Sarah's Special Award
Sarah was the only one left in Hufflepuff.
The end of term had come and gone, taking all of Hogwarts’ students with it. Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were now residents of the hospital wing, safely out of sight behind their curtains. Like a child hiding under her blankets, Sarah wore her invisibility cloak often, sometimes even when eating meals in the Great Hall. She just had to throw it over whatever the house-elves sent up.
Some students had stayed. Just three others. Sarah took special care to remember their names.
Vincent Crabbe. Gregory Goyle. Draco Malfoy.
There was some relief in that the three boys were as averse to visiting the library as the noisy red-haired family, whose numbers had grown. Sarah had seen the red-headed girl who stared at her with them, and deduced she was their sister. She was glad to see the backs of them, fleeing Hogwarts with everyone else. She only wished the three Slytherin boys had gone as well. Sarah could not guess why they had chosen to stay. If Malfoy wanted to see another killing, he was out of luck; the muggleborn students were the first on the train.
The death of Colin Creevey, and the petrifications of Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, had cast a pall over the castle. People were scared, even the professors. The Ministry had uncovered nothing about Colin Creevey’s death. They didn’t even know how he had been killed, only that there were no wounds, no signs of curses or poison or other violence at all, and he had a look of abject terror on his face.
People compared it to the Killing Curse.
Sarah was convinced it was a snake of some kind. She gave Professor Sprout a note about it, and found out that Professor Sprout agreed that it was likely. That still left questions. What kind of snake? Where was it?
Another incident soured the holiday. Sarah was trudging through the snow, watching Hedwig disappear into snow drifts, when the gates to the school opened. She froze when she saw Hagrid walking through. She crouched down, wishing she had thought to wear her cloak. The man with the green bowler hat was there, as were several professors. Sarah watched them walk up to the castle, wincing as Hagrid’s voice boomed across the grounds.
If Madam Pomfrey was right, and Hagrid had been arrested for Colin Creevey’s death, then the attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick proved that Hagrid wasn’t the one behind it. While Hagrid had a history of breeding violent creatures, Sarah did not believe he was the one opening the Chamber of Secrets, or pretending to open it and attacking students.
She continued breaking her way through the snow, making a note to start avoiding Hagrid’s hut again.
Sarah had not realized it was Christmas until Hedwig dropped a small package on her head. Curious, Sarah opened it as Hedwig nibbled on one of her plaits.
It was a toothpick.
Sarah closed her eyes. She knew Hedwig was trying to be nice, harassing the Dursleys to send her something. It was in Hedwig’s nature to deliver things to Sarah, and Christmas was a popular day for that. But Sarah would have rather received nothing than a toothpick. Knowing the Dursleys, it was probably used.
There was a note with the toothpick. Sarah recognized the handwriting as Aunt Petunia’s. She hadn’t bothered addressing it, nor signing it. There was no Happy Christmas, just one sentence that summed up everything about how the Dursleys felt.
Find out whether you are able to stay for the summer holiday as well
It was a better present than the toothpick. If Professor Sprout saw this, if she knew how much the Dursleys hated Sarah and never wanted to see her again, she might let Sarah stay at Hogwarts. Sarah thought it was pretty obvious why she preferred Hogwarts and its monsters to Privet Drive and the monsters there.
The girls in her dormitory had sent her sweets again, Chocolate Frogs that jumped, and Jelly Snakes that bit her fingers with wine gum fangs. Sarah was as surprised by this as the previous year’s gift, and resolved to write thank you cards to each of them. It was somewhat annoying, as she hadn’t asked for anything and now felt guilty for not reciprocating. She could imagine sending someone a gift and not receiving anything in return. It wasn’t a good feeling. She wanted to forgo the whole gift-giving situation entirely, but telling the other girls to not send her anything sounded mean.
And then there was the tin of treacle toffee from Hagrid, which Sarah set aside as further evidence against him.
Sarah carried Hedwig to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner, as she had been informed that food would only be available in that location for the day. It was a plot against her.
Once Sarah crossed the threshold, Hedwig took flight to perch atop one of the dozen, giant Christmas trees lining the Great Hall. Garlands of holly and mistletoe hung from the ceiling, from which enchanted snow was falling. Sarah stared at the snow, fascinated by the elegance of the magic. It was warm and dry, fading away into motes of sunlight when it touched anything.
Sarah wanted to do magic like that.
The Hogwarts population had once again been greatly reduced, so there was only one table. That meant Sarah was at the same table as Hagrid, who was well on his way to being drunk, and Snape, who was well on his way to burning in hell. There was Dumbledore, who Sarah disliked, and Filch, who she also disliked. Lastly, the three Slytherin boys.
Sarah hated everyone in sight.
It occurred to Sarah that she was the only girl. She didn’t know where Professors Sprout or McGonagall were. With their families, presumably. As were all the other professors, except the headmaster and Snape.
Sarah sat down at the very end of the table, as far from everyone else as she could get. Malfoy sneered at her, but showed some intelligence by keeping his mouth shut around the headmaster.
She could feel them watching her. Sarah was, however, used to being watched. The Dursleys, the nosy neighbors, the teachers at her primary school. Everyone at Hogwarts, even the portraits and ghosts. She ate her food with grim determination, sneaking wizarding crackers into her pockets to open by herself later.
Hagrid became louder and louder, nearly drowning out Malfoy’s muttered comments about people who weren’t wanted at home. Sarah assumed he included himself in that category.
Sarah left before she drew her wand on anyone. She didn’t know whose idea it was to starve her out of her dormitory and for her to eat with people she hated, but the joke was on them. She could live off of Chocolate Frogs and Jelly Snakes for weeks.
Hedwig gave Sarah perhaps her favorite gift of all time. As Hedwig flew to follow Sarah out of the Great Hall, she shat on Malfoy’s head.
The toothpick the Dursleys had sent turned out to have some use. Sarah transfigured it into a needle. She used this needle to stitch runes into her shoes using strands of her own hair. Sarah’s plan was to make her footsteps completely silent. She could do the same with a Silencing Charm, but charms could go wrong, as with Peeves, and wore off with time. Most spells did not last forever, unless the witch was very powerful, there was a finality to it such as the Killing Curse, or steps were taken to ensure some permanency, as with enchantments.
Sarah was enchanting her shoes.
It took a long time, carefully drawing the runes she wanted, then forcing the needle through the dragonhide over and over again.
Thurisaz, othala, gebo, nauthiz. Defense, heritage, balance, self-reliance. þǫgn. Silence.
The snake was excellent company. He was quiet, and stayed under his dirt all the time. Sarah spent hours leaning against his crate, bent over her project. She had sewn before; Aunt Petunia had made her learn so she could mend her own clothing. Sarah thought there had to be an easier way to sew something into dragonhide, perhaps with magic, but she didn’t know it yet.
There were things Sarah knew. She knew about the power of words, and the power of silence. She liked reading better than listening, and writing better than talking. She was a witch, and every part of her was magical. She knew that magical plants and animals could be used to make other magical things, like potions and broomsticks and magical sweets. She knew the power of sacrifice in an inherent way. The sacrifice of her mother’s life to protect her, the sacrifice of an animal to brew a potion, or strands of her hair to make an enchantment stronger, more closely tied to her own magic, her silence.
When she slipped her shoes on and took a few careful steps, she could have danced for joy. The runes were uneven, and her fingers hurt, but it had worked.
Things were quiet for Sarah for some time. When classes resumed, the Head Girl continued her mission to make sure Sarah went to all of her classes. Sarah found she didn’t mind as much as she thought she would.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic, she sat at the back of the classroom and read, or practiced drawing runes. Professor Binns never noticed, and Lockhart seemed afraid of even looking at her. The girls in her dormitory were unusually thrilled about getting the thank you cards Sarah had made. It was only folded over paper, and she didn’t understand their excitement.
In Potions, she was still made to sit at the front of the room, and Snape was still completely ignoring her. Sarah was surprised he even bothered to mark her assignments, given how his quill nearly cut through the parchment whenever she got full marks. Sometimes, Sarah remembered what Professor Sprout had said, that Snape had a rivalry with Sarah’s dad. But her dad had been dead for a long time, and Sarah hadn’t even known his name until she got her Hogwarts letter. It was another thing she didn’t understand.
As the weeks passed, the atmosphere in the castle relaxed. There were no further attacks, no monster was found, Hagrid was innocent and looked less haunted by his time in Azkaban, the magical prison. The mandrakes were maturing, so Mrs. Norris, Justin, and Nearly Headless Nick would eventually be revived.
Sarah did not relax. She had still heard that voice. Colin Creevey was still dead. She had a peculiar feeling, like waiting for a storm to break, like the loaded silence before she was slapped.
This feeling was validated when she went to the Great Hall for breakfast one February morning, under the Head Girl’s watchful eye.
“What’s wrong, Sarah—ooh!” said Hannah from right behind her.
“It’s Valentine’s Day!” said Susan excitedly.
Sarah took a step back, but the stupid Head Girl was blocking her. Pieces of heart-shaped confetti got caught in Sarah’s hair, and no matter how hard she shook her plaits more got in.
It wasn’t just the girls who enjoyed the bombardment of pinks and reds, hearts and flowers. Some of the younger boys were visibly sickened by the sight, which Sarah thought was the appropriate response, but others looked charmed by it. Perhaps it was a charm, some sort of dark enthrallment.
When Lockhart pranced in, wearing pink robes that matched the decor, Sarah was convinced. Lockhart had cursed the castle.
The horrors did not cease. A troop of small men wearing diapers and holding bows—dwarfs dressed up like cupids—marched into the Great Hall. Sarah heard Lockhart mention Love Potions and Entrancing Enchantments, which made her skin crawl. He seemed like the type to use those things, and she was glad he had been told to keep his distance.
Sarah tried to flee to her dormitory, but the Head Girl, Tamsin Applebee, was doggedly determined. She had no compunction about levitating Sarah to classes. It had only happened once, and while it was fun, it was also galling and Sarah did not want a repeat incident.
It was a bad day for classes. Almost no learning got done, and Sarah had a hard time focusing on her own projects. Little men in diapers kept barging into classrooms and singing at the top of their lungs.
That afternoon, Sarah was walking with the other second-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, following Head Girl Applebee from their Potions class in the dungeon to History of Magic. As they were crossing the entrance hall, Sarah was attacked.
“Oi! Sarah Potter!”
One of the dwarfs in a diaper, who looked like a small, middle-aged man, was kicking his way towards her, brandishing a harp. Having been the unwilling witness to many musical messages throughout the day, Sarah knew exactly what was happening.
She ripped her wand out of her robes and pointed it at the dwarf.
“Potter!” snapped the Head Girl. “No magic in the corridors!”
Sarah frowned, then flicked her wand at the dwarf. She wasn’t going to be sung at by a man in a diaper. She would take the detention. The harp was torn from the dwarf’s hands, and Sarah ducked so it wouldn’t hit her.
“Five points from Hufflepuff!” said the Head Girl. “I’ll be telling Professor Sprout about this!”
The dwarf looked at his empty hands, then glared at Sarah. He opened his mouth, undeterred by his lack of instrument.
“Her eyes are as green as a quidditch pitch,” sang the dwarf, in a deep, scratchy voice that carried through the entrance hall. “Her hair is as black as her shoes. She’s as quick as a snitch, and a really good witch, the girl who defeated You-Know-Who.”
Sarah clenched her fists as the entire entrance hall broke into raucous laughter. It wasn't even that funny. She pushed her way through the crowd, not caring that the Head Girl was yelling at her. She yanked open the door to the basement and ran to her dormitory. She hated Lockhart and his stupid ideas, she hated whoever sent that man in a diaper, she hated how everyone laughed at her.
She wished she didn’t care so much as she did, that none of it bothered her. She was so tired of caring.
As Easter holiday neared, Sarah had narrowed down her list of suspects. She knew no one in Slytherin would have sent a poem like that, not without being around to watch her get humiliated. None of the Hufflepuff boys or girls would have either. She had confronted the Ravenclaw second-years as a group, and they all denied involvement. That left her with someone in Gryffindor.
Based on how often she was stared at in Herbology, she identified the culprit as the red-haired boy, or the girl. The girl was a first-year, like Colin Creevey had been, and she looked at Sarah a lot. So did the second-year boy.
Maybe they had worked together, Sarah didn’t know. What she did know was that a simple Tripping Hex sent the boy, who she now knew was called Ron Weasley, into the many welcoming arms of the venomous tentacula. It was teething, so it only had nubby teeth that weren’t very venomous at all. He was fine.
During the holiday itself, Sarah was presented with a new dilemma. The second-years had to choose their options for third year. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Muggle Studies. There was a lot of spirited debate among the second-years, and the upper years who were taking those classes. Sarah already knew about the muggle world since she had been raised in it, so Muggle Studies was useless. Divination included palmistry and phrenology, which involved touching people, so she ruled that out straight away. Arithmancy had a lot of homework. Sarah was left with Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures, since she had to pick two of them.
As there had still been no other attacks—Sarah refused to be lulled—a lot of people stayed for the holiday. It made the plan Sarah had more difficult to execute. She had to conjure snakes for her snake to eat every week or two, so she had plenty of opportunities to speak with them. It was grim, as their fate was ultimately to be eaten, so Sarah did not do it often. The presence of the other girls in her dormitory was also a deterrent. She didn’t want anyone to see her talking to a snake. She was paranoid, even with her bed curtains closed and silencing charms.
Sarah wanted to try something out. She wanted to know if parseltongue could be used to command snakes. She never tried it with her snake—who she named Lawrence—because she knew if their roles were reversed she would not want Lawrence controlling her. It was important to know, though, since there was still a snake at large in the castle.
One evening, Sarah skipped dinner to run her experiment. The other girls preferred to not see Lawrence eating, which involved constricting his prey and slowly swallowing it whole, so the dormitory cleared out fairly quickly. In the privacy and comfort of her bed, Sarah conjured a snake.
It was a grey snake with spots of brown that looked like it would be well disguised on the ground. It hissed irritably at her, and began lifting itself up.
“Lie down,” hissed Sarah.
The snake lowered itself and stared at her.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Why not?” hissed the snake.
“Roll over.”
The snake rolled over.
“Did you have to do that?” she asked.
“No.”
Sarah frowned, but she asked the snake to coil up her arm, which it did, then to form a circle, which it also did. It seemed the snake was humoring her, which made her feel better about Lawrence. He wouldn’t have to listen to her if he didn’t want to. Since she felt bad about feeding a snake she had talked to Lawrence, she tried the Snake-Vanishing Spell she had found in the library. The snake was not happy with only half of itself being vanished, and it took Sarah a few tries to have it vanish completely. Then she conjured another snake, an adder with a dark grey body and a black ladder pattern down its back, and dropped it into Lawrence’s crate
Lawrence surged out of his dirt, bit the adder’s head, then quickly coiled around it. Sarah wondered what the girls in her dormitory would think if they could hear what the adder was saying as it was eaten. Sarah picked up the lid—Professor Sprout had insisted she use one after various complaints about Lawrence—and slid it over the crate, cutting off the sound.
Weeks continued to pass without incident. Sarah felt like she was walking on eggshells, and as attacks continued to not happen, she grew more concerned. Why kill a boy, petrify an old cat, another boy, and a ghost, and then vanish?
On the day of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff quidditch match, something greatly anticipated by her housemates, Sarah got her breakfast early and went to the library. Depending on how long the quidditch match went on, she would have the entire place almost to herself. There were a few older students there, studying for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, but they were all too focused on their own work to pay attention to Sarah.
After the success with her shoes, Sarah had decided to add silencing runes to all of her clothes. The biggest weakness of her invisibility cloak was that it only made her, and whatever else she threw it over, invisible. There were many other ways to sense things. Smell, touch, taste. Lawrence the snake could sense heat, from a bunch of little pits in his face. Even if Sarah was quiet, Lawrence could tell where she was from several meters away.
Sarah only had so much hair, and while her hair was as magical as the rest of her, it wasn’t necessarily the best or most lasting thing to use. What was more troubling was the books on enchanting objects with runes weren’t where just any student could pick them up. They were all in the Restricted Section.
Madam Pince watched the Restricted Section like a hawk.
Sarah kept her distance, not wanting to arouse suspicion. If it was safe to wander the castle at night—which it wasn’t, not with a murderous snake around—Sarah could sneak in under her invisibility cloak. It was frustrating she couldn’t get started on complex enchantments right away, but Sarah also knew she needed to learn more, practice more.
When lunchtime came, Sarah left the library with a slight headache. Her scar was acting up again, and she idly rubbed her chest as she walked. She wanted to learn big, impressive magic, but all that stuff was built from smaller pieces.
She went to the Great Hall to eat, since everyone was still at the quidditch match, then wandered to her dormitory. After all she had read, that the enchantment she had sewn onto her shoes had worked seemed like a fluke. Some of it was using part of herself, but also the hours she had put into it, her focus, her desire for the result. Like the words other people used when incanting spells, runes needed to be imbued with magic. Her hair and blood, like the creatures they used in Potions, already had magic in them.
Once she was in her dormitory, Sarah gathered paper, ink, and a quill and went to the bathroom. She settled on the tiled floor and wrote a single rune, a line with a shorter diagonal line at the bottom, like an upside down y.
Kenaz. The torch. Fire and light.
Something niggled at the back of Sarah’s mind as she looked at the rune. There was another meaning, an older meaning. She bit her lip, then wiped away the little line, turning it into a single stroke.
Isaz. Ice.
Sarah drew her knees to her chest, and touched the rune with her wand. She stared at the rune, focusing on its meaning.
Isaz. Ice.
The ink on the paper, which had still been shiny and wet, solidified and turned matte. The rune fractured, and a bone-deep chill swept through Sarah. She pulled her wand away, and it separated from the paper with a brittle crack. She had to rip herself from the freezing floor, losing fabric and skin, as a relentless chill spread out from the paper. Panicking, the bathroom turning to ice around her, her breath coming out in a fog, Sarah aimed her wand at the paper.
Incendio!
Shivering, Sarah did her best to keep her wand steady as a gout of flames burst out. It was so cold it hurt to breathe, and her fire conjuration barely held it back. She forced her frozen limbs forward, squinting her eyes. Suddenly, there was a sound like glass shattering, a blinding flash, and Sarah dropped to her knees. She coughed, then looked up at the sooty remains of the paper.
Ice. It was more than a freezing charm, more than turning something to ice, but the very concept of cold.
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, the cold still deep in her bones, her teeth chattering. She slowly looked around at the row of shattered mirrors, the burst pipes, water leaking on the floor, cracked tiles, streaks of soot. She shakily looked at her hands, letting out a shuddering breath when she saw her fingers weren’t black and shriveled with frostbite. She flexed them, just to make sure she could. She had to be more careful.
Backing towards the door, Sarah lifted her wand again. Reparo, she thought, waving at the broken room.
Reparo.
Her mishap with the rune kept Sarah up for most of the night. That, and the memory of cold. It would have stopped spreading eventually, she knew, but it was still scary to have magic get out of her control so quickly.
Sarah was groggy and disoriented when a prefect knocked on the dormitory door and told them all to go to the common room. Sarah had fallen asleep with her glasses on and squashed them. She trailed after the other girls, silently casting oculus reparo, a very specific mending charm that amused her. Who had broken their glasses enough times that they needed a spell for it?
In the common room, Professor Sprout was waiting for them. The whispering Hufflepuffs, still elated from winning yesterday’s game, stopped talking when they saw her expression.
“Good morning,” began Professor Sprout, her tone somber. Sarah’s stomach dropped. “Sometime yesterday, a student went missing. Penelope Clearwater, a sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect.”
There were gasps and choked cries.
“We are still searching the castle and grounds for her,” continued Professor Sprout. “She was last seen by Madam Pince, exiting the library yesterday morning. If any of you have any knowledge of her whereabouts, let myself or another professor know immediately.”
“Was it Slytherin’s monster?” asked an older boy.
“We do not know, McManus,” replied Professor Sprout. “Nor if such a monster exists. However, we will be treating it as a related incident. As such, the headmaster has instituted some new rules.”
Sarah listened quietly as Professor Sprout explained that everyone had to be in their dormitories by six o’clock, that teachers would take them to their lessons, and even to the lavatory. Quidditch was canceled. All clubs and evening activities were canceled. Sarah hugged herself and hid behind a large fern. Penelope Clearwater, if the snake monster had got her, had been walking around in broad daylight. Sarah had been kidnapped right out of her bed. She didn’t think all these new rules would stop another attack.
What stuck with Sarah, once Professor Sprout dismissed them to get ready for breakfast, was something she overheard from a cluster of sixth-years. Penelope Clearwater was a halfblood. The monster didn’t only attack cats, ghosts, and muggleborns. The majority of the students, and the professors, were halfbloods. None of them were safe.
When everyone was dressed, they all met in the common room again so Professor Sprout could lead them to breakfast. Sarah was the last to leave, and was surprised to find Professor Sprout standing just outside.
“You’re not to go anywhere by yourself, Potter,” said Professor Sprout firmly, though her eyes were misty.
Sarah nodded, then walked with Professor Sprout to the Great Hall. When they reached the threshold, Professor Sprout muttered a word Sarah had never heard an old person say. In front of the head table was a man with pale blond hair in a rich black cloak, holding a long scroll.
“I’m afraid the Board of Governors believes you have lost your touch,” the man was saying in a sneering affect, his voice echoing through the Great Hall. The way he spoke sounded very familiar, and Sarah glanced at the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was grinning in a nasty way. His hair color was identical to the man’s.
“This is an Order of Suspension,” the man, Mr. Malfoy, told Dumbledore.
Professor Sprout wasn’t the only one to cry out in dismay. She stormed towards the head table to join Professor McGonagall and Hagrid in yelling at Mr. Malfoy. Sarah backed out of the Great Hall and went to the kitchens. She didn’t want Draco Malfoy’s father anywhere near her. His son was awful, and she could only imagine the father was worse. She didn’t care about Dumbledore getting sacked, or suspended, or whatever was going on.
Hagrid was bellowing about killings by the time Sarah reached the kitchen, and she hurriedly climbed inside and shut the door, cutting him off. There had already been killing with Dumbledore around. What exactly was he doing to stop it?
The rest of May passed with agonizing slowness. Penelope Clearwater had vanished without a trace. No amount of searching discovered how, or where she had gone. The packs of students had reformed, this time led by professors. There was no wandering off, no library time, no privacy to use the toilet unless Sarah was in her dormitory, no exploring the grounds with Hedwig. They were constantly monitored, if not by their professors than by prefects and ghosts and portraits.
While most people were relieved by this intense oversight, Sarah hated it. There was no privacy at all anymore, unless she was in her bed with the curtains drawn, and even then she knew other people were in the room. Sarah found it more difficult to sleep and eat, or to concentrate on anything at all. In her darkest moments, she sometimes looked forward to returning to Privet Drive, and the sanctity of her own room.
A dam broke when Professor Sprout told them they were still expected to take exams. This was, apparently, an instruction left by Dumbledore. As the acting headmistress, Professor McGonagall was following his lead.
Professor Sprout did soften the blow by informing them the mandrakes would soon be ready for chopping and stewing. The petrification victims would be revived, and the mystery would be solved.
Sarah knew there was no mystery around it. It was a snake that could petrify people and scare them to death and make teenage girls disappear. There weren’t that many types of magical snakes, and Sarah knew Lawrence wasn’t behind it.
It had to be a basilisk.
On the day the mandrakes were fully mature, Sarah sat in the back of History of Magic, reading about basilisks. She knew what they were, as once she had determined the monster was a snake of some sort she had looked up magical snakes. Lawrence was a mystery to her, but she supposed he could be a non-magical snake, unlikely as it seemed.
As Sarah read a passage about how the crowing of a rooster was fatal to basilisks, Professor McGonagall’s voice boomed throughout the castle.
“All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.”
Sarah put the book into her bag and followed her classmates out of the room. Professor Binns continued lecturing, not acknowledging the announcement nor how everyone was leaving.
The Hufflepuff prefects made them all stay in the common room. Everyone was quiet and tense. It was another attack, they all knew it. It didn’t take long for Professor Sprout to arrive.
“Another student has been taken,” she said without preamble, wringing her hat in her hands. “Ginny Weasley, a first-year Gryffindor.”
People began whispering. A first-year. A pureblood. Sarah recognized it as the name of the red-haired girl who stared at her a lot.
“The deputy headmistress has decided it is time to shut the school down,” continued Professor Sprout. “The Hogwarts Express will be taking you home tomorrow. Please begin packing your things.” She paused, then added, “I have no words to describe the scope of the tragedy that has befallen our school. It is our duty to keep you safe…”
Sarah stopped paying attention. Another girl had gone missing. She was being sent back to the Dursleys early, and may never be able to come back to Hogwarts. The school could shut down forever. There were other magical schools. Maybe she could go somewhere else. She had gold in her vault. She could run away.
She trailed after the other girls in her dormitory, who all seemed to be as numb as she was. Sarah sat heavily on her bed and stared at Lawrence’s crate. What was she supposed to do with him? How was she going to explain him to the Dursleys?
Sarah looked around the dormitory. Hannah had given up halfway through packing her trunk, and as a group the three girls went back to the common room, hoping there would be more news, or maybe tea to help with their nerves. Sarah looked out of the window, surprised to see the sun was setting. What was she going to do with Hedwig?
Since the other girls were gone, Sarah took the lid off Lawrence’s crate and felt around his soil. He tried to wriggle away when she found him, but Sarah hauled him out.
“I have to go back to my relatives,” she hissed. “Stop trying to bite me!”
Lawrence flicked his tongue out. “You are upset.”
“Do you want to live here?” she asked “On the grounds?It’s bigger than the crate.”
He flicked his tongue again. “Yes.”
“I have to carry you out,” she hissed, putting the nine foot snake over her shoulders. He found his own balance, curling around her. Sarah glanced at the door, then shut her bed curtains and dragged a chair over to the window. She pushed it open, and lifted Lawrence up so he could slither out on his own. The window was just big enough for Sarah to squeeze through, so she hauled herself up and crawled onto the grass. She pulled the window closed, then looked around for her snake.
“This way,” she quietly hissed when she spotted him. She began walking towards the Forbidden Forest. There was a soft hoot, and Hedwig flew out of the waning, bloodred light. Sarah held out an arm for her to land.
“We have to go back tomorrow,” whispered Sarah.
Hedwig watched her for a moment, then took off again. Hedwig didn’t like Little Whinging at all. It wasn’t a nice place for owls, snowy or otherwise.
Sarah took her wand out and kept walking towards the Forbidden Forest, looking around to make sure no one saw her. She slapped herself in the head when she realized she had forgotten her invisibility cloak. Another girl being taken, being told she had to leave Hogwarts, the issue of Lawrence the snake and Hedwig the owl, having to pack, the prospect of seeing the Dursleys almost a month early, what sort of reaction they would have to that…everything had her thoughts in a jumble.
At the tree line, she knelt down next to Lawrence.
“This is the Forbidden Forest,” she said. “There are many magical creatures in it, so lots of food. And it’s dark.”
Lawrence raised his head slightly. “Goodbye, Sarah.”
Sarah watched him disappear into the underbrush, then looked back at the castle. She rubbed her arms, feeling a chill. She didn’t want to go back into the castle and pack. She didn’t want to go back to the Dursleys.
She began walking towards the lake, and spotted Hedwig flying in the same direction. There was a large beech tree next to the lake that Sarah liked to sit under. She hadn’t been able to sit under it for months. It might be the last time she ever would.
Wedging herself against the trunk, Sarah looked out across the Black Lake, watching the sun finish setting in its murky reflection. The grounds were unnaturally quiet. Perhaps the creatures that called them home realized that, once the students were gone, the monster in the castle would have to strike out for other victims.
She looked up when she heard the gates to the castle open.
Sarah shrank against the tree trunk when she saw who it was. The headmaster, striding towards the castle. Once he was out of sight, Sarah tipped her head back to look at the sky. The stars were coming out. It was hard to see the stars in Little Whinging, not that anyone there deserved to.
“Sarah Potter.”
Sarah jerked upright, blinking in confusion. She pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes, surprised at how much darker it was.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Sarah got to her feet, then turned to face the speaker. He was an older boy, rather tall, with black hair and dark eyes. Sarah didn’t recognize him. The boy had a badge on, which meant he was a prefect or a captain, and was carrying a wand lit with a soft lumos.
“That’s right,” he said, walking closer to her. Sarah took a step back. “Ginny Weasley did tell me that you cannot speak. Spell damage. Such a shame, as I’ve waited so long to see you. To speak to you.”
Sarah spotted Hedwig flying away from the corner of her eye. Off to get help. This boy was a stranger, and was looking at Sarah in a way that made her want to run, in a way that made it seem he wanted her to run. That he would enjoy hunting her down.
“Are you wondering who I am?” the boy asked, smiling at her. His teeth were too white, and stood out eerily in his mouth. “My name is Tom Riddle. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sarah Potter.”
He kept slowly walking towards her, and reached out his hand.
Sarah pointed her wand at him, and he stopped in his tracks. She had seen that name before, Tom Riddle. In the trophy room, on an award from fifty years in the past.
The first-year, Ginny Weasley, was missing. This strange boy who Sarah had never seen before was now in front of her.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. He was the monster in the castle.
Stupefy!
The boy was fast. The red light splashed harmlessly against an invisible shield she had not seen him cast. Sarah darted behind the tree. The faint light of his wand washed out the world, oozed around the trunk.
“How did a girl like you defeat Lord Voldemort?” asked the monster who called himself Tom Riddle. “How did you survive, with nothing but a scar?”
Sarah looked up at the castle. It was open ground. If she ran, he could cast spells at her back. He was older, perhaps decades older, and taller. He could outrun her. Sarah could hear him walking around the tree. She looked up at the branches, but they were too far away to grab. She edged around the trunk, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
“I supposed there’s more to it than that,” said Riddle off-handedly. “You lost the ability to speak. A crippled witch. But Lord Voldemort lost all of his powers, whereas you only lost your voice. How?”
Sarah looked to the side, her wand held out. A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, and searing pain spread throughout her scar. Her eyes widened, even as a scream built in her throat. The boy hissed and ripped his hand away. Sarah stumbled back from the tree, aiming her wand at Riddle as he gaped at the boils spreading across his hand.
“How?” he demanded, looking up at her, his aristocratic features lit ominously by his wand.
The only time Sarah’s scar hurt was because of Voldemort.
Expelliarmus! she thought, stabbing her wand towards Riddle. Towards who she suspected was a teenage Voldemort.
The wand jerked in his hand, but Riddle had a firm, determined grip on it. Sarah’s attempt to disarm him had failed.
“I suppose I shall do the talking,” said Riddle. The false friendliness in his voice gone, replaced by a cold tone that promised he would hurt her. “You must be wondering why I care. There’s a simple explanation, Sarah Potter.”
Sarah backed further away, then froze when Riddle lifted his wand. He wrote into the air itself, magic slicing through reality as brilliant letters formed.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
With a wave of Riddle’s wand, the letters rearranged themselves.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
Sarah used the worst spell she knew. This teenage boy was Voldemort. She didn’t know how or why he was here, but knew he would try to kill her. He just wanted to gloat beforehand. She slashed her wand through the air.
Ruptum oculum!
A gross yellow light shot at Riddle’s eyes, and he smiled as he blocked it.
“Such a nasty spell for such a little girl,” he said, grinning at her, though he seemed wary now.
Sarah glanced at his right hand, shiny with boils. She had one advantage. She just needed to get close. If she was right, and he was the monster in the castle, he was the one controlling the snake she had been hearing. And if he was controlling the snake, that meant he was a parselmouth.
“Did you really open the Chamber of Secrets?” she hissed, not lowering her wand.
Riddle’s eyebrows rose. “How is this possible?”
“Answer the question,” she hissed angrily.
Riddle started laughing, an awful, high pitched sound. “Yes,” he hissed. “I, Lord Voldemort, am the Heir of Salazar Slytherin. And her skeleton shall lie there forever!”
“Sarah!”
They both looked up at the castle, where a tall figure was running out of the doors, accompanied by a strange orange light. Riddle hissed in irritation.
“Dumbledore, the interfering old fool,” Riddle hissed. “What a shame, our conversation has been—”
Against her better judgment, Sarah threw herself at Tom Riddle. She lost track of her wand, squeezed her eyes shut at the horrible, searing pain in her scar, and grabbed the older boy’s neck. He started screaming and thrashing around, trying to kick her off, but Sarah refused to let go, boils exploding under her fingers, coating her hands with hot, putrid liquid. Riddle screamed louder, writhing violently as Sarah struggled to hold on to him.
He stabbed his wand into her side, and Sarah pressed her thumbs harder into his throat. This boy was Voldemort. She stared into his dark brown eyes, smiling grimly at the fear she saw. Riddle’s mouth worked helplessly, the only sound a long, strangled wheeze. Sarah pushed harder. This boy was Voldemort, and she wanted him gone.
Sarah fell face first on the grass, shaking violently. Her scar ached, but had stopped burning. She stared at the ground, wondering where Riddle had gone. In his place was the wand, and a thin black book. Sarah hesitated, then picked up the book.
“Tom,” she heard someone say. The headmaster. “Sarah, please give that to me. It is very dangerous.”
Sarah sat back on her heels, staring at the book. A diary. Tom Riddle’s diary. Voldemort’s diary. She opened it to the first page, but there was only a name.
T.M. Riddle
“Sarah,” repeated Dumbledore.
Sarah looked up at him, wondering why he was back at Hogwarts, and why there was a large fire bird on his shoulder. A phoenix. She jumped when Hedwig landed at her side, Sarah’s wand in her beak. Sarah took it back, feeling safer with it in her hand. It was warm.
“Sarah, the book,” said the headmaster. “I believe that it is behind the attacks this year.“
Sarah shook her head, but passed the diary to Dumbledore.
“And this,” he said quietly, bending down to pick up the wand, “seems to be Ginny Weasley’s wand.”
“Potter, are you alright?” asked Professor McGonagall breathlessly, running up to them. “What are you doing out on the grounds? Albus, what is the meaning of this? The Weasleys are quite—”
“I hope Sarah can help answer some of our questions,” the headmaster said, looking at her over his glasses.
Sarah looked at the ground again. She had no idea.
Sarah followed Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall through the castle, the phoenix flying ahead of them.
On the first floor, they encountered Snape with a stretcher floating behind him. Gilderoy Lockhart, in robes of regal vermillion, was laid out on it, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his fair skin waxy and slack.
“I discovered him not far from here,” said Snape. “Surrounded by trunks and boxes. I believe he was attempting to flee, headmaster.”
“Albus,” said Professor McGonagall, putting a hand over her heart.
“It seems Gilderoy may have confronted Lord Voldemort,” said the headmaster quietly. “Or perhaps he had simply been in the way.”
“You-Know-Who?” said Professor McGonagall. “What—”
“Let us wait until we reach your office,” he replied. “Please take him to Poppy, Severus.”
Snape nodded stiffly, sneered at Sarah, and kept walking.
They passed the girls’ lavatory where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. There was a new message, written under the first in glistening blood.
Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever
“Here we are,” the headmaster said, stopping in front of a door.
The phoenix flew back to the headmaster’s shoulder, and he opened the door. Professor McGonagall held her arm out, ushering Sarah in.
Sarah had never been in Professor McGonagall’s office before. There were people sitting in front of the fireplace, red-haired adults. The Weasleys’ parents. The woman was crying. Sarah stayed near the door, and flinched when Professor McGonagall gently pushed her towards a chair. A piece of parchment and quill appeared on the desk before her.
“Sarah,” the headmaster said, taking the seat across from her. McGonagall stood at his side. “Please tell us what happened.”
Sarah picked up the quill and began to write.
Lockhart’s body was taken by his witch mother and squib sisters. There was a big funeral, it was all in the Daily Prophet. Mrs. Norris, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Nearly Headless Nick were revived. The latter two confirmed it was a basilisk.
The memorial was held on the day before the Hogwarts Express left. It was for Penelope Clearwater and Ginny Weasley. Moaning Myrtle had seen Tom Riddle emerging from the Chamber of Secrets, and the professors went down to recover the bodies. They only found Ginny Weasley’s. No one talked about what happened to Penelope Clearwater. It was assumed the basilisk had eaten her.
Sarah stood at the back of the crowd, avoiding the photographers from various newspapers and magazines. The Weasley and Clearwater families were at the front. They wore robes of black, mourning the loss of their daughters. The professors solemnly stood around them. Professor McGonagall was crying. Ginny Weasley’s brothers spoke. Sarah could almost taste the guilt. They knew their sister had been acting oddly, and writing in the diary. She had, in the end, tried to tell someone. They hadn’t listened.
Another tragedy.
Lucius Malfoy had been removed from the Board of Governors for threatening them, and was under investigation. He had burst into Professor McGonagall’s office with his house-elf, Dobby. Dobby was seized by the Hogwarts house-elves. Sarah had been informed he would be brought up before the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Dumbledore was reinstated as headmaster. Exams were canceled. Hogwarts would not be closing.
Sarah had been told she was a heroine. That she would receive a Special Award for Services to the School for stopping Tom Riddle. For killing Tom Riddle, though the headmaster didn’t say that. Two hundred points for Hufflepuff. They won the House Cup.
No one cared. Three students and a teacher had died that year.
Colin Creevey. Penelope Clearwater. Ginny Weasley. Gilderoy Lockhart.
Tom Riddle.
Sarah left the memorial service before everyone else. In a few short hours, the train was taking her back to the Dursleys. She had to finish packing. She needed to be ready.