Cold and Lonely
Ever since their adventure to the Third-Floor hallway shortly after Halloween, Stephanie Scamander had changed - and at first it had been somewhat easy to ignore. She was just shy of becoming a teenager, she was always going to be prone to shifting states and moods. But it had persisted on, past a normal mood swing, or a brief funk. People were starting to comment on it - Flitwick had held her after class, much to her embarrassment - but she couldn't help it.
She had been giddy for weeks.
A Cerberus.
Of course - she had been utterly terrified out of her mind initially. Cerberuses (Cerberi?) were considered the gatekeepers of the underworld in Hellenic Mythology for a very good reason, they were known to be both violent to potential threats, and to be exceptionally good guard dogs. They were also resistant to just about any spells that a Wizard or Witch could throw at it, and were known to give trolls and giants a proper run for their money, although they were not nearly as durable.
But then again, one of their greatest weaknesses was also in those same myths.
The enchanted Lyre of Orpheus, probably some conduit for magic, had reportedly split open the earth and guided the musician down to the very gates of Hades. From there, it had bent the underworld to its tune, and perhaps most importantly for the tale, had pacified its guard dog, Cerberus.
The real Cerberuses had distinct differences from the mythical counterpart of course. Namely, there was not simply one that guarded the gates of the Underworld. The Cerberus was a species, and they were a decidedly mortal one. They could be killed, and they had been before - Herakles had reported done so during his labours, if the mythical demigod was real - but there was little reason to actively hunt them. They produced little in the way of valuables or materials needed for anything other than purely decorative pelts.
But despite her initial fear of the animal, Steph had quickly learned that Fluffy, the name which Hagrid had apparently given to the Cerberus (how Harry and Daphne got that out of him, she would never know), was a complete pushover when applying some of the basics of animal handling to him.
Grimacing, she looked up from her parchment, and to her displeasure, found that the last inch or two of her Transfiguration essays had devolved into scribbled internal monologue. Waving her wand to vanish the offending text, and setting down her quill, lest the mistake be repeated, she focused on what had actually made her grimace - the fact that Fluffy was meant to be a guard dog.
Conditioning was an issue - at least with an animal like a Cerberus.
Fundamentally, they were canines, as her grandfather had transcribed in the dog-eared and much-loved first edition copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them' that sat next to her on the desk, its pages ruffled with inserted sheafs of paper where entries were initially missing, and notes stuck to the pages to correct or annotate the work. But flicking to the page on the canine creature, she re-read the paragraph that concerned her most.
Whilst the origins of the first Cerberus were unknown - but probably came from infusing a Chimaera with dog or wolf essence using transmutation, amongst other things - it was evident by behaviour and genetics that the creatures were bred from domesticated animals. This meant, quite critically for anyone raising a guard dog, that raising them gently would result in just that - a gentle creature.
With a sigh, she flipped the cover closed with casual motion, yet one with practiced care, ensuring the eighty odd year-old tome didn't have its pages damaged by the action. Whilst it was a horrible thing to suggest, to raise a proper guard dog, one needed to use a certain amount of discipline in its upbringing. Abusing a creature was a terrible thing, and was also not the way to go about raising a creature as a guard - but one had to use some force to ensure that a guard was just that, a guard.
And try as she might, she couldn't imagine Hagrid doing anything but lovingly doting on the dog.
So, whatever was down beneath Fluffy was protected by one less layer of protection, because the guard Cerberus wouldn't harm a fly. At least, without being provoked by a fusillade of spell-fire.
And when a creature like a Cerberus was concerned, the Killing Curse worked just the same on it as it would a man - barring the fact that you'd probably have to hit more central to the vitals than on a human, due to spell diffusion.
So, whatever was down there that was "Between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel" was probably more at risk than ever.
Just how many people knew that? It wasn't like Hagrid was especially subtle.
Well - she supposed it came with the territory when being like Hagrid.
It didn't really strike her how empty the castle could be until Christmas rolled around.
Students sat in the Great Hall together with the staff, trading plates of steaming hot, delicious roast turkey and mountains of roast and boiled potatoes. Smaller plates - carrying deserts and puddings - sat arrayed haphazardly around the larger mains, creating the sensation that the table would soon collapse under the weight of the massed food.
The atmosphere was jovial too, laughter and joy being shared around the table, barring perhaps the dour head of Slytherin seated between Dumbledore and Flitwick, the latter of whom had sat across from her. The Ravenclaw head had spent his dinner regaling her with stories of his duelling career, and promising to pass on some of his own personal journals for her to absorb - on the strict condition that she not try anything until she was older.
But once the meal had passed and the festivities had died down as the curfew approached, Steph found herself seated in the Transfiguration courtyard, tucked up in one of the arches that normally provided light for the corridor to her left. It may have been Christmas, yes, but it was her first Christmas away from home.
Mother and her dad had left her behind, sending her a simple letter apologising, and telling her to stay at Hogwarts over the break. The letter, which was barely a couple paragraphs long, had been the first inkling that she had received that her Christmas would be a lonely one, and had only just arrived a day before the Holidays were due to begin.
She had watched as Daphne and Harry gave her sympathetic looks as they boarded the Hogwarts Express back to their families, giving a half-hearted wave and putting on a smile that she hoped hid her true sadness. Tracey and Neville had both hugged her goodbye, and she trusted both of them to keep the sniffles she had fought back to themselves. She should have been going home with them, but instead she was seeing them off, and trudging back through the snow with only Hagrid to keep her company.
She did pity the poor man - he was trying to be uplifting and friendly, and she had only been quiet and moody in return.
The simple fact was, only a handful of Students had stayed - and perhaps most humiliatingly, the vast majority of those who had stayed were half-bloods and Muggleborns. She was one of only three pureblood students present - for the Weasley swarm that had occupied the far end of the table were considered Blood Traitors by almost everyone, and thus didn't count. The other two true Pure Bloods in the traditional sense were the Carrow Twins, Hestia and Flora, although it was a well-known secret that their home life was less than pleasant. The kinder of the whispers about them mentioned that their father was an unrepentant Death Eater who had tried to drill the culture into their heads from a young age.
The less kind ones said that their mother was his twin sister, and not the wife who had died shortly after the daughters were born.
Flora and Hestia had remained at Hogwarts for the winter holiday ostensible for academic reasons, as one of them - for she had absolutely no clue as to how she could tell them apart just yet - had mentioned to her. Officially, it was because the sisters had flunked a transfiguration test incredibly badly, although as the sister who Steph had spoken to had confided in her that they had in fact pled with McGonagall for her to hold them at Hogwarts over the break, consequences be damned.
Suddenly, being left behind by her parents as they roamed the world on an impromptu wedding anniversary-slash-safari didn't seem so bad. It was better than having parents who abused you so much that you'd rather "face whatever misery father gives us instead".
As the breeze picked up a little, she gave a shudder, grateful that her fingers were buried in a shiny new set of black leather women's gloves - nothing special, they were more for warmth and fashion as opposed to utility, but they would be more than adequate for performing wand work given the grippy nature of the leather. They had been one of her Christmas gifts, not from her parents, but her grandparents - Nanna Tina had sent them from the States, where apparently this sort of elegant leather glove was all the rage with Muggles and Witches alike.
They were definitely warm, and it had probably been the best gift she had received at Christmas - if only for the simple fact that it didn't come from her parents. Although if she counted the letter that Nanna Tina had sent her, that would easily take the top place. She didn't get to interact with her or her grandfather all that much, but their letters always conveyed the impression that they really did wish they could spend more time with her. Every letter, every word carried a sense of happiness and joy.
Perhaps she could see if her parents would let her go across to the States sometime during the holidays.
.. She could have spent Christmas with them instead..
Her eyes stung, and she brushed the tears of frost aside, lest they freeze in her eyes in the frigid breath of mother winter. Dismounting from the window arch, she moved for the warmth of the Library hall - ignoring how a snowy owl gave a mournful hoot as she trudged back indoors.
Her first Christmas away from home was as she felt. Cold and lonely.
"Terribly sorry, Professor Quirrell. Professor Kettleburn needs Stephanie."
The girl in question looked up from her parchment, glancing at the girl who had just walked into the classroom, and was remaining at the door. She hadn't been paying attention to the girl's entrance, only poking her head up once her name was intoned. The stuttering Professor paused mid-remark, seemingly thrown entirely off by the sudden interruption, and Steph had to stifle a sigh. If she hadn't had to leave in that moment, she would be lamenting the fact that it would take Quirrell another ten minutes to get talking at any sort of speed again.
Still, it meant she would be doing more self-research on Vampires. At this rate, the whole class would end up as pale as one - although to be fair, she did have a head start on them all with her complexion. She was by far the fairest in her year, perhaps even the school.
Still, as she packed away her things into her bag and made to stand, Quirrell made this weird little noise between a hum and an exclamation. "Ahm- Yes, of course Ms S-Scamander. I-I'm sure o-one of your classmates w-wouldn't mind p-p-passing on the work.."
"Thank you, Professor." Hurriedly leaving the room, Steph took a deep breath of the fresh air of the hallway - relishing in the immediate decrease in the presence of the pungent aroma of garlic in the air. That classroom was liable to give her a headache every lesson at this rate.
"Stephanie - this way." The girl - a Gryffindor with dark skin and a friendly smile upon her lips - couldn't have been older than her middle schooling years, but still carried herself remarkably proudly for a student of her age. Steph could tell there was discipline in her gait - and her face was vaguely familiar, albeit she couldn't place it. It was unsurprising - Gryffindor was by far the house she paid the least attention, compounded by the fact that all those in her year were either gossips or content to goof off in class.
The less said about Weasley, or god forbid Finnigan, the better.
"Where are we going?"
Her remark reflected the path they were walking - it was decidedly the wrong way if they were planning to get to the open aired classroom that she had previously been to - and where she had earned her brief stint in the spotlight after saving the aforementioned Professor. But even if they were meant to be heading to the actual Care of Magical Creatures classroom in the castle, they were also headed the wrong way.
The Gryffindor girl gave a small grimace as they stepped outside, withdrawing her wand from her pocket as they quickly made their way across the grass and down the steep path hewn from the hill, down towards the small hut of Hagrid - outside of which the silver haired Professor stood, with the Groundskeeper himself standing alongside. "We're going with Hagrid and the Professor into the Forest."
Steph almost paused, but the Gryffindor girl gently pulled her along. "Come on - it's not far in. He said he needed your opinion on something."
"That I do, my dear." Evidently, they were in earshot of the Professor, and he gestured at the pair. Once they were close enough, he clapped his good hand onto his metal gauntlet, giving a grin as he looked to his right at the towering form of the Groundskeeper, pausing just a moment as he did so. "Hagrid, I'm not sure if you know Ms Angelina Johnson and Ms Stephanie Scamander. Ms Johnson is one of my best students, and.. Well, Ms Scamander's credentials rather speak for themselves!"
Steph could feel the flush spreading across her cheeks at the praise she did little to earn - really, the credit of the Scamander name belonged first and foremost to her Grandfather, secondly to Nanna Tina, and then her father. They were the Magizoologists, not her. Still, Hagrid seemed rather welcoming, for such an outwardly intimidating figure. "Nice ter meet yer Angelina. I already know Steph 'ere. Feelin' a bit better?"
Steph couldn't help but blink in naked and clearly visible surprise - she hadn't thought Hagrid would pick up on it just being a mood, but she was pleasantly surprised by his perceptiveness. It seems Daphne's conclusions of "Hopelessly Naïve" had been just a little bit harsh. Her pause had evidently given them some concern, and that brought the flush on her cheeks out even more, bobbing her head and managing an almost meek response. "Y-yeah, I am. Thanks."
"Good, Good, that's good." Clapping his hand on the gauntlet once again, Professor Kettleburn spun on his heel and began practically racing his way down into the Forbidden Forest, his voice practically sing song. "Come along now~! I only arranged to keep the Centaurs away from it for another hour, so we must be quick!"
It?
She exchanged a look with the pensive Angelina - both conveying their worry to each other as they quickly scrambled after their perhaps a little crazy Professor, with Hagrid bringing up the rear with some surprising speed, given his somewhat ungainly figure. Steph supposed it was probably the length of his strides, but he had remarkable dexterity to be able to move down the narrow path on such a steep slope.
Before she had a chance to really comprehend it, they had come to a stop, and Steph became abundantly aware that they were where she had been warned against going.
This was the Forbidden Forest.
It was dark - the canopy was very dense, and there were only the little shafts of light that broke through the foliage to provide illumination to the grove at the edge of which they stood. The trees around them were easily a dozen feet across, trunks solid and robust, gnarled from years of harsh conditions. Despite it being the middle of the day, even in spring, there was still licks of fog curling around her feet, and pooling down in the bottom of the clearing like a soup.
That had to be supernatural.
But the worst part was the cobwebs.
She didn't see them at first - she damn near well almost stepped in one, had Hagrid not grabbed her shoulder firmly, yet remarkably gently, and stopped her from taking a step into it. But on the floor was a cobweb very similar to one she had seen before. It was a trapdoor web - one designed to allow the spider to spring out and ambush whatever prey got caught in its web, reading the vibrations. It wasn't massive, it wouldn't be hiding anything too big, but she would easily have planted her shoe into it.
But that was an Acromantula trapdoor. One used by the nestlings, the spiders learning to hunt.
"H-Hagrid... That's-"
"Aye, tha's one of Aragogs. S'not supposed ta' be out 'ere." The man hefted a crossbow in his arms, taking a sweep of the clearing. "Nothin' else. Yer know the proper way t'deal with em?"
Steph suddenly cursed herself, flicking her wrist and pulling her wand into her hand - she had gone into the Forbidden Forest without sane supervision, without her wand in her hand, and without knowing there was apparently a bloody colony of Acromantula in it. Swallowing, she gave a nod and stepped back, levelling her wand with the opening for the trapdoor.
She could see it in there - the damn thing was the size of her boot nearly, and it was staring at her with its eight beady eyes. She hated that it was just there - so near the school. She could have made it suffer - could have done the spell order in reverse.
.. What the hell..?
She blinked away her sudden confusion - trying to ignore the almost random sadism that crept into her thoughts as she pointed her wand at it more firmly, intoning the first of the spells in the chain. "Arania Exumai!"
The spider - too weak to handle the spell, and being trapped in its own trap - squealed for a split second, before disintegrating, and Steph had to swallow her disgust. A second flick of her wand, coupled with an intonation, finished the job with the second charm. "Incendio!"
The small flash of flame burnt the webs to nothingness, and Steph stared at her handiwork for a second, before stepping around the spot in question, casting her gaze to search for the Professor, and somehow finding two even more distressing sights.
Upon the other side of the clearing stood a pack of Centaurs, armed with bows and arrows, but standing proudly, observing the humans with barely concealed contempt. Steph didn't miss how Angelina took a sharp breath beside her, or how Hagrid hefted his crossbow just a little bit higher as they stared across the clearing at the Centaurs. But despite there being nearly a half dozen watching, they made no move to interfere. Instead, the clear leader was staring down into the clearing.
And Steph couldn't help the gasp of horror that left her.
In the middle of the clearing lay the Unicorn from the lesson, with Professor Kettleburn standing almost mournfully beside it. She somehow just knew it was the same one from the lesson - logical thought dictated that the Unicorn probably staked Hogwarts as its territory, and the others kept away as a result. But now this Unicorn was no more, for it lay, dead, in the middle of the clearing, with silvery blood dried upon its neck, with trickles still leaking from its wounds.
This was the nebulous 'It' that the Professor had mentioned.
She stumbled down the lip of the clearing, ignoring Hagrid's noise of brief alarm at her sudden movement, practically sweeping her way through the pooling fog, racing up to the side of the Unicorn with the Professor. His tone had changed to an almost sombre to one. "Ms Scamander - do you recognise these wounds?"
His fingers gently stroked the neck, right beside the fatal injury that had felled the creature, and Steph recoiled physically at the sight, her self-control limiting her to only one step back. Whilst she most certainly did - she had seen an illustration nearly identical to this injury before - it paid to have reference, and as Hagrid and Angelina waded their way through the fog over to them, Steph took a step back and dug out the same dog-eared copy of Fantastic Beasts, flicking through the pages with practiced ease.
"This injury, Ms Johnson, is very.. Recognisable, I'm sure you'll agree. But there is more to it than you would first imagine - do you know, perhaps, what caused it?" Professor Kettleburn was talking to the Gryffindor girl as Steph hurriedly made her way through the dark creatures section of her book. Johnson would almost certainly answer Vampire - on the face of things, that is what it looked like. Two puncture wounds, flesh torn away and access to the jugular vein.
It had basically all the hallmarks of a Vampire attack.
But it wasn't.
"That's... That looks like a Vampire, sir.." Angelina's voice was full of trepidation, but Steph wasn't paying attention as she flicked past the handful of pages devoted to the creature that had just been mentioned. Her flicking came to a stop on a single word written neatly across the top of the page she stopped on. As a result, she missed how Professor Kettleburn made an amused noise and pointed his index finger at her matter-of-factly, just as she re-entered the conversation without looking up.
"It isn't."
The Professor made a noise of amusement as a smile spread across his face, something that Angelina responded to with a frown, one that Steph matched when regarding the Professor chuckling to himself. Regardless she stepped forwards, between them, and held the book underneath the wound, with the right page displaying an illustration eerily similar to the bite wound on the unicorn’s neck. At the top of the page on the left was etched a single word of seven letters.
Dhampir
"The term is wrong, its more an umbrella, not a species. In our case, this is a human with vampiric characteristics, probably attained from drinking Unicorn blood in the past." Steph held the book for a few more seconds, before closing it gently, slotting it back into her satchel bag. Reaching down, she plucked a stick from the ground, one that was relatively straight, and used it to gesture at the wound, rather than staining her wand, or god forbid her skin, with the substance.
Her stick pointed at the top of the wound, between the two obvious puncture wounds, and at the bite marks between, before travelling down to gesture at the exposed wound. "See - our first clue is that the wound is too big for a vampire. The killer has torn open the jugular vein and carotid artery. If it was a vampire, it wouldn't need to do that, it can drink through its fangs. Instead, the artery had been ripped open so that the killer can drink directly from the vein in the human sense."
"Ergo - it cannot be a Vampire, for even they prefer to do things easily, not messily." Giving a sigh, Steph pointed back at the top of the wound once again. "These are also human teeth, between the incisors. Vampire teeth are more pointed, more designed for rending flesh, unlike these, which have ripped it. This, thus, is a human.."
"20 points to Ravenclaw for a flawless deduction.." Aside from almost grimly awarding the points, as if they were a secondary concern in the moment - which they honestly were - Kettleburn was silent for a little bit, caught in thought, just as the rest of them were. Steph especially, decided not to linger on the death of the Unicorn - there was nothing she could have done for it in that moment, especially given that the Centaurs apparently had a plan for the creature’s corpse. The real problem was the implication.
What the hell at Hogwarts was out killing Unicorns and drinking their blood.
To whom could even a cursed life be useful?
"What did you say?"
Daphne gave Steph a look of what probably amounted to frustration, but just seemed a little condescending in the moment - and frankly Steph was getting a little sick of the blonde girl's spiel. Sure, they may both have been purebloods, but they had evidently been raised with some stark differences. Whatever Daphne's upbringing, she treated everything as business, and didn't seem to suffer any perceived slight.
"I said - it's a Philosophers stone. And we're going for it tonight."
Yeah, there was the crux of the issue. Not the fact that it was one of the greatest and mysterious magical artefacts in the history of Magic, perhaps even the world as a whole - but that phrase 'we're going for it tonight'. Not 'We're trying to protect it' - 'we're going for it'.
Daphne Greengrass saw the potential to steal a philosopher’s stone from under the nose of the greatest wizard on earth, and like a moth to a flame, she didn't see the risks over her temptation.
And Steph could only mourn that it had come to this.
She gave a small nod and a somewhat dismissive answer - and resolved to make her own plan to ensure these two clearly missorted Gryffindors didn't get themselves killed trying to pierce the traps that Albus bloody Dumbledore had set up. "Good luck."
Her attention turned back to the essay she was currently writing, and she resisted the urge to bite her quill - that had been a mistake the first time she had done it, the ink was rancid on her tongue. Instead, she bit her lip as she wracked her brains for a fifth use of Murtlap Essence. Snape hadn't thought much of her previous essay on Dittany, and if she wanted that extra credit, she'd need to score well on...
She wasn't able to stop her eyes briefly flashing upwards, at the stationary form of Daphne Greengrass, still standing next to the table.
Daphne was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Despite that, she could sense the immediate layer of tension that slowly settled over the scene - it was distinctly uncomfortable, and it made her feel hot and unsteady, goosebumps racing down her legs as she let out an uneasy breath. The quill slipped almost entirely from her fingers, and the wand sitting in its holster on her right wrist felt heavy.
She was acutely aware that she knew only what amounted to schoolyard jinxes - and that Daphne probably knew a dozen ways to put her out of commission for a good period of time. The full body bind they both knew from DADA, even if Quirrell had stuttered his way through it per usual, but the incantation was a seven-syllable spell. Although she'd almost certainly never use it, even if she could cast it, Daphne could get the killing curse out faster than Steph could manage the full body bind.
That thought, admittedly, didn't do great things for her mental state in that situation.
Daphne was still staring at Steph through the ravenette's partial mental breakdown, those piercing eyes ripping through her resolve with practiced precision. It was like being a little girl again, being chastised by Mother as she bore down on her with equally cold blue eyes - but Mothers were much harsher, much more evocative of her Scandinavian heritage. Daphne's were cool, yes, but they held sparkling wisdom and guile, with cunning lurking behind them both.
And only once Steph's nerves were well and truly shot did Daphne speak. "You're going to tell Flitwick, aren't you?"
".. Yes." It might as well have been the damn Imperius curse for all she knew, but the words slipped through her lips like she had taken a dosage of Veritaserum. Reluctant as she may have been, she sang like a canary.
".. Good. Tell him about Nine Thirty, we'll be leaving about Nine." Steph blinked - acutely aware that instead of being kept silent, she was being encouraged to dob them in. Before she could even stutter a reply, Daphne left, and the weight of the world practically crashed down upon Steph's shoulders, leaving the First Year Ravenclaw almost breathless at the table in the Library.
For a split second, a part of her considered disobeying the request.
Then the logical side of her - or maybe it was the illogical one, who knew at this point (for she certainly didn't) - promptly shoved the idea to the side. Daphne was a friend, and it was only half an hour. Daphne and Harry had an invisibility cloak and two pureblood upbringings worth of defensive magic - they were the top of the year for a reason, after all. If she wanted half an hour, she could have it.
She was old enough to make her own choices and mistakes, just as Steph was.
... Well, Nine Thirty it is..
Quirinus Quirrell could only grimace in discomfort as his Master's voice rang through his mind - or was it his voice, at this point? Their minds had begun to meld into the same being, occupying the same space in their head. He was not the same as his Master, of course, but their fates were now tied so long as they shared this body.
He would be going for the Stone tonight, his Master had seen the trap set by Dumbledore a mile away, but the potential window of opportunity to go after the Stone would be widest whilst the Headmaster was away, even if it meant cashing in everything he had. But then again, it was always going to come down to that, no matter when.
As he crept along the hallway towards the room he had helped to defend, and the room whose defences he had been probing throughout the year with as much subtlety as possible, he reflected upon the year.
Harry Potter had been.. Almost underwhelming - his Master had thought so at least. The boy had little in the way of magical skill, seemingly more interested in expanding his friend group than learning magic. As long as that stayed the same, then he supposed his Master had little need to worry.
But that brat Greengrass was worrying - no, perhaps irritating was a better way to describe it. She was politically smart, that accursed man Cyrus Greengrass had evidently ingrained such into her from a young age, but in doing so he had exposed a greater weakness than ever. He had shown the Dark Lord that he cared deeply for his eldest daughter - he had shown that he was willing to put his own personal time and effort into her, and that made her a point of leverage for the neutral Lord.
Then again, even Gustav Greengrass joining the Death Eaters had not been enough for Cyrus to bend the knee to Lord Voldemort-
A bolt of agony crashed through his head from behind, drawing a hiss from Quirrell as his Master reminded him that they were not the same.
The pain was almost debilitating - The Dark Lord was not stupid by any means, and he needed his Servant in perfect form, should Dumbledore appear. As he drew near the door, Quirrell reached out with his magic, feeling the detection ward pulse, listing those who had crossed the threshold of the room with the Cerberus in it. It intrigued him that Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass had crossed the ward no less than six times. Thrice in, thrice out.
But another name drew his attention even more.
Stephanie Scamander.
His Master found her familiar. For what reason, he did not know, but this otherwise irrelevant child was made relevant simply by his Masters interest in her. Quirrell resigned himself to the idea that Stephanie may have to be interrogated at some point - whilst he was not a good Legilimens, his Master was.
Whatever she was hiding, he would learn. Even if it left her mind shattered.
Quirrell pushed down the door handle to the room and waved his wand, conjuring a harp that began to strum even as the door clicked shut. He would leave the detection ward active, just in case.
The ride home on the train was almost anti-climactic after the excitement of the end of the year.
Daphne and Harry had managed to squeeze enough points out of their incredibly misguided adventure to land Hufflepuff and Slytherin tied for first place. Sure, there may have been grumbles from the Slytherin table at their streak being partially interrupted, but the rest of the school was in celebration - especially the Badgers, who had gone from third to first.
Ravenclaw had been similarly pleased, earning themselves second, breaking their eight-year streak of coming dead last in the house cup. Despite ending up last, Gryffindor seemed almost in higher spirits than Hufflepuff. House Rivalry, she supposed.
Daphne and Harry had kept their lips shut about what had actually happened down in the rooms that guarded the Philosophers Stone, but Steph was a Ravenclaw, not some stupid Gryffindor. She could tell that Professor Quirrell's sudden and convenient exit was a clear sign of just who had been attempting to steal from Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. She would have put a galleon on it being Quirrell who had attacked the Unicorn in the forest too.
Well, if she had a galleon to do so.
She supposed she also owed Daphne an apology for what had happened in the Library. Evidently, she reasoned, Daphne was being cautious, and that caution presented itself in being suspicious of Steph's actions and motivations. Steph had, without the information that only Daphne and Harry knew, suspected them of attempting to steal the Stone.
But as she watched the duo chat, she gave a small smile, regardless of how out of place it might have been. Their adventure had clearly made them closer - close enough that she wagered that the Boy-Who-Lived might be off the metaphorical market, just as Tracey had predicted in their first class. Strangely enough, for as frustrating as that fact may have been to the gossips like Brown and Patil, the idea didn't bother her that much.
The only thing that could have bothered her in that moment was the small thought in the back of her mind. A whisper of a conversation almost entirely forgotten.
One word - a name, one that she didn't voice in that moment. A question she would ask when the time was right.
Who was this 'Niobe'?