The door, which I had locked with a rather powerful spell, was thrown open with a deafening crash, as if it had been blown open from the outside. In the doorway, wreathed in a faint haze of dissipating magic, stood three figures: Professor Snape, and behind him — Answorth, his face a mask of undisguised gloating, and Foley, our prefect and my own appointee. The surprise knocked the wind out of me. My smoothly flowing thoughts stumbled and shattered, for this I certainly had not expected.
My concentration vanished instantly, and the three desks I had been holding aloft crashed to the stone floor with a deafening roar. The sound was so loud it seemed to shake the walls of the abandoned, dusty classroom. Wood splintered, dust billowed up in a thick cloud. I should have set them down gently… they would have noticed anyway, flashed through my mind.
"I told you, Professor," Answorth's voice sounded sweet and venomous, dripping with self-satisfaction. "He's always hiding in here, casting spells… probably something forbidden."
Foley, standing slightly apart, merely spread his hands. His gaze spoke more eloquently than any words: 'Sorry, I tried to stop him, but I couldn't.'
Professor Snape slid further into the room, slow and serpentine. His black eyes, cold and penetrating, surveyed the mess indifferently before settling on me.
"Mr. Malfoy," his voice was quiet, which only made it more dangerous and weighty. "Kindly explain this… disarray?"
"I was training, Professor," I replied, striving to keep my voice from wavering and betraying the mix of rage at this imbecile who hadn't immediately grasped that you don't play games with me, and the embarrassment of being caught like a misbehaving cat that had also gotten into the cream.
Snape's gaze slid over the shattered wood, and he raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
"Defacing school property is hardly the most elegant application of your undoubtedly remarkable talents," he said with a faint, mocking smile. I didn't know if I imagined it, but he seemed to be trying to hold back a smile. Then he slowly turned to Answorth. "However, Mr. Answorth, allow me to remind you that all of this can be restored with a couple of flicks. And if not, the Malfoy family sits on the Board of Governors, which, I dare say, generously funds our school. I observe no serious damage here. And the rules, to my knowledge, do not prohibit such… liberties. Therefore, I cannot forbid students from practicing in classrooms during their free time."
Answorth, flushing crimson, muttered something under his breath but fell silent under the heavy, oppressive gaze of the Slytherin Head of House. Soon, both older students withdrew — Answorth, throwing me one last spiteful look, and Foley, shrugging his shoulders in a silent apology as he left.
Only Snape and I remained in the classroom. He took a few silent steps forward, his cloak swirling as if alive.
"Finding yourself… another place to train," he hissed so quietly I barely caught the words, "and concerning yourself with more… reliable concealment would be extremely prudent. Hogwarts teems with those whose curiosity far exceeds their good sense."
He was giving veiled advice. His words were spoken in the same flat tone he always used, but this was apparently the professor's way of showing concern. The advice was crystal clear: 'Hide your talents far from the eyes of fools.' I suppose the professor had suffered enough of that in his time.
I don't know if he guessed the desks had levitated without the aid of a spell like Wingardium Leviosa, but let anyone even try to replicate half of what I did with those desks without a proper incantation, even with a full spell. So, in any case, I had shown what I was capable of.
But my thoughts weren't on that, because I couldn't believe Answorth had done this hoping Snape would somehow punish me. Firstly, many knew the Potions Master had good relations with the Malfoy family.
Secondly, he should have understood that no real punishment would follow for this anyway — at most, a couple of days of detention. Say what you will, but Answorth wasn't that stupid; he was definitely trying to drag me into a new game and get even, but I didn't yet understand what he was planning.
Apparently, I hadn't explained the disparity in our positions clearly enough. But I'm not a very patient person, so I'll explain it to him in a language more understandable to many — the language of force. But first, I need to understand what he's plotting, because what if he really, having no other options, decided to needle me somehow? Still, I found that hard to believe.
For now, while I wait for the continuation of this stupid attack, I need to get serious about finding the Room of Requirement. Otherwise, next time he might come not with Snape, but with backup, and not to complain, but for revenge.
Even though that would risk expulsion, but who knows these teenagers, right? What if he's really lost it? After all, I did mess up his life quite badly. Looking back, I realized I hadn't just ruined some relationship for him; no, I'd ruined something more serious, on an adult level. I had literally destroyed a potential alliance between the Selwyns and the Answorths, as a second-year…
If I were a good person, I'd reproach myself, but… well, it's a good thing I'm not. But I don't know if it was worth it, looking back… I think I acted foolishly and carelessly, but what's done is done.
By lunchtime, all my subordinates — who didn't yet consider themselves as such but were close — had received instructions to report any painting featuring trolls or ballerinas. I distinctly remembered that one of the two was connected to the Room of Requirement's location, but no matter how much I immersed myself in my memories, applying Occlumency techniques, I couldn't recall more details. Although there was also the detail that it was definitely on a high floor; I was sure the main secret of Hogwarts wasn't on the first three floors… Well, unless you count the story of Peeves's origin, which few ghosts knew, including the Bloody Baron, who refused to share it with me.
So, over the course of a week, more than twenty students found so many similar paintings that I was amazed by the variety of portraits in the ancient castle. I had to check each one slowly. In half the cases, I discarded these locations based on logic; in others, I had to investigate. But a week of inaction prompted Answorth to make his move. I'm not sure, but perhaps he expected me to retaliate immediately or challenge him to a duel. But for a whole week, he did nothing, and only at the next Dueling Club meeting did he approach me and call me out to settle things one-on-one, but not here — in the far corridors of the third floor, exactly one hour after the meeting ended.
I, of course, decided to simply ask Flitwick to allow me to face Answorth. The professor refused and loudly announced that fifth-years should only spar with other upperclassmen.
Basically, I could either not go at all, since he hadn't even issued a formal challenge, meaning I could do nothing, or I could gather a backup group just in case and go find out what this idiot was planning and why he was distracting me from important matters.
Since I didn't intend to ruin his plan outright — lest he later devise one I wouldn't even know about — I decided to go to the appointed place, which had a 90% chance of being a trap. Just in case, I called Foley, who was to act as a safety guarantor, being a prefect and an upperclassman, and I also took my guys. By that, I mean Blackwell and Cassius.
Only them, because I'm not an idiot, and before heading out, I opened the Map and noticed that Answorth was heading to the meeting place with Farmus. I don't know if that's normal, but my brain immediately recreated Answorth's idea. I understood what he wanted to pull off, and that's why such a backup group was enough — in case I guessed wrong and those two had already settled their differences and together decided to teach me a lesson.
My surprise was all the greater when he met me alone. It would have been awkward, of course… had I not noticed the door to a disused classroom right next to where Answorth was standing. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, even without opening the Map again.
I stepped forward, leaving my companions behind, and gestured for them to stay put with my hand. Answorth stood right in the center of the corridor, his posture unnaturally relaxed, but I saw the tension in his eyes and a slight tremor in his fingers.
"What, Malfoy, scared to come alone?" His voice was sweetly poisonous. He threw a contemptuous glance at my companions. "Or did they come to hold your hand? A true Slytherin should handle things himself, shouldn't he?"
I smirked, slowly twirling my wand between my fingers, feeling its familiar weight.
"Experience suggests that with such vipers, it's better to be safe than sorry," I said after a short pause, locking eyes with him. "Don't worry, they won't interfere, since you're alone. Just like in that duel with Farmus…"
His face contorted into a grimace, his lips twitching nervously, but he restrained himself.
"Speaking of Farmus..." he deliberately drew out the words, savoring the moment. "I wonder how that duel even came about?" He paused, scrutinizing my face for the slightest reaction. "Rumors don't spread themselves. Someone had to start them..."
"You're absolutely right," I nodded, maintaining a perfectly impassive expression. "Rumors don't come from nowhere. But if you're implying that I spread them..." I shook my head, artfully feigning slight disappointment. "I never stooped to such filth. I have honor, and I won't tarnish my name by slandering another's. You know, I always thought Farmus was a victim of someone's... vile manipulations."
I saw his fingers clench in powerless fury, his nails digging into his palms. He pressed on, his voice sharper and more piercing:
"A strange coincidence. Right after your conflict with Farmus..."
"Conflict?" I theatrically raised an eyebrow, feigning genuine surprise. "We had no conflict. There was only... a pathetic attempt to humiliate Slytherins, which backfired so unfortunately on him. I considered my job done with that." I took a step closer, lowering my voice to an intimate, almost whispering tone. "And you know what's most interesting? I always suspected that the real culprit behind those rumors was you. The person who constantly lost duels decided to tarnish his opponent's name."
What I longed to see flickered in his eyes — pure panic, quickly masked by a flash of furious anger. His hand jerked towards his wand, but I already had my wand pointed at him.
"Enough twisting everything! You... you did it on purpose!?"
A light, almost careless flick of my wand, and a dense dome of silence instantly closed around us. The air thickened; all external sounds vanished, as if we'd been ripped from reality.
He froze, his eyes widening with the realization that he had fallen into his own trap.
"You know what's the most amusing thing?" My voice was quiet but perfectly clear in the ringing magical silence. "I know Farmus is behind that door. Right now. I know you're trying to convince him that he and I are enemies. That you need to unite against the 'evil Malfoy' who set you against each other. I know everything!"
I saw him pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"When? When did you..."
"I always knew. When you called me to this meeting, when you walked into MY abandoned classroom with Snape, when you first started plotting this in your head... But here's the problem," I moved very close, almost touching his face. "You lost before the game even began. Because I see right through you. I see your pathetic attempt to manipulate everyone around you. And you know what?" I stepped back, looking down at him. "It's not even funny. It's just... pitiful."
"This... this can't be! YOU'RE lying!"
I released the spell. The dome of silence vanished with a soft pop, and the corridor sounds returned.
"This is boring," I said loudly now, so all present could hear. "You're not even a worthy opponent. Just a pathetic schemer trying to seem more important than you are."
Answorth stood with a completely lost, hollow look. His shoulders slumped, and his hand released his wand helplessly; it fell to the stone floor with a dull thud. His eyes reflected total, absolute defeat — not just the loss of a verbal battle, but the utter collapse of all his plans, the destruction of his belief in his own abilities. I had methodically dismantled the one thing he was good at — now he would doubt even his skills as a schemer, and he was good at nothing else.
I turned and walked towards my companions, not granting him another glance. The game was over.
But at the last moment, I did pause, turned back to Answorth, and said loudly enough for every word to echo in the stone corridor:
"You know what's the most ironic thing about this whole story? An honest Gryffindor, who never wished anyone harm, was crushed by dirty rumors. And even I — a Slytherin, a representative of the house he so dislikes — was on the side of fairness. Farmus didn't deserve that. He was more honest than you in everything — in friendship, principles, even in duels. And you... you're just a coward, hiding behind your pathetic nature."
I turned to leave, feeling a bitter satisfaction. But at that moment, Answorth, trembling with humiliation and rage, his face contorted, lunged for his wand lying on the floor.
Foley beat me to it. His shout was cold and decisive:
"Enough. Expulso!"
The spell flung Answorth backwards, and he crashed onto the stone floor with a thud. His wand slipped from his fingers and rolled across the flagstones. I, without turning, called over my shoulder:
"Petrificus Totalus!"
He froze in a pose expressing powerless fury. His eyes held a volatile mix of hatred, fear, and utter defeat.
I used the incantation verbally, because I knew Farmus had heard everything. Every word. And this entire theater had been staged for one audience member.
"Leave him," I said to Foley and the others, casting one last look at Answorth's immobilized form.
We left the corridor, leaving Answorth in his shameful captivity. At the last moment, out of the corner of my ear, I heard the creak of the door to that classroom, which had apparently slowly opened a crack, but I pretended not to notice.
The next day, it turned out that Answorth ended up in the hospital wing with a bunch of unpleasant hexes, a disfigured face, Diffindo cuts, bruises, even two broken ribs, and severe burns on his hands. The physical injuries were serious enough that the only thing that saved Farmus was Answorth's silence. Despite everything, he never revealed who had done it, claiming the culprit had immediately blinded him with some curse before inflicting all those wounds.
Honestly, I had bet that he would tell everything and Farmus would be suspended or even expelled for extreme cruelty, but no.
I also hadn't expected Farmus himself to be so brutal — apparently, I'd underestimated the pride of the brave Gryffindor, who had become even more disappointed in his opponent and classmate, and then found that classmate paralyzed in a place where no one would stop him.
I had done everything possible to ensure this Answorth would bother me no more, and let's hope that after recovering, he understands his place. Meanwhile, I reached another painting. It was amusing to justify to everyone why I had set such a task — to find and report such paintings — but I simply said there was a lead that one of these portraits led to Hogsmeade. Of course, I lied, but in case of need, I could let it slip to a few that I knew a secret passage to Hogsmeade. Let them spread the word that the effort wasn't in vain. That the painting there would be a different one — no one would remember that later. The Marauder's Map is a good joke, after all.
I stood before a huge tapestry on the eighth floor of the castle, directly opposite someone's statue. The place was deserted — students rarely ventured here, except perhaps couples seeking privacy. But today, only I was here.
"Hmm… a strange painting indeed…" I mused under my breath, peering at the faded threads. "Or rather, tapestry…"
The fabric depicted a wizard of mad appearance in a crumpled robe, desperately trying to teach ballet to a group of portly trolls. The trolls, in ridiculous pink tutus and ballet shoes, kept furiously clubbing him with their clubs, and he, judging by the expression on his face, was deriving masochistic pleasure from it. The plot was so absurd it caused bewilderment even by Hogwarts standards.
"Well… alright," I sighed. "I don't remember who found this painting, but they definitely hit the jackpot."
I started walking. Three times I passed from one end of the corridor to the other, mentally repeating my request. The stone walls echoed my footsteps. I felt a slight dizziness — whether from the monotony or the nervous tension.
'I need a place to train… A space where I can practice magic without prying eyes… A hall where no one will disturb me…'
On each such check, I tried to over-fulfill the requirements from my knowledge, making more passes. My surprise was all the greater when, on the third pass, something clicked. I stopped dead, feeling a slight vibration in the air. Right in front of me, on the perfectly smooth stone wall, contours began to appear. At first barely noticeable, as if traced with a silver pencil, they quickly grew sharper, gaining detail, until a massive oak door with an elegant silver handle materialized before me.
I froze, not believing my eyes. It was here — the Room of Requirement. The very one I had been searching for all this time! My heart beat faster as I slowly reached for the silver handle. The door yielded soundlessly, swinging open. So many possibilities…
Taking a deep breath, I stepped across the threshold.