Cosa Nostra
08. Threads that Unravel
“Mr. Potter.”
I tilted my head upwards from where I had previously been enjoying quite a ravishing breakfast. Toast just touched by the flame, eggs that held a perfect consistency, crisp bacon, all the essentials and a small side of fruits that was simply excellent; my compliments would have gone to the chef if I had known who it was that served me my morning breakfast. I wasn't alone in my enjoyment of the morning meal - students lined the Great Hall on this Saturday morning, some still with eyes barely open and dressed in pajamas of soft cottons, some underneath loosely drawn cloaks.
Sun could be seen through the magically enhanced ceiling. Carefully crafted and puffy clouds twittered in the sky, mere wisps of vapor among the clear blue sky. The sun was just rising in the heavens, its light bearing down into the Great Hall and illumination the hall through the panes of glass. It seemed like a nice day - a perfect Saturday for the students of Hogwarts to enjoy the grassy knolls to either lie upon or simply enjoy themselves with one another.
My fork was poised over my eggs as I turned to the voice, the eyes of those closest to me similarly watching the conversation while still holding vague strings of their own exchanges. I let my fork slowly drop to my plate and gripped a small, golden goblet holding an orange liquid that I had come to have quite an affiliation for.
“Madam Umbridge,” I responded coolly, raising my goblet in greeting.
Her smile was infectious, but I didn't let the aberration creep into my own lips. She held a small clipboard in her hand, held closely to her chest, her distasteful pink robes draped loosely around her. I took a sip of my drink and watched her carefully, expecting her message, but apparently she was taking her time to allow the conversation of the Great Hall slowly dim away with the speed of a dying candle's last flame.
How very clever, delivering a message to not only me, but the whole body of the school.
“I'm glad to see you are well, Mr. Potter,” she said with seemingly genuine sympathy. “It appears the security measures of Hogwarts are not at the levels that they once were.”
Here she gave a patronizing huff, her eyes roaming to the general vicinity of the Head Table, lasting perhaps a second too long on the headmaster himself. Dumbledore simply smiled and took a sip of his own juice, seemingly unfazed by the antics of Madam Umbridge. Unfortunately, this did nothing to quell her ire.
“Fortunately, I have a remedy.”
My attention shot back towards Umbridge, an arched eyebrow in interest. I had expected this; the Ministry would have been foolish to not take the opportunity to capitalize on a weakness of Hogwarts. It was just a matter of how they decided to pursue this tactic that held my interest. I inclined my head in a motion for Umbridge to continue speaking, and with a girlish giggle, she removed the top sheet of paper from her clipboard.
“As per issue of the Minister, I propose the first of many Educational Reforms upon the halls of Hogwarts. These safer, stricter measures will be helpful in the upcoming terms, especially for the young, uneducated students of Hogwarts,” said Umbridge, a wide smile stretched across her lips.
The silence was deafening.
Umbridge held the paper in front of her, her free hand maneuvering her wandpoint to her throat. With a muttered incantation and a small mote of light, her voice amplified tenfold and the light clearing of her throat echoed in the rapidly filling Great Hall.
“Educational Decree Five. All imports and exports to Hogwarts will be subject to regulated check through Ministry approved institutions,”
A roar of discontent met her statement, a flitter of a scowl passed over my own. Minister, minister, such reckless moves won't keep our friendship alive for very much longer. I met Dumbledore's eyes for a brief second in the ensuing chaos and saw him let out a light chuckle. I noticed he refused to meet my gaze, preferring to stare somewhere past me to a bland location of stone behind me. Perhaps he had missed my gaze entirely and was watching another student.
“ - institutions, to help prevent the passage of restricted goods and items that could inflict harm to the student body,” She finished with another little puerile giggle and reattached the parchment from her clipboard, making a small note in the margin with a pink-feathered quill -- flamingo, no doubt. Her smile - a small mark of satisfaction - was kept upon her face as she turned towards the Headmaster, seemingly victorious.
And with the authority of Emperors long forgotten by the world, Dumbledore stood at the Head Table, a friendly smile upon his wizened face. With a lazy roll of his hands towards Umbridge and her education decree, he spoke clearly and loud enough to reverberate in the Great Hall with unspoken power.
“I am afraid, Dolores, that I must clarify the terms of this decree,” began Dumbledore with a benign smile, his guile masked. “All items sent to Hogwarts students will go through regulated check - letters shall not be included. This decree simply helps to allow items on the restricted lists to be checked.” He gave a conspiratorial wink towards the Gryffindor table - especially the Weasley twins.
Make no mistake, Albus Dumbledore was no fool. They said he was one of the greatest wizards of all time. Greatness isn't achieved by benign friendships and joyful smiles - Dumbledore had played every side of the die. Umbridge's smile faltered.
“Of course Headmaster, but Ministry officials will be checking every item with the utmost care. Any violators of the restrictions will be persecuted as is appropriate,” said Umbridge sweetly.
Dumbledore chuckled and raised a gnarled hand to readjust his half-moon spectacles.
“It seems like a great deal of waste to misuse such valuable Ministry resources.” Blue eyes twinkled vividly. “Cornelius has been gracious enough to allow the house-elves to incorporate that task to their current tasks - given that he receives reports, of course.”
I heard the sharp intake of breath from Umbridge, her eyes narrowing dangerously at Dumbledore for the barest of moments. She let out a small, indignant huff and turned back to me, scorn still written in her face. A corner of my mouth quirked slightly - her defeat had been swift.
“Mr. Potter, I wish you the best of health,” she said earnestly, inclining her head slightly.
“And you, Madam Umbridge,” I replied evenly
With a dignified twirl on her heel, Dolores Umbridge left the Great Hall. I dared not approach the witch; I value my life a little more than that. I took another draught of Pumpkin juice and wiped the remnants on my lips with a small serviette before standing up.
“We don't have classes, Harry, weekends are off,” noted Daphne from her position across from me. One dainty hand held her spoon, poised over a bowl of cereal, bent at a minor angle while two hazel eyes watched me carefully.
I gave her an arched expression.
“I think I'll take a walk.”
- - -
A walk later found me at my destination, after proceeding through winding passageways and stone hallways with portraits that stared upon me in silent thought. Portraits of ancient wizards and witches, framed in exquisite woods and some painted with gold -- wood that was twisted, knotted, and warped with such elegance to capture the sophistication of each wizard and witch with surprising accuracy. They looked alive; maybe that was because they were.
The room I used, however, was barren of students and teachers. It was a small alcove of a room located in one of the far corners of the castle, scented with the faint allure of dusty wood and old, crisp parchment. The blackboard was marked with what once seemed to be vigilant theories on mathematics, the dusty remnants of crossed out and rewritten calculations left as its only testament. Unused chalk lay sprawled about the floor, crushed in frustration or thrown away in agony.
I decided to call it my Thinking Room, for this was where another mind obviously had been in deep thought.
Mounting scrolls covered a wall, some clear of writing while others held incoherent ramblings of a wizened individual, or astronomical charts that held no rhyme or reason. This was no cove of useful information to me, but rather a cavern of confused and incongruent knowledge. No, there would be nothing here to aid me - not the dust that hung thickly in the air, nor the sunlight that crept in from a partially drawn window above an empty bookcase, or even the multitude of desks and chairs that were cluttered near the back.
There would, however, be silence and peace.
I dropped my bag on the teacher's desk with the vague thoughts of a University professor coursing through my brain. A puff of dust rose from where impact was made, revealing a small, worn quill that had become so gray with dust that it was almost invisible. I brushed the dust off and stifled the irritation in my nose to remove a small text and use my foot to hook the closest chair to me. I withdrew my wand and placed it on the desk, turning to the premier pages of texts on Seventh year Transfiguration, Charms, even advanced tomes on Defensive knowledge.
And so I read the classics - or to be precise, the modern works of wizards and witches around the world. I learned of Miranda Goshawk's spells which spoke of charms and spells that could boggle the mind, make wine from thin air, and even change a chair into a dog. I muddled through the drawl of Adalbert Waffling, touching upon how magic came from inside my body and how determination, will, skill, emotion, and even clarity of thought led to a spell's capability. Time seemed to pass like seconds, hours passed in the world around me; eternity in an hour indeed.
And the Thinking Room lived to its name. I didn't even care as the sun arced over the sky, reaching its peak as I could hear the laughter of young children outside. I didn't lose concentration when I heard the older students talking about their plans after Hogwarts, nor did I break focus when I heard the latest gossips through the thin opening in the window.
My mind was an empty attic, completely devoid of all inessential information until only the most important were left. I kept the information short - knowing that certain spells required certain motions: the short abrupt flick of a cutting charm, the grander swish of an Incendiary Charm. I kept what I needed to learn in little boxes of knowledge while I pushed out everything else that was unnecessary into further recesses - the basis of the fiction novels of written wizards and magi were drained away, only the truths remained.
After a while, I became curious.
Could these spells work? I could do them in theory but would my application be as flawless as I thought they would be. Could reactions be explosive such as the mixture of potions ingredients, or as flawless as my result had been? I reached out a tentative hand and gripped the holly shaft of my wand, raising it as I would aim a gun.
“Bang, bang,” I murmured under my breath.
I flicked back a few pages in Goshawk's book and stared down at a simplistic incantation, a Stunning spell that would render the opponent unconscious. It seemed useful - force my opponent into an unconscious state of being in times of danger.
I rose from my seat and jabbed the wand towards an empty desk that had cluttered the back of the room. I let my raw will and determination channel to my right hand and through the wand, clearing all of my thoughts and focusing on the precise movements of the spell. A small mote of red light crackled at the tip of the wand, energy building up at the tip of my wand.
“Stupefy,” I intoned.
A lance of crimson energy, the width of my wrist, flew forward from the tip of my wand and tore through dusty air, past where sunlight paned in from windows. The spell burned into the desk and pushed it back slightly, leaving a small scorch mark upon its oaken surface.
I let out a relieved laugh, my shoulders shaking in amusement. My first intended spell, how magnificent. The magic didn't feel like it taxed my body as much as my wandless variant did - perhaps it was because the incantation and wand acting like a focusing keyhole as Waffling had proposed.
I raised my wand again, keeping it loosely held in my hand, and gave it a sharp flick, muttering “Diffindo.”No flashy jet of light spewed forward for my wand, the subtle shift in the air was the only precursor that my spell had acted correctly. A small slice emerged on the desk's legs, cleanly cutting off one of the four pegs and leaving the desk slumped to one side. As if a saw had just cut through it, the spell had left the leg of the desk cloven in two.
I took a few steps across the room and picked up the small piece of wood, admiring my craftsmanship. It was a nice job, done with the precision of a trained carpenter. In the fading, orange light of the setting sky I could see the coarse edge, the flakes of sawdust on the ground around the desk.
I raised my wand again, holding it over the small piece of oak in front of me. Every man wants to be able to turn metal into gold, to transform something else entirely. I took the piece of wood back to the desk and flipped through a few pages. I wouldn't try for gold just yet, but perhaps simple transformation.
“Novo anguis,” I recited.
The wood trembled upon the desk, twisting and turning while its skin began to shift and harden. No longer were the smooth curves of a desk leg as defined, it writhed and small diamonds began to form over its lengths. Scales began to grow, the piece of wood contorted and lengthened as a distinct tail began to form at one end.
And then it froze.
As if the sands of time had stopped, the wood was left contorted in serpentine fashion. Its oaken edges gave way to smooth, reptilian scales, a body that was warped in construction. I knit my brow and stared at the item - why didn't my spell work? My incantation was flawless, the movement was precise.
The door creaked open.
I cocked my head in the direction of the intruder and spun on toe, raising my wand. Furious, crimson motes sparkled at its tip, my left hand gathered will together. I felt the air shift again, just a subtle touch of magic that made it feel simply electric.
In stepped a young girl, one who had decidedly crossed my paths several times in my week at Hogwarts. The young Daphne Greengrass entered, her deep emerald robes tied around her body, a wand held over both palms. The item itself pointed straight at me. She took one sweeping glance over the room, her nose scrunching up slightly, before her eyes settled on me.
“That was quite a walk,” she said slowly.
I narrowed my eyes and kept my wand trained on the girl. Never again would my life be as close to being threatened as it had been before. My weapon would always be in my hands, I would always be ready to battle.
“Quite.”
She shrugged one shoulder, putting her wand inside of her pocket. “After you missed lunch today, we were worried something happened to you,” she opened, moving over dusty wooden floors to peruse masses of scrolls.
I raised one brow doubtfully.
“And yet you discovered me with such ease,” I replied dryly. “One must wonder why it is our paths keep crossing, Daphne. Do I have something you desire, or is it something else entirely?”
A small, feral smile tugged at her lips as she turned away from the scrolls to look me in the eyes. She crossed the room towards me in several distinct strides and watched the partially transfigured piece of wood and the open textbook upon the dusty desk with interest. An amused smile quirked on her lips as Daphne gripped the wood in her hands, turning it over in her palm to examine it from all sides.
“You know, I think I know where you went wrong,” said Daphne, raising the wood into the amber light of dusk.
“What interests me more, is how you discovered me in such a reclusive part of the castle,” I countered evenly.
“It took me almost an hour to find this room through the labyrinth of hallways, yet you seem to have taken the abridged stroll.”
Her eyes sparkled mischievously, “Come now, Harry. I simply asked my wand to point me in your direction, it complies quite easily,” she answered wryly.
I doubted her statement, but for all I knew she could have been telling the truth. I recalled the young Miss Granger recounting a tale where a spell called Point Me was used in the Triwizard tournament - a maze or something of that variety.
“And you came all this way to assure yourself that my health is well? How touching,” I answered glibly.
She shrugged noncommittally again, “Take it as you will. It's good to see that you're making progress, but perhaps your technique needs just a small amount of refinement,” she noted, holding her forefinger and thumb just a few centimeters apart.
“Should I require your assistance, I will request it. Until then, I am quite capable of pursuing my own studies,” I answered frostily. To be honest, her repeated assistance was dancing on the edge of my ire. I didn't like owing favors, especially not ones that came in the form of knowledge and aid.
Daphne chuckled, “I can see you're doing an excellent job on your own. Finding your mistakes one step at a time, just like a child testing the shallows of the ocean,” she teased. She crossed the distance between me and her in a few steps, holding the partially transformed desk leg in her hands, pointing it in my direction.
I reached out and gripped the wood with my left hand and kept my wand aloft in my right. She kept her grip on it, loose enough to establish contact but not tight enough to show dominance. After a moment, she let the piece of wood slip from her grip and took a step back, giving me the next move.
“Why do you offer me your free assistance?” I asked quietly.
“Maybe I just want to help you - maybe I think you're going to go places,” she answered cryptically. “Maybe I think that a wizard like you shouldn't be kept in the dark, or maybe because I don't like seeing you fail.”
I tilted my head to the side. Right, good will - that was something that had been in overabundance in the last few days. Wizards sand witches always ready to aid me, there to assist me in my endeavors, there to rescue me from the clutches of defeat. It reminded me of people trying to help the struggling orphan, offering bread and water along his way through the streets in the grand city of life.
Those stories have happy endings. Happy endings don't exist.
“Hardly enough to sway my favor,” I responded smoothly.
Daphne clicked her tongue, “Now why would I want your favor? Perhaps I want to see you caught up in your classes instead of toiling in,” her nose scrunched in appalls, “dusty and ancient classrooms,” she said demurely.
Kings aren't born, they're made. Every king needs assistance sometimes; it was foolish to waste my time researching my errors when I had the available resource stood in front of me. My mentor once told me to make full use of those around me, to use every resource to its utmost potential in holding power. Daphne Greengrass was a resource, one offering free aid. Who was I to refuse?
I inclined my head the barest of inches and she moved forward immediately and gripped my wrist, bending it ever so slightly to tilt my wand towards the piece of wood upon the desk in front of me. With the precision of a squire arming his Lord, she moved in quick, efficient motions over my arm: my shoulder was pressed down, elbow straightened out, grip modulated slightly. Daphne finished her motions against my back, holding my wrist in her hand and gently prodding the leg of wood.
“Picture what you want it to transform into. Imagine it,” she whispered softly, her mouth just outside my ear.
And an image met my thoughts; a snake of the palest white, eyes doused with crimson blood. Flowing scales seemed to shimmer in my mind, fangs sharp underneath a pointed head. A name echoed in my head, Nagini…Nagini…
“Novo anguis,” I whispered.
The wood writhed again, twisting out of control as it lengthened to a little more than a foot in length. Hard oak softened and melted into white scales, the body of a snake forming with the skill of a craftsman. The head formed first, narrowing and flattening while small, ruby jewels appeared for eyes. Its body followed next, twisting contours forming upon its lengths while the scales finished. The tail finished with a sharp flick and the snake was left staring back at me, its crimson eyes boring into mine. I felt a vague sense of familiarity - as if I had seen this snake before in a dream, or another life entirely.
“Good job, Harry,” she said quietly.
I inclined my head in minor concession and fell a great deal of elation at my completed project. The coiled snake on the desk in front of me was testament to the creations of magic. An organism created solely from the basic carbons of wood and transformed into another creature entirely. The very idea was illogical, but here it was, fully possible.
“May I ask where you discovered that piece on information?” I asked slowly, gesturing towards the white snake upon the desktop. It was now coiling itself in the fading sunlight, eyes closed in a state of sleep.
Her lips quirked into an amused smile. “It's basic advice given to first years that struggle with changing simple objects,” said Daphne. “Transfiguration is an extension of the imagination - imagine the picture before you try to paint it.” Her last words were delivered in grandiose fashion.
I swished my wand in a wide motion, “Incendio,” I muttered. A waved of flames met my words and consumed the resting serpent as a lion would its prey. Fire crackled over the length of the snake until only a small pile of ash remained, its origins unknown.
Daphne arched one eyebrow in mild interest but said nothing. I placed my wand into my pocket and began to pack my bags with my literature. The moon was beginning to rise, its luminescence seen over the grounds of Hogwarts as a seemingly infinite number of stars began to shine in the sky. Its pale light reflected on the dark grassy knolls of Hogwarts, on the placid surface of the Black Lake in the distance. The wind that crept in through the window was no longer inviting but cold and bitter.
“Shall we go for dinner, Harry?” she offered, leaning against the desk table slightly. One hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair away from her vision - how very inviting.
“My day isn't quite over. Perhaps another time,” I said dismissively, moving to walk out the door.
“Harry,” she called as I was halfway across the room.
I paused, turning back to view the young girl. I raised a brow expectantly as she seemed to struggle with some decision, her brow knit in indecisiveness. After a moment she stared me directly in the eyes, almost challengingly.
“There are sections in the Library that can offer you far faster progress than any texts. The Restricted Section has texts that are only supposed to be studied by students who are preparing for their N.E.W.T examinations. There are items there that can teach you more than you ever thought possible,” she advised softly.
She moved slightly closer still, “There are forces of magic darker and more complex than what these textbooks offer. There is magic that can grant you power beyond your wildest imaginations, if your will is strong enough,” she continued.
“Such power must have a price,” I mused. “Nothing in this world is without cost, Daphne. You know this.”
“That, is something that you have to discover for yourself. I can only point you in a direction that I think you will find valuable. I would be wary, Harry, some branches of magic are called dark for good reasons,” she advised, beginning to head towards the door.
She was offering the opportunity to delve into Dark Magic, a branch of sorcery with power that had been long hated by society and often affiliated with those who sought to establish chaos. It was a gambit on her part, for all she knew I could have brutally refused her and followed a more pure path. It's a true shame that Harry Potter has been anything but kind and innocuous.
“I will consider it,” I replied, readjusting the bag on my shoulder and preparing to move out.
I left my Thinking Room and a contemplative Daphne that day as the wind bit against my skin, an uncomfortable chill against my skin. Perhaps I would use this Restricted Section. I had learned that those with ability and power in the Wizarding World made the rules and held authority over others. Fear incites loyalty, that was how the world had played its games since the first sands of time had fallen.
There was still work to be done.
- - -
“What exactly are we looking for?” asked Blaise from his position next to me, situated at the threshold to our dormitory. We both held our wands out, eyes scanning the room carefully.
“Anything out of place.”
Both beds had remained relatively untouched, partially due to a formal request to have the house elves kept out of my room for the remainder of the weekend, and also in part due to our own activities. Blaise had not slept in his bed since the incursion from a few days prior; he had taken to resting within the common room. A worthy sacrifice made by the wizard, one that might prove invaluable to finding who had been after me or him for that matter.
The two identical beds lay equidistant from each other, covers half pulled off in our individual styles of waking - my rapid mess, and his slower, more languid removal. Blaise's footprints marked the emerald covers, from his trek to acquire my wand. The dressers still had my day's cloths neatly placed atop them, a folded Hogwarts uniform and a cloak next to it. I frowned and took a few steps into the room, creeping carefully over where I had ripped a sheet of cloth off to lag blood flow of the venom.
“Did you ever reacquire your wand?” I asked, lifting up the sheets on my bed with careful precision, looking for any imprints on the covers that weren't mine.
“Yeah,” said Blaise. “I found it in the Common room. I might've left it there after classes…” he trailed off.
I glanced at him obliquely before moving closer him and holding out a hand, wordlessly demanding his wand. Without a missed beat, he removed the wand from his pocket and held it out to me. I grabbed it and withdrew of my own wand, meeting the tips of wood as I whispered an incantation under my breath. A handy little charm I had picked up - used to discover the last spell wielded by a wand.
“Prior Incantato.”
A ghost of an image rose from its depths, a thin smoke creeping upwards out of the tip of the wand and spreading to become a cloud of fog before me. The smoke coalesced together, becoming more solid and beginning to form a shape. It was misty, barely visible but condensing rapidly as it took on a more circular form, a sharp cut in the center.
“What is that,” Blaise murmured, gazing at the fog intently.
I let the image progress a few stages forward; it became spherical with a small keyhole in the front. A harsh flash of light emitted from the keyhole and the handle turned close before the image was left hanging in the air, a haunting reminder of a clue to the past. I waved my wand over it and cleared the smoky image which became thinner and thinner until finally nonexistent.
“A locking charm, by the looks of it,” noted Blaise, gesturing towards the fading fog.
I said nothing before returning to my search again. If they had locked the door with Blaise's wand, logic told us that the person may have been in the room prior to sleep, or during it. I shuffled through Blaise's drawers, looking for cloths that might have been out of place as someone searched for his wand. He seemed to catch onto my idea and began to rummage through the sheets of his own bed, no doubt the spot where he kept his own wand at night.
I was searching for anything; any bit of fabric that might have gotten caught on a corner, or perhaps a trace of hair that may have loosely fell from someone's head. Perhaps an individual had lost a ring by accident, or even something as simple as a quill. Even ink stains would narrow down the possible list of attackers, leaving my true enemy certain. I had a lurking suspicion the headmaster was not as innocent as he claimed, but perhaps he had a point by pointing me in the direction of Voldemort's forces within the castle. Perhaps his tendrils of power ran deeper than I had thought, into the next generation.
But such thoughts are far too hopeful. Clues are riddles, difficult to decipher until the very end. I always valued a good mystery. Hell, I had been making mysteries for police officers since Vanzetti welcomed me into the fold, it was a precise art.
I fell to my knees and looked under the bed, under my own where the snake must have been positioned or at least searched for sanctuary. There was no trace of the creature's remains, apart from a few flaking scales that meant nothing to me. I knew what creature attacked me; I needed to know who sent it.
“Harry, look at this,” said Blaise from next to me.
I turned my head and saw that the boy was crouched and examining a small patch of dirt that lay near his own bed. I slowly walked over and knelt low, running my fingertips through the dirt. I rubbed my forefinger against my thumb to test the consistency - it certainly felt like dirt.
“Light,” I ordered.
Following my command, a short incendiary charm later found the room around me illuminated, a local candle in my outstretched hand. From the orange light of the room's fires, I could make out a similar trail of dirt stretching from the door to where I sat and back again. I rose to my feet and slowly followed the track. If only I had a magnifying glass and the proper attire, I could be the modern Sherlock Holmes.
I started at the threshold to the room, kneeling once again to observe the light pattern of dirt that had accrued on the entry rug. It was barely visible on the emerald carpet, but ever evident in the face of light.
“He entered here, before we were asleep,” I murmured quietly.
I followed the path forward, lifting up the white sheets to reveal another dirt print just a few feet away. Its shape was different, resembling the heel of a shoe rather than the toe of the former mark. The size was relative, probably a smaller foot of a woman or perhaps a young student. That narrowed my list down comprehensively; there was little chance of one of the male professors entering the room, most assuredly not my own Head of House.
“He moved forward, and stopped near my bed for a moment, perhaps he searched for a spot to plant the Runespoor.”
“Unlikely,” interceded Blaise, “we know that you closed the door at night, so he would've had to open the door before the Runespoor came inside. I doubt whoever planted the Runespoor would've entered the room, planted the snake underneath the bed, and then left.”
I inclined my head in mild concession - his logic seemed to be on target. It would be useless to enter the room, plant a snake underneath my bed, and then escape. I doubted I would have remained sleeping, and planting a snake underneath a bed was foolish. Perhaps this person had returned to the scene of the crime, perhaps to retrieve the serpent or something else entirely.
I moved forward, following the dirt trail as it came to a rest near the foot of my bed. I followed the motions of my attacker, moving as he would've - I kneeled down and looked underneath the bed.
“What am I looking for,” I muttered underneath my breath.
It was obvious that whoever had left the dirt marks was looking for something. Movements were too erratic, going from drawers to the bed and back again to the door. It wasn't done methodically; any trained killer would have known exactly how to kill me and where to place the snake. They wouldn't have even had to have entered the room, just let the snake in through a small crevice before locking it.
That's what I would've done, at least.
Maybe that's what he did do, maybe there was someone who had come in afterwards and tampered with evidence. An accomplice? A friend? It could be almost anyone.
I let out a heavy breath and rose to my feet, following the dirt trail back to the door where it ended. Whoever had entered the room since our departure had taken a look over his handiwork one final time before heading out.
“The dirt doesn't belong to whoever placed the snake here,” I said, giving the scene before me once last glance. I pinched the bridge of my nose, “The first person came, unlocked the door, planted the snake and came back later, no doubt locking it after I had closed it. The second person came in while we were absent, searched for something - maybe evidence - and cloaked it.”
Blaise sat down and leaned back on his bed while I did the same thing on my own. Neither of us said a word for a moment, each processing our own clues. There was someone who could be found for this, but all we had was the knowledge that this individual had clearly been outside during the day.
One fact confused me still - the door had been unlocked when I woke at night. An experienced individual would have locked the door with spells that would have been nigh unbreakable. This had been an amateur job, by at least one of the two members involved in wronging me.
Fool me once, shame on you.
“Let's go get dinner, we'll not get anything done just sitting here,” proposed Blaise, lifting himself up and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed.
With a short nod of agreement, I rose from the bed, stepping onto the floor and turning on toe to lead a pathway out of the Dungeons. I heard a sharp grating sound come from beneath me, one that was foreign and hardly sounded like dirt. I paused as Blaise did, both of us looking at the other questioningly.
I stared down at my feet and lifted my right shoe up, cradling it with my hand as I examined what I had stepped on. It was a light powder, fine but almost metallic in origins. The powder sprinkled off of my shoe and onto the floor, where another, barely noticeable, collection of powder lay. I scooped it into my hand and examined in carefully, feeling the texture between my fingertips. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, the texture of metal filings with the fine consistency of sand.
I slowly looked around the room again, carefully looking at every location where dirt had accrued on the ground. As fate would have it, next to every pile of dirt was a small scattering of this metallic dust. I went around the room and using two pieces of parchment, I scooped it upwards and examined it carefully. If only I had the magnifying glass now.
I felt Blaise's breath over my shoulder as he watched the same, mysterious pixie dust with interest. I reached into my pocket and removed a spare vial, carefully folding the parchment to funnel the dust inside.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a clue.”