Chris sat at his desk in the Hufflepuff dormitory, quill poised over a blank piece of parchment as the evening shadows lengthened across the yellow-draped walls. His latest triumph, Pettigrew's capture and the exoneration of Sirius Black, had unfolded exactly as planned, yet a restlessness lingered in his fingers, an itch to push the dominos further. The wizarding world was still reeling from recent revelations, but Chris knew the greatest secret remained hidden: the true identity of the dark wizard who had terrorized Britain for decades.
The circular window above his desk framed a perfect May evening, stars beginning to emerge in a deep blue sky. Below, students wandered the grounds, enjoying the spring warmth before curfew sent them inside. Their distant laughter floated up to him, a reminder of the normal childhood he was simultaneously experiencing and orchestrating from afar.
"Would they be laughing if they knew what I was contemplating?" Chris murmured to the empty room.
His fingers traced the edge of the parchment, uncommitted. Exposing Voldemort's true identity was a logical next step in dismantling the infrastructure of fear that lingered even after the Dark Lord's destruction. Yet something held him back—not concern for the Death Eaters who would be devastated, but a strategist's hesitation before committing to an irreversible move.
"The Death Eaters still believe in his return," Chris reasoned aloud, organizing his thoughts. "They're waiting, preserving their resources, maintaining their positions... all because they believe in the pureblood messiah who'll return to elevate them above everyone else. But if they learn their 'Dark Lord' was half-blood Tom Riddle, son of a Muggle father..." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "The entire foundation crumbles."
Decision made, Chris straightened in his chair and brought quill to parchment with newfound purpose. The Quibbler was the perfect publication for his revelation, eccentric enough that the initial dismissal by "serious" wizards would only enhance the scandal when the truth was eventually verified. Xenophilius Lovegood's tendency to publish conspiratorial content without extensive fact-checking worked in Chris's favor; the man would print the letter without demanding a source.
The quill moved with fluid precision, crafting sentences designed to maximize impact:
To the Editor of The Quibbler,
While your publication has long sought hidden truths behind established wizarding narratives, perhaps the greatest deception of our time remains unexposed. I write to reveal that the dark wizard styling himself "Lord Voldemort" has built his entire movement on a foundation of lies.
Voldemort's true identity is that of Tom Marvolo Riddle, a half-blood wizard born to Merope Gaunt, a pureblood witch from an impoverished and diminished line, and Tom Riddle Sr., a Muggle from Little Hangleton whom Merope ensnared through love potions. When the enchantment wore off, the elder Riddle abandoned his wife and unborn child, leaving Tom to be born in a Muggle orphanage, where his mother died shortly after naming him.
Tom Riddle attended Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945, sorted into Slytherin House. Despite, or perhaps because of, his half-blood status, he cultivated an obsession with blood purity and developed a following among pureblood students while concealing his own heritage. His exceptional magical ability and charm masked a growing darkness that culminated in several incidents during his school years, including the controversial opening of the Chamber of Secrets.
After graduation, Riddle disappeared from Britain for nearly a decade, returning transformed and calling himself "Lord Voldemort"—an anagram of his birth name, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." The self-styled pureblood champion is, in fact, a half-blood orphan, driven by hatred of the Muggle father who abandoned him and a desperate need to erase his own origins.
One must question: How many pureblood families sacrificed their children, wealth, and standing for a cause led by the very thing they claimed to despise?
I provide this information not to sensationalize, but to liberate those who might still labor under false pretenses. The truth, as ever, shall set us free.
An Observer of History
Chris read over the letter twice, satisfied with its content. It revealed enough verifiable facts to withstand scrutiny while leaving out how he had acquired such specific knowledge. The tone struck the right balance, scholarly rather than accusatory, presenting historical truth rather than political argument. Let the purebloods draw their own conclusions about what serving a half-blood meant for their ideology.
He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with plain wax to ensure anonymity. No family crests, no distinguishing marks, nothing to connect the letter to Christopher Emrys or any other student at Hogwarts. The wax cooled to a solid red oval, unremarkable and untraceable.
A curious warmth spread through his chest as he held the sealed letter, not guilt, but a surprising rush of anticipation. The chaos this would cause, the disillusionment among Voldemort's followers, the reshaping of wizarding politics, all from a single piece of parchment. There was a certain thrill in watching carefully placed words alter reality that Chris hadn't anticipated enjoying quite so much.
"Jilly," he called softly, infusing the name with the mental connection that bound house elf to master.
The familiar soft pop disturbed the dormitory's stillness, and Jilly appeared, her impeccable posture and attentive amber eyes immediately focused on Chris.
"Master called for Jilly," she said, her gaze moving to the sealed letter in his hand.
"Yes," Chris confirmed, extending the letter. "I need this delivered anonymously to The Quibbler's editorial office. It should be placed directly on the editor's desk, with no witnesses."
Jilly accepted the letter, her slender fingers closing around it with sure grace. "Jilly will ensure no one sees the delivery. The letter will appear as though magically manifested."
"Perfect," Chris nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "Thank you, Jilly."
With a respectful bow and another soft pop, Jilly disappeared, taking with her the incendiary revelation that would soon rock the wizarding world's foundations. Chris leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head as he contemplated the ripple effects that would begin at tomorrow's breakfast. Another step toward reshaping the wizarding world without the shadow of Voldemort's legacy.
"Let's see how the purebloods explain this one," he murmured to the empty room, satisfaction evident in his voice as he imagined their faces when they learned they had bowed to a half-blood orphan all these years.
The Great Hall welcomed Chris with its familiar morning symphony: the clinking of silverware against plates, the murmur of half-awake conversations, and the warm, enticing scent of breakfast foods that seemed designed to coax students into consciousness. He slipped onto the Hufflepuff bench between Susan and Hannah, offering them a bright "Good morning" that did little to conceal the electric anticipation coursing through him. Today wouldn't be an ordinary breakfast, not when The Quibbler was about to drop a bombshell that would shatter decades of pureblood mythology.
"You're in a good mood," Susan observed, reaching for the marmalade. Her red-blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, swinging gently as she turned toward him. "Excited for the weekend?"
"Just feeling optimistic," Chris replied, carefully constructing his plate with eggs, toast, and sausages arranged in a precise pattern. His eyes occasionally flicked toward the high windows where the morning post would soon arrive.
Hannah raised an eyebrow, her nose already buried in a Herbology text propped against a milk jug. "That's suspicious. We have three essays due Monday."
The ceiling above reflected a perfect May morning, sunlight streaming through enchanted rafters as students settled into their routines. At the Slytherin table, several students huddled over copies of the Daily Prophet, still discussing yesterday's news about Sirius Black's formal exoneration and scheduled release from Azkaban. The Gryffindor table seemed particularly animated, with Harry Potter at the center of a group gesturing enthusiastically, no doubt discussing his godfather's imminent freedom.
Chris buttered his toast with deliberate calm, though beneath the table, his foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the stone floor. The waiting was perhaps the most difficult part of these operations, the suspended moment before chaos bloomed.
Then came the familiar rustle of wings, the hall's ceiling suddenly darkened by the arrival of hundreds of owls swooping in with the morning post. Parcels dropped onto tables with soft thuds, letters fluttered into waiting hands, and newspapers unfurled with crisp snaps. Among them were the distinctive bright covers of The Quibbler, its colors almost garish next to the more subdued Daily Prophet.
A Gryffindor fifth-year with dark braids caught a copy of The Quibbler mid-air, her expression shifting from casual interest to shock as she registered the headline. She stood abruptly, the bench scraping against the stone floor, and held the magazine aloft.
"Everyone!" she called, her voice carrying across the suddenly quieting hall. "You have got to hear this!" She cleared her throat dramatically and began to read in a voice that grew stronger with each word:
"DARK LORD'S DARKEST SECRET: VOLDEMORT REVEALED AS HALF-BLOOD TOM RIDDLE!"
A collective gasp rippled through the Great Hall, followed immediately by a barrage of voices demanding to hear more. The Gryffindor girl, clearly enjoying her moment at the center of attention, continued reading:
"In an exclusive revelation to The Quibbler, an anonymous source has exposed the true identity of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort. Far from being the pureblood champion of tradition, Voldemort was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, the half-blood son of a Muggle father and a witch mother from the impoverished Gaunt family."
She paused, eyes widening as she scanned further down the page. "It says here that Riddle attended Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945 and was in Slytherin House! There are even quotes from old school records and awards he won. And get this—'Lord Voldemort' is just an anagram of his birth name. If you rearrange the letters in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' you get 'I am Lord Voldemort'!"
The reaction was immediate and electric. At the Slytherin table, several students leapt to their feet, faces contorted with outrage.
"That's absurd!" shouted a Slytherin sixth-year, his face flushed crimson. "The Dark Lord comes from an ancient pureblood line! The Quibbler is printing lies, as usual!"
"Then why is Dumbledore not denying it?" countered a Ravenclaw, pointing toward the staff table where the Headmaster sat watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression.
Across the hall, reactions varied dramatically by house. Gryffindors were in various states of vindication and excitement, some outright cheering at this revelation about their enemy. Ravenclaws had formed intense discussion circles, debating the historical and political implications with scholarly fervor. Among the Hufflepuffs, expressions ranged from shocked disbelief to quiet satisfaction, with several students hurriedly passing copies of The Quibbler to see for themselves.
But it was the Slytherin table that provided the most fascinating spectacle. Beyond the initial outbursts of denial, a deeper, more uncomfortable wave of realization seemed to be spreading among the students. Some sat in stunned silence, their faces pale with shock. Others engaged in heated whispered arguments, gesturing at the magazine with trembling hands. A few older students simply stared into space, the implications clearly devastating to their worldview.
"It can't be true," a young Slytherin girl whispered loudly enough to be heard at nearby tables. "My father said... he always told us..."
"Of course it's true," interrupted another Slytherin, his voice bitter. "Look at the evidence. Dumbledore would have denied it immediately if it were false."
Susan leaned toward Chris, her eyes wide. "Can you believe this? If You-Know-Who was actually a half-blood all along..." Her voice trailed off as she contemplated the implications.
"It makes a twisted sort of sense," Chris replied carefully, allowing just enough surprise to color his tone. "A half-blood orphan, rejected by his Muggle father, overcompensating by becoming the champion of pureblood ideology. Psychological projection at its most destructive."
Hannah lowered her Herbology book, frowning thoughtfully. "But why would all those pureblood families follow him if they knew?"
"That's just it," Chris said. "They didn't know. He lied to them, created this persona of Lord Voldemort, and never revealed his true origins."
At the staff table, the professors' reactions told their own story. Dumbledore sat straight-backed, his half-moon spectacles catching the light as he watched the students with careful attention. There was neither surprise nor shock in his expression, only a weary acceptance that suggested he had known this truth all along. Professor McGonagall's lips had thinned to a nearly invisible line, her hands clasped tightly before her on the table as though to steady herself.
Professor Flitwick appeared to be rereading the article with scholarly concentration, occasionally nodding as though confirming facts he had suspected. But it was Snape whose reaction proved most compelling; the Potions Master had gone absolutely rigid, his sallow face drained of what little color it normally possessed. His dark eyes remained fixed on a distant point, his breakfast untouched before him.
As the commotion continued to build, with students now calling across house tables to debate the revelation, Chris allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The carefully planted seed was blooming into exactly the chaos he had anticipated—perhaps even more dramatically. Pureblood ideology had sustained itself on myths of superiority, and he had just yanked out its cornerstone.
The irony was exquisite: Voldemort, champion of pureblood supremacy, exposed as a half-blood who hated his Muggle heritage so much that he built an entire movement around destroying it. The cognitive dissonance this would create among his followers couldn't be overstated.
"I wonder if The Daily Prophet will pick this up," Chris mused aloud to Susan and Hannah, already mentally composing his next anonymous letter. "They can hardly ignore a story this big, even if it came from The Quibbler first."
"They'll have to investigate it, at least," Susan agreed, reaching for another piece of toast. "My aunt always says that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, but this... this seems to have evidence already."
Chris nodded, taking a bite of his breakfast while surveying the continuing uproar with carefully concealed triumph. The foundation had been shaken. Tomorrow, if all went according to plan, it would collapse entirely.
Chris closed his bedroom door with a soft click, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he replayed the morning's spectacle in his mind. The Great Hall had erupted exactly as he'd anticipated, perhaps even more dramatically, with Slytherins shouting denials while their faces betrayed the creeping doubt that would soon eat through generations of pureblood propaganda. He moved to his desk with a newfound energy, pulling fresh parchment from the drawer and arranging his quill and inkwell with deliberate care. The Quibbler had lit the match; now The Daily Prophet would fan the flames into an inferno that would consume Voldemort's legacy completely.
He dipped his quill in ink and began writing with smooth, confident strokes on the parchment:
To the Editor of The Daily Prophet,
Following The Quibblers' recent revelation regarding the true identity of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort, I offer additional verified information that your readers deserve to know.
Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. was born on December 31, 1926, at Wool's Orphanage in London. His mother, Merope Gaunt, was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin through the impoverished Gaunt line, known for inbreeding and mental instability. His father, Tom Riddle Sr., was a wealthy Muggle from Little Hangleton who abandoned his pregnant wife after she ceased administering the love potion that had ensnared him.
Records at Wool's Orphanage (which can be verified through Ministry archives) document unusual incidents surrounding young Tom, including suspected cruelty to other children and a disturbing episode in a seaside cave during a summer outing in 1935.
At Hogwarts, Riddle was a prefect and later Head Boy, earning academic accolades while secretly exploring the darkest aspects of magic. During this period, he discovered his connection to Salazar Slytherin and opened the Chamber of Secrets, resulting in the death of a student, an event covered up at the time but now deserving of reinvestigation.
After graduation, Riddle worked briefly at Borgin and Burkes, specializing in acquiring valuable magical artifacts from elderly witches and wizards. His employment ended abruptly following the suspicious death of Hepzibah Smith, a wealthy collector who possessed items once belonging to Hogwarts founders.
Riddle then disappeared abroad for nearly a decade, immersing himself in obscure dark magic across Eastern Europe and Egypt. When he returned to Britain, he had transformed his appearance and adopted the name "Lord Voldemort", an anagram of "Tom Marvolo Riddle" (rearrange the letters to see for yourself).
Perhaps most significantly for those who once served him, evidence suggests that the Dark Mark, the skull-and-snake brand Voldemort placed on his followers' arms, functioned not only as a summons but as a parasitic magical conduit. Marked individuals have reportedly experienced a permanent reduction in magical capacity, estimated at approximately 25% of their original power. I am unsure what this suggests, but it could warrant further investigation.
In my opinion, this magical diminishment appears irreversible, Voldemort's final "gift" to those who pledged their lives and magic to a half-blood who despised his own mixed heritage so much that he built an entire movement around eliminating it from wizarding society.
These facts can be verified through multiple sources, including Ministry records, Hogwarts archives, and medical examination of former Death Eaters. I encourage your publication to investigate thoroughly rather than relying solely on my account.
A Concerned Citizen
Chris read through the letter twice, making minor adjustments to phrasing and emphasis. The detail about the Dark Mark causing permanent magical depletion was particularly inspired, not entirely accurate, as the loss stemmed from the ritual that destroyed Voldemort rather than the Dark Mark itself, but close enough to truth to be believable. More importantly, it would drive further wedges among Voldemort's former followers, creating suspicion and resentment even as they struggled to reconcile their pureblood ideology with their half-blood leader.
The strategic placement of verifiable facts alongside more speculative elements ensured that when the easy parts were confirmed, the rest would gain credibility by association. Reporters at The Daily Prophet would scramble to investigate, and in doing so, would uncover even more damaging truths about Riddle's past.
Chris folded the parchment with precise, careful movements, then sealed it with plain wax as he had done with The Quibbler letter. Watching the red wax pool and solidify, he reflected on the growing ease with which he orchestrated these societal disruptions. There was something undeniably satisfying about watching carefully placed information ripple outward.
"Jilly," he called softly, his voice barely disturbing the quiet dormitory air.
The familiar soft pop announced her arrival, her eyes immediately finding the sealed letter in his hands.
"Master requires another delivery," she observed, her tone neither questioning nor judgmental.
"Yes," Chris confirmed, handing her the letter. "This needs to go to The Daily Prophet's editorial office, directly to the editor's desk, just like the previous one. Ensure no one sees you."
Jilly's slender fingers closed around the parchment with care. "Jilly understands. The letter will appear mysteriously, with no trace of its delivery."
"Perfect," Chris nodded. "I expect this will create quite a stir tomorrow morning."
"Master enjoys watching the chaos," Jilly remarked with surprising insight. It wasn't a question but a simple observation, delivered without criticism.
Chris allowed himself a small smile. "I do, Jilly. Especially when it undermines those who follow the dark arts."
With a respectful nod and another soft pop, Jilly vanished with the letter, leaving Chris to anticipate the next day's breakfast with growing excitement. The wizarding world was about to receive another shock to its system, and Chris would have a front-row seat to watch the foundations of Voldemort's power structure crumble completely.
The aroma of porridge, sausages, and pumpkin juice filled the Great Hall on Sunday morning as Chris settled between Susan and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table. He arranged his breakfast with deliberate care, commenting on Hannah's color-coded study schedule while his senses picked up subtle shifts in the castle's atmosphere, an unusual tenseness to professors' postures, a heightened buzz of speculation among students who had seen yesterday's Quibbler.
"I've divided Tuesday's study blocks by subject difficulty," Hannah explained, her quill hovering over a meticulously organized parchment where each hour had been assigned a color and purpose. "Yellow for Herbology, blue for Charms, red for Transfiguration..."
"Very efficient," Chris nodded, spreading marmalade on his toast with particular care. "Though I'd allocate more time for Potions, especially with Snape's mood lately."
Susan leaned forward, her red-blonde ponytail swinging as she lowered her voice. "Speaking of moods, have you noticed how everyone's still talking about yesterday's Quibbler? The Slytherin seventh-years look ready to hex anyone who mentions it."
Chris allowed himself a small, innocent smile. "It's certainly caused a stir. Though, The Quibbler isn't exactly known for factual reporting, remember last month's exposé on Cornelius Fudge's army of heliopaths?"
"This feels different though," Hannah mused, setting down her schedule. "Professor Dumbledore hasn't denied anything, and you'd think he would if it were completely false."
As if the universe wanted to confirm Hannah's thoughts, the familiar rush of wings interrupted their conversation as hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall. Unlike the usual varied assortment of birds carrying different packages, today brought an overwhelming wave of identical barn owls, each carrying what appeared to be a special edition of The Daily Prophet.
"Another special edition?" Susan's eyebrows rose as a newspaper dropped onto the table before them. "That's the second this week!"
Before Chris could reach for it, newspapers had landed across every table in the Great Hall, followed immediately by gasps and exclamations. A Ravenclaw third-year with wire-rimmed glasses jumped to his feet, his voice cracking with excitement as he read the headline:
"WIZARDING WORLD EXCLUSIVE: VOLDEMORT'S SECRET HISTORY REVEALED! FULL INVESTIGATION CONFIRMS TOM RIDDLE IDENTITY!"
Chris made a show of grabbing their copy, eyes widening with fabricated surprise as he unfolded the paper to reveal a front page dominated by dual photographs: an austere school portrait of handsome, dark-haired Tom Riddle beside a shadowy image of a hooded Lord Voldemort, with animated text morphing between "Tom Marvolo Riddle" and "I Am Lord Voldemort" to demonstrate the anagram.
Susan leaned against his shoulder to read alongside him, her breath warm against his ear as they both examined the article:
DARK LORD'S DECEPTION: THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE OF DARKNESS
By Special Investigative Team
Following yesterday's explosive claims in The Quibbler, Daily Prophet investigators have worked through the night to verify what may be the greatest deception in modern wizarding history: that Lord Voldemort, self-proclaimed champion of pureblood supremacy, was in fact Tom Marvolo Riddle, the half-blood son of a Muggle father and a witch from the deteriorated Gaunt family.
Ministry records confirm that Tom Riddle Jr. was born on December 31, 1926, at Wool's Orphanage in London after his mother, Merope Gaunt, was abandoned by Muggle aristocrat Tom Riddle Sr. Interviews with surviving staff from the orphanage describe young Riddle as "disturbing" and "cruel to other children," with unexplained incidents that, in retrospect, appear to be early manifestations of uncontrolled magic.
Hogwarts records show Riddle attended from 1938-1945, serving as prefect and Head Boy despite concerning incidents, including suspicious connections to the infamous Chamber of Secrets opening that resulted in student Myrtle Warren's death.
Most shocking for his followers, magical theorists consulting with the Prophet confirm reports of a previously unknown aspect of the Dark Mark: the skull-and-snake brand appears to have functioned as a parasitic magical conduit. With recent disruptions in dark magic detected throughout Britain, marked individuals have reportedly experienced a permanent reduction in magical capacity, with preliminary estimations suggesting a loss of approximately 25% of their original power.
"It's consistent with certain Egyptian binding curses," explains Unspeakable source "Croaker" from the Department of Mysteries. "A magical parasite designed to feed on the host's power while creating dependency. Quite brilliant, in a horrific way."
Continued on pages 2-7, including timeline of Tom Riddle's transformation into Lord Voldemort, analysis of magical depletion in Dark Mark bearers, and exclusive interviews with former classmates.
As students throughout the hall read through similar passages, the reaction was immediate and explosive. At the Slytherin table, a sixth-year boy stood up, his face contorted with rage as he threw his copy of the paper onto the floor.
"LIES!" he shouted, voice cracking with emotion. "My father would never have followed a half-blood!"
"Then why is your father suddenly struggling with simple charms?" challenged another Slytherin, rising to face him. "Why did St. Mungo's have to treat three former Inner Circle members for magical exhaustion the other week?"
The first boy's response was not verbal but physical, a wild swing that connected with his housemate's jaw with a sickening crack. Within seconds, the Slytherin table erupted into chaos, with students shoving, punching, and reaching for wands as long-simmering house divisions fractured along new lines: those connected to Death Eaters defending their family honor versus those who felt betrayed by the revelation.
Chris watched with careful neutrality, though inwardly he noted something crucial in the article's impact. When he'd mentioned magical depletion in his letter, it had been partially speculative, designed to sow discord. Yet the Prophet's investigation confirmed it as fact, suggesting that the Soul Execution Ritual had indeed damaged the magical cores of all who bore the Dark Mark. Snape's hospitalization suddenly made perfect sense, not just shock from Voldemort's destruction, but actual magical injury.
Across the hall, reactions varied by house. Gryffindors watched the Slytherin meltdown with a mixture of vindication and astonishment, some openly cheering the confirmation of yesterday's revelations. Ravenclaws had formed intense discussion circles, analyzing the historical implications even as they cast wary glances at the escalating violence. Around Chris, his fellow Hufflepuffs appeared stunned, many looking to the staff table for intervention.
There, the professors had already leapt into action. Dumbledore stood at the center of the high table, his wand raising a shimmering barrier between the fighting Slytherins and the rest of the student body. McGonagall moved with surprising speed toward the Gryffindor table, silencing celebration with a glare that could have withered a Whomping Willow. Flitwick, despite his small stature, was already casting complex charms to separate the most violent combatants.
But it was Snape's reaction that particularly caught Chris's attention. The Potions Master had gone deathly pale, his sallow skin now nearly translucent as he clutched the edge of the table with white-knuckled intensity. After a moment of apparent internal struggle, he rose with visible effort, moving toward his house with the unsteady gait of someone fighting through physical weakness, further confirmation of the magical depletion described in the article.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore's magically amplified voice cut through the chaos like a thunderclap. "All students will return to their seats immediately. Prefects, escort your houses back to dormitories in an orderly fashion. Classes are suspended until noon while the staff addresses this situation."
As prefects scrambled to follow instructions, Chris allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, quickly masked by an appropriately concerned expression. The disruption had exceeded even his expectations, not just debate but actual physical conflict, the foundations of Slytherin house cracking under the pressure of uncomfortable truth.
"This is insane," Susan whispered, gathering her things as their prefect called for Hufflepuffs to follow him. "I've never seen anything like this at Hogwarts."
"It's not every day people discover they've been following a half-blood who secretly despised his own heritage," Chris replied, his voice carefully neutral despite the triumph coursing through him. "Cognitive dissonance can be a powerful thing."
As they stood to leave, Chris felt a peculiar sensation, the weight of an observant gaze. He turned slightly and met the ice-blue eyes of Daphne Greengrass across the hall. Unlike her housemates caught in the throes of emotional crisis, the blonde Slytherin sat with perfect composure, watching the chaos with detached interest. But her attention wasn't on the fighting students or intervening professors; it was fixed directly on Chris.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and something passed between them, a silent communication that made Chris's pulse quicken slightly. Daphne's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, the corner of her mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile as her gaze flicked meaningfully from the newspaper to Chris and back again. Then she inclined her head in the slightest nod of acknowledgment before rising gracefully to follow her prefect.
The message was clear: she knew, or at least suspected, his role in the unfolding drama. Yet rather than shock or accusation, her expression had conveyed something closer to impressed curiosity, perhaps even approval.
As Chris followed Susan and Hannah from the hall, he filed this observation away carefully. Daphne Greengrass had just become considerably more interesting, a Slytherin with the perception to see through facades and the discretion to keep such insights to herself. Someone worth watching. Perhaps even someone worth knowing.
Behind them, the Great Hall continued its descent into controlled chaos, the wizarding world irrevocably changed by words on parchment, by truths hidden for decades, now exposed to merciless light. Mission accomplished, Chris thought, and then some.