Rebirth of Lady Morgana

DADA, Confronting the past, a new alliance is formed

Over the next two weeks, Morgana and Anthony settled into the rhythm of Hogwarts life, juggling classes, homework, and their expanding social circles. But one particular Friday promised to be momentous. Following their Potions class, the twins headed towards Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA), their minds already buzzing with their plans.

The DADA lesson that day was unusually intense. Professor Quirrell, despite his usual stammer and nervous demeanor, delivered a lecture with surprising clarity. Demonstrating an advanced counter-curse on a dummy hexed with a particularly nasty jinx, he commanded attention. The dummy convulsed and writhed under the curse, offering a dramatic visual aid.

“Observe how the counter-curse neutralizes the hex,” Quirrell said, his voice trembling but resolute. “Mastery of these techniques is crucial for your safety.”

Though engaged in the lesson, Morgana and Anthony were preoccupied with their own thoughts. Morgana’s plan to meet Quirrell later that night was weighing heavily on her mind. She and Anthony communicated silently as they practiced their counter-curses.

I’ve decided to go through with it, Morgana projected mentally, her focus unyielding.

You’re sure doing this so early on is wise? Anthony’s mental voice was laced with concern. With Quirrell’s odd behavior lately, it could be risky.

It’s the only way we’ll get answers, Morgana responded firmly. I’ll be cautious.

If you need me, I’m here, Anthony added reassuringly.

As the lesson ended, Morgana swiftly prepared her note, brief yet discreet. She penned:

Meet me in the third-floor corridor tonight. We need to talk. Alone. - M. P-B

With a subtle flick of her wand, she made the note vanish from her hand and reappear on Quirrell’s desk, cleverly concealed beneath a pile of parchment. Anthony watched her, his concern mingled with support.

That night, the castle was cloaked in darkness. Morgana made her way through the winding corridors to the third-floor, the grand staircase creaking underfoot. The torches on the walls cast eerie shadows, and the air was thick with anticipation.

In a sparsely lit room, Tom Riddle, inhabiting Professor Quirrell’s body, read Morgana’s note by candlelight. His mind raced as he absorbed the message.

'So, she wants to meet,' Tom thought, intrigued and puzzled. 'What could she possibly need to discuss in such secrecy? How does she know about me?'

His fascination with Morgana Potter-Black deepened. Her aura of power and confidence had always captivated him, ever since he laid eyes on her the night of his 'attack', but now, this note added a new layer of complexity.

Frustratingly intriguing, Tom mused with a hint of a smile. 'Very well, Miss Potter-Black. I shall see you tonight.'

In the dimly lit corridor, Morgana waited with palpable anticipation. Her heart raced, each creak of the floorboards heightening her senses. The shadows seemed to deepen with each passing minute.

When Tom finally appeared, his presence was both unsettling and magnetic. The torchlight flickered across his gaunt, spectral features, his eyes gleaming with a mix of false menace and vast intrigue.

“Morgana,” he greeted, his voice a chilling blend of Quirrell’s stutter and his own smooth menace. “You wished to speak with me?”

Morgana met his gaze with unshakable confidence. “Yes, Tom. There’s something important we need to discuss.”