As the days went by, I found it harder and harder to sleep. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would not dare to speak to me. Not even Beatrice who I'd started to get on good terms with. Herbology and Astronomy were uncomfortably silent. The Slytherins were all bitter — supposedly I'd stolen their thunder — but the other Gryffindors were having a riot.

Fred and George tried to cheer me up by parading me around calling, "seriously evil witch coming through!" Mocking the beliefs of the other students who feared me. It helped a little, but when I was alone and lying awake at night I was still struggling to come to terms with the truth.

As much as I tried, I hadn't had any more dreams with Anne. I wished to tell her all I had learned, but our connection wasn't aligning for some reason. Sometimes I would play the violin in the common room, other times I would do my homework or read to take things off my mind. I would create more mind maps when distracting myself didn't work, eventually falling asleep at the end of it.

But one night in November I had a new and improved mind map before me and still no success. I was alone, and so I started to play with a spell I'd seen Flitwick cast to prepare for the holidays.

"Aureae Scintillae."

It was dim in the common room, though the fire still crackled softly, the only source of light other than the tiny lights expelled from my wand. I was in my thoughts again as I watched the golden sparks drift in the direction of my wand. They were like the iron shavings in those toys with the magnet under them, but much more beautiful. I would move my wand to the right, they would follow; like my own little army of stars.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I jumped. The sparks scattered above me. I looked over to see Dean standing in front of the stairs to the boy's dorms. His arms were crossed and he looked rather amused. Since the incident, I'd always wondered what he thought of me. He treated me the same, but I still never asked. I was scared of what he'd say.

"No," I answered, returning to gathering the sparks back up. "You?"

"Me neither," he shook his head. "May I join you?"

I nodded and patted the spot next to me. He sat beside me and I put my head on his shoulder. If he thought the gesture romantic, he didn't say so, and only let it happen. I was grateful.

"We haven't talked in a while," he noted. "I haven't gotten to hear what's going on in your head."

I laughed drily. "A lot more than I'd like there to be."

He shook his head. "I don't believe any of it. Even if you're related to Slytherin or whatever I know you wouldn't do anything like this. I trust you, Lila."

I felt my heart grow warm. "Thank you."

I began to play around with the spell again, the two of us falling into comfortable silence. I was relieved.

"It's like you're conducting the stars," he remarked, watching them gather together in one group once again. "A symphony of light."

I chuckled. "That's awfully poetic of you to say," I looked at him to see him still staring up at the sparks, the golden light reflected in his eyes.

"Maybe you're just boring," he joked. I hit him with a nearby cushion. He laughed, his eyes moving from the sparks back to me. The smile still remained on his lips, and I found myself mirroring it. "I'm joking, Lila. We both know you're brilliant."

"You're pretty brilliant yourself," I remarked.

"You really think so?" He asked. I nodded.

"Yes, of course I do."

We sat in silence together for a very long time, watching the sparks go back and forth — I hardly remembered falling asleep. I woke up the next morning in the common room on the couch, a blanket over me. Dean was gone. I sat up, looking at the blanket, and recognizing it from the ones on our beds in the dorms.

I brought the blanket around my body and engulfed myself in the warmth it provided. The portrait hole swung open — in walked Dean with two mugs. He grinned when he saw me.

"Look who's awake," he said. He lifted the mug in his right hand. "I brought you coffee."

"You're an angel," I smiled as he handed me the steaming mug. "Thank you." I took a sip. "Where is everyone? How early is it?"

"Seven," he said. "People will probably be coming down soon. Breakfast isn't even on the table yet — I went to the kitchens."

"That was so sweet of you," I invited him to come sit with me, and I pulled the blanket around the other side of him. "Is this yours?"

"It's my spare," he said. "You fell asleep and I didn't want you to be cold."

"Thank you so much," I smiled and leaned on his shoulder again. "You're the best."

Things became more bearable after that, but as the holidays grew nearer, I knew I'd have to make a difficult choice.

"You're going home?!" Hermione cried. "But the Polyjuice potion—"

"I know, I know," I said. "But three of you can handle that on your own. Plus, now there's more for you to drink which means more time."

"Why are you leaving?" Ron asked. "We've already established that you're probably related to Slytherin so you're not in any danger."

"That's exactly it," I said. "I need to read up on some of my relatives. If my mother wasn't a Muggle I want to know for sure, and my father deserves to know too."

I hadn't told them about being related to Voldemort, I was too ashamed. I'd told them of Dumbledore's suspicions, but they were hesitant to believe it. Still, they had promised to ask Malfoy if he knew anything from his father.

"She's right," Harry said. "And in the end if Malfoy doesn't know anything maybe she can uncover something through her family."

Hermione unpursed her lips. "Good idea, Lila. I wish you luck."

"Thank you," I replied. "Let's hope I can find something."

I quickly wrote to my dad to let him know I changed my mind about staying for the holidays and sent Willow off to deliver the message.

That was the same day that I was leaving the music room to see that Justin and Nearly Headless-Nick had been both attacked at once, horizontal on the floor and frozen. I looked around to see if I could call for help, only for Peeves the Poltergeist to arrive.

"You can't be serious—"

"ATTACK!!" He screeched. "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! NO ONE IS SAFE!"

Just about every door crashed open and students and teachers swarmed to the spot. Just my luck, I was found alone at the crime scene. This only made things worse for me. Strangely, however, both Pansy and Malfoy seemed to be on my side.

"Ignore them," Malfoy would whisper to me in Potions as the other Slytherins would glare. "They're only jealous of you."

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Pansy would threaten them, "unless you'd like me to take them out for you."

Professor Snape seemed to have been indifferent to the whole thing, but he wouldn't look at me. I supposed Dumbledore had filled him in and he was trying to keep his composure.

When the holidays finally came around, I was happy to leave. I was the first one on the train and the first one off, tired of hearing the whispers of "maybe we'll have some peace now that she's gone for the holidays."

I met my dad near the front of the station. He looked rather excited that I'd chose to come home.

"I've missed you so much!" He exclaimed, squeezing me into a hug. "When you wrote back that you'd changed your mind you have no idea how thrilled I was—" he cut himself off when he noticed my expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

I shook my head. I could already feel the eyes of the other students on me. "I have a lot to tell you. Let's go home."

I'd neglected to tell my father about the Chamber in my letters, only because I figured it would be better if we were with each other as I explained. In the car back to the house, I told him everything — about the voice only Harry and I could hear, Malfoy's warning, the attacks, my dreams, my relation to Anne and Salazar Slytherin and Voldemort . . .

As I went on with Anne and Emilie's stories, I could see my father tearing up in the rear view mirror. He felt the same pity I did, but there was something else there. He had been in love with my mother, known her, who had kept her life a secret to protect him and then died to protect both of us.

My father sat in silence for a moment, processing everything I'd just said.

"There's some letters in a box that your grandmother wrote to your mother in the basement somewhere," he said finally. "I'd never wanted to read them. It felt like intruding. But this whole situation sounds dangerous, and you should take whatever advantage you can get."

"Thank you," I said. "As far as I know, if I'm really related to Salazar Slytherin, I might be the best chance that we have at defeating the Heir."

"Just be careful, dear," he said seriously. "I have complete faith in you and your methods — just make sure you think everything through, and if you need to tell an adult anything, then you should. Especially that Headmaster of yours, Arthur Weasley was telling me how fantastic he was."

I sighed. "Yes, he's the one who told me all of this. A year and a half too late, of course."

"Anything else?" My dad asked me.

"I'm sure I've left something out," I rubbed my temples. "But I'll be sure to tell you as soon as I remember."

Once we got home, I helped my father decorate the tree and make cookies, though it was far less jovial than usual. Still, I'd hardly realized I missed him so much. After dinner, the two of us ventured into the basement for the letters. After a considerable amount of searching, we found a box labeled "To Emilie, from Anne."

We looked at each other, nodded, and then my father opened the box. Inside lay a single envelope, from which we read a short letter.

Dear Emilie,

By now, you've probably found out you're a witch. You have to be very careful with hiding this information, even more so than the other wizards and witches do. I'm not sure if you've figured this out by now, but some very powerful blood runs in your veins. Speak to Professor Dumbledore as soon as you can — he knows everything, and he's the only one that does.

Trust no one with your secrets, Emilie. My brother, Tom, has become power hungry. He's done some very bad things, and because of your relation to me it could put you and the people you love in serious danger. I wish I could tell you this myself, but I had to give you to the Abbotts so that he can't find you.

You need to have a daughter. I don't care how many times you need to try, but you must have her. I've seen her and met her through my gifts as a Seer and she is our greatest hope at stopping Tom from taking over the world as we know it.

Though the situation is dire, you must remember that your life is sacred. I love you very much, and you are destined for great things. If I could give you any advice, as a woman and as a mother, it's that you must never forget how to love. You'll never know when the one you love most will disappear, and once you stop loving, it's a cold, dark place, no matter where you go.

With Love,

Anne Riddle.

I looked to my dad to see tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn't reading the letter anymore, but instead looking at the picture I'd brought him of my mother with the other Gryffindors.

"Emilie knew how to love like no other," he said, and that brought tears to my eyes as well. We sat together in the basement for a long while, staring at her picture with the letter in hand.

That night, I finally had another dream. This one, however, was off. When I stood in the darkness, the air was colder than usual. But strangest of all was the silence. There was no music, not even Vivaldi. It was deafening, the quiet in the castle.

I approached the music room anyway, slipping through the door to see Anne sitting on the piano bench, her head in her hands. She looked up when she saw the door creak, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. She'd been crying, probably for a long time.

"You again," she said, voice hollow. "It's too late now, whatever you have to say."

I was surprised, until I recalled the newspaper clipping about the student that had died. It had finally happened. The monster had killed someone.

I sat beside Anne on the bench, and she moved to make room for me. The moonlight streamed through the window and caressed her back as though to comfort her.

"Did you catch him?" I asked. Anne shook her head ruefully.

"No, and nobody will believe me," she scoffed. "He framed some third year for it and then he got expelled instead." She balled up her fists in rage. "He's too good at covering his tracks. That lying, scheming, sneaky bastard."

"Your own brother," I whispered. She rounded on me, laughing coldly.

"We're related by nothing but blood, he's made sure everyone knows that!" She cried, angry. "Oh, how awful it would be to know what it's like for someone to love you. But maybe he was right, because I had it for just a moment and now that it's gone I wish I never knew what it was like!"

"Tom is not right, and he will never be," I protested quickly. "Never forget how to love. It's the strongest, bravest thing you can do."

She looked to me shrewdly, but didn't reply. Perhaps she knew I was right, and didn't want to argue. Maybe she knew they were her own words, repeated back at her.

I recalled her statement to the Daily Prophet, and her emotional words. Surely it had been somebody she loved, or was very close to. A boyfriend, maybe, or something close to one. I put my hand on her arm, hoping to comfort her. "Who was he?"

She stared at me in disbelief.

"He?" She repeated. "Who was he? There is no him, there never was. Men are foul creatures. They are greedy and shameless and they know no respect." She scoffed. "How can anyone ever expect me to love a man? They are no more than pigs in costumes!"

I opened my mouth to reply, then I closed it. She had a point, though I wouldn't have been quite as extreme. Then again, men in the fourties hadn't learned that sexism was bad yet. I couldn't blame her.

"Then who?" I asked softly.

"Who else?" She rolled her eyes. "Who else gave me her heart on a chain," she shook her necklace, "and through the music we played together? Who else shared my passion for the arts, who had the kindest soul I'd seen yet in this cruel world?"

She slammed her hand against the keys, a dissonant, vengeful chord ringing through the room.

"Myrtle." I breathed with realization. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, I'm sorry, everyone's so sorry!" She yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "But no one was there for her when she needed them. Nobody stood up for her and now she's dead. And I found out through stupid Olive Hornby. She's going to pay for this—"

"Tom's going to pay for this," I corrected, though I too felt her anger. "He's the reason for all of it. I'll make sure he regrets it."

She looked at me for a long while, finally inhaling deeply. "I just wish I could have done more."

"You can do more," I implored. "This isn't over."

"But she's gone," I watched silvery tears illuminated by the moonlight stream down her porcelain face. "She's gone, Lila."

And she began to sob once more, loud and angry and unhinged, and I listened until I was back in my own bed. When I awoke, my face was wet with tears too.

Christmas and New Years passed speedily. My father suggested we celebrate my birthday, but I declined as usual. This year I had even more incentive not to, knowing I shared a birthday with Voldemort. We instead visited my mothers grave, and we spent longer there than usual, both of our heads filled with so many questions.

However, Dean had wished me a happy birthday by sending Zumi with a letter and a pack of sweets. It took my mind off of things for a while, and I found myself opening and reopening it from time to time to calm my nerves.

Dear Lila,

Happy birthday! I bet it feels weird to be thirteen already. I know you don't like to celebrate, but I just wanted to send you my best wishes. I hope you're not too worried about all of this. Even if you are actually related to Slytherin, I want to let you know that I don't think any differently of you.

You're nothing like what he was. Who you're related to doesn't change or define who you are, remember that. You're still the brilliant girl I've adored ever since she sat next to me in Charms on Halloween. Who sneaked out and risked expulsion loads of times to help her friends. Who helped save the school and probably even the entire magical community as we know it. Who befriends anyone who needs it and does everything in her power to make sure everyone is safe.

You're still that girl, Lila, Slytherin's great-great-great-great-granddaughter or not. I made something for you, I really hope you like it. When I first saw you that night I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I knew I had to draw it. Still can't get you out of my head though. Anyway, happy birthday! I miss you and I hope you're thinking of me just as much as I am of you.

Yours,

Dean Thomas.

I pulled out the drawing, fascinated. I highly doubted I looked like that in real life — Dean had to have made some artistic liberties in drawing me. Even though I was still in the picture (he used Muggle tools), he captured the golden light reflecting from my eyes, the easy smile on my face.

His words left no room for confusion — he still fancied me, and I found I still fancied him too. Perhaps, maybe after all of this was over, I could pursue something with him. The thought was hopeful, and it made me smile to myself.

Never forget how to love.

How could I?