"What did you say…?" Wilkes was stunned.
Before the others could react, Alan's eyes flared with a cold, predatory fury, and he clapped his hands together with a resounding crack.
Wilkes and the others heard a violent 'whoosh' of displaced air as two massive, translucent hands of magical force slammed together from either side. Caught in the center of the pincer movement, they were crushed against one another by the immense pressure. Bone-deep pain radiated through them instantly, and several students collapsed, their legs buckling as they hit the floor.
Wilkes and another fourth-year reacted with the desperation of cornered animals, scrambling to their feet and fumbling for their wands. But as they leveled their wood at Alan, they were met with two blinding bursts of light. The kinetic impact sent them hurtling backward, crashing into the stone walls.
"Accio wands," Alan said, raising his left hand.
Seven wands of various woods and lengths zipped through the air and settled into his grip. Ever since his near-miss the previous Christmas, he had made it a rule to disarm his opponents completely.
"Ouch!" Several of the younger boys lay on the floor, weeping and clutching their bruised limbs.
"Help! Someone! Save us!" the other fourth-year screamed, realizing the gravity of their situation.
"Alan, you scoundrel! You're a dead man, do you hear me? Dead!" Travers shrieked from the floor. Despite the agony in his ribs, he continued to hurl insults.
Alan ignored the noise. He walked slowly toward Wilkes, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone. "Don't bother shouting. I placed a powerful Muffliato and a Shield Charm on this room before you arrived. No one can hear you."
"You… what are you doing?" Wilkes looked up at Alan, his bravado beginning to fray. "I'm warning you, if you lay a hand on me, people will deal with you. If you have any sense, you'll apologize now, otherwise—ah!"
Alan didn't have the patience for impotent threats. He ground his boot into Wilkes's chest, pinning him to the floor. "Didn't I apologize at the very beginning?" he asked tonelessly. "Now, you're going to tell me everything you know."
"I don't know anything!" Wilkes shouted, clawing at Alan's leg.
"Tell me about the attack on the Longbottoms. Tell me where the remaining Death Eaters are hiding. I know you're not as ignorant as you pretend," Alan said. He had long suspected the pure-blood cliques at Hogwarts served as conduits for the radicals outside. Until now, he had maintained restraint to avoid a massive backlash from the pure-blood establishment.
But today, Alan's restraint had burned away.
The tragedy of the Potters had been a shock he couldn't prevent, and the culprit had vanished into the night. Sirius was rotting in Azkaban, beyond his reach. But the Longbottoms were alive, and they were his family. He could see Augusta's heartbroken face in his mind, and the image fueled a cold, calculating resolve. He had weighed the risks on his walk back to the castle. He would deal with the students now; if the outside world came for him, he simply wouldn't leave the safety of Hogwarts.
Wilkes saw the shift in Alan's eyes. The fear on his face receded, replaced by a sneer of pure malice. "I see," he wheezed. "You're doing this for those fools. They swore loyalty to a lost cause, so they paid the price. You should be more worried about yourself, you filthy—"
Alan silenced him with a brutal kick to the stomach. Wilkes doubled over, wheezing for air.
"It seems not all trash is as cowardly as I thought. Good. I hope you can keep that same energy in a moment." Alan waved his wand, and every student except Wilkes was hoisted into the air, hanging upside down by their ankles. He had learned the Levicorpus from Sirius's notes.
Alan produced a small stack of parchment from his robes. "I have to apologize again. I've never had to use this on a minor before."
He cast a quick series of binding charms that locked Wilkes's hands and feet. Wilkes watched the preparations, his heart hammering against his ribs. "What are you doing? Let me go! Ugh!"
His protest was cut short as Alan laid a piece of parchment over his face.
"Aguamenti," Alan murmured. A steady stream of water soaked the paper, sealing it against Wilkes's skin and nostrils.
Wilkes began to thrash. It was impossible to breathe; he struggled like a fish out of water, his body arching in a desperate, suffocating panic.
"You Mudblood! What are you doing to him? You'll kill him!" Travers screamed from his upside-down position, his voice trembling.
"Noisy." Alan flicked a Sound-Wave Repulsion Charm at Travers. The boy continued to scream, but no sound escaped his throat.
Wilkes's struggles grew weaker, his body beginning to convulse. The others watched in horrified silence. Sensing the limit, Alan peeled the wet paper away. Wilkes gasped, air rushing into his lungs as he choked and coughed violently.
"Do you remember anything now?" Alan asked.
"Pah!" Wilkes recovered just enough to spit at him.
The saliva froze in mid-air and splashed back onto Wilkes's own face. His expression distorted with a murderous hatred.
"I admire a strong will," Alan said, his voice terrifyingly flat. "I have one too. It seems we'll be here for a while."
For the next hour, Alan became a machine. He applied the waterboard torture with a clinical detachment, removing the paper just before Wilkes lost consciousness and reapplying it the moment the boy could breathe again. He didn't even ask questions for the first several rounds, simply letting the physical terror settle in. By the eighth time, Wilkes was a broken shell, twitching feebly on the floor, his defiance washed away by the cold reality of drowning on dry land.