"But he and his family were your torturers!" the questioning continued.
"No. They were guards, not executioners. And it wasn't a prison — it was house arrest."
"That was your father's order."
"Yes. But orders can be carried out in different ways. They were always kind to me."
"Don't you think they might have had an ulterior motive?"
"Please — what motive exactly do you mean?"
In situations like this, you mustn't supply their conclusions for them — only answer what is asked. Let them say aloud the words they want confirmed.
"Perhaps they were acting in opposition to your father."
"They never asked what he wanted to know."
"Perhaps they meant to use you against their master and…"
"Use me?"
No. That was another person's prerogative — to use people. And she wasn't thinking of her father now.
Back at the station, the young man had, once again, named the truth with unsettling precision: the Headmaster intended to restrain and contain her. She had accepted it with little resistance. Even then she knew it would be foolish to go with them — the time had not yet come, she was only at the beginning, they could not offer her a teacher capable enough. But besides, she had already done too many reckless things and after her father's return, she did need supervision. The Headmaster had long since drawn her into his orbit.
The Headmaster. Always kind — and yet that kindness was only the surface layer. A sugared coating for distrust. Something to sweeten the taste of the collar and leash.
He had been present at the Sorting, knew perfectly well why she had chosen that House, and still summoned her to ask why — and to ask about the friend she had mentioned. The question disappointed her. Who could know him better than the Headmaster? For the first — and last — time she lied, stung into it: "I met him on the Express." The misunderstanding could never have lasted long anyway.
Then he took an interest in her wand. He examined it for a long time before passing it to the elderly witch beside him. She studied it just as closely. At last her brows rose; bewilderment showed plainly on her face.
"But this is…"
The old wizard stopped her with a raised hand. The wand was handed at last to her Head of House. He lifted a single eyebrow; the rest of his expression did not change. She felt suddenly uncertain.
"Have you tested your wand?" the Headmaster asked.
"In the shop — yes."
"Would you show us something, if you please?"
In the shop she had struggled to produce even the smallest effect. Here she succeeded at once — fear of embarrassing herself before them sharpened her focus. Not one sheet of parchment rose, but everything covering the Headmaster's desk. She held her breath — the objects hung suspended. Steadying herself, she lowered her wand hand slowly, breathing out. One by one, the items settled back into place.
The witch turned her astonished face towards the others. Her Head of House studied her more closely. The old wizard withdrew into thought. She remembered the wandmaker's expression when she had left his shop — and felt irritation stir.
"There is nothing to worry about," said the Headmaster finally. He looked at her, though the words were meant for them all. "You take after your mother, not your father. I will try to help you find your answers. Your Head will provide you with certain books that may prove useful."
"Thank you, sir. What exactly did I take after her?"
Several seconds passed in silence.
He never answered.
"Did I supply him with unicorns?"
"Did you?"
"No. I only walked there. They came to me on their own. I had no idea I was being followed — or that someone needed their blood."
"Then no."
"But they died because of me…"
"No. They died because the one who was meant to die refused to do so."
The Headmaster looked at her over his half-moon spectacles, waiting. There had to be a question. Logically, it should have been the first — yet she had not dared to ask it. She thought she already knew the answer. That was what frightened her.
"Do you think it was my father?"
"Why would you think so?"
"How is this possible? You said he was dead!" The Headmaster remained silent, waiting for her reasoning. "I don't know. I felt it. He asked who I was — not aloud. In my mind. And he was searching for the answer in the past."
"Did he find it?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. Was it him?"
"I am fairly certain it was. What remains of him."
"But you said there was nothing left but a handful of ashes." She could hardly believe it: her father alive — here, within the school.
"That's from the body…"
"There was quite a body in front of me."
"Yes." The Headmaster sighed and lowered his eyes. "These questions trouble me as well."
And he shared none of those thoughts with her either.
Distrust bred silence.
"When my name was called, I saw a snake watching me, and I felt a heavy wave of anxiety. I'm certain it wasn't my imagination, as the Hat suggested — the feeling had an external source. Somewhere near the staff table."
"Did the snake speak to you?"
"You mean — in human language?" She thought it was a joke. But the attentive look of the Headmaster said that it was unlikely. "No. It hissed, but I don't speak serpent language."
"Thank you, Evelyn — thank you very much. I will think it through. Carefully. I promise."
"Why do you suspect me? Why don't you believe me? I do everything I can to earn your trust. I tell you everything — even what might be used against me — and still you suspect me. Whatever I do. Why?"
"Because last time it was your father who opened this Chamber."
That alone was reason enough never to rely on her. Her father — always her father.
"So he was the Heir. And if he was — then I am... But I didn't open it. Which means it proves nothing. And what about the Boy? He speaks to snakes — unlike me, by the way. Does that make him the Heir? That would be absurd!"
"How have you been feeling lately?"
"Fine."
"Sleeping well? No fatigue — no memory lapses?"
"I always sleep well. And I don't dream of murdering mudbloods. Memory lapses? Perhaps. I can't remember a single History lesson."
The Headmaster gave her a conciliatory smile.
"Female! Second floor!" she called to the large flame-coloured bird circling above the bottomless shaft beneath the sink — in a room that could only be entered if one knew it existed.
"Thank you, Evelyn, for continuing to share your discoveries with me. I appreciate it — truly. Everything will be well now, I'm sure. Go back to your dormitory."
Her head jerked sharply; the hand that had been supporting her cheek slipped and struck the table. Something fell, hit the floor with a dull thud, and rolled towards the centre of the hall. The sound — and the sting in her knuckles — woke her. She found herself peering over her shoulder, trying to make out someone behind her. It felt as though something was about to happen — yet with each passing second she forgot why she was looking at all.
"Did you see something?" Two enormous round eyes behind heavy round spectacles peered at her — inspired and distant at once.
"I don't think so." Her thoughts were still caught somewhere between waking and sleep. "I must have drifted off. It was probably just a dream. I'm sorry."
"It was — and yet your crystal ball was active. You see?"
She held up the gleaming sphere she had picked up from the floor. Smoke still curled inside it, as though preserving something that had been real a moment ago and was now gone.
"It delivered a prophecy, and you received the vision in a dream. Congratulations."
She kept staring into the misted, half-reflective surface that warped everything it held, but she could no longer recall what she had seen. The memory thinned and vanished like greenish vapour inside the glass as soon as her mind regained control.
She remembered the prophecy only when she woke one summer morning with a strong sense of déjà vu.
Leaving the Headmaster's office several months later, she realised he had been troubled not by the prophecy itself, nor even by the fact that she had seen it in the crystal — but by the fact that she had dreamed it afterwards. Why, he did not explain.
When he said nothing the following summer, she could bear it no longer.
On the way from the stadium to the castle, she briefly told her story. She mentioned the name of the cemetery. The old wizard stopped, looked at her in astonishment for a moment, then continued on.
"Ask the Boy if you don't believe me."
The Headmaster left them for a while and returned with confirmation. She had known she was telling the truth, yet hearing it verified aloud made it settle fully — and the realisation struck her whole being at once. She was sent to bed, with the promise they would continue tomorrow once she had told them everything.
The next day she was summoned to the Headmaster's office and given a dry outline of the current situation — facts only. Then she was sent home for the summer holidays. The Headmaster treated her as though the unfolding events had nothing to do with her. As if she were merely a bystander in a story that was not hers.
"But my father is back. My father. What does that mean?" she kept asking herself. From the old newspaper reports she could infer what it meant for the world. "But what does it mean for me?" She felt slighted by the old wizard. By summer's end the feeling had hardened into anger.
"Evelyn, I know I am being unfair to you. And I am sorry for it. But I hope that in time you will understand me. Perhaps not forgive — but understand. I sincerely wish your will to remain honest, and your choices right, regardless of whether you are trusted or not." His candour always cooled her temper. "Still, if anything seems unusual to you…"
"Of course. As always."
Then there was a second dream, shortly before Christmas. She did not manage to tell him about it — footsteps sounded outside the office door, and the Head hid her behind his robe. Later, upstairs, when everyone had gone, the Headmaster asked what she had wanted to say.
"The same," she answered.
He fell silent in thought. It was then that she discovered the 'black book'.
After all, the Headmaster allowed her to read it — not to practise, of course. It could only be studied under the supervision of headmasters and headmistresses. Her sessions were arranged to run in parallel with Defence lessons. She was expected, in effect, to be in two places at once. She found the arrangement rather ironic. Perhaps the Headmaster did too. Or perhaps he merely wished to remind her of the original cause of her interest. She did not hesitate to begin.
The book indeed should never have been placed in the hands of children with an unformed… psyche. More than once tears rose to her eyes at the nature of certain curses. More than once she had to push it away and turn aside, drawing slow breaths to steady the nausea brought on by the descriptions of particular rituals. How could people do such things to one another?
The old wizard believed she would be unable to find motives strong enough to drive a person to such cruelty. For her, it was not difficult. She had lived among people for nearly sixteen years. It was not hard to imagine how someone might be intimidated, raised, persuaded, deceived, conditioned — until they longed for another's death, took pleasure in another's pain, convinced themselves they had both the right and the reason to dispose of another life, all in the belief that they were acting for the greater good. And in some cases — pathology. She could account for all of it.
Is there evil without a cause? We never know everything about another person. We never know what — or who — has already warped their soul. She had seen such distortion herself. Which of the two had been evil? Both? He believed she did not understand how wrongdoing scars the doer's own soul — but she did. That girl's suffering, and her own remorse, would remain with her. They would follow her everywhere, returning in dreams, repeating themselves. Those who cannot endure such torment bury their memories and feelings deep beneath consciousness. They try to forget. They try to absolve themselves. And if they succeed, they are capable of repeating it.
You must not forget. And you are not permitted to absolve yourself. Only to draw conclusions, evaluate them, and to go on. The reasons are easy enough to understand; what is difficult is accepting that none of them are an excuse. That is where the true chimera lies.
The Headmaster never once asked about the progress of her reading, nor whether she wished to speak about it. Once, the Boy gave voice to the silence between them: "Why do I learn more from my enemies than from my friends?" She, for her part, did not even have an enemy willing to explain anything to her.
As she read, she began to understand. Dimly at first. But clarity comes with time.
Strong capacity for empathy. She had always been able to feel others. She could sense that the eyes of the wizard in black — once brought to their house by the one in white — were not evil, only unbearably sad. She could feel the joy, satisfaction, disappointment, awkwardness… hatred, grief… that filled the Great Hall on her first evening at school. The death that was passing her invisibly — slow as a freight train — but immediate and imminent. Not death itself, but the hunger for it.
Faint cries and weak moans from dozens of compartments, unheard by anyone else — a loneliness so sharp it tore at the soul. A woman's scream — both distant and near — piercing the heart like a needle. A dying scream. A weeping lake. The turmoil and awe of thousands — and the intoxicating sense of superiority in a few — spread across the moor and forest.
In truth, listening is simple. Not forcing someone to speak — only listening. Much can be heard: emotions, intentions, magic itself. More so, when you are not trying to change a person, not trying to exert force — then it is not hard to remain unnoticed.
The longing for death and the panicked terror of it; grief and hope, pain and horror — while she… he… they were lying on the cold, wet, filthy black stone floor on his stomach.
She could feel the Boy as well. But with him there was something more. His presence stirred a particular sensation in her: anxiety.
On her first journey to school she deliberately entered the first carriage and walked through them all. She wanted to see him. She had no idea how she would recognise him — yet when she reached one particular compartment, she felt suddenly uneasy, sharply so. It stopped her. She glanced inside. Two boys — and he was one of them. After that she moved as far back along the train as she could.
It was the same anxiety she felt in her father's presence: behind her at the Sorting; behind the trees when the unicorns came to her; from the diary that slipped from the torn bag; from the snake in her dreams.
But once, something truly strange happened. It took place in the maze, soon after the two boys touched the cup. All three vanished, leaving her alone on the empty pedestal. They were unaware of her presence. They did not notice the small spider struggling up the grey stone towards its goal.
Everything inside her stopped — thoughts, emotions, breath. The space around her seemed to halt as well. As though the maze itself had ceased to live. Then a wave of euphoria surged through her.
"Finally! Finally — the day has come! Everything is unfolding as it should, which means soon — now — I will be freed from the shackles of this wretched, cramped body. I will stop merely surviving and begin to live again — to act. How many long years I have waited for this!"
"Years? But only a few hours have passed!"
She was torn from the stone as if by a whirlwind — though the maze itself stood utterly still. She felt a skeleton re-form within her body; muscles layered themselves upon it, setting the spine upright, restoring the limbs and organs to their rightful places — "what bliss it is to straighten one's shoulders again". The diaphragm opened, drawing in a rush of air that flooded every cell of the renewed body within seconds — "what a delight it is to breathe deeply again". Oxygen struck the brain, waking it to full life — "what a pleasure it is to possess once more, in full, the power of which I was deprived".
Her body settled back to the ground as gradually as it had gained weight. She stood before the pedestal where the portal had been. She was herself again.
"Years? Then those were not my thoughts, not my anticipation, not my feelings. No — mine, partly… but not only…"
She remembered the false professor's words: 'He'll be too busy today… restoration of the form.'
"It can't be… It shouldn't be."
She was not sure whether the Boy had felt the same until she learned that they were sharing the same dreams.
"Evelyn, could you wait for me upstairs?" said the Headmaster.
She stepped obediently out from beneath the professor's concealment and hurried to the stairs leading to the upper tier. Yet at the top she could not resist turning back. She met the Boy's puzzled stare — he had been watching her the entire time. His face tightened; his hand flew to his scar.
"You were the snake, weren't you? You were the snake," she sent to him silently.
His expression told her he had received the message — but not that he understood why.
She found herself torn between wanting to speak to him and wanting to avoid him altogether. In the end, events decided for her.
Lost in thought, she walked along the corridor to the stretch of wall she could have found with her eyes closed. A storm of destructive force raged in her after another encounter with the 'black book'. The habit was so deeply ingrained that she entered without noticing she had done so. The buzz of excited voices pulled her back to awareness.
She lifted her head and saw galloping hares, playful dogs, prancing horses, birds in flight. The chamber was filled with shimmering silver light and an almost unbearable sense of joy.
It was bound to happen one day — she ran into the Army.
For a few moments the lively commotion continued. Then the creatures woven of light began to falter and dissolve one by one, their happiness fading with them as their owners noticed her presence. Soon she was surrounded by astonished, worried — and in some cases frightened — students from different years and Houses.
"Hello," she said uncertainly. "I… I should probably come back later. Sorry — I didn't mean to interrupt."
She turned on her heel to leave, but someone recovered first.
"How did you get in here?"
"The same way you did." She paused. "It's an odd question — is there another way?"
"Yes, but… how did you learn about this room?"
"It was shown to me."
"By whom?"
"When?"
"A long time ago. In my first year." The initial tension eased.
"What for?"
"Here we go again. We share the same environment. That suggests similar needs."
"She comes here to train, to…" one girl began in a lecturing tone, then faltered, "not fall behind."
"Not fall behind?" snapped a boy beside her. "Behind whom? Have you seen what she can do? Fall behind — honestly. I don't understand any of this."
"That makes two of us," the girl admitted. "I asked around. At first she wasn't remarkable — quite the opposite, one of the weaker ones. Then in second year she somehow defeated three older students at once. The real shift came in third year, around the same time as the trouble in her House. But even from the start there was something unusual about her magic. As if she didn't truly need a wand. And yet she performs at a high level with one in class. So yes — she's been practising here for quite some time. Keeping out of sight, apparently." She hesitated. "I've never heard of a wizard working without a wand. Even if you're powerful enough for direct magic, you usually master the wand first — not the other way round."
Exclamations burst out across the room.
"No way!"
"That can't be!"
"Is that true?"
"Almost," she answered quietly.
"Whose attention, exactly, were you trying not to attract?" The question was razor-sharp.
"The Headmaster is informed, if that's your concern. Who do you think supplies me with books?" Then she turned to the others. "My wand is… different. Unlike yours, it doesn't have a core — not in the usual sense. It can't be trained easily. Is that a defect? And if so — whose?" She gave a quiet chuckle. "The craftsman knew perfectly well what he was offering me. So I had to work out how to handle it. And I did. Alongside that, I learned to cast without it. After all, it isn't the wand that makes us sorcerers, but the magic within us. Whether it becomes spontaneous or controlled depends only on us — and so does the means by which we guide it. I'd say there's nothing abnormal about it. The original principle lies closer to wandless magic than wand-work. But the wand still matters — understanding how it functions opens many possibilities. It took me quite a while to figure that out. As for power — both my parents were strong wizards. The odds of my inheriting nothing from them were rather low."
There was a short pause. The folk digested what they heard and most likely mulled over what they should do next - flee from there or be curious.
"A brief pause followed. They absorbed what they'd heard, likely weighing whether to be wary or curious.
"Will you show us?"
"I heard you can perform the charms we've been practising here."
"Did he tell you that as well?" She seemed surprised by the false professor's talkativeness.
"He also called it 'embodied'," he replied.
"Well. It's not exactly the same, but…"
She closed her eyes and released the clutter of thought. With her inner sight she traced the current of energy spread throughout her body, gathered it near her chest, and guided it down into her hands. Then she summoned a clear, bright feeling — something deeply joyful — and the wish to share it, letting the magic flow free.
Silver light poured from her open palms. Two streams swayed through the air, curved downward, and met upon the floor. There they intertwined, knotted, thickened, split into fresh currents, and gradually took the shape of a horse. When it was fully formed, it rose onto its hind legs, a spiral horn extending from its brow, vast wings unfurling.
Everyone gasped. "A unicorn!"
"How do you do that?" the girl cried, half in delight, half in despair.
"Searching for the quintessence," she said, giving her a meaningful look.
"Wait!" someone called from deeper in the room. "I've seen him before! He fought one of the prison guards near the train — two years ago! You could do it even then!"
"Honestly — no. That was an accident. I didn't summon or control him myself."
"Brilliant…"
"And what does 'embodied' mean?"
"Touch him. Don't be shy. He won't bite."
"That's impossible — he's solid! Is he real? I mean — could you fly on him?"
"He isn't real. But yes — you can fly on him."
"Brilliant…"
"And what are you thinking of when you conjure him?"
"Definitely not world domination," she sighed tiredly. "Actually — I'm thinking of them." She nodded towards the luminous creature. "Unicorns. Extraordinary beings. Vessels of pure magic. I'm as delighted as a child every time I see one."
"You've seen unicorns?"
"You mean outside lessons? Yes. In the school forest. Unfortunately, they were killed later. Some of you may remember." The guilt returned at once. The unicorn lowered its head and pressed its soft muzzle to her shoulder. She rested her forehead against his and stroked his cheek.
"And is it true that you… well…"
She raised an eyebrow, inviting clarification.
"That he… well…"
"That is," said the Boy. His voice, as before, carried accusation. All his remarks that day seemed aimed at exposing her. "I feel it — through the scar — the same way I feel him."
"Oh! You've finally noticed. I tried to keep my distance from you, but that's become rather difficult lately." She spoke plainly — he was still slow to see — and stepped closer. "By the way, how are you feeling now?"
"Frankly? Shitty." Irritation crept into his voice. "Because the one I trusted most never told me that my worst enemy has a biological duplicate."
She approached calmly.
"Shitty — because the one meant to protect the school failed to learn from the last time and let another monster inside its walls."
She was standing very close now. He flinched and kept touching his scar, growing more agitated.
"And that wasn't enough. Even knowing you take after your father, he still chose to encourage and develop your abilities at any cost — as if he doesn't understand, doesn't see that you're a time bomb waiting to destroy us all!"
He fell silent. The room held its breath. She could see he was suffering — in body and mind — and began to step back, slowly, giving him space.
"Those aren't your words, are they?" came his friend's muffled, uneasy voice.
"No. They're mine."
The pain began to ease; his stare followed her, still hard but far colder now.
"I know," she said.
"But I wasn't going to bring this up."
She had retreated far enough for him to steady himself.
"I know," she repeated.
"Then what got into you?"
"She has…" The same girl spoke again, wearing the look of a discovery not yet fully grasped. "So that's why you gave up our House?"
"Among other reasons." She smiled at her with quiet gratitude. Observant — exactly as she had hoped.
She herself did not understand why this was happening until the day she picked up the 'black book'. And what of the Headmaster — did he understand?
"You will leave the school immediately. Right now — from this office. Without saying goodbye to anyone. You will not go home. You will spend the entire summer somewhere neither they nor the Ministry would ever think to look. You nearly ended up in their hands once — we cannot take that risk again." The old wizard paced behind his desk, shaping decisions as he spoke. "No meetings, no correspondence. You will keep quiet and not draw attention to yourself. Your things will be delivered." He was plainly alarmed, yet his voice remained level, precise, leaving no room for objection. "Go on. This gentleman will escort you."
He indicated one of the men standing nearby. In all her memory, so many people had never been present at one of her interviews before. Besides the two Heads of House, there was a group of three — two of them, oddly, from the Ministry. One had come to arrest the Headmaster two months earlier. The other — this gentleman — she knew almost personally: the twins' father, nearly killed in the hall of crystal balls.
"So — he saw me. When my father couldn't stand the Boy's feelings, swerved aside and dissolved into the air, and no one stood between me and the Headmaster — when I looked up from the floor, I met his astonished gaze. He saw not only the Boy, but me as well."
She had not yet recovered from a journey she had never made before. When the Head had come to ask whether she had any more dreams or premonitions — about attacks, abductions — perhaps not about a person but a dog, a large black dog — and she had none to report, and he sent her away without explanation, she decided she had to try.
"But… the school year hasn't even…"
"It doesn't matter," the Headmaster said, shaking his head. "You've already completed your examinations."
Only then did it truly sink in. She began to curse herself for coming. She had to convince him — somehow — to let her go. Even briefly.
"But if I disappear like this, without farewells…"
"Family emergency."
"On the contrary, that may arouse suspicion. Neither my father nor the Ministry is even looking for me. They deny I exist at all. That incident was local initiative — otherwise they wouldn't have let me go so easily. I can't imagine why they needed me." She was on the verge of tears from the sheer hopelessness of it.
"I'm not saying I intend to stop them."
The Headmaster stopped pacing, planted both fists on the desk, and fixed her with a hard look. The tension in the room thickened, as though even the air had tightened. Something inside her turned cold. "How does he know?" She glanced at the Head of House. Had he read it from her? His face — usually so controlled — tightened visibly. So — not him.
"Why would you want that?"
The insult caught in her throat like heat. She, too, had grounds to accuse.
"You know perfectly well why. Tell me — does the Boy know?"
His expression faltered; he straightened slowly. Regret flickered in his eyes — confirmation enough, unbelievable as it was — yet his voice stayed firm.
"It is not time yet."
"I don't care! About your timing!" The anger tore loose, as it always did. "I'm ready! I can confront him! He has no reason to kill me — I'm not in danger. I have to go with him. I promised." The last words came out almost as a plea.
No one else in the room could fully follow their exchange. They stood rigid, eyes moving from one to the other, like spectators at a duel.
"I don't understand you. Why attach yourself to this boy? You're not like him — I can see that. Give me one reason why you should care so much about him."
There was a note of disdain in his tone; she felt it at once and bristled. In truth, he had attached himself to her, not the other way round. She had simply chosen not to refuse. The nature of that bond was none of their business. She searched for the most concise formulation he might accept.
"Keep your friends close — and your enemies closer."
It did not help. He stood very straight, hands clasped behind his back, studying her with disbelief and thought combined.
"You are not going with him."
The words were calm and final. Hope was gone — but she still had one argument left.
"How can you not see?"
Several eyes rolled ceilingward, anticipating a burst of youthful drama as the scene reached its peak.
"We cannot turn away from him — from them — now. If we do, we lose them. And we cannot afford to discard pieces. You nearly lost one already with that approach. Don't repeat the mistake."
The gazes dropped from the ceiling, turning back to her in confusion. Only those most perceptive looked instead toward the Headmaster.
"Evelyn, my dear, you must understand — your piece is far more important than his."
He had not heard a word she said.
"Not now…"
The memory flashed back: 'I saw a monster, stood before him…' How had she not understood this right away?
"We can offer them protection — all of them — or at least— What will happen to those boys?"
"That depends on their choice."
"Their choice?" The answer stunned her. "You can't mean that." She searched his lined, seasoned face, hoping he did not believe his own words. "Take them too! Hide them from him — as you intend to hide me! Why make an exception?! Why limit yourself…"
"That's enough, Evelyn. You've gone too far."
"Go on — say it plainly. That you can't simply abduct children. That they have parents — while I belong to you. That people will guess whose doing it is, and you'll lose their trust again."
But the Headmaster stood silent. His face — and his eyes — were blank.
She accepted defeat. There was no point looking to the others for support; they were beaters, nothing more. Her body trembled with exhaustion, bitterness, anger, and sorrow. The man assigned to escort her stepped forward, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and said quietly that it was time to go.