Tuesday, September 7, 1993
(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Breakfast in the Great Hall was proceeding pleasantly enough. Sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling in soft bands of gold, glinting off goblets and plates, and the general hum of conversation formed a familiar, comforting backdrop. I had just helped myself to a generous portion of bacon when the temperature in the hall seemed to shift.
The owls arrived.
There was a sudden rush of wings, feathers beating the air in a coordinated storm as dozens of owls poured through the open windows. Barn owls, tawny owls, snowy owls; some dignified, others reckless, swooped low over the tables, dropping letters, parcels, and newspapers with varying degrees of accuracy.
A snowy owl narrowly missed the head of a Ravenclaw prefect. A barn owl bounced off a jug of pumpkin juice. One particularly enthusiastic tawny owl made a beeline straight for my plate.
I caught the Daily Prophet out of the air just before it could land squarely in my bacon.
"Steady there," I muttered, flicking a stray feather away and unrolling the paper.
The headline leapt out at me in aggressive, unforgiving letters.
[BORIS BORGIN FOUND DEAD!]
My appetite vanished instantly.
I scanned the article, my fingers tightening around the paper as the words sank in.
[Boris Borgin, co-owner of the infamous Knockturn Alley establishment Borgin and Burkes, was found dead late last night inside his own shop. Aurors confirm that the victim showed clear signs of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse before being murdered with the Killing Curse. The scene has been described as "particularly brutal," even by seasoned investigators…]
I exhaled slowly through my nose and continued reading.
[In related news, Caractacus Burke has reported an attack on his private residence. Mr Burke claims that his home's extensive protective wards held long enough for Aurors to arrive, though the assailant managed to escape. No injuries were reported.]
I lowered the paper slightly, staring at nothing in particular.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
My mind moved swiftly, connecting threads, and they all pointed to the same name.
Tom Riddle.
I folded the paper with deliberate care and turned my head towards the middle of the staff table.
Dumbledore was already reading the Prophet.
He didn't need to look up for me to know he'd reached the same conclusion. The faint tightening around his eyes told me everything I needed to know. After a moment, he glanced up and met my gaze across the length of the hall.
There was no surprise there. Only gravity.
We shared a single, silent nod.
Yes. He was thinking it too.
Whoever had done this knew Borgin. Knew Burke. Knew where to strike and how to leave a message behind. This wasn't random violence or opportunistic cruelty. It was deliberate. Purposeful.
And far too reminiscent of a ghost that refused to stay buried.
I looked back down at the paper, my reflection faintly visible in the dark ink of the headline.
So, Tom.
It seems you're no longer content to remain a rumour.
I exhaled slowly and folded the paper, setting it aside as my breakfast finally went cold. There was very little I could do at present without drawing attention I couldn't afford. Charging off to investigate would help no one, least of all the students under my care.
For now, this was Dumbledore's battlefield.
Mine lay elsewhere.
Preparation. Knowledge. Power, refined and controlled. If the worst was indeed coming, and all signs suggested it was, then I intended to be ready when it arrived.
I finished my tea, rose from the table, and adjusted my robes with habitual precision.
Whatever was moving in the shadows had made its first mistake.
It had reminded me that complacency was not an option.
And I never made the same mistake twice.
…
An hour later found me standing in the familiar clearing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the morning air crisp and heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. Today marked the sixth-years' first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with me this school year, and at N.E.W.T. level, no less. Expectations had to be set early.
Hagrid stood beside me, massive arms folded across his chest, looking pleased as punch as students began filtering in. I greeted them warmly as they arrived, exchanging nods and a few light remarks, before raising my voice to call the class to order.
"Welcome," I began, hands clasped behind my back, "to N.E.W.T.-level Care of Magical Creatures."
A few students straightened instinctively at that.
"The fact that you're standing here tells me something important," I continued. "You've chosen to pursue this subject beyond the basics. That means genuine interest, and, most likely, future ambitions."
"Some of you may be looking towards the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, others perhaps the Magical Menagerie, private breeding farms, or even dragon reserves."
That earned a ripple of murmurs, both excited and apprehensive.
"Whatever your goal," I said firmly, "understand this: from this year onward, you will be dealing with creatures that are truly dangerous. We're talking Class Four and Class Five on the Ministry's danger scale. Recklessness, foolish bravado, or treating this class as an excuse to show off will not be tolerated."
I let that sink in before allowing a faint smile.
"Fortunately for us, Rubeus here has been kind enough to lend us one of his… associates for our first lesson."
I turned slightly toward Hagrid. "If you would, Rubeus."
Hagrid beamed. "Be right back, Professor."
Two minutes later, Hagrid returned, hauling an enormous iron chain across the grass. The ground seemed to tremble slightly with each step he took.
At the other end of the chain was a beast.
A gigantic, three-headed dog emerged from between the trees, each massive head bigger than a person, jaws lined with yellowed fangs the size of daggers. Its short black fur was glossy, steam puffing from three sets of nostrils as it sniffed the air.
The reaction from the students was immediate and unanimous.
They stepped back.
Hagrid stepped forward.
They stepped back again.
The result was a rather amusing little dance, with Hagrid advancing cheerfully while the entire class retreated in perfect, horrified synchronisation.
I clasped my hands behind my back and smiled.
"As you can see," I said pleasantly, "this is Fluffy. A Three-Headed Dog, also known as a Cerberus."
Several students swallowed audibly.
"They carry a four-X classification," I continued, entirely unfazed by the growing pallor of the class, "which means they are considered potential wizard killers."
That did it.
Another collective step backwards.
"His fur is magically resistant," I went on, gesturing vaguely toward the enormous mass of snarling muscle and teeth, "even more so than a troll's hide. And do not be deceived by his size, Cerberi are extraordinarily fast. Fluffy here could quite easily tear every single one of you to pieces before you even managed to draw your wands."
A few students visibly reconsidered their life choices.
Hagrid cleared his throat loudly. "Now, now, there's no need ter worry," he said reassuringly. "Fluffy's a sweetheart. Wouldn't hurt a fly."
One of Fluffy's heads snapped at the air, teeth clacking together with a sound like breaking bone.
I chuckled softly.
"Indeed," I said. "Which brings us neatly to our next activity."
I turned back to the class, eyes glittering with mischief. "Who would like to feed Fluffy?"
No one moved.
In fact, they somehow managed to step back again, despite already being dangerously close to the tree line.
All except one.
A Hufflepuff girl stood frozen in place, eyes wide, face pale, hands clenched so tightly at her sides her knuckles had gone white.
I tilted my head. "Miss Haywood, is it?"
She swallowed.
"It seems you're the only brave soul among us today," I said warmly. "Do come forward."
Hagrid beamed and carefully handed her an enormous bucket filled to the brim with raw meat.
Beatrice Haywood staggered under the sudden weight, nearly toppling over before Hagrid steadied her with a gentle hand.
"There y'are," he said encouragingly. "He likes it fresh."
Fluffy's three heads leaned forward in unison, sniffing eagerly.
Beatrice swallowed and looked down at the enormous bucket in her hands, her knuckles white around the rim.
"P-Professor," she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts, "what do I… what do I do with this?"
I took pity on the poor girl before her courage gave out entirely.
"Let the bucket down, Miss Haywood," I said gently. "No need to get any closer than necessary. Use your wand, levitate the meat towards Fluffy instead."
The relief on her face was immediate and almost painful to watch. She exhaled shakily, set the bucket down with a dull thud, and drew her wand with hands that still trembled slightly. A moment later, an enormous slab of raw meat rose into the air and drifted, wobbling, towards the three-headed dog.
Fluffy reacted instantly.
All three heads lunged forward at once, massive jaws snapping shut with bone-crunching force. The meat was torn apart in seconds, the sound alone enough to make several students flinch. One head growled at the others, a deep, possessive rumble vibrating through the clearing as they nearly came to blows over the largest portion.
"Ah, perhaps one piece per head, Miss Haywood," I suggested lightly. "Best not to encourage sibling rivalry."
She nodded quickly and adjusted her spell, sending three separate portions drifting forward. This time, each head claimed its share, though they continued to eye one another suspiciously as they ate.
An uneasy silence settled over the class.
Every student watched in horrified fascination as the enormous beast fed, torn strips of meat disappearing between rows of teeth meant for crushing bone. I could practically see the thoughts forming behind their eyes, how easily a witch or wizard could replace that meat, how quickly it would be over.
The feeding continued for nearly ten minutes. Piece after piece vanished from the bucket, which was very obviously larger on the inside, until at last it was empty. With a satisfied huff, Fluffy lowered himself to the ground. All three heads yawned widely, revealing cavernous mouths and strings of saliva, and an eye-watering stench of raw meat and dog's breath rolled across the clearing.
Several students recoiled in unison.
Hagrid, of course, was unfazed.
He stepped forward cheerfully and began patting each of Fluffy's heads in turn, murmuring affectionately as though the creature were no more dangerous than a kneazle. Gasps rippled through the class, more than a few looked certain they were about to witness a gruesome death.
Instead, Fluffy leaned into the touch.
One head nudged Hagrid's shoulder insistently, another tried to wedge itself closer, and the third let out a low, pleased rumble, clearly competing for his attention like an overgrown, three-headed puppy.
I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile.
Fear, after all, is often defeated by understanding, and occasionally by a very large bucket of meat.
…