want to fix it.” Adelia admitted lowly. “Our world is broken, and people don’t care because it doesn’t affect them. Wizards and witches aren’t better than anybody or anything because magic is in all of us, no matter the form.”

 

“Heretical thoughts as far as the Ministry is concerned.” Percy murmured, but he was smiling, and there was a delightful sparkle in his icy eyes. “I might have some competition for Minister it seems.”

 

“I think I’ll be a shoe in when I kill Voldemort.” Adelia huffed, sipping at her tea, the hot, tart flavour warming the tundra within her soul. “Or we could work together.”

 

“And what makes you think I plan on changing anything?” Per y inquired seriously. “The Ministry has stood since 1707.”

 

“And it’s stood on the corpses and backs of magical beings who deserved to be treated better than mad creatures.” Adelia retorted. “And if you’re fine with that, fine with the government who are bloody useless then you’re not the person I thought you were.”

 

Percy eyed her speculatively, as though he was searching for something. Adelia realised he found it when he smiled, and it wasn’t that twitch of his lips that happened when he was amused, nor was it the flat-lipped look of disappointment. No, it was a genuine smile that stretched across his full lips and caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

 

“Right then.” Percy puffed up, smiling. “We’ll fix it together.”

 

“So, I can do Muggle Studies in my own time.” Adelia murmured. “And History of Magic is a farce with Binns teaching it, so I can do that myself too. The only problem will be potions. Snape hates me.”

 

“It’s an independent examiner.” Percy reminded. “And if you’re struggling, don’t learn the potions the way they are, look at the ingredients. That way you’ll know the interactions and why it does what it does, rather than just doing it. Though I suspect that’s what you already do.”

“I do with the other subjects.” Adelia admitted, snagging a piece of toast from a floating silver tray. “But Snape berates me if I deviate from the potion recipe he has on the board. Plus, the Slytherins throw all sorts into our cauldrons.”

 

Percy’s lips thinned but nodded in understanding. His class hadn’t been like that, and even with Oliver and Flint hating each other because of quidditch, it had never happened to them. He wondered if it was all down to Malfoy and the father whose name he threw around.

 

Adelia, however, concerned herself with her toast and the eyes that followed her when she slid down the table to Ron and Hermione. Ron was still somewhat perplexed by the fact that his best friend seemed to get along with his upright older brother, but he knew that from her time in the Burrow that Adelia got on with all of his family. He’d been jealous at first because Adelia was his best friend, but he couldn’t deny her the bright, brilliant smiles she had often worn in the Burrow.

 

He just wished they’d make a reappearance. Ron doubted they would soon, though. Not with the way people were staring at her like she was the second coming of You-Know-Who. Hermione, likewise, was irritated by the stares but there was nothing she could do about it. People had already made their minds up, and Ron, who grew up in the wizarding world, knew all too quickly about how perception changed.

 

“Do you want to go to the library?” Hermione asked, nudging Adelia.

 

“And let them think I’m running away? Absolutely not.” Adelia scoffed, eyes flicking along the Hufflepuff table that seemed to be protecting Justin from her deadly, petrifying gaze. “We can go in a bit, Ron’s not finished his breakfast.”

 

They only left when it was time for the first class. Adelia, Hermione and Ron found themselves in the nook they’d spent many an hour in last year during their search for Nicholas Flamel. It was nestled toward the back of the library, a long desk in front of the towering, arched windows that looked out upon the Black Lake.

 

Hermione busied herself with the Herbology work Professor Sprout had left them, but Adelia needed something other than the photo album, plotting and dark spells to get her through her sleepless nights. Instead, she wandered around the wizarding history section of the library, passed anything that had to do with Grindelwald and fingered golden spine. She pulled it from the shelf eyeing the title.

 

The Rise of the Dark: You-Know-Who’s War.

 

Adelia huffed out a disbelieving noise and flicked open the book to its contents page. She pursed her lips but decided to take it anyway because if she was going to beat him, she had to know what she was up against. Just as she was about to return to her friends, she heard hushed voices coming from a tightly cloistered group.

 

“I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as her next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while.” Ernie Macmillan told his friends with a frown. “Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told her he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”

 

“Do you really think it is Potter, though?” Hannah Abbot inquired lowly.

 

“She’s a Parselmouth. You-Know-Who was one too. Filch is a squib, and that Creevy chap was a muggleborn. She knows Justin’s one too and we all saw her egging the snake on last night.” Macmillan continued. “Everyone knows that’s the mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”

 

“But she got rid of You-Know-Who.” Hannah murmured. “And she’s always seemed so nice.”

 

“No one knows how she survived that attack by You Know Who. I mean to say, she was only a baby when it happened. She should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark Wizard could have survived a curse like that.” Ernie replied. “Who’s to say that’s not why He went after her, you know? Probably didn’t want any competition.”

 

Adelia clucked her tongue, book in hand and stepped out from behind the wall of books. She eyed the Hufflepuffs who seemed to freeze and pale significantly when she cleared her throat. Adelia didn’t care, white hot rage burning fiercely.

 

“My mum was a muggleborn you know.” Adelia reminded with a sneer. “My best friend is one too. Just thought I’d remind you of that. You can tell Justin that the only reason he’s not in the hospital wing is because I told the snake to not attack him.”

 

She turned and left, terrified eyes on her retreating form. She found her way back to Ron and Hermione but neither of their things were there. Adelia frowned, then she looked at her own bookbag and saw Hermione had left a message for her.

 

Ron forgot his wand. Going back the common room. See you in transfiguration.

 

Adelia looked at her watch. It made sense, their double class of Herbology was nearly over, and it made more sense for her friends to go straight to class after gathering Ron’s forgotten wand (not that it was of much use to him since it had all but snapped in two) and head to McGonagall’s classroom. Yet, a part of her wondered if they were talking about her.

 

She checked out the book, Madam Pince regarding her with a tight-lipped smile which was more than Adelia had ever seen before. It seemed as though at least none of the staff -save Filch- though she was Voldemort reincarnated which was nice. The rage within her was still bubbling, still a twisted hateful thing that made just the smallest part of her wish that she had died alongside her parents.

 

I’m hungry… blood… I want…

 

Adelia rolled her shoulders as though that would alleviate the trickle of ice down her spine. The voice tormented her, tormented her beyond belief and there was nothing she could about it. She wasn’t even sure if it had been real, wasn’t sure if it was just a slow-seeping madness that had infected her.

 

“You alrigh’, Adelia? Yer lookin’ a bit peaky.” Hagrid called, strolling down the corridor with a limp bird in his hand.

 

“I’m alright.” Adelia shrugged. “People believe what they want to believe. What’ve you got there?”

 

Yesss… hungry… so hungry…

“Me second dead rooster o’ the term.” Hagrid muttered. “Have teh see Dumbledore and get his permission teh use magic the keep the foxes or the Blood-Suckin’ Bugbears outta the coop.”

 

I want… want… no.

 

“Ya sure yer alrigh’?” Hagrid questioned, concern thickening his accent. “Where’re Ron and ‘Ermione?”

 

“We were in the library and Ron forgot his wand. We’re going to meet up in transfiguration.” Adelia explained. “Sorry about your roosters, Hagrid.”

 

Hagrid waved her off with a parting smile. The voice had seemed closer then, twisting in the air like smoke and shadow. Adelia shook her head, the pins in her crown-like braid loosening ever so slightly. She didn’t have time to fix them and turned up the corridor toward the staircases. She wasn’t going to be late for transfiguration.

 

The corridor was dark, its torches extinguished by a brutal gust of wintery wind. Weak, grey sunlight illuminated it just enough for Adelia to see what was in front of her.

 

Nearly Headless Nick was frozen, his spectral form a shade greyer than usual. Beneath him with the same grey hues was none other than Justin Finch-Fletchly. Adelia could not hear anything over the thundering of her blood, could see nothing but the two petrified being and the spiders fleeing. She went to move, to get as far away from there as possible and let somebody else find it but she knew she was damned either way.

 

“What’s this?” Peeves questioned as he floated out of a classroom. “Potty, Potty- ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK.”

 

Classroom doors burst open, and Adelia stood there, watching the hateful, terrified gazes of students she didn’t know. Adelia thought that Justin might be crushed beneath them all, and then she could see nothing but black robes as somebody stood in front of her. There was a shout from the teachers for the students to move back and then the person in front of her was turning, was laying their hand on her trembling shoulder because this was it.

 

“It’s alright, Adelia.” A familiar, gentle voice sounded. “It’s alright. Just don’t say anything to anybody who isn’t McGonagall or the Headmaster, alright?”

 

There, standing before her, with curling blonde hair and warm hazel eyes, was Head Girl Jessica Cole. Her badge was gleaming from where it was pinned above the scarlet and gold lion of Gryffindor.

 

“She should be expelled.” Somebody called.

 

“Shut your mouth, Finly.” Jessica snapped.

 

“It’s true though, Potter’s a bloody menace.” A girl growled.

 

“She’s twelve, Anna.” Oliver Wood snorted, eyeing Adelia worriedly. “A menace on a broom, yeah. This? Give off for Merlin’s sake.”

 

“Everybody who’s been attacked had problems with her.” Another person added.

 

 “All of you, be quiet and stop gawking. Get back to your classrooms now. I said now.” Jessica snarled. “Turning on a second year like a pack of savage Nundus, you should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

 

“Listen to your Head Girl.” McGonagall’s voice thundered, though her own class remained. “Get back to class.”

 

“Caught in the act, Potter.” Ernie yelled, face white and ashen. “What did you do? Come looking for him to finish him off?”

“That will do, Macmillan.” McGonagall said sharply.

 

“Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done? You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun.” Peeves sang merrily.

 

Then with a yelp he was banished by a furious wand, a wand that Adelia had grown very familiar with over the months. Gleaming Cherry wood and dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches, unyielding. Oliver patted Percy’s shoulder, said something to him that had the redhead nodding, his jaw positively jumping.

 

The students were sent on their way, many a scornful gaze lingering upon Adelia from where she stood beside Jessica, joined then by Hermione and Ron, and Percy. McGonagall shook her head at them all, conjured a stretcher and then Professor Sinistra and Professor Flitwick were bringing Justin’s petrified body to the hospital wing.

 

Mrs Norris.

Colin.

Justin.

Nearly Headless Nick.

 

Who the bloody hell is it going to be next? What could petrify a ghost?

 

“Why’s it always you?” Ron whispered.

 

Adelia shrugged, ice and emptiness returned to her. There was no getting in front of it now, none at all. McGonagall magicked a fan and handed it to Ernie who was still glaring at Adelia and ordered him to get the ghost to the hospital wing as well.

 

Then it was only six.

 

“You five may go.” McGonagall said gently. “I will escort Ms Potter to Professor Dumbledore.”

 

“Professor, she’s terrified.” Jessica pleaded. “We can’t leave her alone like this. The school’s gonna be out for her blood next.”

 

“It’s out of my hands, Ms Cole.” McGonagall murmured, her usual stern face slipping into sweet sympathy. “One of you may wait outside of the Headmaster’s office and see Ms Potter returned to the common room. Mr Weasley, Ms Granger, return to class, I will be there momentarily.”

 

“I’ll go.” Percy stepped forward. “If the Ministry-“

 

“The Ministry will not be involved, Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall said shrewdly. “This is not a matter of Ms Potter’s guilt, only what she may know.”

“So an interrogation then.” Adelia exhaled, squeeing Ron and Hermione’s hands. “Right then. Let’s do it.”

 

McGonagall nodded, pride shining in her eyes rather than tears. She led Adelia and Percy to the Headmaster’s office, though she slowed down as they approached the massive bronze gargoyle. She regarded Adelia for a silent moment before she nodded.

 

“Sherbert Lemon.”

 

The gargoyle moved, revealing a spiralling staircase. McGonagall offered her another tight-lipped smile before she returned to her class. Percy, on the other hand, took a hold of her shoulder, icy eyes warm with concern.

 

“Just tell the truth.”

 

“The truth doesn’t matter, Percy, only the perception of it.” Adelia took to the stairs, only to pause. “Do you think I-“

 

“No.”

 

 Adelia nodded, flicked her gaze back to the stairs and climbed them slowly. Her mind was muted and hazy, too slow and too fast all at once. It was like every synapse was firing across one another, creating a picture painted of carmine dripping silver. Her head hurt, too full and too loud to be of any use to her.

 

She knocked on the door before her and it opened silently. Adelia stepped into Dumbledore’s office, her eyes roving around the room. It was a large and beautiful circular thing. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. Then one woke up.

 

“Who’re you, girl?” The man dressed in luxurious green robes called. “Are you one of mine. Yes, yes you must be. Who was your sire, child?”

 

The man was clever looking, his black hair thick upon his head and framing his face in shadows. His painted cheekbones were sharp, his lips round and plump. Though his expression was severe, his eyes narrowed and shrewd grey eyes, there was a wanting melancholy to them.

 

“Adelia Potter, sir.” Adelia replied. “Who are you?”

 

“Dorea’s blood.” The portrait whispered. “I am Phineas Nigellus Black, child. To you I am your great-great grandfather, from your father’s side of course.”

 

“Because my mum was muggleborn.” Adelia said with venom. “What did you think of her, I wonder?”

 

“Little.” The portrait sniffed. “I am dead, girl, not stupid. You are kin despite the misfortune of your mother.”

 

“Misfortune? Misfortune?” Adelia hissed, her words sibilant and cold. “My mother died to protect me, to save me. It doesn’t matter what blood ran in her veins you wretched portrait.”

 

“A Parselmouth to boot.” The portrait exclaimed. “I taught one of your kind, you know. Used to hiss when he was annoyed, tell me girl, do you do the same?” Adelia did not answer. “Yes. Yes. You will do nicely. A true Black.”

 

“My name is Adelia Potter.”

 

“Names are fickle like that.” Phineus Nigellus Black crooned, slow and sweet. “But you are a child of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, of that there is no doubt. Better than that Malfoy peacock at any rate.”

 

“Are you telling me I’m related to Draco Malfoy?” Adelia questioned aghast.

 

“Hmm, cousins of some sort. We were many and then we were few.” The painting hummed dismissively. “Are you the one behind the attacks, child?”

 

“You’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Not particularly. If Hogwarts is closed the only place I can go to is riddled with the shrieks of wailing women.” Phineus Nigellus muttered. “Rather boring being stuck in a painting, child.”

 

“Sounds like the perfect penitence for somebody as close-minded as you.” Adelia fired back.

 

“Definitely Cygnus’ blood. Oh how that boy would vex me.”

 

Adelia hissed at him, turning her attention back to Dumbledore’s office. Before her, there was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard’s hat – the Sorting Hat. But that was not what interested Adelia, no not in the least. There, atop a golden perch, stood a phoenix. It trilled at her, and the wand in Adelia’s bag practically returned the sound.

 

Adelia stepped closer. The bird was nearing the end of its lifecycle for its plumage was frail and lost, its eyes no longer awash with the flames of life only the darkness of inevitability. The bird vanished in a lick of crimson flame and Adelia cursed her non-existent luck just as Dumbledore stepped into the office proper.

“Professor, your phoenix burned.” Adelia said quickly.

 

“About time too.” Dumbledore was smiling. “I’ve been telling him to get a move on for days. He looked positively dreadful.”

 

“Sir.” Adelia acknowledged. “Him?”

 

“Oh yes. Fawkes. I came by him sometime in 1932.” Dumbledore explained. “Such odd creatures, phoenixes, though I suspect you know that already. Should I presume you to be taking Care of Magical Creatures next year?”

 

“If I’m still here.”

 

“If you are still here? Dear girl, I do not see a reason why you would not be here.” Dumbledore said gently.

 

But before Adelia could speak Hagrid was rushing through the door, the dead rooster still on his hip. The parts of his face Adelia could see were red, and he was panting heavily as he looked from Adelia to Dumbledore.

“Professor, Professor Dumbledore sir, it couldn’t ‘ave been Adelia.” Hagrid said frantically, words blurring into one another. “I was jus’ with ‘er before the kid were found. I’ll swear it before the Ministry if I’ve to.”

 

“Hagrid.” Dumbledore called. “I do not believe that Ms Potter has had anything to do with these attacks.”

 

“You don’t?” Adelia asked. “You believe me.”

 

“As I did last year, for there is no reason for me not to.” Dumbledore hummed.

 

“Oh.” Hagrid stepped back. “I’ll wait ou’side then, Headmaster.”

 

Hagrid stomped out of the room looking rather embarrassed, but Adelia felt her gratitude in the half-giant rise to new extremes. She knew how much he idolised Dumbledore, and yet there Hagrid was, willing to argue with the wizened old wizard for her. Behind them there was a chirp and Adelia spied a tiny, featherless chick rising from the ashes.

 

Her wand’s haunted chime rose.

 

“Please, have a seat.” Dumbledore offered.

 

Adelia sat down, bookbag on the floor. The silence was thick and honied, Adelia waiting for Dumbledore to break it, Dumbledore waiting for Adelia to speak. Finally, the old man smiled, his eyes twinkling.

 

“I must ask you, Adelia, is there anything you’d like to tell me? Anything at all?”

 

I’ve been hearing voices. Everything tastes like blood and ash. Everybody hates me. Everybody thinks I’m evil. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Everything just feels wrong, and I feel like I’m losing my mind.

 

“Is it Voldemort?” Adelia asked instead.

 

“Not to my knowledge.” Dumbledore admitted. “No, Voldemort is still in the forests of Albania if my sources are indeed correct. The action you took against him last year weakened him greatly.”

 

Adelia nodded sharply. Just because it wasn’t Voldemort’s miasmic form did not mean it wasn’t also one of his followers. Dobby had known about it, had known that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before…. If Adelia knew when she’d be able to narrow it down, perhaps even find out the who and the why.

 

“I fear the coming days may be very difficult for you, Adelia.” Dumbledore murmured. “But as I said at the beginning of the year, help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who ask for it.”

 

Adelia worried at her nails before she gave a jerky nod of understanding. Dumbledore seemed to have looked through her, seemed to have found that molten pool of ice and shadow for the twinkle within his eye seemed to dim. Adelia expected him to question her, but he did not, simply saving her off with a consoling, if tired, smile.

 

Hagrid clapped her shoulder as she passed by him, and Adelia murmured her thanks. She was so tired. Percy was standing exactly where she’d left him, eyes narrowed and back ramrod straight. Neither of them spoke as they returned to the Gryffindor common room that was thankfully empty.

 

“Where’s your list?” Percy inquired.

 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Adelia muttered, sitting on the sofa.

 

“You expect me to believe that you haven’t been collecting all of the information you can from each attack and compiling it in a similar manner as last year?” Percy intoned drily.

 

“Maybe. Haven’t showed it to anybody though, they’ll just take it as an admission of guilt, won’t they? They already think it. Ernie reckons what’s Voldemort tried to kill me you know? Take out the competition.” Adelia shrugged. “What difference does it matter anyway. Perception matters more than the truth.”

 

“You are so very cynical.” Percy huffed, amused.

 

“Product of the Dursleys.” Adelia smiled. “Everything I want I have to fight for.”

 

“And what do you want?” Percy asked lightly.

 

“To fix it.” Adelia murmured. “Survived for a reason, didn’t I? I just wish other people didn’t have suffer because that bloody thing survived.”

 

“And what about your suffering?” Percy pressed on.

 

“I’ll go get the parchment.”

 

She wasn’t going to tell Percy that she felt as though her own suffering didn’t matter. She’d been suffering since the night Voldemort had murdered her parents and for every moment after. Hogwarts was her respite, but even now her sanctuary had turned hostile. Her friends were threatened by something nefarious and wicked, something that took delight in hunting them in the halls that should have been safe.

 

If the monster in Slytherin’s chamber came looking for her, Adelia Potter would let it. Maybe then somebody could finally kill the damned thing.

Chapter 11: Malfoy's Murmurs

Summary:

Christmas was upon them, and so it was time to enact their rather foolhardy plan.

In the long, arduous days that followed, Adelia found it within herself to endure it with her head held high. It was clear that everybody believed her to be responsible, from their whispers to their silence, from their scathing stares and upturned noses. Adelia was the villain they so desperately wanted because there was nothing more terrifying than the unknown.

 

Ron and Hermione had been beside her every step of the way. Nobody went anywhere alone anymore, groups of less than three or four unheard of. The underground protection ring was still cashing in the galleons, money forever to be made off fear and terror.

 

Honestly, if it weren’t for the students whispering like Adelia would murder them in their sleep, everything would almost normal: Snape still berated her in potions. Flitwick still commended her on her charms work. McGonagall still answered her questions with proud conviction. Sinistra still offered the same quiet support in the darkness of night. Professor Sprout sent back their work covered in streaks of soil and leaves.

 

Lockhart was still useless. Binns still didn’t know who was in his class.

 

The only thing that wasn’t normal, however, was the fear that seemed to sink deep into the castle’s stones. The fact that a ghost had been petrified had caused all sorts of rumours from restorative rituals and immortality quests. Adelia scoffed at them all, their notions fickle irritation and nothing more.

 

She stared out the window of the library, a common sanctuary from the remarks and murmurs for Madam Pince would not stand for it and sighed. Snow was blanketing the grounds, thick and heavy and perhaps purer than Adelia had ever been. The darkness within her hungered and twisted and she thought of the presents that lay wrapped under her bed for her friends.

 

The thought of Christmas did not fill her with excitement, the memories of last year’s golden warmth and love tainted by the bite of ice and the crackling whispers. She returned her gaze to the Herbology homework that Professor Sprout assigned since her classes had all been cancelled until after Christmas. Adelia flicked through her book, Hermione furiously writing an essay beside her, Ron chewing on the end of his quill as he slogged through his newest star chart.

 

She adored her friends, but she wished that they did not have to suffer because of her. It was Adelia’s fault that they too, seemed to be thought of as co-conspirators, something that was no doubt made worse by Fred and George’s constant proclamation that space needed to be made for the Heir of Slytherin, in the crammed hallways that parted with a terrified intake of breath.

 

Adelia was glad that at least somebody could keep their humour, for she scarcely could. Ginny, poor, sweet Ginny hadn’t thought that it was funny in the least and had buggered off at least twice in tears which had led to Percy doing a scarily accurate reenactment of his mother.

 

She chewed on her Drooble and turned back to her homework.

 

Despite it all, Adelia did not deviate from herself much. There was no newfound warmth and fire to battle off the insidious drip of the ice and shadows. A war waged itself inside of her but never once did Adelia waiver in the face of scorn and vitriol.

 

She’d lived with the Dursleys for ten long years, if anything it was rather comforting.

 

Then, finally, one Saturday morning a week before Christmas, it seemed like silence was the only companion for those left in the castle. It was so similar to last year, and yet so completely different. Hermione was with them now, tending fretfully to the Polyjuice potion that simmered in Myrtle’s abandoned bathroom and promised them that it would be soon ready. Ron and Adelia played chess and Exploding Snap that left their fingers scorched and tingling, Hermione began to ready her notes for the summer exams while fretting about subject choices.

 

In the darkness of night, the three of them practiced their duelling by the fire. That was perhaps the only time Adelia ever felt alive, the only time when she felt real. Her blood would spark and crackle, it would warm her, and perhaps most importantly of all, it would fight away the twisted shadows that slithered about like ink and spilled oil.

 

They kept it simple, practicing the spells Quirrell had taught them, the few that they had learned together by the firelight. It was a sorry state of affairs when Lord Voldemort was a better teacher than Lockhart was, but it wasn’t that hard in the end.

 

Still Adelia yearned for the magical in the journal. For the chained curses and hexes, for the glittering-diamond like shield and a wall of threaded, latticed flames. There was one single spell, however, that seemed to call to her. She witnessed it in her dreams as she had on the very night she had discovered it. she wanted to feel the heat of its obsidian flames, whished to know the form it would take to defend her against anything that could dare threaten her.

 

Protego Diabolica.

 

She wanted it, wanted to bend its hellish flames to her whims and wiles and will. Surely that would be enough to keep her friends safe from the creature that lurked in the shadows. The spell had nearly destroyed Paris because Grindelwald had wanted it destroyed, surely it could hunt down whatever was hunting them?

 

Finally, Christmas morning arrived under a veil of grey and white. Adelia was already awake when Hermione groaned from her own bed, her eyes peering down at the books that lay on her lap. There was a card attached to them, curling words written in gold-threaded carmine.

 

The very old should always endeavour to teach the very young, after all. No greater boon is there than the sharing of knowledge. We hope these are to your interests.

 

Adelia fingered the covers of the books near-reverentially. She wondered how the Flamel’s had known her interests so well, for the three largest texts were not even in the Hogwarts’ library despite being highly sought after compendiums of wizarding history of the 20th century that left no whisper unexplained, no person untouched. There were another two on various wizards and witches through wars both recent and ancient, the battles they fought in both magical and muggle.

 

For the first time in weeks, Adelia found herself grinning.

 

“Mornin’.” Hermione yawned. “Merry Christmas, Adelia.”

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.” Adelia said, levitating her present onto her bed. “I think you might like it.”

 

Hermione’s interest had been piqued, Adelia knew, as she set about undoing the layers of paper that surrounded the box. Adelia placed the Flamel’s texts in her trunk under the guise of checking on a still Corra before she reapplied the warming charm that would ensure her snake wouldn’t freeze to death in the draughty halls.

 

“You didn’t.” Hermione whispered in awe. “Adelia how did you-?”

 

“The twins got it for me in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop on the Hogsmeade weekend after Mrs. Norris got attacked.” Adelia shrugged. “Do you like it?”

 

“Like it? Like it? Adelia it’s a Hippogriff feather, self-inking quill. Of course I like it.” Hermione huffed. “Thank you. Here, this is yours.”

 

Adelia grinned at Hermione and took the present from Hermione’s hand. She peeled open the crimson paper and grinned down at the eagle father quill and the silver nib that was already attached to her. Adelia had been looking at that exact same quill back in Diagon, and though it was only a few months ago, it felt like a lifetime.

 

“Thank you, Hermione.” Adelia smiled, though her eyes flicked to the blur of white and grey feathers that was flying toward their window. “Merry Christmas, Hedwig. I have something for you, but what do you have for me?”

 

Hedwig made a noise and perched herself on Adelia’s arm, but once the girl had taken the letter, the owl had hopped up onto her shoulder and nipped on her ear before she butted her fluffy face against Adelia’s hair. Hermione watched her warmly as Adelia opened the letter, though her own face soured when she saw who it was from.

 

Girl, find out if you can stay with the freaks for the summer too.

 

The letter vanished in a flicker of blue flames. Hedwig hooted; Hermione jumped back. Adelia just shook her head ruefully. There was no way she’d be able to stay in Hogwarts for the summer, not even if the perpetrator of the attacks was found. It just wasn’t done. But the fact the Dursleys had bothered to even acknowledge her meant they probably weren’t going to kill on her sight.

 

She might even be able to survive a few weeks of them before she took refuge in the Burrow like Mrs. Weasley had promised her she could if the worst came to pass.

 

“Alright?” Hermione wondered.

 

“Dursleys.” Adelia shrugged and hopped her shoulder for Hedwig to jump to the perch Adelia had by her bed. “Ready? Ales.”

 

Hedwig hooted and snapped forward to claim the hummingbird before she flew out the window with her gift. Adelia watched her go fondly while Hermione stood there, slack-jawed and awed.

 

“That’s a NEWT level conjuration spell.”

 

“It took me months to get it right.” Adelia admitted. “One of the birds had seven eyes. It was horrid.”

 

“Is that what you’re doing when you’re not sleeping?” Hermione asked, only to flush. “Sorry- I. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry, Hermione.” Adelia soothed. “I know you and Ron are worried, but honestly, I’ve never been able to sleep well. Might as well do something useful with that time, shouldn’t I?”

 

“You will tell us, won’t you, if there’s something we can do to help?” Hermione was biting on her lip now, looking so earnest that the guilt came clawing back. “Should we go get Ron? I’ve got to add a few lacewings to the potion.”

 

“He won’t be awake yet.” Adelia reminded, and she went back to her trunk, pulling out her Invisibility Cloak. “Come on, we’ll go under this.”

 

That was how Adelia found herself twirling a Blood Pop in her mouth as she sat on the toilet while Hermione finished the Polyjuice potion. She was sure that when Fred had handed her one of the lollypops, he’d probably expected her to spit it out, but honestly, it wasn’t even that unpleasant. She’d given him twenty sickles to buy her a little stockpile that would hopefully keep her quills unchewed.

 

There was also a Drooble in her pocket at any given time. Adelia had found over the past few weeks that having something made her less likely to want to gnaw at people’s throats when the itch in her skin and the buzzing in her ears got to be too much.

 

Adelia twirled the lollypop as she hummed to herself, eyes on Hermione.

 

Hermione, stirring the potion with an appreciative hum, shook her head. Adelia just grinned lazily, lips-stained crimson. The silence was nice, for even Moaning Myrtle wasn’t there to incessantly interrogate them over their doings. Steam was wafting, Hermione’s hair even more frizzy than usual from the humidity, the scent of dirt and moulding moss thick. For once it felt normal.

 

As normal as it could be since by the end of the night Adelia would either be dressed up as Crabbe or Goyle before the night was out. Normal as it could be when she would have to consume some of them. That was surely a lovely Christmas present.

 

“You’ve been watching me stir for half-an-hour.” Hermione said.

 

“I heard you and Ron in here, after Colin....” Adelia explained. “You were both right, I’ve not been with it. Thinking too much of myself and not enough about what I might be doing to you.”

 

“Adelia-“

 

“I know, Hermione, but feelings aren’t rational.” Adelia hummed. “It just feels like everything I touch ends up ruined and how long can I go before I finally admit that I’m the problem?”

 

“Adelia Potter that might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Hermione scolded.

 

“Maybe.” Adelia shrugged. “Come on, we can go back to the common room. Lunch isn’t too far off.”

 

The pair of them arrived back to the common room both unnoticed and not-petrified which Adelia thought was quite nice. Having learned from last year that the girls could enter the boys’ dormitory, she and Hermione took their gifts and pushed open the door. Sure enough, Ron was still asleep, snoring with Scabbers on his pillow. Adelia petted the rat before pushed Ron’s shoulder.

 

He didn’t move.

 

She pushed him again.

 

“Wassit?”

 

“Christmas morning.” Hermione loudly.

 

Ron jerked awake, yanking his blankets over him in an effort to shield his modesty. Adelia huffed, plucked her gift to him from the top of her own presents, and sat on… Neville’s bed she assumed since it wasn’t on covered in scorch marks or paint. Hermione sat on the end of Ron’s bed, suspicious, rectangular packages from her parents and a smaller box.

 

“Is that a Blood Pop?” Ron asked horrified.

 

“Tastes delightful.” Adelia grinned, opening her presents. “Oh, your mum sent me a plum cake too. She remembered.”

 

“Mum doesn’t forget stuff like that.” Ron huffed, opening his navy-blue Christmas jumper. “What colour did you get?”

 

Adelia tore into the paper, burying her fingers in the soft, warm wool: “Red.”

 

“This is yours too.” Ron said, opening his bedside table. “And yours, Hermione.”

 

“Thanks Ron.” Adelia murmured, taking a painfully bright orange package, opening it to reveal a book on the Chudley Cannons that had her grinning. “Open mine, next, Hermione’s already gotten hers.”

 

“Is it quills?” Ron asked, fingering the silver paper before he tore into it. “Not quills. Bloody hell -how. I-I can’t take this.”

 

“Yes, you can. I gave it to you for saving my life more than once, Ron.” Adelia reminded softly, watching as Ron dragged his thumb reverentially across the signed photo of the Chudley Cannons. “It’s the only thing I can think of that can close to thanking you properly.”

 

“You didn’t have to waste your money…” Ron objected, face flushing.

 

“Do you like it?” Adelia asked.

 

“I love it.” Ron admitted, face furiously red but smile brighter than the swathes of snow outside on the grounds.

 

“Then it isn’t a waste.” Adelia grinned, opening a tin of Hagrid’s treacle fudge. “Chess game? I think I need to warm this up by the fire first.”

 

Ron nodded, scrubbing at his face. Hermione and Adelia left him to get dressed, for the pair of them feared for Ron’s delicate sensibilities and returned their presents to their dorm. Adelia set the fudge close to the fire, its metal tin absorbing the heat enough so that it wouldn’t rip the teeth from her head.

 

It was so good. If Hagrid wanted to give up being Gamekeeper, he’d make a fine baker once he stopped trying to rip out teeth

 

“Dare I ask what you got Ron’s brothers?” Hermione asked lowly as she flicked through the novel her parents had sent her.

 

“Explosions abound.” Adelia said wickedly, mourning her blood-flavoured lolly when her teeth snapped through the sugar. “Less explosions for Percy and Ginny though. What a year to have as your first.”

 

Hermione agreed, nodding slightly as she cracked open her novel. Adelia pinched a piece of fudge between her fingers and set up her wizarding chess set, savouring its tacky chewiness. Ron ambled down the stairs, his jumper askew and still asleep but he brightened considerably when he saw the chessmen.

 

He still won every single time and Adelia was sure he always would.

 

When Ginny stumbled down the stairs in her own jumper, the chess game was forgotten in favour of Exploding Snap with a pot of chocolate frogs and Bertie’s beans for the winner. Adelia delighted in seeing Ginny not only smiling, but laughing, and there, in her hair was silver hairclip shaped like a broom leaving behind a trail of stars. Ginny pinked when she saw Adelia smiling at her, but she readily agreed when Adelia patted the space in front of her to weave the clip into silken, oxblood strands of hair.

 

The time before the great Christmas feast passed beneath a veil of twinkling laughter and singed fingers, free-flowing smiles and Fred trying to charm the fireworks to change their colour. Even Percy had smiled once, rolling his eyes before he shooed them toward the Great Hall to get, in his words proper food.

 

The Hall was as spectacular as always, the golden theme of last year replaced with sparkling silver and deep violet hues. Charmed snow fell in flurries from the sky as bacon-wrapped legs of turkey were passed around followed by rich, creamy mash and sweet honey-roasted vegetables. Adelia forced herself to eat it, forced herself to remember how it had tasted last year in order to cover the thickness of the ash that seemed to coat her tongue.

 

Dumbledore led them in carols and great wizard though he may be terrible singer he was. Hagrid was louder and louder with each massive mug of eggnog he drank. Flitwick was tumbling his wand, animating the ice-birds McGonagall had conjured to dance around the room.

 

Perhaps the only downside was Malfoy, seated between Crabbe and Goyle who were eating as though they’d never seen food, sniggered openly about the six Weasley jumpers that made up most of the Gryffindor table.

 

If Adelia caused one of the ice birds to fall into his trifle that was nobody’s business but hers and a rather apologetic Flitwick who eeped.

 

“Never change, dear Adelia.” George murmured, slinging an arm over her shoulder as Fred jinxed Percy’s golden prefect badge, only for Fred’s custard to turn blue. “Never change.”

 

“Wasn’t it you who said last year that Christmas is a time for family?” Adelia inquired lowly; an eyebrow raised in admonishment.

 

George rolled his eyes good naturedly and pushed a mug of hot chocolate with knowing eyes. Even after months, Adelia still felt odd with the simple, easy care shown to her by the assorted members of the Weasley family. It was something she would treasure forever, and something she would do anything to protect.

 

Which was why she was going to pluck hair off of Crabbe and Goyle and put an end to the Heir of Slytherin once and for all.

 

“I’ve filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they’re bound to eat them. Once they’re asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard.” Hermione declared when they were alone, housed outside of the Great Hall.

 

“In a broom cupboard.” Adelia repeated drily. “And what do you think they’re going to think when they wake up in a broom cupboard? Malfoy will know what whoever he was talking to weren’t Crabbe and Goyle and he’ll know it was us and well… the entire point is to not get caught.”

“Do you have anything to suggest then?” Hermione questioned primly.

 

“Confundus Charm on the two of them, and Malfoy.” Adelia said easily. “Bulstrode isn’t here for Christmas so if you just waltzed right in, he’s gonna be on his guard. For all that he’s a right part, Malfoy isn’t stupid.”

 

“Can you cast the Charm?” Ron wondered.

 

“That’s what she’s been doing when she can’t sleep.” Hermione explained with a frown. “Practicing spells.”

 

“Wicked.” Ron grinned. “C’mon then, give it a go.”

 

Adelia looked around, concerned that a teacher or one of the lingering prefects or worse again, Percy would be there. She led them back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, knowing that they’d wait until the Christmas tea later on in the evening to strike. So that was how Adelia Potter spent her second Christmas in the wizarding world: Conjuring birds in the bathrooms and Confunding them.

 

She found that as with most spells, will was the most important aspect of it all. It took a few hours, but eventually the pink light of the spell was seeping into its target, and even once, on Ron who went slack jawed and nodded when told he was Draco Malfoy.

 

“You’re a scary witch, do you know that?” Ron murmured once the spell had been lifted with a twisted finite. “I’m so glad I’m your friend.”

“Oh, honestly Ronald, this not the best time to call her scary.” Hermione huffed.

 

“It’s true though.” Ron whined, though he suddenly looked unsure of himself.

 

“It’s alright, Ron.” Adelia shook her head, grateful that Percy had also taught her how to vanish the things she conjured so there wasn’t an army of hummingbirds and sparrows in the abandoned bathroom. “I know what you meant. What time is it?”

 

“Teatime.” Hermione supplied, checking the potion one final time in the cubicle. “We just need the hairs. I got this from Bulstrode when we duelled. The Confundus is a good idea, I was sure she was staying…”

 

“More people were until Justin and Nearly Headless Nick got petrified.” Adelia reminded. “I wonder how many of them will come back.”

 

“All of them, hopefully.” Ron said darkly. “Because Malfoy’s going to get his comeuppance very soon.”

 

Adelia and Hermione shared a look as they returned to the Great Hall. Neither of them truly believed Malfoy was the perpetrator of the attacks, no matter how sullen he had grown when everybody thought it was Adelia. Hermione had been right, Adelia doubted Malfoy had the stomach to get his hands dirty. No, he would just rather sit back and reap the benefits of his family name.

 

Tea passed quickly on account of the fact that everybody had overindulged at the Christmas Feast, but that did not stop Crabbe and Goyle from lingering. Hermione had given Ron and Adelia the spiked cauldron cakes before she had skirted back off to bathroom to bottle up the potion. In the end, it wasn’t difficult to drug the two Slytherin boys, nor was the Confundus that made them believe they’d been trying to find the kitchens for more trifle.

 

They had taken Crabbe and Goyle’s shoes and Hermione had already sourced three Slytherin robes, and when they’d gotten to Myrtle’s bathroom Hermione was there looking very nervous. Adelia was sure drugging students, illegally brewing a potion to then imitate them, in order to interrogate another student, was somehow worse than setting fire to Snape, or going after the Stone.

 

No. It definitely was. This was a cold, calculated endeavour, not three children making a mad dash to do what was right because nobody else believed them. Adelia had no doubt that expulsion awaited them if they were caught.

 

So better to not get caught then.

 

“On three?” Ron asked nervously as they each sprinkled bits of their Slytherins into the glasses.

 

“We’ll only have an hour.” Hermione reminded.

 

“Does anybody know where the Slytherin common room is?” Adelia wondered.

 

“Under the Lake.” Ron said helpfully, eyeing the potion.

 

“Any idea how to get in?” Adelia repeated.

 

“Hope there’s a special Parseltongue entrance?” Hermione chewed on her lip. “Into the cubicles, there’s not enough room here for the three of us.”

 

Adelia dipped into the nearest cubical, careful to not spill even a drop of the troll-skin coloured potion. She exhaled, tilted her head back and downed it in three massive swallows. It was vile. Thick, gelatinous goop tasting of rancid, over-cooked cabbage. The glass shattered as it fell on the tiles, Adelia doubled forward, sweat beading along her forehead as a hundred snakes slithered around her stomach, twisting and wriggling like a white-hot flame.

 

Her muscles screamed in protest as they were stretched over a heavier frame, her hair tingling as it grew shorter and shorter, her eyes aching and skin alight with the sensation of a hundred blunted pins. Adelia stumbled forward, out of the cubicle until she gripped the round sinks that sat in the centre of the room.

 

Gregory Goyle’s face stared back at her.

 

Adelia was sure she was going to be sick.

 

“This is rancid.” Ron coughed; Crabbe’s face pinched in disgust. “Hermione? Where are you?”

“Go on without me.” Hermione called, her voice heavy and wet.

 

“Come on, Hermione.” Ron continued. “We all know Bulstrode isn’t a looker, but Adelia’s Goyle, I think she got the worst of it.”

 

“Go on, you’re both just wasting time.” Hermione said.

 

“Are you alright?” Adelia asked, pressed up against the locked cubicle. “Hermione? Just tell us you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. Just… just go.”

 

“Alright. We’ll be back in an hour.”

 

It was here that the first issue arose. Never mind getting into  the Slytherin common room, neither student even knew where it was. Time was slipping by as they searched for it, Ron dragging Adelia down the corridor where he said Slytherin always came from for meals but there was nothing there.

 

“This isn’t going very well.” Adelia muttered.

 

“It has to be around here somewhere.” Ron replied.

 

The pair of them ducked down the steps, their footsteps echoing through the labyrinthine corridors shrouded in shadows. Adelia and Ron walked side by side, and then she stopped, hearing footsteps that were not their own. Ron looked at her questioningly and then his face contorted into delight because he thought it was finally one of the Slytherins whom they could follow to the common room.

 

It wasn’t.

 

Of everybody left in the castle why did it have to be Percy?

“What’re you doin’ here?” Ron questioned.

 

“Excuse me?” Percy said affronted. “What business is it of yours, Crabbe? Go back to your dormitories at one, it isn’t safe to be wandering.”

“You are.” Ron huffed.

 

“I’m a prefect.” Percy reminded snidely.

 

“There you are.” Draco Malfoy called, striding down the corridor as if he owned it. “Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? What’re you doing here, Weasley?”

 

“Mind your attitude, Malfoy.” Percy said bitingly, but he wasn’t looking at him, oh no he was looking at Adelia as Goyle.

 

“Why’re you wearing glasses?” Malfoy wondered, staring at Adelia.

 

“Was reading.” She shrugged, plucking them from Goyle’s face.

 

“Reading? I didn’t know you could read.” Malfoy murmured.

 

“Go back to your common room, the three of you.” Percy ordered, his jaw positively jumping, his eyes narrowed dangerously

 

Oh he definitely knows. Stupid glasses. Why couldn’t the potion fix my bloody eyes? Or is Goyle’s vision just as bad as mine? I can’t see anything.

 

Malfoy led them toward the common room, haughtily calling its password. Adelia wasn’t surprised that it was pureblood, but she had hoped they’d at least have the sense to not be so open with their prejudice. Slytherin’s were meant to be cunning after all.

 

Inside the cavernous chamber that looked out onto the waters of the Black Lake, Malfoy plucked something from the table before he threw himself onto the emerald and silver sofa. Ron and Adelia shared a dumb look before they took a seat on the sofa opposite him, Adelia urging Ron to do something to grab his attention.

 

Malfoy did it for them.

 

“That Peter Weasley is an embarrassment, the whole lot of them.” Malfoy huffed. “Did you know their savage, muggle-loving father attacked mine attacked mine in Diagon Alley? Father was furious, tried to have his job it was useless. Weasley then had the gall to have our home searched.”

 

“Did they find anything?” Ron questioned eagerly.

 

“Of course they didn’t.” Malfoy scoffed. “We don’t keep that sort of thing out in the open, not now anyway. But father’s got this secret place in the drawing room…”

 

“Confundo.”

 

Malfoy blinked rapidly, so focused on his anti-Weasley tirade that he had missed Adelia slipping the tip of her wand free. Ron chortled, Crabbe’s face contorted into something that looked like pain but should have been amusement. Adelia slowly fed the want of the spell with silken words in her mind.

 

“What’s wrong with you, Crabbe?”

 

“Stomach ache.” Ron shrugged.

 

“Well go up to the hospital wing and give those mudbloods a good kick for me.” Malfoy sneered. “Father’s always said Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves muggleborns. A decent Headmaster would never’ve let scum like that Creevey in. Or Granger. I can’t wait until Slytherin’s monster gets her.”

 

Ron turned a worrying shade of puce that had Malfoy glowering. Is that what the Slytherins did in their spare time? Sit around and wish death upon the inferior blood? Or was it just a Malfoy thing? Adelia didn’t really care to find out.

 

“Or Potter.” Malfoy continued. “Saint bloody Potter. Friend to mudbloods. And people thing she’s Slytherin’s heir. I wish I knew who it was, I could help them.”

 

“You must have some idea.” Ron wheedled, gnawing at his lip anxiously.

 

“I already told you that I don’t, Crabbe.” Malfoy huffed, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backwards. Father won’t even tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing: last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a mudblood died. I personally hope it’s Granger.”

 

“Do you know what happened to them?” Adelia inquired, quelling Ron’s fury with a single, scathing look.

 

“They were expelled.” Malfoy grinned. “They’re probably still in Azkaban.”

 

He isn’t bloody well implying what I think he is, is he?

 

“Ho!” Ron coughed.

 

Adelia understood why immediately. Threaded in the darkness of Crabbe’s dark hair were strands of red, and she could only imagine what she herself would look like. She stagged to her feet, Goyle’s feet it didn’t really matter, and tried to keep her face hidden from Malfoy as she helped Ron stand on shaking legs.

 

Their hour was up.

 

“Hospital Wing.” Adelia huffed.

 

Malfoy looked rather disgusted as they left him, but there was still that confused gleam in his eye that had been present since they’d all sat down. He’d probably not remember any of it, and Crabbe and Goyle would wake up and go to the hospital wing for a stomach ache and nobody would be any the wiser as to what happened.

 

“I’m telling dad about the drawing room.” Ron murmured. “Reckon I can borrow Hedwig?”

 

“Course. Serves the slippery git right and I’m sure she’ll enjoy the flight.” Adelia agreed as they entered the bathroom. “Hermione. Hermione, we’re back. We’ve got news.”

 

Adelia slipped her glasses on and shrugged out of Goyle’s too big shoes and slipped on her own. Ron was hammering on the peeling painting of the cubicle Hermione had been in, but the girl refused to open it. Adelia could hear the soft, pitiful sniffles and wondered what had caused Hermione to be crying.

 

Bulstrode couldn’t have been that horrible, and besides, if they’d changed back, Hermione would have too.

 

Finally, the door opened with a creek and Hermione Granger stood there, her hair replaced by black fur, her eyes a luminous green. Curling behind her was a massive fluffy tail. Ron, moronic boy that he was, started giggling.

 

“It was cat hair.” Hermione cried. “The potion isn’t meant for animal transformations.”

 

“Madam Pomfrey will fix you up.”  Adelia promised.

 

“Bu-but.”

 

Adelia shook her head, nudging Ron out of the way to force herself closer to Hermione. The girl sobbed, Ron had wisely stopped gigging and all Adelia could do was pet at Hermione’s head. She didn’t tell Hermione that her fur was indeed very soft, because contrary to what her friends believed, she liked living.

 

It took them hours, curfew drawing loser and closer, but they eventually got Hermione to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had regarded them narrowed eyes and sent Ron and Adelia on their way before she saw to Hermione. Neither of them spoke on the way back to the common room, though they did sit down to finish the game of chess they’d started that morning.

 

Unsurprisingly, Adelia lost. Ron grinned, clapped Adelia on the shoulder and went off to bed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Adelia simply sat before the fire, her eyes enraptured by the dancing flames but it did little to warm her.

 

Everything inside of her was still so cold.

 

“You and I are going to have a little chat.” Percy said, furiously walking toward the fire. “Nowhere on your little map of mysteries did it mention brewing Polyjuice potion, nor did it mention using it.”

 

“You knew it was me then.” Adelia murmured, relaxing into the cushions.

 

“Of course I knew it was you and Ron.” Percy scoffed. “And I’ve just learned that Ms  Granger is in the hospital wing because of an experiment gone wrong- partial human to animal transformation. You, of everybody involved in this idiotic scheme, should know just how dangerous it could be.”

 

“Hermione’s going to be okay though, right?” Adelia inquired.

 

“In a few weeks.” Percy answered. “Now. Did this plot just conveniently slip your mind when you were writing your thoughts or did you deliberately keep it from me?”

 

“I learned last year to not write down incriminating plans.” Adelia shrugged. “You would have stopped us.”

 

“I would have bloody well made sure you didn’t poison yourselves.” Percy hissed. “Everything or nothing, Adelia. Otherwise, I’m going straight to Dumbledore with everything you should have told him.”

 

The ice was back again, shards of clear crystal dripping scarlet. Adelia stared up at Percy and she wondered why the disappointment in his eyes bit at her like it did. More than that, however, she wondered what that that that shadowy vein that seemed to draw them together meant. Perhaps, most of all, Adelia wondered how two people so very, very different could be so similar.

 

“Enough people think I’m mad.” Adelia cracked, striking and sibilant. “What do you think happens when they find out? I’ll be shipped off and locked up just like what happened the last time.”

 

“The last time?” Percy uttered. “Anybody who matters already knows you’re not the Heir of Slytherin. The rest of them are just scared, looking for somebody to blame, looking for a face because there’s nothing more terrifying than thinking that the shadows are your enemies.”

 

“Malfoy’s dad told him the chamber had been opened before.” Adelia explained, fight draining from her as she frowned slightly. “Fifty years ago and that time a muggleborn died. It’s always the muggleborns… How old is Malfoy’s dad?”

 

“Not that old.” Percy huffed, shaking his head at her. “His grandfather would have been in the school in the 1940s though. Stands to reason that he’d tell Lucius who told Draco.”

“Such a delightful bedtime story.” Adelia muttered drily, but then she turned to Percy, her words earnest and honest. “Everything else is there.”

 

“There is quite a lot of it.” Percy mused. “Not sure about the house-elf’s involvement in all of it, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”

 

“Preferably without him trying to save my life again, or without somebody else dying.”

 

Percy regarded her with a look, nails glancing along his neck as he looked discomfited by the notion of death. He bid her goodnight and Adelia returned to her empty dorm, but she did not sleep. She could not sleep, not when her mind was alight with the sound of cracking ice and twisted, macabre whispers.

 

Instead, Adelia sat cross-legged in her bed chewing on a Drooble. She twirled her wand about her fingers, her bright green eyes trained on the Parseltongue journal. Icy winds howled outside of the window, dragging drifts of snow into the air and Adelia rolled out the tension in her neck.

 

She huffed, reaching for one of Lockhart’s ridiculous books. Adelia threw it down into the middle of the empty dorm room, trained her wand on Lockhart’s grinning face and simply followed the instructions the book had laid down. For a moment there was nothing, for an hour there was nothing.

 

It was all Adelia did for the rest of the Christmas holidays. Alone, in her dorm room with her books and rocks and bones, she practiced. It was perhaps the only time she had to do it, the only time where there wouldn’t be a hundred fearful eyes on her wondering when the next attack would come.

 

Perhaps their fear had merit if practicing such dangerous magic was how Adelia Potter spent her time, draped in shadows and flame and relishing every moment, every spark and crackle of power in her blood.

 

This was what she was born for.

 

Finally, at twelve minutes passed midnight on December 31^st, Adelia was successful. The rocks she had gathered were shattered and splinters, deep, webbing cracks forking out from the spell’s ebony impact. Lockart’s book lay in shredded tatters and Adelia could only imagine what the scene before her would look like if the book was made of blood and bone.

 

It shouldn’t have been as exciting, as warming, as comforting as it was.

Chapter 12: Tom Riddle's Diary

Summary:

Adelia finds another little book that both confounds and vexes her. Hermione has finally stopping spitting up fur balls and plans are made for the future.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay. I hope you all enjoy this chapter <3

In the days following the return to classes, there were many rumours as to the whereabouts of one Hermione Granger. None of them were spoken directly to Adelia, yet she heard them all anyway. It drove her mad. Let them think what they like about her, but there was no world in existence, no future possible, where Adelia would harm her friends.

 

She would die before it ever came to that.

 

Ron tried to keep her spirits up, as did the twins. Thankfully Oliver and his maddening practices for the Hufflepuff verses Gryffindor were a good distraction from the fearful gazes and the shivering hate. The mornings were dark and cold, and it somehow became a ritual for the team to stand there and allow Adelia to apply the Warming Charms to their practice robes.

 

They burned warmer now, longer too. Adelia had taken to casting them upon her own robes during the day in an attempt to extinguish the ice in her soul, but it did little more than heat her skin. She wondered if that was why her mouth was cloying and dry, why her throat seemed to close over and her tongue was heavy with the mimicry of cinders still smoldering, turning everything to ash.

 

Adelia was sure she would never escape the frigid frost that seemed to thicken her freezing blood. The only time she was not consumed by the silken shadows was when her fingers were wrapped around her wand, when its chiming song flickered and danced like the flames of life.

 

Magic had come easier to her since that first night when she successfully cast the mysterious spells of the journal. With Lavender and Parvati back in the dorm she didn’t dare risk it again, and she was not foolish enough to sneak out and find somewhere silent.

 

While there might not have been another attack since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were petrified that did not mean that Slytherin’s monster was not still out there.

 

Waiting.

Hunting.

 

Adelia may not have heard its voice in weeks, but that did not mean she had forgotten it. Sometimes, in class, she would simply stare off at the walls and remember its phantom hisses. Ron would always nudge her back to reality, or Parvati would knock her foot beneath the table or Lavender would clear her throat. Dean would clear his throat and ask her a question, and well, Seamus would tickle her with the end of his quill. Sometimes, in Herbology, it would be Neville's knowledgeable natterings that drew here back to her mortal coil.

 

All of them reminded her that she wasn't alone. She wasn't in the claustrophobic safety of her cupboard. She wasn't locked in the room the Dursley's never wanted to give her but fear won in the end. She wasn't a creature fed through a cat flap because the people who were supposed to love and care for her thought she was little more than a beast.

 

No, they reminded her of the cinnabar warmth of the Burrow, and for that she was grateful.

 

None of the teachers thought much of it, no doubt thinking that she just missed Hermione who was going stir crazy in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey only allowed them to visit for an hour each day, to pass along the latest gossip and homework. Of course, the other thing that was passed on beneath the eyes of the matron was the rather irritating stall of their investigation.

 

They still had no clue what or who Slytherin’s monster could be. The attacks had stopped, but the fear remained, twisted and bitter and noxious. A shadow had been cast overtop Hogwarts and even as the days turned into weeks, nobody went anywhere alone.

 

Oftentimes, Adelia found herself remembering Malfoy’s words about a dead student and Azkaban. She’d read about it, knew who it held, and it didn’t really seem like the time of place somebody would escape from.

 

So how on earth had fifty years passed without a single incident?

 

Because Adelia had checked, of course she had. There was a myriad of things she could gleam from common Hogwarts gossip that was told to her by the quidditch team, stories that Ron’s brothers had told him of their years in the castle, but none of them ended in muggleborns being petrified.

 

In fact, the only spell Adelia could find that did indeed petrify people was Full Body-Bind Curse but if that had of been the case a simple finite would have been enough to restore them. The only other option was a potion, and it wasn’t like she could just go up and ask Snape.

 

She still found it rather odd that he didn’t believe Adelia responsible, even on Halloween. Snape had appeared to be more concerned with the upcoming quidditch match than a petrified cat and that alone set alarm bells ringing.

 

It was odd, really.

 

“You’re plotting again.” Ron muttered, nudging Adelia in Charms class.

 

“I’m just tired.” Adelia replied, blinking away the dryness in her eyes. “The Freezing Charm?”

 

“Yeah. Hermione’s not missing much on this one.” Ron huffed. “She taught Lockhart’s pixies a thing or two with it.”

 

“Right, right.” Flitwick called jovially. “Up you get, in pairs if you would. Now, one of you will throw the ball across the room and your partner will freeze it. Any questions?”

 

The students shook their head, pairing up. Ron eyed his wand with irritation before he huffed and placed it on the desk before he went and grabbed one of the quaffle-sized balls from Flitwick who was frowning. It was common knowledge among the staff that Ron’s wand made a mess of even the simplest of spells since it had been cracked in September.

 

It came easy to Adelia but that might have had something to do with the fact she’d spent quite a lot of time pegging Lockhart’s books around the place to practice. Or, sometimes when she was feeling particularly bored, she’d levitate them before she froze them.

 

She was getting rather good at chained spells as a result. It seemed the odious man and his terrible books were good for something.

 

“No need to throw them so roughly.” Flitwick cried. “Gently does it. This is not quidditch practice. Mr Longbottom, mind yourself. Ms Patil, you need to enunciate clearer.”

 

“Here, Adelia. Catch.” Ron huffed.

 

He did not throw the rather large ball at her as she expected, but instead chose a crushed ball of parchment. It was much smaller, much quicker and yet, like the others, it froze in the air three feet in front of her head.

 

She hadn’t even said it.

 

“Oh excellent, excellent.” Flitwick clapped his hands together loudly. “Though Mr Weasley, this is not the ball you should be using.”

 

“I didn’t even hit her in the head once.” Ron whined; ears flushing. “Had to make a challenge of it, didn’t I?”

 

“Very well.” Flitwick acquiesced with a smile. “Five points to Gryffindor. Now, we’re going to change roles.”

 

“Come on.” Adelia said brightly, retrieving Ron’s spellotaped wand from the desk as she left her own. “Give it a go. Worst thing that happens is your eyebrows are burned off, or you cough up slugs again.”

 

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Seamus, who had singed off his eyebrows more than once in potions but had thankfully not blown anything up since the feather last year, said sagely. “A bit itchy when they grow back in, but it’s grand really.”

 

Ron huffed, his lips twisting in amusement as he remembered an eyebrow-less Seamus, though it turned into a grimace as he remembered the slugs. Tentatively he pressed his finger to his eyebrow and Adelia snorted, passing the ball from one hand to the other.

 

“Besides.” She reminded with a grin. “I know a charm to regrow eyebrows.”

 

“Do you really?” Seamus wondered as he threw the ball at Dean.

 

“If you ever burn your eyebrows off again, I’ll teach it to you.” Adelia promised, turning her attention back to Ron who held his cracked wand as though it might explode. “Ready?”

 

Ron nodded. Adelia threw the ball gently, and though Ron had cast the spell it had went into the ceiling, freezing the flickering candles that sat atop the great iron chandelier. Adelia counted that as a win.

 

Especially when it didn’t fall on their heads.

 

The rest of Charms passed quickly, though at one stage it did devolve into a rather messy game of magical dodgeball between the seven present Gryffindors that had Flitwick commending them on their form. The Hufflepuffs, who they shared the class with, glared rather frostily at Adelia when they dared even look at her in the first place.

 

The joy of the class was short lived as the Gryffindor students made their way down to the cold and damp dungeons. Snape had sneered at the odd number and set Neville to work with Adelia and Ron to brew a Wiggenweld potion. Though it was a healing potion with several finicky steps, it was a rather simple brew now that Adelia understood why and not just how.

 

Florian Fabian’s Guide really was a lifesaver in that regard. Adelia vowed to give Fred and George some money so they could buy it for her on the next Hogsmeade weekend. Apparently, she wasn’t old enough to owl-order things herself. She’d have to wait until next year for that, when she could go to Hogsmeade herself.

 

Thankfully the class passed without much incident which was rather unusual for potions. Usually, an extra bit of something would be thrown into the cauldron by a Slytherin or there would be some sort of catastrophe with Neville’s work, but this time there wasn’t. Snape had only sneered the normal amount when he looked at the potion before he assigned a mountain of homework like he usually did.

 

After dinner they found themselves enjoying Hermione’s company in the otherwise silent hospital wing. She had Adelia bring her books so she could do her homework, in far better spirits now than she had been when her face was still covered in fur and whiskers.

 

“I really can’t wait to get out of here.” Hermione whispered lowly. “It’s very creepy at night.”

 

“That might be because of the petrified people, Hermione.” Ron snorted.

 

Adelia rolled her eyes, too busy using the Gemini Charm to duplicate the rough-written explanatory notes she’d taken for Hermione’s benefit. She looked up once she had them sorted into the correct piles, levitated them over to the stacks of Hermione’s homework that still had to be and then the work that she was to hand in since tomorrow was Friday.

 

Both Ron and Hermione stared at her, Hermione’s eyes an odd shade of luminous yellow and her usual dark brown. Adelia blinked at them, wondered what could cause Hermione’s mouth to open and close as it did. Ron only shook his head with an amused snort.

 

“She’s been doing that more and more.” Ron informed. “I think it’s wicked.”

 

“Doing what?” Adelia asked, dumbfounded.

 

“Magic.” Ron scoffed. “You’ve always been good at it, but now it’s like second nature. Keep your head up, Hermione, this one might be coming for you.”

 

“Oh hush.” Adelia murmured, dipped her head. “Like I could ever beat Hermione. She’s Hermione, the best student in our year who’s going to be Prefect and Head Girl if that’s what she wants.”

 

Hermione blushed brilliantly, offered Adelia a wide, toothy smile. Ron’s face scrunched at the idea, but he knocked Hermione’s arm with his own. They fell back into quiet chatter, or rather Hermione and Ron did, for Adelia was lost to the currents of her mind.

 

Ron had been right. Magic had always come easily to her, but now it was as easy as flying. It flowed freely in her veins as surely as crystalline waters flowed through the creeks of the Forbidden Forrest. It had been a recent development, she realised, one that she could pinpoint with startling ease now that she thought about it.

 

It had started that night. Like a dam had been cracked open at the same time the rock had. Like her fears had been peeled away in the same way that Lockhart’s terrible books had been. She’d listened to Quirrell (or had it been Voldemort, she was never entirely sure) and others go on about the danger and lure of dark magic, and there was no way the spells contained within the journal she had found had contained anything but.

 

There had been a reason Percy had warned her, that day in the shop, to not practice them alone for fear of what they might do. She had proven him right with ease, it seemed, but so too had she proven herself right. The ice that had plagued her since Adelia had returned to the castle all those months ago had receded because of them.

 

The reason why alluded her, terrified her in truth.

 

Adelia had been silent as she and Ron walked toward the Great Hall, Hermione left with her notes and homework and a wish to be free of the creepiness that had settled in the shadows of the hospital wing. They paused as one when they heard Filch muttering under his breath near the place that his cat had been prettified in. Water puddled along the floor.

 

There could only be one cause. Something had displeased Moaning Myrtle and Adelia knew that she’d cleaned up all evidence of the Polyjuice potion but that didn’t mean anything if Dumbledore was coming to deal with the floods.

 

She gripped Ron’s arm, pulled him into the bathroom. Mrytle was whizzing about, crying and screeching as she was wont to do. The taps had been turned on, and Adelia set about turning them off. She barely glanced at them, but there was something there that she wanted, something that was pulling her toward it.

 

It was a grate, a series of swirls that were besieged by the water’s flow. It flowed down through it, trickled and echoed. Something in Adelia wanted to reach for it, wanted to fall into the abyss of shadows and silk both.

 

Then Myrtle stopped crying, stopped before Ron.

 

“You’re not a girl.”

 

“Thank Merlin.” Ron huffed. “Why’re you trying to flood the castle?”

 

“People are mean.” The ghost replied with a sniff. “Somebody threw a book through my head.”

 

“Yeah but, it’s not like it would hurt you.” Ron shrugged.

 

“Oh I see. Poor dead Myrtle, she doesn’t matter because she’s dead. Let’s just throw books through her and see how many points we can all get.” Myrtle screamed.

 

“He didn’t mean it like that. He means that he’s glad it didn’t hurt you.” Adelia soothed, shot Ron a quelling look because the last thing they needed was for Myrtle to tell anybody who came in here about the Polyjuice potion. “Did you see where the book came from?”

 

Myrtle pointed a ghostly finger at the door. She explained that she’d just been sitting there and then there was a book flying through her head. Adelia felt for the girl, she did, for Myrtle reminded her so much of how it used to be back in primary school with Dudley and his gang.

 

Alone. Friendless and forgotten. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that nobody cared enough about you for them to even show an ounce of kindness. Kindness, Adelia supposed, was a currency ignored because even though it cost nothing, it got nothing in return.

 

Merlin, when had she gotten so cynical?

 

“Which one were you in?” Adelia asked. “Maybe we can see who it belonged to, make them come and apologise to you.”

 

Because even the dead deserved kindness, especially Myrtle when it was so obvious she rarely had it from the students when she attended Hogwarts. Adelia would have to ask her about her time in the castle, would have to see if anything had changed but Adelia doubted that it had. The wizarding world’s greatest challenge was the fact it was stagnant, and Adelia had seen to the little fountain in the back of the Dursley’s garden to know one thing:

 

Stagnant water was poisoned water.

 

Myrtle zipped to the opposite side of the round sink and Adelia tore her gaze from the grate and the stone and glided through the water. There, laying in a puddle of water, was an innocuous black book, water pearling atop its leather. Adelia bent down to pick it up, cast a quick Drying Charm on it, and flicked open the pages.

 

There was nothing there. No notes. No doodles. Not even a single drop of ink. There was nothing to it save a warmth that seemed tangible as it curled around her fingers like mist. It was comforting in a way, but something about it made her mouth grow dry. 

 

It was the oddest thing in the world.

 

“It’s empty.” Adelia said. “I’m sorry, Myrtle.”

 

Ron, meanwhile, stared at Adelia as though her senses had fled from her. He had thought that after everything she’d be a bit more concerned about picking up strange objects, but it seemed she was not. Ron didn’t like it, knew that it meant she had once again completely disregarded herself in the name of another, especially since the other was a ghost that couldn’t be hurt by anything.

 

Well, not anything if Nick’s unfortunate circumstances were anything to go by.

 

“T.M Riddle.” Adelia murmured as they left, the journal secured  in her bag, warm and safe.

 

“I know that name.” Ron scratched at his head. “He got a special award for services to the school fifty years ago.”

 

Fifty years ago.

 

“About the time Malfoy said the chamber was opened.” Adelia hummed. “And it’s from Vauxhall and that’s in London so he was probably a muggle-born. Do you think…”

 

“What?” Ron asked.

 

“What if he was the student killed last time?” Adelia said lowly as they turned to ascend toward the common room.

 

“Maybe.” Ron shrugged. “Though I don’t think his empty diary is going to help much.”

 

Adelia mirrored him. It was probably nothing, but she had learned from her mistakes last year. There was no such thing as coincidences, so what was the chance that a student’s diary from the last time the Chamber had been opened had just appeared?

 

She didn’t know, but she intended to find out.

Adelia would have to ask for more purple ink too, it seemed.

 

**

 

It took another few weeks for Hermione to be released from the hospital wing, and during that time Adelia and Ron continued to visit her. There had been no more attacks, but that did not mean the suspicious glares and vicious whispers stopped. No, if anything they grew louder until they drowned out the buzz of Adelia’s mind.

 

The only peace she had was in the darkness of night, a bauble of lumos glowing above her head as she read through the Parseltongue journal, as she read through the books the Flamel’s had sent her. It was as though a gateway had been opened, as though a ravenous beast had been awoken in her that would never be satiated.

 

Adelia would endure this as she endured all things.

 

The days were slow to pass, and more often than not she was left tired after Quidditch practice, and as she had done last year, she’d stayed behind to simply fly free. None of the team had like that much, didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone to either the wrath of scared students or the fury of Slytherin’s monster.

 

 It didn’t matter, because Adelia didn’t go anywhere without her Cloak anymore, secreted away in an expanded pocket of her robes. Thankfully Fred hadn’t asked too many questions when she asked him to apply it. The twins never asked to many questions, and they were always there to help her if she needed, then and the Quidditch team, her friends…

 

Adelia supposed that was what family felt like. She’d seen glimpses of it during her stay with the Weasleys, settled in a house that dripped carmine and gold magic, that smelled of frankincense and spice. A house, no a home that had welcomed her just like the family had.

 

No longer did that jealously flare when she saw the twins mucking about, or when Ron would turn red when he told them stories of Bill and Charlie. It didn’t flare when Percy fussed over Ginny, who seemed to have a bit more colour in her cheeks, even though she was still so terribly distraught about what happened to Colin.

 

But that didn’t mean the icy pull of the shadows left Adelia. It didn’t mean the phantom words had abandoned her even though there had been no more attacks. She wasn’t even sure they were real, and it wasn’t like she could ask anybody.

 

Maybe, just maybe the Dursleys had been right. Maybe she was the problem, for trouble and danger seemed to find her even in the halls that were supposed to be safe. Shepherded as they were from class to class, the sense of unease never faded from the student body even as weeks of nothing passed by.

 

In those weeks, Adelia waited as Corra remained deep in her brumation, but she knew her dear friend would wake soon. One of the books she’d gotten back at the start of the year had been about snakes and their magical properties, and magical snakes too.

 

Adelia was sure Hagrid was still looking for an ashwinder to see if they all had different thoughts. Adelia supposed they would, since they were three separate heads, though she couldn’t help but ponder on what Ron said about Charlie.

 

Could dragons speak Parseltongue? Norberta had been too young, a hatchling, but Adelia was sure she felt something when she scratched at the Ridgeback’s scales. From the last letter Charlie had sent, she’d grown quickly in the year since she’d hatched, and she’d only grow larger, and in two years she’d probably have her first clutch.

 

Life continued on in the same vein as it had for months before: Adelia had her transfiguration lessons with Percy on a Tuesday and Thursday, changed since the prefects had to do more patrolling. She made her way through the book she had found in that dingy little shop, diligently copied it down in English in a dark, leather-bound notebook she’d gotten in muggle London, and she continued with her parchment of unanswered questions, frustration and irritation rising every time she added more and found less.

 

She read the books that the Flamels had gifted her and did her homework under the shine of a floating lumos orb that mimicked the silver light of the moon.

 

But still, Tom Riddle vexed her.

 

Adelia knew nothing but the boy’s name, that he got an award from the school and then he had all but vanished. She’d tried the library, tried the graduating class photos, but she found nothing. It was like Tom Riddle had been erased from history.

 

Ron, who had accompanied Hermione and Adelia like he always would, had scoffed and shook his head when he saw the plaque: “Prefect, Head Boy, perfect student. He sounds like Percy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Hermione had huffed.

 

Adelia knew she wanted the same thing. Hermione strived every day to prove that she deserved to be in Hogwarts because Malfoy’s words still hurt her, but Hermione deserved to be in Hogwarts because she as Hermione, because she as a witch.

 

Ron had only shrugged a lanky shoulder and looked at Adelia who was still staring at the plaque. She couldn’t help but wonder about Tom Riddle, about Percy, about herself. Ron was right, he and Percy were similar enough, but Adelia had learned the list of Ministers since Grindelwald’s war and there had been no Tom Riddle.

 

What happened to you? You weren’t the victim of the attack, no, you lived after it. Did you witness it? Did you help catch who it was? Wizards live for a long time, are you evens still alive?

 

All the while, she kept  Riddle’s diary close, sure that it meant something. She didn’t believe it coincidences because far too much effort went into them, and so she kept the diary nearby, left it in nightstand under the books of the Dark war. Hermione had tried the Revealer she bought in Diagon, but that too showed nothing. Hermione had thought it was enchanted with invisible ink, but Adelia had checked that, had badgered Percy until he told her the spell, and unlike the twins, he asked questions.

 

Percy asked questions because he was like her: Knowledge was power, and knowledge without power was worthless, but power without knowledge was dangerous. And they were both powerful, both knew it, but it was only Adelia who people thought was powerful.

 

Percy, it turned out, rather liked it that way.

 

“You get more done being the man in the shadows.” He had said.

 

“Then why do you want to be Minister?”

 

He had looked at her, something mischievous and bright gleaming in his arctic eyes. He had such strange eyes, Adelia knew, both blue and green and so very clear. They were pretty, but she’d never dare say it aloud. There was something haunted in them, the gleam of a child who had seen too much too young.

 

Percy remembered the war in a way his younger brothers didn’t. Perhaps that was it.

 

“Is it so bad to want recognition?” Percy asked softly, reached forward to grab his lemon and lavender tea. “For people to know what you’ve done for them?”

 

Pride, the uglies of the seven deadly sins, but the one man was most cursed with. Adelia, who had recognition for something she detested, fame for the murder of her parents and surviving a curse that should have killed her, understood it. She understood that want, was sure that was what the icy threads of darkness that dwelled in her was.

 

She wanted to be great. She wanted to breathe life into the stagnant water, wanted to see it flow and nurture and nourish. She wanted power so she would never again be powerless. Lord Voldemort was still out there, still waiting for the right opportunity to finish what he had started eleven years ago.

 

Adelia wouldn’t give him the chance, because she knew monsters. He’d go for the people she cared for, the people she loved, her people, and that was something she couldn’t allow. He’d already taken her parents; he wouldn’t take anybody  else from her.

 

“It’s not.” Adelia murmured, eyes darting to the fire, wished that it would warm her, for she hadn’t been warm since Halloween. “It’s not a bad thing to want to be seen, Percy.”

 

But that had been weeks ago, and as the month changed and so too did the weather, Adelia was no closer to solving the problem that was Tom Riddle’s diary. Adelia, after a long training session with Oliver and the rest of the team, walked into the Gryffindor common room with aching muscles and wanted nothing more than a shower so hot it would leave her red and raw.

 

It was a facsimile of human warmth, but she would take it. She would take what she could get until she got what she wanted, and what Adelia Potter wanted was everything.

 

None sought to disturb her that evening, though her dormmates did occasionally pop their heads in to check if she wanted anything. Hermione, having left Ron to the tender mercies of his brothers in want of silence, joined Adelia as rain pattered against the charmed windows of the dormitory. Hermione did her homework silently beside her best friend, though she occasionally sent her worried glances.

 

Adelia, engrossed in her transfiguration homework as she often was when she got started on the subject, noticed by did nothing as the guilt coiled around her belly in the same way Corra curled around her neck. She knew she had caused them enough concern already, it was why she did not tell them of the whispering shadows that cawed like carrion over a battlefield. It was why she did not tell them that her blood had gone cold, that her mouth tasted of nothing but ash and blood and bile.

 

She had ruined them enough. Every unholy happenstance that befell them was because of her. Adelia would not darken and poison these soft, gilded moments of fleeting warmth that she could not feel but that her friends adored. She was wrathful and prideful, was wanting, but she was not cruel.

 

She would strip the flesh from her bones if only to see her blood warm them. that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all, because there was nothing, no act so righteous, no act so heinous, that she would rain down upon those who would cause harm to her friends, her family.

 

Family. An odd concept. The Dursleys were a family, but they were not her family. Adelia was related to Draco Malfoy, but he was no family to her. That thought had her huffing, had her shaking her head and Hermione made an inquisitive noise.

 

“D’you know I’m related to Malfoy?”

 

“Aren’t all the purebloods related?” Hemione asked, having read book after book on the subject over the summer holidays when she could do no magic but still thirsted for knowledge. “How are you related?”

 

“My dad’s mum was a Black, Dorea. She’s Malfoy’s mum’s great-aunt.” Adelia shrugged. “Headmaster Black knew the second he saw in me in Dumbledore’s office after…”

 

“The Blacks.” Hermione’s noise scrunched. “I’ve read about them.”

 

“So have I.” Adelia muttered darkly. “Apparently Sirius Black is the reason my parents are dead. He’s locked up in Azkaban for killing thirteen muggles and a wizard trying to escape. I hope he rots there.”

 

“Well, you can’t choose your family.” Hermione said lightly.

 

Adelia only looked at her best friend, at her gentling smile and her kind, dark eyes and fizzy hair and shook her head. There were not enough words in the all the languages of the world known and unknown that described Hermione Granger and how much Adelia adored her. Nor, in truth, were there enough to encompass her feelings for the Weasleys she had met, and the ones she waited to know.

 

She thought of an army of red heads who were kind to her because she needed kindness, who didn’t care for her name or fame, only for her, because she was Adelia and that was enough for them. the thought of the orchards near the Burrow where she and Ron and Ginny had run through, and the trees she and Fred and George had flown though. She thought about Mrs. Weasley and her patience, her kindness and warmth, and Mr. Weasley’s probing questions and wonderment.

 

She scented lemon and lavender and old parchment and ink, quiet mornings and swooping owls of grey-flecked snow and black-bronze feathers.

 

“Maybe you can.”

 

The words were soft, scarcely a breath that could have so very easily been lost to the war-drum beat of the worsening rain, but they were cradled in loving, careful hands. Hermione blinked, misty eyed, and then in  a movement most unlike her, she threw her arms around Adelia’s neck and hugged her.

 

For the first time in months, Adelia Potter felt warmth in her veins. It was different than the chemical reaction of spell casting, for that was fleeting and passionate, something that wanted and wanted. This, this was something different and Adelia relaxed into it, relaxed against Hermione who only squeezed harder.

 

“You’ll always have us.” Hermione declared with an easy sort of promise and hop that existed only in children. “Maybe… Maybe during the summer you can come visit me? I don’t think they would have ever shown you around London proper. I know Ron’s convinced you won’t have to go back…”

 

“But they’re still my legal guardians.” Adelia huffed, remembering Percy’s words from the summer. “And I’m the Girl Who Lived.”

 

Hermione’s smiled darkened, turned into a grimace more than anything and she nodded. If Adelia was being honest, her time at the Dursleys had been better than she’d expected, if one were to discount the last few days of it. Adelia knew Dobby was trying to save her from whatever was attacking the students, and it still begged the question as to which family he served, because then perhaps she’d be closer to finding out just exactly how they were doing it.

 

And if she knew how, she could stop it.

 

“You’ve kept the diary.” Hermione murmured, moving it out if the way to grab a hold of the transfiguration textbook. “Why?”

 

“You never know when you’ll need more paper.” Adelia shrugged, and then her lips turned into a teasing smirk. “Or when you’ll need something to throw at somebody. Words can never hurt you, whoever said that obviously hasn’t been hit with a phonebook.”

“I really hate them.” Hermione said darkly. “Before we leave, I’ll make sure you’ve got our phone numbers, and the one for the office, and directions to our house and the clinic. If they even look at you the wrong way, Adelia, please, come.”

 

“I will.” Adelia promised.

 

But there were more pressing concerns, in truth. Though the attacks had stopped, that did not mean that all was well. The miasma of terror still clung to the halls, to the students and even the teachers. Whatever was out there, was still out there, hiding in the shadows, so hungry, so alone.

 

Adelia wanted answers, and so answers she would have, she just did not expect that they would come from the diary that sat before her, innocuous little thing that it was, or that Draco Malfoy would however unintentionally set her toward the path of damnation or salvation.

Chapter 13: Hagrid's Secret

Summary:

The conundrum of the diary is solved.

Notes:

From here on out we'll be going off script by a good bit. I hope you all enjoy what I've got planned.

Valentine’s Day fell under a cloud of too much perfume and too many flowers. Adelia watched as Lockhart flounced around in garish Sakura pink robes detailed with a gold so bright it was nearly blinding, blinking at the man’s bleached smile. She only shook her head and focused down on her porridge, reached for the honey and watched as it caused the nuts to clump together before she broke them up with a spoon.

 

Beside her, Ron was gagging at the entire display, and Hermione had a subtle-pink blush high on her cheeks that was mostly hidden by her hair. Lockhart was droning on about his Valentine decorations and even the staff looked done with the man’s antics, and well, Adelia had been done with him since the first time she met him.

 

“Hermione, please tell me you didn’t.” Ron whispered in horror.

 

Hermione looked at the table, the blush darkening and spreading until her entire face resembled the fried tomato slice on Ron’s breakfast plate.

 

“Never would have to deal with this last year.” Adelia grumbled.

 

“Do you remember who was teaching us last year?” Hermione yelped, eyes darting around nervously.

 

“At least we learned stuff.”

 

Honestly, who would have thought that Voldemort would have been a decent teacher when compared with the current professor? Adelia would take all the migraines in the world because at least they actually learned a few spells a few spells with Voldemort; with Lockhart all they learned about was him.

 

Besides, it wasn't like the headaches had stopped.

 

And nobody cared, least of all Adelia who had a madman wanting her dead and the Monster of Slytherin still somewhere, about Lockhart or his insistence that Valentine's Day was very important. Even if the sunshine meant gladder tiding and the approaching easter holidays, it didn’t do much by way of alleviating the concern and fear that permeated the very foundations of the castle.

 

It hadn’t mattered that nobody had been attacked since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. It didn’t matter because there were still two students, a ghost and a cat, seized up and petrified, stuck until the mandrakes reached maturity.

 

Adelia glumly ate her porridge, doing her best to ignore Lockhart’s words as he stood up at the golden podium, and she was succeeding in, despite its ashy taste, until Ron nudged her, his eyes horrified and finger pointing to the door.

 

There, walking in, singing, were dwarves dressed as cherubim, golden wings and harps aplenty. Adelia groaned, wanted nothing more then to get to History of Magic so she could read through the more interesting bits of the textbook since Binns was still stuck on the Goblin Wars and would be forever. 

 

Those pesky dwarves continued to make a nuisance of themselves for the entire day. The only source of humour Adelia found in it all was thinking about Snape having his lessons interrupted by love confessions of all things.

 

And then, before the final lesson of the day, Adelia was cornered by one on her way to Charms. The first years were just coming out of the class, and Adelia hissed, tried to get away but Hogwarts was an ancient castle and because of that, some of its hallways were narrow.

 

Too bloody narrow.

 

“You ‘Delia Potter?” The dwarf asked gruffly, actually batting people out of the way with viciousness.

 

Madame Pomfrey was going to need a lot of Bruise Balm before the day was out.

 

“Who?” Adelia gave her best imitation of Hedwig, trying to get away, far away, cursing the fact she’d grown out her fringe so her scar couldn’t be hidden.

 

Maybe Petunia had a point after all. What a horrid thought.

 

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ya.” The dwarf continued on like Adelia hadn’t spoken, and he thrummed his harm sinisterly.

 

“Not here.” Adelia hissed, and judging by the looks of fear she received, there was just a bit too much hiss to it.

 

Damn. Percy had been right. The longer she spent speaking Parseltongue the more she mimicked it. People already thought she was responsible; it wouldn’t do well to give them more to whisper about when they thought she couldn’t hear.

 

“Stay still.” The dwarf snarled, abandoning his harp to grab Adelia’s bookbag, grip iron-tight and unwavering.

 

She’d not win a battle of strength against a dwarf. Not when their creations from the earth were as renowned as those of the Goblin Nation. But still, she could hope.

 

“Let me go.” Adelia snapped, and she tugged violently on her bag.

 

There was an ear-splitting shriek and everything clattering to the ground. Ink pots smashed, coloured her belongings in carmine, in black and gold ink. It dripped, collected on the stones, and there, in a bubble of what could have been blood, lay her wand and it cried out its haunting tune at having been so carelessly kept.

 

It was the only thing she cared about in that moment. So she reached down and snatched it before the holly wood could be stained. Parvati was there with a handkerchief, and Hermione and Ron were carefully picking everything up, mindful of the glass. Neville was helping too, while Seamus was glaring at the dwarf.

 

“What’s going on?” Malfoy’s voice sounded and he pushed through the first years like they meant nothing to him, partly because they didn’t. “Oh no. Did poor Potter have an accident?”

 

“Shove off, Malfoy.” Seamus huffed, only to wince when the dwarf kicked him in the shin as he kept the batty thing away from Adelia.

 

The no magic rule in the corridors probably didn’t account for fixing damaged property because your idiotic professor was an idiot, and so Adelia waved her wand, murmured a simple Reparo and turned on the dwarf with a baleful look, ignoring the surprised looks of such casual use of magic.

 

Then another voice, one that Adelia had grown to associate with some notion of understanding, spoke. “What’s all this commotion?”

 

Adelia turned, or she tried to, but the dwarf seemed to know she was making a run for it, and he grabbed her. Ron shouted in protest as Adelia was dragged to the ground and she felt the humiliation rise as the dwarf ignored Percy’s rather indignant order to let her go and began to sing.

 

Adelia wished Voldemort would appear. Wished that Quirrell’s half-burned, agonised face would come back to haunt her like it did her dreams. Anything would be better that this.

 

The words fell over her, bleached bone white, covered by the pounding blood that rushed her veins.  Humiliation was always the worst, something she had long ago learned. She hated it. Adelia would rather they went back to being afraid of her that this.

 

Death. Death would have been a better option as everybody started laughing, everybody but her friends who were staring at her. Her face was contorted into a blank space of nothingness, Adelia knew, the default setting whenever she was faced with embarrassment because that was Dudley’s favourite thing to latch onto and it was better to never let him know that he got to her.

 

The dwarf let her go then, happy that his job was fulfilled. Her friends had stuffed her stuff back into her repaired bookbag, and Hermione was holding it close to her chest. But as Adelia turned to Malfoy, who was still laughing as though he had witnessed the funniest thing in the world, she saw that he had the diary.

 

Fuck.

 

“Give it back.” Adelia ordered, tone cold and curling. Of course Malfoy didn’t listen.

 

Malfoy waved it around. Ginny, unseen by all, froze and looked beyond terrified. “Wonder what Potter’s got written in this.”

 

“Hand it over, Malfoy. Or shall I inform your head of house you’ve resorted to thievery so young?” Percy quipped, held out his in expectation.

 

Malfoy pinked, probably remembering the same words Adelia did. Oh Mr. Malfoy wouldn’t be pleased in the least with his son’s behavior. Told not to stray too far from the line and there he was, calling for muggleborns to die, antagonising Adelia at every turn.

 

“When I’ve had a look.” Malfoy’s attempt to regain some of his power was lost by the way his voice shook as he continued to wave the diary around.

 

Percy said something again, was stepping toward the Slytherin, but the humiliation had so quickly turned to rage, rage that was warm and bubbling and caustic. The wand in her hand hummed, ready to do her bidding as it always would because they were hearths of the eternal.

 

And like Snape had done to Lockhart months ago, Adelia did to Malfoy and when a bolt of red light hit him square in the chest, silence fell. Reflexes, honed from quidditch, from firing spells at Lockhart’s ridiculous books, from escaping Dudley and his parents and everything else, meant that Adelia caught the diary with ease.

 

Percy turned to her on his heels, and oh he was so terribly angry judging by the way both his eye and jaw were twitching. Adelia met his gaze, unwavering and unashamed of her actions because she was sick of Malfoy, sick of his words and his taunts and his jeers.

 

And rage came so easy to her now, its heat and bubbling hisses like the first rays of sun after the darkness of night. Percy ground his teeth, and the students around them began to move toward their classes, unwilling to stay and witness what was about to happen.

 

“There is to be no magic in the corridors.” Percy reminded with a sharp inflection. “And there is never a reason to attack another student. Five points from Gryffindor and get to class before I take more.”

 

Adelia nodded once, side-stepped him with the diary still clutched to her, took her bag from Hermione who was shaking her head. Adelia met Malfoy’s gaze and those silver eyes of his were ablaze with hate, scorn and fear. Adelia’s lips quirked, and as always Malfoy had to have the last word.

 

He turned to Ginny, who was still frozen in spot, a silver-haired girl beside her in the robes of Ravenclaw. Ginny, who had finally regained her colour and fire after weeks, months of homesickness and pallid looks. She started moving once she realised she had Malfoy’s attention.

 

“I don’t think she liked your Valentine much.”

 

Ron snarled as Adelia grabbed his arm. Percy was still there, watching with arctic eyes that saw all, but he set himself differently when Malfoy mentioned his sister. He barked out another loss of points for Slytherin, and Ginny made a noise, dropped her head and disappeared. Adelia stared at him, wished that he would make a fool of himself, wished with all her might that he’d do something foolish.

 

Draco Malfoy walked into the wall beside the door of the Charms classroom in full view of everybody. Adelia scoffed, followed Ron and Hermione into the class, and as the last one to enter, she turned back to see Percy still staring at the door, at her, and that gleam was back in his eye, the one he got when she asked questions he didn’t know the answer to because it meant another puzzle to be solved.

 

It wasn’t the first time she’d wanted something to happen and it just did. It surely must have been a coincidence.

 

But Adelia forgot all about when she sat at the desk beside Neville, Hermione and Ron on the bench to the left of her. She reached down into her repaired bookbag, but it didn’t mean her books were unscathed. No, the ink-siphoning charm was different, and she didn’t know how to do it, and she only hoped somebody on the quidditch team did because she didn’t think Percy would be much inclined to help her.

 

It didn’t matter, tomorrow was Thursday, everything would be fine then.

 

She checked all of her books, her wad of parchment and the diary as Flitwick began to speak. All of them had scarlet stains, all save the diary that was as pristine and dry as when Adelia had found it in a puddle of water in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

 

Curious. So very curious.

 

And so Adelia relaxed into her seat, cracked her neck and steepled her fingers as her eyes found Flitwick as he demonstrated the Slowing Charm on a rock. She knew what she’d be doing tonight after her quidditch practice, and part of her was excited to uncover the secrets that the diary might possess, but even more so she wanted to know how it worked.

 

Adelia spent the class ignoring Malfoy’s angered glare, kept her back to him completely at dinner. When Oliver came to collect his little ducklings for training she bid farewell to Hermione and Ron on the sofas, and dismissed Percy’s tracked stare that could be rather unnerving at times. It appeared as though her little tete a tete with Malfoy had spread like wildfire, and so the quidditch team questioned her incessantly on the way down to the broom shed.

 

“Percy’s mighty annoyed.” Oliver huffed. “Thinks you made Malfoy walk into the wall on purpose.”

 

“And how the hell would I do that?” Adelia questioned; fingers curled around the hilt of her broom.

 

“Same way you broke his nose earlier in the year.” Alicia shrugged. “Want and will.”

 

“I didn’t-.” Adelia began.

 

“Nobody touched him. His broom did it. He was saying those foul things about Hermione. You didn’t have your wand. Accidental magic works in mysterious ways.” Katie said sagely.

 

“If anybody could tame the untameable it’d be Adelia.” Fred muttered with a grin, clapping her on her shoulder. "

 

“Right.” Oliver began, leg swung over his broom and ready to get down to business. “Hufflepuff. They’re not much of a threat in the scoring department, but they are good at defending. And Diggory’s the only one that could compare with Adelia here, so we have to be on our game. Vicious, quick. Leave them confused. All of you have read the brief, let’s see how well you can put it into practice.”

 

And then Oliver was gone, and George stepped up, eyeing the sky. “I’m so glad we disbanded our military ages ago because the thought of Oliver the Trainer is terrifying.”

 

“We never actually had a military.” Adelia hummed. “We had Hit Wizards that would attach to the muggle military to fight the wizards on the side of the Central Powers. And then when the Second World War happened, all magical efforts were put into dealing with Grindelwald since he ramped up his reign of terror in the chaos.”

 

“Can you teach us history instead of Binns, please?” Katie asked with a grin. “I might actually listen then.”

 

“Less chatting more training.” Oliver bellowed from the skies.

 

They rolled their eyes and mounted their brooms. Oliver’s plan was different for the rest of the team, but a Seeker’s job never really changed. Adelia spent most of her time twisting and turning in the air, practiced spotting the snitch without chasing after it, made sure to track its unpredictable movements just to prove that she could.

 

Adelia didn’t mind it, didn’t mind anything as much as the hunt for the Snitch. She was free in the air, freer than she’d ever be on the ground where she was Adelia Potter, the Girl Who Lived. They celebrated her for something she didn’t even do, because she had lived because her mother willed it to, of that much Adelia was sure, but there, in the sky, she was champion because she willed it. the Cup should have been theirs last year, but it hadn’t been because Adelia had been unconscious, and with no Seeker there had been no chance of victory.

 

That defeat still tasted bitter. Adelia would see to it that Oliver won the Cup before he graduated, no matter what it took. There had never been a better Quidditch team than there was now, all of them, all of their strength, borrowed and given freely in the name of unity and victory.

 

They had never doubted her, Adelia recalled. Not last year, not even this year when everybody else had. They had stuck by her, with her. Oliver had defended her over Nick and Justin’s petrified bodies, Katie, she heard, had hexed a seventh year Hufflepuff for her. Fred and George, well, they were Fred and George, and they had acted as a buffer in those dark days, had spent their time trying to get her to smile and laugh. Alicia, Alicia had shielded her from a rather nasty Jinx with a Protego fuelled by righteous fury and Katie?

 

Angelina had punched a Slytherin in the face for saying something that nobody dared repeat to Adelia.

 

And so she watched them chase each other around, Oliver forever in the goal, Katie and Alicia against Fred and George as they practiced evasion and distraction with a single quaffle and bludger in the air. She smiled to herself, so very far above them as the snitch darted around, begging to be chased. She let it float, let herself watch and bask in the frigid air. 

 

It wasn’t warmth like Hermione’s hug had been, but it was close enough. High in the clouds of the evening, Adelia didn’t think that the ice was her enemy, didn’t think that the shadows were her adversary. They were part of her, lingering in her soul, souls that were precious to all of wizard kind because that was where the magic of a person dwelled in a kaleidoscope of colours if one was to be believed.

 

Adelia wondered then, if there was truth to the journal that she adored and loathed. Wondered if magic was simply magic, and if intent was all that truly mattered in the end. Will and wish and want, the foundations of every spell, they were fuelled by intent, existed only because of intent.

 

Tame the untameable, Fred had said, but Adelia didn’t want to tame it. Whatever it was, it existed as wild and free, and so she did not want to see it chained.  It was free in the way she wished to be, free like the rivers and the wind, nourishing like the soils and sands of time, scorching and viscous like the fires that moved the earth.

 

She could still remember the feel of the magic on New Years, how it coiled around her nerves in the same way Corra coiled around her neck. As cold as it was, there was a presence to it, smooth like silken shadows. Something about that unsettled her, or perhaps it was the guilt of having broken a promise.

 

But the skies were different, even in their grey gloom. Here, she could twist between branches and weave between people. She loved magic, she did, and for all that had come after Hagrid’s unexpected arrival, and all that would surely come to pass, none of it made Adelia feel quiet as free as flight.

 

“Oi.” Alicia called as she appeared, hovering a few feet below Adelia. “You didn’t lose the snitch did you?”

 

“It’s been behind Oliver’s head for the last ten minutes.” Adelia shrugged. “are we done?”

 

“We are when you catch it.”

 

Adelia gave her teammate a sharp grin and then she was gone, carried by the wind and the magic that called it home. She was much higher in the air than the goal post, the wind, stronger now that she had picked up speed, both a blessing and something uncontrollable. Adelia swung around, caught the flash of gold before it zipped down toward the sand bunker.

 

Down and down and down she went, her face frigid and aching from the icy-cold and her joyous smile. There wasn’t anything quite like that rush- the electric pulse of adrenaline- that warded off the sinking cold that had made its foundations in her bones.

 

Gloved fingers creaked as she drew herself up, retracted her right hand from the polished gleam of her broom and pressed downward with her other hand. Adelia’s hand closed around the snitch and it gave a few perfunctory flutters of its golden, lucent wings before it closed.

 

Adelia’s feet kicked up the sand as she landed, using the momentum to take a few stops before she came to a stop.

 

She dipped her head back around, heat creeping down the column of her neck, grateful that the winter-weather training robes and exertion covered it. The team eyed her as they themselves came down, as they took their brooms in hand. Fred high-fived her, and Oliver was looking at her in the same way he looked at those intricate, ridiculously plans that he came up with and forced them all to suffer through.

 

“Too bad we’ve already beaten Slytherin.” Was all he said.

 

Which nobody really knew what to make of. Every year since Charlie Weasley had left, Oliver had said this will be our year, it will be. I know it will be. Last year should have been the first of three glorious victories to finish out his school years…

 

But then Quirrell, hoping to use the Philosopher’s Stone to renew his master if the rumours were to be believed, had ruined it. Oliver wouldn’t let something as irritating as dark wizards ruin his second-last chance, nor would he allow those ridiculous rumours that followed Adelia to be the cause of a loss.

 

Those were the thoughts that followed Oliver as he and Katie set away the practice balls, though neither of them could fully escape their wandering, watchful eyes. The team had, after Halloween, come to an agreement unbeknownst to their youngest:

 

They wouldn’t fail her like they had last year.

 

“Come along, little ducklings.” Angelina crowed, grinning as she clapped her hand over Adelia’s shoulder. “It’s nearly curfew.”

 

The new curfew that was, the one that had all students tucked safely into their common rooms before the first strike of eight o’clock rather than the usual nine. It served as a reminder that although everything seemed back to normal, the culprit of the attacks hadn’t been found, that whoever, or whatever, it was still lingered.

 

And soon it would find its next victim.

 

**

 

The early curfew still made for merriment, especially on Valentine’s, but Adelia could only listen to so many renditions of that blasted dwarf-sang poem before she was ready to rip her hair out. It reminded her far too much of Dudley, even if her friends and housemates didn’t mean it that way.

 

Instead she beggared off to her bed early under the guise of sorting out the mess that had occurred earlier, and to further investigate the strange happenstance with the diary. Muggle London it may have been bought in, but there was magic seeped into it, warm and golden like the liquid hues of Fawkes newborn eyes.

 

But why would somebody want to keep an empty book safe? Because it was empty, its pages blank. Hermione had spent an age with it, going so far as to think of muggle invisible ink, borrowing Hedwig to ger her parents to send her some and yet it revealed nothing.

 

(Other than the myriad of ways the twins could find devilment.)

 

Adelia took the sheaf of parchment that held silver and violet-shifting ink and stared upon it, sour apple Drooble in her mouth. It was all connected, she knew that much, from Dobby to Lucious Malfoy to the attacks and now, the dairy. Too much effort went into making coincidences, and so the only thing that she could truly believe was happenstance was Adelia’s own presence at the site of Mrs. Norris’ attack…

 

Maybe Mrs. Figg had been right all those years ago when she’d bring Adelia to the library, Agatha Christie wasn’t the ideal reading material for a young girl.

 

Adelia shook her head, the sour centre of the sweet settling on her tongue as she reached for the diary, lumos bright in the confines of her bed for the thick, velvet curtains had been pulled. Even the black leather was untouched by its earlier run in with the ink, and after a moment of flicking through the pages and even checking the seams, Adelia picked up her quill.

 

Ink, that deep, dark purple that resembled liquid shadows until it dried, coalesced around the tip. Adelia took a breath and exhaled it as she watched it drip onto the yellowed parchment.

 

Then she smiled as the ink vanished, as though it was downed by a man dying of thirst. Adelia dipped her quill again, repeated the process for no other reason than to be sure, and then she finally put the nib to the page. Perhaps she had lost her mind. Ron's warnings were clear in her head. Mr. Weasley's description of his job sounded in those warm, jovial tones of his. Yet still, Adelia persevered, even as her headache grew to a thunderstorm, as the taste of cinders flared bright and hot. For all she had thought it was a simple book, she knew better now.

 

It held the answers she sought, she knew that. She just didn't know that the diary was. She didn't understand why it both comforted and repulsed her. But she would find out.

 

Hello, she wrote and watched as it was absorbed with a feint, golden hue.

 

Hello, came sharp, curling script in the very same ink she used. Who are you? How did you come by my diary?

 

I found it in the loo. Somebody doesn’t seem to like muggle paper all that much. It was just sitting there, in a puddle of water. What charms are on it? I could use a decent waterproofing spell.

 

A muggleborn, are you?

 

An odd question perhaps, but given the current circumstances, it wasn't the oddest. Adelia didn't imagine that rhetoric began with Voldemort, no she suspected he only worsened it, used the chaos and confusion and fear left over from Grindlewald's reign to carve his throne of hate.

 

What gives you that impression?

 

My name is Tom Riddle, and I was like you once; magic is still such a wonderous thing even after all this time.

 

Adelia stared at the page, blinking brilliantly. She glanced back to the parchment that held her findings, back to the name Tom Riddle, and all that could be.

 

You wouldn’t happen to be Tom Riddle, would you? Head Boy with perfect OWL and NEWT results?

 

That would be me, yes. How did you come by that name?

 

You got a special services award to the school, around fifty years back, now. Maybe I can find you, give you this back, lest some unsavory children get their hands on you.

 

I’m afraid that won’t be possible. If I have become active, it means I have died.

 

Well, that just makes this harder. I was hoping that I could find you, ask you questions about your time at Hogwarts.

 

It’s happened again, hasn’t it? The attacks? It’s why I preserved this diary, so that should any come looking for the truth, they would find it. Never again would the truth of what happened in Hogwarts be covered up.

 

Covered up. Covered up. Even the events of last year hadn't been covered up, but the wizarding world just buried their heads in the fantasy they'd created and nobody did anything to dissuade them. The truth, Dumbledore had said all those months ago, was a curse, and it seemed once again that they were Cassandra, cursed to never be believed...

 

But Tom Riddle seemed to believe.

 

Adelia’s heart stuttered, and she snapped her head toward the door when she heard it open. She stilled as she heard Lavender and Parvati and their giggling voices. They gave a sympathetic tut, no doubt assuming that Adelia had take to bed with another one of her headaches.

 

Little did they know that the truth was that much worse.

 

What truth is that?

 

Horrible, horrible things happened in Hogwarts. Things that were covered up.

 

The Chamber of Secrets, Adelia’s writing became sharper, more hurried, full of ink-blots and want.

 

In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.

 

Adelia reached for another Drooble, dizzy with knowledge. Fifty years was a long time, Professor Dippet long dead, but Adelia knew his Deputy still lived. Dumbledore’s words from the night Colin had been attacked came to her mind, feint and cracking like sheared ice: The question is how.

 

How indeed? But if Adelia knew who had done it last time, then maybe, just maybe there could be a chance to find out who was doing it now.

 

Who did it last time?

 

I can show you, if you’d like, Adelia? You needn’t believe the words I write here, but you can see through my eyes, see the truth of it and make up your own mind.

 

How?

 

Close your eyes, it might be a little cold. When I’ve settled, put your hand on the page.

 

Adelia, blind to all but her want for answers, did as Tom Riddle bid. The diary, with a mind of its own, flicked to a date in June, the right-sided page glimmering with the threaded orchidite hues of her ink. She pressed her palm to the pages, felt as heat blossomed beneath her skin…

 

(Too absorbed was she to realise that she'd never even told Tom her name.)

 

And then it was cold. So very cold. Cold like the tundra that had made its home in her veins. Cold like the sibilant voice that cawed in her nightmares. Cold like the terror of the darkness.

 

Cold like home.

 

Adelia blinked, the world around her hazy and unmoored. Her headache was worsened by the prismatic whorl of colour that left her sickened. Falling to the ground, Adelia groaned, heaved thick, controlled breaths just like Oliver had taught her high up in the sky. Finally, everything seemed to settle. She reached for her glasses, realised they were not fixed upon her nose as they usually were, but then all settled in greyscale. She was in Hogwarts, its portraits and stone familiar to her despite it all, despite the near half-century that had passed. She was in Dumbledore’s office, for her eyes found the portrait of Headmaster Black.

 

But fifty years ago it hadn’t been Dumbledore’s office, had it? No, instead, Professor Dippet, aged and balding with only a scant few whisps of pale hair, having lived longer than any other wizard in recorded history, sat by candlelight, his eyes reading despite their pale, milky visage.

 

She was here, seeing the past as clearly as Seers whished to see the future, and yet there was nothing. Her hand flickered through the wood of the desk, there was no sign of Fawkes upon his perch, and not even her blood-purist relative seemed to notice her like he had on that fateful day.

 

It was as though she wasn’t even there, as though she did not exist, and here, in this place, she both did not. Now, it seemed she was only a figment of memory in the same way Tom was…

 

Tom. Tom Riddle. If this was to be his memory, then where was he?

 

There was knocking at the door, loud and obnoxious in the silence. The door opened with a careless wave of an ancient, withered hand. Dippet’s hand. As old as he had been, he’d mastered magics only few could dream of.

 

“Forgive me, Headmaster…”

 

The voice was not one Adelia had heard before. It was deferential, soft, like her own when she needed something off the Dursleys and had to be the way they wanted her to be. The boy was Percy’s age, with carefully tended to hair that curled at the ends like a raven’s feather, and like Percy, there was a gleaming badge, not in bronze but silver, etched with a curling P. Green adorned his uniform.

 

Tom Riddle didn’t take notice of her either, and so Adelia reigned herself to watching, to listening, to nosing around the Headmaster’s study. Though she could not touch, not feel anything beyond the cold, she could read the titles, could see the Daily Prophet page.

 

1943.

 

Had it been Grindelwald all along? Had he targeted Hogwarts through the arcane to weaken those who had stood against him?

 

But then Dippet began to speak:

 

“Ah, Riddle. Come, wish to speak to you about the letter you sent me.”

 

“Oh.” It was a sound Adelia knew very well, the notion of rejection before it was even confirmed, the fear of what would come for ever asking such a thing.

 

1943.

You were like me…

A muggleborn, ripped from the safety of Hogwarts to go back to wrath and ruin of the second world war.

 

“You must understand that I cannot allow you to stay here over the Summer.” Dippet began. “Surely you’d like to go home for the break?”

 

“I have no family, sir. My mother died giving birth to me.” Tom said quietly. “She lived long enough to name me, Tom, after my father, Marvolo, after hers.”

 

Dippet seemed to consider that sympathetically. He took a lingering look at the boy before him. “See Tom, exceptions might have been made, but in light of current circumstances… It would not be safe.”

 

“You mean the attacks.”

 

“Precisely.” Dippet said carefully. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in the light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl. You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school.”

 

Adelia turned toward them then, found herself standing to Riddle’s side. He looked crestfallen, scared even, but there was something else. A calculated edge to his eyes befitting his house, as though he knew something that others didn’t.

 

It was a look Adelia had often seen reflected in her own gaze.

 

“Sir, if the person was caught… if all of this unpleasantness was put to bed…”

 

“What do you mean? Do you know something about these attacks, Riddle?”

 

“No Sir.”

 

It was said quickly, fearfully. It was that very same no, Adelia had given to Dumbledore when she’d kept part of the truth to herself. She continued on, the unseen observer, even when Riddle was excused, when he moved through the castle like he’d memorised every inch of it.

 

He didn’t hear her as she called to him, he didn’t stop when she stood before him, simply passed through her as though she had long been dead. Nor had Dumbledore when he happened upon them, his eyes colder than Adelia had ever seen them. The Dumbledore before her was so far from the eccentric Headmaster Adelia knew in her time, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the Dumbledore who in just just over a year, would bring about the end of Grindlewald's reign. He was broad shouldered, strong, and oh how his eyes were exactly the same, of course they were, Adelia thought to herself, even as he aged Dumbledor's mind was and forever would be, greater than the magic that came to him so easily. 

 

Yet, it was obvious that whoever Tom Riddle was, Dumbledore didn’t care for him. The way he looked at Riddle, searching, questioning, that was a look Adelia knew well, for she had seen it directed at herself often enough, yet there was none of the glimmering understanding nor the light of hope that Adelia was accustomed to. No, Dumbledore looked at Riddle like how Snape looked at Adelia.

 

Why?

 

She chased after Riddle again, as he led her down to the hallway of the Slytherin common room entrance, to the room just off where Percy had accosted her and Ron under the guise of Polyjuice. The sconces weren't aflame, as though the malignancy of whatever hunted the students of Hogwarts had sank deep into the very foundations of the castle's stone. Perhaps it was the discoloration of the greyscale hues her vision had taken on, perhaps it was the oppressive air of suffering, but Adelia never wished to see her Hogwarts, gilded and warm, reduced to this withered husk.

 

To do that, she needed to know what Riddle knew.

 

Then, after what felt like an age, Riddle forced opened the door with a whispered Alohamora, and the voice beyond was so painfully recognisable that Adelia couldn’t believe it.

 

“Evening, Rubeus.”

 

Hagrid jumped back, and even as young as he was, he towered over them all, even Riddle who was a full head and a half taller than Adelia. He tried to use his bulk to cover something, the sound of whimpers and cries…

 

It wasn’t another dragon, Adelia knew that much, but it seemed even an adolescent Hagrid had a keen care for magical creatures.

 

“Wha’er you doin’ down ‘ere, Tom?”

 

“It’s all over.” Riddle said, voice cool and silken with the put upon effect of sympathy. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

 

“What d’yeh mean?”

 

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and then…”

 

“It never killed no one” Hagrid cried, backing against the closed door. “Aragog never ‘urt nothin’.”

 

But Riddle didn’t care. Whatever was in that box, whatever it was that Hagrid was protecting, the boy before her thought it was the only thing that stood between himself and safety. For that, Riddle raised his wand and a jet of yellow-bright light shone, illuminating the entire corridor with its light. Adelia stepped back, blinked rapidly for it seemed to burn her eyes.

 

It was enough that she caught a glimpse of what was sent feeling: a beast, with a vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers. Hagrid wailed and Riddle cursed, and then Adelia was gone.

 

She stared down at the diary, at the dripping blood from her nose that vanished with each thunderous beat of her heart. Hagrid. Hagrid. It couldn’t have been Hagrid. Hagrid loved Hogwarts more than anything and he’d never hurt those who called its ancient, magic-forged walls home.

 

The insidious thing in her mind whispered jealousy, but that wasn’t the Hagrid she knew. It wasn’t the man who had answered each and every one of her rambling questions, hadn’t been the man who had introduced her to the wonders of the magical world. Hagrid who forever saw the best in everything he came across, who did not balk at her ability to speak Parseltongue.

 

He couldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have done this. Hagrid didn't make her feel on edge like the diary did. Hagrid didn't cause the embers and ashes to thicken in her throat like whatever creature was hunting the students of Hogwarts did. 

 

Are you alright? I'm sorry. I should have warned you how disorientating it would be.

 

I’m fine, Adelia wrote back, her mind screaming and her heart heavy. Do you know what the creature was?

 

No. It was never seen again after that night, and the attacks stopped.

 

And now they’ve started again.

 

Indeed. Perhaps Rubeus has come back to claim his vengeance. I heard he’d had his wand snapped…

 

But Adelia didn’t write anything further. She snapped the diary closed, and in a sudden, vicious strike of her wand she cast the a spell upon it. Nothing happed. That only made her angrier for some reason. Then, because something dark and twisted settled around her heart like a coiled serpent, Adelia cast the Flaying Curse upon it like she had with Lockhart's books. Pain burned, white-hot and furious behind her eyes, gone as quick as it came.

 

She blinked down at it.

 

It's black leather was still intact, yet there, at the edge of the pages, black ink dribbled free like blood. Adelia inhaled sharply, took a moment to consider what to do. 

 

There was something wrong with it, that much was clear to her now. Not wrong in the sense of those blinding migraines Voldemort had caused last year, or even wrong like the voices that taunted her. No, the diary was wrong in the same way the dead unicorn was wrong, in the same way the notion of eternal life was wrong; both affronts to her very soul, yet something about it was so very familiar

 

Adelia wanted it it gone and at the same time she never wanted to be parted with it. 

 

I could burn it, throw it into the Black Lake. I could give it to Percy, to McGonagall. I should give it to Dumbeldore.

 

Tomorrow, Adelia decided, tired, her heart aching with the the thoughts that Hagrid and his love of dangerous, unpredictable creatures could be the cause of what was darkening the bastion of golden magic hat called Hogwarts home. If he had anything to do with it, it was unknowingly, for there wasn't a malicious thread in Hagrid's soul.

 

Instead, she gathered up her belongings  and folded the parchment back down to size and hid it beneath one of the larger rocks in Corra’s habitat. Soon enough her snake would awake, and Adelia would savour every moment of her company for she missed her solid presence around her wrist, around her neck as a scarf made of scales.

 

She couldn’t believe that Hagrid would do such a thing, wouldn’t believe it. Hagrid was good and kind…

 

She stared at the diary for a long moment, tried to shake off the feeling of something, for the ink, black as the night sky outside the windows, had stained her skin. But something deep within her, hidden in the protection of her mother’s sacrifice, the blessing of the Lord of the Eternal screamed at the abomination their chosen clutched. It would break free soon enough and then the real work would begin. The warning seemed to bleed through, or perhaps it was Adelia's own paranoia, for she wrapped the diary in the scarf Mrs Weasley had knitted for her Christmas.

 

Riddle might have believed that Hagrid had been guilty, his memories or whatever it was the diary held seemed to prove it, but memories were such fickle things. Such a shame, Adelia thought as she hid the diary under the end of her mattress, between fabric and wood, that Tom Riddle was dead, because for as little as she trusted him and his memories, he must have been a great wizard to preserve his memories at just sixteen.

 

She fell asleep that night with difficulty, fell asleep to the sound of Voldemort's high, cruel laughter, to the chime of her wand in her hand, and to the memories of that demented voice that plagued her mind. Yet, when she dreamt, she dreamt of the mirror, of her mother and father's face, of the crown of bones and roses that adorned her. She dreamt of a being draped in filigree shadows and his soft, melodic crooning.

 

I promise you, my chosen, the voice murmured, this taint will not touch you.

 

It was just too bad that when dawn broke, Adelia remembered nothing more that the sweet embrace of darkness and the sands of the realm eternal. 

Chapter 14: In the Shadow of Death

Summary:

Despite what Tom Riddle had shown her, Adelia didn't believe Hagrid could be guilty. Yet, why did the diary disappear the very next day? And what does it mean when Slytherin's creature attacks again, taking something that Adelia holds most dear?

Notes:

We're once again going off script here. I hope you enjoy.

No matter how many times Adelia repeated the happenings of the previous night to Ron and Hermione, never once did she mention what had happened after she’d been free of Riddle’s memories. They had no reason to ask her about it either, why would they when they were too busy arguing over Hagrid’s innocence and possible guilt?

 

Adelia, for the most part, was happy to let them argue amongst themselves because she was so very tired. The diary could do no harm to anybody where she’d left, and by the end of the day she’d have made up her mind about what to do with it.

 

Flaying the pages hadn’t done much, so she doubted an Incendio would do much to it either. She was so very tempted to take it with her on her broom and drop it into the Lake, or fly to the coast lest its wrongness infect the Giant Squid. She wanted to be away from it, and yet a very small part of her wanted to keep it close and never let it go.

 

“You know, if you ask me, this Riddle guy sounds like a great big snitch.” Ron huffed as they cut through the courtyard towards the greenhouses. “Why’d he have to go and dob Hagrid in it without proof anyway? Maybe it was a different monster.”

 

“Of course the existence of two monsters is more plausible.” Hermione scoffed. “A student died, Ron. Riddle was doing what he thought was right.”

 

“Sounds like Percy.” Ron muttered, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I just can’t believe that Hagrid could do something like this.”

 

“Maybe we should ask him?”

 

“Oh that would be a lovely conversation.” Ron shook his head, both amused and disbelieving. “Heya Hagrid, have you set anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?”

 

No, no that wouldn’t be the thing to do. As it were, nothing had happened since the day after the duelling club. Besides, Adelia didn’t believe that Hagrid, who was a half-giant, who so thoroughly detested Voldemort and everything he stood for, would subscribe to the notion of blood purity. 

 

No, the very idea was about as likely as Adelia going off to join the wraith wherever it was he was haunting now that he wasn’t stuck to the back of Quirrell’s head. Albania, Dumbledore had said. Voldemort was in Albania. As it were the only reason Adelia had ever been outside England was because Hogwarts was in Scotland. Though she did wonder why, if Dumbledore knew where Voldemort was, he didn't just so away with the foul creature who murdered innocent unicorns for a taste of immortality.

 

It truly was disgusting. The most natural thing in the world was to die, to run from it was foolish. Death claimed all things living, it was the natural order of things.

 

She didn’t say any of that of course, what would be the point? Instead she partnered with Neville in herbology and listened to his tangential ramblings about soil mixes and insects. Adelia was aware of Ron and Hermione glancing at her throughout the lesson, and indeed the ones that came after it, because they were concerned.

 

It seemed like an age since she’d heard them in the bathroom, brewing the Polyjuice Potion, and she had made an effort ever since then to contain her more melancholic moods, but the past few days had left her very soul tired. She hated how her own mood seemed to infect theirs, just like her problems seemed to always become their problems.

 

If gnawing guilt was the price of friendship, of family, Adelia wasn’t sure if she wanted it anymore.

 

She thought of Corra, still deep in brumation because Hogwarts’ stone held onto the cold of the Highland winter. For as little time as the snake had clung to around her neck like a scaled scarf, Adelia found herself missing her companion’s eternal presence.

 

“You okay?” Hermione asked once they left Transfiguration. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

 

“Just thinking.” Adelia shrugged. “We’ll have to pick our subjects soon, have you decided?”

 

Academic delight gleamed in Hermione’s tone as she spoke about the merits of each elective, through she didn’t seem pleased with the idea of Divination. That made Adelia think of the centaurs in the Forest, of their ominous warnings the year before.

 

Mars is bright tonight.

Pluto returns to us.

 

Even now, Adelia didn’t know what it meant. Back then she’d assumed it had something to do with Voldemort, with the Stone, but now she was beginning to think that maybe there was more to it.

 

There always seemed to be more.

 

They were heading up to the common room when something cold and dark slithered down Adelia’s spine. Ron and Hermione were going to do their homework while Adelia was only stopping to meet the Quidditch team and head down to the pitch to practice for the upcoming match.

 

She closed her eyes, and tried to, amidst the sea of whispers and ruckus of whatever had happened now, listen for the sibilant hoarseness of the voice that plagued her.

 

“Adelia.” It was Parvati, panicked and regretful. “We just came back and everything, all of your stuff-”

 

Corra.

 

Adelia didn’t need to push her way past anybody for they parted like the Red Sea as she raced up the stairs, Hermione behind her, Alicia, Katie and Angelina too. Their second year girls’ dormitory looked exactly like it did that morning, except for Adelia’s bed and her footlocker.

 

Her belongings were strewn about, pockets turned outward. It wasn’t a random act of vandalism, no, whoever had done it was looking for something but Adelia didn’t care.

 

All that mattered in that moment was Corra. If anything happened to her Adelia didn’t know what she would do. So she knelt at the end of her dishevelled bed, atop books and parchment, and reached into the den she’d built for her snake.

 

After a long, terrifying moment, Adelia sat back on her heels and her shoulders sagged as she exhaled.

 

She was fine. Still asleep. Her rocks were still warm, her soil and leaves damp. Corra was fine. That was all that mattered.

 

The journal. Her parchment. The books the Flamel’s gave her. The bloody diary.

 

Fuck.

 

“Adelia? How can we help?” Parvati was looking at her, eyes glancing between Adelia and the place they all knew where Corra slept. “She’s okay?”

 

“She’s fine. I just need a minute.”

 

“We’ll get McGonagall.” Angelina said. “And talk to Oliver.”

 

“No. No I still want to practice. I’ll go down to the pitch when I get this cleaned up.” Adelia shook her head. She needed them gone, needed to see what was missing. “Hermione, could you help me?”

 

Hermione nodded, immediately began to pick up Adelia’s robes. The girls left them then and Adelia went straight for the journal that nobody but her could read. Whatever the person was looking for, they discarded it, and everything else she was concerned about. The parchment was still there, tucked away an unobtrusive beneath Corra’s den.

 

Whoever had done this didn’t seem to disturb her at all. 

 

Finally, after a moment, Adelia finally checked the place she’d left Riddle’s diary. She cursed viciously, furious, and she was sure by the way Hermione’s face paled that it wasn’t just English she spoke in.

 

“Riddle’s diary is gone.”

 

“Oh. Oh that isn’t good.” Hermione fretted. “You know what this means, don’t you? It had to be a Gryffindor student- the password…”

 

“It had to be a girl too.” Adelia added. “Last Christmas, the twins made a game of coming up here so the stairs would turn into slides.”

 

“Oh this is horrible.” Hermione crossed the room, hugged Adelia. “Why’s it always you?”

 

Nobody knows how you survived that night

Maybe I wasn’t supposed to, maybe that’s why I’m cursed. You can’t cheat Death.

 

“No. No this is good.” Adelia shook her head, yet she still held onto her best friend. “It narrows down the list of who it could be.  It’s a girl in our house, or a teacher.”

 

Or a barmy house elf. No. Dobby wouldn’t have made such a mess.

 

“Go on, I’ll clean this up, you go and fly.” Hermione consoled. “Professor McGonagall will probably want to talk to you at dinner.”

 

“Did you forget we have magic?” Adelia teased and Hermione flushed.

 

Hermione, for all that she loved magic, did sometimes forget that she had it. Adelia didn't couldn't, not when she felt in in her blood and soul. The mess was righted in a moment, a gentle breeze that put everything back where it was supposed to be. The journal wasn’t the only useful thing she’d found in the magical junk shop, and she’d watched Mrs. Weasley enough over the Summer to get a grasp on the magic used for basic household chores.

 

“Ron’s right you know, you’re getting better at magic. It’s strange.” Hermione grinned, something she rarely did for she was self-conscious. "It's good though."

 

“Hermione Granger, are you saying I was bad at magic?” Adelia asked in mock affront.

 

“No.” Hermione shrieked, tutting like a disapproving mother. “But it’s just, it’s different. I know you practice when you can’t sleep, but even when you don’t, it never takes you more than twice to get a spell to work for you.”

 

“Says the best student in our year.” Adelia smiled. “I’m going to go down to the pitch now, I’ll see you at dinner.”

 

“Oh you won’t go alone, will you?”

 

“I’m sure somebody stayed around. They’re a bit protective.” Adelia huffed. “They’d find a way to Accio- Oh I’m an idiot. Accio Tom Riddle’s diary.”

 

Adelia waited a moment. Nothing happened. She sighed, of course the blasted thing probably had anti-summoning charms embedded in it. The Flaying Curse had done nothing more than made it ooze ink-blood, but Lockhart’s books had been well, flayed.

 

“Maybe you did it wrong? It’s a forth year spell.” Hermione consoled.

 

“Accio Nimbus 2000.” Adelia said drily, and she caught her broom when it flew into her hand. 

 

“All right, you made your point.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Your dad’s cloak?”

 

“It’s been in my pocket since the day after the duelling club. I don’t go anywhere without that or my wand.”

 

“I’d call it paranoia but with us, it’s preparedness.” Hermione nodded knowingly.

 

“Adelia? Are you ready? Percy said he’d bring you down to the pitch.” Lavender said, entering the dorm

 

Adelia nodded, and before she thought better of it, she plucked the books the Flamel’s had given her, the journal and the parchment and tucked them under her arm. Her room evidently wasn’t secure, wasn’t safe, and if the thief came back, if they decided to have another snoop around, they’d not be getting their hands on them.

 

Percy raised a brow when he saw her, but the amusement was a thin veneer for the concern was bright in his pale eyes if only you knew where to look. Adelia just shook her head and Percy’s curiosity won out in the end, even as he took the stack of books in hand with a huff.

 

They descended to the main entrance in near silence, and Adelia waited until they were past those great oak doors before she decided that while she  had broken one promise to the boy beside her, she couldn’t break another.

 

So, Adelia told him about the books in his arms, told him who had sent them to her. Percy only nodded, intrigued, and that interested twinkle was back. Adelia shook her head, applied a warming charm that never seemed to touch the tundra in her soul and promised him yes, yes, you can read them, obviously.

 

“I take it these books were not the reason your room was ransacked?” Percy questioned lightly.

 

“No. That would be the book they did take.” Adelia admitted, and Merlin only knew why she was so willing to tell Percy this, but some things weren’t meant to yet be explained. “I found it in Myrtle’s bathroom a few weeks ago. It was empty, from a muggle shop in London. It wasn’t until Malfoy attacked me that I realised there as something was strange about it.”

 

“Adelia.” Percy’s voice dragged out the vowel sounds of her name with reproach. “Strange how?”

 

“It was the only thing that wasn’t covered in ink, and it was dry when I found it in a puddle of water.” Adelia admitted. “And well, it had memories in it, about the last time the Chamber was opened. The owner, Tom Riddle, was a Slytherin Prefect back when it happened.”

 

“He got a special services award to the school.” Percy hummed, and when Adelia looked at him she regretted it because the skin by his eye was so positively jumping. It was instinct to step away from him, even though she knew that none of the Weasleys would ever harm her. Despite what most people assumed about Percy Weasley, he didn't have the emotional awareness of a flobberworm. “Those bloody muggles. Adelia, I’m not angry at you.”

“Doesn’t sound that way right now.” Adelia grumbled.

 

“Oh, I don’t deny that I’m angry, but it’s because of them that you still think, despite everything that you’ve been through since you arrived in Hogwarts, despite the friends you’ve made, that you still believe that you must suffer alone.” Percy said soothingly, his voice warm like rivers of molten stone. 

 

“It’s the only way I know how to suffer.” Adelia snapped, temper flaring but then she inhaled, held it, exhaled. It wasn't Percy's fault that she was out of sorts. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

 

“It was.” Percy acknowledged, but then he was frowning. “What exactly did this diary do?”

 

Adelia tried, to the best of her ability, to describe something she scarcely understood. The diary had been a window to the past, it held some semblance of sentience in the way that Riddle could answer and ask her questions. Percy looked flummoxed as they walked toward the pitch where the team was already in the air.

 

“That sounds… less than ideal.” Percy admitted. “A variation of the memory spell used for a Pensieve, perhaps, but it wouldn’t explain the sentience. Nothing good comes from a sentient inanimate object, you should have come to me last night.”

 

“I was going to give it to you tonight.” Adelia defended, grimacing after a moment before she continued; “But then somebody had to go and steal it, and it means only one thing.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“It had to be either a teacher or one of our housemates.”

 

“Yes. Yes, that is what it means.” Percy shook his head. “Let me guess, you think it’s Snape.”

 

“No, actually, I don’t. He’s happy to glare and pretend I don’t exist, and I’m happy to do the same.” Adelia clucked her tongue. “If it were anybody other than Lockhart, I’d say two for two on the Defence teachers working for Voldemort, but I don’t think even he’s that desperate that he’d use Lockhart.”

 

“Point.” Percy shook his head. “Leave it with me, and I’ll think of something to see if we can try and find it.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“You’re going to continue on as you are no matter what, I’d rather you didn’t do it alone.” Percy’s lips quirked as they were wont to do when he was amused but unwilling to show it. “Is that everything?”

 

Not quite…

 

“Could I ask you to do something else for me?”

 

“That depends on what it is.” Percy mused.

 

“Could you take Corra? It’s just, she can’t defend herself while she’s asleep, and obviously I can’t either, and you’re the only other person I’d trust with her, oh and the books.”

 

“I’ll take care of her until she wakes up.” Percy promised. “Now go on, I’ve got an essay to write.”

 

“Thank you, Percy. For everything.”

 

“Just try to keep yourself safe and if anything strange happens remember that you’re not alone.”

 

Not alone, what a strange thought for a girl whose only companionship had been the spiders in her cupboard and the insects of the garden. Yet it had all changed when Hagrid, sweet, gentle, foolish Hagrid had taken her away from the Dursley’s on the night of her eleventh birthday.

 

Look forward, Adelia. Look forward.

 

But so hard was that to do when all that before her was ruin.

 

**

 

In the following weeks there was no sign of the missing diary. Nearing Easter as it was, the students let out a sigh of relief, for it seemed the attacks had stopped. Adelia, Ron and Hermione had decided, that without the diary, and a lull in the attacks, that there was no need to question Hagrid.

 

Instead they spent their days doing homework, in practicing their spellwork and enjoying the sunshine that greeted them after months of perpetual grey skies. Adelia herself was busy with quidditch practice, with gleaming every bit of knowledge she could about the class choices.

 

There wasn’t exactly a handy guide on how to become Minister of an antiquated government and fix everything that was wrong with it, because Adelia knew the only way that could happen would be to burn it all down and build something new over the ashes.

 

The last person who thought that, was the madman who killed her parents, and the one before that had been Grindelwald who wanted to enslave all the muggles. Not exactly footsteps she shed to follow in, but oh how she wanted to make her vision a reality because at the end of the day, what did somebody’s status or lineage matter? 

 

Blood didn’t define worth, deeds did.

 

In the end, Adelia decided a conversation with her head of house was needed. She went to Professor McGonagall one afternoon after Transfiguration. It had been a theory lesson, and the parchment they’d been assigned to write was easy enough, especially after all of Adelia’s lessons with Percy and her own self-interest in the subject.

 

McGonagall had looked at Adelia, no doubt expecting a question three or four years ahead of the class’s level, and though she would never admit it, the woman was rather shocked that Adelia had come to ask for help.

 

McGonagall had heard nothing but good reports of her student from every class save Potions, but that was to be expected. The witch knew that Adelia was ahead of her peers in a different way that Ms. Granger was, for magic seemed to come to Adelia as easy as breathing and flying did, and the essays both McGonagall and indeed the other teachers got were often full of concepts they’d expect from their higher years.

 

The girl was, without a doubt, her mother’s daughter, her father’s daughter, and yet when McGonagall looked at her, it was neither James nor Lily she truly saw.

 

“Come along, Ms. Potter, into my office.” Was all McGonagall said. “Mr Weasley, Ms Granger, since the three of you seemed to form a singular entity, you may wait here and begin your assignment.”

 

Adelia smiled when Ron made a noise. It was true though, ever since the Troll incident of their first year, it was always the three of them, together as one. 

 

McGonagall’s office was warm, that was the first thing Adelia noticed. Warm like cinnabar, the air scented with hibiscus and homely. Adelia waited until McGonagall waved her off, and poured a cup of tea and when Adelia nodded, she poured a second one.

 

Adelia took it in her hands with murmured thanks and took a drink. It fruity, orange and spice warming that infernal ice of her blood. Oh how nice it was.

 

“Usually this isn’t a conversation we’d have until fifth year, Ms Potter.” The Professor began. “But it doesn’t surprise me that you’d want to get all your ducks in a row now.”

 

“It’s possible to take all subjects, isn’t it, Professor?”

 

“It is. Usually it isn’t recommended because it can be intense, but for a witch of your caliber, I suspect you’d find the challenge fun.” McGonagall quipped. “Your professors speak highly of you, I believe if anybody can rise to the challenge it will be you."

 

“If I did take all of them, Professor, what would the time-table look like? If there's five electives and seven core subjects there just doesn't seem to be class time in the day."

 

"Well, as it stands Ms Potter, you are muggle-raised. Professor Burbage is quite accommodating in that regard." McGonagall's explanation had Adelia's head bobbing in understanding. "I am also the person responsible for timetabling, and I assure you, it has been done before and it will be done again. Of course, there is another option which you might avail yourself of. Though, Ms Potter, aware as I am for your aptitude to both theory and practical work, I must ask why you seek to burden yourself with such a heavy load. Most students only take three, and it may not seem like it, but those two additional subjects make a difference."

 

"Why shouldn't I at least try, Professor? It might seem silly, but in muggle-school, I was always average, neither too good or too bad, because that was the only way to keep the peace with my guardians." McGonagall's lips twitched in displeasure at the mention of the Dursleys and Adelia had to bite back her humour. "I know i have the potential to at least try it."

 

"You wish to challenge yourself." McGonagall nodded. "Yes. This will surely be a challenge. Twelve subjects and you position on the Quidditch team which I know you won't give you, it may prove too much. What will you do then?"

 

"Accept that I tried and it didn't work." Adelia said easily, sipping at her tea for a moment. "If it works then I've more career opportunities. I want to be more than the Girl Who Lived, Professor, and with twelve OWLS there's more options until I decide what I want to do after Hogwarts. I know it isn't going to be easy, but the things worth doing rarely are."

 

After Hogwarts as though Adelia could even conceive such a thing. The life she remembered was split into two parts; Before Hogwarts and Hogwarts. Oh she knew what her end-goal was, but there were so many different ways to see them come to fruition.  McGonagall only stared upon Adelia’s face, but unlike others, her all-seeing eyes did not flick to the scar upon Adelia’s forehead. The girl waited with bated breath. Percy had told her that the only way to get to do all subjects was for her head of house to sign off on it. She just hoped that McGonagall would agree.

 

"You said there was another option." Adelia reminded.

 

"It's not one I'd recommend, and perhaps it's one I shouldn't even be suggesting, but I feel as though it's the option you'll choose." McGonagall admitted, drinking her tea to allow herself to take the time to gather herself. "The Ministry is responsible for overseeing the OWL and NEWT examinations. We give them a list and the exams are done. None of the coursework done is taken into consideration, only the results of those final exams."

 

"So I could learn them on my own time and still be able to take the exams." Adelia understood, food for thought. "Thank you, Professor."

 

"You're most welcome, Ms Potter. I assume you'll choose the rarely trodden path?" 

 

Adelia nodded, sipped at her tea as her Head of House sipped at hers. The professor hadn’t dismissed her outright, and Adelia took comfort in the fact that the silence meant that McGonagall was at least thinking about it. Yet, the minutes ticked by, and that starburst of hope in her chest was slowly consumed by the void, silken darkness caressing and cold.

 

Why Adelia thought it was malevolent she didn’t know, for it was the peace of night and solitude.

 

“I will agree to it.” McGonagall decided. “On the condition that you have check-ins myself every month. You will essentially be teaching yourself the material, Ms Potter, it wouldn't bode well if you were teaching yourself incorrectly. I'm sure you'll find assistance in your teammates, since between them they take every elective.”

 

“Professor?”

 

You have no idea who you resemble, do you? No, how could you for your family was stolen, taken away by the vilest creature to have ever walked the earth. But I knew her, counted her amongst my friends, and I see that tenacity, that drive, that will, in you. I have every bit of faith that you will succeed because I don't think you know how to fail.

 

“It is standard practice in cases such as this. I will, of course, reserve the right to make you cut classes should it prove too much.” McGonagall warned gently. “Are these terms acceptable?”

 

“Of course.” Adelia nodded. “Thank you, Professor. I won’t let you down. It'd probably be best to do Divination and Care of Magical Creature's wouldn't it? They have a more practical application than the others.”

 

"Indeed." McGonagall smiled, thinking of the conversation she'd need to have with the Headmaster. “For now, just focus on the sunshine and the match against Hufflepuff.” McGonagall huffed, amused, but then she turned serious. “There have been no further incidents?”

 

“None at all.” Adelia shook her head. “I just don’t understand why somebody would do all that and take nothing. I mean, I know they thought I was the Heir, I know, but…”

 

“We will continue to search for who may have done such a thing, and rest assured that when they are found, they will suffer the consequences of such a mindless act of vandalism.” McGonagall promised, and then she took a deep breath. “However, Ms Potter, there is another thing I have been meaning to speak to you about.”

 

Adelia tilted her head to the side, curious and inquisitive. “Professor McGonagall?”

 

“Last year.” The older woman began. “Last year I was remiss in my duties. When you came to me that day, I should have heeded you, Ms Potter, and no words spoken can ever truly express how sorry I am. You should know that no matter what, I am here to help you, to guide you and indeed, to guard you.”

 

Something Minerva had failed in last year. Hers was a duty to the school she loved and to the children who called it home, and yet she had allowed her own fear to blind her, had buried her own head in the twisted facsimile of peace. Minerva had fallen victim to the illusion that all was well, but now she knew better.

 

Now she would do better.

 

"It's okay Professor. If I was in your position I probably wouldn't have believed me either." Adelia admitted.

 

"Be that as it may, my door is always open."

 

So, once her tea was finished, and really, why couldn’t it be served at breakfast, Adelia joined Ron and Hermione. Together the three of them went to a quiet corner of the library, content on doing their work, though occasionally Adelia would look wistfully out the window. Hermione, for some reason, was nervous, thinking that McGonagall would deny her request but Adelia didn't think that would happen. If Adelia was allowed to try it, Hermione would definitely be allowed to do it.

 

Her gaze flicked from the window back to her potion's essay. Soon, Corra would wake up. Soon, the year at Hogwarts would be over and Adelia didn’t know what the Summer would hold. There was no possible way for her to stay in Hogwarts, even without the attacks. No, somehow she’d just have to endure a few weeks of the Dursleys’ pretending she didn’t exist until she could get out.

 

Hermione had promised that her parents would be all right with Adelia staying with them. Ron had done the same, and Fred and George had promised to kidnap her again if it came down to it.

 

But Adelia knew that while most of last summer hadn’t been particularly horrible, Vernon had been hurt. Corra had bitten him to protect Adelia, if the Dursleys found her…

 

No. Adelia wouldn’t let anything happen to her snake. Just like she wouldn’t let anything happen to her friends. They were hers, anybody or anything that wanted to hurt them would have to get through Adelia to do it.

 

Yet, before exams and the looming Summer could matter overmuch, there was still the match against Hufflepuff to win. They would win, Adelia knew that, didn’t want to think about what Oliver would feel if they didn’t. Adelia had promised herself that the captain would lift the trophy before he graduated, and Adelia didn’t break her promises, especially ones sworn to herself.

 

That was probably why she threw herself into the training as the match loomed closer. She had always enjoyed the way it left her bones weary and her muscles aching, but with the rain a thing of the past and the air crisp with the warmth and bloom of spring, there was nowhere else she preferred to be than in the skies.

 

Then the morning before the match, Adelia sipped at hibiscus tea while Oliver delighted in the weather. Adelia didn’t get nervous before matches, never really found herself to be an anxious person, or if she had, she’d trained it out of herself because Dudley was like a bloodhound when it came to weakness.

 

Still, there was an inescapable thing in her heart as it beat out of rhythm. There was no sign of that rasping voice, nor was there the blinding pain of Voldemort’s presence (and that was just another thing she didn’t understand) but there was something.

 

Perhaps it was the cresting waves of paranoia, knowing that one of the girls at the table she sat at, was the one to steal Riddle’s diary. Perhaps it could have been found if Adelia had ever told anybody other than Percy that the book had been taken, but she hadn’t and so it wasn’t.

 

The only reason she had done that was because thoughts of Tom Riddle made her throat burn. He’d told Adelia of Hagrid’s supposed guilt without even knowing who she was, so quick was he to share his memories. Despite the single time she had seen him, spoken to him, Tom Riddle didn’t strike Adelia as the type to be helpful for the sake of it.

 

No, they were too similar that way.

 

“Perfect flying weather.” Oliver grinned. “Do you have your anti-glare charms on your glasses, Adelia? Not a lot of clouds, but quite a bit of sun. Don’t want you to be blinded.”

 

“I’ve already done it, Oliver.” Katie huffed. “You’re higher than a fifth year on Giggleweed, you know that, yeah?”

 

“As crazy as one too.” Fred joined. “It’s just the Badgers; you’ve got the plan, Oliver, now it's time for us to put it into action.”

 

“Provided there are no rogue bludgers.” George added.

 

“Or possessed Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers jinxing brooms.” Angelina reminded.

 

“And most certainly no jumping off brooms.” Katie finished, and six pairs of eyes fell to Adelia, who gave them an angelic smile that had them snorting.

 

“Well, you can always just petrify them if they get too close.” Oliver mused. “Or break their noses.”

 

“I keep telling you all, I didn’t do anything.”

 

There was a disbelieving hum. Nobody could prove that Adelia had been the reason Malfoy’s broom had whacked him in the face at the start of the year, nor could they prove it was Adelia that made him walk into the wall outside of Charms. Adelia herself didn’t even believe she’d been the one to do it, and if she did, it wasn’t done knowingly.

 

Then, once breakfast was finished, Adelia was on her way back to dorm to change into her quidditch robes. Ron was chatting animatedly beside her, and his joy should haven been infectious like it usually was.

 

Pain… so hungry… Kill… must kill for Master… Must protect... Danger...

 

Adelia stopped, stone cold to her very core. The tundra welcomed the turbulent flurry of fear, her own and something else’s. She pressed herself against the wall and hissed a garbled sound of pain and Parseltongue.

 

“What is it?” Ron questioned, his hand on her shoulder, warmth suffusing his touch. “Adelia?”

 

“It’s back.” Adelia murmured. “It’s back. The voice. It’s… something isn’t right.”

 

“I’ll bloody well say.” Ron scoffed. “You’re bleeding. C’mon, forget the match…”

 

“Are you mental? Oliver will kill me.” Adelia grumbled, wiping the blood from her nose as the pressure in her mind finally shattered with a screech. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Hermione, where are you going? Hermione.”

 

“Library.” Hermione yelled back and she was already at the end of the corridor, barely spared them a glance. “Go on without me.”

 

Adelia and Ron shared a flummoxed look. Even now, Hermione was an enigma when it came to how her mind worked, all three of them so different yet so similar. Adelia ached to follow her, to be with her, because if the voice was back…

 

Adelia tipped her head against the stones. “Please, let her be alright. Let them all be alright. If you can hear me, if you’re real, if I’m not mental, I’m sorry you’re hurting but what have we ever done to you?”

 

No kill?

 

No. Just stop. Please. Just stop. I'll give you what you want, just please stop hurting the students. I will hunt for you, guard you, befriend you.

 

“Adelia, Adelia snap out of it.” Ron was staring at her, wide-eyed and terrified.

 

“What happened?”

 

“It’s nearly eleven… You’ve just been there, frozen, hissing to yourself. Adelia, you need to go to the hospital wing.” Ron urged. “It’s getting worse. You’re not sleeping. You’re doing too much magic. You need to rest.”

 

“Magic?” Adelia blinked.

 

Oh. Her robes and her broom were suspended in the air in front of them, shimmering in a pearlescent field. Adelia had never seen anything like it before. She shook her head, took a deep, calming breath and straightened herself, her shoulders squared and toes curled in her shoes. 

 

Ron could only watch on in concern as Adelia tapped her wand against her hair, as the loose brain it was it reformed, tightened to her scalp like a crown. Usually he would be in awe of such an easy display of magic, but all he felt now was worry, Adelia’s lost the starlight glow she’d had in the Burrow, weighed down by expectations and the looks the students had for her.

 

But she was still Adelia, still Ron’s first and best friend. She took on too much, thought everything was her responsibility when in truth so little of it was. She should have been jittery with the thoughts of a quidditch match, not haunted and paranoid like she was now, like she always had been in truth.

 

Despite everything they’d gone through together, this year and last year, Adelia still tried to keep them wrapped in a protective bubble, and was always ready to defend them all in whatever way she could.

 

Ron, so young, so sheltered as he was, raised in love and light and warmth, did not understand why Adelia wouldn’t let herself be protected too. He wished he could make her understand that she was loved, that there were people who cared about her not because of her name or the title she bore.

 

But because she was Adelia.

 

Adelia, who despite her own suffering raced down to the quidditch pitch, weaved in and out of the throngs of students making their way toward the spectacle. Oliver had been right, she realised once she had broken away from Ron to get changed and join the team, it was excellent quidditch weather.

 

The Hufflepuff team were already gathered, and Madam Hooch was waiting between them. Twin lines of canary yellow and carmine formed on either side. That slow, sinking feeling in Adelia rose like a rising crescendo, waiting for the perfect moment to come crashing down.

 

It came in the form of Minerva McGonagall, perhaps for the first time since the war, harried. She pointed her wand to her throat and spoke the words that shattered Adelia's heart.

 

“The match has been cancelled. Please, go back to your common rooms and don’t tarry, your heads of house will speak to you then.”

 

“Professor, you can’t cancel quidditch. You can’t. The Cup.”

 

“Silence, Wood.” McGonagall said sharply. “Ms. Potter come with me please.”

 

Then, Adelia said perhaps the worst thing that one could say in circumstances such as these. “There’s been another attack, hasn’t there?”

 

It suddenly seemed as though Oliver Wood no longer cared about quidditch before he was in front of Adelia in a split second. Twin hands were placed on Adelia’s shoulders, and she wondered if they could feel the way her nerves seemed to tremble beneath her flesh.

 

“Ms Potter. Please, come with me.” McGonagall was looking at her with such unabashed sadness that Adelia was sure if she flicked her tongue out she could taste it in the air.

 

As it was, the entire atmosphere was already stifling.

 

“Why do you want to take her?” George demanded. “She’s been here, with us.”

 

“Mr Weasley I am not accusing Ms Potter of anything.” McGonagall replied waspishly. “While I admire your protection of Ms Potter, you do not need to protect her from me. This is a matter for her and indeed young Mr Weasley here.”

 

Ron, who had joined them sometime, Adelia wasn’t sure when, seemed taken aback at being addressed. It was then Adelia knew , so deep in her bones, who the victim was. She was sure that she would have stumbled when her knees weakened had to not been for Fred and George, Katie and Alicia, all of whom reached out to grab her. Angelina and Oliver shared twin looks of unabashed horror when Adelia croaked out a single word.

 

“Hermione.”

“No.” Ron breathed, aghast. “We just saw her. She was going to the library. She was fine.”

 

“We’ll follow you to the hospital wing, Professor.” Angelina, the voice of reason, said. “We’ll wait outside. But we can’t leave them alone, not like this.”

 

It went to show the true gravity of the situation, for McGonagall didn’t try and argue. Instead she led her students to the hospital wing, and the Quidditch team stayed true to their word, for they waited just beyond where the curtains had been drawn around two more beds.

 

“Prepare yourselves.” McGonagall said gently, a hand on each of their shoulders.

 

Adelia reached out, took Ron’s hand in hers because she needed to feel something. But Ron’s cinnamon touch did not warm her like it usually did, instead the shadows and ice of her own soul seemed to reach out and ensconce that flickering thread of brilliant flame, kept it safe, protected it.

 

McGonagall pulled back the curtain. Hermione was there, stock still and frozen. Adelia was only grateful that her visage wasn’t twisted into one of fear and horror. Her eyes were wide open and glassy.

 

Her mother’s had been like that too in her dreams.

 

Adelia’s hand trembled as she reached out, her fingers hovering over Hermione’s ice-cold skin.

 

Then, outside, she heard Oliver’s pained ‘Oh Penelope.’

 

“It was a double attack.” McGonagall explained. “The sixth year Ravenclaw prefect Ms Clearwater, and Ms Granger here.”

 

“Hermione.” Ron whimpered.

 

“You were correct, Mr Weasley, they were found by the library.” McGonagall said after a moment, but she was holding up a small pocket mirror. “Does this mean anything to either of you? We found it near them.”

 

But Adelia was still staring at Hermione. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her. Adelia should have followed her, should have done something. And because she didn’t, Hermione was paying the price.

 

The voice had wanted to kill, but Hermione was still alive, there was comfort in that.

 

“Ms Potter? How did you know there had been another attack?” McGonagall probed gently.

 

“I’ve never seen you look scared before, Professor.” Adelia admitted once she finally tore her gaze away from her frozen friend.

 

McGonagall nodded, seemed to accept it for it was partly the truth, but Adelia had long ago learned that the best lies were those blended with truth. Their head bought them back to the common room, and the sea of confusion morphed into fear when they realised that indeed, one of their number was missing.

 

Adelia pressed herself to the wall numbly, sure she was only anchored to the mortal realm because of Ron’s hold on her. She was glad that the ice of her soul was there to soothe her, its biting cold better than the nothingness it had chased away. She listened as McGonagall spoke, as she listed off the new school rules.

 

Nobody said anything. What could they say?

 

“I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught.” McGonagall said gravely. “I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything to come forward.”

 

It was only then Adelia looked up from the floor, and like a moth drawn to a flame, she met Percy’s cold, furious gaze. He had an arm wrapped around Ginny who was so terribly pale, shaking, her eyes red, but a single slow blink told Adelia everything she needed to know.

 

Stay quiet.

 

What was the point of speaking out anyway? What proof did she have other than the fact she could allegedly hear the voice of Slytherin’s monster just before it struck? It meant nothing. Coincidence.

 

Adelia hated coincidence.

 

McGonagall left them then, though not before she cast one final look over the students. Adelia had never seen the old woman so distressed before, never seen her so sad. She was sure she even caught sight of the sheen of tears in her Professor’s eyes, but it could have been a trick of the light.

 

It wasn’t.

 

“Three down from Gryffindor if you include Nick.” Lee Jordan began, the dark coils of his hair moving as he did so. “A Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. Have the teachers maybe asked why the Slytherins are completely safe?”

 

“Elia?” Ron murmured, lost to the din that nobody was going to quell. “Do you think it’s-”

 

“Yes.” Her returned whisper was sharp, curling and sibilant. “Tonight.”

Chapter 15: Dumbledore's Dismissal

Summary:

Adelia and Ron seek Hagrid's version of events following Hermione's petrification, and it's there that Adelia gets her first taste of the Wizarding World's idea of justice. Finally, after a long sleep, an old friend awakens.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy

The balmy sun of Saturday’s afternoon gave way to a bright, clear night. Stars burned in the distant darkness, silver and ephemeral and almost blinking as Adelia looked at them from the grey windows of the common room as she waited for Ron to join her.

 

She only hoped he hadn’t fallen asleep. She’d go alone if she had to but that didn’t mean she wanted to. All the while, as she waited, Adelia kept an ear out for the voice but so far there had been silence. She was gladdened by that, tapping her pointer finger on the smooth, polished wood of her wand as the moments ticked by.

 

Ron finally appeared. He was tired, that much was clear, and Adelia couldn’t begrudge him for being a few minutes late. It was already after midnight, everybody should have been tucked up safely in bed, but the night was where Adelia prospered, where she had the most energy.

 

And besides, it wasn’t like they’d be able to get to Hagrid during the day, not with the new school rules.

 

The pair of them, twined in silencing charms that Adelia had learned last year, ones that cushioned the sounds of the footfalls and their breathing, walked arm in arm, the cloak draped over both of them, trailing along the ground.

 

It was warm beneath it, the air moist, but such discomfort because it paled into comparison to Hermione’s absence. Only a few hours had it been, and yet it was the knowledge that their friend was cold and alone that made her absence so much worse.

 

Adelia was glad for the extra protections cast because the castle was positively teaming with people. Prefects and teachers and ghosts walked in pairs of two and three, scouring every inch of the castle for what might very well be Hogwarts’ ruin. Their escape took them longer than they thought it would.

 

Then it was so very nearly blown right at the end with nobody other than Snape because Ron stubbed his toe, bit his mouth harshly to contain the noise. Snape, even if Adelia hated him, was a perceptive man. He had been the only one to suspect Quirrell of being Voldemort’s agent after all. He would surely find them and then there’d be no reason to fear the school being closed because they’d both be expelled…

 

Snape sneezed. 

 

Fortune, Fate and Luck, thank you , Adelia thought as they finally slipped free of the castle. They didn’t dare take the cloak off them just yet, aware that anybody or anything could be searching the grounds, but there was a slight crack on the overlapping seams that brought them fresh, cool air.

 

The pair stopped right in front of Hagrid’s door. Adelia, never one for indecision, and currently lacking other than a need to know what Hagrid knew, knocked on the door three times while Ron took the cloak.

 

Hagrid opened the door, an armed cross-bow primed and pointed at Ron. Once he realised who it was, he quickly left it down and hurried them inside.

 

“You two shouldn’ be out. It’s not safe.” Hagrid groused, his concern for them evident. 

 

“Do you think a crossbow’s going to do much if Slytherin’s Monster comes, Hagrid?” Ron tried for levity and fell very short of it.

 

“Nah, not that. Just bin expectin’ folk, is all.” Hagrid shook his head. “You two alrigh’?”

 

He set about making tea for them all, but his giant frame was rattling with nerves. He kept glancing outside, toward the castle. Adelia realised why. He still bore the blame of the previous events in some way, and now that the Ministry was alerted (or perhaps they’d been alerted at the very beginning and chose to do nothing which wouldn’t be a surprise.)

 

“Hagrid. We know you had nothing to do with this.” Adelia began. “You might have been blamed back then, but anybody who knows you knows you would never hurt anybody, especially a Hogwarts student.”

“Yeh know about that, do yeh? How-” Hagrid said, grizzled and then he dropped his cake. “Hide. Now.”

 

The cloak was thrown over the pair of them before they could even breath. Ron and Adelia moved away from where they were standing, closer to the furthest window from the door as somebody knocked at it. Dumbledore looked so very old in that moment, his age showing in his tight smile and dimming eyes.

 

Adelia understood why when she saw who was accompanying the Hogwarts headmaster. Fudge was as weak-chined and badly dressed as he was in the wizarding photographs Adelia had seen of him over the past two years. He seemed a coward too, since he refused to look at Hagrid, whose bushy beard was trembling.

 

Hagrid fell into the chair with a groan. 

 

“This is dreadful business man.” Fudge began, shaking his head. “Four attacks on Muggleborns. Enough is enough. The Ministry has to act.”

 

So four muggleborns was one too many over the limit? Adelia thought scathingly, cursing the Government and their ingrained prejudices. It should have ended with Mrs Norris for Merlin’s sake.

 

“I never-” Hagrid tried to defend himself, his voice shaking. He was terrified, Ron and Adelia realised as one. “I didn’t-”

 

“As I’ve said, Cornelius, Hagrid has my full confidence.” Dumbledore said. “I want that on record.”

 

They’ve come to take him away. You have no proof. 

 

“Look, Albus.” Fudge was sweating, looking so very uncomfortable beneath Dumbledore’s stare. “His record alone… it’s not a good look.”

 

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest.”

 

Dumbledore was angry, so very angry. The tiredness in his eyes had been replaced by twin blue flames, like the ones Hermione adored. Yes, old he might have been, but this was the man who stared down Grindelwald and won.

 

But that was one man against one man, no, one man against an idiotic government.

 

“Look at it from my point of view.” Fudge reasoned, worrying at his hat, his voice an octave higher than it had been. “I have to be seen to be doing something, Albus. I have to take him.”

 

“Take me? Take me where?” Hagrid demanded.

 

“It’s just a precaution, Hagrid.” Fudge tried to placate. “A cell on the lower levels, and if somebody else is caught, everything will go back to how it was.”

 

“Not Azkaban.” Hagrid whispered, aghast.

 

Azkaban Prison. A place guarded by foul, soul-gorging monsters. A place that convicted Death Eaters called home. It was that very same prison where the man who had betrayed her father resided, suffering for all he’d done…

 

But Hagrid didn’t do anything. They had no proof, less proof then even Adelia did. Was that the wizarding world’s idea of justice? To just, decide who was guilty to be seen to be doing something? 

 

There was another knock at the door. Adelia looked from Ron to Hagrid and to Dumbledore who was staring at the door. A head of shocking platinum hair walked in draped in fine clothing, his expression disdainful as he sniffed haughtily.

 

Oh great, now Malfoy’s dad was here. That was all they needed.

 

“Ah good, you’re here Dumbledore. Cornelius.” Malfoy intoned. 

 

“What’re you doing here? Get out of my house.” Hagrid thundered.

 

“Believe me,  I have even less of a wish to my being here than you do. Yet, as it stands, I am here on behalf of the Board of Governors, and this place … is still school property.” Derision dripped from Malfoy’s venomous tongue. “I simply asked where Dumbledore was and so here I am.”

 

“And what need would you have of me, Lucius?” Dumbledore inquired.

 

“Terrible thing, Dumbledore,” Malfoy smirked lazily, took out a long roll of parchment, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension — you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”

 

You’d probably like that you bigoted git, Ron mouthed, face locked in fury. Adelia could only agree.

 

 “Oh, now, see here, Lucius.” Fudge looked truly alarmed now. It was clear he wasn’t a part of this. “Dumbledore suspended. Absolutely not. No. That’s the last thing we want just now.”

 

“The appointment — or suspension — of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks… Perhaps you would feel differently if you had children attending the school.”

 

 “See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them, who can?”

 

“That remains to be seen.” Malfoy shrugged an elegant shoulder. “But you will find twelve signatures on this parchment which declares that for the moment, Dumbledore i no longer headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

 

“And ‘ow many of them did you ‘ave to buy an’ blackmail, Malfoy?” Hagrid growled.

 

“Such a temper.” Malfoy huffed chidingly. “Be sure not to lose control of yourself in front of Azkaban’s guards, they don’t take threats too well.”

 

“You’d know.” Ron whispered scathingly, only silencing when Adelia glared at him.

 

If they were found now they’d probably end up in Azkaban too.

 

“If you take Dumbledore there’ll be killin’s next.” 

 

“Hagrid.” Dumbledore didn’t need to raise his voice in order to garner the attention of all in the room. “Very well, Lucius, if the governors demand my removal, who am I to stop them? But know this, I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

 

He said that to neither the Minister nor the smirking Malfoy, or even the distressed Hagrid. No, he said it to Adelia and Ron, so still that they dared not to even breathe. He’d said those words to them before, back when he had brought them to Hogwarts because Dobby had done something to the platform.

 

He knew they were there. Of course he did. And judging by the heaviness of his sorrow-filled gaze before he looked away, he knew they would do what he could not: protect Hogwarts and her students.

 

Dumbledore just hated the fact that he had to burden them with this.

 

“Come along then, Hagrid.” Fudge said.

 

“Jus’ a moment.” Hagrid’s eyes glanced to them and then to Fang who was keeing in the corner. “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’. Oh, and somebody’ll need to feed Fang while I’m gone.”

 

Fudge only stared as Hagrid put on his massive coat and then they were gone. Adelia and Ron waited, glanced out the window until they could see nothing but their shadowy presence near the courtyard, and freed themselves from the cloak’s stifling, damp warmth.

 

For a moment, there was nothing. Hagrid was gone . Dumbledore was gone. Fang let out a mournful sniffle and he padded over to them, licked his saliva dripping maw and stared up at them.

 

“There’ll be an attack a day now.” Ron whispered, horrified, his hand absentmindedly petting Fang’s head. “And follow the spiders. What sort of warning is that?”

 

“There won’t be an attack a day.” Adelia shook her head, secure in her conviction “Whatever’s doing this, it can’t attack too often. I mean, there were weeks and then months between attacks, and it wasn’t because whoever was doing it was afraid of Dumbledore.”

 

“There were spiders near where we found Mrs Norris, remember? In Myrtle’s bathroom. They were acting kinda funny.” Ron said, shivering. “And you keep hearing the voice before it attacks, so maybe we can get some warning. But the school’s going to be in a tizzy.”

 

“We need to find the spiders then, follow them to wherever they lead.” Adelia nodded. “But for now, we’ve to get back to the dorms, and then tomorrow, we need help.”

 

“Who’s gonna help us?” Ron asked, sucking in a lungful of night air before they went back under the cloak. “Who’s going to believe us? Dumbledore’s gone.”

 

“You’re not going to like the answer.” Adelia admitted quietly.

 

“Percy.” Ron nodded, then huffed. “You don’t think he’ll run straight to McGonagall?”

 

“He didn’t when we used the Polyjuice. Or when I told him about the diary.” Adelia clucked her tongue. “Or when I gave him the parchment, like the one I made last year.”

 

“When did that happen?” 

 

“After Justin, when he brought me to Dumbledore’s office. He told me everything or nothing , and honestly, Ron, we’re so far past nothing… Besides, Percy is the only person other than you or Hermione I’d trust in case the spiders lead us to wherever the hell is behind this.”

 

“And if it does?” Ron questioned.

 

“Then we kill it.” Adelia said plainly, simply, easily. 

 

Ron nodded resolutely. He’d follow Adelia anywhere, and if she trusted Percy to help them, well Ron would too. It was amazing how different yet similar they were, and Ron remembered his dad’s warnings from the Summer:

 

Percy hides his hurts, so he doesn’t hurt us. Foolish boy, I wish he didn’t.

 

Adelia did the same thing, too, Ron knew. She had done last year, and this year, and probably would until the stars themselves died, only to continue on in the darkness. Perhaps Ron should have worried about the things Adelia would do to keep them safe, but how could he when at the end of the day it was Adelia?

 

The girl who ate his dry, corned beef sandwich so she could give Ron some sweets. Adelia who listened to everything Ron had to say about Quidditch, who loved the burrow as much as the people who called it home did. Adelia who, at the end of the day, was so very kind even if she didn’t think that of herself.

 

Ron blamed those bloody Muggles.

 

“G’night.” Adelia whispered as Ron slipped into his dorm.

 

He returned the sentiment quietly, and then Adelia retreated to her own bed. She was too wired to sleep, even as the events of the day weighed heavily upon her shoulders. She glanced at the empty bed, and then at her own before she quickly changed into her pajamas.

 

Sleep evaded her until the middle of the night, and so she filled those hours with a weakened lumos and her Astronomy essay and the translated notes from the Parselongue journal she’d found. At least that one, for all it was full of the macabre and dark, never made her feel on edge like Riddle’s dairy.

 

I can show you, if you’d like, Adelia?

 

She’d never written her name. How the hell had Riddle known her name?

 

That was the question Adelia pondered as she read over the words written in a pale, powder blue notebook embossed with golden designs on the front and back. She’d asked the twins to get it for her with some of the money she had kept. She was planning on gifting it to Percy for his birthday, complete with the Gemini-duplcated pictures.

 

She randomly flicked through it and her eye caught a single, curling paragraph.

 

Will, after all, is a wizard’s greatest power.

 

It is why even our Lady of Blessed Death would never strike at us should we overmatch the will of another speaker.

 

Will, after all, is a wizard’s greatest power.

 

She wondered what exactly that meant. Would a snake never attack her? The asp Malfoy had conjured, confused and angry as it was, had only looked at Adelia. Had it known she was a snake-speaker? Was there just something about her that made snakes aware of her preternatural ability?

 

There was only one way to find out, but she alone couldn’t do it alone. No, as the one who summoned it, the snake would be made of her will, and so it wouldn’t attack her. She’d ask somebody else to try, though there was really only one option since Ron’s wand was liable to conjure a flesh-eating gorgon rather than a snake.

 

Adelia really hoped it could be fixed. It would never have been broken if Dobby hadn’t tried to save her life. Ron loved his wand like all wizards did, but it was made all the more special to him because it had been his uncle’s, because it had been Charlie’s…

 

Mrs Weasley had apparently had a conniption, but was so very proud. That sounded like the Mrs Weasley Adelia had known over the Summer. It had been the older witch who had smiled and reminded Adelia that Parseltongue was a venerated gift of the healers, who had taken Adelia and taught her how to braid her hair without magic.

 

Adelia loved all of the Weasleys, even those she hadn’t met, and no longer did jealousy spike in her when she saw Fred and George teasing Ron and Ginny, nor when Percy seemed to mother the four of them worse than their mother actually did.

 

Yet Adelia couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like if her parents had survived. Would she have had younger brothers and sisters? Would they have grown up in a home suffused with magic and love?

 

She didn’t know. She would never know because of one man, two men, for Sirius Black, the betrayer, held his fair share of blame too. He was rotting in Azkaban, the very same place Hagrid probably was now.

 

Adelia sighed, tipped her head back against the pillow and forced herself to close her eyes, grateful that she didn’t dream because her mind was capable of both great beauty and great cruelty.

 

**

 

Sunday seemed to pass in a daze as word spread that Dumbledore was gone, and neither Ron or Adelia could find Percy. In fact, all of the prefects and even the Head Girl, were gone, no doubt in some meeting or another. As it was, students were confined to their dormitories until breakfast on Monday, save only for meals.

 

They decided to ambush him at dinner, because Percy was always more agreeable when he’d been fed. If Adelia was being honest, all of the Weasleys were, and she put it down to Mrs Weasley’s delicious cooking, since it really was the best thing Adelia had ever tasted.

 

They waited near the back of the pack where Percy was strolling behind, almost carelessly, but anybody who knew him knew he was taking everything in. Ron knocked his shoulder against Adelia’s, nodded at his brother, and then the three of them seemed to slow down.

 

“What have you done this time?” Percy asked, long-suffering and tired. “Please don’t tell me you heard the voice again.”

 

“No.” Adelia shook her head. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it has enough power to attack the students in rapid succession. No. We want your help. Everything or nothing.”

 

“I think we’re far past nothing, Adelia.” Percy huffed. “What is it?”

 

So, together, Ron and Adelia told Percy about the night before. His eye twitched as it was wont to do when he was annoyed, and he leveled the pair of them with a sharp, quelling look.

 

“No more nighttime escapades, do you understand? Merlin, if you’d been found there…”

 

“We weren’t.” Ron shrugged. “And you really should tell dad to look in the Malfoy’s drawing room. That’s where they keep the dodgy stuff.”

 

“Noted.” Percy said dryly. “I believe you when you say you believe in Hagrid’s innocence, but what good are spiders in the face of petrification?”

 

“We won’t know that until we follow them.” Adelia admitted. “And well, just in case it is a lunatic dark wizard with Voldemort attached to them, three is better than two.”

 

“Especially since my wand is all wonky.” Ron flushed. “Not much good, me.”

 

“Say that again and I’ll hex you.” Adelia threatened lightly, nudging him. “My best friend is so much more than his temperamental wand. He’s brave and loyal and kind. I won’t hear a bad word spoken about him.”

 

Ron only flushed as red as his hair and mumbled something.

 

“Between the two of you I'm going to be grey by the time I’m twenty.” Percy huffed, and they were nearing the common room entrance. 

 

“If it’s not us, it’ll be the Ministry.” Ron replied cheerily.

 

“Honestly, is carting off a man with no proof the idea of justice here?” Adelai asked.

 

“Yes.” Percy said blandly.

 

“Perfect. No matter which of us is elected, that’s the first thing to go.” Adelia grumbled.

 

“Dear Merlin, there’s two of you.” Ron whispered, horrified.

 

It was entirely his own fault for forgetting how similar they were in that moment. Adelia only chuckled because what else could she do? Her parents had died fighting for a better world than the one they lived in, and nothing had changed really. It was just hidden, imperceptible, covered in false smiles and faux care.

 

But Adelia had more pressing concerns than her grand vision of what the Wizarding World could look like. Namely, finding spiders. Which, as it turned out, was harder than she and Ron expected. Percy too, since he’d found none either.

 

No, it seemed the only spider left in the bloody castle was Gertrude, Lee Jordan’s pet tarantula, and all she did was sleep. It went on like that for days. Summer crept along the dawn, but it was so inherently wrong to Adelia to look out the windows and miss Hagrid’s massive form, Fang at his heels, that she refused to do it anymore.

 

McGonagall had taken the position of interim headmistress, but still Transfiguration continued on as normal. Indeed, life at Hogwarts, while so very different than it had been only a month ago, was nearly the same. Only now, they were escorted to and from class by a teacher. Most of the students were glad of it, but not Ron and Adelia because they were so desperate to break away from the pack in search of spiders.

 

Honestly, that was weird even by their standards.

 

They couldn’t even visit Hermione as the days passed. Madam Pomfrey was terrified of the attacker coming back to finish the job, which meant that the healer didn’t believe in Hagrid’s guilt so that was something.

 

It was nearly three weeks after Hermione had been attacked, the sun high and bright in the sky, blanketed by white fluffy clouds, that Corra awoke. Adelia hadn’t known it at the time, hadn’t questioned why Percy had sat beside Ron right opposite her at breakfast that morning looking lighter than he had in weeks.

 

“Your robe’s wiggling.” Ron murmured, still half asleep but eating his sausage and toast.

 

“Is it? Ron, have you been getting enough sleep?”

 

“Seamus snores.” Ron yawned.

 

“I do not. That’s all Dean.” Seamus grumbled, never a morning person.

 

Adelia only shook her head, pulled her braided hair over her left shoulder before she reached for her tea. It was fruity, raspberry, both sweet and tart and so very nice. She never knew why, or how, random fruit teas seemed to appear with her breakfast and lunch, but she wasn’t complaining.

 

She picked at her breakfast, at thick yoghurt and fresh berries and wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever escape the embers and ashes that made revulsion crest in her gut. Adelia drizzled some honey into her porridge, content in quiet chatter of those around her. It was most often the mornings where she felt Hermione’s absence, but Lavender and Parvarti were never far. They’d talk about silly things then, trade whispered gossip as though any of it was important.

 

Adelia truly was blessed by the people she could call friends. They’d grown closer over the weeks, never seeking to replace Hermione in their dorm, but always making sure that Adelia knew they were there, that she wasn’t alone.

 

She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve it.

 

“Adelia, could you spell my hair back? I tried to do it earlier but it just got all tangled.” Parvati groused.

 

“You went clockwise instead of counter-clockwise.” Lavender reminded as she scribbled the end of her Herbology homework.

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Parvati shook her head, looked at Adelia with a smile. “Please?”

 

Adelia nodded, unable to refuse her. It reminded her of simpler times when the four of them would try out spells from Evile With Envy. As it was now, Adelia recalled the spell for a cascading waterfall braid that would suit Parvati beautifully. She cast it with ease, watched as the other girl’s hair twisted and formed the braid. Adelia hummed and reached for one of the toothpicks that had been on the table for the tiny, cocktail sausages.

 

She transfigured it into a sprawling golden leaf made up of thin webbing before she settled it in Parvarti’s hair with a nod. The other girl beamed at her, the springs of the transfigured broach haloing the centre of the back of her head.

 

“Don’t suppose you know a charm for cutting hair, do yeh?” Seamus asked, singing the curling ends of his hair with annoyance. “It’s getting annoyin’.”

 

“Forget the Girl Who Lived shtick.” Dean snorted. “You’re Gryffindor’s hairdresser now.”

 

“Magic is magic.” Adelia shrugged, but she was looking at Seamus. “I can try later on if you’d like? If you end up bald, there’s a charm to make you not bald.”

 

“Why not.” Seamus grinned. “It’s just hair. Even if I’m bald, it’ll grow back like my eyebrows did.”

 

“Practice makes perfect.” Adelia smiled, so grateful that despite everything the year had thrown at her, it had never once taken her housemates, her friends, from her.

 

They were nearly finished breakfast, soon enough it would be time for the first class, which just so happened to be Potions with the Slytherins. None of them wanted to go to it, especially since Malfoy delighted in the fact that Dumbledore was gone and Snape continued to be well, Snape.

 

“No. Your robe definitely wriggled that time.” Ron complained as he finished his juice. “Did Fred and George get you?”

 

“Ron, when have they ever managed to pull a prank on me?” Percy questioned, eyebrow raised and amused. 

 

“Prefect badge.” Fred called.

 

“Destruction of school property…” Percy reminded airily.

 

“Right you are. We have no idea who would do such a thing.” George declared.

 

Ginny, perhaps for the first time in days, giggled but it was still such a hollow sounding thing. Nothing anybody did could help her. What a horrible year to have as your first, Adelia thought morosely, pushing her porridge away, for it felt like chalk and glue in her mouth.

 

“But then why’s your arm wriggling?” Ron whined, blinking up at his brother.

 

“Because somebody is very impatient.” Percy grumbled, but he was smiling. It was his true smile that showed off the sharpness of his canines behind his lips. “Go on, I know you don’t care about me.”

 

“That’s not true. You fed me mice and warmed my rock.. I care about you, just nowhere near as much as I care about my den-mother.”

 

Adelia dropped her spoon. She hadn’t heard that voice in months, despite how many times she wished she could. It had been weeks since the diary was stolen from Adelia, since her belongings had been ransacked in search of it, since she had given Corra’s sleeping form to Percy to guard.

 

And here, now, Corra was awake, her head poking out from the edge of Percy’s extended hand.

 

“Dare I ask what she said?”

 

“She’s very grateful that you kept her fed and her rock warm.” Adelia shook her head, grinning so brightly it almost hurt her cheeks. “I’ve missed you, dearest.”

 

“And I you, dem-mother. You taste of sadness, but worry not, for I am here.”

 

“And your fangs are small but mighty.” Adelia finished.

 

Her friends, those cloistered around her, did not look upon her with disgust as she spoke the serpent’s tongue. Instead they were smiling, because they remembered those early few weeks of term before the monster stuck and Adelia was never to be seen without her wriggling companion. 

 

Gods only knew the girl deserved some sort of happiness in her life.

 

It was then that Adelia reached out, and Corra slithered along the length of Percy’s arm until she met the flesh waiting below her. Her den-mother was scented of first and starlight, darkness and life. Corra’s tongue lashed along Adelia’s pulse-point before she coiled along her, moving so that she was wrapped around her bicep, so her small head could be in the hollow of her mother’s throat where her scent was strongest, where her heat was warmest, where her heart was loudest.

 

“Thank you.” Adelia murmured.

 

“She gave me less trouble than Scabbers ever did.”

 

“Can I eat the deformed one, now?”

 

“No." Adelia chastised, grinning. Oh how she had missed her snake. “ Will you be alright in potions?”

 

“Yes. I will hide my head in your scent, mother.”

 

Mother . Adelia wasn’t sure she deserved such an honour, yet she could not forsake it. Her own mother had died for her, for that was the bond of mother and babe, her father had died for them both to give them a chance. Adelia was very much her parents' child for all that she didn't remember them.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The Dreams