"Mr. Malfoy, is that a statement or a question?" he asked again, turning slowly. The usual good-natured rasp had vanished from his voice. Only wariness remained.
I met his gaze without a hint of embarrassment.
"Acromantulas, Professor... near the school. How dangerous is that?"
He came closer, limping on his prosthetic.
"How do you..." he began and stopped short.
I remained silent.
Kettleburn looked at me for a long, long time. A shadow of doubt flickered in his faded eye. Finally, he sighed heavily, approached the fence, and leaned on it with his good hand. The prosthetic leg thudded dully against the wood.
"This is going to be a long conversation. The Acromantulas," Kettleburn began, his voice weary, like a man who had carried an unbearable burden for too long. "Do you know what these creatures are and what happened to this species in Britain?"
"Fifth-class danger. Arachnids living in nests, reaching enormous size over their lifespan. Poisonous, aggressive, some subspecies cannibalistic, while others can achieve sapience with age. Rapid population increase in nests is the reason there are no documented nests left in Britain since the early twentieth century. The last one was destroyed in the 1910s in the Scottish Highlands."
Kettleburn smirked.
"I thought you'd stick to the information from the second-year DADA textbook. This, I believe, is fifth-year material, the 'Highest Danger Arthropods' section. An 'Outstanding' in CoMC is assured for you, Mr. Malfoy. Only..." he paused, searching for words. "Only textbooks sometimes lie."
"I understand what you mean," I replied simply.
The old professor flinched. His gaze darted to my face, searching for deception, mockery, provocation. He found none. I hadn't even expected that the usually cheerful Kettleburn, not much younger than Dumbledore, could be so… dejected.
"So what do you know?"
"That there is another nest. And that it's located in the Forbidden Forest…" I paused, as if calculating, "…for half a century, if not more. I also know that its inhabitants are gradually expanding their territory. And that a couple of spiders attacked me and my friends."
Even through his aged wrinkles, it was clear he was surprised.
"Attacked?" he repeated, his voice faltering. "When? And how did you survive? More precisely... is everything alright with you? They didn't bite you, maybe a scratch? They are highly venomous!"
"Professor, it was a couple of weeks ago. We were walking along the edge of the forest," we didn't go deep. We were attacked by four specimens. As I understood later, not the largest, but about the size of a cat or a dog. We fought them off, but if there had been more… or older specimens…"
I didn't finish. I didn't need to.
"Aragog promised and swore they wouldn't approach the castle. His descendants were supposed to stay deep in the forest, away from people. I believed him. I wanted so much to believe…"
"Aragog," I repeated. "Is that their leader?"
Of course, I knew that was the name of that little spiderling who had created an entire nest and grown to enormous proportions. Thank you, future knowledge.
"You are intelligent, Mr. Malfoy. Very intelligent. And, it seems, you already understand everything. Yes, Aragog is the leader of this nest. Despite not being the mother of the nest, he is the progenitor. An Acromantula whom… whom I could not destroy decades ago, when he and his offspring would not have been able to defend themselves against me alone."
He fell silent, gathering his thoughts. I didn't rush him.
"A few Acromantula eggs once came into the hands of a student from a traveler in Brazil. It's unclear why he gifted such a danger, banned from sale worldwide, to a Hogwarts student, but the student loved magical creatures and kept the hatched spiderlings as pets. Secretly from everyone. By the time I found out about it, there was already a large nest in the forest, and Aragog was an extremely rare specimen with intelligence. His loyalty to his master, that student, proved it. I became obsessed with preserving the species in Britain. Instead of contacting the Ministry, I left the nest. That student asked me to, and I myself gravitate towards unusual species. Aragog's master thought he could control him; I did too. And when Aragog grew, when I realized what I had done… it was too late. I couldn't destroy the only intelligent creature of its kind in this country."
I nodded. This explained a lot. Hagrid's naivety, his blind love for all monsters indiscriminately — and his unwillingness to see the real threat. And apparently, the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures had been enabling him, and this was the result.
"And does the Headmaster know?" I asked directly.
Kettleburn shook his head.
"Dippet didn't know. And Dumbledore… I'm not sure. He might suspect. He suspects a lot of things, our Headmaster. But I haven't told him."
We were silent for a moment.
"I'm not asking you to keep quiet, Mr. Malfoy," Kettleburn said. "I have no right. You nearly died, and your friends nearly died. If you wanted to tell the Headmaster, tell Professor McGonagall, tell anyone… I would understand. And I would accept the punishment."
"But," I prompted.
He smirked.
"But… if you tell, the Aurors will come. They will destroy the nest! Kill Aragog, kill his children, and all the descendants. Burn everything down to the last egg! And again, there won't be a single Acromantula left in Britain. Aragog… he is sapient, Mr. Malfoy. He thinks, he feels, he remembers me and obeys Ha… that student. He is even grateful — in his own way, in a spider's way, but grateful. And his children… they usually follow his orders. If he tells them not to approach the castle, they won't. If he tells them not to attack people, they won't. Acromantulas have a very interesting hierarchy. The problem is that the instincts of Acromantulas sometimes override the progenitor's orders."
"That's why spiders come to the edge of the forest," I said. "That's why they attack. Young specimens that no longer obey."
Kettleburn nodded.
"It's for this reason that the species is considered non-sapient worldwide, because an animal's intelligence doesn't remove its instincts. My whole life, I've studied magical creatures, my whole life I've taught Hogwarts students how to handle them. And just as you love Thestrals, I love all creatures."
I looked at the old professor, who was now feeling the weight of guilt and responsibility. Almost seventy years of teaching. And now he sat before me, a third-year, and asked… what? Understanding? Forgiveness? Silence?
"I won't tell anyone that you knew," I said finally. "That's your secret, Professor, and I have no right to reveal it."
Kettleburn raised his eyes to me.
"However," I continued, "I wasn't the only one who saw the Acromantulas. My friends saw them, and perhaps someone else did too. I can't guarantee that secrecy will be maintained. Sooner or later, someone will notice, someone will talk, and someone will raise the alarm. And then…"
"You are right, Mr. Malfoy."
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. For your honesty and for your trust, since you decided to speak with me first."
He extended his hand to me. His only whole hand, scarred and wounded, marked by claws and fangs. I shook it. Instead of his left hand, he had a mechanical grabbing tool.
"For kindness and understanding," Kettleburn said, and familiar, cheerful notes returned to his voice. "Ten points to Slytherin for understanding. Mr. Malfoy, I hope you won't think this is a bribe."
I allowed myself a slight smile.
"I won't, Professor."
He had already turned to leave but stopped halfway and, without turning around, said into the void:
"You see, Mr. Malfoy… you cannot kill a sapient creature just because it is dangerous. Especially if that creature is the last of its kind. Aragog… he is unique. There are no more like him in Britain. And there never will be. I could not let that uniqueness disappear."
"I understand, Professor," I replied.
Only understanding does not mean acceptance. I only promised not to tell that the old CoMC professor knew about it.
I watched him until his figure disappeared around the bend of the path. Mor approached me from behind.
"Did you hear all that?" I asked, not turning around.
The Thestral didn't answer. Ah yes, Thestrals don't answer.
"Alright, Mor… it's time for me too. Goodbye, child of death, and give my regards to her… what nonsense am I talking… oh Merlin."
With that, I finished my eccentricities and walked towards the castle. The Dueling Club awaited me, and then — a repeat of last week's events, but with a completely different ending. I would give everyone their due… they thought they could outplay me, but I would destroy them all! Crush each one like a beetle, and they wouldn't even be able to squeak!
Calm down! Arcturus… calm down. There, I'm calm.
And I'll hold onto the information about the Acromantulas near the school for a while, just in case I disappoint my father too much — I'll have something to cheer him with. Although I wanted to send a letter early, it's still a good tool to take Dumbledore out of the game… for a short time, but perhaps just the amount needed.
***
POV. Edrian Vance.
It was quiet in the Ravenclaw common room — most students were either still sleeping, since on Saturday you could skip breakfast, or had scattered for their morning activities. And some even had club meetings on Saturday morning. But Edrian Vance was free. He had calculated everything so that he wouldn't need to leave the common room for the next few hours. And for the Head Boy, doing that was difficult. He sat in an armchair by the window, immersed in reading the book "A History of Magical Duels." In truth, he had started this book after witnessing yesterday's duel.
Duels didn't particularly interest him, so he knew the rules and nuances at a level just enough not to disgrace himself if necessary. But as it turned out, the ceremony was far less frightening when your opponent was Arcturus Malfoy.
"Won in ten seconds…" that's what he was thinking when, after the duel, he sat down with Malfoy for a conversation. Perhaps that was what prompted him to agree to the terms of peace with the Malfoy heir.
Instead of an equal, protracted duel, Vance saw the humiliation of an ally. And it could only have been equal because Malfoy, according to rumors, was a born battle mage. Now, knowing more about duels, Vance also understood the gesture Arcturus had made, placing his wand tip on his left palm.
But just think — forcing a not-weak sixth-year to defend himself from the very first second, and then some. Quick situational awareness, improvisation, and speed — all were on Malfoy's side. Then came the smoke screen and the red flash that loudly dispersed the smoke, showing that Malfoy had practically won. And everything that followed… was intended more to humiliate Torbin Rookwood.
"I made the right decision, and I had to do it. Friendship with Malfoy opens up prospects I never even dreamed of. Better that Farmus and his friends suffer; the main thing is that I will be uninvolved with both sides," Vance reasoned about the outcome of yesterday's conversation and what he had to arrange as an apology.
"Vance!"
He looked up. Above him stood a breathless third-year from his house, an ever-fussy lad with a shock of red hair, now trying to catch his breath after a brisk walk. Because excessive extra weight doesn't do a third-year's life any favors.
"Someone's there… they came for you. Well, not came, but sent word for you to come out. Crone from Slytherin. Says it's urgent."
Vance frowned.
They had all kept their coalition secret from their own houses. Why would he be looking for him now? He could have just sent an owl, as they usually did.
"Is he here himself?" Vance asked, closing the book.
"No, he's waiting by the entrance. He said he couldn't come in — you understand, house common rooms," the boy shrugged and went about his business.
"Oh, I didn't mean that… alright, you're free."
Vance stood, adjusted his robes, and headed for the exit. A vague unease stirred inside him. Especially considering what was supposed to happen soon.
The corridor was empty — it was Saturday, after all. Crone stood a short distance from the common room entrance, leaning his shoulder against the stone wall, nervously fidgeting with the edge of his robe. When he saw Vance, he flinched and straightened up but didn't move from his spot.
"Crone," Vance approached, giving him a quick once-over. "What's happened? Why didn't you send an owl?"
He looked strange. He was a bit twitchy, but the Head Boy chalked it up to him still not having caught up on sleep.
"We need to talk about Malfoy. And about what we're going to do next."
Vance became alert, not wanting anyone to overhear them. The fact that he now had a truce with Malfoy didn't mean he wanted to broadcast it to his former supporters. He would try to quietly bow out of this affair, if, of course, this coalition didn't fall apart entirely after today.
"Let's go further away; I don't want anyone to hear," Crone said curtly and, without waiting for an answer, turned and walked down the corridor.
Vance, after a moment's hesitation, followed. They moved along the corridor, and the further they went, the more Vance was overcome by a strange, sticky feeling that something was wrong. Crone wasn't acting like himself; before, he had always been more passive in conversation, in Vance's opinion.
But Vance chalked it up to Rookwood's absence. He didn't even notice that the boy was speaking abruptly and in what seemed like memorized phrases.
He glanced sideways at Crone. He walked slightly ahead, and Vance could only see his back — tense and unnaturally straight. His gait also seemed uncharacteristic of Crone, but he hadn't really observed Crone's mannerisms enough to judge now.
"Is Torbin alright?" Vance asked to break the silence.
"He's alive, but he doesn't want to leave the room. Says he needs to rest," Crone replied without turning around. "But that's just an excuse."
They turned into an empty corridor leading to the western wing of the castle. It was even quieter here — no students, no portraits, only the occasional torch on the walls and the distant sound of the wind outside the windows. And there were also empty classrooms, where the two upper-years soon entered.
"I need to talk without any extra ears," he answered Vance's unspoken question. Then, for some reason, he began recounting everything they had already tried to put Malfoy in his place. He even mentioned Answorth, but only indirectly, which Vance found strange.
But Vance didn't consider himself a good judge of people for nothing. He understood that Crone, not knowing who else to turn to, had come to unburden his soul, and Vance listened gladly, nodding and confirming, hoping to get to something more personal that could be used to his advantage later.
However, Crone started suggesting ideas on how to take revenge on Malfoy.
"We are now obliged to put him in his place, Vance. It's good that you're on our side… so, what do you think can be done right now?"
Vance, of course, hadn't thought of anything in advance, having closed the hateful topic of Malfoy for himself, as it was more advantageous, but he had to answer Crone something to get him to back off.
But considering himself a connoisseur of human psychology, he never guessed the reason for Crone's strangeness and why, over this half-hour, he had made so many inaccuracies in his discussion-monologue about their joint affairs, aimed either purely or dirtily at putting Malfoy in his place… and now at taking revenge not only for Answorth but also for the humiliation.
At that very same moment, in a completely different part of the castle, walking towards the Dueling Club, was someone who could not be mistaken for anyone else. Every student they encountered on the way saw him as none other than Edrian Vance, the Head Boy from Ravenclaw house.