Filch just wouldn't shut up. His shrill, perpetually grumpy voice grated on the ears, piercing through the ringing in my head, through the murmur of the crowd, through everything. And it was making me angrier by the second. Would you just shut up already!
Hmph… the detached emotional state that always followed the total suppression of emotions had stopped helping. Because it was infuriating!
This pathetic Squib kept pouring oil on the fire, and I was already angry enough from all of this… the roar of voices, McGonagall's judgmental stare, the whispers of stupid schoolchildren who, understanding nothing, were whispering about me.
"Expel him from the school! Expel him immediately! And then to Azkaban with him!"
I slowly turned my head.
My gaze fell on Filch. The scrawny, loud-mouthed, hatred-twisted Squib. I looked at him with empty eyes, in which only irritation and contempt for this pathetic man, who had apparently forgotten who he was, were beginning to kindle. I began to bore my gaze into him, the kind of look one gives an insect that dared to buzz too loudly.
Filch choked mid-sentence.
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He froze, meeting my gaze – a gaze with which I tried to convey his utter insignificance and his place, which he had dared to forget.
I held a short pause, continuing to stare at Filch.
"Don't forget your place… Squib."
I said these words coldly and clearly. Even too loudly, I think. Because despite the noise, the words fell as if into silence, like a stone into still water.
It became very quiet in the corridor. Everyone fell silent, except for Madam Pomfrey, who was bustling through the crowd with the bodies on levitating stretchers – using spells directly on them now would have been a bad idea.
Everyone present – students and professors – froze. Dozens of pairs of eyes shifted their attitude toward my person once again. Someone gasped, someone covered their mouths with their hands. But overall, I hadn't said anything critical.
Filch turned white. His face went from crimson to gray, his eyes widened, and his lips trembled. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn't squeeze out a sound.
And I continued to look at him with the same gaze, but now there was no smile on my face. He had ruined my mood. Did this pathetic imbecile really not realize before whom he was railing for my expulsion and Azkaban? Didn't he understand that with his shouting, he was demanding punishment for someone whose family – one of the families that paid his salary? The Malfoys funded the school, after all; the Malfoys were on the Board of Governors. Without the Malfoys, this Squib would have long been starving on the street.
For three years, I'd tried to find a reason why Hogwarts kept a Squib – it was a ridiculous waste of money, considering the salaries at Hogwarts were high. Many would have taken this position. But no! For some reason, they needed this particular unpleasant Squib.
Could I have shown compassion to someone who might have become a full wizard but didn't? I had tried many times, but this pathetic piece of meat was one of those people resentful of life who didn't respond to kindness. So, I didn't care.
After my words, McGonagall finally approached me. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes shot lightning. She was clearly angry and very displeased with the situation. And I had just added more salt to the wound by calling things… people, by their proper names.
"Mr. Malfoy!" she barked, approaching. "How dare you! What happened here?! I demand an immediate answer! Why did you treat them like this, and where are your accomplices? Who else was involved in this… this brutal brawl?!"
The questions came one after another, faster than I could process them. She loomed over me, her displeasure palpable.
"I demand an explanation! Immediately! Who did you attack these upper-years with?! And what do you think you're doing, saying such things!?"
I looked at her, not changing my expression. Irritation was beginning to simmer inside, but I held my ground.
"Minerva," Snape interjected, appearing beside me. His voice was as quiet as ever, and therefore, he believed what he was saying. "Allow me to point out that things are not so clear-cut. Mr. Malfoy is a third-year. It is unlikely he would have attacked three upper-years from your house without reason. And look at the walls – someone used explosive spells. Judging by the scene, the defender did it, realizing he couldn't handle the superior force."
"Those are merely your assumptions, Severus!" McGonagall cut him off, not even glancing at him. "Mr. Malfoy, I am extremely disappointed in your actions! Your behavior… your methods… it is unbecoming of a Hogwarts student! You continue to disgrace our school with your presence here!"
Snape wanted to object, but I had stopped listening.
Their voices merged into a continuous hum – tiring, white noise. McGonagall was pressing, demanding answers; Snape was trying to defend me; and I just stood there, thinking about how tired I was of all of this! Tired of McGonagall's reproaches, who was biased against me and, due to her own personal issues, took everything the wrong way, even though she was reasonable in other situations. But in my case, she always looked for a trick… Although, to be fair, McGonagall was actually right, but she was right about my guilt without even having grounds for it. I concealed the truth well, so the only reason for her attitude towards me was prejudice.
I was honestly tired… of this whole school. Of their eternal desire to judge without understanding. Of every idiot testing my strength, forgetting that after school comes real life, where gold and power are on my side.
But this was only the tip of the iceberg. Because if not for Dumbledore's close attention, I wouldn't have even considered this way out of the situation. But if he fails to get Sirius out of Azkaban before the deadline, he will cling to me with all his might. And while that is not yet decided, I can free myself from his tenacious claws and the trap I've walked into myself.
I liked the serpentarium, where for three years I had been showing and proving who was in charge, gradually strengthening my influence. This led to constant confrontations with other children who tried to play intrigue, and thanks to my intelligence and position, I defeated them, not only gaining more power but also gaining experience. And experience is the most important thing.
Because it is experience that distinguishes the real players from such as me. They are all smart, and I am smart too, like many other children. But these mastodons, besides intellect, resources, and power, have something that cannot be bought. They have experience!
It was in pursuit of experience and power over young minds like my own that I had trapped myself in an endless tangle of intrigues. It was all well and good, but it was beginning to hinder my development as a wizard.
And I didn't just love magic; I was driven by personal power! The magical world offers the chance to become someone to whom no threat is fearsome. Personal power in the magical world can make a wizard a veritable god.
My father perceived the magical world… differently. Like a Muggle, thinking that power and money could easily replace personal strength. And that a wealthy person didn't need to become a strong wizard. After all, you can hire a strong one for money – and that's even true. But can you hire that handful of extremely powerful wizards – someone of Dumbledore's or Voldemort's caliber and so on? And can you be sure that the one you hired won't decide to take everything from you by force? After all, it's not certain you can then hire someone who can get everything back for you. The powerful of this world certainly wouldn't give magical oaths for gold. It's a dangerous business and severely limits a wizard, which no one wants.
So it turns out that personal power is an extremely important thing for a wizard. If I can't defend myself, a guard wouldn't even have time to save me, like with Benedict Answorth. I want to become someone who doesn't even need a guard, because people should need guarding from me.
If I want to achieve my goal, I must become a truly powerful wizard. I would even say… the most powerful. Fortunately, there is potential and resources for this. And there was no time for that until now. Now everything will be different. Having gained experience in the serpentarium, I am now ready to immerse myself headlong into the study of magic. Especially if Sirius isn't freed in time. Then I will have a chance – a chance to become strong enough not to be afraid to at least stick my nose into the coming war. And I will definitely be there, whether I want to or not, and I certainly won't run away from it.
But these thoughts led me to a difficult decision to implement this plan, and the worm of doubt squirmed until the very end. But it was precisely now, in this chaos, that I was finally convinced that the decision was right. Every action of mine, every decision – correct.
McGonagall continued to say something. Snape stood nearby, and acceptance was evident in his gaze… he had already come to terms with the fact that nothing could be fixed now, and was currently thinking about how to remedy the situation. That didn't mean he wasn't also displeased with the situation, but at least he wasn't blaming me. At least for now.
"Professor McGonagall," I interrupted her mid-sentence, not even knowing what she was saying in this latest round of moralizing and attempts to prove how evil I was and how badly I had acted.
I concealed my irritation, so my voice was firm… and tired.
"I was defending myself… I had to defend myself. And right now, I don't see the point in telling all of this here, amidst Filch's shouts and the students' whispers."
I looked her straight in the eyes.
"I will tell everything. But only in the Headmaster's office. And only once… I don't want to repeat myself, as it will be very unpleasant for me to retell it for personal reasons."
McGonagall froze. She clearly hadn't expected such a calm response from me. Her mouth opened to object, but the words stuck. She looked at me with an expression that mixed anger, disappointment, and, it seemed, something like disbelief. Disbelief that a third-year could stand so calmly in the midst of a bloody massacre and dictate his terms. But I didn't really care.
Snape stood silent, watching me, clearly unsure if I was up to something or not.
We left, but only after McGonagall had sent her Patronus to the Headmaster with a brief summary of the situation. A silver cat – Professor McGonagall's Patronus – raced off to deliver the message.
McGonagall led the way, her face stony. I followed, feeling dozens of eyes on me until I turned the corner. Snape brought up the rear like an impassive judge. Well, almost impassive…
The walk to the Headmaster's office was long, as we went in silence. Only our footsteps echoed off the walls. Yes… awkward.
I watched McGonagall's straight back and felt her attitude – even without turning around, she was judging me with every millimeter of her perfect posture. I had nothing to say to them right now. Everything I needed to say, I would say to Dumbledore, as it was ultimately his decision. And repeating myself was a risk of forgetting something and giving myself away on a small detail. Making a mistake, in short. For now…
For now, I just walked and thought that the worst was not behind me at all. The worst was what I was about to face very soon.
***
POV. Severus Snape.
In the last six months, the most problematic student at Hogwarts had become the one who had previously demonstrated exemplary behavior. However, "exemplary" was a relative term. If a student belonged to Slytherin, his actions would, in any case, fall outside the boundaries of what Minerva McGonagall considered proper behavior. Snape understood this. Dumbledore understood this as well. That's why the previous accusation against Lucius's son regarding the creation of some "Council" – essentially just a group of students – had been hushed up and forgotten.
After all, he hadn't even broken any rules. McGonagall had just decided that since he was a Slytherin, this Council might grow into something more, and the young Slytherin might become a new Dark Lord. That incident had definitely left a bad mark on the hearts of all Hogwarts professors, and Slytherin was left with a stigma that would take a long time to wash off.
This time, Lucius's elder son had decided to upset everyone. More precisely, a fight had broken out between students, but this time, it didn't end with bruises or even simple wounds. Three students were on the verge of death when help arrived. Severe injuries, and at the scene of the crime sat only one third-year…
Snape was extremely surprised to find Lucius's son, Arcturus Malfoy, at the scene of the fight.
Now, Snape stood slightly apart from the Headmaster's desk, watching the proceedings. Dumbledore's office seemed dark and tense today. A heaviness hung in the air, which neither the silver trinkets nor the soft lamplight could dispel.
Young Malfoy stood at the center of attention.
He was still in the same robes – gray with dust and splattered with someone else's blood. That is, until Snape finally thought to rectify the situation. He drew his wand and quickly neatened his charge's appearance. As he did so, he was still surprised. Yes, the terror of the dungeons was surprised, but not so much by the situation as by the boy's face, which maintained a frightening calm. Only in his eyes did a shadow of the storm that must be raging inside sometimes flicker. He wasn't making excuses, wasn't fussing, wasn't trying to appear the victim. He just stood and waited… apparently, Lucius's son was very cold-blooded. Too cold-blooded.
Unlike McGonagall, Snape did not allow himself to close his eyes to reality, even when it came to prejudices. He saw what he saw: walls riddled with spells, a huge hole from an explosive curse, pools of blood, three maimed Gryffindors. And one unharmed third-year.
Minerva, as always in matters involving rule-breaking by the green house, had thrown common sense out the window. She even now denied the very possibility that three upper-years could have attacked a single third-year student. It was unthinkable to her.
However, he also found it hard to believe what had happened. According to an eyewitness – the very one who had fled at the very beginning and only received a burn on his face – there were no other Slytherins in the corridor. That meant Lucius's son had been attacked by four Gryffindor upper-years. Four against one.
And that one had not only survived, he had turned them into bloody pulp. Snape knew the outcome of yesterday's duel… but even so, it surprised even a skilled wizard like Snape.
Dumbledore sat at his desk. His blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles looked at Arcturus with that expression Snape had learned to recognize over the years – the Headmaster was gathering information, weighing and analyzing. Clearly reevaluating his attitude towards this particular student.
"So, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore began coldly, when after another round of noise and uproar from those assembled, silence finally fell. "Tell us what happened. From the beginning."
And then the story began, one that even Snape himself began to doubt, for with each word, it only seemed to take a worse turn.
***
I stood at the Headmaster's desk, feeling four pairs of eyes on me. Flitwick's worried and disbelieving gaze. Snape with his poker face but with that barely perceptible tension that betrayed his attention to detail. McGonagall, meanwhile, just looked at me with disapproval, pulling her head back in doubt.
Dumbledore's gaze was indecipherable. Whether he was disappointed in me or looking just as calmly as ever was unclear. True, at first he was quite dismayed and displeased with the news, but a few words from Snape seemed to make him accept reality, understanding that things were not as bad as McGonagall had made them sound.
In any case, everything was going according to plan. The main thing was not to overplay, or the arguing professors might notice.
Now, I only needed to force the Headmaster to make a simple decision – to expel me, or rather transfer me to another school, or at least suspend me. But without losing his loyalty. That is, to arrange circumstances so that the Headmaster had to do it, but still believed that I could be recruited and that I was "good" in his perverted understanding of good. The school atmosphere and McGonagall should force his hand.
Oh, I had a feeling the conversation with my parents would be even more unpleasant. The letter to my family had been sent the moment I entered the office. Meanwhile, I began my story.