Harry was, indeed, loitering in the corridor.
He straightened when Alisa emerged, trying and failing to look casual. "Oh. Hey. I was just—"
"Stalking me?" Alisa asked dryly.
The flush that crept up his neck was answer enough.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Harry said, falling into step beside her as she walked. "You looked... stressed. In there."
"Diagnostic spells aren't exactly relaxing. Do you like going to the hospital?"
That must have been the right question because Harry made a disgusted face.
"No, I suppose not." Harry was quiet for a moment. "Is the curse getting worse?"
Alisa shot him a sideways glance. "Why do you ask?"
"Because Tonks has been following you around even more than usual. And you've been—" He stopped, seeming to reconsider his words. "I mean, not that I've been watching you or anything. I just noticed—"
"Harry," she said pointedly.
"—that you seem more tense lately, and I know the demon attacks have been increasing, and I thought maybe—"
"Harry."
He stopped talking, cheeks pink.
Alisa couldn't help but smile slightly. "I'm managing. But thank you for the concern."
"Right. Of course." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted you to know that if you need anything... I mean, Tonks said some things, about helping people, and I've been thinking—"
Whatever he was thinking got cut off by a commotion ahead.
Students were running down the corridor, their faces pale with fear. Someone was shouting.
"What's going on?" Harry demanded, grabbing a passing fifth-year.
"Attack!" the girl gasped. "Near the forest! Someone's hurt!"
Alisa didn't wait to hear more.
She ran.
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
The scene near the Forbidden Forest was chaos.
A cluster of students had gathered at a safe distance, held back by Professor Flitwick's charms. Hagrid was there too, his massive form blocking the view of whatever had happened.
And striding toward them from the direction of the trees, his black robes billowing, was Professor Snape.
In his arms, he carried a student.
A girl. Fourth year, maybe—Hufflepuff, by the yellow trim on her robes. She was unconscious, her face ashen, and her magic occasionally twitched with something new. Something familiar.
"Clear the way!" Snape barked, his usually impassive face tight with urgency. "Flitwick, send for Pomfrey. NOW."
Alisa pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of the students around her. She could feel it—the familiar, nauseating taint of infernal magic clinging to the girl like smoke.
"What happened?" she demanded, falling into step beside Snape.
His dark eyes flicked to her, assessing. "Demon Marquise. The fool girl ignored the warnings about staying away from the forest perimeter. By the time I reached her, the creature had already cursed her."
Cursed.
The word hit Alisa like a physical blow.
"Where's the demon now?"
"Banished." Snape's tone was clipped. "Barely. It was stronger than expected."
They reached the castle entrance, where Madam Pomfrey was already waiting with a floating stretcher. Snape transferred the girl to it with surprising gentleness.
"Infernal curse," he told the mediwitch. "Soul-anchored, if my initial assessment is correct. Standard purification won't work."
Pomfrey's face went pale. "Like the Novikova girl's?"
Snape's gaze cut to Alisa. "Perhaps. We won't know until we examine her properly."
They swept past, heading for the Hospital Wing.
Alisa stood frozen in the entrance hall, her mind racing.
Another curse. Another victim. Because of me—because the demons are drawn to me—
"Alisa?"
Tonks appeared at her side, slightly out of breath. Her hair was a worried purple. "I heard what happened. Are you—"
"I think—I need to see her," Alisa said. "The girl. I need to see the curse."
"Now?"
"Now."
Tonks studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. "Come on. I'll get us in."
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
The Hospital Wing was quiet except for the soft hum of diagnostic spells.
The Hufflepuff girl—Eleanor Vance, according to Tonks—lay in one of the beds, still unconscious. Pomfrey had drawn privacy curtains around her, and Snape stood just outside them, his arms crossed.
He didn't look surprised to see Alisa. "Come to observe your handiwork?"
"This isn't my—" Alisa stopped herself, jaw tight. "I want to help."
"How noble." But Snape stepped aside, allowing her access to the curtained area.
Alisa approached the bed slowly, her senses extending outward to probe the curse's structure.
It was there—undeniably there—the same ugly, bruised-purple taint she saw when she looked at her own magical signature. But different, too. Less potent. Less entrenched.
There might still be time to—
She stopped.
Her eyes had drifted downward, taking in the girl's form beneath the thin hospital blanket.
And she saw it.
A bulge. Unmistakable. Right where there shouldn't be one.
Alisa's blood ran cold.
No.
She looked again, hoping she was wrong, hoping it was a fold in the blanket or an odd angle or anything else.
But it wasn't.
Eleanor Vance—a fourteen-year-old girl who had made the mistake of walking too close to a forest—now had the same curse Alisa did.
The same dick.
"Miss Novikova?" Snape's voice cut through her horror. "You've gone rather pale. Have you discovered something?"
Alisa couldn't speak.
She couldn't even breathe.
It's my fault. It's all my fault.