No one at Hogwarts could understand why Skuld Weasley, one of the most peculiar yet striking girls in the school, walked directly to the professors' table as soon as she entered the Great Hall.
Rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by Pansy Parkinson's gleeful whisperings. She speculated that Skuld had secret dealings with the professors, weaving tales that grew more dramatic with each retelling.
"Why is your sister talking to the professors?" Hermione Granger asked Percy Weasley, her tone carefully neutral.
Percy, whose expression betrayed little more than irritation, gave the high table a cursory glance before answering, "She's probably gotten herself into trouble again."
Hermione frowned but said nothing. She knew better. Skuld Weasley didn't have a reputation for seeking trouble. The tension between her and her family seemed rooted in something far deeper than a rebellious streak.
Further down the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were having a similar conversation.
"Do you think she knows something about what happened on Halloween with Sirius Black?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing toward the redhead now speaking with Professor Snape.
Ron shrugged, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know. I've never seen her like this before. She's usually smirking or has that look, you know, like she knows something no one else does. But now she's... different. Serious."
Both boys turned their attention back to Skuld, who was deep in conversation with the Potions Master, her expression unreadable.
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What if...?
The intrusive thought crept into Skuld Weasley's mind once again. She shook her head sharply, attempting to dispel it, but her focus wavered under Professor Dumbledore's steady, piercing gaze. It felt as though he could hear every word of her unspoken thoughts, as though he could see the ideas she'd been imagining when she shouldn't have.
But what if I...?
No. She wasn't a murderer.
"Miss Weasley!"
The sharp call from Professor McGonagall broke her train of thought. Skuld raised her head, her expression calm and collected, though she immediately noticed the source of her professor's alarm.
The beetle they had been practicing spells on lay motionless in her hands. It was dead.
"Apologies, Professor," Skuld said evenly, setting the beetle aside. "It seems I'll need another one."
She sat back, waiting patiently for a replacement.
Professor McGonagall, however, couldn't shake the chill running down her spine. For a fleeting moment, she had seen something in Skuld's expression, detachment, as if she hadn't even been aware of what she'd done.
And it terrified her.
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