"Is that so?" Anduin adjusted the delicate silver bridge of his monocle, his eyes icy. "I am not the one who walked in here bellowing insults and threatening physical violence, Wilkes. I merely responded to the attempted aggression. Let us not wrongly assign the blame for this disruption."
Wilkes, a pragmatic, power-hungry fourth-year, was undeterred by Anduin's composure. He knew Anduin represented a significant threat to his own aspirations to lead the pureblood cohort now that the Dark Lord was gone.
"Sample is the heir to a very old, very influential family, Wilson. Provoking him is not wise, particularly for someone in your position," Wilkes said, his gaze hardening slightly, a faint, condescending pity in his voice. "Sometimes, having a useful ally is infinitely more valuable than having a bitter enemy, wouldn't you agree?"
"And your definition of 'ally' requires what, exactly?" Anduin raised a skeptical eyebrow, a barely concealed sneer touching his lips.
Wilkes saw the opening and took it, attempting to sound magnanimous and politically astute. "I recognize your talent, Anduin. You are a brilliant student, respected by the professors—a rare commodity in our year, or any year. We are prepared to extend a pragmatic peace treaty to you. All you need to do is offer your verbal support to me and my peers, and we, in turn, will formally renounce your Muggle-born status within the House. It will no longer be held against you. As for Travers,"
Wilkes inclined his head towards the still-seething student struggling against his friends' grip, "I would personally demand that he forgive your recent—disrespect. It is a win-win scenario, Wilson. You know how to recognize an offer of stability when you see one."
"What?! Forgive this filthy mudblood? Why in Merlin's name should I do that?!" Travers shouted, spitting the insult with venom, his face contorted in disbelief at Wilkes' sudden capitulation.
Wilkes, completely ignoring the volatile Travers, kept his focus fixed on Anduin, playing the role of the reasonable statesman. "Now, Sample, this is no time for personal pettiness. You must learn to contribute to the honor of Slytherin and the pureblood families in ways that count. Wilson, you are an intelligent man; you understand the necessity of seeking advantage and striving for higher ground."
Anduin felt a surge of cold fury mixed with overwhelming revulsion at Wilkes' thinly veiled offer of servitude. The audacity of these wizards to offer him a reprieve from their own bigotry, demanding subservience in return, was breathtakingly insulting. Renounce my Muggle-born status? As if they possess the authority to define me.
Anduin slowly leaned closer to Wilkes, his expression dropping its sneer, becoming genuinely menacing. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but every word carried the weight of absolute contempt.
"I apologize, Elder," Anduin purred, using the formal address like a sharp weapon. "But I am afraid I have no interest in securing my place in this House by wagging my tail and begging favors from a masterless dog." He straightened, the cold light in his eyes fixing Wilkes with an unforgettable threat.
"I think what you should focus on now is keeping a firm leash on your ambition. Life is difficult enough for dogs without a master to protect them. Be very careful, Wilkes, that you do not follow your uncle's path—a loyal dog who was ultimately found wanting and discarded by his lord."
The air in the common room instantly chilled to the temperature of liquid nitrogen. The reference to Wilkes' uncle, who had died fighting for the Dark Lord and whose demise was a source of great shame and vengeance for the family, was the ultimate, calculated low blow. It was not a magical threat, but a personal execution.
"You!" Wilkes gasped, his face draining of color, the gentlemanly facade crumbling entirely. His veins stood out on his neck, and his hand twitched towards his wand, the attempt at polite negotiation shattered by Anduin's cruel precision.
It was precisely at this moment, before Wilkes could unleash a furious, retaliatory hex, that the common room entrance hissed open, and the silent, deadly form of Severus Snape swept into the room for his scheduled inspection.
Snape's frown deepened instantly upon assessing the scene: a tense circle of students, a red-faced Travers still struggling, and Anduin standing at the epicenter of the hostility, his face radiating icy defiance.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?" Snape's voice was a cold, low, haunting whisper that instantly silenced the room.
The students, recognizing their new Head of House, snapped to attention. "Good evening, Professor," they chorused in a desperate, unified greeting.
Snape's eyes remained fixed on Anduin, demanding an explanation. "Wilson. I ordered you to return. Now, explain what is happening here. Why are you surrounded?"
Travers and Wilkes winced, knowing that being the cause of the Dean's dissatisfaction was a mistake.
Anduin, however, seized the opportunity. He smiled innocently at Snape. "It is quite alright, Professor. They have not seen me in the hall for a while, and they were merely exchanging pleasantries, catching up on the recent school news. Wilkes here was just telling me how much he missed his late uncle and expressing a desire to visit him soon."
Snape's gaze shifted to Wilkes. He knew Wilkes' uncle was deceased. Anduin's comment was a piece of deliberate, high-stakes sarcasm that only the participants could truly appreciate, painting a picture of morbid, dark-humored grief.
"Is that so, Wilkes?" Snape's tone gave nothing away, but his eyes narrowed. He was perceptive enough to recognize the underlying hostility, even if the words sounded like morbid condolences.
Wilkes swallowed hard, trapped by the Dean's intervention. Cursing Anduin internally for twisting his words, he was forced to play along. "Y-yes, Dean. We were… merely exchanging courtesies."
"Indeed," Snape said flatly. He took one long, assessing look at Anduin—a look that said, I see what you are doing, and while I detest your insolence, I appreciate the surgical precision of your cruelty.
"Wilson, come with me now," Snape commanded, turning abruptly toward the stairs leading to his private quarters.
"Yes, Professor." Anduin cast a brief, victorious look back at the stunned, silenced group, and followed his Dean.
Snape led Anduin not to the office connected to the dungeon classroom, but deeper into a private chamber reserved for the Head of House—a sterile, cold space dominated by shelves of rare, sinister-looking ingredients and an antique desk.
He turned on Anduin the moment the door hissed shut, his sarcasm back in full force.
"Remarkable, Wilson. Truly impressive. Not only are you completely immune to fear, but you also seem to possess an unnatural talent for defeating the strong with weakness, and for provoking the powerful purely for your own amusement," Snape hissed, pacing the cold stone floor.
"Was that confrontation satisfying? Did humiliating your Housemates publicly soothe your wounded vanity? Or do you simply find antagonism inherently entertaining?"
"Power?" Anduin chuckled, a genuinely dry, weary sound. "I don't think any of those boys represented 'power,' Professor. They represented noise and outdated prejudices. And you misunderstand the situation: I was not the aggressor. I was merely refusing to prostrate myself before a self-appointed tyrant. You cannot possibly expect me to bury my head in the sand when someone points a finger and screams insults."
Anduin met Snape's gaze directly, the intellectual challenge in his eyes daring the Professor to deny the truth.
"Furthermore," Anduin continued, pressing his advantage, "I was perfectly content and safe operating outside the common room structure, causing trouble only when trouble sought me out. I only returned here because you, Professor, ordered me to. If I am now in constant conflict with the House, the responsibility for placing me here rests entirely with you."
Snape stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits. "So, you blame me for enforcing the rules of the House that you belong to?"
"I didn't say I blame you, Professor, and I don't require your pity," Anduin retorted, refusing to be drawn into a childish game of accusation. "I merely stated a fact of causation. Besides, I find this new challenge… insightful. I, too, wish to understand how the power structures operate in this world."
Snape watched him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. "As the Head of Slytherin, it is my sworn duty to warn you not to introduce chaos into this House. You will not cause me trouble in my own domain."
"And if the trouble is already here, and I merely finish it?" Anduin inquired, his eyebrow raised again. "If the problem starts with them, then it is fair game?"
Snape didn't answer directly. He stepped around his desk, picking up a silver letter opener. "You have an enjoyment of sharp edges, Wilson. Now, change the subject. I recall seeing you before, last summer. Knockturn Alley, was it not?"
Anduin's composure faltered slightly. The memory of the black-robed figure nearly striking him with a non-verbal curse was still visceral.
"Yes, Professor," Anduin said, the words edged with resentment. "You nearly killed me, if I recall correctly."
"You are clearly not dead," Snape sneered, though the intensity of his gaze was focused less on Anduin's face and more on his collarbone. "You were wearing some form of protective charm at the time. A silver chain, with an amulet I did not recognize. It was not the sort of magical protection one purchases casually in Diagon Alley."
Anduin felt a sudden, cold sense of violation. Snape's memory was perfect. Was that why he hesitated that day? Because of the amulet?
"Is this what you're referring to?" Anduin reached inside his robes and pulled out the necklace. It was a simple, sturdy silver chain, the one Augusta had given him, now bearing Lily's small, circular, silver amulet—a gift she had given him on her last birthday. He wore it religiously.
Snape's eyes went wide, the usual coldness instantly replaced by a sudden, intense flicker of raw emotion—grief, recognition, and pain. His movements lost their fluid grace and became slightly clumsy. He approached Anduin, reaching out with an almost reverent hand.
Snape gently, almost fearfully, picked up the silver disc, turning it over to examine the intricate, faintly glowing runes carved into its surface. He was completely lost in the past.
Anduin froze, a sudden, powerful conflict roaring in his mind. He's too close. His hair is going to touch me. He's going to use this proximity to attack. Anduin was instantly on high alert, his hand hovering near his own wand, disgusted by the sudden, invasive proximity of his greasy-haired, hostile Dean.
If he makes one false move, I'm hexing his knees.
"Lily… she gave it to me," Anduin stated, his voice tight with suspicion. "If you are so interested in its protective properties, I suggest you try crafting your own, Professor."
Snape flinched, as if the words had physically struck him. He immediately released the amulet.
"I am not in the habit of taking other people's possessions," Snape said, his voice instantly retreating behind its usual wall of frost, masking the brief moment of emotion. He gently placed the amulet back over Anduin's collar, his long, pale fingers brushing the silver chain.
Anduin felt a strange mixture of relief that the proximity was broken, and confusion over the intensity of Snape's reaction. He looked… devastated.
Snape stepped back, once again the cold, unapproachable Professor. But when he spoke, there was an unusual, almost paternal quality to his tone, devoid of immediate sarcasm.
"You do not seem to be faring well in Slytherin, Wilson," Snape observed, his gaze lingering on the amulet. "Being the target of two conflicting factions in this House will wear you down, even with your unusual… abilities."