Cosa Nostra

09. Bricks of My Kingdom

I leaned back in my chair, teetering on the back legs while a small tome lay in front of me, dusty pages filled with useless knowledge that had been bestowed upon me by Madam Umbridge. I had taken a taste of magic available to me; it had satisfied me, given me ways to fight those that might confront me in dark hallways, or in the sanctity of my own room. The topics being taught to me in the dusty confines of this classroom paled in comparison to what was slowly becoming available to me. I wondered whether it was fit to even call it magic – this was surely not the power that I was beginning to learn and love.

I turned my gaze outside, to the windows that showed the Hogwarts grounds. Billows of fog had swept through the once clear skies, leaving the air cold and the ground wet. The seasons had begun their languid transformation, morphing from the bright, warm days of summer into the cold, dreary days of autumn. Leaves over the grounds started to lose their touch of green, as nature’s gentle hand retracted and the bitter claw of winter slowly crept in. Green was forsaken for orange and brown leaves, some of which now cluttered the once clear fields of Hogwarts, leaving children with games to play with one another. The sky had darkened into a desolate gray, blocking out all presence of the Sun except for a concentration of soft white light in the sky. From the small crack in the window, I could smell the difference in air – no longer was it filled with pollen but now it was moist with an overabundance of dew. Time had crept through September, October was on the horizon.  

And I liked it.

I turned my head and took a sweeping glance of the classroom – students were deeply entrenched within their texts, some reading furiously while others had their heads propped up by their hands, gazing around without care. Madam Umbridge sat upon her chair, writing something on a long paper of parchment that trailed down to the floor in its entirety. Some, more diligent students had their quills poised over short pieces of parchment, jotting down notes with judicious use of their inkwell, while others had taken to resting on the same page for minutes at a time.

The toll of a bell sounded the end of the class period, ringing from some great depth inside of the castle. The students slowly began to file out – the Gryffindors leaving with utmost haste while others dawdled. I pretended to search for a lost page for a few minutes while the class cleared out, Madam Umbridge still involved within her own notes.

I walked forward, passing through rows of empty desks, wooden and blotched with ink marks, to stand before the professor herself. My footsteps were the only sounds that echoed in the dim room, but apparently Madam Umbridge had yet to hear them. I stood before her for a moment, watching her quill scrawl furiously, ink insidiously growing over parchment.

I cleared my throat; my own personal hem hem. Her head shot up, gray puffs of hair bouncing as she readjusted her spectacles to look at me, moving them on the bridge of her nose. Her lips spread into a wide smile, cheeks swelling to truly reciprocate her appropriate given amphibian nickname.

“Mr. Potter,” she greeted warmly. “You should be on your way to class. It would not do well for a student of your standing to be late.”

I waved a dismissive hand and smiled in what I hoped was a charming fashion. “Surely you could write a pass, Professor?” I asked wryly, taking a seat in the plush leather chair that was set in front of her desk. “After all, there is much for us to speak of.”

She leaned forward in interest, setting her pink quill down on the piece of parchment. The professor before me paused for a moment before withdrawing her wand and with a quick flick, a preset tray of tea came hovering out from her private office, attached from a side door to the classroom.  With a wordless gesture towards the kettle, I poured myself a small cup, holding the lid carefully and added a generous amount of sugar and cream.

“And what should we be discussing, Mr. Potter?” she queried, raising her cup of tea to her lips. She took a long sip, savoring the liquid before putting down her cup and folding her hands in her lap, gazing expectantly at me.

“You once told me that you were concerned for the falling standards of Hogwarts,” I opened slowly, pausing to take a small sip of the tea that rested before me.

Her eyes were earnest with anticipation as she leaned forward in her chair ever so slightly as if listening to a great secret. I leaned back in my seat, a half-smile creeping into my lips as I stirred the tea in my hands. The trick was to tempt her into wanting the information I could present; a simple game that I had played for ages.  

“Yes? Yes? Do continue,” she pressed.

“As of late, I have observed the most peculiar behavior in the library wing,” I said, pausing for just a moment. “Some students seem to be delving into some very strange materials … Some might go as far to call them Dark.” I left the insinuation hanging in the air as taut as the silence that stretched on for a moment.

She let out a little giggle, “Perhaps I misheard you, Mr. Potter, but it sounded like you believed students were researched the Dark Arts? Surely the procedure to obtain such material would be carefully monitored.” Something in her tone sounded as if she doubted the very statement.

I inclined my head indulgently. “It is as you said Professor, the falling standards of Hogwarts. I fear to imagine what would come if a band of students were to use such information for,” I paused, stirring my tea, “malicious purposes.”

She rose to her feet with swiftness past what I expected, splattering tea over the front of her robes. “Come! I will immediately inform Cornelius of this debauchery! You have done very well, Mr. Potter, very well indeed,” she said quickly, grabbing a handbag.

“Wait, wait,” I placated, unmoving. “You are being myopic, Professor. What if you were to wait and see how this develops?” I leaned forward in my chair, “This could prove to reveal events that have been kept secret in Hogwarts for all of these years. Perhaps the Headmaster truly has been plotting underneath our – I’m sorry – the Ministry’s very nose. Perhaps he is in fact planning a takeover,” I tapered off.  

Madam Umbridge paused, taking in my words at a snail’s pace before she slowly sat down, placing her ostentatious handbag next to her large roll of parchment. Her eyes stared blankly ahead of me, brow furrowed in deep thought while she reached out one quavering, excited hand to grip the kettle and pour herself more tea. The set clattered against familiar ceramic as she poured excess tea, dripping from the brim and staining the tray. Her eyes were alit with enthusiasm as she took a gracious sip from her cup and turned back towards me again.

“You’re absolutely right, but surely, I cannot allow this blatant defilement of rules and procedure to continue,” she said, alarmed. She made a muffled sound of complaint in the back of her throat.

I adopted a more uncertain, puerile tone. “I don’t know, Professor. Perhaps if there was someone available to watch the Restricted Section and the Library at all time, underneath the Headmaster’s eye. Maybe that person could try to – I don’t know – observe the Library for any signs of wrongdoing?” I queried, an inflection of uncertainty placed in my tone.

“Yes, yes. Excellent idea …” she murmured, head nodding rapidly in agreement while a pudgy finger tapped against her chin.

My half smile spread into a smirk, how easy it had been. All it required now was a little stroking of the ego, and a final capture to place myself in a position of fortune – one that would gain me appeal with Umbridge and a small reward for myself.

“I know a distinguished Professor such as you wouldn’t have time to take in such menial tasks. I’m sure your duties go far beyond the classroom, especially one with such a title as yours. Undersecretary to the Minister and a Hogwarts Professor, it must be tedious,” I remarked sympathetically. I set down my teacup and bridged my fingertips.

“There are tasks to be done, and I would expect that I am fit to pursue them!” she retorted, a bitter inflection in her usually sweet tone.

“I meant no offense, Professor,” I said kindly. “I only meant that an individual such as yourself should not waste their time on such menial tasks of observation. Perhaps a student would be better suited? One who the Headmaster has little knowledge of?”

She nodded slowly, so very understanding of my request. They say reason incites followers; those who understand one’s logic will oft follow. My logic was flawless for Madam Umbridge.

“I would humbly request the honor, Professor. It would be terrible to give this precarious position to anyone who, shall we say, favors the Headmaster over established government. Imagine if the Headmaster discovered that the Ministry was employing students, it could be your very downfall,” I noted coolly.

 

She gave a little giggle and tore off a small sheet of parchment, picking up her quill and dipping it inside of her inkwell to write a small note upon the paper in long, fluid strokes. I couldn’t help the arrogant smirk that slipped into my features; how perfectly I had set the trap and played the part.

“Now, Mr. Potter, I hope that you can keep a secret” – another giggle – “There could be many rewards for your aid. Perhaps you could even be accepted as an intern to a formidable Ministry position upon your graduation. Such an honorable position for a good young man, wouldn’t you agree?”

I smiled and inclined my head dutifully. “We do what must be done to ensure such wrongdoing is watched, don’t we?” I asked smoothly, rising from my chair as she rose from her own. I pulled the sleeves of my shirt upwards and smoothed out the sides of my pants.

She wordlessly passed over the parchment over the table of the desk and silently, I grasped it. A blink of an eye later found it within my pocket, neatly out of sight and out of mind. Her lips spread wide, cheeks swelling once again as she gazed upon me.

“I hope your research bears fruit, Mr. Potter. There’ll be no need to tell any other teachers of our conversation, would there?”

I shook my head and lifted up my bag, turning to walk towards the door. I heard her pick up her quill and began scratching over the parchment again, a pleased hum hanging in the air.

Maybe I’d turn out to be a good apple after all.

A short walk found me out of the pathways and climbing through the staircases of Hogwarts, mindful of the stares of passing portraits. Some were surprised to see me among the living from my nighttime escapade, while others glared pointedly at me before turning away. Well, can’t win them all.

I stepped up marble stairs, mindful of their rapidly changing pattern until I reached the seventh floor, moving through a straight passageway laden with tapestries and a few paintings of what seemed to be stereotypical librarians. All women shown in the aesthetically framed portraits had similar, large glasses with careful eyes that seemed to follow me meticulously as I walked forward. The entrance to the Library was strangely ordinary – a large double door with a double handles that were etched of a fine wood, in the shape of a scroll. The Latin phrase “scientia potentia est” was inscribed in gold lettering above the entrance, seemingly shimmering in the hallway with light only coming from nearby torches.

I pushed open the door and entered into the library, following a pathway to the main desk where a tall, analytical woman sat, pouring over a certain text while her fingers deftly shuffled cards underneath next to candlelight. Her head cocked up as I opened the door, dark eyes piercing my own, one hand reaching up to readjust the square spectacles upon her face. A sharp nose twitched as I moved forward, as if she dreaded the idea that I might touch her precious books. The overprotective Librarian, how quaint.

I stopped before her desk, duly noting her placard that held her name – Irma Pince.

“I would like to utilize the Restricted Section,” I stated, removing the small piece of parchment from my pocket and sliding it over the table.

Her eyes narrowed – combined with her black hair and sharp nose, she reminded me of a raven or perhaps a crow. One swift hand grabbed the parchment from the desk, lifting it to her eyes where she read it quickly, scrutinizing every last detail of it. After a moment she returned the pass to me.

“Very well,” she said stiffly. “You will find the Restricted Section on the far left of the Library, books may not be removed at any time.” She raised one gnarled fingertip to point in the direction of which I was instructed, her eyes returning to the book that lay beneath her nose.

I inclined my head in agreement and stepped through the shelves of books that towered to their ceiling: dusty novels, ancient history books, all containing knowledge that had been long lost to the age. Oaken tables were situated betwixt tall shelves, wooden chairs around them that were often filled with younger and older students, the latter being more frequent. From the panes that lined the corridor, light leaked in to illuminate my path. Candles lay upon shelves and desks, some suspended by levitation charms while others were situated on small candleholders. Students worked diligently in the dark, quills moving rapidly across pages as crumpled papers were strewn across tables in frustration. The scent of dust and old paper clogged the air, thick and heavy.

I unclamped the rope, thick as my wrist, which kept the Restricted Section away from the public students. I heard murmurs break out amongst some of the students as I entered, clipping the rope back as I walked up three short steps that led into a narrow passageway, one that extended into a larger room entirely. The antechamber that was the Restricted Section was the very image of a cove of knowledge.

The room was circular, a skylight providing the main form of illumination while mounted torches cast shadows into the semblance of half-light. Shelves towered to the roof, following the circular outlay of the room, upon which a ladder with wheels, attached by a thin track, stood ready to be used. At the center of the circle was a small collection of comfortable, yet couth, chairs of dark leathers. A small lantern lay illuminated on the center table, its light steady within the glass confines of the jar.  A fireplace lay in its own corner by a flattened out section of the northernmost wall, its light leaving the front half of the room lit, but allowing shadows to writhe in the dark behind columns of books.

I walked over to the nearest column of books and began to flick through titles that held knowledge that was supposed to be forgotten, words that were meant to be lost. I removed the first few titles that I read and brought them to a seat, one that allowed me to be well out of Irna Pince’s field of vision should she ever gaze towards me. I kept my wand on the table, ready to be used at a moment’s whim; I think we both know that I don’t like people creeping up on me.

As I opened the cover to Ye Dark Magics by an author whose name had been scribbled out ferociously by knife and ink, I felt a looming sense of power simply emanating from its pages. Its scent was intoxicating, its touch invigorating, and when I read the words of magic I felt as if a whole new realm was opened to me. No longer were the spells and ideals kept motivated by happy and constricted emotions, or the shields and counter-jinxes listed, here I found how those labeled as Dark would use their anger, their fury, to fuel their power above and beyond all else.

Pictures of tortured victims were depicted and I grew deeply fascinated. I saw pictures of lacerations that ravaged the body, of flames that held the eyes of demons and tore through forests like wildfire. This was the magic that I desired – magic that was of pure power that would make me one of the greatest wizards in the world, one who could control this land by my fist. I would carve out my own kingdom with the knowledge locked away here, and I would survive where Vanzetti had failed.

I researched the lost knowledge of the Dark Arts, learning every intricacy that I could fit into my mind. There were spells here that were out of my own, miniscule range of skill that required the fortitude to wield cursed flame proficiently. Fiendfyre, they called it. There were simpler spells here too, those that ranged from the transfiguration of base substances to acidic liquids and other less friendly forms and the simplistic jinxes that befuddled the mind.

I studied magic, muttering under my breath and waving my wand in vague motions as the Sun began to set above me, and the sky darkened to pitch black. I was there until stars began to dot the sky, glowing diamonds in the endless expanse of deep blue and black. I saw the moon rise, crescent in its shape, and heard the wind howl through the forest and through cracks in the masonry of Hogwarts.  

My goals were not restricted to the mere pretenses of my tutelage. I searched for the creature known as the Runespoor, learning of my would-be assassin had I been a mere boy. The quest for the silver filings of metal were inconclusive – every book cited that the only material that would shed from the serpent’s body were scales. But in this mass of knowledge, it seemed inefficient to waste time pouring through books when there were children that had done the task before me.

I put it on the backburner for the next hour. There were others who could prove to be far more useful in aiding the mysteries that plagued me; time was of the essence.

I remembered the words of those wizards around me, how Lord Voldemort was a Dark Lord of most ferocious power; I wanted to know more.

Moving back to the shelves I perused the books, fingers flicking over titles with haste. I was met with a title, one of plain cover with the words Dark Lords and their Armies, written by an Alfred Gotling. I removed the book and thumbed through the pages, searching for the one which was known as Voldemort. My quest was met by an entry under a wizard known as “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Know thy enemy.

And so I learned, learned of how the powerful Lord Voldemort had appeared in the latter half of the twentieth century, only decades after the fall of Lord Grindlewald. How his fist had been great, gaining followers in the upper echelons of Wizarding society as a nameless individual, coming from an unknown background and yielding Slytherin as his true shield. I learned of his belief of bringing the Wizarding World to a level of greatness where he would rule above mankind. It became my etude to learn about this man who sought to cleanse the Wizarding world of those without pure blood. I grew enraptured in his attacks on the Ministry itself, ravaging Minister after Minister and Heads after Heads until he was stopped by me, on the fateful night of October, all those years ago. A man, who I might have been close with, had we not been on opposite sides of the coin.  

“Mr. Potter, the library will be closing shortly,” came the cool, taut voice of Madam Pince.

My head jerked up to see the old librarian, a goblet of liquid in her hands, a shawl draped around her shoulders as her loose robes fell to the ground. I checked the clock resting above the fireplace; it was nearing eight, and there was much work to be done. I nodded shortly to the old crone, pocketing whatever information I had accrued for later study in my Thinking Room and placing the books back where I had found them – much to Pince’s pleasure.  

I exited the Restricted Section and the Library to the familiar face of Daphne Greengrass. I had long since resigned to the girl’s persistence to follow me and accompany from place to place. She was a valuable resource to me – not quite the friend that had become Blaise Zabini, but one who might stand by my side in the near future. She leaned across the banister, untangling herself to fall in stride with me as I took off down the staircase.

A silence passed between us for a moment before she spoke.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked quietly, almost biting her lip in anticipation.

I said nothing, instead turning to enter an empty classroom on the sixth floor. I pushed open the door to enter a standard sized classroom, with barren desks and diagrams of astrological charts on a side blackboard. The blinds were drawn to the windows and a strange, obsidian orb like figure rested atop the teacher’s desk. I recognized it as one of the Astronomy classrooms, from which the more book-oriented tasks came from. Daphne cautiously followed me inside, closing the door carefully behind her.

“Why?” I demanded.

“I’ve told you that, Harry,” said Daphne, chuckling. She passed the threshold, standing in the middle of the room across from myself.

“Enlighten me,” I said glibly. “Perhaps this time you could be more precise.”

She let out a peal of laughter. “That’s hardly fair. My question before yours, I should hope.”

 

The corners of my mouth twitched in amusement as I began to circle her, eyeing her as a wolf would its prey. “I found a great deal of things, some which were helpful, and others which were not.”  

A fleeting, hopeful expression passed her face. “I knew you would,” she said quietly.  

I chuckled. “Of course.” A pause. “Why take the risk? What could you possible hope to gain?” I asked, stopping my circular movements.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I took a risk to see if you were really the pure boy that everyone has said you were, or if you were something more interesting,” – a wry smile formed on her lips – “but apparently, even you like the feel of magic, the thrill of learning something that shouldn’t quite be learned.”

“What did you have to gain, then?” I asked carefully. “Surely, you wouldn’t risk expulsion for simply spreading your gift of knowledge?” My voice was tight; I grew tired of her inane games.

She shook her head. “Not quite.” She slowly walked over to the window and stared outside pensively. “You know, they’re already starting rumors about you throughout the four Houses.”

“Is that so?” I questioned, my feet tracing the same pattern hers did.

“It’s been some time since someone has made Draco Malfoy stay quiet. Some of the younger students already look up to you.” She let out a soft laugh. “I know Astoria is already trying to live up to your example in her own year.” She glanced obliquely at me, one which I responded with an arched eyebrow.

I turned towards the night sky, looking through frosted windows to stare onto the grounds of Hogwarts. I could see the grass in the silver moonlight, reflecting off of the individual blades. Wind swept through the grasslands, blowing them gently awry; how very peaceful. I’ve always been one to favor nature – a state of being where peace exists and order is kept through simple dominance. A land without the tribulations of corruption – a land where life is simple.

“That’s what we do, don’t we? Act as mere ideals for others to pursue,” I murmured quietly, mostly to myself.

She nodded slowly before saying, “That’s one of the reasons.” She continued at my questioning glance, “You don’t think like the rest of us do – you’re a little different than the average wizard. People that meet you don’t know what to expect. You can see it on their faces.”

It was my turn to shrug a shoulder. “I was raised…differently to say the least.” I paused, swallowing as a bitter taste rose in my throat. “If you would answer your question I –”

“Because maybe one day, you’ll become a leader,” she said abruptly, turning to face me.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I answered, a wry smile curving on my lips.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And if I should lead, what would you offer me? So far you have shown me very little that would not have revealed itself after some time,” I said, a shard of ice in my tone. I made my voice softer, “My favor is valuable, Daphne.”

I felt her shift uneasily next to me while I turned and leaned against the stone wall, awaiting her answer. I hold no illusions of grandeur or power – she would be pivotal to my success. Daphne Greengrass was the closest thing I could call to a peer that bordered me in terms of intellectual prowess. She would be what Robert was to Nicolas, someone close who could be trusted with tasks that required delicacy.

“I don’t know,” she murmured after a moment. She tilted her head upwards, nose raised. “Why would I follow you anyways? I just want to help you because I think you could do a good job.” Clouded hazel eyes met my own, challengingly.

A cold smirk marred my lips. “We could do anything, you and I,” I said softly. “This is a time of war, where the government is unstable and could be captured by even the mere pawns. Imagine what we could do, Daphne. There would be no need to fear Voldemort” – she flinched – “or even follow Albus Dumbledore’s gentle hand.”

A pause. She shifted anxiously on the balls of her feet, finally deciding to lean against the wall opposite me.

“What would you do?” she asked in a quiet, subdued voice. No longer did she hold the amused tone, it was all business now. That’s how I liked it.

“We would take this world by our fist,” I said with gusto, clutching the air with my hand. “Once the dust of war has settled, the people will need powerful leaders to rise from the ashes and guide Britain to glory. It could be us, you know, time would place young idealists such as ourselves in a prime position.”

She nodded slowly. Her eyes grew larger, dawning in comprehension while her brow furrowed in thought, considering her options with weighty uncertainty. She let out a little sigh and ran one hand through her hair nervously.

“How?”

“Simple,” I responded flatly. “Everyone in this world has secrets that they want to keep. There are many ways to gain favors, and then there are some offers that just can’t be refused.”

“Blackmail?” she let out a derisive snort. “We’re just students. I doubt that you’ll be able to obtain such information with the ease that you say.  It’s impossible for you to be privy to that much knowledge.”

I smiled enigmatically. “Stranger things have happened in history. Stand by me, Daphne, and I can promise you glory. Our names will be listed in history books as those who helped rebuild the Wizarding World as it crumbled around us.”

Her eyes were the first to change, widening to protuberance. The wringing of her hands in her lap stopped and she took several shaky breaths, as if rationalizing a situation to herself. She nodded shortly, a barely perceptible movement had she been in a large crowd but here, the motion was obvious. She readjusted her eyes towards my own, meeting them once again with obscure certainty.

“And if we win, if Voldemort is defeated and somehow you remove Albus Dumbledore, what happens then?” she whispered, her voice raw.

I ran one hand through my own hair reflexively. “The world becomes our apple.” I licked my dry lips. “We could keep it safe, in control, and make sure that people don’t have to live in fear of a rising Dark Lord or dark alleys. A world where order is kept,” I said. The words sounded good, even to my own ears. It’s something to know what you want, but another thing entirely to hear it.

She nodded, very slowly at first and then more quickly. “Okay.” She paused, biting her lip. “But we do this together. I’m not working for you – we’re going to be equals.”

I inclined my head indulgently. Maybe, Miss Greengrass, maybe. I stood from my position next to the wall and walked slowly towards the door, feeling more than hearing the footsteps of Daphne fall in stride with me. I had a following now, one consisting of sparse few members that were more friends and acquaintances than actual hands to use, but this was how it began. They say History repeats itself – Vanzetti once struck his own claim in the world with his own friends and allies.

Magic was simply a variable to be overcome in the equation.

I would need more, though. There had been six families that had been loyal to the Vanzettis. I would follow my father’s example as he wanted me to, finding those who would share my ideals and possess the skills needed to be of relative use to me. I felt the hairs of my neck raise with anxiety as a claw pulled at the insides of my stomach, writhing with the molten desire inside of me.

Well, well. I think I’ll see your bet and raise you twenty, Mr. Dealer.



“I don’t trust him is all. You saw what he did with Umbridge! He didn’t even bother to tell the truth when he knew it!” exclaimed a voice in a harsh whisper.

“Because he’s doing what Snuffles told us to do!” countered a higher pitched voice. “Even Professor McGonagall told us to be careful around Umbridge, you heard her yourself. There’s no reason to start attracting her attention to us.”

A patronizing snort sounded in the confines of the quiet hallway, one that was barren apart from my lurking frame in the shadows. I could see two rays of light coming from around the corner, illuminating the portraits against the wall and the stonework of Hogwarts itself. The light reflected off of suits of armor, leaving flecks of illumination spilling onto walls and tapestries. The sounds of two footfalls filled the air, one with a lighter step and one that scraped across the floor, heavier.

I crossed my arms and waited for the small duo to cross the corner. Our meeting would be no surprise event – I had waited for the young Hermione Granger for several minutes. I could hardly be blamed for knowing her schedule as a Prefect. The only flaw in my plan was Ronald Weasley, a boy that I would prefer not to be involved in our conversation, but his influence was negligible at best. Light flooded the hallway as they turned, illuminating my previously concealed form.

Both of the students gave out little gasps of shock before recognition dawned on their faces. Weasley’s features contorted in distaste while the young Hermione squinted her eyes to get a better look.

“Harry?”

“That’s what they call me,” I responded glibly. I raised one hand to block the incoming light. “If you would kindly lower your wands, perhaps we could have conversation.” Hermione’s wand immediately darted downwards, hovering around my chest. Weasley’s wand followed a moment later.

“What are you doing up?” asked Weasley hotly. “It’s passed the time when students are allowed to be in the halls.” A small grin struck his lips, “I could give you detention for being out.”

“Ron!” hissed Hermione.

I chuckled. “At your will, Mr. Weasley. I would exercise caution, if I were you. It seems you have already felt the wrath of Madam Umbridge.” I motioned towards  his bandaged hand. “It would be unfortunate to have an encore performance,” I said crisply. A few rogue sparks left the tip of his wand and spewed towards the floor, dissipating upon impact.

“No thanks to you –” he began.

“Enough,” said Hermione loudly, her words echoing in the empty corridor. She turned to me, “You really should be in bed, Harry, or we’ll have to take points off of Slytherin.”

I didn’t bother telling her I couldn’t have cared any less. “Of course, but I required an audience with you, privately,” I said, glancing obliquely at Weasley.

“What did you want to talk about?” Hermione asked inquisitively.

I reached into my pocket and removed a small vial, turning it over in my hands as the silver filings inside moved from side to side. I held it out before her, allowing Hermione to pick it up gingerly. She twisted and turned it delicately, turning it this way and that before bringing the vial in front of her wand’s light. Her tongue peeked out between her lips, brow knit in concentration.

“That vial in your hand, for starters,” I remarked.

“What is it?” she asked carefully.

“That is where your assistance is required,” I said, amusement twitching at my lips. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I was attacked within my own dormitories recently, by a Runespoor none the less. The filings in your hand were found at the scene of my attack.”

“And you want me to find out what it is? I’m sure Professor Snape would know if you asked him. It looks like an ingredient or something,” she said, offering the vial back to me.

“No, no,” I chided. I would never be so foolish to allow a man whose loyalties are muddled to know my secrets. “The Professor admits that he is very busy, but begrudgingly recommends that one with your capacity for reading may prove far more efficient at finding an answer to this problem.”

“I bet he wasn’t so kind worded,” she murmured before raising her eyes to meet mine. “I’ve never read anything about it, but I could take a look at some of my notes if it’s really that important.”

“It is.”

She nodded dutifully while Weasley gave me a particularly loathing glare and clenched his fingers around his wand. Hermione looked reproachfully at the young boy and with a parting reminder to go to bed, she continued past the sweeping hallways down the next corridor. I was left standing in front of Weasley in the dimmed hallway. He let out a little growl and menacingly bore into my own eyes, full of hate and distrust. I gave him a predatory smile and began to push past him, but a hand pressed into my shoulder.

“Stay away from her.”

“Now where’s the fun in that,” I replied wryly.

“Stay away from her,” he echoed. “I know that you’re up to something and I’m going to find out what it is. I’ve seen you talking to Greengrass and Zabini in whispers. No one else sees it but I’ll stop you.”

I stopped, arching an eyebrow and raising a hand to remove his grip off of my shoulder. I delicately reached into my pocket and removed my wand in slow, precise motions, lighting it with a whispered word. I could see the sweat marring his ginger brow, a red flush climbing up his neck.

“Such vigilant protection should be applauded, Mr. Weasley, but should you ever whisper such threats again, you will find yourself serving much more than mere detentions. You’re more than welcome to try to pursue your own goals, but know this isn’t a chess game one of your menial talents can enter,” I said softly, pointing the wandtip towards his eyes.

I brushed past him, making contact for the briefest of seconds before pursuing my path down the barren hallways, barely mindful of the snores of the nearby portraits, especially one with a sleeping cap on. I was only a few steps away when I heard a voice cut through the melodious silence of the night.

“Looks like you’re awake after hours, Potter. That’ll be twenty points from Slytherin,” he said, one hand rapping against the silver “P” medallion that lay upon his breast.

I laughed. Only a fool would try something as underhanded as the removal of points. Sure, I didn’t care about the points themselves.

It was a matter of principle.

I turned back towards the boy and raised my wand as he had an arrogant smirk etched into his face. The days where Harry Potter had to use a gun were over. There was magic to be used now, and it was far more efficient in silencing mere fools.

“Silencio,” I muttered.

The air blurred before us as a translucent jet of magic flew between us. For a moment the boy’s eyes scrunched in alarm and he opened his mouth to mutter a charm or perhaps a hex. No sound came.

I walked forward, ignoring his gesticulations to clearly signify “un-hex me.” I was a mere foot away from where his hands were clenched at the sides, the words “I’ll get you” clearly being mouthed underneath his breath. I raised the tip of my wand to touch the wood of his, a cruel smile forming on my face.

“Now you will walk blind, mute, and stupid. Try such behavior again, and you will know what it is like to walk like this forever,” I said coldly.

He growled – or made what looked like a growl – before flailing his arms again, reaching to grab me by my collar. I parried his grapple and tapped his wand with my own.

“Nox.”