In the silence hanging over the courtroom, the Chairman's voice was heard again.
"State your name for the record."
"Evelyn Greenwood-Riddle," said an elderly witch very distinctly, one tall pointed hat perched on her head and another held in her hands.
Two yellow, serpent-like eyes fixed on her in puzzlement. They had appeared out of nowhere and turned so suddenly, so sharply, that she barely stopped herself from crying out. At once she felt the same anxiety she had known on the train — only far stronger. And this time it did not come from the students' table before her, but from the staff table behind her back.
That evening, the second part of her surname meant nothing to the students yet. It would acquire meaning much later — and even then, only for a few.
It happened during a Defence lesson — the first in a long series of utterly useless ones. The atmosphere in the classroom was already strained.
"Oh yes… Miss Evelyn R. Greenwood…" the professor lingered deliberately on the solitary letter. "I have been wondering what the R stands for."
The question rang in her ears. She stared at the woman, trying to convince herself she had misheard — none of the new teachers had ever shown the slightest interest in it before. The shock caught her off guard. Only moments earlier she had been thinking how pointless it was to argue with people like this — and now she had walked straight into it herself. Why?
"What does the R stand for?" Each word struck like a small hammer. "I am waiting."
A cry burst from one of the desks and was immediately stifled. Panic seized her. Like a cornered animal, she searched for the source — and found it. "She remembered!" Her legs turned to wool, her fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "Is this really happening? This must be a bad dream. I'm finished."
She guessed, she swore softly, because someone muttered disapprovingly about language unfit for ladies.
"She's not a lady"
"Unfortunately... So… the time has come."
She forced her face into stillness.
"It stands for my father's surname."
"Excellent. And what is it?"
"Riddle" she breathed.
"What?!"
She never wanted to meet the eyes of the one who had exclaimed. Instead she looked at the witch, showing no emotion, as if the name meant nothing special. It did so to many in the room, back then. But not for everyone, and this witch was one of those.
Shock flashed first — then fury.
"You're lying!"
"No. You may request my documents and verify it yourself."
"It must be — coincidence!" Horror returned to her voice. "You cannot be — it's a legen… — it's impossible!"
"I quite agree," she said quickly, clinging to this lifeline. "That is the only logical explanation. Namesakes are hardly rare — especially among…"
"Then what exactly did you mean by it?"
"Nothing." Her insides twisted again, like claws of kittens at her chest. "I merely answered your question."
"No!" The witch drew herself up, wounded dignity stiffening her posture. "You meant to intimidate me. You thought that name would make me dance to your tune. It will not. I am not afraid of you. I do not believe you. I will teach you not to deceive and scheme — either of you."
Then the owls flew — four of them.
When she finally realised whose they were, her heart lurched and her gaze travelled along the table in search of their owners. Three birds landed together; the fourth settled a little apart. She remembered the expressions on their faces as they read. One lad, after finishing his own letter, snatched the others from his companions and skimmed them to a certain line — where he stopped. He and the one seated apart exchanged a puzzled look, then glanced towards her.
She expected immediate action. It came only two weeks later. She was relieved that it was this very boy — the one who had sat apart — who decided to speak with her. She never had to fight him.
"A mysterious Miss Riddle…"
"Do sit down," she said with a faint grin, recalling one of their earlier conversations.
He had helped her on her very first evening at the school, and since then they had remained on easy terms. Talking with him was simple and unexpectedly pleasant. At times it seemed he could see straight through her — yet he never judged, only observed with interest. It often helped her look at herself — and at others — from a different angle.
"So — have you finally started to reveal your secrets?"
"Unfortunately, they've started revealing themselves without my consent, and I keep missing every chance to prevent it. So — did you know his real name?"
"No. But I asked my father."
"And what did he say?"
"That it truly was his father's surname."
"And what did he say about me?" She was genuinely curious.
"I didn't explain why I needed the information."
"That's kind of you — but I'm certain the rumours have reached him anyway."
"One should listen to rumours," he said calmly, "but not build one's judgement or actions on them."
"I'm glad to hear that." She looked at him with open gratitude.
"However," he added, watching her carefully, "he had never heard that the man had a family. Well? What do you say to that?"
"Me?" She considered a moment. "Well, I would say my mother died shortly after I was born. My father is not listed on the family tree — and that tree has features many of our housemates would admire. I've never seen either of my parents. I was not raised among wizards, though they knew about magic. The surname must be mine — otherwise the Sorting would not have accepted it — but coincidence has not been abolished either. Since the name is not recorded among wizarding families, there is no information about it in the library. Those are the facts. Everything else is conjecture and imagination."
"My name is Evelyn Greenwood-Riddle."
The whirlpool stirred. Whispers and hushed exclamations rippled through the ranks: "Can it be true?", "It can't be!", "Wasn't that only a legend?", "Did they even exist then?", "What are we supposed to do now?"
Oh, yes. The Headmaster stuck to his decision to keep her a secret until the last moment. Even longer. And he did it to the fullest, without informing even his own people. Whenever possible.
"You concealed her existence from everyone. Why?"
"So she might have a chance to live. Imagine what the Ministry would have done with her. She would have spent her life in a cell — imprisoned by their fear — or worse."
"You kept it from the Order as well. You told me nothing when you hired me. Why? Are the others still unaware?"
"Only the new members. The rest were present at the ceremony. I did not warn you because I wanted you to judge her without prejudice — as each of them did, in their own time. Listen to me: he must not learn about her yet. He is not capable of sound judgement now. He is dangerous. You understand that."
"I do, but I… Why bring her to the school? Why tell her about her father? It is only a matter of time. Secrets do not survive long in such a place. They will come for her — it hasn't worked out with one, so it will with another — and what then?"
"Then she will be able to fight. To defend herself — and not only herself."
"You are certain of her. Certain she will be an ally."
"And you? You watched her in your lesson — saw her fear. What do you make of it?"
"She rejects him — for now. But the hesitation was there. It may not be entirely her own choice yet. We cannot rule out that she may reconsider and go to him. What happens then?"
"Then we gain one more enemy. Regardless, keep your friends close and your enemies... Listen, you need rest. This is my burden, not yours."
The Headmaster's office door opened, and a very tired man stepped out. He clearly did not expect to meet anyone there — least of all her. Experience kept him from faltering; strained nerves snapped him instantly into readiness. She could have sworn she saw his teeth bare and the hair rise along his neck. Startled by his reaction, she made the same calming gesture one uses with a frightened animal.
He studied her with new curiosity — remembering, perhaps, a certain oddity about her. Then, recalling propriety, he seemed embarrassed, gave a brief nod, and went down the stairs.
Amazingly, even after she had let it slip — and even used his abilities in full view of all her 'mates', once the rumours began to spread — he still managed to avoid any press attention. For her part, she did try not to make matters worse.
Even when someone she truly liked spoke badly of her, she held herself back.
He did it at the railway station, in front of students leaving the carriages and their families meeting them for the holidays, seemingly without thinking about the consequences. She thought about them — and pulled herself together. To her own surprise, it was easy.
"Listen, you're overdramatizing this. I'm fine. I don't love you. Sorry."
"Don't love me?" For him, it clearly wasn't fine. "Don't love? I don't believe you. I've hurt you — of course you're upset. You have every right to be. You can punish me however you like. Just don't say you don't love me."
He searched her eyes for resentment, anger, mockery — anything at all but indifference.
"So you're telling the truth. Just like that — you went ahead and fell out of love with me."
Perhaps she managed it because, this time, it concerned only her. Perhaps because his words stirred not anger but bitterness. She did not want to see his face when he said such things — she wanted to remember only his cheerful, happy one.
"Maybe you never loved me at all. Maybe you're not capable of love. And how would you know anything about this feeling? The daughter of a monster. You're a monster yourself."
The offence was so sharp that when she looked up at him, everyone thought — this is it, now it will happen again. But it was only a look.
And then, not far from him, a camera lens flashed. Whether by coincidence, or because someone needed proof that she was evil in the flesh — she did not know. Completely drained, she waited for her foster parents.
Still, most people on both sides were reluctant to believe the rumours. Perhaps because her rejection of her father's ideology had always been obvious — which, in turn, often strained her relationship with her housemates. From the very beginning.
After the feast that opened the new school year, the newcomers were led down into the dungeons — destined to be their home for the next seven years. She stood by the window, peering into the green depths of the lake, wondering how anyone could arrive in a cold, damp prison and think, Home, sweet home. Neither the bottom nor the shores were visible.
She wondered about the dim green glow in the common room — decided it was better to imagine that it came from dense foliage overhanging a stream than to panic at the thought that one unpleasant day they might all drown here. When suddenly…
"Creepy, innit?"
She flinched and cried out, startled. The insinuating voice that said these words by her ear belonged to a thin, pale boy with brown hair, who was now standing, slightly hunched, opposite and grinning impudently.
"Not at all like in fairy towers of princesses" he continued. "And there are some in the castle. You should ask them before it's too late, because I've heard you have a poor opinion of our House. Such people are not welcome here."
His hand slid beneath his robes, making his intention perfectly clear. Drawing her wand would have been pointless — she knew it wouldn't help. So she did the only thing she could: bluff and stall until the prefect returned.
Of course, there were questions about her father that night. Fortunately, the Hat did not go into details, and she did not have to explain much. Students forgot everything quickly — she was in the right House, after all.
But she gave herself away two years later, accidentally, when the entity summoned during a Defence lesson transformed into a younger version of her father and, displaying the Mark on its arm, called her to him.
"Are you going to do it right here?" someone whispered indignantly behind her. "Wait…"
"Who was this man?"
Four boys stopped her in the corridor near the classroom where the spectacle had just taken place. Two of them — clumsy, bored — blocked her escape. The other two were far more engaged.
"My father."
"So you are one of us."
"So she's a traitor."
She drew a slow breath and leaned back against the wall, adopting a relaxed posture. The conversation would be tense — and they did not need an audience.
"I already told you what he believed," she said, turning to the tall blond boy who had started it. "And that my mother died because of it. Why would I be on his side?"
"Because your mother was the traitor," he suggested.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps the other way round," she replied thoughtfully.
"What do you mean — 'the other way round'? You're talking nonsense again. What kind of surname is Greenwood, anyway? Among the followers of Lo…" He cut himself off, which only made him angrier. "There were no such people. Did you take your lying mother's name?"
The dark-haired boy beside him already seemed to regret joining in.
"Don't worry," she said to him calmly. "His venom doesn't work on me. Let him bite as much as he likes."
Blondie flushed and almost reached for his wand — then restrained himself.
"Yes. It's her name — and my foster parents'. And believe me, my father's surname won't tell you anything. It wasn't in the papers, and I doubt it was often spoken even in private."
"Then maybe he betrayed his master too — was punished for it, erased from history." He was winding himself up. "Daughter of traitors. Why did you come to our House? To betray again?"
A prick of conscience caught her — because, in a way, it was true, though she had never thought of it like that.
From that day on, her House declared war.
Invisible obstacles appeared in her path. Ink was poured over her books and notes. Glasses of pumpkin juice exploded in her hands. The word traitor burned above her head, vanishing whenever a professor or prefect approached, only to flare up again moments later.
The same thing threatened to happen after she was caught at the Army's headquarters in the company of its leader. But they limited themselves to a boycott — the safest option available.
"What were you doing there?" exclaimed the blond guy, who had been the one to find her.
"It's hard to say," she sighed. "Probably it's called communication."
"Communication?!" He looked at her as if she were some newly discovered creature. "I don't understand you! You avoid him all the time, yet start relationships with his friends. You don't approve of my clashes with him, but you never take my side either. At the beginning of the year you mock him — at the end you help him."
He had, surprisingly, summarized it almost perfectly.
What she could never understand was why some people, once they learned who her father was, immediately forgot who she was — while others focused only on those parts of her behavior that bruised their pride. Yes, she did not share their position. Yes, she spoke with a couple of the 'wrong' people. But she had never acted against her own House.
She had not told about three older boys who had cornered a first-year housemate for failing to throw a communication mirror into the girls' bathroom. They've done it themselves after she had blown them apart in a way none of them understood, while she herself had only been a second-year. And she had taken the mirror to the Deputy Headmistress, saying only that she had found it lying in the middle of the corridor.
When the harassment against her began, no one thought to notice that she never retaliated in kind.
After some reflection, she concluded that open war would lead nowhere good for anyone. So she surrounded herself with an invisible protective shell. Its purpose was not to return the curses sent at her, but to neutralize them. Maintaining it constantly drained her strength, but she decided it was necessary. She always felt when something was cast at her, yet pretended nothing had happened. She could only judge the attackers' growing confusion by the increasing inventiveness of their spells.
The way the attacks ended proved just as telling.
One day, a snake had been thrown into her bag. It leapt out and frightened her badly. She had no idea what to do — until the deputy headmistress intervened and transformed the snake into a crystal statuette.
"As you can see, sometimes it's useful," the witch remarked, repeating the wand movement, and went on her way.
That time, she learned her lesson.
One night she woke with the distinct sensation that something was crawling over her. When she opened her eyes, her entire blanket was covered with snakes, toads, spiders, scorpions, and things she preferred not to classify. She knew exactly who had done it — they were giggling together behind the farthest bed.
She sprang up with a wild scream, throwing off the blanket.
A moment later came the sound of a massive glass chandelier shattering — followed by shrieks. When the prefect rushed in and lit the room, the entire dormitory glittered with multicolored stones.
It was, everyone had to admit, breathtakingly beautiful.
The next morning, during the first lesson, all four of her neighbors discovered that instead of books, their bags contained fragments of precious figurines — rapidly reverting back into flesh-and-blood creatures.
The screaming was unforgettable.
After that incident, the attacks stopped completely.
As for the floating inscription — she simply threw it off by sharply shaking her head, to a chorus of astonished gasps. She had experimented with the curse and discovered that it dissolved whenever she declared to herself, with absolute certainty, that she was not a traitor.
It was even more absurd, therefore, when she was accused of cheering for the opponent's team at the finals match that ill-fated year.
"There she is! Traitor!"
"How could you?! You betrayed your House!"
"Again!"
The girls swarmed her the moment she crossed the common room threshold.
"I didn't support another team," she said without a drop of guilt. "Did anyone see me on the opponents' stand?"
"You didn't support your own team either."
"Why is that?"
"You aren't wearing our colours."
"What…" she drawled with frustration.
She had gone to the match in ordinary clothes. It had never occurred to her that this might count as treason.
"Oh — I'm wearing green underwear. Does that qualify?"
"Betrayal of the House is a serious accusation, and you're clowning around!"
She thought, a little sadly, that the twins would have appreciated that joke. Yet she could have sworn someone snorted with laughter in the corner. Her good mood was evaporating, and she did not want to lose it.
"All right. Does anyone see a red-and-gold flag in my hands? Or any other distinctive sign?"
"You were seen with players from the opposing team right after the match!"
"At their command center? In their locker room? No. I've been seen with those two dozens of times. We talk — occasionally. That's nothing new. And it isn't a crime. Not exactly — but that's a different article."
"This is different! Don't pretend you don't understand!"
"Three, actually. Why was their captain hanging around you? Maybe you leaked our techniques — and other tricks — to him!" As it was mentioned, the accusations came mostly from the girls.
"I'm not pretending. What techniques? What tricks? I've never attended any of our training sessions. What exactly could I have told him? And how many of their matches have I attended? How many?"
Silence — entirely predictable.
"Exactly. This was the first one. The final. They were playing against us. I could have gone to support an individual player from our team, the team as a whole, or simply to watch the match because I had the time and the mood."
She paused, then closed the matter.
"That's it. Discussion over."
The truth was — she hadn't been supporting anyone. As always.
When Blondi' and his fellows stormed the Army's headquarters, she just moved away from the rear exit and did nothing while one boy knocked another to the ground. So he was wrong to charge her for helping the leader.
"Did you come there with them?" he demanded later.
"No."
"Then how did you get in?"
"You won't believe it," she said. "By accident."
It was all an accident, wasn't it?
"I am so sorry."
"Are you sure?"
The Headmaster stood by the window in his office. Though outwardly restrained, his entire posture radiated deep dissatisfaction. For the first time, she felt such a lack of faith from him — and it cut sharply.
"I am!" The exclamation — like her earlier apologies — was directed at his back.
"How did this happen?" He did not turn to her.
"Well… She said we wouldn't be practising in her classes. One of the students objected, she answered with some absurdity. I got angry and joined the argument. Then she noticed the R in my surname and asked what it stood for, and…"
"And you answered her honestly?"
Her Head of House had also been summoned and was looking at her now as if she were a complete fool.
"Yes… We'd almost reached some kind of agreement that it was just a coincidence, but then she started rambling…"
"Just a moment, please." The old wizard lifted his hand, stopping her increasingly desperate justifications. "She asked about the initial — and you simply told her the truth?"
"Yes." It had seemed obvious to her. "What else was I supposed to do?"
"Lie, perhaps?" her Head said flatly.
"What? Why? She would have found out the truth anyway."
"Yes," said the Headmaster, "but the whole school wouldn't have learned it at once."
The remark stunned her. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? She had been on edge; it hadn't even crossed her mind what consequences that quarrel might bring.
"Did it not occur to me — or did I not care? Did I not care — or did I want to be exposed? But that girl had already figured everything out! And still — all it would have taken was changing one letter, and her argument would have lost most of its force.
You yourself said that unity is essential," she said to the Headmaster. "What kind of trust can there be without honesty?"
Even to her own ears it sounded weak — a poor excuse, spoken under her breath. She hadn't been thinking anything like that when she had announced her surname to the entire class — not even remotely. The witch's words no longer seemed quite so meaningless.
"Here you are…"
"Umm… Hello?…"
"Let's take a look at you. Let's see who you are... hmm... a snake? Why are you thinking about a snake?"
The anxiety that had appeared the moment her name was called doubled. Whoever it was, he already knew she had seen it.
"Father…" she thought for some reason.
"Because of your father? That's natural, yes. So you believe joining the same House is your only path — your destiny… Well, you could indeed make a worthy… snake. Oh — you think identity isn't determined by place, that you won't become like him there. Hmm… But why tempt fate? For instance, I see bravery in you…"
"You mean — I really could…" But she remembered the 'meeting'. "No. No, I can't. I'd be too close to… that boy. It might be dangerous for him — for us. I can't explain it, I don't understand it, I just feel it would be a terrible mistake."
"Hmmm… You are quite intelligent as well… No? You want to take the risk at any cost? Are you sure it isn't pride speaking — that you're determined to prove you're different? Yes, yes, think it through… You already have a friend there. You believe he will help you do what's right. But is he the right person to trust?"
"He is. Please — I have questions, so many of them, and I'm certain only there I'll find answers. I can't predict who I'll become, but I want to be myself, whoever I am - I just can't do otherwise."
The Hat announced the House, and, exhausted, she made her way to the table beneath the green banner with the silver snake.
Most likely, it was she who had made the decision.
Shortly after her revelation, an underclass girl she didn't even know stopped her in the middle of the common room and, without warning, began accusing her — and their Head — of…
"What filth!"
At first she tried to brush it off, deciding not to argue — not to repeat her mistake. It was all so ridiculous it didn't deserve attention. But the girl would not stop.
"I saw how he reached toward you with those thin fingers — saw how his eyes shone! And you enjoy it — you run to him every day! He's always hovering around you too! Do you think no one notices? What do you do in his office in the evenings? It's not hard to guess…"
There was so much venom in her voice, and what she was saying was so vile, so false, that fury surged up and drowned the last cautious voice in her mind that urged her to walk away before making things worse.
"Shut — your stinking — mouth!"
She counted her steps forward with each word. On the last one, she snapped her head up and locked onto the girl's gaze. The girl closed the remaining distance as if pulled, her shoes scraping across the floor. Their eyes were level. The pupils of the girl's eyes expanded, then contracted again, spinning from side to side.
She watched closely. She was reading her. She wanted to see everything — the whole of her — how dark her soul truly was. And the girl relived, at unbearable speed, everything she was being shown. Oh, she didn't like it — the rude girl was already whimpering and crying.
"What are you doing?! Leave her alone! Everyone knows she's madly in love with the Head! That's why she's spouting nonsense. No one listens to her — stop it!"
But she had already seen enough.
At first she thought the girl had mixed fantasies about him into her memories — disgusting enough. But then the man in those scenes changed. Someone else took the professor's place. And only then did she understand: these weren't dreams at all, but memories — altered, corrected, rewritten by their owner.
"What a nightmare!Not dark — broken!"
The girl collapsed at her feet, then crawled away several steps, staring up with a mixture of fear, hatred, and pleading. She looked back with horror too — and pleading — but not hatred. Compassion. Tears filled her eyes.
"Sorry. I'm sorry. Please. I am so sorry." She shook her head, whispering apologies. It was her promise to the girl that she couldn't say out loud that she would never reveal her secret.
"What's going on here?"
At the familiar voice, the girl glanced up, shrieked, and bolted. She herself would have preferred to vanish, but there was no point — sooner or later she would have to explain herself to the Head of House. Another girl — the one who had tried to intervene — was already reporting everything as she turned toward him in resignation.
He took points from her — something he rarely did to his own House. She did not dare meet his eyes. She had failed him. Again.
She felt sick from what she had seen — and frightened by what she had done. Wanting only to get as far away as possible, she ran down the first corridor she found. Its straight line created the illusion of direction — of a place where things might become easier.
"As if you can run away from yourself…"
He had been right to call her a monster. Right to say she didn't know how to love.
It had been his final year — his last match — when they met on the way back from the stadium. He overheard her describing his team's play to the twins and couldn't resist the praise. He didn't care which House she belonged to. Not at that moment.
He never spoke of love — perhaps he assumed it went without saying. They had never even kissed; maybe he was waiting for her to be ready. She herself had never really thought about love. He was much older… No — it was because she believed he had simply found a willing listener in her, something he had been missing. All those animated diagrams he drew on the ground, dragging her to nearly every championship game…
But being with him felt bright — sunlit.
So when he sent those two letters, within five minutes someone confessed their feelings to her — and broke up with her for the first time in her life. The order, however, was wrong.
What did she feel? Relief.
Monster.
"Listen to me — you're not a monster. You're not your father. I saw the monster, stood right in front of him. Trust me — you're not him." It was Blondie. He was sitting opposite her, holding her by the shoulders. "Don't listen to that idiot. He has no idea what he's talking about. He hasn't seen him, doesn't know you — but I know, and…"