Betty imagined the last night of term would be a sombre affair. After her unexpected departure from Beauxbatons, followed by two terms at Hogwarts, she finally felt settled. Exams were no highlight and although questions from her father were unlikely, she expected his disappointed face to make an appearance. Most trunks had been arranged in vast pyramids and were now ready for transport to the station. Someone let slip to Vivian that a Hogwarts tradition was in store for them that night. It was also traditional — teachers said — not to mention what the tradition was. Fifth form girls in Ravenclaw; however, told them that it was actually traditional to know about the tradition, you weren't supposed to know about. So they told them.

A midnight feast for all students, was held on the last night of the year. Each dormitory would be assigned a lower sixth former, since upper sixth formers were mentally moving on at this late stage and each dormitory group was allotted a site, to avoid interference and squabbling among themselves. Someone travelling by broomstick high above Hogwarts, would see dozens of campfire beacons spread across the school grounds, winking like earthbound stars.

Not so much a feast, as an opportunity to cook simple food over a campfire. A hand-shovel was used to cover the fire with earth afterwards, which doubled as a skillet for roasting nuts on. You chatted, told stories and sang songs if the mood struck; it was the last night to connect with your friends, before the long summer break. Not everyone had lots of friends, but the tradition was to include everyone; especially those pupils often seen, but not heard. The emotional turmoil of exams and the sudden arrival of term end, needed a remedy. So sadness was kept at bay by a combination of food, friends and fire. It was a bonding experience and ended with most staring into the flames, reflecting on a year of life-affirming highs and inevitably, the odd low. Everyone sneaked around, whispered and kept to the shadows, since it was an important part of midnight-feast theatre. The sneaking was unnecessary, as all teaching staff were aware of the feasts and considered it an essential part of developing well-rounded witches and wizards.

Betty was sleeping lightly when Eudora shook her awake.

'We're getting ready to go.'

Betty quickly changed into the clothes she'd left out. Strictly speaking, she should have picnicked with her own dorm, but Eudora and Vivian insisted she join them. Vivian convinced the lower-sixth prefect that Betty was practically a sister to her and eventually the prefect caved.

Rebecca Dawnay was in charge of the Ravenclaw junior dorm; nicknamed Mummy, she was a favourite of Headmaster Dippet and the Hogwarts' teaching staff. A brilliant pupil and stalwart of school societies, her smile was so permanently serene, it was almost unnerving. From Rebecca's arrival at the school gates six years earlier, she'd thrown herself into school life. Joining, helping, taking on the less appealing administrative chores, always arriving early and leaving late. Encouraging groups such as the Faerie Glade Preservation Society, which undertook marathon treks into the forests, to ensure faerie glades prospered. Choirs; school team supporters; litter picking; cleaning and repainting the school longship. Magical liaison: if a representative from the Ministry of Magic needed a tour of the school, Rebecca was on hand to show them round. The school and staff would certainly miss her enthusiasm when she moved on. Eudora was relieved to have Rebecca as their sixth former, but still thought that being out of bed would land them in trouble.

They weren't required to carry anything, since the school house-elves were tasked with transporting everything to the sites. The moon was halfway through its cycle, so once away from the castle lights, they wouldn't have to bump around in total darkness. Rebecca led their group downstairs to the Great Hall foyer and there beside the trunk pyramids — in a stage whisper — she recounted the midnight feast's history. There was in fact, no story to tell, but it was tradition to make one up and embellish it with gruesome details. Tales could be silly, frightening or both; the decision rested with the storyteller. Rebecca's story was a typically positive affair, maintaining Hogwarts' good name and ending on a happy note. Dippet would have swelled with pride.

Their designated site was across the covered footbridge, beside the Haunted Wood. This alarmed Eudora, until she heard that they would not be venturing into the trees. With the wood behind, they sat on a grassy bank overlooking Rumsail Loch, admiring its pearly surface beneath the waxing moon. There were wooden crates with cushions and blankets to wrap around your shoulders: if it became chilly. In the centre were split logs and to one side a wicker hamper, plus an urn containing enough butterbeer for several mugs each. In the hamper were: sausages; Portobello mushrooms; cheddar cheese; corn kernels for popping; crisps; tomatoes and cucumbers, plus an assortment of bread rolls. Propped up nearby, was a 5lb hessian sack, containing groundnuts for roasting.

Rebecca led the way, with her wand illuminated and held above, like a tour guide. Mouthing the spell quietly — since first formers were not allowed to perform fire-invoking spells — a white fork exploded from the tip of her wand. The interlocking pile of logs erupted in flame and amber light flickered across their faces. The logs huffed and whistled, popping now and again, as the fire's invisible heat spread outwards. The house-elves had constructed the log pile with two flat surfaces: for resting the huge, iron frying pans on. Betty and Eudora struggled with one, before Rebecca took over and levitated it into position. Few first formers had a useful handle on magic yet, knowing only simple spells such as the verdimillious charm (green sparks) and Rebecca was a reminder of how far they had to go in their studies. Plus, sixth form students had a knack for making spells look so easy.

Once the sausages and mushrooms were cooked, Rebecca, with help from Frances Leng — her protégé — dished them into rolls, then plated the salad and fresh crisps. Eudora, Betty and Vivian sat together with their backs to the wood, facing the silver loch. The food tasted so much better outside and also, Eudora thought, it felt like rule breaking without the risk. They scattered the groundnuts onto the hand shovel and took turns to flip them.

Rebecca announced that everyone had to tell a joke, or embarrassing story about themselves, while they tossed the nuts. Eudora's blood ran cold, since she was currently holding the shovel. Knowing she didn't have a funny bone in her body, this was a terrifying prospect. Usually when telling a joke, she messed up the punchline, or forgot a crucial element: stripping it of any humour.

Watching the nuts carefully — shovel in hand — Eudora told the story of a Saturday morning visit to the high street in Trim. After sleeping late her mother had called up, so Eudora dressed quickly and ran most of the way into town. Everyone was there for their weekly shop: family friends; magical folk; muggles; schoolmates; teachers and neighbours. She collected everything on the list, loading it into her wicker basket and stopping here and there to exchange pleasantries. Everyone seemed a little off that morning. Perhaps because she'd woken late, missed breakfast, or maybe it was just her imagination. Some were distant and few could make eye contact with her.

When Eudora got home, her mother took the basket from her. Turning, she said.

'Eudora, will you take a look at yourself in the mirror, now!'

There was a pause as Eudora stared into the campfire flames. Everyone leaned forward in expectation, before she continued.

There in the hall mirror, she was confronted by the bitter truth. Dressing in a hurry, the hem of her dress at the back had tucked into the top of her least-favourite pants. She'd been round the entire village several times, parading her underwear for all to see.

'I thought at one point, you know, it is chilly today.'

There was silence before Vivian snorted and quaked, trying to contain her laughter. The laughter was infectious, so everyone joined in, including Eudora. Others contributed an anecdote as the shovel was passed round, but Eudora's story remained a highlight. Vivian was resting an arm on her shoulder and Eudora felt a heartbreaking happiness, because tomorrow she would take an overnight train to Holyhead. Then an early ferry to Dublin and by late afternoon the following day, she'd be back in Trim. Missing these experiences and especially the company of her new friends.

After eating, they broke into smaller groups to chat; Vivian, Betty and Eudora were sitting in a horseshoe shape. Somehow the conversation turned to Eudora's hairstyle, which she'd kept since the Midsummer Supper. Self consciously Eudora touched her hair when Vivian mentioned it.

'Getting looks Dora, getting looks. I've seen Gary Box is keen. You might have yourself a new admirer there.'

'What?!' Eudora responded with more emotion than she intended. 'No, it's not like that. Gary's a friend.'

'WooOOOOoooo.' Vivian teased.

'He is. I like him, but I don't like him.'

Vivian shrugged.

'All I'm saying is, liking somebody is a pretty good place to start.'

Eudora opened her lips to respond, but nothing came. She thought of the Mirror of Erised and promptly shut her mouth again. The day after tomorrow, she would be home and the mirror would be out of reach for two whole months. During her last visit to the Room of Requirement, she'd tried to memorise every detail, but Tom's face and her daughter's, were already beginning to fade.

Without warning, Betty spoke with her head lowered and eyes levelled at the flames.

'I'm going to miss you both, more than you can imagine. And Tom. I know he's just a friend, but our chats in muggle studies. I look forward to them so much and well... I just find him easy to talk to. Sometimes I wonder if he's thinking? There's that girl again, trying to get my attention. It's actually quite embarrassing.'

'You're not in love, are you?' Vivian asked.

Betty buried her face in her palms for a moment, before composing herself.

'No, it's just the way I am.' She smiled with a hint of sadness.

'Perhaps I didn't get enough attention when I was younger.'

Vivian put her arm around Betty and gave her a squeeze. 'If you're not sure how you feel, you're in good company. No one does.' Although she was smiling, Betty brushed away several discreet tears.

Lucky for Eudora it was dark, because her face was practically whimpering. Betty even cries beautifully. She'd not mentioned Tom for months and Eudora secretly hoped that Betty's interest had waned. Eudora had fooled herself, believing what she wanted to believe and now her Mirror of Erised dreams lay in tatters, because girls like Betty always won the prize. She was pretty, sophisticated and worst of all: my best friend. Eudora felt such a fraud. Sneaking around after dark, secretly fantasising about some childish daydream; pretending that in the real world, Tom would save himself until they got married. Hah! As if that would ever happen? Words could not express how pathetic her behaviour sounded now.

Back in Trim, Eudora's previous life was simple. She went to school, ate her tea, read and went to bed. Now her emotions were supposed to navigate perilous, emotional waters: riddled with uncharted rocks and reefs. During a visit to the local bookshop in her village, she'd seen a romantic novel. Eudora casually picked it up and began flicking through the pages, before slamming it shut and leaving in a hurry. Her constant fear of being exposed! She understood now, what she feared then; that beneath her happy-go-lucky exterior, she was a romantic. Perhaps even a hopeless one. Who could never — not even for Betty — surrender her romantic hopes and dreams.

Every atom of her being wanted to commiserate and empathise with her friend. Surprising even herself — she couldn't do it — or didn't want to. Vivian stared at Eudora and flicked a nod towards Betty, so Eudora quickly joined them, resting a hand on Betty's other shoulder. Vivian was right. Everyone thought Betty was like Tom and didn't need support, but clearly she did. What sort of friend was Eudora being, if she wasn't there when Betty needed her most? How selfish had she become? Eudora forgot about Tom for the moment, but knew the long train ride and ferry crossing, would bring her gloomy mood back to roost.

It may have been the condition of a realm at riot, but Eudora's mind let slip a secret and somehow it found its way to her lips. Perhaps she wanted to make Betty jealous? Eudora knew something about Tom, which Betty didn't.

'Tom is the true Lord Protector.' Eudora made it sound like she was commenting on the weather.

Vivian narrowed her eyes.

'You're gonna have to explain that Dora, 'cause I'm pretty sure we've no idea what you're talking about.'

Eudora recounted the heart containing the orb of anamnesis, the memory of the vampire attack, that Gary had been present, but unconscious and how Herbie was knocked out. Then Tom dispatched the vampire and here she paused, embroidering the truth. She failed to mention Sheldrick and the vampire's confinement in a metal box — which even now still shocked her. Eudora could see their stunned expressions and the unkindest corner of her mind, was relishing Betty's discomfort. Eudora continued: Tom replaced Herbie's memory with another — where Herbie had killed the vampire — then Tom left alone. Hiding everything he'd done and passing credit to the auror.

Vivian and Bettys' expressions were similar. Confused to the point of disbelief and aware that the version of events everyone knew to be true, was entirely false. Vivian condensed their thoughts into a single word.

'Why?'

Eudora, cornered and panicky, said the first thing that came to mind.

'I don't know.'

Which despite her expectations, seemed to satisfy them.

'We shouldn't tell. I mean... It's probably secret for a good reason.' Eudora's pleading acquired a note of desperation, now the cat was out of the bag.

'He's just being modest.' Vivian was thinking out loud and half-dismissing Eudora's pleas already.

'Please don't tell,' Eudora's whimpering face returned.

'I won't,' Vivian said, but there was something about her lack of conviction, which told Eudora it was already too late. Betty said nothing.

Rebecca Dawnay chose this moment to clap her hands softly together.

'Girls, can I have your attention? Gather up anything you've brought along. Leave everything else, the house-elves will collect it before daybreak. If you're interested, I'm presenting them with a signed portrait of staff tomorrow morning. To thank them for their contribution over the past year: meet at 6.45am, on the stage in the Great Hall.'

No one responded, since they all planned to be fast asleep at that time, but Eudora knew sleep was beyond her now. An hour ago, she was sure she didn't want to go home; however, at this moment and given the chance, she would happily run to the station. Keeping the secret about Tom had been a firm promise and now the whole school would know. When Gary found out, he would hate her! He'd tell everyone — including Tom — that silly-little Eudora was behind it all. Her stomach turned upside down with worry, during their climb back up to the castle. Life could change course with no warning and she always felt so ill-equipped to deal with it.

Eudora lay awake for many hours — fretting — then attended the house-elf presentation early next morning, along with Frances Leng. Rebecca's transports of delight at greeting not one junior pupil, but two, was touching. Frances smiled in a shy way, but Eudora just felt sick, especially in her heart. She planned to stay out of harm's way and keep the lowest profile possible when walking to the station. Sometimes in winter, or after dark, there were carriages to Hogsmeade, but in fine weather they always walked. She would make a hole and live in it for the entire journey, waiting patiently for their arrival at King's Cross. Then, after taking a taxi to Euston, she planned to sleep on the train and board her ferry the next morning. Eudora's mother was meeting her at the station in Trim, later that day; then, finally, she would be hundreds of miles from any difficult questions. For two whole months.

William Howard was also up early on leaving day. The seed of his idea at the Midsummer Supper, germinated over the days that followed. It would be fair to say, the whole business was taking an unhealthy grip on his state of mind and he was frequently seen talking and protesting with himself. His side of the story seemed important, but in truth he was simply wrestling with his conscience. Bill knew that what he was planning, was fundamentally wrong; the simple litmus test was: would you like it if someone did this to you? No, obviously I wouldn't and that should have been the end of it. As far as power, authority and respect were concerned, justifying your actions only mattered at the beginning. Later on, conscience barely got a look in.

Bill had been muttering to himself during Sunday lunch, when he was interrupted by a classmate, asking who he was talking to. Bill realised that his obsession was now visible to the wider school population. So what? Who cares? He didn't any more. Riddle needed taking down; this was war and Tom — poor little innocent Tom — had fired the first shot.

Bill assembled a clique around him: his war cabinet. They wouldn't dream of questioning his motives, mostly due to Bill's size and influence. If Bill were an ape, his followers would be surrounding him, removing parasites and stroking his fur back into place. In the absence of parasites, they showered his lack of self-esteem with compliments and approval. The group numbered around ten and were keen to make an early impression on the world. In several years the boys' hormones would take a back seat, but for now, pack hunting and picking on the weak, was a legitimate form of entertainment. Identifying a target for his clique, especially one who offered so little resistance, was too enticing for Bill to pass up.

Frank Merryweather contacted his father to enquire about Riddle, mumbling something about provenance and background. Apparently Tom was being considered for a special award and there might be something iffy in his family tree. This was a valid reason as far as his father was concerned, so Frank was given full permission to use The Daily Prophet; in whichever manner he saw fit.

When the owl came through with a summary from the Prophet, Frank handed it straight to Bill, whose eyes glinted. He scanned the parchment, picking up nuggets of gold along the way. Tom was an orphan, magical mother... Well, forget that detail. Muggle father, muggle upbringing, rumours of underage magical use, but nothing concrete so far and a suspected interest in the dark arts. A history of lax supervision, flexible morals and so on. Bill was beside himself and so were his minions. This was more than enough to drag Tom's name through the mud.