Heart of the Serpent

      The rest of the week flew by unnoticed and left no particular impression. On Saturday, the first trip to Hogsmeade was to take place, and all Hogwarts students who were permitted to go had been anticipating the event since Thursday, eagerly awaiting the chance to leave the castle for a while and take a walk.       “What’s with your sudden interest in that book all week?” Simona asked in puzzlement when she and Mary Abercrombie returned to the common room after breakfast and found Miranda reading by the fireplace. “I think you even sleep with it under your pillow!”       Miranda gave a faint smile and looked up from the worn copy of One Thousand Magical Plants and Fungi.       “I’m preparing for a test at the end of October. Professor Beery promised us one in Herbology.”       It was a perfectly safe lie, which the girls swallowed without the slightest doubt. Miranda was about to return to her textbook, but Simona decisively placed a hand on the yellowed pages, blocking her view.       “Oh no, you don’t! You have a trip to Hogsmeade, and you are not going to waste it on dusty textbooks! Ignatius will be back from the Great Hall any minute, and you’re still in your school uniform! What are you going to wear?”       That question had somehow not occurred to Miranda, and after a pause she gestured eloquently at her sweater and skirt. Simona and Mary exchanged horrified looks and rolled their eyes dramatically.       “Absolutely not! It’s your first date, and you simply must look wonderful!”       Ignoring her weak protests, the girls dragged Miranda upstairs. She did not resist them much, admitting they were right. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted to impress Prewett, but a Frost must always look impeccable and appropriate to the occasion. However, due to lack of means, Miranda’s wardrobe was now rather modest – almost everything she had bought before school was new, but practical and not especially elegant. Having realised she had travelled back in time, Miranda had prepared herself to survive in 1944, but had somehow not expected that she would have to go on dates here.       …Dates, for Merlin’s sake? She had no time for such nonsense!       “Here, try this!” Mary said cheerfully, handing her a neatly wrapped bundle. Neither she nor Simona suspected her thoughts, and if they had, they would not have believed them.       Obediently, she put on the blouse and skirt offered to her and wistfully thought of the jeans lying at the bottom of her trunk. Ridiculous forties – why didn’t women wear trousers here?! Simona clapped her hands at the sight of the transformed Miranda, and Mary exclaimed delightedly:       “Simply wonderful!”       Miranda looked at herself in the mirror, admitted that the girls did indeed know what they were talking about, and thanked them as sincerely as she could.       “Oh, don’t mention it,” Simona waved it off. “The important thing is that Ignatius likes it… By the way, Owen and I are going too. Shall we meet at the Three Broomsticks around midday? We could all sit together…”       “Of course,” Miranda smiled. “Thank you both very much again!”       “Off you go – he’s probably been waiting for ages!”       She met Prewett by the portrait of the Fat Lady. He was very courteous, complimented her appearance, and began asking about her impressions of Hogwarts. Miranda smiled and answered kindly, making sure the conversation did not drift into territory she would rather avoid.       Thus, in light and cheerful conversation, they left the school grounds and set off along the road to the village. The October day was gloomy and windy, but fortunately dry and not too cold. Fallen leaves rustled underfoot, and new ones were constantly being blown down from the trees. At an unhurried pace, they reached Hogsmeade and wandered along the main street, occasionally stopping in the shops. Ignatius turned out to be very pleasant, with a good sense of humour, and easy to talk to. As captain of the Quidditch team, he was clearly popular at school – Miranda realised this from the looks the girls they passed cast at them. At Honeydukes they bought blackberry pastilles and liquorice sweets, then stopped by Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop for new ink and quills, where they ran into Minerva. Near Zonko’s, Miranda spotted Septimus Weasley and Geoffrey Longbottom, animatedly discussing something as they examined the display window. By the Gladrags Wizardwear shop, she noticed Mary Abercrombie with a Hufflepuff girl. Greeting acquaintances along the way, they reached the end of the street and turned back. It was a very pleasant walk, reminding her of all those weekends in Hogsmeade in her own time – just as carefree, filled with easy, uncommitted conversation with familiar faces. At one point, Prewett asked about her family, but Miranda deftly steered the conversation toward Quidditch, after which she only had to nod in the right places and ask guiding questions. Around four o’clock, they entered the Three Broomsticks. The pub was crowded, and among the visitors Miranda noticed Professors Slughorn and Beery relaxing with mead at a table by the window. As soon as Miranda and Ignatius stepped inside, Simona, who had sprung up from a corner table, caught their attention.       “Miranda, over here!”       Ignatius did not object, and they joined Simona and Owen. It seemed they had only just arrived themselves – there was nothing yet on their table. The place was convenient, tucked into a corner, and not crowded with passing patrons. The only drawback Miranda noticed was the group of Slytherins at the neighbouring table, mostly seventh-years. As soon as she recognised familiar faces – Dolokhov, Avery, Rosier, Lestrange – she glanced around anxiously, but after a moment let out a quiet breath of relief. He was not there.       “We’ll get butterbeer for everyone,” Owen offered, and he and Ignatius headed to the bar.       Taking advantage of the pause, Simona immediately leaned toward Miranda.       “Well? How was your date? Ignatius can’t take his eyes off you– Did you notice?”       She lowered her voice conspiratorially, though it was unnecessary – the pub was so noisy that one could speak at full volume without fear of being overheard. Miranda smirked, remembering their first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army at the Hog’s Head – how worried they had been about secrecy and how badly they had miscalculated in the end…       “Oh, so you like him too!” Simona exclaimed happily, drawing her own conclusions from that smile. “I’m so glad! You make a beautiful couple!”       Miranda was spared the need to reply by the boys returning with bottles.       “Step right up!” Owen said cheerfully, setting his load on the table. “No pushing, please, form an orderly queue!”       “To new acquaintances and our first Hogsmeade weekend!” Ignatius proposed, and everyone enthusiastically supported the toast.       The next two hours passed unnoticed. The bottles of beer were gradually emptied, and Miranda felt warm and at peace. The group quickly found common ground and were now actively discussing the Quidditch World Cup that had taken place that summer. Miranda leaned back in her chair, hardly taking part in the conversation, but listening attentively. When Ignatius, by general agreement, went to fetch another round, she suddenly asked:       “Owen, your surname is Bagshot, isn’t it?”       “That’s right,” he nodded, smiling. Charming dimples appeared on his cheeks. “I know what your next question will be, so I’ll answer right away: yes.”       Miranda laughed.       “So you really are related to Bathilda Bagshot.”       “I’m her second cousin twice removed, and her favourite,” Owen said readily, ruffling his chestnut hair and pretending to think. “To be fair, I’m her only second cousin twice removed… but still her favourite.”       “And rather boastful,” Simona added, smiling at him tenderly.       “Just a little,” he admitted without hesitation.       “Are you interested in the history of magic yourself?” Miranda asked.       He shook his head apologetically.       “I’m afraid not. Too dull for me… I prefer action to studying ancient tomes… I want to become a curse-breaker after school.”       “Oh,” Miranda said with respect. “That’s a lot of NEWTs to pass!”       “Hardly more than a healer needs,” he chuckled, and Miranda smiled knowingly. “I only take Arithmancy instead of Herbology, otherwise it’s the same set as yours. Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms have always come easily to me, so I hope I’ll manage…”       “You’ll have to travel a lot in that job,” Miranda remarked, recalling stories about Bill Weasley.       “I’m used to that,” Owen laughed. “School’s the only place that keeps me in one spot – my family travels all the time in the summer! I’ve been all over Europe, especially the eastern part. Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria, Albania. Carefully, of course, I wouldn’t want to run into Grindelwald or his followers…”       At that moment, two things happened at once: Ignatius returned with more butterbeer, and the door opened, letting in a gust of October wind. Riddle appeared on the threshold, accompanied by Malfoy. The pub was so crowded that their arrival went almost unnoticed. But all of Miranda’s lazy calm vanished instantly; she sat up straight and fixed her attention deliberately on Ignatius and Owen, who had resumed discussing the previous match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Yet their words slipped past her ears – her focus was now entirely on the Slytherin table.       After a moment’s hesitation, she shifted her chair slightly closer to Ignatius, moving to the left to get a better view of the neighbouring group. Simona’s eyes widened like two galleons, and she gave Miranda an approving wink, but Miranda did not notice. Pretending to be engrossed in a discussion of the fastest broomsticks and Davis’s goalkeeping skills, she watched the Slytherins from the corner of her eye.       This was not idle curiosity or a desire for adventure. After several days spent studying One Thousand Magical Plants and Fungi, Miranda had finally found what she had been looking for and could now say with certainty that Riddle had moved to active measures. Losing sight of him was now simply dangerous. Meanwhile, Riddle and Malfoy approached the rest of the Slytherins. As they drew near, the young men straightened instinctively, stopped joking, and their smirks vanished.       “Evan, did you get what I asked for?” the prefect inquired. He appeared relaxed, and an outsider would have noticed nothing unusual, but Miranda clearly saw the contrast between their behaviour before and after his arrival.       “Of course, Tom,” Rosier produced a small folder from the inner pocket of his robes. Riddle took it without a word, without a “thank you,” without even a nod.       “Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “Just don’t be late returning to the school.”       “Er… Tom,” Lestrange called as he was about to leave. Riddle raised one eyebrow slightly, indicating he was listening. “We wanted to ask… That Mudblood, Mortimer, who insulted me last week, he’s in Hogsmeade. May we… speak with him?”       Dark eyes narrowed slightly.       “Speak with him. But be back on time – and I trust that no one will remember your conversation afterwards. Felix, do you hear me? I would be very displeased if rumours of your… lack of restraint began circulating again.”       “Of course, Tom,” Avery muttered almost inaudibly, his face going pale.       “Abraxas, Antonin, see to it,” Riddle ordered, and they inclined their heads.       “Yes, Tom.”       Having lost interest, Riddle stepped back, about to leave, but at the last moment his gaze swept the room. Miranda felt her heart skip a beat when he noticed her. She pretended to be fully absorbed in conversation, though she had no idea whether she had deceived him. If Riddle realised she had been listening…       She felt his gaze upon her with every fibre of her being and had no idea what thoughts were now moving behind the eyes of that angelically handsome boy, beneath whose beauty something dark and dangerous lurked. At last, he looked away from her and glanced at Ignatius. Miranda was sitting so close to Prewett that it was obvious they had come as a pair. Riddle gave a quiet, amused breath and left the pub.       Miranda exhaled deeply as the tension drained away. The voices in the pub seemed suddenly louder; she once more noticed the sweet scent of mead and the warmth of the fire. Merlin, how did this person manage to suppress her with his mere presence? And not only her, if one was honest.       She glanced again at the Slytherin table. Riddle’s companions had noticeably relaxed and were behaving like ordinary seventeen-year-olds. Though what kind of friends were they, really? In his presence, they looked anything but friendly. He gave orders, and they did not dare disobey. Some friendship… And what was in that folder Rosier had given him?       Her thoughts returned to the overheard conversation. As if confirming it, the Slytherins began rising from their table and putting on their outerwear. The name “Mortimer” echoed in Miranda’s mind. One could wager anything that merely “talking” to a Mudblood was not part of their plan. And if so, this Mortimer was in grave danger. They had to act quickly.       “I’m sorry, would you mind if I stepped out for a moment?” she asked Ignatius gently, smiling. “We’ll be heading back soon, and I’d like to stop by the bookshop to buy a Transfiguration guide.”       “I can come with you!” Prewett offered at once, but she shook her head.       “That’s not necessary. I know exactly what I need – I’ll be there and back in no time. And then you can tell me how that match between Peru and Italy ended. All right?”       She had noticed how absorbed Ignatius was in his conversation with Owen and chose to play on that. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Slytherins leaving the pub as a group. Come on, think faster, she urged silently. Neither I nor Mortimer have time for your hesitation.       “All right,” Prewett finally agreed, unsuspecting. “Just don’t be long, okay?”       “Of course!” She gave him a final smile, waved to a surprised Simona and Owen, and hurried toward the exit, throwing on her cloak as she went.       Time had flown by in the pub, and it was already growing dark outside. They would soon have to return to Hogwarts – which meant the Slytherins did not have much time. They were no longer on the main street, and she moved quickly, peering into every alley she passed. Her fingers gripped her wand tightly in her pocket. Come on, they couldn’t have gone far…       She found them in an alley behind Dervish and Banges. She might easily have passed by without noticing anyone, but fortunately she remembered, at the last moment, how in her own time Nott, Malfoy, and Crabbe with Goyle had ambushed Colin Creevey in that very spot. Luckily, Fred and George Weasley had been passing by with her then, and they had saved Colin. Now, however, stepping into that alley alone was not the wisest idea. One against five idiots with wands – not the best odds. She would likely take them down, but not without cost, and she would rather avoid that kind of heroism…       From around the corner she could hear Riddle’s classmates talking. Mortimer was not there yet, but they seemed certain he would appear. And indeed—on the other side of the street, a Hufflepuff sixth-year she had seen a few times in the Great Hall came into view. Unfortunately, he approached from the wrong direction, and Miranda would not make it in time to warn him.       What to do, what to do?       She glanced around desperately, and nearly cried out in relief. Not far off, on the main street, she spotted a familiar stout figure who had evidently just left the Three Broomsticks and was heading back to Hogwarts. Miranda rushed toward him.       “Professor Slughorn, good evening!”       “Miranda, my dear girl!” he beamed. The mead at the Three Broomsticks had clearly suited him. “How is your day off?”       “Wonderful, sir! Oh, sir, I have a great favour to ask. I would be so grateful if you could help me!”       “To assist one of my best students is my duty!” Slughorn declared – and hiccupped.       “Oh, Professor, thank you! You see, I found some very interesting books on rare potions, but I can’t decide which one to buy. If only you could take a look… Unfortunately, I didn’t think to write down the titles…” Slughorn smiled indulgently.       “Well then, let us step into the shop. And then straight back to the castle – you don’t want to break curfew, do you?”       “No, sir, of course not!” Miranda smiled sweetly, reminding herself unpleasantly of Umbridge, and hurriedly led him into the alley before he could realise that the bookshop remained on the main street.       But the professor quickly came to his senses and looked around in confusion – just as laughter, a heavy thud, and a pained cry reached them. There was laughter again, and the flash of a spell from within the alley.       “Merlin’s beard, what is this?” Slughorn exclaimed, rushing forward. Miranda followed close behind.       The scene that met them was exactly what she had expected: the same Hufflepuff sixth-year lay against the wall, clutching his injured face, his wand idly twirled in Malfoy’s hand. The others held Mortimer at wandpoint, and, as Miranda suspected, were taking turns casting curses. The assault had only just begun, and they had not yet managed to inflict serious harm.       “What is going on here?!” Slughorn thundered. He flew into a rage and sobered instantly. The faces of his students changed just as quickly as they realised they had witnesses. To their credit, they recovered fast and attempted a typical Slytherin evasion.       “Nothing, sir. Mortimer fell – we decided to help,” Lestrange said calmly. The others nodded.       “Did he indeed?” Slughorn asked acidly. “Mr Mortimer, is that true?”       “Yes… sir,” he forced out. Miranda frowned, while relief appeared on Slughorn’s face.       “Are you quite certain?”       “Yes, sir.”       The professor hesitated for a few seconds, then said curtly:       “Everyone returns to the school at once. Rosier, Dolokhov, Lestrange, Avery, Malfoy – to my office. I will speak with you separately.”       They finally noticed her presence, and Miranda received very expressive looks from all five Slytherins at once, promising a harsh revenge. She merely pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and lifted her chin haughtily. We shall see.       Her confidence, however, diminished considerably once their motley procession returned to Hogwarts. In the entrance hall, Miranda intended to slip away to the Gryffindor common room, but luck deserted her. For in the hall they encountered Tom Riddle, apparently on his way to the Slytherin dungeons. At the sight of the furious Slughorn and the chastened seventh-years, he seemed to understand at once what had happened. Yet he remained composed and approached them. Miranda was struck by how Malfoy, Dolokhov, and the others changed upon his appearance, the Slytherins turned deathly pale and even seemed to step back. Riddle cast them a dismissive glance and briefly looked at Miranda.       “Good evening, Professor. Has something happened?”       “Tom, just as well you’re here,” Slughorn said irritably, frowning. “I was about to send for you. Tom, I found your classmates today in a most unpleasant situation. I do not wish to bring this to Headmaster Dippet’s attention, but I would very much like you to ensure that this does not happen again. As prefect, you are responsible for discipline throughout the school, and I am most displeased that you allowed such behaviour within your own House and your own year. For now, I ask you to escort Mr Mortimer to the hospital wing, and then come to my office. You five–” he addressed the Slytherins, “–with me. Miss Sommers, good night.”       At that moment, Miranda would have given anything for Slughorn not to utter those last words. By doing so, he drew everyone’s attention to her. She saw the fury in the eyes of the culprits, saw the promise of swift retribution – but it was nothing compared to the single glance Riddle cast at her.       He listened to Slughorn’s reprimand with an expression of utmost attentiveness, even a hint of embarrassment – truly, Riddle was a remarkably gifted actor. And although the professor had not mentioned Miranda’s involvement, Riddle instantly understood what role she had played in what happened. There was icy hatred burning in his dark eyes, and Miranda knew for certain, as if Riddle himself had whispered it to her, that his revenge would not be long in coming.