I panted heavily as I sprinted toward the location Dumbledore's map had directed me to earlier. Ever since I began questioning what I had forgotten about that night, my magic had grown increasingly unstable. The once-warm sensation of my power now felt like a scorching burn. Every sound around me was painfully loud, and the bright daylight stung my eyes. My shoes clapped against the stone floor, the rhythm quickening with my desperate need to find a place to rest and expel the excess power building inside me.
Bursting through the doors, I found myself outside. A narrow stone path stretched toward my destination: the Whomping Willow. I raced down the trail, glancing frantically at the instructions I had memorized.
"Where? Where? There!"
The massive tree stirred, its branches groaning as it awoke, ready to strike me—just as the instructions had warned. Shielding my face from its swinging limbs, I scanned for the knot. The glaring sunlight made it nearly impossible to open my eyes properly, but by some miracle, I spotted the small bump at the tree's base. With a surge of desperation, I lunged forward and slammed my hand against it, forcing the tree to shudder violently before freezing in place.
I scanned the base of the trunk, my eyes darting around until I spotted the hole. I groaned inwardly, already dreading what I was about to do, but there was no alternative. I couldn't risk Val or my dorm being caught in the blast of magic that might erupt from me.
'After the second incident, Father built me a special room to sleep in during these nights…'
Biting my lip with mounting frustration, I dove headfirst into the narrow passage. The entrance was tight, forcing me to crawl through the dirt, coating my robes with grime. Finally, after squeezing through the opening, I was able to stand—or at least crouch—and made my way down the darkened tunnel.
With my power swelling to dangerous levels, I hastened toward the end of the passage. Reaching the damp stone steps, I clambered up and slammed open the wooden hatch, emerging into the decrepit old room. The place was in a state of decay—dust and grime coated every surface, and the wood was splintered and rotting. It resembled the squalor of a lower-class dwelling, only made worse by the deep gashes in the flooring and walls. I grimaced at the filth but resolved to clean it up later. For now, my only goal was to contain the storm of magic raging inside me.
I shut the hatch behind me and climbed the creaky wooden stairs. At the top, I pushed open the first door I found, the hinges groaning under years of disuse. The room appeared to be a bedroom, long abandoned. Though it was a far cry from comfortable, my throbbing head and burning magic left me no choice.
Stripping off my robes and clothes, leaving only my underwear, I prepared for the inevitable. It wasn't out of a sense of comfort—I simply knew that whenever I released magic in my sleep, my clothes tended to rip. It had been a constant annoyance before, but here, in this derelict room, it felt necessary. Grunting in irritation, I slapped the comforter to shake off the excess dust before slipping under the covers. My aching body sank into the rough bedding as the world around me melted into darkness.
Meanwhile, back in the courtyard, Pansy tapped her foot impatiently. The class had descended into chaos. The Gryffindors were furiously defending Potter, insisting he shouldn't be punished for breaking the rules, while the Slytherins argued that Lucas was justified in throwing the Remembrall. Their shouting match was abruptly cut short by the sharp blast of a whistle.
Madam Hooch stormed toward the group, her eyes narrowed in irritation.
"I was gone for five minutes and some of you thought it appropriate to break my only rule?" she barked.
The courtyard fell silent, except for the mudblood girl, who quickly spoke up.
"Harry only left the ground to catch Neville's Remembrall," Hermione explained, casting a pointed glare at the Slytherins. "Peterson threw it away."
Madam Hooch's gaze swept over the crowd until her eyes landed on Pansy.
"Where is Peterson?" she asked sharply.
Pansy blinked in confusion.
"He said he was going to the hospital wing for his headache," she answered slowly. "Did you not see him?"
Madam Hooch's eyes widened slightly, then flicked upward, causing Pansy to follow her gaze.
High above, perched on the statue where Neville had been snagged earlier, was a bird—a bright red one. Pansy squinted, trying to make it out, but before she could get a proper look, the bird took off, disappearing behind the castle walls.
Madam Hooch cleared her throat, returning her attention to the students.
"Ah, right… Dumbledore needed to see him today. We must have missed each other," she said casually.
The Slytherins immediately began whispering among themselves, speculating about Lucas' close relationship with the headmaster. They were clearly impressed, assuming he was favored or perhaps even secretly working with Dumbledore. Pansy, however, felt a lingering unease. Something wasn't right.
As class ended early, Hermione pulled Ron aside, her face tense with concern.
"There's something wrong with Peterson," she said firmly.
Ron rolled his eyes.
"He's just finally showing his true colors as a Slytherin," he dismissed with a scoff.
Hermione frowned, clearly frustrated.
"That's not—" she began, but bit her lip, realizing that arguing with Ron was pointless.
'Maybe there's something in the library…'
Her mind raced. She couldn't explain it, but the strange things happening around Lucas—the bursts of magic, the violent outburst, and the ominous hissing sound—felt wrong. If Ron and Harry wouldn't take her seriously, she would have to investigate on her own.
When I woke, my body ached, but the searing pressure of my magic was gone. The room was darker than before, indicating I had slept through the entire night. The only light came from faint streams seeping through the shuttered windows, which were still enchanted to keep them secure despite the magical surge.
I glanced down and noted that my underwear was gone—ripped apart by the outburst, as expected. Sighing, I blindly groped for my clothes on the nightstand and dressed quickly. My eyes adjusted to the dimness as I scanned the room for signs of damage.
To my surprise, nothing was broken. In fact, the room appeared to be in better condition than before. The wood seemed less splintered, and the walls bore fewer cracks. I brushed my hand over the covers and found they were still dusty but otherwise intact—a rare occurrence.
"Could the room be using my magic to repair itself? Clever."
Satisfied, I drew my wand and illuminated the space.
"Lumos."
The tip of my wand bathed the room in pale light, confirming that it was indeed in better shape.
"Reparo."
With a precise flick, I restored the cracked wood and torn wallpaper. The magic mended the damage with ease.
Frowning at the lingering dust, I waved my wand once more.
"Tergeo!"
The dust vanished instantly, leaving the room cleaner and more habitable.
Pleased with my handiwork, I set my sights on the rest of the house. There were only a few other rooms and a single bathroom. Most of them were in a similar state—dusty and decrepit—but one room stood out.
"Did they keep a feral bear in here?" I muttered, staring at the deep claw marks raking the walls.
Unlike the rest of the house, this pitch-black room had no windows or furniture. The reinforced door was heavily scratched, and it was clear from the gouges on the inside that whatever had been held here had desperately tried to escape.
I took a slow, steady breath, suppressing my anger at the thought of an animal being caged like this.
'Perhaps it was rabid, and they needed to contain it while making a cure…'
Still, something about the room felt… wrong.