"𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙚."
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Lestrange battles the haunting grip of Tom Riddle's malevolent diary as she unravels long-buried truths about her family, herself, and her growing feelings...
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"You're never in the wrong place. Sometimes you're in the right place, looking at things in the wrong way."
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"Harry, Jove, wake up," Hermione's voice cut through the haze, and Jupiter blinked as Hermione's hands shook her shoulders, forcing her eyes open. The hospital wing was dim, shadowed in the late hours, and everything felt slow and heavy.
"I saw my dad," Harry murmured, his voice hoarse with awe as he sat up slightly in the bed beside her. Jupiter's head throbbed, a deep ache that made her stomach churn, as if all the coldness from the lake had settled deep inside her bones.
"What?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing as she sat beside Harry, her eyes flicking between him and Jupiter with a mix of concern and disbelief.
"He sent the Dementors away," Harry said, a faint, proud smile on his face. But Jupiter's heart sank, and she shivered as the memory of her dream clawed its way back—her mother's face, that same woman from the crystal ball, haunting her even in sleep.
"Listen," Hermione's voice pulled her back, grounding her. "They've captured Sirius. Any minute now, the Dementors are going to perform the kiss."
"You mean they're going to kill him?" Harry gasped, scrambling out of bed as if he might run to stop it himself.
"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, the weight of the news pressing on her face. "It's worse. Much worse. They're going to suck out his soul."
Suddenly, the doors to the hospital wing flew open with a bang, and Dumbledore strode in, his floor-length robes billowing, his face set with a fierce, purposeful look.
"Headmaster, you have to stop them!" Hermione cried, rushing forward. "They've got the wrong man!"
"It's true, sir," Harry added, his voice thick with urgency. "Sirius is innocent."
"It's Scabbers who did it," Ron called from his bed across the room, wincing as he shifted his bandaged leg. Dumbledore's piercing gaze turned to him.
"Scabbers?" Dumbledore asked, one eyebrow raised.
"He's my rat, sir. But he's not really a rat. He was my brother Percy's rat, but then he got an owl, so I—"
"Peter Pettigrew!" Jupiter interrupted, cutting through Ron's babbling, her voice as steady as she could muster. She pushed herself up in bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that made her vision blur. "He's an unregistered Animagus."
"And we know the truth," Hermione insisted, her eyes pleading. "Please believe us."
Dumbledore's expression softened, his gaze distant, almost sorrowful. "I do, Miss Granger. But I'm afraid the word of four third-year students will convince few others." He sighed, crossing to Ron's bedside and patting his leg gently, though Ron let out a few strangled squeaks of pain. "A child's voice, however honest and true, is meaningless to those who have forgotten how to listen."
