Covering It with a Thin Layer of Soil

The morning sunlight was bright, but people's hearts were dark. Historians called the Middle Ages the Dark Ages not because the skies were overcast all year round.

The moment Poppy Pomfrey discovered what spell had struck the House-elf, she notified Professor McGonagall. Before long, Professor Flitwick and Slughorn arrived as well. An Unforgivable Curse appearing on school grounds was as serious as someone committing arson. Even if the victim was a House-elf, it could not be ignored.

"Oh, heavens, I'll notify Dumbledore at once."

Professor McGonagall said helplessly. Professor Flitwick appeared relatively calm, while Slughorn wore a complicated expression: thirty percent guilt, thirty percent confusion, and forty percent fear. Clearly, he had no idea how bad things had become within his own House.

"Professor McGonagall, please don't panic. It's only a House-elf; there's no need to disturb the headmaster," Pomona said softly. "What we need to do now is strengthen patrols. An outsider may have slipped into the school."

"An outsider? Not someone from the school?" Flitwick frowned deeply.

"I believe none of our students did this," Pomona lied against her conscience. In truth, it had been one of Slytherin's little snakes who had done the vile deed. "Yesterday, I went near the Forbidden Forest to find Professor Grubbly-Plank. A young centaur was attacked by a werewolf. If there are flaws in the school's defenses, it would be terrible if those werewolves slipped in."

Pomona watched the professors' expressions. Professor McGonagall visibly calmed down; she surely knew about Remus Lupin. Flitwick's face grew grave, while Slughorn looked horrified. He clearly knew nothing.

He was practically being sidelined. Pomona lowered her head to look at the House-elf. Neither teachers nor students trusted him, and his so-called channels of information had long existed in name only.

"Did you see who did it, Miss Martin?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"I didn't see anything," Pomona said coldly. "I went to the greenhouse and found it at the entrance. Then I brought it to the infirmary."

"What was a House-elf doing at the greenhouse?" Slughorn asked.

"I said last night that I wanted to tidy up the greenhouse. Perhaps it went there early to make preparations." Pomona stroked its bald head. "It said its name was Robby."

"It's wearing a Hogwarts pillowcase." Flitwick pointed at the Hogwarts crest on Robby's clothes. "It's one of our House-elves."

"You should go to class, Miss Martin. Leave the rest to us," Professor McGonagall said, finally regaining her composure. What could the worst-case scenario be? A Death Eater had entered the school. What choice did they have but to face it?

"I want to check on the Whomping Willow first." She stood up directly. "It hasn't settled down completely. We still have work to do tonight."

"Go on." Professor McGonagall's attention was already fixed on the House-elf, and Pomona quickly left the infirmary.

"Pomona!"

After she had gone some distance from the infirmary, she heard Slughorn calling her. She was not surprised in the least. Of the four Houses, his students were the most likely to cast an Unforgivable Curse.

"What is it, Professor?"

Slughorn ran over with his large belly heaving, panting for breath. Once he had caught his breath, he asked, "Answer me honestly. Did you really not see who did it?"

"No." Pomona smiled. "I'm not a Gryffindor. Why would I frame Slytherin?"

"Stop playing games, young lady," Slughorn said sternly. "Don't think I'll be grateful just because you covered for me."

"Professor, I'm a Hufflepuff, and a first-year at that. What would I gain from tattling?" Just then, the first class ended, and the corridor gradually filled with people. "My cousin told me he couldn't protect me at all times and in all places. I really didn't see anything."

Then Pomona turned and melted into the crowd. Hufflepuffs were good at hiding. There was no need to risk her life over a House-elf.

Only now did she truly understand what real war was: doing anything necessary to achieve one's goal. The Dark Lord had already reached out to the younger generation of wizards. If every wizard obeyed that madman's orders, self-destruction would only be a matter of time.

"Pomona!" Someone called her again after she had walked a little farther. This time, it was Lily.

"What is it, Evans?" she asked politely. Lily looked stunned, as though she had believed they were close enough to call each other by their first names.

"Why are you coming from the infirmary?"

"That's none of your business," Pomona said coldly. "Be careful lately. Don't get too close to Slytherin."

She could feel Lily's warmth turn cold. When she was angry, she really was a little frightening.

"I don't think we're close enough to interfere with each other's friendships. Severus is my friend. We've known each other since childhood, and I know exactly what kind of person he is."

"If you know him so well, then why did you ask me whether everyone sorted into Slytherin was bad?"

"That's because she wouldn't listen to advice. Since when has Hufflepuff ever produced anyone clever?" A sarcastic voice rang out from around the corner. It was Severus Snape, the very person they had been discussing. "Don't you think so, Lily?"

Children's quarrels. After only one night, they had already made up as though nothing had happened.

Pomona could not be bothered with the two of them. She still had a mountain of things to do.

"Hi, Pomona!" To her surprise, she ran into Lupin at the next corner. Of course—like Lily, he was a Gryffindor first-year, and the previous class had been a joint class between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Seriously, did whoever arranged the timetable really think students from the two Houses would come to understand one another and become close friends just by attending classes together?

"Moonface, you know her?" James Potter came along with Lupin, as did Sirius Black and another Pete. He was short and always shrinking into himself, with little presence, just like Jane. Pomona was increasingly convinced that the Hat was mad. Why had someone like him been sorted into Gryffindor?

While Lupin was pondering how to introduce her, Sirius Black came over like a dog and sniffed Pomona. Looking thoroughly puzzled, he asked, "Why do you smell like the soap I use?"

"I'm going to see the Whomping Willow. Are you coming?" Pomona asked Lupin.

"Sorry, I'm not heading that way for my next class." Lupin pretended not to know her well. In truth, they were not all that familiar with each other.

"All right, goodbye." Pomona waved at Lupin and walked away from the group without looking back.

Sirius Black was one thing, but James Potter's father, Fleamont Potter, had invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. That bestselling product had doubled the Potter family's wealth, allowing him to marry into the Black family through one of its daughters. He was no longer a mere lackey; now he was nobility too. Yet James Potter deliberately mussed up his hair and strutted about with his nose in the air, looking every bit like a nouveau riche.

Why was there not a single boy among them who looked even a little mature?

Pomona thought with some disappointment. They were like unripe lemon pies—refreshing, yet slightly sour. They reminded her of the price Hufflepuffs paid for clapping the wrong rhythm during the barrel ceremony: being drenched with a huge bucket of vinegar. The punishment was not severe, but it was still a punishment.