Are you trying to provoke me without even making a move on me? Do you truly believe being a target is the same as being easy prey?
Anduin thought, his mind already shifting from abstract runic theory to tactical geometry. He was deeply annoyed by the interruption—a crude, stinking punctuation mark on a productive evening.
Before he could fully commit to a strategy of hunting the attackers, a heavy, booming voice echoed from the end of the corridor where the dung-bomb residue still clung, followed by the distinctive, shuffling gait of a half-crazed caretaker.
"Who's causing all this filth, you rotten little brat? You can't escape my grasp this time!" It was Argus Filch, his voice tight with frustrated rage, smelling the foul air and instantly assuming guilt.
Anduin was boxed in. To the north, the corridor was temporarily impassable with sludge and the raging caretaker. To the south, the ambushers were lurking, waiting for him to flee their way. He had seconds to decide, and the choice was instantaneous. Being caught by Filch meant losing his precious new books and enduring a night of detention. Being ambushed meant a clumsy fight. He preferred neither.
With the agility honed by relentless athletic practice and the instantaneous reaction enabled by his Innately Stabilized Magic, Anduin didn't bother with the stairs. He cast a silent, complex series of Mannaz Charms (Kinetic Control) that solidified the air directly beneath his feet.
He didn't merely jump; he launched himself up and over the stone railing of the third-floor corridor, a swift, controlled descent. He used the brief fall to gain speed, cushioning his impact onto the second-floor banister with a final, subtle Control charm that absorbed the shock, making his landing utterly silent.
He was now one floor down, out of Filch's line of sight, and on a parallel track to his attackers.
They expect me to run toward them on the third floor, or flee down the main staircase and hope to lose Filch, he analyzed, moving swiftly down the less-used second-floor corridor.
They have likely split into two groups: one watching the main staircase, and the rest waiting near the auxiliary stairs, expecting me to eventually retreat toward the Common Room.
Anduin was not one to tolerate unsolicited aggression. Knowing the likely path of his assailants, he decided to deal with them before retreating to the relative safety of the Slytherin dungeon. He used the secondary staircase, which spiraled silently, and crept back up to the third floor, emerging into the shadows far behind the ambushers' presumed position.
At the far end of the third-floor corridor, near the shadowed entrance to the trophy room, Marcus Travers and his three cronies—including the perpetually nervous Rosier—were huddled in the gloom.
Travers was seething. He had seen Anduin studying alone and, spotting Filch's approach, thought the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. The initial dung bomb attack was meant to force Anduin into a panicked retreat right into their arms.
"He must be hiding in that dusty Charms classroom," Travers whispered, his breath ragged with anticipation. "Filch will flush him out. That muddy-blood bastard thinks he can embarrass us all term. Now, we teach him a lesson about respecting pureblood seniority."
Rosier was practically vibrating with anxiety, his eyes wide in the dark. "Travers, we should just go. You didn't even hit him! He blocked the bomb without a wand! We're breaking curfew, and Filch is clearly heading right for us after searching the other side."
Travers, however, was stubbornly arrogant. "Stop worrying, Rosier. He has to come this way eventually. Once Filch is close, we jump him. If Filch catches him, well, that's almost as good. Just wait."
They waited. The only sound was Filch's distant, wheezing shouts, which were indeed growing louder. Travers's initial confidence began to erode as the seconds dragged on.
Could the freak really have disappeared? Travers thought, utterly failing to conceive of Anduin's aerial maneuver. He couldn't have jumped, could he?
The approaching sound of Filch's ragged breathing finally spurred the group into panicked action. Rosier and the other two second-years urged Travers to retreat via the opposite, smaller staircase that led down to the second-floor classrooms.
"Fine! We'll find him later!" Travers spat, reluctantly leading his gang away from the main corridor. "We'll retreat this way. When we meet him next time, I'll—"
Travers's threat was cut short. As they rounded the shadowed corner of the auxiliary staircase, two of his followers suddenly cried out sharply: "Aaargh!" before their feet were violently yanked out from under them. They fell with a sickening thump down the top three steps, tangled and groaning.
Before Travers could even turn to register the attack, an invisible, focused burst of kinetic energy—a non-verbal, non-incantatory Trip Jinx—blasted him square in the chest. He flew backward with unexpected force, his head slamming against the thick stone wall with a dull crack, and he instantly slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Rosier, who was lagging slightly behind, froze instantly. He didn't even manage to scream. He watched the unseen force fell the leader of his group like a puppet with cut strings.
A moment later, a figure stepped out from the deep shadows of the corner landing, walking with the calm, predatory certainty of a sentinel. It was Anduin.
The moment Rosier saw Anduin's cold, unsmiling face, his legs completely failed him. He collapsed onto the cold stone landing, scrambling backward like a frantic crab.
"No, no, please, it wasn't me!" Rosier stammered hysterically, holding his hands up in a useless defense. "It was Travers's idea! I tried to convince him not to—the dung bombs, the ambush—it was all him! I just followed! I swear!"
Anduin paused over the three crumpled, unconscious bodies. He looked down at the pathetic, groveling Rosier with icy detachment.
"Your cowardice is consistent, Rosier," Anduin observed, his voice calm, which made it far more chilling than a shout. He took a single, elegant step over a fallen boy and then knelt by Travers's motionless body. He expertly rifled through the pockets of the larger boy's robes, pulling out several heavy, clinking money bags.
He quickly counted the contents, noting the shine of Galleons and the heavier feel of Sickles. He then proceeded to relieve the other two unconscious boys of their visible coin as well. The haul totaled close to forty Galleons—a significant sum for a student to carry.
Anduin rose, jingling the combined weight of the coin casually in one hand, looking directly at the terrified Rosier.
"Don't be nervous, Rosier. On the contrary, I am quite pleased. You brought me the three main sources of my required quarterly protection fee all in one convenient location. You should thank me for making this so easy for you. Consider the next three months' worth of mandatory contributions prepaid."
Rosier's face, pale and sweaty, twisted in pure, impotent misery. Protection money? He thought. He is robbing us and calling it a fee!
Anduin extended his free hand, pulling the trembling boy up to his feet and then, with bizarre formality, smoothly dusting the bits of fluff from Rosier's robes.
"I know you don't have the stomach for this childish aggression, Rosier," Anduin continued, maintaining his cool, measured tone. "But remaining untouched by my displeasure comes with conditions. This money is simply the cost of your neutrality, and theirs."
He shook the heavy money pouch as a tangible reminder of his leverage. "Now, let's talk business. Your family—have they made any recent shifts in their political stance? And more importantly, what has Travers been doing lately? Who is he talking to outside of our year?"
Terror proved an excellent truth serum. Rosier immediately began to babble, desperate to prove his value as an informant.
"No, no, my family is terrified, Anduin. Since Evan Rosier's death, the situation has been too volatile. They are moving strongly toward a position of cautious neutrality, prioritizing self-preservation over fealty. We can't openly defy the Dark Lord, but we won't be drawing his attention either. As for Travers, he's been obsessed with revenge, but he's been getting close to some older students. I overheard him bragging about meeting with Quake Wilkes—a Fourth Year, quite powerful, a fanatical purist. That's all I know, I swear it."
"Quake Wilkes. Noted," Anduin murmured, the name already being filed away for future investigation. The shifting loyalties of the Rosier family and Travers's affiliation with an older, more influential purist confirmed the larger political currents swirling beneath the surface.
"Very well, Rosier. This once, you are free to go. Return to the Common Room, and tell them precisely what happened here. Let them know the cost of engaging me has just gone up."
Anduin ignored the pitiful figure and turned away, leaving the four boys lying in a heap on the cold, stone floor. Filch's angry shouts were growing nearer, and Anduin knew the caretaker would handle the rest.
Anduin moved with swift precision, using his silent kinetic control to navigate the remaining shadows and reach the Slytherin Common Room without incident. As he slipped through the stone archway, his thoughts were grim.
Even when I actively choose to focus solely on academic pursuits, the fundamental class conflict is inescapable, he mused.
The chaos in the larger Wizarding World is causing the younger generations to take sides, to test their boundaries. These petty attacks are not personal; they are a desperate attempt by the old guard's remnants to maintain control and hierarchy. I think I need to accelerate my planning and establish a much firmer, more intimidating presence.
The next morning, the Common Room was buzzing. Vivian Lestrange, ever the shrewd observer, cornered Anduin at breakfast to deliver the full, dramatic summary of the previous night's farce.
"You won't believe the state of the third floor, Anduin! Utter chaos," Vivian reported, taking a delicate sip of her tea.
"Apparently, Filch caught them all—Travers, Rosier, and those two lackeys—sprawled out on the auxiliary staircase. Rosier was reportedly sobbing so hard he could barely stammer a confession, and he, the absolute coward, pointed the finger at Travers for instigating the whole mess and Filch for being the intended target of the dung bombs!"
She rolled her eyes. "Filch was beside himself. He forced all four of them to clean up the entire corridor, and then handed down a month of detention. The best part? Rosier lay there playing dead and didn't even run when the other three were stunned. The whole story makes Travers look weak, you look untouchable, and Rosier look completely useless."
Vivian's words confirmed Anduin's analysis. The conflicts in the larger Wizarding World had indeed intensified, forcing even the traditionally neutral pureblood students to rally support and choose sides.
The incident, while trivial, was a clear sign that the passive students, or those who chose not to actively side with the purists—like Rosier's family—were now being actively targeted for marginalization.
Even the presence of Vanessa Vance, the current Student Council President, could no longer fully suppress these growing factional forces within Slytherin House itself.
Anduin had felt the increased ill will and resentful glances over the past few days. His academic success, his non-pureblood ancestry, and his unaligned power were all factors that made him a prime, if highly dangerous, target for the old guard.