Chapter 8. Finding and losing

December was slowly enveloping Hogwarts in the winter cold. Irene had finally bought a warm robe after visiting Hogsmeade with Katherine. She liked the village so much that she wanted to go there again, but with the main condition — no boys. Katherine supported the idea, and there they were, ruddy and happy, spending time in the Three Broomsticks pub.

"Katherine, that's an insanely beautiful ring!"

"Ah!" Katherine smiled and held her palm out defiantly. "It was a birthday present from Abraxas. We've been engaged for a long time." She looked happy, and her eyes sparkled with joy. Katherine was a very warm person, but not with everyone. Irene had long ago noted to herself that she was cold and sometimes even arrogant, but only outside of her circle.

"It was your birthday? I didn't even congratulate you!"

"Yes, at the very end of October. It's no big deal! How would you imagine it would be? Irene, congratulate me, it's my birthday?" The heart felt warm from a ringing laugh, or maybe from a mug of cream beer.

"It still doesn't feel right."

"Come on! Where's your ring? You had one, too, as I recall."

"Can you believe, I can't find it!" Irene looked sadly at the glass of Gillywater. "I think I've been putting it away in my locker by my bed, but I still can't find it...."

"Why didn't you tell me before? We would have solved the problem right away! What if someone stole it?!"

"Absolutely not," Irene smiled slyly. Katherine, on the other hand, was completely perplexed. Irene sighed, "You won't tell anyone?"

"Of course not."

"Not even Riddle?"

"I can't promise that," Katherine admitted honestly.

Irene remembered that Riddle had been the first to nose out what the stone was on her ring, so even if Katherine did, it wouldn't be a great revelation to him.

"My ring has Morion on it."

The moment of awareness that it had been said in vain hung like a sword of Damocles over her head. And why the hell had she thought of Riddle and not herself first? Now she was literally fixing her gaze on the aristocratic face opposite, eagerly awaiting a reaction. After all, Katherine was far from stupid... Irene could only hope she was a bad actress.

"It's the most desirable mineral for dark wizards," Katherine whispered, not hiding the fact that she understood, "and the stone itself is one of the most amenable to the Dark Arts."

Irene nodded faintly, still staring at her without blinking. How would Katherine behave next? Would she alienate?

"But Irene, all this might sound doubtful, but only on the condition that his master..." A second's silence. In that time, Katherine reached the right conclusion and quietly said, "A dark witch."

Katherine suddenly realized something she would never have guessed. Her heart beat faster, and she felt a little sick. So that was why Riddle had told her to find out where Düster's ring was.

Katherine struggled to hold back the emotions that raged inside. For the first time in her life, she wanted to believe that her instincts about Irene had failed her, but the facts that had come to light said otherwise.

"Morion keeps the wizard's magic within itself. If someone had really stolen my ring, we'd have a corpse in the castle walls a long time ago."

Katherine swallowed, and then mentally recognized that Riddle was right: with Irene's arrival, the entire house was on a barrel of gunpowder, and everyone could take off into the air. Not that the Hogwarts Prefect was a saint himself, but he wasn't going to walk into the same trap twice, even with other people's feet, and he'd made that clear. And Katherine suddenly joined Riddle's strategy with her whole being, immediately speaking carefully, "Irene, I mean..." She looked around apprehensively, and then continued, "It's very important for each of us to finish our last year at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and–"

"And everything's fine. It's important to me, too, Katherine. It's the first time in my life..." Her throat was dry, and she took a welcome sip of beer, then reluctantly but honestly confessed, "I feel like I've found a home."

"Irene, do you have any friends?" Katherine asked a pointed question that made Irene feel uncomfortable.

"You don't talk to me much." Irene tried to laugh, but it sounded as if it was spiced with bitterness. "Friends. Friends, friends..." She leaned against the oak tabletop. "I don't know, Katherine... It's a very difficult question, one that can't be answered in one word. It seems to me that a person is always… all his or her life alone."

Alone – that word made Katherine's heart ache. It was suddenly obvious to her that Irene was terribly lonely, and she wanted so badly to hug her, that haggard, pale girl with the black hair, and tell that she was ready to be her friend! It would be good if the strained relationship between Riddle and Düster became normal. Katherine is ready to support her, but is there any sense in such loud and pretentious words? Restraint is something that has been so well brought up since childhood in every aristocratic family. Such things are proved by deeds, not empty words.

"But you and Abraxas look amazing, Katherine," Irene smiled weakly. "Really!.. When I see you two together, I melt. You really are an excellent match."

"Irene," Katherine suddenly became serious. Since she had decided that Irene was her friend, she would speak her feelings sincerely. "You see... We are perfect for each other in status. But…" She hesitated.

"Come on, I just told you about myself, and I can be suspected of the worst illicit affairs."

"I think... I like Malfoy a lot. But... It's so complicated. We're perfect for each other. And in this society, he's the only one worthy of me, and I'm worthy of him. But I... I don't feel passionate about him, you know? My heart doesn't beat faster when I see him."

"I understand you." Irene placed her palm over Katherine's palm. "A mudblood, muggle or wizard who doesn't fit the status will ruin whole life and entire existence in the wizarding world. That's why a marriage of convenience is sometimes the only true option."

Irene was being honest. She really didn't understand what other option there could be besides profit and calculation. Never before in her life had she been so physically sickened by a man, her thoughts confused and her lust overpowering her mind. At least, Irene thought so.

The pub doors creaked loudly, and two people came in, Rosier and Lestrange. The noise and din filling the space didn't make their arrival all that noticeable. They were tipsy and immediately made their way to the empty table that was next to the girls.

"What a meeting!" exclaimed Rosier joyfully. "Adalbert, let's sit down to our beauties!" Lestrange muttered something, but pushed back his chair, taking a seat next to Katherine.

"And we hoped to be alone!" Irene drawled sarcastically, but again everyone ignored her.

The bottle of mead slowly levitated onto the table. Lestrange opened it skillfully.

"I'm eighteen now. I've been able to afford it for a year now," Adalbert smiled and began pouring the alcoholic beverage into glasses. "Besides, Düster, we should have a drink, so that past grudges and misunderstandings won't bother us anymore."

The atmosphere was surprisingly light. The boys quickly made the girls laugh with a story about how once they were going to the Quidditch World Cup in Holland, but on the way they lost Avery and searched for him for hours in the woods. It turned out that he had apparated closer to the celebration site and had been looking for those in the tents of the other guests the whole time.

The loud laughter was broken by a stern voice, "What are you discussing?"

All eyes immediately went behind Irene's back, where the tall wizard was standing, the melting snowflakes silvery on his robe. Irene turned around and looked up - her gaze tripped over Riddle's face, which seemed like a beautiful stone sculpture. There was a frosty freshness to the black robe, and Irene noted to herself that it was a scent that suited Tom.

"It's nothing," she smiled and pulled back the chair next to her. "Sit down! There's place for you, too."

Riddle sat down leisurely and leaned back in his chair. Irene took a quick glance at his long fingers - on the ring finger there was a ring with a black stone with something written or drawn on it. Nevertheless, it was indecent to look at it, so Irene didn't do so, much less ask the question head-on. However, the feeling that she had already seen this ring once before did not leave her.

"What about the Yule Ball?" Katherine skillfully changed the subject, knowing that Tom hated Quidditch, thinking it was a terribly stupid game. "Have you decided who you're going to invite?"

"I'm going to invite Miss Nickelson from sixth year," Lestrange smiled. "She's very good!"

Rosier's eyes flashed with sly sparks, and he looked ingratiatingly at Irene. The perfect moment to ask her out! But there was no such thing. A heavy energy wrapped around him from all sides, and Rosier knew exactly when that was the case. The spark in his eyes faded, and he glanced cautiously at Tom, who had been staring at him intently for several moments now. A large head of short black curls nodded faintly in the negative – Rosier swallowed hard and poured himself some mead.

"And you, Irene?" Adalbert was surprisingly talkative. "Who are you going with?"

"I'm going to the library with a book," she answered dryly and sipped her mead.

Katherine laughed so loudly that even a tear slid down her cheek. She hastily brushed it away.

"What?" Irene genuinely didn't understand the reason for the laughter.

Riddle pressed his lips together, making them turn white. Rosier and Lestrange sat stone-faced, obviously holding back genuine emotion.

"Tom said the same thing yesterday," Katherine burst out laughing again. "I was just visualizing it. I hope you'll at least be dressed up there."

"Katherine, stop it," Tom smiled. "I just haven't decided who I'm going to invite yet."

"Go with Irene," Katherine suddenly became serious. Her desire to reconcile these two, who for some unknown reason were gunning for each other and frankly did not really like each other, flared up with renewed vigor. "Why? You two would look marvelous together."

"Katherine, please," Irene's tone also became serious. "I want to go with Adrian. Adrian?"

But Adrian only smiled guiltily, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd love to, but I've already invited another girl," he lied.

"Well, that's all right," Irene smiled.

"A glass of mead?" Adalbert looked at Tom questioningly.

"Thank you, but I'll decline." Polite and well-mannered as always.

"Guys, I have to go. It's been a pleasure spending time with you!" Irene rose from her seat and bowed out. With Riddle's arrival the atmosphere had become unpleasant and tense, so there was no desire to linger here any longer.

"Already?" Katherine was upset.

"Yes, I really have to go, I haven't written my Potions essay yet." Irene hurriedly wrapped herself in a scarf and, buttoning her robe, headed for the exit.

Fluffy snowflakes slowly swirled in the air. A deep breath of frosty air. Nippy and invigorating! She slowly wandered towards Hogwarts along the snowy path. Remaining completely still, Irene began to speculate, had the disguised tracking charms worked, which were quite difficult to set up? But the intrusive image of an indifferent handsome face invaded the mental halls again and again. Merlin! Can't wait for the new year already. When she left Hogwarts for the Christmas vacation, the Riddle issue would be settled once and for all - she had already decided how.

Oliver Nott was walking towards Irene on the snowy path.

"Hello, Düster."

"Good evening, Oliver!" Irene was surprised. What had happened that those Slytherin guys were finally much warmer?

Oliver walked leisurely towards the Three Broomsticks pub. The dimly lit room was noisy. His friends were sitting in the farthest corner, laughing loudly. He sat down in the seat where Irene had sat earlier.

"My Lord," he whispered, "we found it."

Tom nodded approvingly.

"Where did Malfoy go?" Katherine asked immediately, paying attention to every word of Nott who had just arrived.

"He's gone to Hogwarts. My Lord," he turned to Tom again, "Abraxas has done as you commanded."

Riddle answered nothing, but gave another nod of approval. Levitating Irene's empty glass with the scarlet lipstick imprint to his side, he gracefully poured some mead and took a sip. The fire of anticipation of triumph flashed in his eyes.

Irene had reached Hogwarts and was already walking past the Transfiguration classroom, where Albus Dumbledore and Torquil Travers were standing. They were talking about something quietly.

"We're not pressuring you, Albus, but it's time to do something. You can't stand by all the time. None of us want such a terrible fate for the Muggle and wizarding world."

"I know, Torquil." The professor looked thoughtful. "I'm working on it."

"Good evening!" Irene greeted politely.

The professor and the Ministry representative said hello in return and, apparently deciding that it was worth continuing the conversation where there were no extra ears and eyes, headed for the professor's office.

"Otstenduet Vestigia!" Irene whispered quietly, waving her index finger discreetly at Dumbledore's back.

A faint shadow separated from the professor and hurriedly floated up the stairs. Irene immediately followed it. It led her to the library on the fourth floor. Diving into the left row between the shelves, the shadow disappeared between the books. Irene scrutinized the shelf: all the books hadn't been touched in a long time, but there was no dust in the very corner, near one of them. Pale fingers immediately grasped the black binding.

There was no one at the window at the table where Irene liked to study. Sitting down comfortably, she began to flip through the pages, carefully looking at the titles. This book was all about dragons, their habitats and some of their magical properties. One of the pages was slightly crumpled.

"Well, of course..." Irene hummed to herself and shut the book loudly. "Of course!"

Triumph and satisfaction from the work done appeared on her face. It all made sense now. Back in Koldovstoretz, Maria had told her that dragon's blood was magical and special. So that's exactly what Dumbledore was doing right now.

Irene hurried to the owlery in one of the towers. The circular stone room was winter cold and drafty. There were droppings and the remains of small rodents everywhere. Owls of various breeds sat in tiers on perches all the way up to the tower ceiling. Irene clicked her tongue loudly, realizing that the place was cleaned once a year at most. A few swipes of her palm and all the dirt was disposed of. A large black barn owl flew down and sat at her feet. Irene leaned over and began whispering protection and disguise spells, making gestures in the air. She couldn't send an ordinary letter - the Ministry of Magic could check it.

"Come on, little one!" Irene glared at the owl. "Fly to France."

The owl flapped its large wings and disappeared into the darkness of the coming winter night.

The Slytherin dungeon was cool as usual, so the fireplace crackled cozily, warming the room. The students had scattered to their rooms, and Irene was reading a book as usual, nestled on the leather couch. The paragraph on Felix Felicis potion was too tedious and somewhat complex. It wasn't allowed to brew such a potion anyway, and reading Zygmunt Budge's history was frankly a drag. Irene was exhausted from the day's activities and didn't notice that sleep had taken over every cell of her body. She snoozed peacefully and did not hear the two men enter the living room.

"Well done, Abraxas."

"My Lord!" Malfoy nodded. His gaze slid around the living room, and he caught sight of a curly hair on the couch that blended in with the color of the black leather. "We're not alone." He pointed toward the sleeping Irene.

"She's asleep," Tom said indifferently. "She often falls asleep here and then goes to the girls' room. Good night, Abraxas. Tomorrow is a busy day."

"Yes, my Lord." Malfoy headed for the boys' room, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible.

Tom watched him go, then walked over to the fireplace and sat down in the leather armchair that stood beside the sofa. Hearing immediately drowned in the calm and measured Irene's breathing. Tom swung his palm – the textbook soared into the air and then landed silently on the floor, next to the sofa.

He leaned back in his chair and just watched Irene sleeping, probably for the hundredth time since her arrival at Hogwarts. The urge to try using Legilimency again was immediate. It had been dangerous in the room of requirement, but now she was fine and could take the risk.

"Legilimens," Tom whispered quietly, waving his white yew wand.

Nothing happened. It was like a wall. Did that mean Irene was good at occlumency? Apparently so. Where did that girl come from? This mystery that he had buried six years ago had resurfaced and was clinging to his peaceful existence like a pesky bur. At least, if it was as she said, the Parseltongue issue was solved. She had lost the ring safely, which was no surprise. It was the second time she'd lost her memory like that.

Tom chuckled at the absurdity of what was happening. Everything about her was always clownish and chaotic.

Is it reasonable that he wouldn't let Adrian have the Yule ball with her? Yes. She's dangerous. She could turn his head. He trusts Rosier, of course, but this girl... What if she gets inside his head? She erased Avery and Lestrange's memories. Legilimency won't work on her. Then she will find out about the Moaning Myrtle and Hagrid, and will become a problem that will have to be solved, but Hogwarts will definitely be closed from this solving.

Ace in a hole. She doesn't know that Tom had turned every moment of the memories of what had happened in the forest inside out that very day... And now he intended to just wait for the Christmas holidays.

Irene mumbled something inaudible as she rolled over onto her back. Her hair fell from the couch, like a waterfall of darkness that beckoned, begging to run hands in.

Tom swallowed hard. Maybe he should put Amortentia in her pumpkin juice, making her possessed, and just fuck her? The thought crossed his mind for the umpteenth time. But he doesn't need another pushy Mia or any other girl in love with him – he's simply not interested.

He grinned again. But She is not them. She was the one in front of his eyes every time in that damned Prefects' Bathroom, slowly rising out of the water and staring at his cock, licking her lips and breathing heavily. She was the one smothering a chubby Chris with the bag, making goosebumps run down his skin for the first time. She was the one laughing out loud in his bed at the shitty Muggle orphanage, where he'd gag her with the palm of his hand and she'd struggle even harder and then just collapse in his arms like a strangled rabbit. She was the one who ran barefoot on the cold floor, and he would put white socks and black sandals on her pale little feet that didn't reach the floor. He could do whatever he wanted with her, just like a toy.

Suppressing the desire that was causing the pressing tightness in his pants, Tom licked his parched lips and just leaned back in his chair, tipping his head up. He closed his eyes.

It would take time. Everything he already had could surely be used. He rose quietly from the chair, looked once more at the pale face, the glare of the fire in the fireplace, and left the common room.

☽

The trees have long since put on their winter attire. The days had gotten shorter and the nights longer. It would seem that you could get discouraged by the grayness and constant darkness, but Hogwarts was buzzing every day. Preparations for the Yule Ball were in full swing, because this year it had been decided to have a play of The Fountain of Fair Fortune. The most active and charismatic students were in the front rows of those willing to participate in this undertaking.

"Irene, today is the audition and the first rehearsal," Alex smiled, opening the book. "You need to participate. You'll get one of the main roles and your house will get points, which will contribute to your positive reputation."

"I think you're right," Irene replied dryly, her curls shimmering in the winter sunlight streaming through the library window. "Give me a book on ancient runes, please."

Alex paused for a moment, trying to see something in the emerald eyes that stared at the parchment, and then handed the book over.

He'd noticed her when they'd first met at Horace's Slug Club. He had liked her very much. Since then, when they crossed paths at random in the library, they always studied together, in peace and quiet. True, Irene was taciturn, but she seemed to be quite comfortable with him.

Now Alex decided to voice what had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time, but there was no right moment.

"The play will be ready soon, the ball in a couple of weeks... I wanted to invite you to come with me."

"Yes," Irene agreed quickly and indifferently, still writing something down on her parchment.

"I'll go to my room, then. We have a meeting in the Ravenclaw Tower. I'll see you at the rehearsal tonight!" He was genuinely pleased with the agreement, although the only answer he expected to get from Irene was no.

Irene was engrossed by the studies that she didn't notice the evening had come. She looked around confused, realizing that it had long since gotten dark and the library was practically empty. Apparently, the dinner in the Great hall had been safely skipped.

"Damn it, rehearsal!"

The clacking of heels was maddeningly annoying. It seemed that even deep beneath the dungeon, somewhere in the bowels of the pipes, someone could definitely hear Irene desperately trying not to be late. Herbert Beery, the Herbology Professor, must be displeased. She must not be late. Reputation must be clearer than glass. The cherished doors to the great hall were swung open.

"Excuse me!" Irene, out of breath, straightened her robe as she walked. Her blush betrayed the speed with which she had rushed to the first rehearsal, where only those involved in the play were present. Among the group of students, she spotted a few house members.

"Ms. Duester!" smiled Professor Beery. "You came in just in the nick of time. It's true what they say about Germans being terribly punctual. Well. let's begin! Dear students, you all know 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' – one of the stories in the fairy tales' collection, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. You must have read it as a child: on a high hill, in an enchanted garden, hidden behind high walls is a magical spring – the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Once a year, on the day of the summer solstice, an "unfortunate" was allowed the opportunity to find their way to the fountain, to bathe in the water, and to win "fair fortune forever more". It was here that three witches met and shared their tales of woe. First was Asha, "sick of a malady no Healer... could cure", who hoped the fountain could restore her health. The second was Altheda, who was robbed and humiliated by a sorcerer. She hoped the fountain would relieve her feelings of helplessness and her poverty. The third witch, Amata, had been deserted by her beloved, and hoped the fountain would help cure her "grief and longing". There also was Sir Luckless. We need performers for these major roles.

Several hands got up in the air. Someone poked Irene in the side – the instinctive urge to grab her wand was forcefully suppressed. She turned around, but it was only Alex. She relaxed and calmly raised her hand.

"Okay," the professor smiled. "The role of Altheda will be taken by Jessie Cole, Asha by Matilda Farlow... Irene Duester, you will play the role of Amata.

Irene was ready to sigh unhappily the entire room. The prospect of bouncing around the stage in front of a crowd of students didn't seem exciting. She wanted to play a tree. Nothing more. However, the prospect of being one of the best students was much more rewarding, so Irene immediately smiled and nodded happily.

"Alex, the role of the knight is yours," the professor said.

Then he named a few more minor characters and began to appoint those in charge. Professor Dumbledore was responsible for the "special effects": a fountain and a miniature hill on which the characters would supposedly climb, while the hill would gradually sink and eventually disappear beneath the stage. Herbert Beery took over, as was already obvious to all, the duties of director. Standing next to Albus was Silvanus Kettleburn, the professor of Care of Magical Creatures. He was in charge of the entity for the role of the giant serpent.

The students were given parchments with words on them. The first rehearsal did not go smoothly, of course: everyone stammered, got confused, and someone even managed to voice the idea that the story actually had slightly different words, because mom or dad had told it that way when they were kids, not the other way around – because of all this, a slight tension began to build up.

Finally, an hour later, the whole freshly minted troupe made it to the finale, where a knight in the form of Alex bathed in the Fountain in his rusty armor, and then jumped out and started to propose marriage to Amata.

Irene stood stone-faced and stared at Alex, who, like a resurrected pterodactyl, ran circles around her, begging to be his wife. She endured so much that not only her cheeks but also her ears began to blush. Unable to bear that picture, she burst into a ringing laugh that turned into a resounding cackle, which made everyone present laugh too. Dumbledore clapped his hands together and then clutched his stomach. Kettleburn hissed like a kettle on the stove, wiping tears from his cheeks. The students broke into applause. Amidst the warm and cheerful atmosphere of noise and clamor, Irene's hearing picked up loud, ragged clapping and the inaudible whisper of an unfamiliar voice. Behind the small crowd stood Tom. In the glow of the magic ceiling, there seemed to be a flicker of scarlet in his eyes. His palms slapped against each other with force. A smile that looked more like a grin froze on his face. Irene's body felt like it had been plunged into the mouth of a volcano. "Again!" was all she could think and she collapsed senseless on the floor of the Great Hall.

Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice called by name.

"Irene!" it repeated.

The black lashes trembled. Irene slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light that was blinding her. The dark spot hovering above her slowly began to take the shape of a human silhouette.

"Irene, can you hear me?" Dumbledore's concerned voice brought her back to reality more and more insistently.

Irene nodded. Her vision had returned fully. The Professor of Transfiguration was sitting on the floor, leaning toward her. The tails of his unbuttoned jacket hung down, revealing his vest. A small, clear phial, unusually shaped, peeked out from the inside pocket of the jacket. Her heartbeat slowed.

"It's okay, nothing hurts," she whispered and tried to stand up.

The students exhaled with such relief, as if the whole castle had sighed. Alex immediately put up his hand.

"I just missed dinner," Irene smiled weakly, glancing around the crowd. Riddle was nowhere to be found.

Alex volunteered to see her of to the dungeon, not taking any 'I'll walk myself' attitude. Accepting his offer, Irene left the Great Hall in his company. It wasn't that far to the dungeon, which was good. As they reached a nook that seemed to be a dead end, Irene saw a familiar tall, thin figure coming out of the Slytherin common room. Her whole gut fluttered with hatred and a desire to torture him with Cruciatus for his uncontrollable dislike. But the cherry on the cake was the heightened reflexes that screamed that he was dangerous. He was perfectly capable of playing the role of a well-mannered nerd student, but he was cunning and strong beyond his years.

"I'll take it from here," Irene smiled, trying to say goodbye to Alex as quickly as possible. "I'll be at the library tomorrow night. I'll see you there."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Alex, elated by the light kiss, smiled and turned around, nodding happily. Irene gave him a glance before he disappeared up the main staircase.

"Five points from Slytherin," a voice said coldly, but it was like a slap in the face.

Irene turned around. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, Tom was staring at her intently.

"Points from your own house?" She said, unable to contain the irritation. "Are you trying to make me the enemy of Slytherin? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"According to the rules of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, students are forbidden to kiss each other in public. Where did they teach you manners?"

"The same place as you?" Irene spat the phrase venomously in his face, as if it were poison.

Riddle's face changed beyond recognition. The model student of Hogwarts, who was idolized, suddenly looked like a poisonous viper, who was preparing for a deadly bite.

Tom resisted the urge to push Irene against the wall and squeeze her neck so that she would simply not be able to breathe anymore and would slowly blush, gasping and begging to stop.

After fixing his perfectly ironed uniform, he said absolutely nothing and with a defiantly indifferent look, slowly headed away.

Irene, snorting, headed further into the dungeon. She looked so gloomy and oppressive that Katherine immediately asked all the girls to go to the common room, feeling that something was about to happen. No one ever dared to argue with Grace. As soon as the door slammed shut, the gut-wrenching negativity immediately rushed in.

"Son of a bitch! One minute he's sitting next to me and not saying a word, the next he's disliking me!" Irene angrily kicked the air. "Imagine, taking points from your own house! I just kissed Alex!"

"Are you dating Alex?" Katherine's question sounded as if Irene was the most heinous deserter possible.

That wasn't what Irene wanted to hear, so she waved her palm toward the desk where the stack of textbooks lay, and they clattered to the floor.

"I'm so fucking sick of you! Of your whole retinue!" A second spell flew through the window, shattering the glass. The only reason the water didn't rush in was because there were protective charms further on. "Katherine, if I wanted to, I could date a Muggle!"

Katherine shuddered at the last phrase, as if she had just been served a beautiful tray covered with a decorative lid, which the waiter opened to reveal unicorn shit. The aristocrat's lips turned into strings.

"And I hate Riddle!" Curly locks of hair stirred like snakes, the black robe rippled. "Wholeheartedly!" Irene slowly approached Katherine. "By Merlin, I swear I'll kill him if he even once more..."

"Once more he doesn't admit he likes you?" Katherine's voice sounded like an iceberg drifting somewhere in the Arctic Ocean.

Irene's hair fell to her shoulders, finally depriving her of her Medusa Gorgon look. Katherine's phrase had the effect of a bucket of ice water poured over the head. Irene only now realized that all this time she had been waving her hands, using non-verbal magic. Auntie Vi's words about suppressing impulses, controlling aggression when it's so necessary, rang clearly in her head, but only too late.

"Who are you, Irene?" Katherine asked a direct question, slipping her hand into the inner pocket where her wand was kept just in case. "How much longer are you going to lie? You just trashed half the room without using your wand, without casting a spell out loud. And there's no ring on your finger, so you can't lie."

"For the sake of Merlin," Irene whispered, sitting up slowly on her bed. "For your safety... Don't ask those questions, Katherine."

Katherine sat silently beside Irene and looked at the pile of scattered books.

"Irene... I only want to be friends... And Tom... He feels your power, as I do. And he likes you because you're our equal."

"Is this another one of your plans, Katherine?" Irene smirked.

"No. It's what I see," she sighed heavily. "I didn't want and don't want to be involved in many things. But I've been engaged to Abraxas for a year now, and he's... Riddle's staunchest supporter... We're getting married after graduation. I would never go against my family or those closest to me. And if I do anything, it's—"

"Only because you have to," Irene finished the sentence, knowing exactly how it felt.

There was a dead silence in the room.

"I'm sorry," Katherine whispered softly, "for the tracking charms. I couldn't have done it any other way."

Irene rose from the bed. Silently she waved her palm and things began to return to their proper places. Katherine walked over to the window. Taking out her wand, she spoke softly, "Reparo."

The next moment, the glass was in place, as good as new. A graceful wave — a warming charm reigned in the room.

Irene was once again lost in thoughts: how did Riddle deserve to be obeyed implicitly? There was obviously more to it than talent and charisma. Katherine really did treat Irene well, but she was immaculate in doing what Tom told her to do. What did the words "staunchest supporter " mean? What do they do and what do they want? There were even more questions. Maybe Riddle suspected something... What if they had something to do with the Ministry? His words about Durmstrang... Someone had tried to use Legilimency on her several times. What if it was him? But if it really was, then he could easily get into Avery and Lestrange's heads, and then.... Merlin!

"Katherine, I really need to go to the library, I left there my parchment! I completely forgot!"

"Yes, of course. And you can tell the girls they can come back to the room."

Under the cover of night, which hid the worst fears and darkest shadows, Irene hurried to the Forbidden Forest. One would have thought it was a Dementor who had broken the ban, hovering on the school grounds without permission. Finding herself at the snow-covered site of the fall massacre, Irene used Summoning charms to find what she had hidden here back in September.