The clicking of mandibles was the only sound that cut through the oppressive humidity of the Forbidden Forest. It was a rhythmic, wet noise—the sound of hunger.
Out of the ink-black shadows of the undergrowth, the Acromantula emerged. They were nightmares given form: hairy, spindly legs that moved with a terrifying, silent grace, and eight bulbous eyes that reflected the dim, magical light of the clearing. They looked at the three humans—two standing, one dominant—and moved their massive pincers in a frenzy of anticipation.
"Wizards..." the largest of the spiders hissed, its voice a grating vibration. "Tender... soft... kill them. Feast on the marrow."
Isabelle didn't scream. She didn't even flinch, though Albert could feel the slight tremor in her hand as she gripped his arm. She was staring at the monsters, her brain likely calculating the exact speed of their lunges.
In contrast, Rowena Smith looked absolutely invigorated. The pathological frenzy that had been simmering beneath her academic exterior had finally boiled over. She wasn't just a killer; she was a director, and this was her grand finale. She had orchestrated this entire "accident" not just to eliminate the competition, but to spit in the face of the Wildsmith family.
"Go on then," Smith whispered, her eyes dancing with a sick, frantic light. "Tear them apart. I want to see the genius bleed out in the dirt."
As the lead Acromantula gathered its strength to spring, its multi-jointed legs tensing against the rotted mulch, Albert let out a long, weary sigh.
"I really, truly hate spiders," he muttered.
He reached down and unclipped a small, inconspicuous amulet from his belt. It looked like a cheap souvenir, something you'd find in a bargain bin at Gambol and Jape's. But as the first spider lunged, its fangs dripping with neurotoxin, Albert held the amulet aloft.
Thud.
The Acromantula slammed into a shimmering, invisible wall of force. The impact was so sudden that the creature's own momentum sent it cartwheeling backward, its legs flailing uselessly as it crashed into a thicket of stinging nettles.
"Oh? Still clinging to your little trinkets?" Smith sneered, her wand arm steady as she forced back the other spiders that were trying to circle behind her. "An Aegis charm? Pathetic. It won't hold against the hive, Albert. It's just a stay of execution."
"I know," Albert said. He didn't sound scared. He sounded bored. He let the amulet drop into the mud, its glow fading as it disconnected from his magic. He turned toward Isabelle, stepping into her personal space. "I didn't expect a piece of jewelry to save our lives. I just wanted to clear the air before the end. You know, so I don't die with any regrets."
"Regrets?" Smith laughed, her voice cracking. "Are you going to give me your last words? Should I write them down for your grieving roommates?"
Albert ignored the Professor completely. He reached out, taking Isabelle's hands in his. He looked deep into her eyes, his expression so intensely serious that for a moment, even the spiders seemed to pause in confusion.
"Isabelle," Albert said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "Be my girlfriend."
The clearing went silent. Even the clicking of the mandibles stopped.
Smith blinked, her wand hand lowering an inch as she stared at them with a look of genuine, bewildered amusement. "Interesting. Truly interesting. The boy-genius chooses romance over survival. Go on then, I'll allow it. I've always enjoyed a good tragedy."
She waved her wand, a jet of silver sparks pushing back a particularly bold spider that had crawled too close to her boots. "You know, you're actually quite lucky, Albert. I didn't want to kill you at first. My original plan was far more... poetic."
"Let me guess," Albert said, his eyes never leaving Isabelle's. "The Werewolves?"
"Exactly," Smith purred, her face twisting into an ugly, triumphant grin. "I was going to have them turn you. Imagine the look on the faces of those old Wildsmith geezers when they realize their golden boy is a mangy, howling beast. They'd be so disgusted they'd probably vomit blood. But the curs broke my Imperio and fled. A shame, really. I would have loved to see you two mate during a full moon—they say the offspring are quite fascinating. Intelligent wolves with the souls of wizards."
"Your sense of humor is as rotted as your soul, Rowena," Isabelle spat, her disgust finally overriding her fear. She looked back at Albert, her mind racing. She knew him. He didn't do "romantic gestures" without a reason. She searched his eyes, looking for the signal.
"Is that why you taught us so much about Werewolves in class?" Albert asked, his voice calm. "Just to savor the irony?"
"I wanted to see the fear in your eyes when you realized what you were becoming," Smith admitted, her countdown finally beginning. "But alas, the spiders will have to do. You have thirty seconds. Use them wisely."
"You provoked these creatures on purpose," Albert noted, his arms sliding around Isabelle's waist, pulling her flush against him. "Two students go missing in the forest, killed by crazed spiders. Simple. Clean. No one suspects the grieving Professor."
"Twenty seconds!" Smith shouted, her face alight with the joy of the kill. "Why did you come out here, Albert? Did you really think you were a match for me?"
Albert leaned in, his lips brushing against Isabelle's ear. "Be my girlfriend," he repeated.
"Yes," Isabelle whispered, finally catching the rhythm of his plan.
She reached up, cupping his face with both hands. It looked like a desperate, final embrace. As she pulled him into a kiss, her fingers moved with surgical precision. She didn't just hold his head; her index fingers slid firmly into his ear canals, sealing them shut. At the same time, Albert's hands reached into his oversized pockets.
"Ten seconds!" Smith crowed, her eyes narrowed as she watched the display. "How touching. I almost feel a pang of—"
She stopped. Her eyes fixed on the cylindrical metal object Albert had just pulled from his pocket. It was the "Banshee's Wail," but it looked different—modified with runes that glowed a dull, pulsing violet.
"Throw that away!" Smith commanded, her wand tip glowing with a lethal green light. "Don't try a useless struggle!"
Albert didn't throw it. He simply let it slip through his fingers.
The moment the cylinder hit the rotted leaves, the world exploded. Not with light or fire, but with a sound so fundamentally wrong that it seemed to bypass the ears and vibrate directly into the soul. It was a high-pitched, mourning shriek that tore through the magical fabric of the clearing.
Rowena Smith didn't even have time to scream.
In her final moment of consciousness, as her vision inverted and her brain began to shut down from the sensory overload, she saw something impossible. The two students—the two "targets" who should have been paralyzed by the sound—were vanishing.
CRACK.
They weren't just moving; they were Apparating.
Inside the Hogwarts grounds? was the last thought that flickered through Smith's mind before the darkness took her. She collapsed into the mud, her wand rolling from her limp fingers.
The sound continued for only a few more seconds before a hand reached down and clicked the cylinder shut.
Albert Anderson stood over the unconscious Professor, his breathing heavy but his eyes sharp. He wasn't wearing earmuffs; he had used a localized Silencio on his own head, reinforced by the physical barrier of Isabelle's fingers.
Beside him, Isabelle was already moving. She wasn't paralyzed. She had been the "backup" all along. While Smith had been focused on Albert as the primary threat, she had completely underestimated the girl whose father she had murdered.
Isabelle raised her wand, her voice cold and steady. "Imperio."
The few Acromantulas that hadn't been completely knocked out by the Banshee's Wail were dazed, their multi-legged bodies swaying as they tried to regain their footing. As Isabelle's curse took hold, their eight eyes glazed over. They stopped clicking. They waited for their new master's command.
Albert tucked the Banshee's Wail back into his pocket and walked slowly toward the fallen woman. He looked down at Rowena Smith—the brilliant duelist, the master of Legilimency, the killer. She looked small now. Pathetic.
"You lost the moment you decided to play with your food, Professor," Albert said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the forest. He leaned down, picking up the wand she had dropped. "You thought I was the only one with a plan? You thought I was the only one who prepared for this?"
He looked at Isabelle, who was now standing at the edge of the clearing, her wand directed at the spiders.
"I told you I was staying for the holidays to study," Albert said, a small, dark smile touching his lips. "I just didn't tell you what the subject was."
He turned back to Smith. "I'm not the candidate you should have been worried about, Rowena. I'm the one who handles the logistics."