Cold, penetrating eyes stared at the door carefully concealed behind the
portrait of an incredibly large woman in a pale pink dress. He watched as
groups of unsuspecting students passed him, unaware of the danger, unaware
of him. He watched as a greasy haired teacher passed him as well. Oh how
he would love to hurt that man, repay him for all the pain and suffering he
caused, but that was not his mission. His master trusted him with the most
important mission of all, and he would succeed where that fool Crouch had
not.
Crouch! What an insolent, blundering, annoying little fool! He remembered warning his master from the beginning. If he was to triumph, and Lord Voldemort was to prevail, Crouch would not be the means to bring about his offer. Alas, Crouch proved where his loyalty excelled, his stupidity and carelessness crippled him. Sure, he succeeded in bringing Harry to the Dark Lord, but even a monkey with a wand could perform the tasks Crouch did. Crouch had, after all, just followed orders.
The man smirked to himself. At least Voldemort could recognize the potential of creativity with him, and at least Voldemort could sense his need for independence. Unlike Voldemort, he never allowed himself to rely on others. It only excused weakness and caused the self-drive to atrophy.
But Voldemort could not see that. Voldemort had a disgusting streak of pride that failed him once, and if he were not careful, it would fail him again. People rarely change, but for a cause such as this one, no excuses would be made. All must be sacrificed for the cause. No other could be a higher priority. Even one's own actions could not be done for self-gain, and he personally would make sure to remind those forgetful wanderers where their loyalties lay.
Suddenly loud, echoing footsteps bounced off the stone walls, pulling the wizard from his devious thoughts. A small boy with sandy blonde hair and warm brown eyes stumbled into view. He was the kind of boy that one could easily get rid of, and no one would notice. He was also the kind of boy who treated others with the utmost respect, and therefore would be the best candidate to shadow while conducting evil. No one ever suspected evil when that kind of boy was near.
Slowly and quickly, erratically, the boy rushed to the very same portrait the wizard had been watching all this time. Slipping just once, he quickly shoved his belongings back into his bag, ashamed. The absence of people in the empty corridor, or rather the appearance of no one in the empty corridor did nothing to impede the scarlet blush rising to his cheeks. After his belongings were successfully placed inside his bag, the boy continued to advance toward the old woman's portrait. This time, however, he was clearly concentrating on walking one step at a time not unlike a toddler trembling to take his first steps. If anyone had been watching, girls would have swooned, clutching their hearts grieved with maternal instincts. Young men would have laughed, slapping him on the back and telling him "that was some fall he made." Compared to what could have happened, the darkness in the wizard's eyes glittered more pronounced then ever as he himself did neither. The wizard maintained his constant stare upon the boy, even as the boy finally stood before the dormitory doors hidden behind the portrait.
"Password?" the old woman asked.
Usually it was at this point students normally spoke their secret password to gain entrance, the small boy did not answer her. He seemed lost in thought.
"Password?" the woman asked again, a little more sternly.
The boy kept staring at the woman as though she had said nothing. A glazed look scrawled across his face.
"Hello!" the woman exclaimed. "Dear boy, are you alright?"
At the sound of the woman's words, the boy promptly snapped to attention. Looking dazed, his eyes traveled upward until they locked with the portrait's eyes.
"Sorry?" he stammered.
"Password, Dear!" the woman exclaimed.
"Oh. It's, um, little bunny foofoo."
The wizard chuckled to himself as the small boy rushed toward the swinging portrait, revealing an open portal door. When the boy crawled through it, the wizard silently followed him. The atmosphere around the wizard changed dramatically. As soon as the boy entered the common room, the wizard had no other need for him. He had other matters of a greater importance to attend to: his mission.
Noiselessly, the wizard searched the common room before him, careful not to alert anyone around him.They couldn't see him, but that did not mean they couldn't hear him. But even as the wizard carefully strained his ears for sounds his movements exposed, the common room ruptured with noise. Laughter, tears, shouting, and usual displays present in a crowd filled the wizard's ears from all directions.
His exposing gaze swept the room around him. As he searched carefully for his victims, he was soon able to place each sound to different groups of people surrounding him. Laughter was pouring from a group of people encircling two older teenagers with flaming red hair. If they had only known the danger in the room, it would have quickly brought their happiness to an alarmingly sharp end.
Looking further he saw a group of obviously younger teenagers, perhaps in their pre-teenage years, shouting to each other. The young group was oblivious to the cold stares aimed at them by the older teenagers around them, trying to study. Even though the twins' group did nothing but joke, at least they were respectful about it. Studying, however, would not save the bookish students from what they could not see.
Among the rest of the students who were not in any particular group and studying on their own, he found three teenagers huddled around a small coffee table, pouring over their homework. Only open textbooks, piling high in stacks all around them, marked their territory.
The student on the left was a girl. She was apparently quite brainy for she helped the other two students with her quite often. Frustrated, she impatiently brushed a fallen brown bang out of her eyes as she yet again tried futilely to explain to the boys the need to learn about wizards during the Progressive Era.
One of the boys, easily the more outgoing of the two, grinned wide and in a joke condescendingly patted the young woman on the shoulder. His ebony hair fell uneven over his head, and his green eyes glittered from his tan face. Clearly he had matured and grown since the wizard had seen him last. Even the young women around him noticed and looked strangely shy near him. The young man did not yet observe the young women's feelings though the wizard knew when he did find out, he would not become arrogant. If anything, he would insure his friend next to him got some of the attention as well. He and his friend had exchanged a few words over the dividing of attention, and it was definitely not an experience he wished to repeat.
The third boy, a friend to both, always joked around. He shared that trait with his twin brothers, along with their extremely shocking red hair, but unlike his brothers he had the ability to become serious when he wanted. He could conspiratorially whisper about the shady on goings in the school as effectively as he could consol a friend in need. Though he had his wit, he only shared it with his friends, and those unfortunate souls who willingly ignited his short temper later learned to regret it.
After watching this boy for a while, the wizard uncertainly shifted his gaze back to Harry. He was not so eager to lose sight of him again. Fourteen years. Fourteen years he had waited for this moment. Voldemort would have seen to it he was killed on the spot, or else Voldemort might have proposed torturing Harry until he begged for his own death.
Unfortunately, Voldemort's sense of torture was rather limited. He only knew of the physical pain. Sure, he could expertly torture someone physically until that person longed for death to deliever him or her from the horrific pain, but the weakness in physical torture was eventually that pain stopped. Eventually death would come, and with death, came relief. Death ceased all physical pain.
The wizard, however, knew of a different kind of torture. A kind of torture far more powerful than mere physical pain. Madness danced around his eyes as he remembered all too well the people he ruined for life to come and even death afterward. For the wizard was well practiced in the torturing of the soul.
The wizard liked to play with a person slowly and steadily. He would subtly alter the atmosphere around the person. One by one he would seize his victim's dreams and use them against his victim. In the end, when the person could hardly recognize the environment around him, he would be anguished within his heart. Desperately trying to pinpoint the exact change would be next to impossible, and all he could do is sit back and watch his world come crumbling down around him.
Where Voldemort would have a sufferer beg for death, the wizard would have his sufferers try to bring about their own death. Of course, as the victim would desperately try to let his life slip from the world, the wizard would prevent him from completing it. Thus the prey would be forced to watch the terrors around him. Finally, when the victim reached insanity, the wizard would provide him his one true wish: death. Death, unluckily, could not stop spiritual pain. The madness continued even after the victim's death, and the wizard grinned knowing most of the suffering in the world at that moment was most likely caused by him.
Carefully eying Harry and his two close friends, the wizard contemplated the method he would use with these three. He was constantly studying Harry, and he was pretty confident he knew his every thought and action. With that knowledge came great responsibility and choice: to use the knowledge for evil or for good.
The wizard knew by the conventional meaning of "evil" he was evil, but he did not feel it in his heart. He knew of a greater reason for his evil than mere power even though Voldemort mostly conducted evil for his power. The wizard knew his cause was of a greater importance than simple power. Unfortunately, power came with the success of the cause, and it would be hard to be certain of other's true intentions.
The wizard sometimes wondered about Voldemort. He could go on and on about the significance of the cause, but his actions would suggest otherwise. He saw himself as the most powerful wizard, but he was even disproved in that arena. Harry himself proved to be much stronger and could be a potential threat. The wizard was positive investment only in self-gain was less of a power than investment in a cause. If the wizard, Voldemort, and his followers trusted in the power of their cause, then, and only then, they would be provided with the strength needed. And that strength would be unstoppable.
The wizard began slowly to walk toward the three teenagers he had been watching. He inched closer as fast as he dared, trying not to draw attention to himself. It was clear the two young men would rather be elsewhere, but the young woman forced them to stay and study. The wizard couldn't remember having seen any student ever having that kind of mentality and self-control. She would have gone far in life. As the wizard got within earshot of the group, he began to hear bits and phrases of their conversation.
"Hermione!" the freckled boy exclaimed. "No one cares about inventors!"
"I need to hear this, Ron," Harry said. "I didn't even know there were wizard inventors."
"Of course there are, Harry you big prat. How else did we get the first spells? How else did the first wizards learn to channel their magic into new spells? I mean even trick stuff-like George and Fred.all that stuff has to be invented."
"I know that now," Harry said quietly, his cheeks burning. "I mean, it just never occurred to me is all. I'm sure I knew there were inventors."
Hermione's faces twisted into a sympathetic look. "Oh, Harry, of course you knew, but Harry, even if you didn't, that would be okay. You didn't grow up in this world. You've only been in the wizarding world for five years. You're not going to know everything there is to know instantly."
"You didn't grow up in it either, Hermione," Harry pointed out, "and you know loads more than me."
"Oh, Harry, that's not true." Hermione's cheeks began to stain red as well.
Finally Ron broke the tension. Rolling his eyes, his bluntness comforted Harry. "You can't compare yourself to Hermione, Harry. Of course, she knows loads more about the wizarding world than you. Hermione is a genius. Hermione probably knows more about the wizarding world than me. That's like saying, 'Merpeople are better swimmers than me.'"
"That's not true," Hermione humbly dismissed, though she was secretly quite pleased.
"Yes, it is," Harry laughed. "You're right, Ron, I am being a prat, but I still have to learn about these inventors in the Progressive Era. Will you help me study, Hermione?"
"I always do," Hermione smiled. "Why would I stop now?"
Feeling the ripening condition for his plan, the wizard crept until he was inches from their table. After fumbling for an object inside his cloak, the wizard drew out a small purple bottle. The bottle was glass and corked with a black stopper, but no liquid was visible. When he gently began to ease the stopper out of its place, the wizard locked his eyes on the group. He did not have to glance down at the bottle to know it contained a colorless, odorless, air. In his head, he felt the air slowly begin to seep out the sides. With his mind he held the air molecules together and waited for all the air to pour out of the exposed bottle. When he no longer needed the bottle, he slipped it inside his cloak again.
His hands formed around an invisible ball, and he mentally started to allow the ball of air to drift toward the teenagers. He focused it forward, mentally using the Banishing Charm. It drifted to the teenagers until it hovered just above the table, level with their eyes. Slowly he left the air to hover, and the teenagers unknowingly started to breathe in the air. When the teenagers had breathed in most of the air from the bottle, the wizard spoke his first words. "Ilt almsi de lar mi lore."
Surprisingly enough, the wizard's voice was not rough. The wizard's voice was actually quite melodious, and a comforting to hear. He charmed most of the people he met, and he was a perfect conductor for the cause because even if anyone suspected him, they would never actually speak their accusation aloud for fear they would be laughed at.
Though he would love to stay and watch the affects his spell had on the three teenagers, he needed to leave quickly. He could not be in the room when the affects began to show no matter if people could see him or not. He created the spell to wait for a one to two day, giving him plenty of time to leave the castle. He didn't need to watch Harry's affects. He had ways of watching people in different places, and he could always rely on his spies.
The wizard left much quicker than he came. It was true that he left reluctantly, but reluctance did not always mean sluggish. In fact, it would be dangerous to dawdle at this point in the plan. It would be these upcoming events which would be vital steps in the cause. If the wizard were found or the spell stopped before it had the chance to affect the atmosphere in Hogwarts, the wizard would have to answer to Voldemort. Though Voldemort did not know the best torturing method, he was no novice. He knew there was more to torturing than the mere Cruciatus Curse.
The wizard knew Voldemort would never kill him, but that did not mean he wouldn't punish the wizard for his mistakes. Voldemort always said people learn from their mistakes once he was through with him, and the wizard was in no mood to find out. The wizard paused at the portal door, waiting for someone to walk through. When a beautiful girl in her late teenage years opened the door to leave, the wizard slipped out after her. The wizard walked out of the corridor, and then he continued out of the castle where he had hidden his broomstick. He mounted the broomstick leaving the school and its impending chaos behind.
And no one looking at the empty, cold corridor was any wiser.
Crouch! What an insolent, blundering, annoying little fool! He remembered warning his master from the beginning. If he was to triumph, and Lord Voldemort was to prevail, Crouch would not be the means to bring about his offer. Alas, Crouch proved where his loyalty excelled, his stupidity and carelessness crippled him. Sure, he succeeded in bringing Harry to the Dark Lord, but even a monkey with a wand could perform the tasks Crouch did. Crouch had, after all, just followed orders.
The man smirked to himself. At least Voldemort could recognize the potential of creativity with him, and at least Voldemort could sense his need for independence. Unlike Voldemort, he never allowed himself to rely on others. It only excused weakness and caused the self-drive to atrophy.
But Voldemort could not see that. Voldemort had a disgusting streak of pride that failed him once, and if he were not careful, it would fail him again. People rarely change, but for a cause such as this one, no excuses would be made. All must be sacrificed for the cause. No other could be a higher priority. Even one's own actions could not be done for self-gain, and he personally would make sure to remind those forgetful wanderers where their loyalties lay.
Suddenly loud, echoing footsteps bounced off the stone walls, pulling the wizard from his devious thoughts. A small boy with sandy blonde hair and warm brown eyes stumbled into view. He was the kind of boy that one could easily get rid of, and no one would notice. He was also the kind of boy who treated others with the utmost respect, and therefore would be the best candidate to shadow while conducting evil. No one ever suspected evil when that kind of boy was near.
Slowly and quickly, erratically, the boy rushed to the very same portrait the wizard had been watching all this time. Slipping just once, he quickly shoved his belongings back into his bag, ashamed. The absence of people in the empty corridor, or rather the appearance of no one in the empty corridor did nothing to impede the scarlet blush rising to his cheeks. After his belongings were successfully placed inside his bag, the boy continued to advance toward the old woman's portrait. This time, however, he was clearly concentrating on walking one step at a time not unlike a toddler trembling to take his first steps. If anyone had been watching, girls would have swooned, clutching their hearts grieved with maternal instincts. Young men would have laughed, slapping him on the back and telling him "that was some fall he made." Compared to what could have happened, the darkness in the wizard's eyes glittered more pronounced then ever as he himself did neither. The wizard maintained his constant stare upon the boy, even as the boy finally stood before the dormitory doors hidden behind the portrait.
"Password?" the old woman asked.
Usually it was at this point students normally spoke their secret password to gain entrance, the small boy did not answer her. He seemed lost in thought.
"Password?" the woman asked again, a little more sternly.
The boy kept staring at the woman as though she had said nothing. A glazed look scrawled across his face.
"Hello!" the woman exclaimed. "Dear boy, are you alright?"
At the sound of the woman's words, the boy promptly snapped to attention. Looking dazed, his eyes traveled upward until they locked with the portrait's eyes.
"Sorry?" he stammered.
"Password, Dear!" the woman exclaimed.
"Oh. It's, um, little bunny foofoo."
The wizard chuckled to himself as the small boy rushed toward the swinging portrait, revealing an open portal door. When the boy crawled through it, the wizard silently followed him. The atmosphere around the wizard changed dramatically. As soon as the boy entered the common room, the wizard had no other need for him. He had other matters of a greater importance to attend to: his mission.
Noiselessly, the wizard searched the common room before him, careful not to alert anyone around him.They couldn't see him, but that did not mean they couldn't hear him. But even as the wizard carefully strained his ears for sounds his movements exposed, the common room ruptured with noise. Laughter, tears, shouting, and usual displays present in a crowd filled the wizard's ears from all directions.
His exposing gaze swept the room around him. As he searched carefully for his victims, he was soon able to place each sound to different groups of people surrounding him. Laughter was pouring from a group of people encircling two older teenagers with flaming red hair. If they had only known the danger in the room, it would have quickly brought their happiness to an alarmingly sharp end.
Looking further he saw a group of obviously younger teenagers, perhaps in their pre-teenage years, shouting to each other. The young group was oblivious to the cold stares aimed at them by the older teenagers around them, trying to study. Even though the twins' group did nothing but joke, at least they were respectful about it. Studying, however, would not save the bookish students from what they could not see.
Among the rest of the students who were not in any particular group and studying on their own, he found three teenagers huddled around a small coffee table, pouring over their homework. Only open textbooks, piling high in stacks all around them, marked their territory.
The student on the left was a girl. She was apparently quite brainy for she helped the other two students with her quite often. Frustrated, she impatiently brushed a fallen brown bang out of her eyes as she yet again tried futilely to explain to the boys the need to learn about wizards during the Progressive Era.
One of the boys, easily the more outgoing of the two, grinned wide and in a joke condescendingly patted the young woman on the shoulder. His ebony hair fell uneven over his head, and his green eyes glittered from his tan face. Clearly he had matured and grown since the wizard had seen him last. Even the young women around him noticed and looked strangely shy near him. The young man did not yet observe the young women's feelings though the wizard knew when he did find out, he would not become arrogant. If anything, he would insure his friend next to him got some of the attention as well. He and his friend had exchanged a few words over the dividing of attention, and it was definitely not an experience he wished to repeat.
The third boy, a friend to both, always joked around. He shared that trait with his twin brothers, along with their extremely shocking red hair, but unlike his brothers he had the ability to become serious when he wanted. He could conspiratorially whisper about the shady on goings in the school as effectively as he could consol a friend in need. Though he had his wit, he only shared it with his friends, and those unfortunate souls who willingly ignited his short temper later learned to regret it.
After watching this boy for a while, the wizard uncertainly shifted his gaze back to Harry. He was not so eager to lose sight of him again. Fourteen years. Fourteen years he had waited for this moment. Voldemort would have seen to it he was killed on the spot, or else Voldemort might have proposed torturing Harry until he begged for his own death.
Unfortunately, Voldemort's sense of torture was rather limited. He only knew of the physical pain. Sure, he could expertly torture someone physically until that person longed for death to deliever him or her from the horrific pain, but the weakness in physical torture was eventually that pain stopped. Eventually death would come, and with death, came relief. Death ceased all physical pain.
The wizard, however, knew of a different kind of torture. A kind of torture far more powerful than mere physical pain. Madness danced around his eyes as he remembered all too well the people he ruined for life to come and even death afterward. For the wizard was well practiced in the torturing of the soul.
The wizard liked to play with a person slowly and steadily. He would subtly alter the atmosphere around the person. One by one he would seize his victim's dreams and use them against his victim. In the end, when the person could hardly recognize the environment around him, he would be anguished within his heart. Desperately trying to pinpoint the exact change would be next to impossible, and all he could do is sit back and watch his world come crumbling down around him.
Where Voldemort would have a sufferer beg for death, the wizard would have his sufferers try to bring about their own death. Of course, as the victim would desperately try to let his life slip from the world, the wizard would prevent him from completing it. Thus the prey would be forced to watch the terrors around him. Finally, when the victim reached insanity, the wizard would provide him his one true wish: death. Death, unluckily, could not stop spiritual pain. The madness continued even after the victim's death, and the wizard grinned knowing most of the suffering in the world at that moment was most likely caused by him.
Carefully eying Harry and his two close friends, the wizard contemplated the method he would use with these three. He was constantly studying Harry, and he was pretty confident he knew his every thought and action. With that knowledge came great responsibility and choice: to use the knowledge for evil or for good.
The wizard knew by the conventional meaning of "evil" he was evil, but he did not feel it in his heart. He knew of a greater reason for his evil than mere power even though Voldemort mostly conducted evil for his power. The wizard knew his cause was of a greater importance than simple power. Unfortunately, power came with the success of the cause, and it would be hard to be certain of other's true intentions.
The wizard sometimes wondered about Voldemort. He could go on and on about the significance of the cause, but his actions would suggest otherwise. He saw himself as the most powerful wizard, but he was even disproved in that arena. Harry himself proved to be much stronger and could be a potential threat. The wizard was positive investment only in self-gain was less of a power than investment in a cause. If the wizard, Voldemort, and his followers trusted in the power of their cause, then, and only then, they would be provided with the strength needed. And that strength would be unstoppable.
The wizard began slowly to walk toward the three teenagers he had been watching. He inched closer as fast as he dared, trying not to draw attention to himself. It was clear the two young men would rather be elsewhere, but the young woman forced them to stay and study. The wizard couldn't remember having seen any student ever having that kind of mentality and self-control. She would have gone far in life. As the wizard got within earshot of the group, he began to hear bits and phrases of their conversation.
"Hermione!" the freckled boy exclaimed. "No one cares about inventors!"
"I need to hear this, Ron," Harry said. "I didn't even know there were wizard inventors."
"Of course there are, Harry you big prat. How else did we get the first spells? How else did the first wizards learn to channel their magic into new spells? I mean even trick stuff-like George and Fred.all that stuff has to be invented."
"I know that now," Harry said quietly, his cheeks burning. "I mean, it just never occurred to me is all. I'm sure I knew there were inventors."
Hermione's faces twisted into a sympathetic look. "Oh, Harry, of course you knew, but Harry, even if you didn't, that would be okay. You didn't grow up in this world. You've only been in the wizarding world for five years. You're not going to know everything there is to know instantly."
"You didn't grow up in it either, Hermione," Harry pointed out, "and you know loads more than me."
"Oh, Harry, that's not true." Hermione's cheeks began to stain red as well.
Finally Ron broke the tension. Rolling his eyes, his bluntness comforted Harry. "You can't compare yourself to Hermione, Harry. Of course, she knows loads more about the wizarding world than you. Hermione is a genius. Hermione probably knows more about the wizarding world than me. That's like saying, 'Merpeople are better swimmers than me.'"
"That's not true," Hermione humbly dismissed, though she was secretly quite pleased.
"Yes, it is," Harry laughed. "You're right, Ron, I am being a prat, but I still have to learn about these inventors in the Progressive Era. Will you help me study, Hermione?"
"I always do," Hermione smiled. "Why would I stop now?"
Feeling the ripening condition for his plan, the wizard crept until he was inches from their table. After fumbling for an object inside his cloak, the wizard drew out a small purple bottle. The bottle was glass and corked with a black stopper, but no liquid was visible. When he gently began to ease the stopper out of its place, the wizard locked his eyes on the group. He did not have to glance down at the bottle to know it contained a colorless, odorless, air. In his head, he felt the air slowly begin to seep out the sides. With his mind he held the air molecules together and waited for all the air to pour out of the exposed bottle. When he no longer needed the bottle, he slipped it inside his cloak again.
His hands formed around an invisible ball, and he mentally started to allow the ball of air to drift toward the teenagers. He focused it forward, mentally using the Banishing Charm. It drifted to the teenagers until it hovered just above the table, level with their eyes. Slowly he left the air to hover, and the teenagers unknowingly started to breathe in the air. When the teenagers had breathed in most of the air from the bottle, the wizard spoke his first words. "Ilt almsi de lar mi lore."
Surprisingly enough, the wizard's voice was not rough. The wizard's voice was actually quite melodious, and a comforting to hear. He charmed most of the people he met, and he was a perfect conductor for the cause because even if anyone suspected him, they would never actually speak their accusation aloud for fear they would be laughed at.
Though he would love to stay and watch the affects his spell had on the three teenagers, he needed to leave quickly. He could not be in the room when the affects began to show no matter if people could see him or not. He created the spell to wait for a one to two day, giving him plenty of time to leave the castle. He didn't need to watch Harry's affects. He had ways of watching people in different places, and he could always rely on his spies.
The wizard left much quicker than he came. It was true that he left reluctantly, but reluctance did not always mean sluggish. In fact, it would be dangerous to dawdle at this point in the plan. It would be these upcoming events which would be vital steps in the cause. If the wizard were found or the spell stopped before it had the chance to affect the atmosphere in Hogwarts, the wizard would have to answer to Voldemort. Though Voldemort did not know the best torturing method, he was no novice. He knew there was more to torturing than the mere Cruciatus Curse.
The wizard knew Voldemort would never kill him, but that did not mean he wouldn't punish the wizard for his mistakes. Voldemort always said people learn from their mistakes once he was through with him, and the wizard was in no mood to find out. The wizard paused at the portal door, waiting for someone to walk through. When a beautiful girl in her late teenage years opened the door to leave, the wizard slipped out after her. The wizard walked out of the corridor, and then he continued out of the castle where he had hidden his broomstick. He mounted the broomstick leaving the school and its impending chaos behind.
And no one looking at the empty, cold corridor was any wiser.