Chapter 215: Chaos
Crabbe finally tore the Chocolate Frogs off his face, crushing them into a sticky mess before shoving the remains into his mouth—apparently unwilling to waste them.
He stomped toward Harry, only to step on a scatter of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and slip flat onto his back.
Ron seized the moment, scooping up the beans and firing them like bullets. Earwax- and rotten egg-flavored ones smacked straight into Draco's forehead—several even landed in his mouth.
"Weasley! You—damn it!"
Malfoy yanked down a curtain tassel and lashed out, but the cord tangled around Crabbe's raised arm instead.
Harry lunged, tackling Malfoy. The two tumbled through the compartment door and rolled into the corridor.
Malfoy's head hit the floor—but his hand found something beneath the snack trolley: a frozen leg of lamb, meant for the conductor's meal.
The icy slab slammed into Harry's shoulder, shards of frost and streaks of blood splattering across Ron's newly knitted Christmas sweater.
When Goyle grabbed part of the snack trolley to smash down, Harry yanked an owl cage from the luggage rack to block it.
Inside, Hedwig exploded into motion—feathers flew everywhere, along with an unfortunate splatter of droppings straight into Goyle's open mouth.
For a moment, everyone collapsed into a tangled heap like bowling pins.
Ron's battered shoe caught in Crabbe's belt buckle. Harry's glasses hooked onto Malfoy's silk scarf.
When they finally staggered back to their feet, it was a disaster.
Malfoy's fur cloak was smeared with cream trifle and bird droppings. Ron's sweater hung in tatters, oozing melted chocolate through the holes.
Crabbe was still shaking beans out of his trousers, while Goyle had half a frozen lamb chop stuck to his head like a ridiculous chef's hat.
"We're not done," Malfoy snarled, flicking sticky sugar strands from his fingers—only to step on the torn curtain behind him and crash flat onto his back.
As they retreated, cursing loudly, Harry picked up the dented silver sugar bowl and placed it back onto the trolley.
—
By the time the trolley witch returned with Percy Weasley, all that remained was an overturned cart and sweets scattered everywhere.
Percy frowned, pulling out his wand—just as a voice spoke:
"Reparo."
Time itself seemed to rewind. The trolley righted itself, and the scattered sweets flew back into place like obedient birds returning to their nests.
Russell stepped forward, handing over a silver Sickle.
"I'll take some chocolate biscuits—and a syrup tart."
He gave Percy a small smile.
Percy blinked, surprise written all over his face, but nodded politely in return.
Their relationship had always been distant. With the age gap, Percy was usually busy with his own affairs whenever Russell was around Fred and the others.
He knew Russell was talented—but he had never truly grasped just how talented.
Now he had a glimpse.
Even he wasn't sure he could've repaired the scene so perfectly.
Watching Russell walk away, Percy hesitated as if he wanted to say something—but ultimately said nothing and turned to leave.
—
"What happened out there?" Wednesday asked, taking a bite of her syrup tart.
"Probably Harry and Malfoy again," Russell replied casually. "They knocked over the snack trolley—sweets everywhere."
He wasn't someone who sought trouble. Every conflict he'd been in had been forced on him.
—
The train began to slow.
Hogwarts was close.
Russell looked out at the looming silhouette of Hogwarts and took a slow breath.
It had only been one holiday.
Yet it felt like he'd been away for much longer.
Too much had happened.
—
Waiting for them at the station was Rubeus Hagrid, unusually enthusiastic, as if bursting with good news.
Russell was about to follow him—
when something caught his eye.
Perched on a nearby tree branch was a brilliant crimson bird.
"Fawkes?"
Russell glanced sideways at the others. None of them—Wednesday included—reacted to Fawkes at all.
So… it wasn't for them.
It was here for him.
Or more precisely—for Albus Dumbledore.
"I've got something to take care of," Russell said quietly to Wednesday. "Go back to Hogwarts with Harry and the others."
He gave her hand a brief squeeze. Seeing no one paying attention, he cast a Disillusionment Charm and slipped away unnoticed.
Walking beneath the tree, he raised his hand.
Fawkes glided down gracefully, talons curling gently around his wrist.
In the next instant, the world twisted.
Darkness swallowed his vision—then light returned.
He was somewhere familiar.
The headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore sat as usual behind his desk, smiling as if he had been expecting him all along.
"Professor," Russell said, getting straight to the point, "what did you need me for?"
He already had a suspicion.
This was about Harry again.
And sure enough, Dumbledore confirmed it.
"Do you remember the Mirror of Erised?" he asked. "I'd like your help with something."
"What kind of help?" Russell narrowed his eyes. "You want me to lead Harry there?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "You're quite perceptive."
He gestured for Russell to sit.
"You gave him the Invisibility Cloak for exactly that reason, didn't you?" Russell said flatly.
At this point, he understood perfectly—Dumbledore had decided they were on the same side, and now he was making full use of him.
Unbelievable, Russell thought. I'm the one who usually takes advantage of others—since when did I become the one being used?
Still, he frowned slightly.
"Professor, are you sure I can get him past everything and all the way to the mirror?"
"Don't worry," Dumbledore said calmly. "I've relocated the mirror. It's perfectly safe. Even Harry, with the cloak, will be able to reach it without much trouble."
He gave Russell a reassuring look.
"All you need to do is guide him there."
Russell exhaled slowly.
"Come on, Professor… what exactly am I supposed to do?"
He had been about to refuse—
—but then something occurred to him.
He paused, then changed his tone.
"I'll agree… on one condition."
"Of course," Dumbledore said with a nod. "That's only fair."
"I want to study alchemy under Nicolas Flamel."
Dumbledore studied him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"Alchemy…" he murmured, then nodded slowly. "Very well. I can give you the opportunity—but whether Nicolas accepts you is not my decision."
"That's enough," Russell said, a smile forming.
He turned to leave—then stopped midway and looked back.
"No matter what method I use… that's allowed, right?"
At Dumbledore's confirming nod, Russell's mind was already racing.
A plan was taking shape.
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