CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

Chapter 7

Ain't it funny how a moment can just change your life, And you don't want to face what's wrong or right, Ain't it strange how fate can play a part, In the story of your heart. -'Ain't it funny' by Jennifer Lopez

Nero would never know how he got through Monday. He rushed through his homework in the evening and at ten o'clock Pip and Adonis left for Hogsmeade. Pip went to The Three Broomsticks to pick up the butterbeers and Honeydukes for sweets and a massive birthday cake. Adonis went to meet his elder brother who worked in The Green Umbrella and was bringing the stripper, and some stronger drinks than butterbeers.

They returned about an hour later, though without Lydia, the stripper. Apparently she had eaten too many Magic Mushrooms the night before and was completely indisposed. All were sorely disappointed.

The rest of the evening was a flop. Everyone was edgy because they were afraid of being caught and Adonis' brother got so drunk he became a liability. Nero discovered that midnight feasts are not as much fun in practice as they in theory.

He woke up late, with a slight hangover and arrived ten minutes after the bell to Transfiguration. Professor Maxime ranted at him about people who waste their own and everybody else's time for the rest of the lesson in Franglais and set them extra homework.

He kept his head down for the rest of the day and at eleven o'clock stealthily dressed himself and went outside. Ever since Filch had retired the year before Cassandra had come to Hogwarts, vigilance had been less strict. Nero found it very easy to get out. He crept round to the Forbidden Forest and past Hagrid and Maxime's hut and was about to climb the hill, when he heard a sneeze.

It was not just any sneeze. It was long drawn out and noisy. It went- "A- a- atchoo!"

Nero froze and hid himself behind a tree. Slowly, when his heart stopped thumping he peered round the trunk. There was someone standing on the top of the hill, right next to a Celtic cross. That, thought Nero, must be Salazar's Cross. And there was someone waiting there!

Judging from her silhouette it was a female. Quite a tall female, swathed in dark robes and a cloak. There was no moon, so Nero could not tell whether they were black or dark green or navy blue. The night was cold and cloudy. There was a stiff breeze blowing from the north. The woman's robes whipped about her legs as she stood on the summit, next to the ancient stone. She sneezed again and pulled out a large, white handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily.

Here, thought Nero, was someone who did not care for concealment! Meanwhile, he did not know what to do. He was getting cold, it was beginning to drizzle and he did not dare move closer to the cross, nor did he dare not keep his appointment.

Suddenly someone was there next to the woman. He had come from nowhere. Nero jumped and the woman jumped too. She was more articulate.

"Oh, Aragorn- you did scare me!"

Nero realised who she was and was even more astonished. It was Professor Shortstraw! What was she doing meeting a man at midnight at the furthest point of the grounds from the school! She certainly did not seem to be the sort of person who would be unfaithful to her husband.

"I'm sorry, Athena," replied the man gruffly.

Nero thought there was something very odd going on with the names. Since when was Professor Shortstaw called Athena? He knew that her initials were C. A. and perhaps her middle name was Athena. It was improbable that it should be and even if it was, why could not she just be called by her first name, which Nero prided himself on knowing. (Every pupil gets a kick from knowing their teachers' first names and Nero was no exception.)

The man's name was also odd. Nero had read Lord of the Rings many times; it was one of his favourite books, and he knew perfectly well who Aragorn was. Renewed shall be blade that was broken/ The crownless again shall be king and all that. Why was he called Aragorn?

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Professor Shortstraw/Athena. She was pointing to something in the man's hand, which Nero could not see.

Aragorn laughed slightly. "Oh, this? Yes, it is. I've had it for ages; it was my father's. It comes in very useful here, where you can't Apparate." Nero caught a glimpse of shiny, translucent silver.

"Well," continued the man, "what did you want to see me about?"

"Is Eowyn coming tonight?" asked Professor Shortstraw.

"No, she couldn't make it. She's very busy at the moment, what with, you know, this and that."

Here was another mystery! When Nero had heard the word Eowyn a part of him had thrilled at the sound. For years Eowyn had been his heroine. There was something about a handsome, brave girl carrying a sword and doing fantastic things that appealed to Nero very much. He had imagined Eowyn as a real person; someone he could speak to and fall in love with. He had dreamt about meeting her and what he'd say. She had seemed very real to him. And here were Aragorn and Athena talking about her as if she were an ordinary mortal!

"I wanted to ask your advice, Aragorn, about something that happened to me."

"Fire away." Why did his voice sound so familiar?

"A few weeks Nero Malfoy came to see me with something he had found-" Nero's ears picked up. They were talking about him- the swines! "-in the Slytherin common room."

"We're talking about Draco Malfoy's son here, aren't we?"

"Yes. I asked him to come and see me about something else, but he showed me the paper of his own free will."

"Hmm, interesting. And what was on this paper?"

It was in Greek and it meant 'beyond one's power'. He said he found it behind a chair in the common room. I know for a fact he didn't!"

"Really? How come?"

"The handwriting."

"It was his?"

"Yes."

"And you recognised it, just like that?"

"I will not insult your intelligence, Aragorn! I pore over two translations, one essay and a vocabulary test of his every week till I'm cross eyed and have done for one and a half years, and you tell me I might not recognise his writing!"

"All right, all right. I'm sorry. What did you do?"

"Do? I translated it for him and gave him a Greek grammar book in the hope he might want to start learning."

"Listen, if you want to start a campaign to get people to learn Ancient Greek, you'd better collaborate with H- I mean Eowyn. Tell me what you did with the words. 'Beyond one's power', was it? What do you think it means? Is it something we should be worrying about?"

"I very much think it is. I don't know how it came into young Malfoy's hands, but that he is a Malfoy is enough for me to be wary if he brings something in which is Greek."

"What do you mean, Athena?"

"Well, when I was working at the Museum of Ancient Magic, before I started teaching, I found out a few things about our heritage. Did you know, for example, that Salazar Slytherin's great-grandfather was an extremely wealthy freed slave, a Greek? and that his son went into the army where he achieved the position of legionary and eventually settled in South Britain when he retired. He had two children, Lucius, the father of Salazar and Elena, the mother of Godric Gryffindor."

"So," said Aragorn slowly, "you think the Greek Malfoy junior found is somehow connected with Slytherin? You think Slytherin knew Greek?"

"I think there is a strong probability that he did know Greek. And I definitely think that Nero's writing has something to do with Slytherin."

"How do you think Malfoy will behave regarding it?"

"I can't say, Aragorn, I can't say. He's not like other Malfoys."

"Isn't he? Seems like one to me. Obnoxious, full of himself, a bully, an idiot, a Slytherin."

"Aragorn, you don't teach him! A pupil's essay shows more about their character than they could ever imagine. Nero's essays make me laugh."

"Laugh?" said Aragorn sceptically.

"Well, they make the corners of my mouth twitch. You shouldn't judge a person before you know them."

"Isn't this slightly irrelevant, Athena? What are you going to do?"

"Me? I'm going to file a report at the Department of Mysteries, and then I'm going wait."

"Wait?" grumbled Aragorn. "Wait? That's all we ever do nowadays!"

"You don't want to be fighting, do you? You can't like battling, can you? Count your blessings, Aragorn, that we have peace. Though how long that will last for, I don't know."

"Why shouldn't it last? Voldemort cannot come back."

"No, he can't, but- oh I don't know! It may be just a hunch, but I think something is going to happen. The balance of good and evil is changing ever so slightly. Perhaps I am mistaken, but all has been too quiet for my taste. Come, Aragorn. Let us file my complaint."

There was a flash of the silver again and their bodies disappeared followed by their heads. Nero waited a reasonable amount of time before dashing out from behind the tree and stumbling up the hill to Salazar's Cross.

The ground underneath him was muddy and slippery. He was wet through and freezing. He had pins and needles all over. As he trudged up the incline he reflected upon the conversation he had just overheard. Their comments on him he had found very interesting. He already hated Aragorn. The man did not even know him and yet insulted him with freedom! He wished he could place the voice. It was so familiar!

Professor Shortstraw's replies had slightly softened him. You should never judge a person before you know them she had said, and how right she was. That was just what Aragorn was doing. Forming a judgement on him based on a supposed knowledge of his ancestors. Just because he was a Malfoy did not mean he acted in every respect like a Malfoy. It was prejudice! Sheer, blind prejudice!

So they thought the box was made by Salazar Slytherin? What would they know about it? According to Draco it had been made by a Malfoy, but then again, what would Draco know about it?

He stood at the top of the hill and gazed at the grave. The cross was about three feet tall and was so weathered that hardly any of the original designs were still visible. Bits of moss grew in the cracks.

The wind was picking up, driving the rain onto him with even more force. His robes stuck to his skin and his blond hair was plastered to his head. His nose was starting to run and he couldn't feel his toes. He sank to his knees by the cross.

Suddenly the Voice returned right beside him.

"So you decided to come? Well, it's all for the best."

Nero turned his head to look at where the Voice was, but again, there was no sign of anyone. He sighed and said, "Tell me what I must do so I can get back to bed. I shall catch pneumonia."

"Patience, patience, my boy. All in good time. You must get the stone."

"The stone? What stone?"

"The stone that should have been in the box. You must find it. It is green and contains great power."

Nero felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to creep. "The stone that I saw in my dream? Is that it?"

The Voice sounded pleased when it replied, "You are quicker than I would have thought. Yes, it is that stone."

Nero swallowed. "Do you know where it is?"

"The girl has it. She found accidentally. You must get it off her."

"The girl?" said Nero, bewildered. "What girl?"

"There is only one girl, you know that."

"What do you mean?"

He was only answered by silence.

"Hello?" he whispered, in rising panic. "Where have you gone? What do you mean, there is only one girl?"

But he was all alone. The Voice had left him again. The rain came down heavier and heavier. The sky seemed to get darker. Suddenly a flash of lightening illuminated the forest, and the boy kneeling on the grave. An owl hooted in the forest and a bush rustled behind him. With one quick glance around him, Nero fled.

~~*~~

The next morning Nero was especially uncommunicative with his friends. He knew who the Voice had referred to. It was right- there was only one girl. Little as it liked it he knew that in the great run of things, Joan was a nobody, as were Emilia, Lucy Crabbe, Lauretta Rosebin, Esmerelda Robinson and all of the other girls he knew. The only one girl who could ever be important was Cassandra Potter. Nero did not know why he thought this or why he was so sure of it; it was just something he knew. Cassandra Potter had the stone and he would have to get it off her.

Stealing it would not work. He did not know where it was kept and he did not see how he could get into Gryffindor Tower, even if he did. There was only one thing for it; he was going to have to persuade Cassandra to give it to him. And to do that he would have to be nice to her. It would have to be done, and the sooner he started the better.

On the way to breakfast he looked straight over at the Gryffindor table. She was not yet down. He went and waited by the stairs outside the Great Hall. After fifteen minutes of casual loitering she appeared flanked by a not bad looking Chinese girl and the faithful as ever male Weasley twin.

Her bag was slung over her right shoulder and she was cleaning her glasses on her robes as she walked.

"What lessons do we have this morning, Cassie?" asked the Weasley.

"Double potions, History of Magic and French."

"Ug. My least favourite day."

"Jack, I don't see why you can't remember your timetable! It's just a few lessons- it's not that difficult."

"Why should I bother when you know yours and mine off by heart?" he teased, slinging an arm casually round her shoulders.

She shoved her glasses back onto her nose and frowned at him. She shrugged his arm off. "Don't do that, Jack."

He looked slightly offended. Nero noticed the backs of his ears were red. Interesting... very interesting...

He followed them into the Great Hall, a suitable distance behind them and observed them as they ate and chatted. From what he heard, he found their conversation and lives in general so mind numbingly dull that he was surprised they did not all drop down dead from boredom. They talked about the answers to a potions' test they were getting back that morning, they discussed whether Jill should get chocolate or flowers for her boyfriend at Valentine's Day and then they moved onto the French homework.

It was then that Cassandra found that she had left her French book in the common room. She stood up, "I'll have to go back and get it. See you in Potions."

She slung her bag over her shoulders again and jogged out of the Great Hall. Nero's moment had come. He followed her out of the hall and fell into pace next to her. She did not even glance at him.

"Hello, Potter," he said as they jogged up a staircase, trying to sound neutral or even pleased to see her. It did not work, and he merely sounded like he was endeavouring to get a particularly stubborn horse to walk on. She ignored him.

He tried again, "How are you?"

At last she spoke, "Okay til you came along. How are you?"

"Never better."

The conversation seemed to run out of steam. Eventually Cassandra stopped, out of breath and asked, "Any particular reason why you're running along with me? Or are you just getting some well needed exercise?"

"There is a reason, actually, and it is-"

"Don't tell me, you want to insult me some more and I'm not having it."

"I want to insult you! That's rich, when you go out of your way to be nasty to me!"

"Well, at least I've got good reason to be horrible!"

Nero could see it was going to be uphill work. Cassandra hitched her bag more onto her right shoulder and started up again. The bell rang. Nero was going to late for Latin, though of course he did not care at all.

They had come to the end of a corridor. In front of them was a large portrait of a fat woman in pink.

"Password?" she said imperiously.

Cassandra whipped out her wand, pointed it at Nero and said, "Haud aures!"

After that he could not hear a thing. He cursed Potter. She said something to the portrait and it swung open. She turned round and muttered, "Finite incantatem!!" He could hear again.

Cassandra swung the portrait shut with an annoying smile. He slumped outside and waited for her to re-admerge.

After five minutes she came out, followed by someone who made his heart sink. Xanthia Weasley was taller than him, a year older, a prefect, the head of Gryffindor's daughter and was well known for having a biting tongue.

She raised an eyebrow and loomed over him. "Any particular reason why you're disgracing this corridor with your unwelcome presence?"

"No," replied Nero.

"Good. Perhaps I should inform you that you don't belong in this area of the school, that you are currently late for your first lesson and that I'm going to take five points off Slytherin."

Nero glared at her. "You're late for your lesson too, Weasley," he replied sulkily.

She waved a hand, "Oh that doesn't matter! Professor Harker won't mind; he likes me. Besides, I am a prefect. I think I shall write a note to your teacher. What lesson do you have?"

"Latin," said Nero, and wished he did not.

Xanthia's good mood seemed to increase. "Who's your teacher?"

"Professor Shortstraw."

"Jolly good! Cassie- do you have a piece of parchment?"

She smirked, "Oh yes! I anticipated this from the beginning. Here you go."

Xanthia scribbled something and handed it to Malfoy. "Here, take that and give it to Mama. Come on, Cassandra."

He glanced down at it. Like her mother, Xanthia's handwriting left a lot to be desired. Still he could just about decipher it.

'This worm was caught hanging round Gryffindor Tower. Deserves detention (Filch's standards) at least. X.C.W. Prefect'

~~*~~

For a week he stalked Cassandra Potter to no avail. He simply could not keep his temper around her. Finally the opportunity came on Wednesday. The weather had perked up and the student body took advantage of the surprising clemency to get some fresh air outside at the end of the school day.

Cassandra was sitting, wrapped up in about two coats, on a stone seat in a secluded area of the quadrangle. She was deep in a well thumbed copy of Much Ado about Nothing, her breath rising in steam whenever she laughed. He watched her for a few minutes before making the attack.

He sat down next to her. He thought she would either ignore him or make some biting comment. Instead she snapped her book shut and said to him with a sigh, "What do you want? I'm fed up with you following me around like a- well I can't think what." Her eyes were dull and tired and her lips were chapped.

"All right," he replied, pleased that she was giving in. "You have something of mine and I want it back."

She looked surprised. "I have something of your's? I doubt it."

He wondered where the stinging repartees had gone. She seemed to sense what he was thinking because she said, "I'm just so tired of it all! It's the middle of winter, I have 'flu, as you can probably tell-" Here she sniffed, to back up her point, "and I have too much work. I don't need you following me around. As well as that, I'm only four foot seven. Life is very difficult for me at the moment, and you're not helping."

Nero laughed before he could stop himself. "Well, you do seem miserable! How unfortunate! Now look here, just listen to me and I'm sure I've more problems than you have. The object I was referring to is a stone."

She gave him a Look, "Please- I don't carry stones around with me. If you do, then I have nothing to add except that you're stupider than I thought. I am devastated that you've lost your pet rock, but cannot do anything about it."

He gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean that type of stone. It's a gem- a diamond, but green."

Her face was changing. "A green diamond? But-!"

This was hopeful. "Yes, do you know what I'm talking about?"

She pulled herself together and said, "I may do. Tell me why you want it first."

"It's mine. I don't know how you got it, but I want it back."

"Oh really? And how did you find out I had it? That's supposing I do have it," Cassandra added hastily.

"Someone told me." That, at least was not a lie. He hoped it would satisfy her.

Unfortunately for him, even though Cassandra was only four foot seven and had 'flu, it did not satisfy her. "So, let me get this straight. I admit I do have the stone I think you're talking about. I found it in a rock pool over three years ago. Question one: how it did get into a rock pool in Cornwall, if it's yours and you are fond of it? Question two: why didn't the someone who told you I had it tell you so earlier? Question three: How does this someone know? When you're ready to tell the truth I might listen, until then, I advise you to keep away from me. Goodbye."

With that she tucked her book under her arm and swept back to the school buildings. Nero shivered and realised unhappily, that the score stood so far at fifteen-love to Cassandra.

The next day he tried again. He did not have to tell her the truth. He would make a nice story, full of his own heroism and plenty of bravery- all the things that Gryffindors liked. He spent a good few hours perfecting the tale and was thoroughly satisfied at the end. No girl would be able to resist it.

He tracked her down in library doing Transfiguration homework. He set his books down at the other end of the table and pretended to be working. It would be a disaster for his reputation if he was caught hobnobbing with Cassandra Potter... Her's naturally did not matter.

Eventually she finished writing a sentence, laid down her quill and fixed him with a determined stare. "Well?" she said.

He leaned over the table and in melancholy, desperate tones narrated his story, without one mistake. Her expression did not change throughout the whole recital (which lasted a good ten minutes). When he had finished he fixed his eyes on her face. It was one of his best looks; full of meaning, subtext and pathos. He put a lot of effort into that look. He was very proud of it, and was sure that it would give him a well needed advantage point.

"Liar," she said quietly.

He was shocked. "What? You don't believe me?"

"Certainly not. Did you expect me to?"

"Yes. You're a Gryffindor."

She laughed unpleasantly. "Oh? Just because we always tell the truth doesn't mean we always believe what people say."

"Even if it's the truth?" he inquired quietly.

"It is easy to know when a person is lying. I don't accept falsehoods."

Nero felt crushed. When did she get so perceptive? The score, he realised with a sinking heart, was now thirty-love to Potter. He would have to think of a different tack.

"Would you believe me if I told the truth?" he asked.

"Yes, if it really was the truth."

"Would you know if it were the truth?"

"Yes. Are you going to tell me?"

"I might." He dithered. He would have to think of some way of missing certain parts of the tale out of the story. He did not want her knowing everything.

She spoke again. "I understand your hesitation. You see, I have the stone you want." She grinned at him.

Oh, so you're going to play it this way, are you? he thought. That made things so much easier. She had the upper hand, he acknowledged, but it was not Gryffindor tactics to use that knowledge to get their own ends, as bribery. That was Slytherin plotting and now Nero knew where he stood. After all, she was only playing at being Slytherin; he was a Slytherin.

Nero got up. He packed his bag and stuck it his hands in his pockets. They stared at each other for a few moments then he said, "Tomorrow, at five o'clock in the Latin classroom."

She raised her eyebrows, "Why there, in particular? Can't you tear yourself away from it?"

"That seems to be more applicable to you, my dear Cassandra. Will you meet me there?"

She fiddled with her pencil then she nodded, "Yes, I'll meet you there."

As soon as his back was turned, a frown creased her forehead. She took off her glasses and polished them on her robes. Now why did I do that? she asked herself.

~~*~~

Cassandra decided that she did want to know what Malfoy had to say to her. It intrigued her. Besides, she hoped that he might apologise for his behaviour to her at Christmas. She did not expect him to, but it would be nice to see him grovel at her feet.

Accordingly, at five o'clock, they met in Professor Shortstraw's deserted classroom. Nero was already there. He was sitting on a desk, gazing at some grammar notes on the blackboard. She stood by the door, which she closed. "Well?"

He turned round and sighed, "The stone belongs in a box. I got the box for my birthday, last month. I only found out that you had the it recently. I want the second part of my present. Will that satisfy you? Or don't you believe me?"

She ignored the questions. "Pretty good birthday present, eh? I bet you were pleased to receive it, weren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I would be ever so pleased to get an empty box for my birthday. Such a satisfying present! Come on, Malfoy! Who gave it to you?"

"My father," he replied.

"So, your father? And was there anything special about it? Was it cursed?" she asked perceptively.

He hesitated before replying, "Yes. It was cursed."

"So what was the curse?" She was unconsciously kicking the chair in front of the desk she was sitting on.

"I would die if I didn't get the stone."

She laughed drily. "How awfully convenient!"

He was getting very angry. This was not quite how the conversation was supposed to be going. "I can't help it if it's convenient! It wasn't my fault that I received it for my birthday!"

"And I suppose it wasn't your fault you opened it, either?"

He stood up suddenly. "Ooh, you- I- how- what- I hate you, Potter!"

Her eyes clouded over with fury. "Well, I'm very glad the feeling's mutual, Malfoy," she spat.

"You're such a- an annoying busybody, an unintelligent creep, a selfish, self-centred coward!"

"And you're just a mean, arrogant bully who cannot think of a good retort so insults me instead! Well done for just giving up any chance you ever had of getting the stone!"

He stopped his reply and took a deep breath. "Can't we sort this out nicely, Potter? Look, I don't like you and you don't like me! We both know that and we're not going to get anywhere by fighting. I should have that stone; it is my right. You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being unreasonable! Don't make me laugh! Give me one good reason why I should give it to you?"

"It's a Malfoy heirloom, Potter. It is mine."

"Really? That wasn't a very intelligent thing to say, was it? Your reason might be persuasive to a Slytherin, but hardly to me! You had better say, well-"

He gesticulated violently, "All right! The stone has amazing powers which will redeem my tortured, lost soul and turn me into a good, thoughtful, sensitive type of guy. Then we can go away into the sunset and get married. I shall be the Malfoy who was reformed by a single generous gesture of Cassandra Potter! Does this satisfy your peculiar Gryffindor sensibilities?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh- how disgusting! Heaven forbid!"

"I shall be the good one."

A pained look crossed the face of his princess to be and she replied, "How loathsome. What a dreadful thought. I think I'd commit suicide."

"I don't mind if you do! So much for your reformations, good Gryffindor girl!"

She recollected herself and turned away her head (a little coyly, if truth be told). "Well, I shan't give you the stone, unless you ask nicely!"

Nero shook his head, "I wish you'd give it up. You're even wetter than normal at the moment. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

She stood up and said stiffly,"I have homework to be doing, and I'm sure you do too. Goodbye."

"We'll meet again, tomorrow, same time."

She sighed, "Very well." With one last look she swept from the classroom.

~~*~~

The countdown to Valentine's day had begun. For the Gryffindor Quidditch team, however, this was a not a pleasing reflection. They had to play the Hufflepuff team in the afternoon, and they felt sorely underprepared. The Hufflepuff team's order of seven Alpha 300s had arrived, and the Gryffindor team felt very low. To help matters, their seeker had a cold and was not feeling well. The team was getting fed up of Cassandra and if was not for Xanthia's efforts as Keeper and Tom's as Beater the captain, Pauline Knox would have had her off the team.

Cassandra did not want to have to think about Nero's box while she had Quidditch to worry about. That night, she drew the curtains round her four poster and took the stone out of its hiding place. She sat cross legged on the bed and pushed her glasses up her nose. She held the stone in her left hand and then passed it back and forward between her hands, watching the fluid, green glass flow smoothly as she moved it. The effect was hypnotic and strangely enough, allowed her to think clearly.

It would not be such a bad idea if she gave the stone to Malfoy, she thought, as she stared unblinkingly into the depths of the stone. It was his after all and he really wanted it... What use was it to her? She had found it, perhaps it was his after all...

She sneezed heavily and put the stone down on the duvet as she groped about under her pillow for a handkerchief. She blew her nose and stared down at the gem. No. She would never give it to him. How did she know that he was telling the truth? Cassandra did not know how, but she felt somewhere deep down, very deep down, that he had not lied. This consideration gave her no comfort.

Life, it seemed to Cassandra, was a far more complicated thing than she had ever realised. There were so many strands to it that had to be dealt with, and she found that procrastination did not help. Things had to be addressed at one time or another. For her, life had been solidly black and white. Things had been as clear as the fact that she was a Potter and Nero was a Malfoy. Now, they seemed to merging into a very interesting grey colour. Cassandra detested grey.

If she did not give Nero the stone what would happen? Would she be plagued with a horrible conscience till the end of her days? Or would she merely be plagued by Nero asking her for it for ever and ever?

What actually was the stone? Cassandra did not know. If Nero knew, then he had not told her. Cassandra sighed and went to get her trunk. In it was an extremely large volume called The Pasa Institute Encyclopedeia of Absolutely Everything by G. T. Omnis. It was about a foot thick and since Cassandra could not lift it she had to read from it on the floor. After spending quite a long time looking under 'stones', 'gems' and 'emeralds', she found the following entry.

Salazar Slytherin is credited with the making of the greatest magical jewels. He constructed many precious stones all with varying degrees of magical powers. However, only one still remains. This was a gift to his Aunt Elena. It took the shape of a small, purple gem in a golden ring. It's current location is unknown.

When Godric Gryffindor killed Slytherin two years after the fateful battle of Hogwarts, he and Helga Hufflepuff made sure that all of Slytherin's gems were destroyed. Scholars have puzzled greatly over whether the largest stone, an emerald, was Slytherin's Object of Power. Since so little is actually known about these great objects, it is impossible to tell.

Cassandra frowned and then she looked up 'Objects of Power'.

The only references to these ancient objects are contained in the anals written by Marianna Gryffindor (daughter of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw). However, due to the fact that these were written in an odd mixture of colloquial Latin, Anglo-Saxon, a strange type of Scottish Celtic and hints of Old French, scholars have found it difficult to translate them.

Marianna writes that she believes that the Battle of Hogwarts could have been avoided by using them, that Salazar did not use his and that was how it all happened and that there were four of them. However, it is not known what 'they' are. It has been surmised that possibly the ruby encrusted sword found by Lady Margaret Grey (Headmistress of Hogwarts) in 1832 was Godric Gryffindor's Object of Power. Nothing is known of the other ones, or even if they were actually made. Their existence is a myth.

Cassandra closed the book with a thump that shook the dust from it into her face. She coughed, sneezed and blew her nose violently. She decided that the stone she had found was in fact Slytherin's Object of Power, whatever that was. She had found a lost artefact! She would be famous! The fact that she had found Slytherin's one rather dampened her enthusiasm.

Cassandra wished she could find out more about these Objects of Power. However, if The Encyclopedeia of Absolutely Everything did not know, then no amount of research would bring anything to light. She put the business out of her head and concentrated on the immediate issue of whether she should give Malfoy the gem.

According to the book, if Slytherin had used the gem then something would not have happened. Cassandra knew nothing about this. She did not understand and she did not know how she could find out.

The possibility of giving the stone to Professor McGonagall had occurred to her, yet she did not like the idea. If it was a dangerous sort of stone then she might get into trouble for having it. It had always been her secret, and she had no interest in letting an adult see it. Besides, she could manage her own life without someone else interfering, couldn't she? Yet, in her heart of hearts, Cassandra knew that she was completely clueless; that she was suddenly acting in a world which she did not know about. Still, she pushed this disagreeable reflection to the furthest part of her brain. Whatever she might be feeling on the inside, she simply had to look in control on the outside.

She eventually came to the conclusion that she would not go and see Nero the next day; she had had enough of his being in charge. She would wait and she would see and then she would act.

~~*~~

The Book

Monday February 13th 2023 (or the worst day of my life), 21:24:54, Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, Hogwarts

I ignored Malfoy for two days solid. I certainly did not go and meet him as he had suggested and when he brushed past me in corridor yesterday as I went to the Dining Room, I stuck my nose in the air and looked in the opposite direction.

However, this morning at breakfast a large eagle owl flew down to my table and perched itself on my glass of pumpkin juice. The message attached told me to meet him on the Quidditch pitch at seven o'clock after the Slytherin practice.

After spending a couple of minutes dueling with my conscience, I thought it would not make much difference if I did go. He had not made me do anything yet. How wrong I was!

At five to seven I put on my red and gold scarf and coat and descended to the Quidditch pitch. It was already almost dark and the floodlights were on. The night was crisp and cold. There was a slight breeze. I stuck my hands into my coat pockets to warm them up and when I exhaled, my breath came out cloudy. Looking west over the lake, I could see the last feeble rays of the sun illuminating some clouds in a pinkish glow. I shivered slightly.

The Slytherin Quidditch practice finished bang on seven. I waited in the shadows by the stands as the team filed out. Nero was at the end. His cheeks were pink from the exertion and his hair messed up. He was talking to a tall boy with sticking out teeth and bushy eyebrows.

"Aren't you going in, Nero?" asked Bushy-Eyebrows.

"No, not just yet," replied Nero in a smooth, breathless type of voice. I pressed my face to the wooden support column I was hiding behind, so as to see him better.

"I think I'll do a bit more practice. And don't worry about the balls. I'll put them away when I've finished."

Bushy-Eyebrows shook Malfoy's hand and nodded. "Excellent. Have a good practice." He was moving off when he stopped and turned round again, "You fly well, you know, Nero. You're the best seeker Slytherin's had for years. You fly as well as your father."

"Is that a compliment, Basil?" inquired Nero coolly."My father lost all his games to Harry Potter, if I remember rightly."

Basil looked put out. "Well, Harry Potter was an exceptional flyer. You can't blame your father... Nevertheless, you've only got his daughter to contend with. She'll be a walkover."

"She's beaten me before," said Malfoy quietly.

Basil laughed, "Well, never again! With a broom like yours, how could you loose!"

"Good night, Basil!"

"'Night, Nero!" Then Basil slung his broomstick over his shoulder and walked off towards the castle, whistling.

I released my grip on the post and stepped out into the pitch. He was putting the quaffle back into the box. His broomstick was leaning against the side of the pitch. "Well," I said, "I came. What do you want?"

He quickly turned round. Then he advanced quietly towards me. I took a step back and said in what I hoped would appear a dangerous voice, "What do you want? I don't have all day."

He paused, about a foot away from me. The he pushed his luminous hair out of his face. He sighed, "Cassandra, the Voice came back to me, last night."

"What voice?" I inquired sharply.

He hesitated, opened his mouth and then closed it again. His fists, I noticed, were balled up by his sides.

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. The idiot! I prepared to give him a lecture. "Oh, Malfoy! The problem with lying is that you have to remember exactly what you have and haven't said-"

"I didn't lie to you, Potter, I just didn't tell you everything!"

"That's obvious," I replied drily. "Now tell me what this voice is."

"The Voice, Potter, is a nameless thing that spoke to me the night I opened the box. It told me to get the stone, that you had it and that I would die if I did not get it."

My eyes narrowed. I did not like the sound of this at all. Was not Arthur Weasley's number one maxim- Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain?

"Well, go on. What did it say to you last night?"

His voice shook slightly. Hypocrite, I thought. "It told me that I would die if you did not give me the stone by Valentine's Day. It wasn't a very nice sounding voice at all," he added after a pause.

My thoughts crystallized. "Oh what a fool I am!" I cried angrily, stamping my foot.

"My thoughts exactly," he muttered. However, the situation was too serious to waste time squabbling.

"I've got it! I understand it all! It was all so simple, if only I'd thought of it! Listen, Malfoy- do you know exactly what this stone is?"

"No," he replied, not looking half as excited as I was, "but I would give the world to know."

"That would be very nice, I suppose, if the world was your's to give."

"Potter-"

"All right! I know what it is."

"You? You know? How?"

I tossed my head. "Oh, I looked it up in a book."

Nero looked as if he was struggling to keep calm. "Very well. Tell me what it is."

"The stone was made by Salazar Slytherin. It was one of the four Objects of Power. It is supposed to have been destroyed."

Malfoy had gone pale. "So it was Slytherin... What are these Objects of Power, anyway?"

"I'm not sure; something to do with the founders of Hogwarts. Anyway, this is my theory of what happened."

"Go on."

"Salazar Slytherin left an heir, who was Lord Voldemort." I was not surprised that he did not flinch when I mentioned His name. His family is involved in all sorts of dark arts, after all. "Lord Voldemort found the box, but the stone was still missing. He therefore put a part of his spirit into the box, that's who the voice is. Because he was Slytherin's heir he could tell that the contents of the box was a stone. He then put the curse on the box and it fell into the hands of your family. However, if you get the stone, then it will somehow bring Lord Voldemort back to power, by giving him something of Slytherin's."

Nero laughed softly. I felt offended. "You know what I think of that, Potter? I think it's a really imaginative story. It would make an excellent adventure book. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem very plausible. There seem to be quite a few flaws in your plot. Seriously though, you've made far too many assumptions."

I shook my head violently. "Oh no! I'm sure I'm right. It's perfectly possible. After all, Voldemort did it before. He left his diary, which brought back his sixteen year old spirit when Aunt Ginny Farrel wrote in it. He left it in your Grandfather's possession. It's exactly the same thing- of course it's plausible."

Nero made no answer for quite a long time, then he heaved a great sigh. "All right, supposing you're right- which you probably aren't- what are going to do now?"

"Go straight to Professor McGonagall, like I should have done weeks ago!" I replied firmly and turned round preparing to walk off.

"And what will she do?"

"Hopefully take the whole thing out of our hands and deal with it herself." I started walking away.

"No wait, Cassandra!" He grabbed my hand and forced me to turn round. He stared at me earnestly. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"Let go of my hand," I said icily.

He glanced down and dropped my hand, as if it were on fire. "I mean that I die in two days if I don't get the stone!"

"Oh!" I cried and turned away.

"My death will be on your hands."

I could not speak. It was the right thing to do, I was sure, to hand over the stone to Professor McGonagall, yet how could I do so knowing that Nero would die if he did not get it? Unless... unless the voice of Voldemort had lied. Why not, after all?

I turned away again and started to walk. My mind was made up. Professor McGonagall would know what to do; Professor McGonagall would not let Malfoy die. She would have the answer.

Malfoy grabbed his broomstick and raced after me from the Quidditch pitch. "No- Cassandra! You can't do this! My life is in your hands! Reconsider! Stop! Stop!"

I started running. Nero was catching up with me. I glanced over my shoulder at him and stopped still. Not because of what he had said, or because my conscience was playing up in any way, but because of what he held in his hand.

Nero Malfoy was holding a sleek, glittery, ebony broomstick. My jaw dropped. "Is that," I asked in a hushed tone, "what I think it is?"

He grinned and twirled it round, "Oh? You mean my Alpha 300? Nice, isn't it?"

"Can I- can I have a look?"

He held it out so I could clearly see the twirly, silver letters on the hilt that said, Nimbus Alpha 300. "Wow," I breathed.

The entire Hufflepuff team would be playing on these tomorrow. I did not have a chance of winning on my Tornado 4. This broomstick, however, radiated power. I looked back up at Malfoy. There was a strangely set look on his face.

"What do you say, Potter, to a quick game of Quidditch before it gets completely dark?"

"What do you mean?"

"A seeker's game. Just you and me? What do you say?"

What a ridiculous idea! "You mean, we sit on our broomsticks in the dark and wait for the snitch to appear? How stupid!"

"Well, we'd bewitch the snitch not to go too far away. That would speed up the game. It would be good practice for you after all, since you have to play against a whole team of these tomorrow."

"Since when did you become so interested in my wellfare?"

He shrugged, "So are you game?"

I paused and looked round the grounds. There was still three quarters of an hour before curfew. A few people were still out, having a walk by the lake. No one would see us. "All right then," I said. After all, Nero was right- it would be good practice. "Let me see. Whoever catches the snitch wins, right?"

"Clever girl. You worked it out at last," he replied sarcastically.

He turned round towards the Quidditch pitch. I gazed at his broomstick longingly. He stopped and faced me.

"Let's make the game a little more exciting, shall we?"

"How do you mean?"

"Let's give ourselves, shall I say, an incentive to win?"

"Is this... is this the sort of thing Slytherins do in their spare time?" I felt rather worried. I had heard of many stories that started this way, and ended rather unpleasantly.

"Oh, I shan't rape you or anything like that," he chuckled drily. "No, my idea is far simpler, and really, whichever way you look at it, you win."

"Well?"

"If you win, Potter-"

"Yes?"

"I give you this broomstick!" He waved the Alpha 300 enticingly under my nose. I drew my breath in sharply. "You're... you're serious?" This was brilliant! If only I could trust him.

"And if I win..." He paused, "You give me the stone!"

My head snapped up. "No! Never!" His mouth was curved into a sardonic smile. He waved the broom in front of me again. I swallowed. Hard.

"You're a good Quidditch player, Cassandra. You could easily beat me."

I stared first at the broomstick and then at him. At last I said quietly, "You've made me an offer you know I can't refuse."

"My dear, if I'd thought you'd refuse it, I wouldn't have made it in the first place," was his only reply.

"Are you going to keep your word? I won't back out of my half of the deal if you don't back out of yours."

"Of course I'll keep my word, once we've done contractual magic to seal the promise."

"Contractual magic?" I stuttered. "But isn't that terribly dark magic?"

He grinned, his teeth suddenly appearing very sharp and white. "It's only dangerous if you don't keep your word. Don't worry, it's an easy enough spell to say. Just copy me carefully. And look me in the eye went we join hands."

He pulled his wand out of his pocket; in a dream I did the same. He pointed his wand at his left hand and said clearly, "Fidem nunquam fallam. Incipat incantatem!"

His hand began to glow luminous green from light coming from his wand. I took off my gloves and pointed my wand at my left hand and repeated the words, "Fidem nunquam fallam. Incipat incantatem!" My hand, on the contrary glowed scarlet.

I looked up at him and our eyes met. They were very grey, I noticed. He clasped my right hand in his right and our hands began to glow bright silver.

His hand was cold in mine. His eyes bored into mine. I began to tremble as I waited for the spell to finish. There was no going back. Oh what had I done!