*You haven't even prepared a formal move against us, yet you're provoking me first? Do you truly think I'm easy prey?*
While Alan was deep in thought, a sound echoed from the opposite direction.
"Who's messing around now? You won't escape, you little rascal!" It was Filch's raspy, accusatory voice.
Alan assessed his options. One end of the corridor was blocked by the wet, foul-smelling dungbomb stains, and the other was quickly being closed off by Filch. After a split-second decision, he stepped to the edge and decisively flipped over the stone railing, dropping into the open space between floors.
By generating a sequence of translucent barriers beneath his feet to serve as momentary steps, he descended rapidly and landed silently in the corridor below.
"They knew Filch was approaching from the other side and wanted to trap me in the middle. Either I get caught by the caretaker, or I'm forced to run through the filth toward them. They must be lurking at the far end, waiting to finish the job." Alan's mind moved with cold precision, reconstructing the ambush based on the timing.
He wasn't the type to simply slink away after being targeted. Since he knew exactly where the attackers were likely waiting, he intended to circle back and turn the tables.
At the other end of the third-floor corridor, hidden behind the turn of a corner, Sampel Travers and three other Slytherin second-years were indeed lying in wait. If Alan had fled in their direction to avoid Filch, he would have walked straight into a crossfire of hexes.
Travers had been passing near the Trophy Room on the fourth floor with Rozier and two other pure-blood classmates when he spotted Alan standing alone, apparently lost in thought. He had been desperate for revenge ever since his humiliation last year, but Alan was a ghost, rarely even appearing in the common room. Today felt like a gift from fate.
Seeing Filch patrolling toward the third floor had provided the perfect opportunity for a pincer movement.
"Alright, the guy must have been nabbed by Filch. Let's get out of here before we get caught too." Rozier stood beside Travers, shifting his weight nervously.
Initially, when Rozier heard the plan to ambush Alan, he had tried to talk Travers out of it. But Travers, fueled by a stubborn arrogance, had brandished his dungbombs and attacked. The fact that the target had blocked the projectiles without even drawing a wand should have been a warning, but Travers was determined to wait around the corner. Rozier had a sinking feeling this wouldn't end well.
"What are you afraid of? Just wait," Travers hissed, whispering to the others. "Filch has him blocked. If he wants to run, he has to come this way. He's probably ducked into a classroom. When Filch flushes him out, we all strike at once and teach that mudblood a real lesson."
However, minutes passed and Alan never appeared. Filch's angry shouts continued to echo, the sound of slamming classroom doors growing closer as he searched his way down the hall.
*Did he vanish into thin air? He couldn't have jumped, could he?*
As Filch drew nearer, Rozier and the others began to panic, urging Travers to move. Reluctantly, he gave the signal to retreat.
"Fine. We'll find another opening later. Let's go." Travers cursed under his breath and led the group away toward a different tower staircase that led down to the second floor.
Just as they reached the landing of the second floor, a series of muffled thuds and pained grunts rang out. Travers's two companions suddenly collapsed, hit by something fast and unseen. Before he could process the sight, a streak of light flew from the shadows of a nearby alcove. The spell hit Travers square in the chest, the force of it lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the stone wall. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he even felt the impact.
Rozier, the only one left standing, felt his legs turn to jelly. He collapsed onto the floor, staring in terror as a figure stepped out from the darkness. It was Alan.
"No, no! It wasn't me!" Rozier stammered, his voice climbing an octave. "It was all Travers's idea! I tried to stop him, I swear!"
Alan looked down at the cowering boy, finding the display of cowardice almost boring. He offered a thin smile and moved to the three unconscious students, systematically searching them.
He quickly produced several heavy money bags. A quick count revealed over thirty Galleons—a significant haul for a night's work.
"Don't be so nervous, Rozier," Alan said, shaking the bags so the gold clinked. "You brought them here to give me this; I should be thanking you. Look at that—you've just paid off three months of protection money for your friends. Truly benevolent of you."
Rozier's face twisted into a look of pure misery. *How is he making it look like I set them up?*
Alan stepped closer, pulled Rozier to his feet, and gently patted the dust from his robes. "I know you don't have the spine to provoke me yourself, Rozier. But remember, the condition for me ignoring you is information. This gold is just the tax."
He pocketed the bags. "Has your family made any moves lately? And what do you know about Travers's connections?"
"Nothing new... really," Rozier babbled. "After Evan died, my parents started talking about shifting to a neutral stance. They're focused on self-preservation, but they don't dare defy the Dark Lord openly. As for Travers, he's been spending all his time with Quake Wilkes, a fourth-year. That's all I know!"
"Very good. I'll let you go. Go back and tell them you managed to escape me." Alan gave a cold, dismissive smile and walked past him without another word.
*Even when I try to stay in the shadows, trouble finds a way. These class conflicts are truly unresolvable. I need to accelerate my timeline.*
Alan returned to the Slytherin dormitories, leaving the trio in the hallway. He didn't care what happened to them.
The next day, Vivian filled him in on the aftermath. Rozier had apparently been too terrified to run and had stayed on the floor playing dead until Filch found all four of them. The caretaker had blamed them for the dungbomb mess on the third floor. They had been forced to scrub the stone floors until midnight and were handed a full month of detention.
As the political climate in the wizarding world grew more volatile, the pure-blood factions within Slytherin began pressuring others to pick a side. Even Vanessa, the Head Girl, was struggling to maintain order. Those who tried to remain neutral were becoming targets. Walking through the halls, Alan could feel the weight of several malicious gazes following him.