"And then ," said Adriana, gesticulating wildly, "the big snake she went like 'RAWR' and little red hair boy pulled a sword out of this wobbly hat it was crazy -"

"The Sorting Hat," corrected Theodore, deeply uncomfortably. "That was the Sorting Hat."

Augusta Longbottom was listening to the story with interest, enthroned in her armchair by the great bay window in Longbarrow like the Queen holding court. Jared Nott, who had picked up Theodore and Adriana from Hogwarts and returned them here to debrief, loomed ominously in the doorway with an expression of calculated dis-interest, but was also, of course, paying acute attention.

Natalia looked fit to burst with jealousy that she had missed all the excitement. "A sword ?"

Viktor, however, was only half-heartedly listening; from his position on the couch next to Natalia, where they had been very boredly recovering from their significantly less successful adventure, he was gazing very concernedly at Hermione. She had gone with her uncle to see her Muggles earlier in the evening, wherever it was he had taken them after hexing Viktor and Natalia, while they waited to hear whether Theodore's quest to save Neville Longbottom (and incidentally several Weasleys) would bear fruit. Upon their return, Hermione had reported with a fixed smile that her Muggles had been duly rescued and returned to a safe location. She was terribly sorry, she'd said, about the miscommunication between her great-uncle and her friends in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, but it had all worked out fine.

She had a very still, very calm, very neutral expression as she listened to her roommate relate the story of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.

She was, on very careful inspection, violently trembling.

"A sword!" repeated Adriana gleefully. "Out of the - what is a sorting hat?"

"The Sorting Hat," said Hermione in a flat dead voice like her soul was currently six inches to the left of her body, "is an ancient musical artifact in the shape of a traditional pointed wizard's hat which is famously kept in the office of the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at all times except on the first day of each school year, and is believed to have been a personal possession of Godric Gryffindor, one of the original founders of the school. Many wizarding families in Britain observe a long-standing tradition of keeping the existence of this artifact secret from their children until they matriculate."

Adriana squinted at her. She sounded even more than usual like she'd swallowed a textbook. An English textbook.

"It's a magic singing hat that Hogwarts people are superstitious about, apparently," translated Viktor helpfully, in German.

"Ah-huh. Right, well, is very magic hat, and big phoenix goes 'whoosh' and makes loud noise and -"

"How do you know the word 'phoenix' and not the word 'sorting'," complained Theo.

"It's a cognate," supplied Hermione distantly.

"Hush, child, unless you want to tell the story," admonished Augusta, and Theo hunched unhappily in on himself in his corner and did not speak further.

Fred and George were unusually quiet this evening.

For a long while, their stillness disappeared unnoticed into the hubbub of the midnight feast, as young Gryffindors shrieked and hugged each other and exchanged stories. After Percy sighed and admitted that, yes, all right, Gryffindoring was allowed in special circumstances, various newly reunited classmates had all begun arguing gleefully about who had Gryffindored the most Gryffindorily.

Neville, after all, had clearly performed a classically heroic self-sacrifice, but it hadn't actually, you know, worked? And Percy's totally had worked but also he had arguably mostly helped by studying the right spell in advance and also by fiercely believing in Ron, which weren't quite Gryffindor virtues. Percy, smiling like the pride might cause him to physically burst, was of the opinion that it was, obviously, Ron, but Ron insisted determinedly that it must be Ginny, who, remember, totally saved like the entire school from getting murdered by actually Voldemort for months .

"That was kinda mostly a coincidence though," pointed out Lavender, "no offense Ginny, you did an incredible job, but it's not like it was on purpose that Mrs. Norris saw the basilisk in a puddle of water or stuff like that, right?"

"Well," said Ginny, uncomfortably, over the rim of her hot chocolate. She'd relaxed considerably while excitedly telling the story, but was still curled tightly in a ball, under a fuzzy blanket Madam Pomfrey had insisted she take with her if she was to be allowed out of the hospital wing at all.
Neville tilted his head thoughtfully. "Wait," he said, "but we didn't die either, and there's not usually mirrors in that hallway."

"Oh," gasped Lavender, "oh gosh , remember when Ginny got caught stealing mirrors from the Astronomy Tower?"

There was a general susurrus of impressed murmurs. Ron nodded self-satisfiedly. "See?"

"Okay," said Percy, slightly muffled from where he was trapped under most of the Quidditch team who were all determined to hug him at the same time, "but I cannot stress enough that you literally pulled the literal Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat."

"I mean," said Parvati, who had been hanging out with a lot of Ravenclaws lately, "you know, objectively speaking , Ron got two hundred points from Dumbledore and nobody else got more than a hundred, so."

"Dumbledore," said Percy somewhat grumpily, "didn't help ."

Fawkes, from quite across the room where he was perched on Dumbledore's shoulder looking incredibly pleased with himself and leaching blood onto the headmaster's neon purple bathrobe, shook his head imperiously and nailed Percy in the earlobe with a feather.

"What? Ow?" squeaked Percy.

"Dumbledore did too help," explained Ron, snickering, "he sent Fawkes, that totally counts."

"Speaking of other people who were involved," added Ginny, somewhat heartened by all this warmth and celebration and people telling her how brave she'd been and no longer paralyzed by the terror of impending expulsion, "you just reminded me, I tried to get rid of the book but then he mind-controlled Daphne Greengrass to give it back, and," she fidgeted with her blanket, "maybe, uh, somebody should check if she's okay?"

There was an awkward pause, and then everyone looked at Neville. He sighed and got up from the table.

Eventually, Angelina Johnson, winding down from a rousing game of "who can enchant the most inconveniently shaped food item into a projectile weapon and then hit someone with it" with Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet, ambled over to Fred and George and slung an arm around each of their shoulders.

"So!" she said brightly. "Now that you're all unPetrified I can yell at you about your poor decision-making!"

"Yep," said Fred dully, "sure," said George.

Angelina blinked. " … wait, are you guys okay?" George made a sort of so-so motion with one hand, and she frowned and sat down on the bench with them. "What's up? I know it's not that you're mad about missing classes."

"It's sort of -" "a long story -" "but we lost something."

"You lost something."

Nod, nod. "When we got Petrified." "Haven't been able to find it anywhere." "Think maybe the basilisk might've eaten it."

"Something very important to you, clearly," Angelina observed, eyebrows raised. "Family heirloom or something?"

"Iiiinnnn a manner of speaking," hedged George. "Would've been," added Fred wistfully. "We were gonna give it to Ron." "As a reward for all the heroism, you know."

Angelina patted them both on the shoulders. "Well that sucks," she said, "but you gotta move on, yeah? Everybody's alive. Also, if you keep moping I don't get to yell at you, which is no fair."

The twins giggled a little weakly, but not insincerely.

When Adriana had finished her story, and Madam Longbottom had patted Theodore on the head and told him he'd done an excellent job and she would of course uphold her end of the bargain, and old Nott had smiled an incredibly unsettling smile and told Hermione he'd see her in two weeks, they had gathered their broomsticks and set off.

It was a long, cold, quiet trip home to Durmstrang.

Viktor declined to take off and leave the slower flyers behind, this time; Natalia made a half-assed attempt to pretend annoyance at being slowed down, but he could see she was feeling a little nervous about splitting up, too. (Having that many of your bones shattered at once had been something of a learning experience for a couple of teenagers who thought they were ready to get in a fight with a wizard three or four times their age. Also, he kind of didn't want to let Hermione out of his sight regardless, she looked rather like she might go to pieces if poked gently with a pillow.)

They got about half a night of sleep, and then it was time for their finals.

Viktor suspected he had only very narrowly passed his History & Language exam, although he got a bonus point for knowing the name of the interesting British historical figure Godric Gryffindor. Fortunately it was sixth year exams that were actually important for Durmstrang students, since those determined what final-year seminars you were allowed to take as an adult or nearly one, and in any event the really important thing as far as he was concerned was that he'd come back to a letter offering him a spot on the reserve squad of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team for next season.

Of course, he also got summoned to Karkarov's office to be personally congratulated, which wasn't his favorite. "Er, thank you, headmaster," he said.

The headmaster smiled down at him from his unreasonable height. "You will, of course, be sure not to let this distract you from your studies?"

He would admittedly be sorely tempted to blow off homework to practice, but he also really wanted to take the seventh-year Transfiguration seminar. The rumours that the instructor was a werewolf who Transfigured himself into a tree every full moon must of course be wildly exaggerated, but it still sounded fascinating. "Of course, headmaster," he said.

He wasn't the only one to have an unusual finals week experience. Adriana got full marks without any further participation on her Battle Magic final for repeating under Veritaserum that she had, in fact, totally helped kill a basilisk, for Reasons.

"She what you what ," hissed Jarek at Natalia and Hermione, across the duelling floor.

"It was a really absurd adventure!" complained Natalia, scourgifying blood off her outfit and then rolling her eyes at Jarek's disgruntled roommate as he half-heartedly insulted her form while she applied pressure to his chest wound. "There was politics . It was terrible ."

Hermione nodded grimly and deflected Jarek's textbook-perfect drowning hex into the wall. "Sorry about the politics."

Natalia shrugged philosophically. "At least Adri had fun."

Hermione, it was clear to all, had not had fun.

Hermione, quiet as the grave, ground her way with brutal, iron efficiency through the fourth-year exams she'd been ready for at Christmas and the fifth-year exams she'd been studying for with Viktor since. After the last one, Viktor caught her by the arm as she went to stalk silently back to her dorm and said, "come to the library, please?" and she frowned at him but went.

There was, of course, no one in the library at that particular time.

He wasn't at all sure how to start this conversation, so he said, awkwardly, "Adri says maybe we should call you Miosha , closer to your real name, yes?"

"Um," said Hermione. "That sounds? Fine?"

"Right. Okay. I am sorry we all struggle with the British, it is probably very annoying."

"Of things in my life that I would characterize as having a noticeable negative impact on my well-being," sighed Hermione, "it's not high on the list. But thank you."

"...right." How do you ask someone if they're actually secretly Muggleborn without sounding like you want them to die in a fire, he wondered. Why did he even bother trying to talk to other humans, it was always terrible, flying was better. Flying he got better at over time, even, whereas he was nearly sixteen and somehow still felt like a six-year-old whenever he tried to have a social interaction that didn't involve flying or hexes.

"Did, um, did you want to talk about something in particular," asked Hermione, fidgeting uncomfortably with her fingernails.

He nodded. "Your er," he said, "your Muggles?"

A somewhat heartwrenching choked noise escaped Hermione. "They're, they're fine," she said.

Clearly they weren't. "Look, I know they're your parents," he said quickly, before he could lose the conversational nerve, and then, as she drew her wand on him, eyes wide and terrified, scrambled to add, "I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Aren't you?" said Hermione, harsh and sharp. "I know you know Muggles are people, Viktor, but our friends don't, and you're not the one who maybe dies if they find out."

He frowned. "Dies? Do you really think that? Even after a year and a half - maybe people would be rude but Durmstrang is not evil, that is English propaganda -"

"You, personally, threw an eleven-year-old down the stairs four months ago."

"He was -"

" Eleven ."

Viktor didn't really have a response for that, so he just sort of hunched over uncomfortably in his chair.

Hermione sighed. "I'm not saying I don't trust you, all right? It's just - I like books and all but I don't study this hard out of passion for the subject matter. I am only alive right now because the frighteningly wealthy probably-ex-Death-Eater who looks just enough like he could be my great-uncle thinks I'm more useful alive than d-dead," despite her frantic attempts to wipe them her eyes were welling up, "and that could change at any moment and the web of stupid lies I've been weaving for a year and a half gets bigger every day and, and my parents are dead, and I'm scared. "

"Oh," said Viktor, quietly, and then, "I am not very good at talking but I can listen?"

And so, sniffling, she told him the story.

Neville walked slowly, and was grateful for the obstacles of dancing classmates and upperclassmen; he was having several feelings about the whole concept of Slytherin House and was a little worried he'd make a fool of himself if he didn't work through some of them on his way over.

See, on the one hand, Draco Malfoy existed. The way his housemates deferred to him, the way they orbited around him like he was the sun, said some pretty damning things about the depth of the Dark's grip on their community, even ten years after You-Know-Who's distinct lack of death. Slytherins were Death Eaters, these days, everyone knew that, even if in the past the house had graduated such eminent Light witches and wizards as Merlin and Neville's grandmother.

On the other hand, Neville remembered Nott helping him separate Ron and Draco at the duelling club, and now Ginny was saying that Greengrass had been a fellow victim of the evil diary, not a supporter of the Heir of Slytherin.

On the third hand, Ron had pulled Neville aside and quietly explained that Nott, who'd been even later to the feast than the assorted injured Weasleys, had apparently not been acting out of selflessness but rather had gotten manipulated into helping by Neville's Gran, which he was not supposed to tell anybody but thought Neville of all people ought to know. And while Neville was honestly completely prepared to believe this was within his Gran's power, something about the story rang strange to him. When Ron had described Fawkes diving into the path of the basilisk to deliver him the diary he had then stabbed, his storytelling where it had elsewhere been so strong had been faltering and uncomfortable in a way that suggested that was the part Nott had played and been so eager to disclaim. You could force an unwilling person to do a lot of things with the power of politics, Neville felt, but that didn't really seem like one of them.

Which meant … he wasn't sure what it meant, was the problem.

Some of the Slytherins might not be evil? Evil people were capable of being heroic sometimes anyway? Some of the Slytherins had been pressured into being evil but could theoretically be turned from the side of darkness by being shown true love and friendship?

Was he even qualified to do that. He felt kind of like he was not qualified to do that.

"What do you want, Longbottom," growled Nott, snapping him out of his concerned daze. He appeared to be trying quite hard to set Neville on fire entirely with his brain.

"Uh," said Neville, who had apparently been standing next to their table for some amount of time.

"Go away!" shrilled Malfoy. He appeared to be trying quite hard to set everything on fire entirely with his brain. Honestly, Neville really disliked him but this was pretty understandable, all things considered.

"Why are you still here , Longbottom," said Nott pointedly, when he didn't move.

Neville winced, and said, "uh," again, stupidly. "I uh … I got delegated as the most, uh, diplomatic Gryffindor, to, uh -"

"So would that be more or less diplomatic than a brick to the face, would you say," wondered Tracy Davis, smirking.

"Probably … less …."

Nott elbowed Davis. "What is your diplomatic mission, honestly, Longbottom, we don't have time for this."

"I uh. I am supposed to ask if Greengrass is okay? And if we can do anything for her?"

Everyone in the vicinity looked in surprise at Daphne Greengrass, who turned an alarming shade of pinkish grey. Nott looked very nearly personally offended. "What? No! I'm fine!" she said, in the universally recognizable voice of the clearly not fine.

"W...hy," asked Davis, looking between her roommate and Neville, "... would you … do that … ever?"

Neville felt that it was slightly unfair to expect him to know the answer to this question, and also, additionally, deeply unfair to expect him to answer it out loud. He was not a Slytherin or, in fact, any good at even regular politics, but he was like 97% sure it would be rude to tell the entire Slytherin table that Ginny said Greengrass had tried to save her from the Heir of Slytherin and failed. Which was the only answer he could actually think of. "Um," he said, "because of, um," wait he had a brilliant idea, "she tried to save Malfoy which arguably worked and we disapprove of that and don't want credit for it but also it accidentally helped us, so."

They all stared at him.

Maybe this was not a brilliant idea? He had felt so clever for like two whole seconds there.

"I, ah, I am happy to accept rightful accolades for my efforts on behalf of the Noble House of Malfoy, which I obviously did not share information about with my classmates for safety reasons," said Daphne Greengrass, after yet another uncomfortably long pause.

"Right! Excellent! Cool!" said Neville, sensing that it was time to leave before his brief flash of brilliance wore off and he said something incredibly stupid, "bye!"

(In a corner of the castle, with a magic map carefully stored in the pocket of a man it wasn't, a rat contemplated its options.

The Weasleys were clearly no longer safe. They were going to keep throwing themselves headlong into Dark-Lord-shaped problems. But he couldn't very well just go find a different wizarding family to live with; there were too many Weasleys scurrying around to run randomly into someone. He could, he supposed, go live with a random Muggle family, but Muggles didn't respect rats the way wizards did. And then he might get eaten by a Kneazle or something horrible like that.

He … didn't very much want to go looking for the Dark Lord …

… but if he was going to come back anyway …

… where was it that the erstwhile stammering Defense professor from the previous year had gone that he'd come back with a spirit in his head? Romania?

Perhaps it was time for a trip.)