𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⟶ 𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆

CHAPTER THREE

3 | the heir of slytherin

𝟷 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟺

TINY SPECKS OF dust seemed to dance in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that slanted on the stone floor through the glass window. The golden trio had spent the rest of their morning emptying their school trunks which they had brought with them to the past. Their possessions as well as the smattering of rubbish were strewn all over the room: old school robes, textbooks, crumpled papers and a good amount of sweets from Honeydukes.

Along these items also lay a mass amount of newspapers collected from their time. One particular newspaper lay near the foot of Harry's bed, its headline blaring; HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE? A second newspaper lay beside the first. This one bore the headline: SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE. Most of this front page was taken up by a large black and white picture of a man with lion-like mane of hair and ravaged face. The picture was moving—the man was waving at the ceiling.

To the left of this paper sat another, with another black and white moving picture of Elphias Doge, a man Harry had met during Bill and Fleur's wedding, the headline screamed: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED. Across the bottom half of the front page, a smaller headline was set over a picture of Dumbledore closing the great doors of Hogwarts: DUMBLEDORE—THE TRUTH AT LAST? Nearby, on the carpet near the fireplace, lay another one, emblazoned with the words: DARK MARK SPARKS PANIC. Under the article, the lurid headline captured Hermione's eyes. VIOLENCE SPREADS: MUGGLE FAMILY MURDERED.

"I think we should burn these," she said, dropping a copy of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage into a pile of stacking books. "It's better we get rid of any evidence that we're not from here. Just in case someone comes snooping."

"I'll do it," said Ron, dropping an old purple leaflet printed with the words: PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES. He then seized the small mess of Daily Prophets and threw them into the fireplace one by one. He watched as the fire licked over the edges of the paper, quickly darkening and curling, turning to ash.

From the corner of her eyes, Hermione saw Harry laying on his bed, watching the golden snitch Dumbledore had left him, fluttering above him, its wings flapping slowly up and down. He had cooled off a white ago after handing him a cup of tea she made in their small kitchenette.

"They have flesh memories," she said.

Harry looked over at her. "What?"

"Snitches. They're never touched by bare skin until the seeker captures it. Even the wizard who fabricates it wears gloves. That way, if there is a dispute, the snitch can identify who first touched it."

"You mean it remembers me?"

She nodded. "When Scrimgeour first gives it to you, I thought it might open at your touch—that Dumbledore had hidden something in it."

Harry paused and stared at the snitch, pondering while Hermione continued on sorting out their textbooks for the upcoming term.

"What about that?" Ron pointed at Rita Skeeter's book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore which lay on the floor with the rest of their items—the picture of the old headmaster smiled gloomily on the cover. "I don't think we need it anymore, do we?"

"Hermione?" asked Harry, sitting up on his bed.

"Whatever you decided, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry nodded. "Right. Burn it, Ron, Better to get rid of any evidence that we're from the future. Burn anything we can but save the ones we need for our horcrux hunt. Those we can't burn, we'll keep them locked inside a trunk—think you can transfigure a trunk for that, Mione?"