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Mallory takes an oath to share information on the murder of Darla Rowle with another student, Castor Avery, in exchange for a tarot card reading. In reading the cards, Mallory learns she has a surprising talent for Divination. The future predicted in the cards, however, is dire. The Cracklewood Carver, a dreaded demon, will attack for a second time. The only weapon that can defeat it is a sword of silver flame, wielded by the mysterious necromancer, Professor Corvinus Blackthorn. However, the grownups are skeptical of the first-years' prediction, suggesting the children may have misread the cards. Mallory decides to take matters into her own hands. Blackthorn, disgusted by the ineptitude of Hogwarts and the Auror Department, also plans to take matters in hand, offering secret aid to Mallory. Now, Mallory and her allies meet to cook up a plan to catch the demon and its summoner. Meanwhile, Castor Avery is making a difficult choice.

Castor Avery

Less than one-in-twenty. That's how likely Vaisey and Montague were to solve the Carver Case, even with Castor Avery's help. Still, Montague and Vaisey puttered away at their table. They were working on the Carver Case, instead of Professor Sprout's detention assignment. Vaisey was scanning through old newspapers, hunting for clues to the Carver's identity. And Montague? He didn't even know where to start, kept looking to her and Castor for direction.

Castor Avery wasn't providing any.

Working with those two wouldn't move the investigation along, and he knew it.

Worse, he knew exactly who would.

It all started last night, after he spoke to his cousin, Celeste. This was before Snape's subsequent interrogation, before the obliviations and hastily-penned letters home.

Last night, he'd told Cousin Celeste about Hopkins' visions during the tarot reading. He'd meant it as idle conversation, or even as a way to re-connect with a cousin who'd grown distant, of late. Celeste just had her coming-of-age ceremony, and hadn't been the same, since. No one would tell him what had happened, least of all Celeste. So he'd tried to talk around it, bring up Hopkins' gift, just to get her laughing, again. Castor hadn't expected his cousin to recoil in shock, because he hadn't found Hopkins' gift all that shocking.

He'd read enough knut novels to guess Hopkins' story: a lonely wizard meets a muggle woman, and she's an unusual sort of muggle, the wizard thinks, so they fall in love. Only, the muggle betrays the wizard and his magic, but not before she becomes pregnant with his child. The child grows up, and is invariably split between two worlds — between their loyalty to wizardkind, and their loyalty to the muggles.

The likely-story behind Mallory Hopkins' unusual gift wasn't that unusual at all, he'd thought.

So he spoke about it to his cousin, more to tell a joke than anything. And Celeste, fifteen now, and a fully-grown adult in the eyes of the Avery family, recoiled in shock. Immediately, she'd tugged him into the empty fifth-year girl's dorm, eyes wide in the murky-green light.

At first, he'd been confused, because Hopkins' blood wasn't that big a deal. There were other muggle-raised witches with a wizarding parent. It didn't change anything, because Hopkins was still muggle-raised, and could never be a proper witch. She certainly didn't warrant the attention of their House. Celeste, practically vibrating with impatience, shook her head, "no, you're missing the point. You don't understand, not — not yet. The gift, it's a—" she'd cut herself off, there, swallowing, before continuing, "it's rare, Castor. Really really rare."

Of course, Castor Avery replied that he knew how Important and Special his family was, because they had their gift, and could use it to divine the future and pry secrets from the minds of others. Theirs was a gift of Revelation. It was the power to see the unseen, uncover that which others would conceal, and reveal what hides in the dark. Yes, he didn't know too many families that possessed the gift, but he'd always suspected this absence was merely a function of his own ignorance. Castor Avery could hardly be expected to know the names and gifts of every family in Magical Britain.

Castor was wrong.

Cousin Celeste shook her head, and said he didn't understand, that there were hardly any families out there with the gift, not anymore, especially not after The War. She said that they'd stumbled onto some sort of Terribly Important Secret, one they had to tell their family, straight away.

So, they did. They wrote a letter, and before he could blink, his cousin had obliviated him of the whole conversation.

Yes, Celeste obliviated him.

Obliviating him was their best option. Castor Avery wasn't yet fifteen, and had yet to learn Occlumency. Cousin Celeste had divined that someone in the castle knew Hopkins' secret, and that this someone wouldn't want the Avery family to know.

Sure enough, only an hour later, Professor Snape called Castor into his office.

...And then Snape must've obliviated him, because he couldn't remember the next part. He suspected Professor Snape asked him if he'd told anyone else, if he'd told his family. After that, Snape obliviated Castor's original memory of seeing Hopkins read her cards. So, he couldn't remember that Hopkins had seen visions in the cards, herself.

Unfortunately for Snape, his state of relative ignorance didn't last.

Celeste undid her own obliviation once the Professor finished questioning him. With the memories of the conversation between cousins returned, he could recall talking with her about Hopkins' astonishing gift, a gift he couldn't remember witnessing, now. He suspected Vaisey and Montague also didn't recall Hopkins' visions during their cartomancy session. They could all remember that Hopkins had her cards read, but not her reaction.

But he was getting ahead of himself, again.

Celeste undid her obliviation because their great-aunt insisted. She needed both Castor and Celeste's help unraveling this conspiracy, much to Castor's aggravation. And the Avery family, whose gift of Revelation translated to a natural advantage in the information business, wanted the leverage this secret could provide them.

They'd stayed up all night, reading tarot cards and attempting to puzzle out who's illegitimate mud-spawn currently slept in the Slytherin dorms. It wasn't as simple as querying the cards until one family came back positive. Most families were very secretive about the origin of their gifts. Some hid their gifts, completely. Castor knew the Ollivanders and Lovegoods both had seer's blood, but that's only because they married into his family. The only other living people with the gift he knew of were Trelawney and Grindelwald. Hopkins didn't much look like the Divination Professor, and Grindelwald hadn't left Nurmengard since 1945.

If there were other families, too, Castor didn't know them. He suspected the grownups might have an idea, but they all had their own tasks. Their missions were of greater import than Mallory Hopkins' origins. This house-elf work was relegated to the youngest members of House Avery.

Without better information, the two cousins were were left to debate Snape's involvement, and to attempt to decipher a particularly symbolic card reading. The cards, when asked, gave them a symbolic illustration of Hopkins' identity, one they weren't sure how to parse: the wooden groan of a ship's keel strangled in roses, prickers creeping out of the wood. The slosh of water as it floated down a river so dark, the surface was indistinguishable from the night sky. In the depths, he could hear some great sea creature stirring.

Neither her nor Celeste knew what to make of that, so they'd returned to Snape. They expected Snape acted on Dumbledore's orders, and wondered if Hopkins' father was allied with Dumbledore.

Celeste agreed, suspecting Hopkins' father might be another of Dumbledore's charity cases. She thought Hopkins might be the child of a runaway squib, arguing that no good wizarding family would let a muggle walk away pregnant.

However, some families failed to prune all their squibs. Those squibs could sometimes carry the gift, and pass it on to their offspring. She suspected one such squib escaped pruning, and when their child showed signs of magic, they went to Dumbledore for aid. That would explain the need for secrecy, and Snape's involvement.

Castor pointed out that accidents did happen, and how not everyone cared so much about maintaining their family's secrets. There was a good chance Hopkins might not be the daughter of a squib, at all. And they couldn't ignore the possibility her father was a wizard.

'Yes, but the families do care that much,' she insisted, and added that when he grew older, he'd understand. Castor kept up the argument, frustrated with her. In fact, he'd said, he recalled his parents talking about such a scandal, last year. Celeste responded with a scornful snort, and insisted that not all families were like theirs. Further argument resulted in her bringing up her blasted coming-of-age ceremony, again. He'd assume she was lording it over him, except every time it came up, she sounded almost harrowed, somber, like she was talking past some deep-seated fear. To be entirely honest, it scared him.

In the end, though, all it amounted to was speculation. They had no real leads.

Which meant that after staying up half the night, reading cards and researching, they found nothing. There was no connection between Mallory Hopkins and the Avery family, either. She certainly wasn't related to them.

Celeste wasn't daunted, though.

First thing this morning, she went looking for any relation between Mallory Hopkins and the Hufflepuff Hopkins. Castor hadn't even known there was a Hufflepuff named Hopkins. But apparently, Mallory Hopkins wasn't the only Hopkins at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, the boy had never even heard of her. Moreover, the Hufflekins looked nothing like Mallory Hopkins, at all. He was a well-groomed, blonde-haired boy with hazel eyes, sporting a healthy tan. The Slytherin Hopkins had dark, frizzy hair, with equally dark eyes and a pasty complexion. Cousin Celeste said the muggleborn's only redeeming feature was her cheekbones, and noted she was rather tall. Castor, who found himself unmoved by the feminine figure, (or any other figure, for that matter,) professed that he hadn't noticed, lest his cousin come to the wrong conclusions.

Coming back from their hunt empty-handed, the cousins felt dejected. Their great-aunt would be displeased by their failure, and this weighed heavily on Celeste, who was supposed to be an adult witch now, with all the responsibilities that entailed. Castor, on the other hand, couldn't find it in himself to consider their venture a complete failure. Because in all their searching, in all their Cartomancy and divining, they had learned one thing: Mallory Hopkins was the key to solving the Carver Case, and bringing Darla Rowle's murderer to justice.

In fact, the cards said that of all the wizards in Hogwarts, the one most likely to solve Darla Rowle's murder was Mallory Hopkins. And that? That just ate at him. Solving Darla Rowle's murder hadn't mattered when he thought he couldn't do anything. If twenty-one years and multiple Auror investigations hadn't cracked the Carver Case, what hope did he have? But now he knew the case was eminently solvable, and by some mud-raised twerp who'd fallen for his "oh-I-have-the-exact-ulterior-motive-you-think-I-do" shtick, hook, line, and sinker. And yet she'd somehow managed to hide something important from him, something vital to the case. He'd sort of known that when she reacted badly to the oath, but thought it couldn't have been that critical. The oath didn't take into account the true value of information, only its perceived value, to that person. If she believed it important, the oath would hurt her. He'd suspected it was something stupid or trivial, that Hopkins only thought it important because she was ignorant. But now he wasn't so sure, and it rankled.

Worse, Celeste, the utter mooncalf, suggested he could solve all their problems by pretending to befriend Hopkins. For the next few days, she said, he should stick to Hopkins like bowtruckles on doxy eggs. That way, they could figure out the circumstances which lead to Hopkins solving the case. And in the mean time, he could pull any relevant knowledge of her family from her mind. It'd be the snitch they needed, leverage over the Harpers, and over whomever spawned Hopkins. No doubt her father's family, whoever they were, would want to know.

Castor couldn't complain enough about how much he detested this plan. Hopkins had what muggles called, "cooties."

He didn't think there was a proper wizarding word for the concept he was thinking of, but anyone who spent any time around Hopkins became a social pariah. No one liked her, because muggleborns were at the bottom of the social totem pole. But also because Hopkins had proven that she wasn't an ordinary muggleborn, at all.

She and her lunatic friends had the gall to pull off some kind of madcap stunt. They started a full-on riot in Ravenclaw Tower, and accused Selwyn of murdering Rowle. All the upper years were furious, because it was clear that her scheme blocked off all the secret passageways. No potions were getting in or out of Hogwarts, and everyone was suffering from their loss.

Worse, she and her friends lost more points than almost anyone in Hogwarts history, in the first week of school. An aura of social exclusion practically radiated from the witch. Anyone who spent any time with her would be marked as equally loathsome, and shunned.

His cousin remained unmoved, though. She claimed he was complaining about losing a knut when they'd be gaining a galleon. From there, she declared the conversation over. As the elder cousin, she had authority in these things, and he had to do as she said. She also promised she'd hex anyone who'd dare bother him about befriending the mudkins, but he still didn't want to do it.

Why? he'd wondered. Why did he still feel like flinching away from the very thought of pretending to befriend Hopkins and her merry band of muggleborns?

Now, sitting in detention with Vaisey and Montague, Castor still didn't have an answer he liked.

There were so many reasons to want to do it. For example, Castor wanted to avenge Rowle's death, and according to the cards, going through Hopkins was the fastest way to do it. Rowle might've been an idiot, but she didn't deserve to die like that. Catch the Carver, kill the demon, and at least he could say he'd done something good with his life. It would be a win for himself, for Rowle, and an achievement not done in the name of his family. As guilty as it made him feel, acting not for the sake of his family, he knew he needed this for himself. Even if he didn't remember doing it in five years —

Well, the demon would be dead, regardless. It would be an external victory, something his gift couldn't take away.

So yes, he wanted to talk to Hopkins, work with her to solve the mystery. It'd please his family, please himself, and piss off Selwyn. All of that made pretend-befriending Hopkins sound swell.

...then why, exactly, did he find himself flinching away from the very thought?

Because it can't be the social cost of befriending a muggleborn with cooties, and it couldn't be because she'd managed to trick him. He can't be that bloody shallow, he thought. It was stupid, painful even, to consider. To know he cared that much about his own ego. A witch died, and he was debating over whether sidling up to a witch who'd tricked him was worth it.

Castor took a breath, taking a mental step back from those feelings.

He nodded at Vaisey, who was still working because she didn't know what else to do. Waited for his heart to stop racing and his palms to stop sweating. Met Montague's eyes, quirking his lips at the boy who didn't give a rat's arse about Darla Rowle, now that Harper was safe, but felt obligated to help, anyway.

Right. If he wanted justice for Rowle, he'd have to figure out why he felt so much mental discomfort at the thought of going to the witch who could catch her murderer. Often, that part of his mind had useful information, and he didn't want to ignore it.

He shifted his attention back to his own mind, digging into that resistance, into the part of himself that didn't want to go to Hopkins' table or work with her.

It wasn't the fear of social exclusion motivating him, he decided, or his humiliation at spending time with a muggleborn who'd tricked him. Celeste figured Hopkins would solve the case by being in the right place at the right time, not through deductions or concealed knowledge. She completely dismissed the idea that Hopkins could be deceiving them. To her, Hopkins was just another faithless muggleborn, with no family ties or loyalty. Mudkins knew nothing of magic, and could only solve the case through sheer dumb luck.

Castor, however, wasn't completely convinced.

After the Carver attacked, he'd gone to see Harper. And the difference between their conditions was striking. Hopkins hadn't gotten that sick from the demon's corruption. He'd spoken to Harper, before, and he was a mess. But Hopkins? Walking, talking, no hallucinations or vomiting. His parents always intimated that such power indicated good blood. Families like the Averys could resist demonic corruption, to some extent, but not some squib-spawn from nowhere. He didn't know why, but the fact remained that Hopkins wasn't half as sick as Harper. What's more, Harper hadn't wanted to say anything, but Castor gathered from their conversation that Hopkins had been the one to keep them moving after the demon murdered Rowle. Hopkins, who wasn't on any wit-sharpening or memory potions. Sharp as any of them, without the potions.

He knew he was looking at this from the wrong angle, taking that high probability of success and trying to fit it to what he knew about her. Could be that Celeste was right, and Hopkins had a better chance of being at the right place at the right time. Maybe Hopkins just overheard something, some vital clue.

Why did he keep circling back to it, then? Maybe because of the oath, forcing his brain to find some reason to trust her, make her legible to him.

He didn't know.

His cousin and his whole family expected him to use them, use Hopkins and her little merry band of mudbloods. Castor wondered if he even could. Sure, he didn't care much, now. But Hopkins' friends had cooties, and he almost liked them a little, anyway. That wasn't normal. He didn't like muggleborns at all, and he certainly didn't like muggleborns with the cooties. But apparently he didn't know himself very well, because he knew he already did.

But he didn't get it. Why should it hurt him to pretend to befriend them? He'd had friends, before. Darla Rowle had been his friend for years. They grew up together. Merlin, he'd only talked to Darla a few days ago. Now she was gone, just like that.

Granted, he hadn't liked her much.

She was obsessed with the game, intent on beating it. One family versus every other, an endless show of one-up-manship and pointless bloodshed. Castor found it stupid, but Darla had reveled in it. She was the sort of witch who would've grown up to coat her nails in poison. Tea with her would be a game, the sort where he'd have to check to make sure she hadn't dipped her finger in his cup.

He didn't like that, the sheer bloody waste of it all, how it trapped him into Cartomancy. If it were up to him, he'd never touch another tarot card, again. The cost was too high, no matter how much fun it was to play the odds.

But he couldn't use the cards for his own ends. Instead, everyone would get sacrificed at the altar of their family's war. His mother would sacrifice her own bloody son, just to score points against the Selwyns or whom-bloody-ever, and it never mattered. Kill off one of their's and they kill off one of your's. Everyone's worse off in the end and no one's gained any advantage.

And it sucked that any time he dug into how he felt, it always lead back to this. Cartomancy had a cost, and that cost was his memories. One day, he'd lose his mind. One day, he'd go insane and wouldn't even notice, would have no idea what he'd lost. It was the fucking game, the one Darla loved and he detested.

And now she was gone. It was jarring.

And perhaps, he thought, his feelings didn't matter. He'd have to pretend to befriend them, no matter how he felt. His duty and honor as a member of House Avery demanded it. The family mattered more than his own stupid preferences. He'd grown up hearing it since before he could remember. It was downright selfish to resent them for it, he knew that.

Yet... the thought of pretending to befriend Hopkins bothered him.

Why?

Because, if he were honest with himself, he knew how this would end. If Hopkins wasn't a muggleborn like his parents suspected, they'd use her for leverage. They'd find her family and tell them about her, and they'd react predictably. Few would suffer the spawn of a squib to live. He suspected that's why he'd argued so hard that she wasn't. Castor wanted to believe she was the daughter of a careless wizard. Then his actions wouldn't amount to leading her to her death.

He didn't want to befriend Hopkins because he knew it'd lead to her death. Hopkins might be an obnoxious jarvey, but she didn't deserve to die. He didn't want a hand in another person's murder, especially not when the goal was to score points in his family's stupid war.

He swallowed, again, squirming in his seat. Because that's what this would amount to, right? He had to choose, his family's honor or his own.