· · ─ ·☾☽· ─ · ·

AS THEY ENTERED NOVEMBER, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field,
bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

      The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.  Jasmine would be there to support him of course, but some things did get a little eerie after that library incident.

On the way to the Great Hall, Layla noticed how some Slytherins were huddled together at a corner. Most of them were in their sixth year, carrying a handkerchief or two.

“What’s going on?” Layla whispered once she spotted Daphne sitting at the Ravenclaw table.

“Alyssa is dead. Someone found her last night on the lakeshore.”

Layla's eyes dimmed slightly as she covered her mouth. I thought they would just… vanish? I didn't know they'd actually show the corpse this time.

“M-my condolences, Daphne.”, she muttered, unsure if she wanted to eat her dinner or not. She clutched the pocket of her robes; she would not be watching the Quidditch match in favour of practicing for that one Mass at the Hogsmade chapel.

The plates on the center started to fill up with food, ranging from roasted meats to vegetable salad. Layla wasn't in the mood for the greens today; instead she craved soup, which was at the far end of the table.

“Jas, could you please fill my soup bowl?”, she politely asked.

“Sure thing.”

While Jasmine went off to get some of the soup, Layla focused on her surroundings. She could not help but stare back at the portraits at the high table, especially that one blank canvas behind Quirrell (he and Snape switched seats).

She suddenly wanted to cover her ears and shut her eyes.  The candles were too bright, the food tasted rotten and everything was too loud. Something burned under her robes and she had the feeling that she wasn't being in control of herself — if that was even possible. She was starting to see black or blue blots in everything, as if they were crying squid ink tears.  She shook her head and almost cried while clasping her hands in a prayer under the table.

“Layla?”

It quickly vanished when Jasmine returned with the soup. Both Padma and Anthony wrre looking at her strangely, and merely blinked when Jasmine placed the soup beside the golden plate.

“Oh uhh… sorry, I was just spacing out.”

“You aren't usually that spacey.”, remarked Jasmine. “Missing your little sister?”

“…yes. It's hard not to think about her, especially because I met that banker after my first botched flight.”

“You… what?”

People were starting to stare; it seemed like every time Jasmine did anything at all, gossip would always follow.

“Let’s take it somewhere else.”

The two redheads left the hall with their food.

When they were sure no one could hear, Layla was about to say something when Jasmine's friend appeared out of nowhere. This time, he didn't look like that jackal or wolf that she encountered during “the incident”. Instead, he looked like a Hogwarts student who could be in fourth year. His hair was neat, had very flawless skin and beautiful, light brown (that looked almost golden), eyes.

“Meet Ahmed Bay, an upperclassman of ours. He is rarely seen by anyone because… he's shy.” Jasmine introduced.

“Uhh, pleased to meet you…?” Layla tilted her head. Ahmed merely smiled.

“No need to be so formal, Layla. A friend of Jasmine's is a friend of mine.”

Layla nodded. This guy is really Anubis, isn't he? 

“Ahmed, you told me that you wanted to see Layla. Why?”, asked Jasmine.

“The girl's very perceptive, Jas. I take it that she still remembers that night in the library?”

Jasmine looked at her almost lookalike, the latter giving her a knowing smile.

“Fine. Guess there was no point in calling him Ahmed. “

“I’ll get straight to the point", said Ahmed and Layla could tell that he wasn't liking what he'd say next, given his scowl; “A little birdie told me that the situation has gotten worse.”

“Tch!”

Jasmine already had an idea of that “situation” from a letter that she had returned after that flying class. She watched Ahmed take out some sort of shell from the pocket of his robe and handed it to Layla.

Layla opened the shell and tilted her head. “Wow, looks like someone was also recording from afar.”

“You can say that. Just watch.”

It is daytime and the windows of the Campbell home are open. The weather is sunny and the breeze is blowing a few leaves off the trees.  Inside the house, Layla can spot her younger sister Nahida, eating some toast, bacon and eggs.

The shell-camera turns around and focuses on the first floor of a flat. Another, seemingly unassuming window is open and out peaks a man’s face.  Neat hair, soulful eyes and a knowing smirk on his face, he glances up at the window across from his, focusing on Nahida, who can sense that she is being watched . The shell-camera focuses back on Nahida, who has just put down her fork.

“Mr. Jordayne, may we switch seats?”, she asks.

“You chose that chair girl, now finish your food.”, barks an old man’s voice. “Are you still prattling about some stalker?”

“He is watching me from the flat over there.”, Nahida points out with two fingers.

“He could be watching anyone, you know?”, Layla's father tries to console.

Nahida gives him a short glare and continues to eat.

The next scene plays. Nahida is reading a relatively thin book for her English class.  She is sitting under a yew tree, enjoying the story. Her hair is braided and slings over her left shoulder. It is quarter to one in the afternoon.

A shadow blocks some of the sunlight, which prompts her to look up. Mr. Hadjirasul is standing there with an oily smile and Nahida moves a few inches away, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Um… hello?”, she greets while clutching her book close to her chest.

“And to you.”, replies Mr. Hadjirasul: “What are you reading?”

“Some Egyptian mythology.”, Nahida grumbles: “You know, the sun and the snake?”

Mr. Hadjirasul pauses for a moment and unexpectedly forces Nahida to look him in the eyes by holding her chin.

“Sooner or later, that story will be no more.  Make the most of your final feast; your curtain call is near.”

Nahida swats his hand away and strands up; “Not if someone lies to you first.”

An unknown person approaches the two and quickly holds Nahida's arm: “There you are, Nahie! I was worried that you were kidnapped or something.”

“I was threatened.”, Nahida confirms and glares at Mr. Hadjirasul. 

The shell-camera focuses on Nahida's and her friend's retreating figures  before turning right to focus on Mr. Hadjirasul.

“Serket, Serket… Trying to impress Imhotep by protecting his supposed partner in magic, aren't you?  That's rather bold, capturing everything with your little camera.”

The lens of the shell-camera gets a little distorted once Mr. Hadjirasul touches it. The next thing recorded is a place covered in bloody waters. There is a total solar eclipse in the sky, and there is a small portion of land that peaks its way through the waters.

Nahida is dancing on the isle, her curls flowing in the breeze. Instead of normal civilian clothing, she is wearing an Ancient Egyptian style gown with long, hanging sleeves but without the gold ornaments; they're instead, emeralds and copper.  A red cloak with a pulled down hood completes her look, but there's something about the dance that catches the eye of the beholder.

Nahida's brown eyes look more otherworldly, the red swirls glowing vibrantly but it has a vague symbol of something that glows golden, almost appearing to obscure her pupils.

Then, everything dissipates into golden smoke.

“Did you see that?” Jasmine whispered.

“Her eyes…” Layla remarked.

Ahmed crossed his arms. Could it be…?

Layla closed the shell-camera and handed it back to the Slytherin senior. “Thanks for letting me know. At least she's safe for now.”

“I will send Ser — I mean, a doctor to help her.” Ahmed suggested.

“How?”

“She needs someone to counsel her. If it's true that she's had this stalker following her since forever…”

Layla closed her eyes and sighed; “Please do. Someone needs to protect her mind.”

Jasmine and Layla continued their meals in silence as “Ahmed” retreated into the shadows.

Meanwhile, back at the Great Hall, Padma and Anthony looked at each other, making sure that Jasmine and Layla were out of earshot before they spoke.

“Did you see her eyes?”

“Yeah. It was so quick but I swear to every god or goddess who would listen, that Layla's not herself.”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I mean, who would have thought…?”

“Maybe this is a ploy, Anthony.”

Padma had to stop herself from explaining further, because Cho Chang and her flock of friends just passed by. One of them, Marietta Edgecombe, leaned down, trying to listen in.

“You do know it's impolite to stare.”, Padma scowled. Marietta simply flicked her platinum locks and smirked.

“I’m not here for you, Patil. In fact, I wanted to ask Goldstein about something.”

Anthony's ears perked up slightly, and he had the sudden impulse to hold his medallion.

“Ah yes, that necklace.”, Marietta pointed out. “Isn’t it a rather odd sight, considering you're in a Wizarding school?”

Anthony glared at her, looking like a griffin ready to smite some prey; “It has its uses.”

“Like what?”

“Like warding off evil. It's also an important relic to Muggles.”

“You cannot rely on Muggle relics to ward off a Dementor, you know?” said Cho Chang.

“There are several things worse than Dementors, Chang.”, Anthony replied civilly. “And when you face such enemies, you'll have to turn to things other than magic to fight them.”

· · ─ ·☾☽· ─ · ·

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

Layla wasn't in the mood to join the people at the hall. She had chosen to stay in the dorm, closing the curtains of her four-poster, feeling lethargic.

“Lei, are you quite alright?”, Padma asked gently, preparing to leave for breakfast (Jasmine had left excitedly).

“I… I don't feel so well. Send in my support for Harry okay? There's a balloon by my lampshade.” Layla replied with a slight voice crack. Padma nodded, suddenly feeling extra cold, took the red and gold, star-shaped balloon from the lamp table and left the dorm.

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch.
Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Jasmine, Padma and Anthony joined Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row (though Jasmine only did it because she wanted to support Harry). As a surprise for Harry, the Gryffindor friends had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

“Where’s Layla?”, Hermione whispered.

“Not feeling well.”, Padma whispered back.

“What happened to her?”

“…You don't want to know.”, Anthony added, feeling a chill in his spine. His medallion was starting to flare up too, which wasn't a good sign.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

      “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her.

      “Mount your brooms, please.”

      Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

      Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

      Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

Layla could hear the cheers and noises all the way from the dorm. Opening the curtains of her bed, she decided to take a short shower and glanced at herself in the mirror.

She didn't know if her vision was failing her, because her face appeared to constantly switch, as if something was glitching in and out of view. She didn't recall having such intense, blue eyes or a gaunt face or even messier hair. As a girl who grew up with enough resources for hair care, she always made sure her hair looked perfect.  Taking her nail care kit from a corner of the shelf, she started filing her nails.

Layla looked at her reflection in the mirror just to be sure she was doing it “just so”— but she instead saw a malicious face that resembled her own, driving the blade too harshly over the nails’ edge, drawing a little blood that stained the marble sink. With a yelp, Layla stopped filing her nails and looked back down; no blood, no injury to her fingers or anything of that sort.

She composed herself and started on another finger. This time, she won't trust the mirror to let her see if she's filing it right.

· · ─ ·☾☽· ─ · ·

She walked through the nearly empty halls with rushed steps. Why she was internally panicking, she didn't know. The shoes she wore made an unusually irritating ”click-clock” sound, as she was wearing high heels. Layla despised high heels and it wasn't just because of the sound; it made her feet hurt and by the deities who would listen — her feet DID hurt.

Because almost everyone was watching the Quidditch match, she suddenly became aware that she had all the time to look around the castle. The reports regarding the now dead student were puzzling; how did Alyssa end up there in the first place? Surely she wasn't using a wall to just drown in the lakes, right?

Although in hindsight, it was plausible if one was skilled enough, but that brought up another question; who would want Alyssa dead? Based on the reputation for of the current Slytherins, they were mostly comprised of people from the upper echelons of society, and if the Galindez family wasn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight list that Parkinson would brag about if she was looking down on Granger, then their daughter was at least ambitious enough to make the cut.

Strange situations didn't usually daumt her, but if it involved the loss of human life, then it was another story.

She walked into the dungeons, ignoring the frigid temperature. She wasn't looking for anywhere to stay, she just wanted to walk around. The candlelit pillars cast ominous shadows as she walked past, the once blank portraits suddenly displaying faces that Layla was somehow able to ignore; because it was looking straight ahead, or through prayer.

She walked onwards until she felt something nearly break her nose. With a groan, Layla rubbed the part of her nose bridge that hurt the most, and stepped away. Yes, she just bumped into a wooden door a few candlelit pillars away from Professor Snape’s office.

Something flashed in her blue eyes; curiosity. The last time this happened, she was sure it's what got her into the current situation she's in; nightmares, the occasional weakness, strange sounds and the most recent incident of her face maliciously cutting her fingernails.

The room was a mess; artifacts scattered on the floor except for the books, which were for untold reasons, the only thing that was organised neatly on the shelves. Layla shut the door with a little trepidation and started to look around, closely examining every detail in hopes of finding anything remotely useful in her search.

Anything would do in a magical world under normal circumstances,  she mused. She rummaged through the books, finding nothing particularly interesting. They were really old Potions material, and only Professor Snape and a few students with a knack for Chemistry would find them fascinating. Then, she turned her eyes on the floor, where the larger relics were scattered; phials, foldable telescopes, small make-up cases, and for some reason, an open case containing gold-plated, diamond encrusted spectacles. The case bore a name: Alyssa Galindez.

The recently deceased student.

Layla had almost no time to process the information, because something terrifying showed itself like one of those trapped spirits in a magic mirror; it was her twisted reflection from earlier in the bathroom, smirking and daring her to try on Alyssa’s glasses with its intense, blue eyes.

The reflection disappeared quickly, just as the medallion started heating up. Layla hurriedly put down the spectacles and closed the velvet case, clutching her pendant and breathing heavily.

Alyssa disappeared around three in the morning, she analysed. She wouldn't have worn her glasses while sleeping, lest something happens to it. If my theory is correct —

Something invisible pushed her to the floor, making her yelp in surprise. She was feeling a little unwell all of a sudden, and everything through her vision appeared to be spinning counterclockwise . the spines of the books began to show several skull-like and bat-like faces while skeletal hands leaking black blood shot from the floor, interested in dragging her somewhere.

“Most glorious prince of the heavenly arny,  holy Michael the archangel… defend us in battle against the princes, powers and rulers of darkness…”

The horrible vision gradually faded away but she still felt the warmth of the medallion. This time, she was grateful to still be holding on to it: she could use some heat after feeling like she was drowned in ice-cold water.

Drown — of course! Wait, it couldn't be, right? But how would it— never mind, she dismissed, kicking a random object from a small pedestal. It was a medium-sized cauldron that could've been mistaken for an ancient relic, depicting the face of a dead king in chains. Layla crouched down and tipped the cauldron upside-down, finding a circular object that looked like a stopper. With much effort, she lifted the stopper and uncovered the cauldron’s secondary compartment; it had nothing particularly eye-catching inside, save for a book that had been rolled to fit in its current container.

And when she unrolled the peculiar article, she saw the all-too-familiar face of that kraken.

· · ─ ·☾☽· ─ · ·

Several events had happened since the match started, including some moves by a player from Slytherin that made the Gryffindors scream “Foul!”

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!”

      “What are you talking about, Dean?” said Ron.

      “Red card!” said Dean furiously. “In soccer you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game!”

      “But this isn’t soccer, Dean,” Ron reminded him.

Anthony looked like he wanted to get out of there, and Jasmine noticed his troubled expression. Padma had a teasing smile on her face that quickly vanished when Neville glared at her. For his reputed cowardice, Neville could read the audience stand from a few seats away.

“Still worried about Layla?”, Jasmine whispered.

“Yeah. Everyone except her and Filch are here. I swear to God, if Filch does anything to her, I'll make sure he pays.”

“He probably won't, if he sees Layla's eyes.” Padma countered.

“But we can't guarantee that. Sometimes people just act out even if they're in a crowd.”

There was a certain meaning in his words, which Jasmine caught on to, almost immediately.

“Are you suspecting that Layla is possessed?” she hissed, a little unnerved.

“I’m not sure, but it's a possibility. I'll do a little digging at the library after the match ends.", replied Anthony, and went back to focusing on the Quidditch match.

“So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —”

      “Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

      “I mean, after that open and revolting foul…”
     
“Jordan, I’m warning you—”

      “All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

      It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He’d never felt anything like that.

“Hey, who did that?” Padma yelled from the stands.

“No idea.” Jasmine mumbled, though she was terrified.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts — he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out — and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

      Lee was still commentating.

      “Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherins score — A no…”

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

      “Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,” Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom… but he can’t have…”

“Oh God, please save Harry.”, Anthony prayed. After a few moments, his prayer was answered.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry’s
broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on
with only one hand.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.

      “Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

      At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

      “What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.

  “I knew it,” Hermione gasped, “Snape — look.”

      Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

      “He’s doing something — jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.

      “What should we do?”

      “Leave it to me.”

“No! It might not be what it looks like.”, Anthony warned.

“Snape loathes Harry, Anthony. Of course he'd jinx the broom.” Dean reasoned.

“Yes, he loathes Harry with the passion of a monster but he won't dare endanger him in front of Dumbledore.”, Anthony pointed out, gesturing to where Dumbledore was at, passively observing the situation from the seat directly across Jasmine's.

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

      “Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered desperately.

      Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn’t even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape’s robes.

      It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row — Snape would never know what had happened.

      It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

“Neville, you can look!” Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.

      Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick — he hit the field on all fours — coughed — and something gold fell into his hand.

      “I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

      “He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference — Harry hadn’t broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results — Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

· · ─ ·☾☽· ─ · ·

Layla only heard some of the victorious announcements, being too busy writing a letter home to Father Goldstein. She had gone to the Great Hall after taking the peculiar cauldron with the equally peculiar book to the dorm, and wanted to grab some late lunch. As her quill inscribed the words on parchment, she had to grip it tighter because she was really starting to feel weak.

Then, she fell off the long chair, though her letter was already finished.