Draco pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall. Night wind blew into his open collar; his scarf trailed on the floor, caked with dust.
— Like Malfoy's pride, it had been completely ruined.
Draco could put on an air of not caring in front of others, but when he was alone he buried his face in his hands and could not stop crying.
Through his faint sobs, a white ghost floated up from the toilet. She cocked her head and studied the quietly weeping boy for a moment; the excitement that had once been on her face vanished, and behind the thick lenses of her glasses her eyes were filled with sympathy and understanding.
Moaning Myrtle drifted closer to Draco and hovered at his side, asking gently, "What's the matter? Why are you crying? Is someone bullying you?"
Her voice startled him. He hurriedly wiped his tears away and snarled fiercely, "Get away, Myrtle!"
"Don't be like that." Myrtle moved nearer and said softly, "Tell me what happened. I can help you…"
"You're a ghost — what good could you possibly do?" Draco sneered. "Can you teach those bastards who bully me a lesson?"
"Of course I can! I hate people who pick on classmates the most!"
Myrtle passed through the wall and back again and, as if showing off, said, "How would you like me to teach them? How about I splash them with water while they're in the loo? Then everyone would think they wet themselves!"
Draco gave a dark, scornful laugh. "What kind of punishment is that? I want them to suffer a hundred times worse than me… I want them dead."
"I know, I know. Some awful people — you'd wish they'd vanish from the earth forever."
Myrtle nodded over and over and sighed, "Too bad neither you nor I have that power…"
Before she finished speaking, her eyes suddenly lit up.
"Oh! I remembered! I know some people who can do that kind of magic!"
"What kind of magic?" Draco asked, bewildered.
Myrtle feigned a playful wink. "Of course…terrifying dark magic!"
As she spoke she suddenly lunged in front of Draco and pulled a grotesque face.
The boy was so startled his heart skipped a beat and his expression tensed. "Dark magic? You mean those people from Durmstrang?"
"Tsk tsk tsk."
Myrtle wagged a finger, pleased with herself. "Of course not! They're students from Hogwarts — they've been at it for years, and Dumbledore still hasn't discovered them!"
"Hogwarts has a group like that? And it's hidden from Dumbledore?" Draco said doubtfully. "How do you know? You're not making this up, are you?"
"Of course I know!"
Myrtle snorted, dove into the toilet with a splash, then popped back up. Only her upper body emerged from the bowl as she said with a grin:
"See, I often hide in here and eavesdrop on students' secrets. I know far more than you'd think!"
Seeing the girl in the toilet made the hairs on Draco's neck prickle; he took an involuntary step back and tried to remember whether he had said any unspeakable secrets in the loo.
In his short dozen or so years of life, Draco Malfoy hadn't had time to bury many heavy things in his heart. What stood out most vividly in his mind now was the humiliating image of himself crying just a moment ago.
"Don't you dare tell anyone what you just saw, Myrtle!" Draco hurriedly ordered.
With a whoosh, Myrtle shot up from the toilet, splashing water onto the floor around it. She floated to Draco's front, and her ghostly face was so close to his that only a breath separated them.
The ghost reached out and brushed her hand against the corner of his reddened eye—but her fingers passed straight through his head.
"I won't tell anyone," Myrtle whispered in assurance. Then her voice rose with excitement: "So this will just be a secret between us two?"
"…Yes." Draco leaned back slightly and nodded hard. "Don't tell anyone. Take this secret with you to the grave."
"Of course… I promise." Myrtle suddenly grew a little melancholy. "I know why you don't want anyone to find out. Because once, I was just like you are now—sensitive, lonely, always being bullied. Until later… when I died…"
Seeing Myrtle on the verge of breaking down into her trademark wailing sobs, Draco quickly cut her off and asked: "Right—you said there were people at school teaching dark magic?"
Myrtle sniffled, then raised her eyes to him. "Do you want to know?"
"Of course!" Draco said without hesitation.
He had always been drawn to the Dark Arts, even wishing in the past to attend Durmstrang—if only his mother Narcissa hadn't refused.
"Come with me." Myrtle stretched out her hand. "They're having a gathering tonight. I can take you to see for yourself."
Draco made a symbolic gesture of reaching for Myrtle's hand—though in truth all he felt was a chill pass through his palm. At once, the ghost slipped through the thick stone wall and vanished.
Draco: "…?"
A dozen seconds later, Myrtle suddenly burst up through the floor. "Oh, sorry! I forgot you can't walk through walls. Hold on, I'll find you another way out…"
Before Draco could reply, she plunged headfirst into the toilet and disappeared again.
Draco: …
Even if there is a hole in the toilet, how can I possibly crawl through it?
….
"The cloak Mr. Grindelwald gave me?" Wade asked. "Of course I still have it. Do you need it?"
"No—you do." Antoine replied with a mysterious air. "Put on that cloak. I'll take you to an interesting place—took me ages to discover that Hogwarts has such an entertaining little activity."
"What kind of activity?" Wade asked without much interest.
"The Dark Arts… Unforgivable Curses." Antoine said with a grin. "On Dumbledore's turf, can you believe it? Want to come see?"
"Unforgivable Curses?"
Wade was silent for a moment. Then he pulled out the cloak, draped it over his shoulders, and pulled up the hood. His features blurred at once.
Antoine downed a vial of Polyjuice Potion, transforming into the likeness of a student.
Underneath, he still wore the uniform of Salem Academy, though now he cloaked himself in a robe similar in color to Wade's.
The lawns had only just begun to show patches of green, yet the chill lingered. Students in heavy cloaks were everywhere, and the two of them blended in without drawing notice.
Led by Antoine, they headed steadily toward the lower levels of the castle.
Seeing how smoothly Antoine navigated the moving staircases and reached the dungeons with speed, Wade couldn't help but remark: "Aren't you a professor from Salem? How come you know this castle almost better than most Hogwarts students?"
"In enemy territory, being familiar with the terrain is just basic procedure, my dear Belby," Antoine replied airily.
"Belby?"
"From now on, that's who you are."
"How did you discover this dark magic gathering, anyway?" Wade asked curiously.
Antoine thought for a moment before replying: "If I had to put it into words… it must be a case of like attracting like."
"Although you've also learned some Dark Magic, you only treat it as a tool for studying magic. But those who are truly steeped in this path—I can recognize them at a glance—"
"Because in the Alliance, there are far too many of that sort."
"So, correspondingly, they also believe in the false identity I've taken on—because appearance and age can be faked, but magic cannot! The feel of using magic cannot be faked, either."
At these words, Wade cast a long, deep look at Antoine.
—To gain that group's trust while posing as a student from another school—surely it took more than just showing proficiency in the Dark Arts?
—So what exactly had Antoine done to be accepted as one of their own?
The thought had barely crossed Wade's mind when suddenly he recalled those people murdered, burned to ashes, or tortured to the brink of death by the Alliance.
Scenes he had witnessed more than once in Grindelwald's Gray Fortress.
Whether or not those people "deserved it," one thing was certain: Alliance members never had the slightest psychological barrier when wielding Dark Magic.
Perhaps life at the school was simply too peaceful and calm—that was why Wade had momentarily forgotten just what kind of man stood before him, and why unnecessary concern had surfaced in his heart.
He gave a small shake of his head, dismissing his unease. Watching as Antoine tapped a painting on the wall, Wade saw him trace a strange symbol twice over the snake in the image with his fingertip.
The snake's eyes glowed faintly, then the painting swung open. A wave of damp, rotten air rushed out.
…..
In the darkness of the pipeline, the ghost gave off a faint glow, barely illuminating the surroundings.
Draco squeezed his way through the narrow duct, his robe was covered with cobwebs and was streaked with sticky, unidentifiable slime; and insect corpses clung to his hair.
With every crawl forward, he could hear his own ragged breathing echoing in the confined space.
"Are you sure this is the way?"
Draco gritted his teeth, crushing a small spider scuttling past his face.
"Of course!"
Myrtle floated lightly ahead of him, and half her body overlapped with the tunnel walls.
She turned her head and raised a finger. "Shhh—"
The ghost, normally so loud and dramatic, whispered: "It's just up ahead. From now on, don't speak, or someone might notice us."
Draco whispered back, "It doesn't matter if I stay quiet—but are you afraid of being noticed?"
"I'm not afraid." Myrtle smiled. "But if they catch me eavesdropping, what if they move to another place afterward?"
Draco was about to say something when Myrtle immediately raised her finger again. He shut his mouth and crawled forward silently, carefully, for a stretch.
A faint rustling sound drifted up from below. Draco froze. Myrtle pointed ahead, toward a rusted iron grille.
Cautiously, Draco inched closer. Through the mesh, he finally saw the room beyond.
More than a dozen figures in black cloaks stood inside. Most had their hoods pulled low; tall and short, there was no telling their genders or ages.
Draco recognized only two—Crabbe and Goyle. Their bulky frames were impossible to mistake, and he knew them too well; even without seeing their faces, Draco could identify them instantly.
Goyle seemed absorbed in sneaking chocolates from his pocket into his mouth without being caught, while Crabbe hovered beside another robed figure, chattering at him nonstop.
Every time he saw a scene like this, Draco felt as though his old cronies had been swapped out—when had that blockheaded fellow become so ambitious?
He glanced at Myrtle. The ghost motioned for him to stay put here, then made a gesture Draco didn't understand before floating off on her own.
Draco: …
Wait, come back!
How am I supposed to get back later?
He roared in his head, but since he couldn't make a sound, all he could do was hurriedly retrace the route he had crawled through in his mind.
How many turns had I just made?
I couldn't possibly go down in history as the first Hogwarts student to starve to death trapped inside a pipeline, could I?
Carefully, Draco twisted around to glance behind him. Seeing the scuff marks along the tunnel floor where he'd crawled gave him some relief.
Just as he managed to shift into a slightly more comfortable position, three more people entered the room below. Only when the door was locked shut behind them did one of the cloaked figures spread his arms wide and speak warmly:
"Come closer, Nott… you too, Belby… We are brothers bound together, let us not seem so distant."
The group shuffled their feet and closed in. Once they had formed a wide circle, the cloaked man continued:
"I've said this many times before, but it bears repeating—"
"Grindelwald is old, the Dark Lord is dead, Dumbledore is half-mad, and the Ministry of Magic is weak and useless.
"Brothers, sisters! The future of the wizarding world will belong to us! The world itself will belong to us!
"To achieve our goal, we must seize every power available to us, master the magic our enemies wield, cast aside blind loyalty and foolishness, abandon weakness and morality, and fight for the forging of a true new dawn!
"We must face our own greed, acknowledge the burning desires of our souls. We want all the wealth of the world to flow into our hands, we want the Minister of Magic on his knees kissing our rings, we want the most beautiful people crawling at our side, we want to remold the world into the shape we desire!
"We are no one's remnants, no one's vassals—we are the future!"
At that, another robed figure raised his glass at just the right moment: "To—the future, where we may do as we please!"
The others echoed one after another: "To the future!"
They drank deeply, their breathing suddenly became heavier, as if fired up by the vision of the world they dreamed of.
On their fingers, rings gleamed in the candlelight. The skulls engraved upon them seemed to grin wickedly.
Draco's heart gave a jolt. He reached instinctively for his own bare finger.
There had once been a similar ring there.
But later…
Draco recalled those days of detention in Professor Snape's office, and bitterness seemed to rise again in his mouth.
A whole year of detentions—if he wasn't helping Snape sort through revolting potion ingredients, he was running errands for other professors or helping Filch clean. Every time he returned to the dorm he was utterly exhausted, yet he still had to find time for his homework…
In those days Draco Malfoy had no spare energy for extracurricular activities. The only thing that resembled relaxation was Quidditch training—
And in truth, that was no relaxation at all. Slytherin's training regimen was every bit as grueling as Gryffindor's.
What's more, ever since Harry Potter had entered the school, Slytherin had lost its streak of Quidditch championships. The psychological pressure on the team was far greater than what their predecessors had endured.
In short, during that period Draco Malfoy had been gradually forced to drift away from the Order of the Dead he had only just joined, until finally he didn't even know what had become of his ring…
Now, gazing at the crowd below, shrouded in mystery and menace, Draco's eyes flickered. Slowly, his other hand brushed over the finger where he had once worn that ring.
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