Chapter 41: The Village and the Serpent
Harry's answer hung in the air between them.
Hogsmeade.
Elian's mind lit up. Of course! He shot to his feet, his hands slamming down on the table, making the plates rattle. "Where?!"
The sudden outburst startled them all. Ron jumped, Hermione's eyes widened, and Harry blinked in surprise. Hermione's gaze sharpened further. Elian's reaction wasn't academic curiosity; it was the keen, focused interest of someone mapping an escape route… or a trap.
"Ahem… sorry," Elian said, forcing himself to sit back down, a strained smile on his face. "It's just… a really good point. Go on, Harry. Hogsmeade?"
"Yeah," Harry said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "It's part of the school trips, but it's outside the castle wards. It's all wizards, so it feels safe, but… it's not Hogwarts. If someone wanted to grab a student without storming the castle itself, that's where they'd do it."
"Blimey," Ron muttered, looking suddenly pale. "We were just there last weekend."
Hogsmeade. The only all-wizard village in Britain. A place of cosy cottages and sweet shops, visited regularly by Hogwarts students and staff. It felt like an extension of the school. The perfect blind spot.
Elian's mind raced. He was a first-year, not permitted to go on the official weekend trips. But the Sling Ring made borders meaningless. He could be there in an instant. The problem was the bait. He needed the hunters to know where the prey would be, and when.
His eyes glinted with a sudden, dangerous plan. Malfoy. If Lucius was the hunter, then Draco was the perfect messenger.
In the days that followed, Elian became a ghost, always on the periphery, watching for his chance. He ate distractedly, lost in thought, earning increasingly concerned and analytical looks from Hermione. He needed a natural, believable way to let Draco Malfoy overhear his plans.
Three days before the next Hogsmeade weekend, his opportunity arrived.
He was by the Black Lake with Luna, discussing the flow of mystical energy, when he spotted Draco Malfoy storming across the grounds, Crabbe and Goyle struggling to keep pace. Malfoy's usually pale face was flushed with fury, his grey eyes fixed on Elian with unmistakable venom.
Elian nudged Luna. "Time to go."
But it was too late. Malfoy veered directly toward them, skidding to a halt on the pebbled shore. He yanked out his wand, his hand trembling with rage.
"You!" Malfoy spat, the word laced with pure hatred. He pointed his wand directly at Elian's chest. "It was you, wasn't it? You did it!"
Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, wands also drawn, their dull faces set in scowls. Luna simply tilted her head, observing the scene with detached curiosity.
Elian slowly stood, placing himself slightly in front of Luna. He kept his hands visible, away from his own wand. "Did what, Malfoy? You'll have to be more specific. Stole your hair gel? Insulted your father's taste in walking sticks?"
Malfoy's sneer twisted into something uglier. "Don't play stupid! The howler! The one my mother got this morning! Screaming in the middle of breakfast about 'failing the family' and 'disappointing the Dark Lord's trust'! Only someone trying to sabotage us would send something like that!"
Elian's heart skipped a beat. A howler? He hadn't sent anything. But the accusation was a gift, a perfect opening.
He allowed a slow, cold smile to spread across his face. It was a gamble, but the system's mission demanded risks. "Sabotage? I don't need to sabotage you, Malfoy. You and your father are doing a fine job of that yourselves." He took a deliberate step closer, lowering his voice so only Malfoy and his cronies could hear. "But since you're so concerned about failing… tell your father he doesn't have to skulk around waiting for a miracle. If he's so eager for a chat, he can find me. This Saturday. In Hogsmeade. I'll be taking a stroll to the Shrieking Shack around noon. Alone."
He let the invitation hang in the frosty air, a blatant, arrogant challenge. "That should be easy enough for the great Lucius Malfoy, shouldn't it? Or is he only brave when attacking children in bookshops?"
Malfoy's face went from red to white. The raw insult to his father warred with the shocking, offered opportunity. This was what they needed—a time, a place. But it was a taunt, a trap laid in the open. His mind, trained in pure-blood duplicity, scrambled.
"You're lying," Malfoy hissed, but the fury in his eyes was now mixed with a calculating gleam. "You're a first-year. You can't go to Hogsmeade."
Elian's smile didn't waver. "Are you going to stop me? Or are you just going to run and tell Daddy that the scary first-year is calling him out? Maybe he'll finally teach you how to cast something stronger than a Tickling Charm."
The insult was too public, too direct. Malfoy's wand hand twitched. But the larger mission—the Dark Lord's mission—overrode his pride. He took a sharp step back, shoving his wand back into his robes.
"You're dead, Thorne," he whispered, the promise chilling in its certainty. "You just don't know it yet."
He turned and stalked away, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him, confused by the retreat.
Luna, who had been quietly watching, turned her silvery gaze to Elian. "The Nargles are very thick around him," she observed. "And you've just invited a Doxy into your pocket, Elian. A very angry one."
Elian watched Malfoy's retreating back, the icy wind off the lake cutting through his robes. The bait was taken. The trap was set.
Now he just had to walk into it.
(End of Chapter)
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