"Professor Dumbledore… I haven't spoken of this before. No one outside my family knows about it. But you've spent a lot of time talking with me this past week, and I think I can tell you why I don't remember part of the fight…"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. I saw a spark of interest in his eyes — exactly what I had been counting on.
"Continue, Mr. Malfoy."
And then I almost laughed at my own words.
"Since Sirius Black's fate concerns you so much, you probably know that the Blacks have always been famous for their… rage. Not just temper, but a genuine, all-consuming rage that clouds the mind. I am half Black and I inherited the Black family's ancestral curse. I fall into that state; I lose control of myself and don't remember what I do."
I lowered my eyes, feigning shame. Let him see me as a victim of heredity. Let him think I am fighting something inside. Right now, he should be thinking that here is his chance to wrench me from my father's grasp. And this significant weakness will make me convenient, understandable, and controllable. People with vulnerabilities are easier to control and less frightening to play with.
"I see… exactly like Sirius," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, looking at me with compassion, as if he actually cared.
"I remember them attacking. I remember realizing I was losing. And then… nothing. I came to by the wall, when it was all over. I don't know how I used the explosive spell, or if I even did. I don't know how I hurt them so badly. I just… don't remember."
Dumbledore was silent. I looked up at him.
"I am willing to prove my words. With Veritaserum or a Pensieve. I will show you everything I remember up to the point when I descended into the rage. And then you will see that I am not lying, Professor. They attacked first, and there were four of them. I was defending myself."
I glanced around the office and stopped at a familiar object.
"You have a Pensieve, don't you, Headmaster?"
"My boy… I believe you, but I would like to learn more about the curse. It's very important. And you must understand, you still inflicted serious wounds on your attackers."
How infuriating! I wanted to spit in his face that he shouldn't talk to me like that, but… I had to endure.
"It happened… during the summer. When… well… you know what happened." The Headmaster nodded understandingly. "I try very hard to control myself… but this time I failed, and I am ready to accept punishment for it."
Seize the moment, you old spider! A carefully chosen moment. A moment that would work in my favor.
Something flickered in his eyes — distrust? Or, on the contrary, understanding?
"The Black family's ancestral curse," he repeated slowly. "I have heard of it, though not often. An ancient, untamed magic of an ancestral curse. Many Blacks suffered from it, but it should not have passed to you, should it?"
He fell silent, lost in thought. I could see a new picture of the world forming in his mind — a picture in which the fact that I genuinely lose control when enraged gains value for future manipulations. I don't know if I will be able to fully lure him into my trap and use him, or if he will outwit me with his experience, but in any case, I will give it my all.
"You are right… Headmaster. Because of this Mordred-forsaken curse, my entire life is going downhill! Just like today. I can't go on like…" I pretended to catch myself mid-sentence. "I don't want to suffer from this anymore."
"That explains a great deal, my boy. A very great deal. But hasn't your father tried to help you?"
Whoa, he had switched to very personal communication. And he was trying to discredit my father in my eyes by giving me a made-up reason for resentment. Not a bad move.
"He doesn't really like this trait in me," I replied quietly. "I try every day to fight the curse, but he seems to try harder not to notice me. Apparently, he considers me more of a Black than… Oh… forgive me, Professor. I shouldn't have said that last bit… I don't know what came over me. It's all nonsense."
Dumbledore nodded, even pretending to sympathize. Bingo.
Let him think I am weak. Let him think I need his protection. That is the best disguise now and protection in the future. So it doesn't matter how humiliatingly I am behaving right now. The main thing is to give enough information without revealing that I am simply trying to draw him into my game.
"Well then," he said finally. "I think we should talk about this in more detail. About your curse and how you cope with it. Perhaps I can help, but later. Right now… right now, my boy, we need to sort out what happened and who is to blame. We will hear Mr. Vance now. And then… then your parents will arrive, and we will decide what to do next. But if your words are confirmed, if they really did attack first… I will do everything to protect you, Mr. Malfoy. To keep your punishment to a minimum."
I looked at him and barely suppressed a smile. So far, everything was going as planned.
Protect me. You are already protecting me, old man. From yourself. You don't see who is behind this mask. And you never will, because I wholeheartedly wanted to get out of Hogwarts.
Everything is going according to my plan.
POV. Edrian Vance.
Vance entered the office, clearly somewhat agitated. However, given the circumstances and that all the Heads of House were gathered here, it was understandable. Especially compared to how Vance had behaved earlier in the day, as witnessed by Flitwick and Arcturus, and after the Pensieve, by everyone assembled here. But what if Vance himself knew for a fact that he had spent the last few hours in his own common room? And in a conversation with Crone.
Professor Pomona Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, sat with the look of someone who had been dragged out of the greenhouses for an urgent matter. Judging by the dirt on her gloves, tightly attached to her belt, and the stains on her robes, that was indeed the case. She was perhaps the most favorably disposed towards the Head Boy, as she had arrived late and didn't yet understand everything.
"Mr. Vance," Snape began without preamble. "You have been called here to clarify this entire situation."
It seemed as though Snape was spitting out his words… in a very displeased manner.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vance noticed Arcturus Malfoy sitting in a far corner niche where a comfortable sofa was located. He was looking at him calmly, without a trace of emotion, and that made it even more unpleasant.
"Mr. Malfoy has provided us with his memories," Flitwick suddenly said, pointing to the Pensieve on the table. "From his memory, we saw how you, Mr. Vance, lead him into an empty corridor where he is attacked by four Gryffindors. After which you calmly walk away, leaving him alone against students who were clearly hostile to Mr. Malfoy and seemed to be in collusion with you."
McGonagall pursed her lips at Filius's words. Not long ago, she had been practically scratching her eyes out at the young third-year, refusing to believe any of it. Now, she was still displeased with Arcturus Malfoy, but she was even angrier at Edrian Vance. After all, without the collusion, Malfoy wouldn't have resorted to such cruelty at such a young age.
"What do you have to say in your defense?" Dumbledore asked, speaking for the first time since Vance's arrival.
The Ravenclaw felt the floor give way beneath him. It seemed as if he understood everything in that same second, but in reality, he was trying to figure out how Malfoy had got him into this mess.
"I… it wasn't me!" he blurted out. "I mean… I was in the common room the whole time! I didn't go anywhere! It's not a real memory, he faked it!"
"Faked?" Flitwick repeated, rising slightly to get a better view of Vance. "Mr. Malfoy is hardly capable of faking memories."
"I can't," Malfoy replied calmly from the corner. "I don't even know where to start."
Flitwick turned back to Vance.
"Falsifying memories for a Pensieve is an extremely complex art. Very few Occlumens are capable of it. And Mr. Malfoy, with all due respect for his talents, is only a third-year."
"But it wasn't me!" Vance's exclamation was a desperate attempt. "I wasn't even there today, and what sense would it make for me — the Head Boy — to do this to a third-year student?"
"Mr. Vance," McGonagall interjected, her voice ringing with metal. "There is a very simple way to prove your innocence. You can provide us with your memories for the same time period. Then we can see where you actually were."
Vance was overcome by an unfamiliar fear, one rarely seen in the eyes of a confident and cunning Ravenclaw.
"I… I can't."
"You can't?" Snape's eyebrows rose. "Why not? Could it be that you don't want to show us your despicable nature?"
"Calmly, Severus," McGonagall calmed Snape. Just as Snape often did when his anger was directed at Arcturus Malfoy. "Perhaps he is also innocent."
"It's… personal," Vance mumbled. "I was doing… at that time… I would be terribly ashamed to show it to the professors."
Silence fell in the office. Snape snorted — that sound could only be described as contemptuous.
"Mr. Vance," Professor Sprout said softly but insistently, "this is about a very serious accusation of complicity in an attack on a student. Your 'I'm ashamed' sounds very bad."
"I'm telling the truth! I'm not guilty!" Vance turned to Malfoy, his eyes burning with desperate malice. "It's Malfoy! He set this all up!"
"Mr. Vance," McGonagall suddenly cut in, "if you cannot provide your memories, we have no choice. Until the circumstances are clarified, I am forced to relieve you of your duties as Head Boy."
Vance staggered.
"Professor, but…"
"A temporary measure, Mr. Vance. If your innocence is proven, you will be reinstated."
The Headmaster interjected.
"Sit over there, Mr. Vance. The guilty will be punished," the Headmaster said, looking at the Head Boy with displeasure.
He pointed to the sofa against the wall where Malfoy was sitting. Vance complied with the Headmaster's instruction, who was looking at him rather intently.
This was not the first conversation Vance had expected to have with Dumbledore in his office.
The professors gathered around Dumbledore's desk, beginning to confer. Their voices carried arguments, doubts, assumptions. McGonagall was passionately arguing with Flitwick, Snape was interjecting with caustic remarks, and Sprout was trying to calm them down.
Vance sat, staring at the floor, but he knew he had to talk to the person sitting next to him.
"You," he whispered, barely moving his lips so the professors wouldn't hear. "You set this up. And we literally agreed yesterday. You said you'd forget my past actions. Forget… if I helped with Farmus."
Malfoy didn't even turn his head. He was looking straight ahead, at the professors arguing, and a slight, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.
"And I did forgive," he replied just as quietly, not changing his posture. "You're alive. You're not in Mungo's. You're not crippled for life like those three. Isn't that forgiveness?"
Vance encountered the true Arcturus for the first time. For a long time, he considered himself above this third-year, as above any other younger student. At some point, he had managed to accept reality and was ready to accept Malfoy as an equal due to his position in society. And they had spoken as equals.
But that was all just a self-deception. Because Arcturus Malfoy had always been above Vance. And now he was showing it quite openly, sparing the Head Boy's pride.
"My reputation… you want to ruin my reputation," Vance said, beginning to grow angry. "You want to deprive me of the Head Boy position…"
"A temporary measure," Malfoy echoed, using Vance's own words he had just heard from Dumbledore. "It will all come back. If you're a good boy."
He paused, and something cold flickered in his eyes as he turned to Vance for a second.
"This was a lesson, Vance. An important lesson for you, one you must learn once and for all. You know, I hold grudges. I hold very long grudges. Next time, there won't be any temporary measures; I will see it through to the end. But today… today I'll save your sorry hide."
Vance looked at him with a mixture of horror and incomprehension.
"What do you want?"
"An intelligent question," Malfoy nodded approvingly, turning his gaze back to the professors. "From now on, you are my debtor. Any request from my people — the Council — must be carried out unquestioningly, if it's within your power. And when the time comes to choose a new Head Boy, you will recommend the candidate we designate."
"And if I refuse?"
Malfoy smiled.
"School will be ending for you soon, Vance, and it could end badly. And then adult life will begin. And then… then I will be there. On one side, you could have my patronage, the Malfoy connections, the support of a noble house. On the other — my wrath, which, as you've already understood, can be very persuasive and destructive."
He turned his head slightly, meeting Vance's eyes.
"Choose right now. If not, you will lose your position as Head Boy for the rest of your schooling, there will be other punishments, and you can forget about a glowing recommendation saying you were Head Boy of an entire school."
Vance looked into those cold, utterly empty eyes — and understood that he had no choice. There never had been.
"I understand," he forced out. "Fine, I'll do as you say."
"That's grand," Malfoy patted him on the knee like an old friend and turned his gaze back to the professors. "And now I will return everything I could have taken from you. Appreciate it."
He rose from his seat and stepped closer to the professors, who had begun to argue in earnest.
"Professors," he said loudly, and his voice sounded surprisingly confident for a third-year who had nearly been killed just hours before. "I think I understand what's going on."
The conversations ceased. Everyone turned to him.
"The person who led me down the corridor was behaving unnaturally," Malfoy continued, approaching. "As if something else was controlling his body, not him. And now, speaking with Mr. Vance here, I see that they are two completely different people. I think the real Edrian Vance is not to blame. Someone used Polyjuice Potion to tarnish his name and to get to me at the same time."
McGonagall frowned.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you sure? He didn't threaten you by any chance?"
"No. Look at him now and compare him to the person in my memories. They are different people."
Flitwick perked up.
"I said that! I noticed that strange behavior! Mr. Vance was stranger than usual at that moment."
Malfoy, waiting for Flitwick to finish, continued.
"I believe that despite my initial assumptions, Edrian Vance is not guilty. The guilty party is whoever assumed his guise. Or, at least, I want to believe that."
After these words, the white-haired boy looked at Vance.
Vance nodded, not wanting to speak. He felt Malfoy's calm and satisfied gaze on him and thought:
"We have created a monster."
But he said nothing aloud.
And then utter chaos erupted among the professors, as someone had literally assumed the Head Boy's identity and led a third-year into a trap. All of Farmus's and Higgs's friends, as well as all of Crone's and Rookwood's friends from Slytherin, began to be interrogated.
Welcome to reality, Vance. I wonder if he thinks I couldn't do it? I was now secretly watching Vance sitting next to me, who was clearly in shock. Apparently, he had finally realized that I was in charge here and that he shouldn't even try to compete with me.
On a larger scale, the inquiry had begun, during which the professors questioned many of our acquaintances. Finding no one, they continued to try and shake out information.
Until finally someone's parents arrived, followed by other parents. Later, Lucius Malfoy appeared — that is, my father — and my mother with him.
And then even greater chaos ensued. Everyone was accusing everyone else, and the versions of events were a tangled mess. Some still considered me the main culprit, while others did not.
The parents of the three Gryffindors sent to Mungo's were tearing their hair out until they were faced with the fact that the culprit was a thirteen-year-old third-year boy. But even so, they still raised a fuss, because Malfoy or not, their sons were more precious.
But when confronted with my father and mother, they were like children. Quickly submitting or cowering, they began to lower their voices against the Malfoy family. However, the situation was already public, and rumors were spreading all over the school about how I had brutally dealt with the Gryffindors.
What's more, I was certain that even my father couldn't control everything so that a story wouldn't appear in the newspaper by tomorrow. That meant there would be a media fuss, which was bad for the school. Its prestige would suffer among its international colleagues. In short, I had stirred up quite a mess.
Ultimately, all of this was meant to lead me to one outcome, an outcome I had devised for myself and was ready to pursue. But before that, I probably should have built up the image of the villain a bit more, something I hadn't done very well. In the end, I had to end this entire farce with one sentence. But for now, it was time for arguments between the parents. What a nightmare.