The Drug's Secret
The moment was chosen, not taken.
Wayne did not rush the distance. He allowed the student to settle into the shadow of the castle wall, where the light from the torches thinned and movement naturally slowed. It was a place where people believed they were briefly unobserved.
That belief was useful.
The boy adjusted his coat again, checking the vial without removing it, his fingers brushing the inside pocket with a nervous certainty. His breathing was slightly uneven, not from exertion, but from anticipation.
Wayne stepped into his path.
Not abruptly, not enough to startle, just enough that the boy had to stop.
"Out late," Wayne said, his tone even, almost casual.
The student froze for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to recover. "Just heading back, sir."
Wayne watched him carefully. The reaction was controlled, but not practiced enough to be convincing.
"You're a seventh-year," Wayne continued. "You know the boundaries."
"Yes, sir."
The boy's eyes flicked once toward the corridor ahead, measuring escape, then back to Wayne. He was calculating, not panicking. That alone said enough.
Wayne stepped closer.
"Walk with me," he said.
It was not a request.
They moved side by side along the corridor, footsteps echoing softly against stone. Students passed them occasionally, none paying more than a passing glance. To anyone watching, it was nothing more than a teacher escorting a student back toward proper areas.
Wayne let the silence stretch.
The boy tried to match his pace, but there was a stiffness now, a slight delay in his movements, as if part of his attention remained fixed on what he carried.
"Where did you get it," Wayne asked.
The boy's head turned sharply. "I don't—"
Wayne stopped walking.
The corridor seemed to narrow around them.
"I'm not asking twice," he said, his voice still calm, but carrying weight now, something that pressed rather than demanded.
The boy hesitated.
And that was enough.
Wayne lifted his hand slightly and placed two fingers lightly against the boy's temple.
No wand.
No spoken spell.
The world did not change, but their vision did.
For the boy, the corridor blurred, edges softening, sound dulling as something deeper surfaced. For Wayne, everything sharpened.
He saw fragments, fragments that were still fresh and some that were irrelevant.
Memory was not a single thread. It was layered, tangled, resistant when forced. Wayne did not force it.
He followed.
The moment at the lake replayed first, clearer now. The exchange. The vial. The tension.
Then deeper.
The first time the boy had heard of it. A whisper in a dormitory, passed between students who spoke carefully, avoiding names. A promise, not of power, but of advantage. Temporary. Controlled. Worth the cost.
Wayne moved further.
Practice makes perfect, but for him it was innate, he could follow it through his magic.
A small room, not inside Hogwarts. Somewhere beyond, perhaps Hogsmeade, perhaps further. The same man, the dealer, speaking with another buyer.
"…it expands capacity," the man had said, holding the vial up to the light. "Not permanently. It pushes what you already have. Mana pool, control, even physical endurance. For a short window, you operate above your limits."
The buyer had asked, "And the cost?"
The man had smiled faintly. "Everything has one."
The memory shifted again.
Another fragment.
A student, older, pale, exhausted, speaking in a low voice. "It works," he had said. "But you feel it after. Like something's been… drained. Not taken. Just… stretched too far."
Wayne held there for a moment.
The substance was not a potion in the traditional sense. It did not create power. It forced access to reserves the body normally protected. It removed limits, temporarily.
And limits, once removed, did not always return cleanly.
Wayne withdrew.
The corridor returned instantly.
The boy staggered slightly, catching himself against the wall, breathing heavier now, eyes unfocused for a brief second before clearing.
"What—" he started, then stopped.
Wayne lowered his hand.
"You bought something you don't understand," he said quietly.
The boy swallowed. "I needed it."
"For what."
There was a pause.
Then, quietly, "An exam. Advanced casting. I can't fail."
Wayne studied him.
This was not desperation born of survival.
This was pressure. Expectation. Fear of falling short.
More dangerous in its own way.
"You won't use it," Wayne said.
The boy looked up, surprised. "Sir—"
"You won't," Wayne repeated. Not louder, not harsher. Just final.
The weight of it settled.
The boy hesitated, then slowly reached into his coat and removed the vial. Up close, it felt wrong. The liquid inside shifted slightly, as if aware of being observed.
Wayne took it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Wayne stepped back.
"Go," he said.
The boy didn't argue.
He left quickly, not running, but close enough, disappearing into the corridor and the safety of routine.
Wayne remained where he was.
The vial rested in his hand, heavier than its size justified.
This was not a one-time exchange.
It was structured.
Distributed.
And most importantly, it had already reached inside Hogwarts.
Wayne closed his fingers around it, expression unchanged.
This was no longer about a student making a mistake.
This was supply entering a system that had not asked for it.
And that meant someone intended it to spread.
Wayne turned toward the darker corridors of the castle.
The boy had made a purchase, but Wayne had just made a connection, and connections, once seen, could be followed all the way to their source.