Evelyn Riddle: The Forgotten Chronicles- Book 5

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Evelyn Riddle sat cross-legged on the sloping grass by the Black Lake, her arms wrapped around her knees as the late July sun bled into the horizon. The golden light reflected off the still water, casting rippling hues of orange, pink, and red across its surface. It should have been beautiful. It was beautiful. But Evelyn didn't feel it—not the way she used to.

The soft rustle of leaves in the warm breeze and the distant trill of a bird did little to quiet the storm in her chest. She had come here hoping the lake's quiet calm might settle her, but instead, it only seemed to amplify the noise in her mind.

Evelyn's summer at Hogwarts was one of silence and solitude, punctuated by the dull rhythm of routine and the sharp edges of her own thoughts.

She wasn't the same person who had walked into her fourth year, full of ambition and quiet hope. That version of her had been burned away in the fire of everything that had happened. The girl who wandered the echoing halls now was colder, harder, and far more careful. Her confidence had grown in ways that felt unnatural, like a flower forced to bloom in winter. It wasn't real—more of a mask she wore to keep herself upright.

Her interactions with others reflected that shift, especially the house-elves who remained in the castle during the summer months. Once, she had treated them with a kind of detached politeness, understanding their role but never exploiting it. Now, her patience was paper-thin. One afternoon, as she sat in the common room poring over a potions text, Wibby approached her with a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched tightly in his hands.

"Miss Evelyn," he said timidly, his large eyes darting nervously. "Wibby thinks... Wibby thinks it's better if Miss Evelyn doesn't read this today."

Evelyn barely looked up. "What do you mean? Give it here."

Wibby hesitated, his knobby fingers gripping the edges of the paper. "It says things, Miss Evelyn. Things that hurt. Wibby only wants to protect—"

"I don't need your protection," she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. "Hand it over."

The little elf flinched but stood firm, his refusal silent but unmistakable. Evelyn's temper flared, her frustration spilling over in a way it rarely had before. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor, and stormed out of the room without another word.

The guilt came almost immediately, a heavy weight that settled in her chest. Wibby had only been trying to help, and deep down, she knew that. But she couldn't bring herself to go back and apologize. She told herself it didn't matter. She had more important things to focus on.

Days blended into each other, each one passing in a haze of books, potion ingredients, and the faint hum of magic. Evelyn buried herself in her studies, clinging to the precision and control they offered. Cutting ingredients into perfect slices, stirring cauldrons with exacting movements—it all felt like something she could still control when so much else had slipped away.

But even magic wasn't the same anymore. There was a shift in her magic, subtle but undeniable. Her spells worked, as they always had, but the color of her magic had darkened—just slightly, barely noticeable unless someone was paying close attention. The shimmering light of her wand's glow was tinged with a faint shadow, like sunlight filtered through storm clouds. Evelyn didn't know what it meant, but it didn't feel wrong. If anything, it felt like it belonged.

Nights were worse. When the sun went down, so did her walls. The nightmares came relentlessly, dragging her back to that graveyard. Cedric's lifeless body haunted her dreams, his vacant eyes staring at her as if accusing her of something she couldn't name. Harry's screams echoed in her ears, raw and heart-wrenching, and she'd wake up gasping for breath, her heart pounding.