As I'd predicted, Ron's finger was a disturbing shade of green and had swelled to twice its normal size. He seemed more distraught than usual when we visited him in the Hospital Wing.

"It's not just my hand," he said. "Though it feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy visited me earlier and took one of my books just to taunt me. He kept threatening to tell Madam Pomfrey what really bit me — I said it was a dog, but she doesn't believe me — it's because of what happened at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Hermione and I shared a glance. I felt irritation at Malfoy start to bubble in my chest. He was terribly good at pissing me off, even when he wasn't there.

"It's okay, it'll all be over by midnight on Saturday," Hermione said soothingly. Ron shot up in his bed.

"Midnight on Saturday!" He repeated. "Oh no. The letter Charlie sent was in that book! He's going to know our plan!"

We didn't have any further time to discuss this, as Madam Pomfrey shooed us out.

"He doesn't know about the invisibility cloak," Harry said optimistically. "And Lila will be keeping watch. We'll have to risk it, or else Hagrid is done for."

Midnight on Saturday couldn't have happened fast enough. That evening, I sneaked out, while Harry and Hermione followed me at a distance with the invisibility cloak. I was to knock something over or make a noise in case someone were to walk by. My feet were bare, providing for the least loud and fastest way for me to run if necessary, and I wore a short sleeved pajama shirt and shorts despite the cold. I was too distracted by the adrenaline to feel it.

We walked up several staircases, and as I entered the corridor to the tallest tower I saw a flickering lamp and heard the voices of two people. I flattened myself against the wall as they walked in the corridor adjacent to mine.

"Detention!" The voice was Professor McGonagall. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Meandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you!"

"You don't understand, Professor! Harry Potter's coming — he's got a dragon."

"Nonsense! What utter rubbish! I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy." McGonagall said scornfully. Their footsteps faded away, and we were in the clear. I reached the top of the tower before Harry and Hermione did, and waited for their arrival. Malfoy had played himself that time. What had he been expecting to do? Sneak out and not face the consequences?

Dimly, I recognized that that was exactly what I was doing right now.

Harry and Hermione arrived soon, as did Charlie and his friends. After seeing them off, Harry and Hermione and I began to walk down the staircase. Midway there, I remembered the invisibility cloak at the top of the tower. I told them to wait while I ran up and fetched it. I threw it over myself on the way down, careful not to make a noise. However, I was too late.

My heart stopped. Filch had spotted them.

"Well, well, well," he sneered. "We are in trouble."

I could swear Mrs. Norris saw me, but she let me be, only mewling wretchedly.

As Filch lead Harry and Hermione away, I dejectedly made my way back to the common room to tell Ron.

Had I been two seconds quicker, they wouldn't have been found. I had failed them. No wonder they didn't want me around.

I turned the corner to the portrait hole and saw none other than the headmaster himself, as if he were waiting for somebody. My heart raced. Had he known? Did McGonagall tell him? Did Malfoy?

"There's no need to worry, Lila, I know you're there," he said calmly. "I'm just here to talk, if you'll follow me to my office, please."

This was it. I was getting expelled. Grudgingly, I took off the cloak and walked behind him to his office.

"It's all my fault," I told him as soon as his door was shut. "If I were a few seconds quicker—"

"Please, have a seat," Dumbledore motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Don't fret; nobody is getting expelled tonight."

That sent a wave of relief washing over me, and I released the breath I didn't know I was holding. It was soon replaced, however, with curiosity. Why was I here?

"Why do you wish to speak with me, Headmaster?" I asked him.

"Mostly just to frighten you," he shook his head, smiling. "The thought of expulsion is usually enough to deter students from sneaking around after hours."

"And it won't happen again, sir," I nodded vigilantly.

"But it has happened before, yes?" He raised a cloud-like eyebrow.

"Yes, it has," I said guiltily. "I just wanted to make sure that—"

"Your friends were safe," he nodded. "I understand that. It would be a lie to say that I hadn't broken a school rule every once and a while in my time here."

My surprise must have bled through, as he nodded knowingly. "Yes, I am just as human as you are. We all make mistakes, but it is how you grow from them that shapes you. You are not at fault here, nor were you before. You were just trying to help."

Speaking of help, I realized this was the most opportune time to ask for it.

"Headmaster," I began. "Are you aware of the danger that faces us?"

His complexion remained calm, as if this were no surprise to him. "Yes and no. There are several. It seems the magical world is always in turmoil. Please, tell me which one you speak of now."

I told him everything I knew, how Snape had seemed to be jinxing Harry's broom, Quirrel's pleas, about how we'd figured out about the Stone (I left Hagrid out of it), and how we believed Snape was planning to take it.

"I don't want to believe it," I said. "But the evidence leads to no other culprit. Professor Quirrell is the only one standing between him and the Stone, besides the three-headed-dog."

"I do believe you have the conspiracy right, yet not the culprit," Dumbledore mused. "Severus is one of my most trusted friends. What would his motive be?"

"Ron hypothesized that he wanted to be rich and live forever. . ." I paused. "But—"

"But what?" Dumbledore asked, almost gleefully. What he could possibly be so excited about, I wasn't sure.

"He doesn't seem to have any interest in material things, or a desire to live forever." I frowned. "He seems miserable."

"Severus has many sides to him that students cannot see," Dumbledore nodded. "He doesn't let them. Only those who have known him for as long as I have understand his many dimensions."

I sat in silence, pondering this. Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"But those aren't my secrets to tell," he told me. "You should ask him yourself, though perhaps maybe you should get him to like you more first." The twinkle in his eye disappearing, he added, "Severus himself has come to me with suspicions, although they are difficult to believe and seemingly more difficult to prove."

"If you don't think Professor Snape is the culprit, who do you think it is?" I asked him. He seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"I have some suspicions myself," he said vaguely. I pressed him again, but he only shook his head.

"I shouldn't tell you, lest you hold any other unnecessary mistrust," he folded his hands neatly in front of him. "Whoever it is, we will take care of them when they strike. It's simply a matter of time."

I noted his use of when. I felt oddly comforted that Dumbledore was prepared for an attack, but at the same time, I didn't appreciate how certain he was of it.

"Lila, you of all people would know it tends to be the one you least expect," Dumbledore told me knowingly. He sat back in his chair. "Now, if you'd like to return to your house, it is well past one in the morning and I would hate for you to lose points for falling asleep in class."

I hesitated, hoping he would elaborate on his first statement, but when he didn't I nodded and stood. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"One more thing," he eyed the cloak. "I'd like to take that off of your hands. No more sneaking around."

I frowned. I knew that I wasn't going to just walk away without a punishment. At least it wasn't points. I was figuring out a way to apologize to Harry as I left his office and tiptoed away into Gryffindor tower.

The next morning, Gryffindor had lost one-hundred-and-fifty points from our hourglass. One, five, zero. Nobody knew how it happened, except for those of us that were there. Malfoy began to spread the news like wildfire— nobody would talk to Harry, Neville, or Hermione except for Ron and I. Of course, Dean and Seamus were there for Neville, who couldn't seem to get through a class without sobbing.

Slytherin was being very snarky about our loss of points, and I had to kick Malfoy under the table several times in potions in order to get him to stop making loud remarks about Harry.

"You lost fifty points for your house too," I hissed at him. "And you'll have to serve detention with them."

"Pity you weren't there, it would have made it two-hundred," Malfoy smirked. Dean cleared his throat.

"God forbid she'd have to spend more time with you in detention, Malfoy," he said. "She's already unlucky enough as your Potions partner."

I smiled at Dean appreciatively.

Later that night, Dean and I stayed awake studying for the nearing exams. Ron had fallen asleep hours ago on the couch. I was waiting for Harry and Hermione to get back from detention, and Dean was waiting for Neville. Seamus had gone to bed, unwilling to study and exhausted from a day of snapping at Slytherins.

After we finished our Transfiguration homework and Potions paper, Dean pulled out a blank sheet of parchment from his bag, as well as a pencil. I hadn't seen a pencil in months, they looked so out of place at Hogwarts.

"What, have you never seen a pencil before?" Dean laughed at my surprise.

"Of course I have, I'm just surprised to see one here," I remarked. "I've gotten so used to quills and ink."

"I'm taking a doodle break," he informed me. "My work ethic isn't quite as strong as yours yet. I wish could do all my work in pencil — if we make mistakes we can erase them."

"But we should learn from them," I said, thinking back to what the Headmaster had said to me.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah. That was a sudden burst of wisdom."

"It was something Dumbledore said," I shrugged, watching as Dean began to draw his first few lines. "And if we make mistakes on paper we erase them, learn from them, and then make them better."

"Exactly," he said. "There's no pressure here. That's what I love about art. There's nothing to fix, but you're always able to fix it."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Perfection is what you want it to be, not what anyone else thinks it is," he replied. "If your work doesn't meet your criteria, you can always fix it, but you don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks of it."

"Isn't that the point of art?" I asked. "To showcase it?"

"Sometimes," Dean shrugged. "But what really matters about it is that it's your creative work. Something you made that you can be proud of. "

"What do you most like to draw?" I asked him.

"Animals, mostly, sometimes faces," he looked at mine carefully. "Faces are the hardest, though. They're never quite as good as the real thing."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. We stared at each other for a moment before he handed me the pencil, then grabbing one for himself. My fingers took it numbly, all I could feel was my heart beating faster and faster.

"I didn't realize I was also taking a doodle break," I remarked. Dean chuckled.

"They're good for you, trust me." He set out a blank piece of parchment in front of me. "You'll want to start with sketches. Light marks in the general shape of what you want to draw. As you get more confident in what you're doing, you can draw over with solid lines to create your final product."

"What should I draw?" I asked him. He shrugged. "That's up to you."

I wasn't known for being indecisive, but I couldn't pick anything. I was not a creative person in any way. I finally decided on the window, which was letting in light reflected by the full moon. Dean sketched on his own, and we worked in peaceful silence interrupted only by the scratching of pencil against parchment.

When I had finished, I looked to him for instruction. He seemed almost too absorbed in what he was doing to notice, but then he looked up. He looked from the sketch, to my window, then back to the sketch. He hummed thoughtfully, seeming impressed.

"It's almost too realistic," he said. "Nothing wrong with that, you have an eye for detail."

"As a child I used to practice drawing witness accounts or crime scenes I saw in the news," I explained. At his stunned expression, I grew embarrassed. "It's part of the whole detective thing."

"Oh," he blinked. "That makes more sense."

Thankfully, Harry, Neville, and Hermione came into the portrait hole, sparing me. I realized that it was well after midnight. I bid Dean goodbye as he lead a shaking Neville to the boys dorms. I shook Ron awake and Harry began to tell us what happened.

"In the forest, I saw a hooded figure drinking the blood of a unicorn," Harry was pacing back and forth. "I think it was Voldemort."

Ron, Hermione, and I winced at the name.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich..."

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron, shivering. Harry wasn't listening to him, or just didn't care. He continued pacing and relaying the story to us, the circumstances growing drearier with each sentence.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

This news was a lot to absorb, and I could feel myself growing paler by the second.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of." Hermione said placatingly. "With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry continued to pace. "The centaurs seemed very sure."

"If it were written in the stars that you were meant to die then, then you would have." I frowned. "Clearly there must be more to it than that."

"But what does that mean?" Harry asked me. I shook my head.

"I don't know, but you weren't fated to die," I paused. "Not tonight, at least."

Ron shivered. "Well that's comforting."

"She's right," Harry said. "That's what I get for being me. For having this," he pointed to his scar. "Voldemort will always seek revenge, as long as he's physically able to. That's why he was drinking the blood of the unicorn. He has everything to gain."

"And nothing to lose," I repeated what he said earlier. "He's weak. He couldn't have hurt you earlier, even if he wanted to."

"Unless someone else is doing his dirty work," Harry said, referencing Snape.

"Snape wouldn't hurt you," I shook my head. "Even Dumbledore disagrees. It's not him, he's not who we should be concerned about."

"You talked to him?" Hermione asked. I nodded.

"When he brought me back to his office I told him all that we knew, but he thinks we're wrong," I shivered. "I don't think he knows that we think You-Know-Who is involved."

"You think You-Know-Who is forcing Snape to do it?" Ron asked. I shook my head.

"I don't think Snape is working for You-Know-Who at all." I looked to the three of them, helplessly. "But we have to account for someone, and he's or best bet. Otherwise we'd just be back at square one. The only other suspect would be—" I cut myself off. "Actually, never mind. That wouldn't make any sense."

That man was scared of his own class. How could he possibly be helping the Dark Lord?

We didn't discuss it any further. We'd ruled out that Dumbledore would keep the school safe from any sort of potential threat. Harry had gotten his cloak back, but it was for naught. He'd had it through with sneaking around.

"It was back on my bed last night when I got back to the common room." Harry shook his head when he told me the next morning.

"He must have given it back," my mind raced. Dumbledore had told me not to sneak around anymore, but yet he gave Harry back his invisibility cloak? It must have been a sign. I pondered this for a while, an idea forming in my head.

I was far from giving up on the Stone, but I would have to wait until exams had finished. If You-Know-Who was really involved, I'd hate for the fate of the wizarding world to be my fault.