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THE FINAL TASK HAD SNUCK UP, COME IN A BLINK, AND TOMORROW HUNG OVER HER HEAD LIKE AN ICE CREAM FROM FLOREAN'S. Granted, Eliza should have spent a lot more time preparing and a lot less time goofing about with Ronald Weasley, but she felt justified. She had lost time to make up for.
Fumbling through the leather bound journal frustratedly, Eliza dropped the book on the Room of Requirement's floor and groaned. There was nothing about the final task from her little secret, the journal. "Ugh!" She screamed, kicking the journal. A green glow flashed through the pages, causing the Ravenclaw to pause.
The book rose in her hands as she carefully pulled it upwards, allowing the pages to consume her mind. "Aparcium!"
Nothing happened.
"Revelio!"
Nothing.
At her wit's end, she did nothing but beat her wand against the journal, shouting every charm she knew.
"Revelio! Revelio! Stupefy! Bombardo!"
The bloody thing was indestructible.
She closed the journal and screamed in frustration, coming to terms that she would likely die in the final task because she couldn't manage to get ahead. She'd been barely scraping by at fourth place (behind Connor, Harry, and Viktor Krum) with a far advantage of understanding the tasks in detail. If she didn't know what to expect, surely she'd just fail altogether.
"If I can't know what to expect, I will just fail!" She screamed to no one in particular, but the Room heard. And the Room provided.
An ancient-looking newspaper floated from the top shelf of the room's bookcase. On the front cover, a young boy, not much older than herself, stared back with terribly fearful eyes. His hair was shaggy and face was decorated in dark freckles. She couldn't read in old English - this paper must've been hundreds of years old! - but recognized some letters. She didn't feel alone in that moment, but she brushed it off as the rather lively photo stared back at her.
Sebastian Sallow. Azkaban.
Sebastian Sallow?
She'd known for a fact she'd never seen this particular name before, but why did it look so bloody familiar?The leather bound book closed shut, and the emblem on the front that always seemed minuscule,without warning, made so much sense.
A lock.
"Alohamora," the girl whispered, tapping her wand to the cover. The book flew open to a blank parchment, just before black ink bled on the pages.
AMBITIONLESS LAWS -AA
The ink rearranged itself on the pages, letters dancing across the parchment as if to taunt the girl. Like holding raw unicorn meat from a Hippogriff.
