THE DOLL PEOPLE; Theodore Nott

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December, 1992

EMERY'S LIP TREMBLED AS SHE SAT IN THE HOSPITAL WING. Hannah stood nearby, quietly crying with Zacharias's arm around her shoulders, their faces pale and stricken. Justin lay still in his hospital bed, his eyes wide with fear but unseeing, frozen in place by the spell that had overtaken him. Emery's stomach twisted with guilt as she looked at him. She couldn't shake the memory of their last encounter, of the hurt in his voice when he accused her of being the Heir of Slytherin.

Emery knew that when she left the wing, the rumors would only intensify. Everyone would assume she'd done this to get back at Justin for embarrassing her, for turning away from her in fear. But none of that mattered to her now. She just wanted her friend back.

Emery left first, giving Zacharias and Hannah a final look before fleeing down the hallway, ducking her head to avoid the accusing stares. She barely noticed the students she passed, finally making it to her dorm and collapsing onto her bed. Christmas was just around the corner, and she couldn't remember a time she'd been more desperate to leave.

The weeks following Justin's petrification were the worst Emery had ever experienced at Hogwarts. Tensions had reached an unbearable high; the air felt colder, the shadows longer. First it had been Colin Creevey, then Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. The attacks were happening with frightening regularity now, and Emery felt the weight of each one. She barely slept and hardly spoke to anyone. She spent most of her time in the library, even though every page she read only deepened her dread.

One evening, a letter arrived from her mother, Andromeda. Emery's hands trembled as she read it, her mother's words urging her to come home for the holidays. At first, Emery wanted to stay, to prove that she wasn't guilty of anything. But the sight of Justin lying frozen in the hospital wing, unresponsive and unreachable, had broken something inside her. She couldn't stay. Not when her friend was lying there, perhaps permanently petrified.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the castle, Emery sat in silence, watching the snow-covered hills blur past the window. Hannah was beside her, her arm draped around Emery in a quiet show of support. But the words Emery wanted to say to her friend wouldn't come; they were lodged in the hollow ache in her chest.

When Emery arrived at the Black family home, the warmth and familiarity did little to soothe her. The house was decorated for Christmas, the smell of Andromeda's cooking filled the air, and Tonks was already cracking jokes, trying to lift Emery's spirits. But despite the laughter and decorations, something about this Christmas felt different—off.

She tried to relax, but the weight of the attacks at Hogwarts lingered with her. Christmas Day passed in a blur of food and presents, but that evening, Emery found herself sitting alone at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the crackling fire and the faint clinking of plates from the kitchen. She was lost in thought when a sharp knock at the door broke the silence.

She stiffened, hearing her uncle move toward the door. She didn't rise to greet whoever was there, assuming it was a holiday visitor. But then a voice, sharp and unfamiliar, cut through the quiet.

"Andromeda, call your Muggle," the man sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. Emery's body tensed. Whoever was at the door wasn't here for a friendly visit. Andromeda shot Emery a warning look, signaling her to stay put, then marched toward the entrance with a determined stride.

Voices rose, and Emery covered her ears, wishing she could block out the argument. She heard Andromeda's voice, taut with anger, but the stranger's voice only grew louder.

"Reggie wouldn't have kept her from me. I'm not mental—I just want to see her!"

Emery's name slipped into the man's words, and she felt her pulse quicken.

"Emery, sweetheart," the voice softened, and it sent a chill down her spine. "I know you're scared, and you don't know who I am."

Trembling, Emery stood, her wand gripped tightly. As she stepped into view, she saw the man's face partially shadowed by the hood of his cloak. He raised his hands slowly, as though trying to reassure her.

"I don't know you," she whispered, raising her wand defensively. "And... I think you should leave."

The man sighed, lowering his hood. Emery's eyes widened in shock; he looked young, much younger than she'd expected, with sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through her.

"I sent you those books," he said quietly, watching her reaction. "The ones on magic, with the notes. They were from me."

Her mind raced. The books—the ones that had arrived last year, filled with tips and spells she'd never learned in class. She'd wondered who had sent them, but she never thought...

"I don't know you," she said again, her voice firmer now. "I don't know why you're here."

The man nodded slowly. "My name's Barty. Barty Crouch Jr," he said, his voice softening. "I used to visit you when you were little, but Andromeda stopped letting me after... after things got complicated."

Emery's heart pounded. "You're a Death Eater," she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

He looked at her, sadness flickering in his eyes. "I was a friend of your father's. I'm not here to hurt you, Emery."

Just then, Andromeda stepped forward, her wand drawn and her expression furious. "Get out," she demanded, her voice shaking with anger. "You're not welcome here, Barty."

Barty raised his hands again, a hint of resignation in his gaze. "I just wanted to see her, Andromeda. To explain."

"And now you've seen her. Leave." Andromeda's voice was a cold, unyielding command.

Barty's gaze lingered on Emery. "I'll be back, Emery. If you ever need answers... write to me."

With a final, lingering look, he stepped back into the cold night, and Andromeda slammed the door shut, her hands trembling. She turned to Emery, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Are you alright?" Andromeda asked, her voice a mix of relief and fear.

Emery nodded, but her thoughts were tangled, racing with questions. The books, the whispered connection to her father's past, and the stranger who claimed to be a friend. She didn't know if she was alright. Not anymore.