24 24. Classes

After the feast, the corridors of Hogwarts buzzed with the energy of students returning to their respective houses, their voices echoing off the ancient stone walls. Apollyon, however, moved silently among them, her mind preoccupied with the events of the evening. The exchange with Draco had left her feeling a mix of triumph and unease, the weight of his words still lingering in the back of her mind.

As she descended into the cooler, dimly lit passages that led to the Slytherin common room, the familiar hiss of the portrait door allowed her a momentary feeling of relief. The green-hued light of the common room greeted her, its shadows dancing across the walls, casting everything in an eerie, underwater glow. The room was quieter now, many of her housemates having already retired to their dormitories, the excitement of the day gradually giving way to the calm of the night.

Apollyon made her way to her personal dormitory, a small but comfortable room that she had come to see as her sanctuary within the castle. It was here, among her books and personal belongings, that she could truly be herself, away from the expectations and prejudices that seemed to permeate the rest of her world.

As she began to prepare for the next day, laying out her robes and organizing her books, a sudden realization stopped her cold. The diary. She had intended to put it away, to distance herself from its influence, but now she couldn't find it. A sense of panic set in as she frantically searched through her belongings, overturning books and papers, her heart rate increasing with each passing second.

Had she lost it? Or worse, had someone taken it? The thought sent a chill down her spine. The diary wasn't just any book; it was a dangerous artifact, one that she knew, deep down, she shouldn't have been tampering with in the first place. The idea that it could be out there, potentially influencing someone else, or revealing its secrets, was terrifying.

She tried to retrace her steps, to remember the last time she had definitely seen it. Was it on the train? In the compartment with Fred and George? No, she had brought it with her to the feast, hadn't she? The memory was fuzzy, the events of the evening having blurred together in her mind.

Apollyon sat on the edge of her bed, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Panicking wouldn't solve anything. She needed to think logically, to come up with a plan. First, she would check the common room and the path back to the Great Hall. If that failed, she would have to consider who might have seen her with it last and whether they might know its whereabouts.

As she prepared to leave her room, Apollyon made a mental note to herself. The diary, and the secrets it held, had already begun to change her, to influence her actions and thoughts in ways she hadn't anticipated. Finding it was now her top priority, not just to safeguard its magic, but to protect herself and her peers from the dangers it represented.

With the corridors of Hogwarts growing quieter and the curfew rapidly approaching, Apollyon realized that her window of opportunity to search for the diary was closing. The tension that had built up in her shoulders began to ease slightly as she accepted the reality of her situation. The diary was nowhere to be found, at least for tonight, and continuing to search the castle at the risk of getting caught by a prefect or, worse, Professor Snape, was a gamble she couldn't afford to take.

Reluctantly, she made her way back to the Slytherin dormitory, her thoughts racing with possibilities and concerns about the diary's whereabouts. Each scenario seemed more worrying than the last, ranging from it simply being misplaced to the terrifying prospect of it falling into the wrong hands. The diary, a repository of a dark fragment of Voldemort's soul, was not something that could be taken lightly. The implications of someone else discovering its power and being influenced by it were dire.

Back in the safety of her room, Apollyon took a moment to gather her thoughts. The diary's disappearance was a significant setback, but it was not insurmountable. She reminded herself that she was resourceful and determined, qualities that had served her well in her first year at Hogwarts and would continue to do so now. The diary would surely resurface at some point; such a powerful object couldn't simply vanish without a trace.

Resolving to keep an eye out and to ask discreetly among her classmates without raising suspicion, Apollyon recognized that this was a problem that required patience and subtlety. For now, she would focus on her studies, on strengthening her magical abilities and knowledge, which would be her best defense against whatever challenges lay ahead.

As she lay in bed, the events of the day replaying in her mind, Apollyon felt a mixture of fear and determination. The loss of the diary was a stark reminder of the complexities and dangers of the magical world she had embraced. It was a world of incredible beauty and profound darkness, where the choices one made could have far-reaching consequences.

Closing her eyes, Apollyon made a silent vow to herself. She would find the diary, and she would confront whatever darkness it contained. She had sat out of the trouble in the first year, however this year the trouble was likely to come to her.

-

The first light of morning filtered through the high windows of the Slytherin dormitory, casting a soft glow over the room as Apollyon Seraphina prepared for her first class of the second year. Despite the unresolved mystery of the diary, she felt a sense of eager anticipation at the prospect of returning to her studies, especially Potions, a subject in which she had shown considerable talent.

The Potions classroom, located in one of the colder dungeons of Hogwarts, was a place that many students approached with a mix of fear and fascination. The shelves lined with jars of mysterious ingredients, the simmering cauldrons, and the ever-present, scrutinizing gaze of Professor Severus Snape created an atmosphere that was both intimidating and exhilarating.

As Apollyon entered the classroom, she felt a familiar thrill. The dense, herbal scent of the room, the soft bubbling sounds, and the cool, damp air felt like a second home to her. She took her seat at one of the front tables, arranging her materials with practiced efficiency, her eyes sparkling with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they were in their element.

Today's lesson was on the Sleeping Draught, a potion that required precision and patience, qualities that Apollyon possessed in abundance. Professor Snape, a figure both feared and respected by his students, had a reputation for being particularly harsh on those who didn't meet his high standards. Yet, even he could not deny Apollyon's natural aptitude for potion-making.

"As you will recall," Snape began, his voice cutting through the murmur of student chatter, "the Sleeping Draught is a potion that induces a state of calm and drowsiness in the drinker. It is essential that the proportions and timing be exact, lest you produce a concoction that is either ineffectual or dangerously potent."

As he demonstrated the precise method for preparing the potion, his gaze occasionally swept over the class, lingering for a moment on Apollyon with what might have been a begrudging respect. She listened intently, her focus unwavering, already mentally reviewing the steps and ingredients listed in the textbook.

When the time came to begin their own potions, Apollyon worked with a calm, methodical pace, her movements deliberate and precise. She carefully measured out the valerian roots, slicing them into thin strips before adding them to her cauldron, where a gently simmering mixture of lavender and chamomile awaited. The potion's color slowly changed, a sign that it was progressing correctly.

As the class continued, the tension in the room was palpable, with students anxiously checking their potions against the criteria Snape had outlined. Apollyon, however, remained composed, her potion a perfect example of what the Sleeping Draught should be.

When Snape made his rounds to inspect the students' work, his critical eye found little to fault in Apollyon's potion. "Well done, Miss Seraphina," he said, his voice betraying no emotion, yet the absence of criticism was praise enough from him. "Your potion is exemplary."

The acknowledgment from Snape, brief and understated as it was, filled Apollyon with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Potions was a complex art that required not just knowledge and skill, but an intuitive understanding of the magical properties of ingredients and their interactions. It was a subject where she could truly excel, pushing the boundaries of her abilities and exploring the depths of her magical heritage.

The second year Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) class promised to be unlike any other, especially with the addition of Gilderoy Lockhart as the new instructor. Rumors about Lockhart's flamboyant personality and his questionable achievements had circulated among the students since his appointment was announced, creating a buzz of anticipation and skepticism.

As Apollyon Seraphina entered the classroom, she was immediately struck by the transformation of the space. The walls were plastered with large, framed pictures of Lockhart himself, each capturing him in different, dramatic poses: battling various dark creatures, signing copies of his books, and even a portrait where he was simply flashing his dazzlingly white smile. The room was a shrine to his ego, and the students murmured among themselves, their expressions ranging from amusement to disbelief.

The chatter quieted down as Lockhart, clad in robes of eye-catching turquoise, swept into the room with the air of a celebrity making an entrance. His golden locks seemed to shimmer under the classroom lights, and his teeth gleamed as he greeted the class with a smile that was clearly meant to be charming.

"Good morning, class!" Lockhart boomed, his voice as grandiose as his appearance. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. But I don't talk about that. I'm here to impart to you the knowledge I've gained in my years of battling the dark arts across the globe."

The students exchanged looks, some rolling their eyes while others seemed genuinely impressed by the man's accolades. Apollyon, however, remained skeptical. She had read enough about Lockhart to question the veracity of his claims.

"Now," Lockhart continued, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm, "I believe the best way to start our journey into the world of defense is to dive straight into practical experience. Today, we'll be dealing with Cornish pixies!"

With a flourish, Lockhart revealed a cage covered by a piece of cloth. The class leaned forward, curiosity piqued. With a dramatic pause, he whipped the cloth away, revealing dozens of little blue creatures with mischievous faces, their tiny wings fluttering agitatedly.

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" Lockhart declared, aiming his wand at the cage. To the students' dismay, nothing happened; the pixies remained as lively as ever.

In the next moment, Lockhart, with a foolhardy confidence, opened the cage. The pixies burst out in a frenzied swarm, causing chaos. They darted around the room, upturning books, pulling students' hair, and screeching in high-pitched tones.

"Come on, now, round them up, round them up!" Lockhart shouted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his spell had had no effect whatsoever. The class descended into pandemonium, students ducking and dodging as they tried to avoid the mischievous creatures.

Amid the chaos, Apollyon tried to maintain her composure, casting simple spells to try and capture the pixies. It quickly became apparent, however, that Lockhart had no control over the situation, and his attempts to regain order were futile.

As Lockhart continued to flounder, it was the students themselves who began to take charge, using their wits and the basic spells they had learned the previous year. Apollyon, working with a few of her classmates, managed to corral several of the pixies back into the cage using a clever combination of levitation and containment charms.

The ordeal ended with the classroom in disarray, half the pixies recaptured and the rest still causing havoc in the corners of the room. Lockhart, looking decidedly less dashing with his hair mussed and his robes askew, tried to laugh off the incident.

"Well, I think that's enough excitement for one day!" he exclaimed, his voice a tad less confident than before. "Homework: read chapters one through three of 'Gadding with Ghouls'—excellent reading, really gives you a feel for the subject."

As the students filed out of the classroom, exchanging bewildered and amused glances, Apollyon couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. If this class was any indication of what was to come, they were in for a very long year.

As the days transitioned into weeks, Apollyon Seraphina found herself immersed in the rhythm of school life, her days filled with classes, homework, and the occasional bout of mischief. The memory of the diary, while never far from her thoughts, began to recede into the background as she focused on her studies and her friendships.

Despite the underwhelming start in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Apollyon excelled in her other classes. Her natural aptitude for Potions continued to earn her Snape's rare nods of approval, and she found herself fascinated by the complexities of Transfiguration under Professor McGonagall's meticulous instruction. Even the often overlooked subjects like Herbology and Astronomy captured her interest, offering new insights into the magical world and its workings.

Yet, it wasn't all work and no play. Fred and George Weasley, ever the instigators of chaos, often pulled Apollyon into their schemes, much to the chagrin of the Slytherin house prefects. From bewitching quills to dance on their own to concocting mild pranks aimed at the Gryffindor table during meal times, the trio found ways to inject humor and lightness into the sometimes oppressive atmosphere of Hogwarts.

However, the shadow of the missing diary loomed large in quieter moments. Apollyon couldn't shake the feeling of unease that accompanied its loss. She kept her promise to herself, making discreet inquiries and keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of the book, but as days turned into weeks, no leads emerged.

In the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, where the air was thick with the echo of mysteries past and present, Apollyon found herself unexpectedly crossing paths with Harry Potter and his close-knit circle of friends. Harry, along with his sister Eleanor, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, were huddled together, their discussion ceasing abruptly as she approached. The flickering torchlight cast shadows that danced across their faces, revealing a tapestry of caution and curiosity.

"Hey," Apollyon greeted, her voice echoing slightly in the stone corridor. "Everything okay?"

"We're fine, just sorting some things out," Harry replied, with a guarded but polite demeanor. Eleanor offered a small smile, a gesture of goodwill that Apollyon appreciated given her summer spent with the Weasleys.

Apollyon's eyes briefly met Hermione's, noting the flicker of suspicion that lingered from the events of the previous year. "If it's school-related, maybe I can help," Apollyon ventured, despite knowing she wouldn't divulge anything about the diary. The risk of exposing its existence, and her search for it, felt too great.

"It's... well, Harry's been hearing things," Ron blurted out, earning a sharp glance from Hermione.

"Voices," Harry clarified, his tone serious. "In the walls, talking about...hurting people."

The information sent a shiver down Apollyon's spine, not just for the eerie nature of the confession, but for the resonant echo it found in her own concerns. Still, she remained guarded, the diary's secrets too dangerous to share without full understanding.

"That sounds... troubling," Apollyon said, carefully measuring her words. "Hogwarts is full of secrets. Some of them are...darker than others. It might be worth looking into the history of the castle. Old magic tends to leave echoes."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing Apollyon's vague advice. "We're trying to get to the bottom of it," she said, her tone indicating that while she appreciated the suggestion, her guard remained firmly in place.

"Of course," Apollyon replied, nodding. "Just remember, not all secrets are meant to be uncovered alone. There's strength in numbers, and in shared knowledge."

With a final, meaningful glance at the group, Apollyon excused herself, continuing down the corridor. She left behind a hint, a nudge towards unity and caution, without revealing the burden of her own search. The diary, with its dark allure and hidden dangers, remained her secret to bear, at least for now.

-

In the bright, airy Transfiguration classroom, with its high arched windows and rows of polished wood desks, Apollyon Seraphina found herself once again immersed in the intricate dance of magic and concentration. Professor McGonagall, a paragon of precision and discipline, paced the front of the room, her sharp eyes observing each student as they practiced the day's lesson: the transfiguration of a feather into a silver key.

Apollyon sat poised at her desk, a single, delicate feather lying in front of her. Her wand was held lightly in her hand, a focused calm reflected in her eyes. She had discovered, through her own trials and the necessity of navigating the mysteries of Hogwarts, a deeper connection to her magical abilities. It was as if she had unlocked a new layer of understanding, one that allowed her to channel her magic with an efficiency and intensity that was both effortless and profound.

"Concentration is key," Professor McGonagall reminded the class, her voice cutting through the concentration-heavy silence. "Visualize the transformation in your mind's eye, and let your magic do the rest."

Apollyon took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself. She visualized the feather, not just its appearance but its essence, and then pictured it morphing, reshaping into the cold, hard form of a key. When she opened her eyes, the world seemed sharper, her goal clear.

With a soft, almost whispered incantation, "Mutatio Clavis," Apollyon gently waved her wand over the feather. The air around her desk shimmered with a subtle, silver glow, magic weaving through the space between wand and feather. The transformation was seamless, the feather's soft barbs melding and solidifying into the intricate form of a key, its silver surface reflecting the light from the windows with a soft gleam.

The class around her paused, a collective intake of breath marking the moment. Even Professor McGonagall, in her years of teaching, allowed a brief expression of surprise and approval to cross her stern features as she approached Apollyon's desk.

"Very well done, Miss Seraphina," she said, her voice carrying a rare note of warmth. "An excellent display of skill and control. You've not only mastered the technique but have shown an exceptional depth of understanding."

Apollyon felt a flush of pride at the praise, her heart lifting at the recognition. It wasn't just the success of the transfiguration that pleased her; it was the affirmation of her newfound approach to magic. By fully immersing herself, by believing in the flow of her magic, she had tapped into a well of potential she hadn't fully realized she possessed.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class, but the moment stayed with Apollyon. Her classmates' impressed murmurs and Professor McGonagall's commendation buoyed her spirits as she packed up her things.