The entire castle of Hogwarts began to shake.
The Slytherin students who had already returned to their dormitories stared in astonishment out their windows as the Black Lake surged and churned without warning.
"What's happening? An earthquake?"
"Impossible — Hogwarts is protected by magic. How could there be an earthquake?"
Amid the confused chatter, the little snakes of Slytherin watched as the Black Lake's waters crashed violently against the dormitory windows, as though the glass might shatter at any moment.
Up in the towers, the Gryffindor students felt the trembling far more acutely — it seemed as though they might tumble from the heights at any second.
Someone came out of their room to find Neville, bound head to toe by a Full Body-Bind Curse, lying in the middle of the common room that had been empty moments before. They rushed over in fright and cast the counter-jinx.
"It's Harry and the others!" Neville cried the moment the curse was lifted, scrambling upright. "They broke the rules — they've gone out for a midnight wander!"
The trembling continued, jolting awake students in every house — and even some of the teachers.
"I've found where the shaking is coming from!" Professor Flitwick cried as he arrived in his nightgown, breathless. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Sprout had already assembled.
McGonagall looked at the panting Flitwick and said, with strained patience, "Don't rush — take a breath and tell us slowly."
"It's that room!" Flitwick said with absolute certainty. "I'd stake my life on it — someone has broken in there!"
The professors exchanged bewildered glances.
Snape's expression darkened. "Dumbledore is away from the school right now. Someone needs to stay here and keep watch over the other students..."
"Very well," McGonagall said with a nod. "The three of us will go down to investigate. Professor Snape, you stay up here."
This was exactly the outcome Snape had anticipated. He accepted without argument, escorted the others toward the third-floor corridor where the three-headed dog was kept, and then stopped.
He had no way of knowing what the situation was like inside.
His face was a cold mask, and beneath the black robes, his rigid fingers curled inward without him even noticing.
In truth, even Harry, who was right there in the thick of it, could barely make sense of what was happening.
One moment he had watched the flames on that figure's body be snuffed out entirely — and then the ground lurched beneath his feet without warning.
In the next instant, the previously flat floor began to buckle and heave, stone columns shooting upward with terrifying speed, each one nearly tall enough to punch through the ceiling of the dungeon.
Voldemort's fire serpents were sliced apart by the rising columns, shredded into scattered pockets of savage flame.
And then — the twin walls of black and violet fire that had stood before Harry seemed to be seized by some immense, invisible force. They surged upward into the air, and wherever they swept, they devoured every fragment of scattered fire utterly and completely.
Voldemort let out a furious roar, his wand straining to marshal the remaining fire against the black and violet flames.
To Harry's astonishment, the great serpent of savage fire that had carved through the armored warrior without difficulty now seemed to have lost all its fangs and claws. Hemmed in by the narrow spaces between the stone columns, it was driven back step by step.
These two kinds of flame were really that powerful?
Before he could even figure out which way to run, a sharp voice rang out from close behind him: "Who's there?"
Professor McGonagall!
Harry's heart leapt — he scrambled onto a table and saw that McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout had all appeared in the doorway.
Brilliant. With three professors here, Voldemort didn't stand a chance.
What Harry hoped for was precisely what Voldemort feared.
He had already spent far too much effort simply dealing with that armored warrior. Now he was being forced to hold back the wall of flames as well.
If three more professors came at him on top of all this, he'd be well and truly finished.
He instantly recalled all of his fire serpents. With the black and violet fire already closing in, he made a split-second decision — he abandoned Quirrell's body entirely, dissolved into a cloud of black mist, and fled.
The flames immediately engulfed the body Quirrell had left behind, burning it to nothing — and with it, the clone that had lain dormant within.
Slytherin dormitory.
Kate's eyes flew open, drenched in sweat. She staggered back two steps, legs barely holding her upright — but at least she didn't collapse straight onto the floor.
It was a good thing she had severed her consciousness at the very last moment, just before the fire could engulf her. Given her current Spirit rating, she doubted she could have endured that kind of burning for long.
It was a pity, though. Voldemort had still escaped.
Well — the cleanup that followed could be left to Dumbledore and Harry. That was their story to finish.
She fell back onto her bed, her mind utterly spent. The moment her head touched the soft mattress, the exhaustion pulled her under like a current.
Within a few breaths, she was completely, deeply asleep.
Less than two minutes after she lost consciousness, the dormitory door swung silently open, and Hermione came rushing in from outside, draped in her Invisibility Cloak, her face tight with anxiety.
At the sight of Kate lying peacefully on her bed, safe and unharmed, she finally let out a long breath.
Thank goodness. Thank goodness Kate hadn't kept their plan and gone to that room.
She crept closer, intending to pull the blanket over Kate — but the moment she leaned in, she saw the unnatural pallor on Kate's face, broken by two hectic spots of colour in her cheeks.
"Kate? Kate!" Hermione called urgently, shaking her. But no answer came.
She pressed her lips together, made up her mind, and hauled Kate onto her back.
When Kate came to, she found herself in the Hospital Wing — again. The same familiar bed, the same familiar ceiling.
Funny. She was certain she'd been in her own room when she fell asleep.
Was she sleepwalking now, on top of everything else?
Before she could puzzle it out, she heard Hermione's pleading voice from the other side of the curtain: "Please, just let me in for a moment — I only want to see if she's all right!"
"Not yet," Madam Pomfrey said, without an ounce of sympathy. "Her Spirit reserves are severely depleted. She hasn't woken up yet..."
Kate hauled herself upright with great effort. "Madam — I'm awake."
"Kate, you're finally awake!" Hermione's voice jumped with relief. She immediately ducked past Madam Pomfrey's arm and came running over, beaming.
Kate gave a faint smile and held out her hand, letting Hermione clasp it tightly. "What happened to me?"
"Your body gave out — you fainted right there in the dormitory." Madam Pomfrey came around to the other side of the bed, her tone distinctly unimpressed. "You've been asleep for two days."
After a quick examination, she gave her instructions: "You still need proper rest. Visiting hours are limited to fifteen minutes."
"Thank you!" Hermione flashed her a bright, sweet smile — which vanished the instant Madam Pomfrey turned and walked away.
Kate's instincts screamed danger. She tried to shift away, but her body was still so leaden she could barely sit up straight, let alone make a run for it.
Faced with Hermione's low, somber expression, Kate scrambled to change the subject. "Right — didn't you say you were going to the three-headed dog's room? What happened in the end?"
At that, Hermione looked as though she was only just recovering from a shock.
"It's lucky you didn't come," she said, her grip on Kate's hand tightening unconsciously. "There's no telling what might have happened." In a low voice, she recounted the whole chain of events.
Ten minutes later.
"So in the end — it was the armored warrior that protected you?" Kate asked, relaxing her brow.
Hermione gave a small nod. "After the mysterious person fled, the three professors helped Harry out of the fire. He wanted to save the armored warrior, and in the final chamber he managed to get the Philosopher's Stone as well."
"But unfortunately, Professor McGonagall told him that the armored warrior was just a magical construct — created by someone, with no life of its own. The Philosopher's Stone couldn't extend its existence."
Of course. Her clone had been consumed in the fire along with Quirrell. Nothing was left. There was nothing for Professor McGonagall to discern.
"So... who do you think made the armored warrior?" Kate ventured carefully.
"No one knows. Harry thinks it might have been Dumbledore — something he created to protect him."
Hermione repeated Harry's words, then paused, and glanced down with a slightly sheepish expression. "Actually... I keep having this feeling that I knew it somehow. Otherwise there's no reason it would have been so... close to me."
Kate's heart gave a startled lurch. She kept her face utterly blank and said with complete conviction: "Maybe whoever made it was just a strange person with a weakness for cute little girls."
"Absolutely not!" Hermione's expression flickered. She gave Kate's arm a light poke. "I can feel it — it was nothing like that!"
Kate screwed up her face in theatrical agony. "Don't you think it's rather wrong to treat someone in such a fragile physical condition this way?"
"Sorry!" Hermione startled, suddenly aware of what she'd done, and immediately leaned in to gently rub the spot she'd just poked.
Kate quietly exhaled in relief. She'd successfully wriggled past that one.
The fifteen minutes passed quickly, and Hermione left the Hospital Wing with obvious reluctance.
Kate had assumed she would get one more peaceful night's rest before heading down to the end-of-year feast tomorrow.
But it seemed there was always someone else who wanted to see her.
"Professor — I can already see the hem of your robes." Kate reached out and pulled the curtain aside, regarding a certain white-bearded old man who evidently still felt the need to hide with considerable exasperation.
Dumbledore leaned in from the side of the bed, the picture of mischief. "Caught me that quickly."
"Your robes are probably just too conspicuous," Kate replied placidly, and patted the edge of the bed for him to sit.
"I imagine Miss Granger has already given you the full account," Dumbledore said, settling onto the stool beside the headboard and getting straight to the point. "Do you have any questions?"
Kate furrowed her brow in thought. "Is Fluffball with you?"
"I got quite a fright when it suddenly appeared in the Ministry of Magic and started blundering about like a headless chicken," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, I had just finished my business there and was able to bring it back with me."
She gave a quiet smile. "That little one understands people better than most. It must have heard Hermione knocking while I was unconscious and thought to go find you."
A Diricawl could teleport freely wherever it wished, but at its current level of intelligence, it only knew what the Ministry of Magic was — not how to find Dumbledore specifically.
"It's with Fawkes right now. You can collect it whenever you like," Dumbledore said warmly.
Kate was in no rush. "So... Quirrell is dead?"
"Not even ash left."
"He was probably the intruder who spent all of last year lurking in the shadows around Hogwarts — the one who slipped into the castle multiple times to spy, wasn't he?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Rather than answer her directly, he turned it around: "Why don't you suspect the armored warrior?"
"Isn't it a magical construct?" Kate put on the expression of someone who knows perfectly well that there's no evidence against her. "After all — haven't we still not found who made it?"
"Oh, quite right. It burned to nothing along with Quirrell — tracking down its origins would indeed be rather difficult."
Dumbledore gave her a conspiratorial wink. "In that case, the intruder must have been Quirrell, beyond any doubt."
Kate allowed herself a weak smile. "My thoughts exactly."
The two of them — one old, one young — exchanged a glance, and shared a smile that needed no words.
"You know," Dumbledore said, with a rueful laugh, "if Rand ever found out just how many times you've ended up in the Hospital Wing this past year, I rather think he'd appear at my bedside in the middle of the night."
"I can assure you," Kate said, catching his meaning perfectly, "that the only reason he would ever appear at your house would be for tea."
He helped her lie to the whole school; she helped him lie to the old butler. A fair trade all around.
Dumbledore smiled, reached out, and ruffled her dishevelled silver hair the way any fond elder might. "If he comes for sweets, he's welcome too."
"Get some rest. There's nothing left for you to worry about." Dumbledore rose and gently lowered the curtain, his voice soft and unhurried. "All you need to do tomorrow is come to the end-of-year feast looking bright and well."
He had taken only two steps when he turned back, and added quietly: "There's a gap in the armor corridor — one suit of armor short. If I recall correctly, your family has a suit that would suit that spot rather well."
Kate burst out laughing despite herself, and could only promise she'd send it over.
He really did notice absolutely everything.
Still... having a reliable elder watching your back — what a wonderful feeling that was.
Over the following day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took turns coming to visit, until Madam Pomfrey ran out of patience and simply turned everyone away at the door.
Through the curtain, Kate thought she glimpsed Malfoy pausing at the entrance for a moment before leaving.
She must have imagined it.
Malfoy was probably back in the dormitory setting off firecrackers to celebrate her injury right about now.
Throughout all of this, Katherine never came to visit — Kate never even caught a glimpse of her.
She couldn't quite call it disappointment, but there was a vague, unsettled feeling she couldn't entirely shake.
On the evening of the second day, Madam Pomfrey finally gave her leave to go. Kate was discharged from the Hospital Wing and walked into the Great Hall surrounded by a cluster of friends.
The hall had been redecorated entirely in Slytherin's green and silver, to celebrate their seventh consecutive House Cup victory.
A full quarter of their points had come from Kate's classroom performances — which meant that every little snake in the house, Malfoy excepted, cheered loudly when they saw her walk in.
Compared to the deliberate aloofness and indifference from her housemates at the start of term, the Slytherins at the end of year seemed to have grown remarkably more magnanimous.
Malfoy alone, upon seeing her being helped through the entrance, launched into a cold-voiced jeer: "Can't even walk straight on your own two feet — you'd be better off going back to bed!"
Kate merely shrugged, and replied in a perfectly even tone: "Of course I could — unless you're saying I don't count as a Slytherin."
Malfoy was struck momentarily speechless. Kate's standing in the snake house was, if anything, a notch above her own these days.
"Oh, stop bickering, you two," Pansy said, stepping in with an exasperated sigh. "The feast is about to start."
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