When Alistair Yarwood emerged from the crowd, he looked extremely uncertain and, apparently, had not expected such a setup from his associates. But he had been thrown under the bus, whether he liked it or not. Right now, it was every man for himself, and even my loyal prefects from our house, I was sure, were thinking about how to avoid incurring the professors' displeasure.
"P-Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape… I seem to have gotten things mixed up." His voice trembled, and I remembered back in first year, he had been so self-assured… Apparently, a child's psyche couldn't handle what happened, and the budding schemer had become a stutterer, or maybe he was just pretending very well now.
McGonagall frowned even more.
"Mixed up, Mr. Yarwood? You told the Head Boy that you knew your classmates had taken a dormitory room from the second-years."
"No, I mean yes… but not entirely right!" Yarwood waved his hands slightly, his eyes darting from Vance to Rookwood, as if seeking support, but meeting only icy alienation. "I know there's a group of third-years who have gathered into some… 'Slytherin Council.' Well, Arcturus Malfoy and a couple of other people from our year."
He blurted this all out in one breath, then paused, inhaled, and continued. In his eyes was the desperation of someone who realized they had gotten into the wrong game and was now trying to get out while minimizing the damage. A rat! A cowardly, pathetic rat, ready to spill everything just to save his own skin. I hated him, but, fortunately, the rage was starting to subside — my mental magic training hadn't been for nothing. Besides, somehow, after the autumn, the curse's influence had weakened again. And I had been angriest in early November… strange, that was right after Samhain and the chain ritual… just like at the beginning of the school year… again after a ritual.
"And there's a rumor going around that to join this unofficial club, you need to lend the Council your dormitory room for a year. And I assumed that some second-years are now living in third-year rooms, and their rooms… well, are used for their meetings. I didn't say the room was taken away; well, maybe I embellished about the influence of this club on the house, because of my conflict with Malfoy, but everything else is being repeated by younger students. Well, those who are close with members of this Council."
Professor McGonagall swept her gaze over everyone present and stopped on me. Her face showed growing irritation.
"Mr. Yarwood," she said, and it felt like each syllable rang out, "do you realize the gravity of your lies? Based on rumors and your own fantasies, you have slandered your classmates and caused the Head Boy to distract me and your Head of House to investigate a non-existent violation?"
Edrian Vance, who until that moment had maintained the mask of a concerned, responsible leader, allowed an expression of almost disgusted contempt to appear on his face. He understood that the pawn had broken, and seeing that Alistair wanted to continue, he interrupted him.
"It seems, Professor, we are dealing not with a disciplinary violation, but with a blatant case of perjury." The reproach was clearly directed at Yarwood. "Mr. Yarwood's behavior undermines the foundations of trust between students and calls into question the competence of school self-governance. I apologize for having distracted you by believing his words."
Now, this was interesting! And apparently, he was a proponent of the idea that the best defense is a good offense. Having calmed down to an acceptable level, I watched this comedy. Vance was masterfully shifting blame. He was trying to make Yarwood the scapegoat for this whole mess while simultaneously demonstrating his own "principledness." But then Alistair might decide to go all out… though, judging by how he was looking around at Vance and Torbin, he wouldn't dare.
"As Head Boy," Vance continued, pulling an elegant, leather-bound notebook with a silver clasp from the folds of his robes, "I am empowered to regulate discipline with house points. In accordance with paragraph seven of the school charter, the Head Boy may impose fines of up to ten points on any house per month for violations affecting the general school order."
He spoke clearly and pedantically, demonstrating perfect knowledge of the rules. What a show-off. He even paused, allowing Snape and McGonagall to recall the bureaucratic nuances, namely that automatic point deduction doesn't happen just on a student's word, as it does with professors.
That is, he was required to record the violation and the proposed punishment in the weekly report to the Deputy Headmistress. And Professor McGonagall, as the Head Boy's supervisor, could then approve the decision. House prefects had roughly the same authority, only their penalty limit was five points instead of ten. Plus, they reported directly to their Head of House, who would then deduct or award points if they deemed the actions justified.
So the direct deduction of points from the house cup was done by the respective Head of House after receiving the report. This… provided a way to entrust such "power" to an ordinary student.
"In this case," Vance opened the notebook and quickly scribbled something with an elegant quill, "for knowingly giving false testimony, misleading, and creating a conflict situation out of thin air, I impose a fine of six points on Slytherin house. The record will be included in the report, so that you, Professor McGonagall, may deduct the points."
"There is no need, I will deduct them now. Minus ten points from Slytherin for misleading."
She said and deducted ten instead of six… eh…
"It would be more effective to assign him detention," Snape gritted out, always concerned with our house's points. "That way you punish both the guilty party and the victim."
"Nevertheless," Vance closed the notebook, "even if Mr. Yarwood is lying, the very existence of such rumors and the mention of some 'Council' requires, in my opinion, verification. Even if only as a formality. To close this matter once and for all."
"Mr. Vance, you are absolutely right," McGonagall said sharply, still seething at Yarwood's words. "We will begin the room inspection. Will we not, Severus?"
"Since you deem it necessary, I cannot disagree," Snape replied curtly and clearly displeased.
The inspection began, and Lucian nervously led the procession through the boys' wing.
"Second-year rooms: A2, B2, C2…" he pointed to the doors. "And D3," he pointed to a door further down, "it… was, for some reason, among the third-year rooms."
"Strange arrangement. Then which students occupy room D2?" Vance interjected again.
"Mr. Vance has asked a valid question, and I expect an answer," McGonagall demanded.
"The third-year students—Arcturus Malfoy, Marcus Avery, and Cassius Warrington."
"Be so kind," Snape began dryly, "as to explain to the Ravenclaw and to us the reason for this room arrangement."
Selwyn, standing slightly behind, frowned, as if trying to remember.
"That year, in the autumn of last year, the arrangement was handled by Benedict Answorth. He was prefect then."
A heavy, awkward pause hung in the air. The Answorth name was still shrouded in mystery, and everyone tried not to mention Benedict.
Snape began to explain in his impassive voice:
"Mr. Answorth did indeed serve as prefect at the beginning of the last academic year."
"I believe I understand who you're referring to…" Minerva McGonagall said more quietly.
But Selwyn decided to spare herself and Lucian further stress and finished it with words everyone knew but didn't say.
"Yes, as you know, Professor, he is now considered missing after the tragic death of his entire family. Accordingly, it is not possible to ask him about the motives for this or that room arrangement, despite the room number not matching the course."
This was clever. Foley and Selwyn exchanged eloquent glances and almost imperceptible nods, having effectively removed themselves from the equation: they had essentially absolved themselves of any suspicion of involvement in the current "problems." After all, a dead man couldn't refute it.
But Torbin Rookwood, still burning from humiliation and, apparently, feeling the ground slipping from under his feet, couldn't take it anymore.
"This is complete nonsense!" he burst out, his voice cracking into a shout. "Benedict would never have… that is, he was a responsible student! He definitely wasn't involved in this… this confusion!"
All eyes turned to him. There was even something personal in his outburst.
I couldn't help myself. With a polite, almost deferential tone, but with a slight note of poisonous curiosity, I also joined the conversation.
"That's your personal opinion, based on your friendship with Mr. Answorth… do you have an opinion based not on some rumors that have come to you? Can these words be confirmed somehow? Besides, of course, your belief in the decency of a man whose family died under extremely mysterious circumstances?"
I didn't say this too loudly, so it wouldn't seem like I was trying to butt into the conversation between the professors and prefects as an equal.
In the ensuing silence, Professor McGonagall sighed at the whole farce.
Rookwood got even angrier, his mouth opened, but…
"Enough," Snape said loudly. "We should finish this room inspection quickly. We will check all the rooms where second-year students are listed."
The inspection system was simple. Since each room usually housed three or four students, at least one of its inhabitants was among those gathered in the common room. They were called forward, and under the watchful eyes of Snape and McGonagall, they opened the door, thus confirming it was their room.
We "outsiders" were not even allowed a glimpse inside. The professors entered themselves, sometimes summoning the prefects. The doors closed, a couple of minutes later they came out, nodded, and then on to the next room.
Once, two students came out of their room a bit red-faced, apparently embarrassed that the professors had seen the mess in their room.
Thus passed rooms A2, B2, and C2. Everything was in order. I caught Foley and Selwyn's glances; they shrugged, making it clear with their whole demeanor that they were powerless here. But the one I trusted most didn't let me down. At some point, sweaty and having obviously run back and forth, Avery appeared nearby. He said it was all done and not to worry, and then went about his own business.
And then the turn came to the ill-fated room, the one that according to our fake list was a second-year room, but in reality was ours — mine, Cassius's, and Marcus's.
The resident from the list who was present here right now was, fortunately, the sharpest and the leader of the three boys who, back at the beginning of the year, impressed… by the prospects, had agreed to lend their room to the Council in exchange for our goodwill. Liam Whithorn, a boy with curly, light hair and cunning green eyes, was the leader of that trio. Our most reliable guy among the younger students. If we ever take anyone into the Council in the future, it would be him.
Whithorn stepped forward, trying to keep his composure, but it was clear he was nervous. He understood, after all, that the door wouldn't open. And the charms we had placed on the room were serious. Meaning if he couldn't open it, I would have to admit it was my room. After all, even a simple Alohomora wouldn't help here; you needed a key or a password that a second-year couldn't know.
He inserted the key, obviously the wrong one, and tried to turn it; of course, it didn't work, and he decided to put on a show, as if the door was jammed. But I hadn't trusted Marcus for nothing. When he pulled the handle, the door, of course, opened. Because — drumroll — it had been left unlocked.
Liam froze on the threshold, then, instantly realizing everything, turned around with a smirk on his face and invited the professors in. When he looked at me, I just winked at him.
Honestly, at that moment, I was also nervous, but apparently, I had managed to create a group where I could trust them to watch my back. True, I would always be looking over my shoulder because… constant vigilance!
Those of us standing outside could get a glimpse of the interior. It was, of course, mine, Avery's, and Cassius's bedroom. An ordinary Slytherin bedroom for four. Most importantly, these three were also listed as a trio in the altered list.
That's why the traces of three recently made beds and only three sets of belongings worked in our favor. On the table — scattered parchments, inkwells, a couple of textbooks, and second-year ones at that.
In short, nothing personal, like my Occlumency books or Avery's signature semi-artifacts he tinkered with in his free time; except for the posters with moving pictures of a couple of famous Quidditch players, which belonged to Cassius, still hanging near his bed. But overall, nothing could give us away. Everything looked as if three diligent second-years really lived there.
Well done, Avery! I felt a surge of pride in him.
The professors emerged from the room after a couple of minutes. McGonagall, for some reason, remained just as displeased and kept throwing suspicious glances my way.
"Well then," Snape hissed, sweeping everyone with an icy gaze. "All rooms have been inspected, and no violations have been found, Minerva. It seems Mr. Malfoy is not guilty, as I said, and you, Mr. Yarwood, I expect to see you every day after lessons for the next month."
He clearly intended to end it there… a second attempt.
He turned, ready to lead the whole procession back to the hall. But Professor McGonagall didn't move from her spot. Her piercing gaze fell on the list in Foley's hands, then slid over the door numbers in the corridor.
"Wait, Severus," she said, and steely notes sounded again in her voice. "We have checked the rooms that are currently listed for the second-years. But according to the standard placement plan…" she reached out and took the list from a somewhat bewildered Foley, "…room D2 in this wing was also originally intended for the second year. I think it would be prudent to check it as well. For complete clarity."
On Snape's face was already deathly weariness and the understanding that this woman would not give up until she had turned over every stone.
I, for my part, hoped that Avery had taken care of this too, otherwise I'd have to admit to some of the accusations and test my eloquence in practice. A sinful part of me even wanted to… but better without it.
Room D2 — the actual room of three second-years which had become the meeting room. And it was so heavily charmed that if I weren't there, the professors would have had to blast the door open to check it.
Snape looked at me. And I understood that I couldn't count on him.
"Very well, Minerva. We'll check D2, since we've come this far."
"This is our room," I said in a level voice when we reached it.
"Then open it, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall demanded. "And be so kind as to explain why a room intended for second-years is in your possession."
"Of course, Professor," I stepped towards the door. "May I?"
Snape gave a curt nod. McGonagall simply watched expectantly.
I placed my palm on the cold wood of the door, which was under a complex of charms, and quietly, so that no one else could hear, whispered the password. At the same time, I turned the key in the lock. The mechanisms clicked, the charms receded, and the door swung open silently.
Inside was a completely ordinary, even slightly cluttered, student bedroom. Four beds, three of which were clearly lived in: on one, Avery lay sprawled, his nose buried in a battered tome on Artifact Creation. At a table covered in parchments and ink stains sat a slightly sweaty Graham. He was animatedly discussing something with Avery, gesturing, though Marcus clearly wasn't listening, occasionally just saying "yeah."
Both, upon our appearance, abruptly broke off their conversation and jumped up, feigning genuine surprise on their faces. Marcus even covered his eyes, pretending to squint from the light in the corridor.
"Ark? What's going on?" he asked, pretending he had only just noticed the crowd behind me.
"Professors," I explained briefly, stepping aside to let McGonagall pass. "They asked to see our room."