After Potions class, Terry, Anthony, and Stephen huddled around Richie.
Terry crossed his arms, visibly furious. "I can't believe they're doing this! It's just a Quidditch match! I guarantee you it's the Slytherins! They're absolute—"
"Alright, that's enough. We need to get to Herbology," Richie cut him off, shutting his textbook. "Complaining isn't going to fix anything. We're in the Potions classroom; I'm sure Professor Snape will investigate."
Terry reluctantly let it go. Anthony gave his shoulder a comforting pat as the four of them walked out of the dungeons.
"Either way, we need to keep our guard up," Richie warned as they started up the staircase.
But right as they rounded the landing, a small, round object bounced down the stone steps and rolled directly to their feet.
Richie's eyes locked onto it. "Dungbomb!"
He instantly drew his wand. "Vera Verto!"
Richie transfigured the heavy Potions textbook in his hand into a solid glass dome and seamlessly dropped it over the bomb.
A split second later, the Dungbomb detonated inside the dome with a muffled thwump.
Thanks to Richie's lightning-fast reflexes, the blast was completely contained. Seeing the threat neutralized, the other three immediately drew their wands and cast the Scouring Charm to clean up the residual mess inside the glass.
Dungbombs had become the most popular prank item at Hogwarts, meaning almost every student knew exactly what they were. Consequently, most students also knew exactly how to deal with them. These days, throwing a Dungbomb was basically just a minor annoyance—unless you were throwing it at Peeves.
Seeing his friends clean up the blast, Richie lifted the dome. The foul smell was neutralized before it could even spread.
Richie cast a quick reversal charm, turning the dome back into a textbook, and hurried up the stairs.
Reaching the first floor, Richie looked around at the sparse groups of students walking through the corridor and let out a heavy sigh. Since they had stopped to deal with the bomb, the culprit was long gone.
He had literally just told them to keep their guard up, and they were ambushed five seconds later.
Even Richie, who prided himself on keeping his cool, was starting to get genuinely annoyed. There was an old saying: You can be a thief for a thousand days, but you can't guard against a thief for a thousand days. If the Slytherins were going to keep launching these random, petty attacks, how was he supposed to get any studying done?
Terry and the others caught up, scanning the corridor with identical frustrated expressions. They didn't see anyone suspicious either.
"Let's just go," Richie said, leading the way out of the castle.
Thankfully, it seemed whoever was targeting Richie realized he was on high alert, and the attacks stopped for the rest of the day.
That evening at dinner, a small, folded piece of parchment was slipped onto Richie's plate. It was from Draco Malfoy.
If you don't want the professors finding out about that little secret of yours, meet me by the Black Lake. Come alone.
Richie's eyes narrowed slightly. Without changing his expression, he slipped the note into his pocket.
"Everything okay, Richie?" Stephen asked, noticing the subtle movement.
Richie waved it off with a casual excuse. Stephen looked a bit suspicious but didn't press the issue.
After finishing his meal, Richie took his time, slowly making his way down to the edge of the Black Lake.
---
The Black Lake, Hogwarts Grounds.
"Malfoy, are you absolutely sure he's going to show?" Parkinson asked, looking grim.
Draco scoffed, a smug sneer spreading across his face. "Relax. I'm not like you. I don't make a move unless I have total leverage."
Before Parkinson could snap back, Draco pressed his advantage. "My father already told me he pulled all the Ministry files on your family. Your little secret is completely buried. Nobody will ever know. So, if you just play nice and follow my lead, the head of your family won't have to face any... complications."
Draco's ego was visibly swelling with every word. This is what it means to be a Malfoy, he thought.
Hearing the thinly veiled threat, Parkinson lowered his head, his eyes flashing with dark resentment.
Behind them, Crabbe and Goyle were aggressively cracking their knuckles, looking like they were gearing up for a back-alley brawl.
Hearing the meaty cracking sound, Draco glanced over his shoulder. Seeing his two hulking bodyguards acting like Muggle thugs instantly killed his power trip.
I am a brilliant strategist, and I'm stuck with these two absolute trolls, Draco thought, disgusted. If it weren't for the fact that their families were deeply tethered to the Malfoys—and that they had followed him around since childhood—he wouldn't be caught dead with them.
"You absolute morons, where are your wands?!" Draco snapped, looking physically repulsed.
"Oh! Right!" Crabbe and Goyle panicked, clumsily fumbling through their robes to pull out their wands.
The minutes dragged on. Just as the four Slytherins were starting to lose their patience, Richie finally strolled up, looking completely unbothered.
"Heh. I honestly thought you were too scared to show, Harland," Draco drawled, crossing his arms and putting on his best sneer.
Standing a comfortable distance away, Richie gave a dismissive smirk. "I just ate. A nice post-dinner stroll is good for digestion. It's certainly a better use of time than standing around in the dark doing absolutely nothing."
Richie paused, his eyes locking onto Draco. "By the way, have you figured out who you actually are yet?"
Draco flinched, but quickly recovered, leaning into his arrogance. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?! If you're too stupid to appreciate the mercy of a Malfoy, someone else gladly will."
He lifted his chin, clearly thrilled with his own comeback.
Richie just shook his head. Draco was nothing but a parasite feeding off his family's legacy. The second the Malfoy well ran dry, Draco would have absolutely nothing left.
"So, what do you want?" Richie asked, casually pulling his wand.
Seeing Richie draw his wand, the four Slytherins instantly raised theirs in a tense standoff.
Richie ignored them. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a Transfiguration spell, turning the book under his arm into a comfortable wooden chair.
He sat down, crossing his legs and looking entirely relaxed.
"What, you want to fight?" Richie asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because if you throw a hex right now, I have more than enough ways to officially prove that you're the ones behind all the attacks on Ravenclaw over the last few days."
Hearing that, Draco raised a hand, signaling for the other three to lower their wands.
"Harland, I think you're confused. I'm the one holding the cards here!" Draco gloated. "If you don't want your precious little friends getting expelled, you're going to do exactly what I say!"
"Oh?" Richie leaned forward, looking mildly entertained. "Alright. Let's hear this master plan."
Draco glanced at Parkinson, who stepped forward and spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "I need you to steal the Quidditch strategy logs off the bulletin board in your common room."
Quidditch strategy logs?
Richie raised an eyebrow. "I can't do that."
Parkinson froze, completely caught off guard by the instant rejection. He looked back at Draco.
"Boss, why are we even talking to this guy?!" Crabbe aggressively rolled up his sleeves, brandishing his wand. "Let's just beat him into the dirt! Once he feels the pain, he'll get scared! And once he's scared, he'll listen!"
Goyle enthusiastically nodded. "Yeah! What Crabbe said!"
Draco's face darkened. Seeing Richie sitting there, completely unfazed and entirely relaxed, sent a surge of hot anger through his chest.
"Harland, you are seriously disrespecting the Malfoy name," Draco snarled, raising his wand and pointing it squarely at Richie. "Don't think that just because the professors call you some stupid 'Seven-Pointed Star' you can act like you're untouchable around us!"
Watching the four wands point back at him, Richie let out a long, theatrical sigh.
"I'm just being realistic," Richie said smoothly. "The prefects and the Quidditch team are guarding that board around the clock. It is physically impossible for me to steal those logs."
He paused, letting the silence hang for a second.
"Now, if you had asked for something a little more... manageable... I might have actually considered it."
Hearing what sounded like an actual surrender, Draco slowly lowered his hand again.