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Three twelve-year-olds are gathered in a bathroom, copying a diagram from a book onto the floor in chalk.
"Do you know what all this writing means?" asks the green-eyed boy.
"No," says the bushy-haired girl, "and that worries me too, but we need to find out who the Heir of Slytherin is and this ritual is the best we've got."
Eventually, one or another of them draws the last bit of the outer circle.
"The stories muggles tell about demons? Where they have bright red skin and pitchforks and offer you knowledge in exchange for your soul?"
"Wait, maybe he's a muggle demon. He doesn't have a wand. You don't have a wand, do you?"
"I can't say that I do. Or a pitchfork. And I don't think I'd look good in bright red and I don't want your souls."
"If we brought a muggle into Hogwarts we're going to be in so much trouble. But if you're not magic, how do you have wings?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's in Scotland; if you were British I'd say you would have heard of it if you were magic but you sound American so I'm not sure."
"I could switch dialects but as long as this one's intelligible it's my default. Is there perhaps some sort of adult you might reasonably inform about, uh, this?"
"I suppose we should tell Professor Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall. Or Professor Lockhart."
Cam has not met any of their professors. He does wonder why people who teach what look like prepubescent children style themselves "professor". "There's not a terrific rush about it if this isn't the best time."
"Maybe you could explain what a demon is first." Maybe they can solve this without telling anyone in authority why they were doing unfamiliar rituals in a girls' bathroom.
"We're the kind of daeva that makes stuff. Do you not know about angels and fairies either?"
"Fairies are a sort of magical insect, but I've never heard them called daeva or compared to demons and angels. What sort of stuff do you make?"
"Arbitrary material objects," he says, processing this assertion. "Hey, does there happen to be any magic you can do as a demo, I'd like to see."
"Ooh, yes, that," says the girl, pulling a fancily carved stick out of her pocket. "And for a demonstration--wingardium leviosa!" She gestures with the stick, and the antique-looking tome lying open beside her lifts gently into the air. She guides it up to shoulder height, then grabs it and tucks it under her arm.
"If 'being the Heir of Slytherin' is a conjurable parameter and the circle doesn't have a binding in it, which it probably doesn't, then maybe? Who's Slytherin?"
"Salazar Slytherin was one of the four Founders of Hogwarts. Someone claiming to be his Heir is petrifying muggleborns, possibly with magic he left hidden somewhere."
"If they might only be claiming to be his heir then it's less likely I can accurately conjure them, I might get an actual descendant who innocently operates a tea shop or something while their identity is used by another party. Uh, can you describe in detail more about the petrifying, thing..."
"It's been two students, a cat, and a ghost so far. They turn up unconscious, all stiff, like statues. Except the ghost, he turned grey and they had to blow him around with a fan. The teachers say there's a potion that might cure them, but it'll take all year to brew. And . . . right before the first attack, I heard a voice nearby, talking about how it wanted to kill, but I didn't see what was talking."
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