POV. Dexter Blackmore.
The corridor of the Slytherin boys' wing, after lights out, should have been a serene place. Those who usually created chaos here — the students — should have been in the arms of Morpheus, asleep in their dormitories. Usually, that's how it was, but often someone stayed awake, for the night hour became the best time to break school rules… or to encroach upon someone else's safety.
Tonight, at this hour, three Slytherins were awake, waiting for the right moment in a room whose only temporary occupant was Dexter. Arcturus was currently absent, also busy encroaching upon someone else's safety. These three had gathered tonight for a specific purpose, one that definitely violated all school rules.
But he — Dexter Blackmore — didn't care about any rules. Especially considering who their target was.
He remembered back in his first year, he had embellished Yarwood's face with an Incendio spell. As his father later explained, he could have been suspended, but Lord Malfoy had greatly helped their family by intervening with Lord Yarwood. After all, the Yarwoods had a seat on the Wizengamot, even if they weren't among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They were from the Neutral party.
Lucius Malfoy had explained his motive by saying that, according to his son, his friend was a sufficiently exemplary student. And back then, Dexter had only just started associating with Arcturus. In short, Dexter had been quite surprised by that fact.
In his hands, he now gripped his wand, which was more to him than just a focus — even considering the reverent attitude wizards had towards their tools.
Next to him, Cassius Warrington fidgeted. He kept making short, precise flicks, as if testing his readiness before a fight. By the door, Marcus Avery leaned lazily. He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, but his eyes seemed to catch every glimmer of light in the semi-darkness and certainly weren't drooping.
Although this was Avery, Cassius, and Arcturus's room, unlike the guest who was waiting seated, Avery deliberately stood to lessen the chance of falling asleep. Dexter always marveled at how this lazy man could be so contradictory: one moment he embodied the word "laziness" itself, turning a blind eye to everything and falling asleep at every opportunity; the next, he became the most composed and intelligent in their company.
The lazy one's second state could only be triggered by Arcturus, or rather, by Avery himself if he understood that Malfoy had entrusted him with an important task. Blackmore undoubtedly knew that Marcus was blindly loyal to his friend, but the way Avery changed every time it was necessary always amazed him.
Admittedly, Blackmore himself also greatly respected and valued what seemed like a mere peer in the form of Malfoy, but this white-haired boy had bound him so firmly that now Dexter didn't even want to get rid of this bond. Yes, nowadays Blackmore considered Arcturus his best friend. Although, to be honest, he really disliked some members of their Council. (For example, and only…) Amanda Rosier.
Dexter knew he was far from the most cunning in their company, so he greatly disliked being played with, and Amanda played with everyone, even with Arcturus. This, among other things, infuriated him about Amanda. Blackmore had learned from Avery that she might become his comrade's fiancée, so he tolerated it. Even though he didn't understand how Arcturus himself could tolerate such a thing.
He was, of course, not stupid and knew that Arcturus himself also played with all of Slytherin and the school, twisting everyone around his finger so skillfully that Blackmore always joked that with those fingers, Arcturus could, sitting in the stands, catch all the Snitches from the school games.
Despite all this, Arcturus had the distinction of respecting him, and therefore was always direct with him, thereby showing respect for Dexter. And Dexter, accordingly, respected him in return.
Moreover, unlike the slugs Blackmore despised, who only knew how to manipulate, Arcturus backed everything up with personal strength and a certain leader's aura that Blackmore wasn't ashamed to follow. Although in his first year, he hadn't planned on obeying anyone at all, he saw in his friend precisely the image that any Slytherin should embody, not just a simple slug capable only of playing at childish intrigues.
Dexter's character was direct and unbending, but what could he do, such was the nature of any Blackmore, and it was their distinctive trait. Their motto was: "I obey only strength!"
The motto had arisen long ago, when the history of his proud house began, two centuries earlier.
The end of the 17th century was a time of great and convulsive upheaval for Magical Britain, as well as for the entire Magical community, which only after these events began to form into states, like Ministries of Magic, but not everywhere and not always. This effect arose after the signing of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, when a three-year fever began — three years to hide an entire world from Muggle eyes, and then decades more to achieve minimal results from this initially three-year goal.
But that's not the point. The main thing is that before the final adoption of the Statute in 1692, there was true hell: chaos, panic, hasty rewriting of laws, and the introduction of harsh, often bloody punishments for those who could not or would not hide. Noble and wealthy families scrambled, trying to preserve their holdings, influence, and the very foundation of their existence in the new, hidden world.
It was into this maelstrom, into the very thick of events, that a boy was born into the powerful and then still numerous Black family, given the name Aliot. He was the third son in the family of the future head of the house. In those times, when family holdings were fragmented into small families, and influence was built on strength and the number of heirs, being a third son meant either settling for a modest share on the outskirts of the family empire or finding his own path.
Aliot Black chose his own path. And not just anywhere, but on the battlefields and in the dark alleys of the nascent new world. He fell out with his father — the heir to the house — who refused to see him as an independent force. Taking his wife and two young sons, Aliot left the Black family nest, intending to found a new house, free from the old hierarchy.
The then Lord Black — Aliot's grandfather — was a perceptive and tenacious man. He understood the value of such an asset as his grandson. For by that time, Aliot was not just a rebel — he commanded one of the most formidable and effective mercenary groups on British soil. And in battle, he could single-handedly take on his entire gang, which consisted of fairly strong fighters. To let such a force go free, especially with a potential grudge in his heart, was the height of folly. A long, exhausting underground war began, consisting of pressure, threats, and manipulations based on familial attachment.
How it all ended, history does not know for sure, that is, opinions vary. The Blackmores themselves believe that Aliot Black was ultimately forced to bow his head under the weight of family duty and the familial feelings the old Lord had awakened. Apparently, the old Lord had finally found an approach, playing on his ambition and offering a unique deal. Others claimed he was forcibly made to come to his senses. Be that as it may, the result was the same: Aliot and his descendants received the right to a new surname — Blackmore, as an eternal reminder of their roots — and relative independence in exchange for a vassal's oath to the House of Black. They became their sword and shield, their brute force, their "problem solvers" for the dirtiest and most complex issues.
Thus began the nearly two-century history of the House of Blackmore — vassals whose loyalty was forged by mutual benefit, an oath, and perhaps a complex tangle of respect and a desire to serve the main branch. They became the force that helped the entire variety of businesses and ventures owned by the Blacks function. Thus, the Blackmores became famous for their elite mercenary services: bodyguards who couldn't be bribed, fighters who knew no defeat, and simply specialists in combat matters. True, they provided their services mainly to their liege lord, that is, the House of Black. And only because of this did they become wealthy, and at the peak of their power, their house could boast two or three dozen first-class professionals, scattered across all the places where the Blacks earned influence or gold.
But everything comes to an end. The House of Black, which they had served, began to inexorably decline, becoming smaller and weaker. And with the disappearance of Regulus Black, and then the imprisonment of his brother Sirius in Azkaban, the last direct male heir, the Blackmores' vassal oath hung in the air. The end came with the death of Walburga Black.
There was no master, and so there was no service. And what the sons and grandsons of Aliot Blackmore would have certainly desired, turned out badly for the Blackmores. They found themselves almost completely free of orders and obligations. Free, but not in demand. Their former glory dimmed. Now the House of Blackmore could field, at best, two battle stars — no longer the former crew of very strong warriors capable of easily handling anything. Quantity and quality had fallen sharply. The strength of the two units now relied on the family members themselves, continuing to hone their hereditary craft: being the best at breaking, killing, and casting spells. They remained fighters and curse-breakers, but the world around them was changing, and there was less and less room in it for the likes of them. Although the Blackmores now offered their services to anyone with money, they would never serve just anyone, which significantly hurt their price and reduced their reliability in the eyes of others.
But fate, sometimes, has a refined sense of humor. Dexter Blackmore, heir to his family, could not have known that his path would cross not just with Arcturus Malfoy — heir to the Malfoy family — but also with the heir to the House of Black, who dreamed with an unchildlike obsession not only of power but also of the resurrection of the dead House of Black. Yes, he dreamed of breathing life into the ashes of their former greatness.
Perhaps it was a simple coincidence that their paths crossed at Hogwarts, for even Malfoy himself did not yet know that the Blackmore family were vassals of the Blacks. But the fact remained: the heir of the Blacks, unknowingly, had regained a vassal. And the future vassal, unaware of who stood before him, was already ready to carry out any "request" coming from the cold and calculating heir of the Malfoys. And was it only the Malfoys?
And this irony was twofold. For Lucius Malfoy had, in his time, made titanic efforts to hide Walburga Black's will and her dark maneuvers from prying eyes. But this led to many not knowing about it, and although the head of the House of Blackmore certainly should have suspected it, he apparently had not told his grandson.
In any case, the one who needed to know, learned. Lucius Malfoy had clearly underestimated Albus Dumbledore and his network of loyal people entwining the Ministry of Magic. The old Headmaster saw further and knew more. What's more, he already saw in Arcturus a potential key to the Black inheritance if the first key could not be retrieved from Azkaban in time.
Suddenly, a voice snapped Blackmore out of the boredom of waiting.
"Isn't it time?" Cassius asked, stopping his fidgeting with his wand and staring at Blackmore. True, there was no expected anxiety in his voice, only impatience.
Dexter slowly nodded and stood up.
"It's time. He's definitely asleep now."
"Alright, Arcturus said you're in charge today. Ooooh-aaaah," said Avery, yawning deeply, and continued. "Let's finish quickly and get to sleep."
Blackmore was a bit proud today, for Arcturus usually trusted Marcus more, but today the task was specifically in his area of expertise, so Avery was merely backup in case something went wrong.
The three of them simultaneously pulled up their robe hoods and put on their gloves. This was a precaution insisted upon by Arcturus.
***
POV. Marcus Avery.
Marcus, along with today's accomplices, left his own room, leaving behind the so-desired and pleasant bed. A very, very soft and sleep-inducing bed! This invented term was one of the local jokes of the room's inhabitants.
The silence in the corridor after lights out was logical, broken only by the creaking of old beams somewhere deep in the castle. Avery walked between Blackmore and Cassius, feeling the night chill that reminded him of the reality of what was happening. In his head, contrary to the situation, an obsessive thought spun: "I could be sleeping right now." But he wouldn't have been able to sleep. Not when Arcturus had laid out a plan, and his eyes burned with that cold, fanatical fire that made one forget about laziness and help a friend, believing in his idea. Not the specific plan, but the idea itself, which for now remained a mystery to everyone, but certainly existed.
They quickly approached the door to Yarwood's room and his roommates. Blackmore, without saying a word, crouched down. Three short, bright flashes of Lumos blinked through the thin crack under the door. He stood up, adopting his slightly relaxed but always ready-for-action posture. And they began to wait.
Those half a minute seemed unnaturally long to Avery. He caught himself counting the beats of his own heart, listening to every rustle in the empty corridor.
It was nerves. But never mind, because after the recent actions of the culprit and how he had tried to wriggle out of it in front of McGonagall, the very thought that such a rat could walk around unpunished irritated Avery.
His actions could have harmed the Council, and by extension, Avery himself.
"Thank goodness Arcturus managed to get out of it again…" Marcus reasoned.
Meanwhile, the door creaked open. In the doorway stood Simon Tolmen, huge and clumsy in his striped pajamas, which in the semi-darkness made him look like a squashed bumblebee. His usually good-natured face was tense.
"The poor guy's scared," Avery thought without malice, knowing from his own experience that no matter how much they tried to come across as tough and experienced schemers, this kind of thing made you nervous, because the brain fears what it has never done before. In the depth of the room, on their beds, lay two others covering this matter — Caden Fletcher and another guy from their year. They were all awake, waiting for the signal.
"I'm… glad to help," Tolmen whispered quietly, his gaze sliding over the faces of the newcomers, as if seeking confirmation that everything was going according to plan. "As Malfoy says… a favor for a favor."
He stepped back and heavily plopped onto his bed, having not received a single word from the newcomers. From the awkward phrase and the nervous situation, it seemed he wanted to quickly blend into the scenery, becoming part of the furniture. But it didn't quite work.
The air in the room was stuffy, smelling of sweat and old wood. Blackmore, without wasting time on looking around, immediately walked over to the bed where, under a carelessly thrown blanket, Alistair Yarwood could be seen. The wand in Dexter's hands traced a smooth arc, and everyone felt the space above the bed thicken and fill with magical density. It was a Silencing Dome.
Blackmore held the spell easily, but Avery knew what concentration was behind it. However sad it was to admit, Avery didn't deceive himself, logically believing that Blackmore was the second strongest in the entire year, meaning he followed immediately after Arcturus.
"Only in cunning and the ability to get out of trouble is he clearly not second; Arcturus is first again," Avery reassured himself.
Despite his efforts in the Dueling Club, although he was better than average, he probably couldn't handle someone like Burke. But he had already become quite proficient in basic Artifact Creation, having found in his third year what he was really good at and what he really liked. Since childhood, he had loved the artifacts in their Knockturn Alley shop, and now it had grown into something more. Even laziness didn't stop him from creating his still-crude creations, and Arcturus was only glad that his friend had found an occupation he enjoyed.
"Wand?" Cassius asked quietly, already calm, since Alistair wouldn't wake up from the noise.
"Under the pillow," Fletcher answered from the neighboring bed, also in a whisper. "Since that incident… he's been clinging to it like a bulldog. If he could, he'd probably cast a Protego over the whole bed."
Cassius just grunted in response. It was funny that a Protego would have saved Alistair from their plan, but even older students couldn't maintain a stable protection all night. Thinking about his own role, Avery didn't forget it. He quickly raised his wand, concentrating on the shade of the spell. From his wand, a ball of thick, dark-red color flashed and detached. It hovered under the ceiling, outside the Dome, casting a faint, ominous glow, intended not so much to illuminate as to distort through the Silencing Dome, creating a feeling inside that this was something other than a simple sound-muffling barrier.