The Diary of Bellatrix Black - November 1967

***1 November 1967, Hogwarts***

After the Halloween Feast last night, Leonard and I went to the library together. I had a few books to return, and we both had essays to write for Professor Flitwick. Madam Shafiq bustled around as always, tending to the books and helping students with their research. Her eyes twinkled when she looked our way, and when she passed us by, she greeted us with an affectionate smile.

“Be right back,” Leonard said at one point, rising from the table. “Bathroom.”

I nodded my acknowledgment.

Madam Shafiq approached me when I was alone.

“And how is it going, my dear Miss Black?” she asked.

“Quite all right, thank you, Ma’am,” I answered.

“I knew you were telling the truth about your young man.” She squeezed my arm in a grandmotherly way. I smiled sweetly, pretending the touch didn’t irritate me. “The dark-haired, bookish maiden. The aloof, athletic youth. It’s just like The Cliffs Of Somerset by Evangeline Warbeck.”

“Warbeck?” I asked. “I don’t know that author.”

“No?” she asked. “She’s the singer, Celestina Warbeck’s, sister. I’ve got all her works, except for The Baron’s Pursuit. I used to have that, but as it is an historical fiction based on the Bloody Baron and the Gray Lady, I thought it in poor taste to keep it while living here, you know.”

This was a dense explanation. But two points stood out to me as potentially useful: the librarian loves romance novels; and the histories of the Slytherin House Ghost and the Ravenclaw House Ghost were entwined enough to be the basis of one of those novels.

“I hope The Cliffs Of Somerset had a happy ending,” I said.

“Love always wins out,” the librarian beamed. “Though I do hope you don’t face the same obstacles.”

“Thank you,” I said. I looked around to ensure no one could hear us, and leaned in towards her as if to share a secret. She looked excited. “Confidentially,” I told her, “I’m sure I made a good impression, but I still want to impress him. He’s so well-read that I keep trying to find books he hasn’t encountered yet. Philosophy and Defence Against the Dark Arts, especially. Maybe some NEWT-level potioneering. Something that will make him say, ‘Wow, my girlfriend is so well-informed.’”

“Oh, my dear.” She squeezed my arm again. “With your pretty looks, you’ve got nothing to worry about. But if you ever want to borrow from my private collection, I’ve got all the Evangeline Warbeck and Griselda Hodgkins and Danielle Steele you could ever want.” She winked and walked away.

So, I can’t use her immediately for access to the Restricted Section. But I may still bend her to my will. Or perhaps it will be more expedient to have Wikowski get the books for me.

I finished my essay and read a chapter of There Are Already Wizards Here. It was almost curfew, and I couldn’t remember how long ago Leonard had left for the bathroom. It had surely been over an hour.

This presented me with my first dilemma as a girlfriend. Was I to be the Injured Woman, crying and storming about how he had abandoned me? Then I could leave his belongings behind and go straight back to my room. Was I the Faithful Maiden, waiting beside his half-written Charms essay and sighing over his quill? In that case I wouldn’t go back to my room until Madam Shafiq ushered me out of the library. That would certainly endear me to her.

However, both Injured Woman and Faithful Maiden are kinds of victims. Neither role appeals. I chose to be a Concerned Sweetheart instead. I packed my bag, held Leonard’s essay in my arms, and went looking for him.

Once I was away from the dampening effect of the library stacks, I could hear a commotion from down the corridor. Shouts, thuds, and the hideous cackle of Peeves the Poltergeist echoed from the boys’ lavatory. The portrait of Tertius Snell zoomed through the corridor’s paintings on his broomstick.

“Pardon me,” Snell said as he bowled over a pug portrait, and, “Sorry, urgent,” as he knocked the playing cards off a table in a portrait of ladies in powdered wigs.

The boys’ bathroom door opened. A Gryffindor prefect pushed out a Hufflepuff boy, then ushered another Gryffindor out of harm’s way.

“What’s happening?” I asked him.

“Two of your lot are duelling in there,” the prefect said. “I got the other boys out. Freezing Charms on three, eh?”

I didn’t wait for him. I dropped Leonard’s essay and slammed the door out of my way.

“Stupefy!”

The spell missed Leonard, passed close by my arm, and hit the Gryffindor prefect in the chest. He fell backwards into the hall and the door slammed closed.

Peeves cackled and spun somersaults overhead.

“Cut it out!” Leonard bellowed. “Petrificus totalis.” His foe used a quick shield charm, then cast the disarming spell. I cast the mirror shield between them in time to send the disarming spell back.

“Enough!” I commanded. Startled, Leonard and the other boy stopped and gaped at me.

It was Cole.

Leonard Crabbe, Seventh Year keeper of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and his best friend William Cole, Sixth Year Slytherin Quidditch Captain, were dueling in a bathroom.

Cole’s wand fell to the tiled floor with a clatter.

“No fun,” Peeves whined. “I was enjoying the show!”

“Bellatrix,” Leonard said confusedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you sooner. I bumped into Cole, and we started to argue. I, uh, lost track of time.”

“Bumped in to me,” Cole repeated angrily. “You could at least tell your girlfriend the truth.”

“The truth is, you are a prat!” Leonard sneered at him.

Cole’s eyes welled up with tears. “I never want to see you again,” he told Leonard.

“Boooooorrrrring!” Peeves shouted. He blew a loud raspberry and left.

“I’ll find a new Keeper,” Cole said. He attempted to storm out of the room, but my shield charm kept him from leaving. “Drop it and let me leave, will you?” he asked me. “Isn’t it enough that you got him?”

I wished I had a basilisk’s killing glare. I told him, “No, it isn’t enough. You attacked one prefect’s boyfriend, and you stunned another prefect.”

“Leo started the duel!” Cole whined.

“That’s not how my report will read,” I told him. The bathroom door burst open. Dumbledore and Wikowski stepped in, wands raised.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” I said quickly. “William Cole is positively deranged. He attacked—”

“Thank you, Miss Black,” Dumbledore interrupted. He dispelled my shield charm. “We shall obtain accounts from every eyewitness privately. Does anyone in here require medical attention?”

“Cole stunned a prefect,” I said.

“Professor Atwood is reviving Mr Prewett,” Dumbledore said.

Cole blushed. “I didn’t mean to hit him.”

“We will discuss it in my office,” Dumbledore told him. “Gentlemen, if you will come with me? Miss Black, I believe you have a free period tomorrow morning. Do stop by then.”

“Yes, Sir.” There was nothing else I could reasonably say.

Dumbledore turned and started walking away. Cole followed. Leonard turned to me. “Could you…?”

“I’ve got your essay,” I reassured him.

“Thanks.” They all left.

Wikowski held the door for me. “Good work, breaking up the fight,” he told me. “You’re a good prefect. I know it’s difficult, being an objective authority figure when you’re emotionally attached…” He petered off.

I gave him one of those soppy doe-eyed smiles I’ve seen girls give their crushes.

The corridor was emptying out. I saw the portrait of Tertius Snell returning to his frame, panting and red-faced. “All right, Guideon?” he asked, dismounting from his broom.

“All right, Tertius,” Wikowski replied. “Thanks for getting us.”

“Not at all,” the portrait said, sitting heavily on a painted stile and sighing.

I collected Leonard’s books from where they had dropped on the ground. Wikowski and I proceeded together down the hall.

“And are you alright?” Wikowski asked me. “No jinxes hit you? Though I suppose it would take a faster wand than William Cole’s to get past your defences.”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I never got to thank you…” I looked around, but there were still a few students trickling out of the library, and alert portraits on the wall. This was no place to mention that a professor had given me a birthday present.

“You’re very welcome,” Wikowski said quickly. He understood me. He even blushed.

I did that stupid little thing where girls twist a lock of their hair around a finger. “Professor Wikowski, I was hoping for a bit more guidance with my studies,” I said. “Could I come to your classroom tomorrow after dinner?”

“Of course,” Wikowski said.

At that point, we reached the end of the library corridor. We wished each other goodnight and parted ways.

I handed Leonard’s essay to Duncan Brisbane, the seventh year Slytherin boy prefect. He’ll leave it in their parlor for Leonard.

Now that I’ve sat down to write all this out, I realize that it doesn’t quite make sense. Leonard was gone for an hour or even more before the big commotion about the fight broke out. He certainly hadn’t been delayed the entire time by dueling. What could he and Cole have been talking of for so long? Is it really as simple as Cole being in love with me, too?

In any case, I apparently don’t need to go to any particular lengths to separate them. They’ve done it themselves.

***28 October 1967, Lhasa City***

Dear Bellatrix,

Many happy returns. Sixteen is an important age, but I’m sure you’ll get more than enough lectures about OWL scores and your Last Year As A Minor from teachers and parents.

Thank you for the update about Slughorn. I shared it with my friends, and we were all delighted to reminisce about his dinner parties. How does the rest of Hogwarts get on? Is Dippet considering retirement? It will be a sad day for wizard children if Albus Dumbledore becomes headmaster. But, I don’t suppose he would last long in the role, or leave any sort of noteworthy legacy. As the Dark Lord says, Dumbledore peaked decades ago.

Tibet is lovely, but it’s near impossible to get a proper meal here. Everything is made of barley and steeped in yak butter. The locals even put butter in their tea. I don’t suppose we will linger much longer here, though. The Dark Lord has already devoured every book in the venerable old library here, and taught us [unintelligible ink blot] many fascinating historical tidbits.

I hope your reading is also progressing well.

Yours ever, Markleton

***2 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Finally decided to get my own spellotape, since I’m receiving so many letters I’ll actually want to affix to my diary. I got a letter from Mother this morning, too, but she only detailed her luncheon with Leonard’s mother.

I’ve tried every trick I know to make out what Markleton had blotted. Was it simply a spelling error? Or did he want to tell me something that he later thought shouldn’t be committed to writing? Or did he simply spill ink? Nothing seems to clear the blot away.

He’s asked me about Hogwarts in general. It isn’t unusual for an alumnus to ask his younger cousin about the goings-on of their school. And there will be nothing unusual in me answering with chatter about Professor Dippet’s declining health. Still, I can’t help but imagine that Lord Voldemort could benefit from intelligence about the Hogwarts administration. If his goal is to correct the course of Britain, it could help him to know which teachers have proper wizarding pride, and who is trying to instill muggle sympathies into students. I’ll ask Wik

...I stopped mid-word because Ganymede came into our parlor and told me Dumbledore was expecting me. I had forgotten to go to his office to discuss last night’s fight. So, I went, and told him that I saw Leonard casting exclusively defensive spells against Cole’s attacks. But, I still haven’t learned what exactly prompted the fight.

It seems Leonard and Cole both have detentions all day Saturday and next Saturday, which they will have to serve together “to prove they can coexist without violence.” Dumbledore also gave me detention for tonight, for not bothering to go to his office. I suppose he will set me lines.

“As the Dark Lord says, Dumbledore peaked decades ago.” I’ll do the lines, but Dumbledore can’t force me to take him seriously.

I’ll ask Wikowski, as I was saying, to give me any faculty-only information he gets about Hogwarts’s administration. I was going to go to his office soon anyway, to make him get me the off-limits books. But I suppose that will have to wait for tomorrow, since I have to serve detention tonight.

***11 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Sunny and cold.

Last night was another Slughorn dinner party. This time, Grandfather Rosier was the special guest. He talked about his famous advances in purifying citrus oils for use in potions, and told us a bit about his current Hixan-crabapple cross breeding. He brought each of his granddaughters one galleon per year of age, in proper grandfatherly fashion. He also played at being Very Stern with the Malfoy boy, who had been egregiously flirting with both Andie and Cissy again. Once again, after the younger students went to bed, I sipped wine and chatted with Wikowski, Slughorn, his guest of honor, and Bridgett McNair. Slughorn didn’t get so drunk this time, though, and Bridgett and I wound up walking back to the common room together.

There was no Quidditch practice to interfere, now that Leonard is off the team, but he wasn’t at the party again. His ugly little brother was. It didn’t even occur to me to ask if Leonard had been invited. He was in the Slug Club last year, and every other year before. I brought it up at breakfast this morning, but Leonard shrugged it off. “Slughorn must think I either lack a desirable quality, or have an undesirable one.”

There is no lack of desirable qualities. And I’m sure I would have sussed out an undesirable one by now; we’ve been holding hands and doing homework together and reading books side by side for several weeks now. I doubt anyone knows Leonard as well as I do.

Maybe Cole used to. I don’t think they talk anymore, though. Cole has been sitting with his sixth year friends at mealtimes, and Leonard has been spending all his breaks with me instead of Cole. They had detention together last Saturday, and they’re in it again today. But they haven’t chosen to spend time together since their fight.

It’s been a while since I received a letter from Markleton. I expect the Dark Lord and his companions have left Lhasa City, but I can’t find anything about them in the newspapers or magazines I’ve subscribed to.

***13 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Freezing rain.

Wikowski has finally got The Beat of Giant Hearts and Ancient Rites for me. Leonard asked some inconvenient questions when he saw me reading the former, though. He has too much sense to question my right to read anything I like, but he showed rather too much curiosity about where I’d heard of it, why I chose it and how I got it. So, I didn’t mention Ancient Rites to him.

He’s been in an awful mood lately. Positively moping. He is as attentive to me as ever, but beyond asking me questions about myself, he hasn’t been talking much.

Meanwhile, Cole keeps shooting ugly looks in our direction, at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall or across our Common Room. I’m glad I didn’t choose to have Sylvia date him. He’s neither pleasant nor useful.

Homework load continues to be steep. Prefect duties are easy, though.

***16 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Cold rain and heavy wind.

Danielle Bagman has a new boyfriend: a fourth year Hufflepuff mudblood. I love everything about this situation. He’s a year younger than her, and easily five inches shorter, so they look ridiculous side-by-side. He’s got no noteworthy connections, no particular intellect, no remarkable talents whatsoever. She may as well be snogging a rubbish bin.

Dumbledore keeps partnering Danielle and me in class and on our prefect duties. She’s been making an effort to appear friendly whenever he looks our way, but I see right through her.

Last night, as Leonard and I were taking a stroll through the corridors, we came across Danielle and her new boyfriend kissing in Classroom 11. It was the perfect opportunity to try out a jinx I’d picked up from Ancient Rites. I held my finger up to my lips to signal Leonard to stay quiet and we walked away before we were noticed. Then I cast the Disillusionment Charm on us and Silencio on the door to Classroom 11. I took Leonard’s hand and led him inside. I could feel the tingle of anticipation mounting throughout my entire body. I raised my wand, pointing it at the mudblood. I took a deep breath and savored to moment.

Then, right as Danielle and her loser boyfriend were kissing, I hit him with the Phantom Bite jinx.

The Hufflepuff boy yelped and pushed Danielle away.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Why’d oo bide me?” he demanded with a swollen, bleeding tongue. “Thad hurd!”

“Bite you?” Danielle asked, dumbfounded. “I didn’t bite you. I wouldn’t—”

“I’b bleeding!” her boyfriend exclaimed.

“But I didn’t— Oh my goodness…” She blanched at the sight of the blood pouring down the boy’s chin. “You need the Hospital Wing. Let me help.”

She reached for him, but he pushed her away. “You’b done enoub,” he said, and he stormed away.

Danielle burst into confused tears. I enjoyed the sight for a moment. Then Leonard squeezed my hand, and we left.

When we’d gone down the corridor enough to turn a corner, I undid the Disillusionment Charm. I smiled triumphantly.

Leonard gave me a queer, calculating look. “Did he deserve it?” he asked.

“Who cares?” I told him. “He’s a mudblood. And she deserved it.”

Leonard caressed my cheek. It was the first time he’d touched anything other than my hand or arm. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or not, but I recognized it as a thing that boyfriends and girlfriends do. “You are so beautiful,” he said, “And positively vicious.”

I grinned.

“Remind me never to lose your favor,” he told me.

“You’re too smart to do that,” I told him.

Then he gave me a strange look. “Bellatrix. May I kiss you?”

I felt an unfamiliar jolt in my stomach. I’ve been batting my eyes and playing with my hair and holding hands like any teenaged girlfriend for weeks, but kissing was another matter altogether.

“Only if you think you’d like it,” Leonard added.

“I don’t know if I would,” I told him honestly. “But you did ask nicely. And it’s a thing young couples do. Do you want to?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never kissed a girl.”

I quickly weighed the pros and cons. Kissing my pureblood boyfriend, several weeks into a relationship, would not dishonor a daughter of the House of Black. Our connection was perfectly suitable, and Leonard was behaving as a consummate gentleman. The worst case scenario seemed to be that we kissed and found we didn’t like it.

“Let’s try it,” I said.

“You’re sure?” Leonard looked nervous.

“Yes,” I told him. I smiled at his anxiety. “I won’t use the Phantom Bite jinx on you.”

“Of course,” he said with a weak laugh. “All right.”

He leaned down to me, and for the briefest moment, I considered hitting him in the face with the stinging jinx for daring to come so close. Then I remembered I had invited him to do this. We pressed our lips together. It was all very gentle and chaste. Then he backed off.

“Well,” he said.

“Well,” I repeated.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Not particularly,” I said. “Did you?”

He gave me an awkward smile. “I liked that it was you,” he said. “But the act itself?” he shrugged, too.

“Well, that’s that, then,” I told him. “We’re under no obligation to do it again.” I offered him my hand. He smiled and took it. We started walking again.

“So,” he said. “Tell me all about how that Gryffindor girl came to deserve having her relationship cursed with Dark Arts. I know she’s a gossip…”

And we talked about Danielle’s petty jealousy for the rest of our walk.

I’m elated. It’s the first time, I learned a jinx on my own. I pulled it off perfectly. Daddy and Mother have taught my sisters and me all sorts of charms and potions and transfigurations that our weak, muggle-loving school teachers would deem “inappropriate.” But now I have proven to myself that I can study and master the Dark Arts without my parents’ help.

Lord Voldemort provided me with guidance. He told me about Ancient Rites. He showed me the way, and I will learn to walk it. I’ve got to write to Markleton about this!

***26 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Prodigious snow.

I didn’t purposefully set myself the task of mastering a new dark art every day. It simply happened. After my success with the Phantom Bite jinx, I couldn’t help myself. I devoured the rest of Ancient Rites, along with The Beat Of Giant Hearts and Merman Scales and Centaur Hooves. I’ve got carte blanche to order anything I like from the Apothecary on Daddy’s account. Mother has also permitted me an allowance of up to ten galleons a month for orders to Borgin and Burke’s. Ten galleons won’t buy much there, but I think she wants to limit public exposure of my “unseemly hobbies.”

My test subject, of course, has been the sickly-sweet Danielle Bagman. The Thursday before last was the Phantom Bite jinx on her boyfriend’s tongue. The next day, I made wartcap powder and slipped it down the back of her robe during class. That weekend, I transfigured the insoles of her shoes into barnacles, and then made her hairline recede by four inches.

This past week, I have: transfigured her pumpkin juice into a befuddling potion; switched her Arithmancy essay with a duplicate of Margaret Spelling’s (so they both got in trouble for cheating); enchanted Danielle’s hat to be irresistible to mice; cursed her with uncontrollable hair growth that made her look like a gorilla; and hit her with a halitosis jinx.

I’m especially proud of my work this weekend. Last night, I used one of the Ancient Rites to invade her dreams with visions of dementors. No matter where she ran in her dreams, or how many times she woke up, she kept finding herself face-to-face with a hooded, cloaked specter that tried to devour her soul. Then this morning at breakfast, I cast the Paranoia Charm. She has been jittery all day, snapping at her friends, issuing unfair punishments to underclassmen, and just generally looking a mess.

Danielle Bagman has become my personal work of art. I twist her ugly, squarish face with exquisite agony. Her mind and body bend to my whims. I am the mistress of her pain, and my works are so subtle that she can’t even fight against me, or get Dumbledore to make me stop. She doesn’t yet understand that her misery is my doing, but she will in time. For now, I’m just relishing watching her squirm.

***23 November 1967, Dacca***

Dear Bellatrix,

I hope you don’t mind. I was so proud of your progress that I shared your last letter with the Dark Lord. “Rosier, my dear friend,” he said to me; “It must warm your heart to know that you have set such a good example. You are right to be proud of your cousin. Encourage her progress.”

I can’t overstate the compliment of such attention. My friends are positively jealous that I’ve got such a talented young relation, and that the Dark Lord has taken such a keen interest in my family. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re all striking up a correspondence with their nephews and cousins and whatnot who are still in Hogwarts. But you, my dear Bellatrix, will always have the distinction of being the first young person to impress the Dark Lord since our own school days.

We’re in East Pakistan now, and the food here is much better. There is a small community of wizards here who practice arcane rituals with little buffalo statues. In their tradition, the ancient wizard king Mahishasura was murdered by a muggle woman riding a tiger. They’re queer fellows, but they’ve taught us some fascinating charmwork to apply to potions.

Good luck with the rest of the school term. I don’t suppose I’ll have a chance to write again until after Christmas. Do still send a line if you ever pick up anything interesting about the Hogwarts administration—and if you have any more new accomplishments for me to boast about.

Yours ever, Markleton Rosier

***27 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Bright and cold.

I’d give anything for a portkey to Dacca right now. Charms to apply to potions—magic on magic—I can hardly imagine the implications!

Prefect duty with Danielle again. Tonight, I want to see her bleed.

***28 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Still bright and cold.

The Thin Skin Charm worked well. I cast it nonverbally on Danielle’s arm, and then walked on her left, slowly edging to the right until I “unconsciously” herded her into bumping into one of the suits of armor mounted in a corridor. Then I acted all concerned as I helped her bandage it up, cleaned the gush of blood, and escorted her to the Hospital Wing.

I was supposed to go to Wikowski’s office after dinner today. I’m done with the reading list sent to me by Lord Voldemort, and Leonard mentioned a relevant title that may be in the Restricted Section: Armour of the Innocent by Gwenhwyfar Gladstone. But, the slug asked me to join him for a spot of tea instead.

It’s very rare that Slughorn will choose to meet with a student one-on-one. He typically wants to forge or strengthen connections, by introducing people or encouraging existing friendships. I almost wondered if the old fool were half in love with me, too, for him to request a tete-a-tete.

In his office, he had a House Elf serve me a cup of tea. “Straight from China, you know,” the slug announced. “Sent to me by none other than my former student, Markleton Rosier. His letter mentioned you, as a matter of fact.”

I sipped composedly. It was very good. “Markleton and I have been corresponding,” I said.

Slughorn nodded pensively. He gave me an expectant look, but I didn’t volunteer any more information.

“Miss Black,” he finally said. “I’m afraid I’ve got to touch on an unpleasant subject.”

“Yes?”

His face flushed right up to his straw-colored hair. “I’ve noticed that for about two weeks now, you haven’t completed any of your potions homework.”

“Oh.”

“Your classwork is as exemplary as ever,” Slughorn insisted. “But your worksheets and essays are an important part of your education.”

I looked at him, the image of polite attention.

Slughorn fiddled with his cufflinks. “Your other teachers have also mentioned a lack of homework,” he said. “Professor Flitwick noted that you are three essays behind. Professor Dumbledore hasn’t received a worksheet from you since the fifteenth. And Professor Longbottom says that, rather than pruning the Carnivorous Rosemary, you were, erm, feeding it a lock of blonde hair.”

It was Danielle’s.

I didn’t speak. I simply put my cup and saucer down on his desk and folded my hands in my lap.

“OWL year is positively infamous for its stressors,” Slughorn continued kindly. “It is not unheard of for the school matron to prescribe calming concoctions, or for overworked youngsters to start behaving, erm, unpredictably. One of your classmates has gone to the Hospital Wing seven times in the past three weeks, even.”

Danielle again, and it was eight, as of last night.

“Then,” I said quietly, “I suppose my academic lapses are no surprise at all.”

“Except, they are surprising,” Slughorn said flatly. “An exceptional mind like yours, my dear… I mean to say, I don’t think there would be any ‘lapses’ at all if you applied your attention properly. Now, I know you and Mr Crabbe are caught up in an exciting young love, and that’s a beautiful thing. And I know you’ve got this correspondence with a world-traveling relation. Distraction is quite natural indeed! But when I see one of my prefects struggling to complete their homework, I have to wonder if they have too many responsibilities?”

It sounded like a strong, paternal talking-to until he got to the last three words, when his inflection rose as if he were asking me a question.

I shook my head. “You’re quite right. I’ve simply misapplied my attention.” It was a partial lie. I certainly did choose to allow my homework to slip, but it was because I had been focusing on the much more interesting work of practicing new curses, jinxes, and hexes.

Slughorn gave me an indulgent smile. “I suspected as much,” he said knowingly. “But, as it’s the year of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels…” He launched into a boring repetition of his talk on the “Importance of Test Scores.”

I nodded at the right times, and agreed to it all. Then I promised that I wouldn’t allow Leonard to distract me from my studies so much, because after all, he has NEWT’s this year, too.

“Very good,” he smiled.

“Professor?” I asked. “While we're on the subject. Leonard and I can’t figure out why he hasn’t been invited to any of your dinner parties this year. He had enjoyed them so much in previous years.”

Slughorn pursed his lips. “I… I see,” he said. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose it’s all right…” His explanation started and stopped quite a lot, with many “wells” and “you-see’s.” All I could gather is that Slughorn had heard that Leonard had formed a socially unacceptable romantic connection, which earned his ostracism.

I pointed out that I am, in fact, Leonard’s first ever girlfriend. Whatever rumors Slughorn may have heard, he’d been misinformed.

“Perhaps I could invite him to the Christmas party,” Slughorn said thoughtfully.

“That would be a good first step,” I agreed.

We chatted a bit more, and eventually I let him know that I should leave some time for homework before bed. Slughorn beamed at me for attending to his admonition. But before I was out the door, I had to ask: “Sir? What was Leonard’s rumored unacceptable romantic attachment? The daughter of some anti-Ministry reporter? Or perhaps some Beauxbatons French girl?”

Slughorn giggled nervously. “There’s no need to pay any attention to gossip,” he said. “You’ve shown me yourself that Mr Crabbe has impeccable taste in young ladies.”

I smiled as if this were a satisfying answer, and left.

I did two essays and a worksheet before writing this.

***30 November 1967, Hogwarts***

Cold, with a biting wind.

Last night I had a fantastic dream. There was no threat of Azkaban to prevent me from casting whatever spell I chose. I walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, punishing blood traitors with the Cruciatus curse. I wish I knew how to perform it for real. Wherever I went, I cast the Killing Curse on mudbloods and watched their bodies fall to the floor. Purebloods from every House and all the Slytherins applauded as I passed them. Slughorn fell to my feet and begged me to forgive him for ever seeing value in mudbloods, because I taught him better.

The best part came when I got to the Headmaster’s office. I used the Imperius Curse on Professor Dippet, and made him cast the Killing Curse on Albus Dumbledore. Then my cousin Markleton and several other figures came and applauded me, including a pale man with dark hair and snakelike eyes.

I woke up exhilarated. I immediately wrote to Aunt Walburga to ask her if we have any Seers on the Black family tree, and to Mother to ask about the Rosier side. Then at breakfast, I asked Professor Nott how to tell if a dream is prescient or just a dream. She responded by assuring me she would lend me a copy of The Dream Oracle tonight at dinner.

The only person I actually told the dream to was Leonard, while we sat in a courtyard during break. His reaction was less than satisfactory. He agreed that my dream was interesting, and that it “must have felt wonderful,” but he didn’t think it meant anything. Then he reminded me that I’m behind on homework, and ought to focus on catching up.

Holding hands and reading books together is nice and all, but all these girls running around kissing and sharing confidences with their boyfriends are mad. Those bits of the relationship just aren’t worth the bother.

Whether or not it was truly prophetic, my dream did inspire me to solve my homework situation. Bernie Hopkirk is going out with Doreen Vance, but I saw him kissing Mafalda Higgins last week while patrolling on prefect duty. Higgins is a half-blood Ravenclaw who always gets high marks in our classes, but she’s a meek little thing. Vance got an Outstanding on her Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL, and has a reputation for possessive jealousy. She would crush Higgins if she knew.

So, Higgins is skiving off her classes today to do my overdue homework, and in return, I’m brewing an Aversion Draught from Moste Potente Potions. When it’s done next week, I’ll slip it into Vance’s coffee and she won’t feel any romantic attachment or attraction to anyone for a month. Vance will break it off with Hopkirk, Higgins will do all my homework for the rest of term, and Slughorn won’t have any cause to whine about my grades.

Of course, the Aversion Draught is a banned substance in Hogwarts. I’m brewing it in Wikowski’s office. No one would bother to look twice at any potion the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is experimenting with.

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This work of fanfiction was based on characters and settings created by JK Rowling for her Harry Potter series. I'd like to note that my fair use of this popularly known source material does not in any way represent an endorsement of Rowling's harmful public statements against the validity of trans identities. Trans rights are human rights.