Waking up with a start, I gasped as my eyes darted around the room. I quickly realized I was in the hospital wing. Pansy lay sleeping by my bedside.
"Welcome back, Lucas…" A warm voice called out to me—one I recognized instantly. I turned to see Dumbledore sitting on a nearby chair, closing the diary I had stabbed to death with a somewhat penitent expression. Matching my gaze, his warm smile soon reappeared, silently telling me that everything was all right.
"It was that diary that did it. Pansy was just confus—" I started to defend her, but Dumbledore nodded slowly while waving his hand.
"I know… There is no blame for Ms. Parkinson." He chuckled softly at my relief. The sound of birds chirping outside the nearby open window was all that could be heard for a while as we both sat in silence. I glanced over at a nearby bed and saw Hermione still sleeping, her back facing me.
"Hermione was going to die… I could only save her through unicorn's blood… What kind of curses will we both have?"
Dumbledore hummed for a moment. I grabbed my chest—where the vial I used to play with between my fingers was now missing.
"The curse of the unicorn is there, yet not…" Dumbledore sighed as I kept staring at Hermione's back, worrying about what kind of life I had forced her to live.
"Drinking the blood of a unicorn is a sort of curse that also does not exist…" I looked back at Dumbledore with confusion. He smirked at me for a moment, then his smile faded into sadness.
"The act of killing such a majestic creature for your own life is a kind of curse one must carry forever. One lives knowing their life continues only because they took that of a perfectly innocent being. A curse it is not—but the guilt that builds over time might as well be. Many witches and wizards have lost their minds after committing such an act."
I smiled pensively, clutching my chest. The only part of her left was now with me at all times—never to be lost.
"So I'm the only one who's cursed…" I mumbled, catching Dumbledore's unsurprised gaze. He knew. He must have known even before I enrolled here. That special room he let me use was for other students like me—ones who now, I realized, shared the same condition.
"Unfortunately… yes," Dumbledore answered concisely, not sugarcoating his words.
I sighed. Now that I could finally process what I was, it began to sink in. I had a monster living inside me. I held my head in my hands, blocking my eyes.
"I don't remember any of it… I should at least remember the times I was… changed, right?"
Silence.
"Normally… yes. However, you, Lucas, are special—even among others of your affliction."
I scoffed at the word. Special. A polite way of saying I was a freak among freaks.
"Special how?"
"That I cannot say for certain. However, you are the only student I've had who cannot remember the times you've changed—or who reacts to Vitamix the way I've seen."
I glanced at my hair—it was brown again. No longer the dark black that seemed to suck the light out of the room.
"You've had others before?"
He smiled and nodded. "Of course. Hogwarts accepts all who are willing to learn." He chuckled, his gaze free of worry or judgment.
I smiled, then laughed a little in relief. The burden I'd just inherited already felt a little lighter with the Headmaster's help.
"What was that sword Hermione suddenly had?" I asked, remembering how she helped me in the Chamber. Dumbledore and I both looked at Hermione's sleeping form.
Dumbledore chuckled, then turned his gaze to the window behind her. In the glass's reflection, he noticed Hermione's eyes—wide open and watching. She was listening. It wasn't his place, so he simply nodded slightly, and Hermione's eyes met his, silently asking him to stay quiet. He agreed with a soft smile.
"That is an heirloom of one of this school's founders," he said.
The red rubies on the hilt flashed in my mind—along with the hands that held it, and the House they belonged to.
"Godric Gryffindor…"
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. In times of great need—and when one has the courage to face impossible odds—only then does the sword reveal itself."
I frowned. Those were Gryffindor traits.
"Then why did you give me the hat if I wasn't in Gryffindor?"
Dumbledore hummed softly, still gazing out the window.
"Because… even if you're in one House, it does not mean you lack the traits of another."
I sat in silence, pondering his meaning.
Pansy stirred, then popped her head up from the bed she'd been leaning against. She immediately latched onto me, hugging tightly, her words a jumbled mess of guilt and worry.
"I was so scared! I didn't—I shouldn't—Are you okay!? I'm so sorry!!"
I gently rubbed her back, my heart stirring uneasily. Would she still care for me if she knew about the curse?
Dumbledore left silently, giving us space.
"I don't know why… I just found the diary in the girls' bathroom! After that, I just kept hearing your thoughts and—and Tom said you would love seei—"
I cut her off gently, patting her back.
"It's all right. You have nothing to feel ashamed of. Having Voldemort whispering in your ear for half a year would drive anyone mad."
Pansy's breathing slowed. She rested her forehead on my shoulder.
"I… I just wanted you to be happy…" she muttered, clearly remembering the horror on my face when I thought she was behind the attacks.
I squinted, pain tightening my chest. What would she think if she knew what happened down there? I glanced at Hermione, still 'asleep.'
"I know… That's why I'm not mad."
"You mean it?" she asked, still not moving.
I nodded silently. I'm worried…
I was scared to know how far Pansy's beliefs might truly align with Voldemort's. Salazar's dream of segregated peace had twisted into pure hatred. Voldemort didn't invent that in her—it was already there. What would she say if she found out my blood was no longer pure? Would we even remain friends? Could we?
Hermione was awake—she heard everything down in the Chamber. I wasn't angry at Pansy. I had enjoyed learning and talking with her, ignoring our ideological gaps. She and Draco were good company. But now, I was truly an imposter among Slytherins.
After visiting hours ended, Pansy left—after too many goodbyes and promises to care for Val. I was alone with my thoughts.
"What am I gonna do…?" I muttered, staring at the second half of the school year stretching before me—with Hermione holding the truth like a ticking bomb.
I glanced at her and shook my head. I couldn't trust her to keep silent. Not when she heard everything in the Chamber.
My robe hung on the nightstand. I reached for it and found the last vial of potion I had left.
Hermione heard Lucas muttering. She watched his reflection through the window. She couldn't see clearly, but the sound of parchment and quill was unmistakable. He was talking quietly as he wrote—acting out the voice of his writing, a quirk that made Hermione smile despite herself.
Then Lucas got up.
Hermione clamped her eyes shut as his shadow fell over her. He placed something on her nightstand and rushed back to his bed, unnoticed by Madam Pomfrey, who was busy sorting potions.
Hermione squinted one eye open. A folded "Get Well Soon" card sat there—with a small vial of potion beneath it.
She recognized the orange hue instantly—Forgetfulness Potion. A lesson from earlier that year. If she weren't fully awake, she might have drunk it without thinking.
Her smile vanished.
She frowned at the clear attempt to erase her as a loose end. He didn't even ask. Just chose to take her memory.
Hermione stared at the vial like it was an enemy—one that would rob her of a memory she wanted to keep. One that proved Lucas was more than just a spoiled pureblood. Maybe that was why Chiara had asked him to be a friend in their first year. Maybe why she'd watched him at night—hoping he wasn't the real culprit.
Now, Hermione knew the truth.
And she wasn't about to forget it.