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"The diary… it was already there when school started. It was tucked between my books," she said, her voice growing faint, barely more than a whisper by the end. Her head dropped low, as if she wanted to bury it in her chest and vanish.
"My books… they were all bought from a second-hand bookstore, so…"
Sargeras nodded thoughtfully, a faint light flickering in his eyes. "From the second-hand section at Flourish and Blotts?"
"Yes, Professor…"
He fell silent, sinking into deep thought. Something didn't add up.
Back when he was still a student, there had already been an incident involving a student who had accidentally purchased a dark magic book from that same shop. After that, the Ministry had intervened. Every second-hand book placed on those shelves was required to undergo a rigorous magical screening process. Layers of detection spells were cast to ensure that no cursed or dangerous object could ever slip through unnoticed.
A diary capable of containing such powerful dark magic would never have passed those tests. That kind of enchantment left behind traces — residues and echoes that no detection charm could miss.
"You're certain you bought it from the bookstore?" he asked gently. "No one else touched your books at any point? No one handled them before you opened them?"
The young witch shook her head. "No…"
Then she hesitated. Her brows furrowed slightly, and her voice turned uncertain as she added, "I think… probably not… I mean, that day, my dad got into a fight with Mr. Malfoy, and I remember it really clearly, so…"
Her words cut off abruptly. Her expression froze, stiffening as a sudden realization swept over her face.
Sargeras raised an eyebrow. "Something just came back to you, Miss Weasley?"
The girl stared blankly ahead, almost as if she were watching a memory replay behind her eyes. Then she spoke slowly. "I remember… after they fought, Mr. Malfoy picked up my 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.' It was the old copy, one of the used ones. He shoved it into my arms… and he… he said something to me. His voice was cold… really cold. And what he said was really cruel."
"Oh?" Sargeras leaned in slightly, his tone gentle but alert. "What exactly did he say?"
"He said, 'Take it, little girl. This is the best gift your father's pathetic little raids on respectable wizarding homes could ever afford you after working overtime.'"
Sargeras gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Very good, Miss Weasley…"
His voice had returned to its earlier calm, carrying with it a quiet strength that seemed to settle over the hall like a soft blanket.
"From this point on, you don't need to worry about any of this. Just focus on your studies and enjoy your time here at Hogwarts."
"Th… thank you, Professor…"
"No need to thank me. I'll keep this secret for you. You have my word."
Ginny nodded gratefully, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little.
"I think we'd better get moving," Sargeras said, glancing toward the entrance to the Great Hall. "Hagrid should be arriving any minute now with the other fir trees."
The young witch quickly nodded and reached out toward a string of festive ornaments, but before her fingers could brush them, a dreamy, lilting voice floated into the hall like a snowflake drifting on air.
"Hi. Need a hand?"
Ginny turned instinctively toward the voice and found herself face to face with two Ravenclaw first-years who had somehow slipped into the hall without anyone noticing.
The one who had spoken had long, pale blonde hair that shimmered faintly in the light, and her eyes, soft and silvery, seemed wrapped in a thin veil of mist, as if she saw the world a little differently from everyone else. Around her neck hung a curious necklace made of colorful bottle caps and shimmering sequins, strung together in a charmingly odd pattern. Beside her stood another girl, more reserved in manner, with a quiet, gentle grace about her.
"Of course!" Sargeras replied, his voice calm and composed as he looked at the two Ravenclaws. "The more hands we have, the more joyful Christmas becomes."
"We were asking Ginny, Professor Greengrass."
The look on Sargeras's face froze mid-expression.
"Hello," the girl wearing the necklace said cheerfully, her voice light and clear. "I'm Luna. Luna Lovegood." She gestured casually to the girl beside her and introduced her to the red-haired girl in a relaxed, natural tone. "And this is Astoria."
"Hello. I'm Ginny… Ginny Weasley."
As she looked at these two new acquaintances, Ginny felt the knot in her chest loosen just a little more. Their presence brought with it something warm and unspoken, something that quietly pushed back the lingering fear in her heart.
Luna tilted her head, her silvery eyes examined Ginny's flaming red hair with thoughtful curiosity.
"Mmh. I know your name," she said softly, as though she were stating something obvious, something written in the stars. "You have very beautiful hair. In the sunlight, it looks like maple syrup… caught on fire."
The compliment was so strange, so unexpectedly poetic, that Ginny didn't quite know how to react. A faint blush rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, flustered but oddly pleased by the unusual imagery.
She glanced at the quiet blonde standing beside Luna and asked with a bit more confidence, "You're… Professor Greengrass's cousin, aren't you?"
Astoria's pale cheeks flushed with a soft pink almost immediately. Her expression showed a hint of shyness, but she nodded gently, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes… that's right, Miss Weasley."
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Christmas was only a day away, and just like the year before, Harry had chosen to stay at Hogwarts.
The Weasley children, too, had remained behind this year, and Harry could already imagine how cheerful the day was going to be. Maybe when he woke up, he'd open his eyes to find presents piled at the foot of his bed again, just like before.
Smiling at the thought, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
But then, suddenly, there was a soft thud, the sound of something landing right on top of his blanket.
Harry's eyes snapped open.
Had the presents really come already?
But instead of brightly wrapped boxes, what met his gaze was a small figure perched on his bed, staring straight at him with enormous, tennis-ball-sized eyes.
It was that house-elf!
The very same one he had seen at the Dursleys' over the summer. The one who had gotten him locked in his room for a week!
"It's you again!" Harry hissed, keeping his voice low but sharp, his anger rising like a flame. "What do you want this time?"
Dobby looked at him through the gloom, his large eyes filled with sorrow. A fat tear rolled down the length of his long, pointed nose.
"Harry Potter has returned to school," he said, his voice trembling with grief. "Dobby… Dobby tried so many times to warn Harry Potter, sir. But he didn't listen. Harry Potter missed the train, and still… still he did not go home…"
Harry froze, shock stealing the words from his tongue for a moment.
Then his voice rose sharply, tinged with both fury and disbelief. "Wait… how do you know I missed the train?" He shot up in bed, voice now so loud it nearly woke Ron. "That was you, wasn't it?!"
Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of the house-elf's ragged pillowcase tunic. "You nearly got me expelled from Hogwarts! Do you have any idea what that means?"
"Yes… yes, it was me," Dobby admitted, shrinking back, but there was something strange in his tone—something that almost sounded like relief. "But Harry Potter still made it here. Even… even the Bludger gone mad couldn't stop him…"
"The Bludger?" Harry went rigid, every trace of sleep gone from his body. "That was you too?! Were you trying to kill me? It broke my arm!"
"No! Never to kill you!" Dobby cried out in horror, then immediately slapped both hands over his mouth, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Dobby would never hurt Harry Potter! Dobby thought… Dobby only thought, if Harry Potter got hurt, he might be sent home, and then he'd be safe… Dobby only wanted to save you! There are terrible things happening at Hogwarts, sir… awful things…"
His voice trailed off into a whisper, as if he were speaking more to himself now, trying to believe the danger had passed. "Thankfully it's all resolved now. Harry Potter is safe…"
"You wanted to save me?" Harry's voice rang with disbelief, edged with incredulous sarcasm. "That's what you call 'saving' someone? I almost died because of you!"
"Waaahhh… Dobby… Dobby is sorry, sir… Dobby is so sorry…" The little elf burst into tears, sobbing so hard his entire frail body shook with each breath. Huge tears rolled off his cheeks like pearls snapping from a broken string, thudding against Harry's blanket in fat, glistening drops. "Harry Potter is angry… Harry Potter should be angry…"
Watching Dobby tremble like that, so small and broken, with his face buried in his hands and his sobs thick with helpless sorrow, Harry felt his anger deflate like a punctured balloon. What replaced it was not forgiveness exactly, but something softer… something tangled and hard to name.
"Don't cry," he said, his voice unintentionally gentler now. "You mentioned danger earlier… were you talking about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Dobby nodded vigorously, his bat-like ears flapping as they smacked against the sides of his head.
"It's already over," Harry said, trying to reassure him. "Professor Greengrass took care of the monster inside the Chamber."
"But the one behind it all… the one who gave the orders… he's still out there," Dobby whispered, his voice as faint as the rustling of dry leaves, trembling with fear. "He only disappeared for now… hiding, waiting…"
"Dobby," Harry leaned forward, his heart dropping like a stone in his chest, "you know something, don't you? You know who's really behind this, don't you?"
"Dobby cannot say! Dobby… Dobby wasn't even supposed to come to Hogwarts!" The house-elf backed away as if panicked by his own words. Then, with a strangled cry, he began to pull at his long, floppy ears. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! A house-elf… a house-elf must never speak ill of his masters!"
"Stop that! Dobby, stop!" Harry hissed, lunging to grab his hands, trying to keep him from hurting himself. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Dobby must be punished…" the elf sobbed, still trembling all over violently. "House-elves are not allowed to talk about their masters, sir…"
"But you haven't said anything bad about anyone."
"Even thinking it is wrong!" Dobby wailed, a piercing, high-pitched cry, "Even the thought is a sin!"
And before Harry could stop him, Dobby raised his one bony hand and with a loud — smack, smack! — slapped himself hard across the face. The sound cracked through the silent dormitory, sharp and jarring like a whip splitting the air.
From the bed nearby, Ron stirred and muttered something in his sleep, tossing restlessly under his blankets.
"Dobby has to go!" the house-elf gasped, casting a frightened glance toward Ron, then turning back to Harry. His enormous green eyes brimmed with one last unsaid warning, desperate and wide. "Harry Potter… you must be very careful! The one pulling the strings… he's still watching… he never stopped watching… Dobby… Dobby must go!"
And before Harry could say a word, the house-elf vanished. One blink, and he was simply gone, swallowed by the shadows as if he had never been there at all.
Ron smacked his lips, rolled over, and his heavy snores resumed.
The room fell quiet once more. But Harry lay awake, eyes wide open, his heart pounding in the silence and his thoughts racing with the weight of everything he had just heard.
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[Chapter End's]
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