CHAPTER SEVEN
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    She could not close her eyes without thinking of her next move. She could not even sleep without thinking about how twisted Tom Riddle was.

Her thoughts were floating in the corners of her mind like clouds with complicating shapes, but their content was just empty wind; without meaning, without sequence, and a pure plan.

Speaking of her mind factoring, she had arranged some appointments with Professor Dumbledore for her Occlumency practice; now that she would get involved with Riddle she would be more frail than ever. The thick walls in her mind needed improvement for them to move and help her achieve her target.

As much as she did not want to, she continued to hold some kind of grudge against Dumbledore for all of this. But the wizard was justified in his obsession, he wanted to save his world from an impending disaster— one that he was partly responsible for. She was angry for allowing herself to get caught up in a situation that, truth be told, did not concern her directly or affect her in any way.

However, a question lingered in her head— what she would gain from this? She knew that what she was about to do was not something simple. The risks were many, and failure in such a responsibility would be preferable to being replaced by a stab in the heart.

To approach Riddle, she had to have an otherworldly plan. Everything seemed easy from the books she had read, but in practice, they were complex and required tactical behavior and a dynamic character that only a ruthless witch could possess. However, she was a human who was easily swayed, a girl with weakness who played with her fate like a cat with a ball of yarn.

She had little knowledge of dark magic, and the possibility of tempting him with her knowledge of the only thing she knew, Horcruxes, the object of his immediate interest, would put her in danger with the boy's suspicions. She did not want to get involved in these kinds of magic, and as she had learned from her friend, no one who had their wits about them should.

Perhaps time would show what needed to be done.

The girl had no idea why she received such a mission. Perhaps she wanted to live in the world she had yearned for since she was a child, to redeem herself from Tom Riddle's evil plans and see her beloved characters living the life they deserved. And so, all these things rekindled the shame of her immoral act of leaving an entire world to its fate as a result of her inaction and indifference.

Furthermore, she longed for such an adventure, something that in her world, the chances of experiencing something similar were minimal to non-existent. It was a way to increase adrenaline away from everything that reminded her of life in the 21st century.

However, in the end, she negated all of the above, replacing them with the general idea that whatever is happening now is a product of her imagination, and whatever happens she will come out unscathed from all this. It was particularly foolish of her to believe all this, and even more foolish of her to ignore the fact that should have probably been number one on the list of reasons why she is still there— fate.

Perhaps she was forgetting or deciding to forget that the only reason she was caught up in all of this was that her cursed name was linked to Voldemort's. She did not believe in fate as much, but she believed that people were responsible for their actions, not some supreme power that followed them from birth.

She did not have a bad life to say she was unlucky, but neither did she have anything admirable. She was just normal with her ups and downs. This, however, was something unprecedented and would be noted distinctly from all the other misfortunes that had befallen her.

What commonality could a girl raised in a different reality and a completely different time have with him? If fate exists, this all was a charade made by it. People like Tom Riddle did
not deserve other people, they only deserved misery.

Cold air hit and blew, tangling her hair around the trunk of the tree she was sitting on. The woolen red scarf around her neck kept her warm, while in front of her lay books and notebooks that looked more like scraps than a student's assignments. The sound of the lake's bubbles and the small waves crashing against the shore gave a more serene aspect to the scene, which quickly turned into a small reservation. The scent was melancholic, of earthy odors and magic.

She heard footsteps approaching from behind the tree trunk and the shiver that passed through her body could not determine if it was from the cold or fear. She did not turn to see who was it, but the dark aura of the person told her who decided to wander in broad daylight. Perfect timing for someone to murder. Her body stuck to the wood from behind, tightening her body to not appear weak, pretending to be busy with something else and not with the control of her heart that was about to break.

Someone cleared their throat and sat next to her, maybe diagonally from her. The waters of the lake looked tempting, especially now in combination with the threat that Riddle had recently uttered. The boy was thinking the same thing.

Silence fell between them and the girl felt his eyes examining her inch by inch. When she managed to calm herself down, her voice sounded like a melody that finally succeeded to find the perfect moment to be heard.

"So what are you waiting for? Are you not going to drown me in the lake?" she asked indifferently, avoiding looking him in the eyes.

"I like that you remember what I tell you," he replied.

The girl looked at him now and put down her books. "I remember your threats, which happen to concern my life, Riddle, "

"You did not show up for lunch, your friends were worried you fainted again," it was a little sudden to hear those words from his mouth. Someone who did not know would think the boy was performing a kind act, but Tom Riddle and any generously gracious acts were an oxymoron.

"Huh? How come you did not instead of me with such a good deed?" the sarcasm in her voice was palpable and her gaze was penetrating. Honestly, Tom wondered, why he was here looking for her.

He smiled disdainfully at her. "Do not deceive yourself with flattery, Greengrass. Your friends made sure to spread that you are missing, so a teacher sent me to look for you in exchange for some house points," he lied. Luckily, the boy was good at persuasion and did not need to make a great effort to convince someone. Truly, Tom asked himself one more time, why did he go look for her? He left it unanswered.

Y/n felt a little offended by what was said but decided to change the subject as an awkward still hung over them. "I forgot to thank you for taking me to the infirmary the other day. I heard someone saying my name, but I was not expecting you," she looked at him intently and could only hope that behind those dark emerald irises, she could discern another version of himself, a calmer person, with a more coherent character and not so much deep-seated hatred that even the abyss in the Mariana Trench seemed simply like a hollow.

"I do not understand," as if her previous words were not heard.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I do not understand,"

"What do you not understand?" she asked.

"How is it possible that everyone remembers you, Greengrass? The students, the teachers, even the portraits, but not me. It is like you sprouted out of nowhere," the boy had probably been thinking these thoughts for a while, as now that he confessed them to her, he seemed to have a more relaxed demeanor. Seriously, why was Riddle here?

Y/n caught herself debating his actions a little and started nervously pinching the skin of her palm. "You talk nonsense right now. Maybe I have gone completely unnoticed by you," she tried to appear apathetic, but the nervousness in her voice was evident. If the boy had figured out who she was, Y/n was done for.

He said abruptly, "Then why do you give me so much attitude with such audacity as if you have known me since day one? Do we know each other from a past life? Because I personally only learned about your existence the last few weeks."

"I do not know, everything seems normal to me," Y/n shrugged "Maybe you are paranoid,"

"Yes, maybe I am, thank you for the diagnose," 

How could someone be so flawless in their appearance, but inside be in such decline? His clothes were well taken care of, wrinkle-free, and most importantly, always smelled like the fresh lavender and mint that anyone could find only in the most lavish gardens. They may have been second-hand, but he kept them in impeccable condition. With a flick of his hand, he lifted the sleeve of his coat and looked at a brown watch. "Oh, what a shame. Such a pity you have to leave my company now. I have a very urgent meeting that cannot wait. Until we meet again Greengrass, I hope I will make you truly green from the seaweed you will eat next time from the lake," such a sharp pun.

The girl wheezed at him and observed him leaving the place with his hand in his pockets, parading to the grounds even though no one was there for him to show off.

The meeting he mentioned probably had to do with those goons he referred to as followers.

Wait a moment...yes, this is it.

Plan A: The only smart way to approach the king of hell is to become one of his subjects. A pleading one that seeks control from other people like a puppy from its owner.

She needed to strike his ego.

_________

Grace Johnson had dreams like any ordinary person. She did not want to work at the Ministry of Magic all her life like her parents, as her dreams were satisfied by the company of a golden ball and a used broomstick. Air was her element, and all the adrenaline of Quidditch gave her the life she dreamed of even when she was on the school field.

Grace was what they called, "she has the name and the grace" (literally). She may not have been one of the top and distinguished students of Hogwarts, but everyone characterized her as the most pleasant person to spend their time with. She was a person whose inner world was exactly like her appearance, endowed with an aura full of kindness towards those who seek it. She had exotic beauty, honey-colored eyes, and skin as dark as chocolate, leaving a sweet taste on the tongue.

She was not from England, and her American accent was due to her coming from the state known as the oldest source of black magic and voodoo, the kingdom of Marie Laveau, New Orleans.

Her family had come to England after the First World War when the girl was still in her mother's womb. She had not gone back to her homeland many times, only twice in the previous ten years for her summer holidays. She had four older siblings, all boys.

The oldest, Jasper, worked at MACUSA and had decided to stay behind in America with his family. The second, Gabriel had left the family when he was very young, just after finishing his studies at Ilvermorny, and owned a restaurant in the center of New York City. Her next siblings were twins, Chadwick and Edward, two years older than her, and were now studying law at a muggle university in France.

Her family was not conservative, it was supportive of her children's choices and admired older children who followed their paths— and she would do the same giving their parents the pride that their one and only daughter achieve something grateful. She imagined herself as a renowned Quidditch player on one of the biggest teams in England (ideally the Chudley Cannons) and living a decent life enough to be able to live her dream. She did not dream of families and marriages like most girls of her time.

At the time being, the girl preferred the gloomy weather of Scotland more than any other climate of another country, but now the gray skies were too obscure for her taste. Grace Johnson could not help but start to feel some kind of discomfort in the last few days. It could, of course, be since she spent countless hours training for the school Quidditch games, but no, it was not about that.

Thoughts were tormenting her mind, along with a specific memory that she now shared with her best friend. "What do you mean she was avoiding you? Like, you called out her name and Charlotte just ignored you?" Y/n had just returned from her meeting with Dumbledore and Grace did not let any other minute pass without explaining to her what happened.

A few nights ago, Grace had followed Charlotte Macmillan into the pitch of the night, curious to find out where their friend went every Thursday night after midnight. She could, of course, be meeting with Icarus, but every time that happened, she would inform her: Something else was going on now and she had to uncover it.

As soon as the door of the dorm closed, Grace's footsteps caught fire and the girl left the dorm, wrapping herself in a brown robe she had. She followed her friend into the night who, instead of going from the basement side as she had hoped, climbed the stairs and led herself to the sixth floor of the school. It was past three and the American girl walked with steps reminiscent of a feline to avoid being heard. She thought that maybe her friend was going to meet someone other than Lestrange, perhaps a lover, but that was impossible. The girl loved the boy very much and was particularly faithful to him.

She stood from afar and watched her enter the
Room of Requirements with the door closing behind her with a faint sound in the shadows of the night.

"What the hell?" murmured Grace quietly as she approached to get a closer look at the spot.

There were no noises, no breathing, no speeches, only the sound of the night with a few owls hooting, a deathly silence. Anyone who had thought about this meeting in this place knew what they were doing.

"And in the end, did you find out what happened?" Y/n asked again.

She shook her head negatively. "No, it is not right to intrude into her personal life, no matter how much she does not want to reveal what she is doing," she breathed out loudly, then added frustratedly, "But I can not do that, especially today when she told me she will be gone all night. I asked her where she is up to, and she told me she had some business to attend to with Perseus, highly personal," she said the last part a bit ironically mincing the high pitch voice of Charlotte and raised her hands in frustration. "I have been alone with my thoughts for so long. And you Y/n, where have you been?"

"When? Oh, yes, I fell asleep in the library and a kid from our house woke me up," obviously it was a lie.

"Be careful, my heart skipped a beat when I heard you fainted,"

"It was just because of tiredness and nothing else,"

"That is what you say," she did not want to upset her, so she lowered her gaze.

"If you want, we can go to the sixth floor to see if Charlotte is there. What do you say? You can also get some fresh air," Y/n suggested, lifting her from the bed.

"I get fresh air every day while practicing, what else?"

"Stop complaining and let's go,"

The two girls took the familiar route and from that day on, nothing had changed in Grace's mind except for the sky, in which the sun's light was about to set. The floor had no students as there were not many classrooms for the pupils to use. They moved through the shadows and searched for any sign of their friend, or at least her blonde hair, but there was nothing there.

They went a little closer to the door that Johnson had seen her enter and they observed it. It had no handles, nor did it even appear to be a door, it was just a wall. Both knew that someone could only use this room if they had a real need for it. What need did Charlotte Macmillan have to hide, especially from her friends?

Suddenly, just like before, the door opened and instead of Charlotte, Theodore Nott came out with his hair disheveled, not noticing the two girls staring at him from the corner with wide eyes.

Grace covered her mouth in shock and whispered a quiet Oh my God, she's cheating on him. Yes, the thought of infidelity was an easy answer to Johnson's paradox for her friend, and shocking since the boy was not just anyone, but Icarus Lestrange's best friend.

What a betrayal!

If only things were that simple, and if only for Charlotte's sake she was cheating on Lestrange. But how could Y/n explain to Grace that their friend was probably a member of a group whose goal was to eradicate humanity? How could Y/n explain that Charlotte Macmillan was one of the Knights of Walpurgis? She hoped that her hunch was wrong, but it seemed that time was working for her as she was expecting.

Plan A: The only smart way to approach the king of hell is to become one of his subjects. A pleading one that seeks control from other people like a puppy from its owner.

Plan B: Save Charlotte Macmillan from the jaws of the wolf before it is too late...and the wizarding world of course. Whatever comes first.