Time crawled by. The Great Hall, quiet at first, slowly began to fill with students.
Initially, Andy's customers were calm. They approached him, asked about their potions, and upon being told they would be ready by noon, they simply nodded and went about their day. It was Sunday, after all, and they had their own plans.
But as the morning wore on, the atmosphere began to shift. A new wave of customers arrived, their expressions anxious, their questions more insistent. Though they received the same promise—delivery by noon—they were not reassured. They lingered, taking seats at nearby tables, their eyes fixed on Andy, watching his every move.
One or two could have been a coincidence. But as the number of anxious onlookers grew, a knot of unease tightened in Andy's stomach. Something was wrong.
"Andy," a fifth-year Hufflepuff asked, his voice low and worried, "are you sure you can complete the transaction? If not, just return my money. We can try again next time."
Andy looked at the boy. He was a regular customer, someone to whom Andy had even given discounts in the past. To see him so agitated set off alarm bells. "Did someone say something to you?" Andy asked, his voice sharp with suspicion. "You're not the first. Everyone who's come in the last hour has been the same—demanding their potions or their money back. We've cooperated many times, and I've never wronged you. For the sake of our past business, tell me what's going on."
The Hufflepuff boy sighed, his shoulders slumping. "There are rumors, Andy," he admitted. "They started this morning. That you spent our advance payments and can't produce the potions. That's why we're all here."
The words hit Andy like a physical blow. He knew at once who was behind it. Dorian. That despicable, shameless, rotten-to-the-core snake. If this had been yesterday, Andy might have admitted defeat, given up his inheritance rights, and begged his family for the funds to cover the losses.
But yesterday, Sean and Blaise had made a promise. And Andy, against his better judgment, had chosen to believe them.
He took a deep breath, his voice ringing with a conviction he didn't entirely feel. "Don't worry," he said, speaking not just to the Hufflepuff boy but to the entire room. "Those are just rumors. I admit I did encounter some problems, but they have been resolved. I will deliver everything on time, at noon. I give you my word."
His straightforward admission had a noticeable effect. The tension in the room eased slightly, though a current of doubt remained.
From a corner of the hall, Robbins watched with a look of pure disdain. In his opinion, Andy was just delaying the inevitable. Unless someone had spent the entire night brewing a mountain of potions, delivery was impossible. But he said nothing. He just waited, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to watch the show.
Dorian's plan, he had to admit, was elegantly malicious. By having Robbins abscond with the advance payments before the potions were due, he had cut off all of Andy's options. Even if Andy could somehow find the money to cover the refunds, he couldn't leave Hogwarts to buy new ingredients. He was trapped. His business, his reputation, his future—it was all about to be utterly ruined.
Time ticked by. The Great Hall filled with the lunchtime crowd. Andy's customers, their patience wearing thin, began to gather around him. Noon had arrived, and there were no potions in sight. The simmering doubt finally boiled over.
"Andy, if you don't have the potions, just give us our money back," one of the older students said, his voice hard. "For the sake of our past dealings, we won't make things difficult for you."
"I said, before noon," Andy insisted, his voice cracking under the pressure. "There's still time, it's not yet..."
"Stop stalling!" another voice shouted, cutting him off. "We've all heard you spent our money! You can't possibly have enough to pay everyone back. Give me my money. Now!"
The speaker lunged forward, grabbing the front of Andy's robes. He reasoned that if he demanded his money first, he might actually get it. The others could fend for themselves. His move was the spark that ignited the powder keg. The crowd surged forward, surrounding Andy, their individual anxieties coalescing into a single, angry mob. All reason was gone. They had already convicted him.
"I'll have everything ready!" Andy pleaded, his voice lost in the rising clamor. "Just give me a few more minutes!"
But no one was listening. Someone, lost in the mob mentality, threw a punch. It grazed Andy's jaw. Another followed. Fists began to fly, reason and civility replaced by a raw, ugly greed.
Just as a fist was swinging toward the back of Andy's unprotected head, a hand shot out from the crowd. It caught the fist in an iron grip, then, with a contemptuous flick of the wrist, threw its owner stumbling back into the wall. The same hand then grabbed Andy's shoulder, pulling him from the center of the mob.
"Since when," a cold, quiet voice cut through the chaos, "do Hogwarts students not even know how to duel but have learned to gang up on their classmates?"
Everyone turned. Sean Bulstrode stood before them, his eyes like chips of ice. Those who recognized him instinctively took a step back. One boy, emboldened by the crowd, did not. He stepped forward, his hand reaching for Sean's robes.
He never touched him. Sean's hand shot out, grabbing the boy's wrist in a grip that made him cry out in pain. With a slight downward twist, Sean forced the boy to his knees. He looked down at the whimpering student, his light gray eyes as cold and unforgiving as his Head of House's, and his voice was a low, dangerous purr.
"I have brought the potions. Do you still want them?"
[Chapter Complete]
***
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