The skin around Mel's eyes was inflamed, tight, and angry pink. It hurt to even blink. Forty-eight hours after her last dose of Double P, everything hurt and she just wanted it to stop.
As she lie in the Hospital Wing, two other students came to visit her. The first was Alphard. Mel looked god-awful, so she pretended to be sleeping. A cool hand brushed her knotted hair off her face and his familiar scent filled the air. A soft breath on her cheek preceded his lips pressing against hers. Before she'd registered it, he moved away. She kept up the pseudo-slumber, but from then on, she felt a marginal bit better.
The second day brought a distraction in the form of Harper, who sat at her bedside, held her hand, and recounted the days events, including pertinent gossip. In Defense that afternoon, she'd convinced Riddle to let her duel Murdoch and damn near got him. She said it so proudly, it was this that made Mel smile for the first time in what felt like years. A chuckle escaped her throat as her lips cracked around a small grin.
"What of Double P?" she couldn't help but ask. "It's not around anymore?"
Harper shook her head. "Alphard Black caught her and got rid of it all."
A lump rose in Mel's throat, but she didn't let herself dwell. "And what of Tauriello?"
"Dunno. Riddle sorted her somehow. She's still in attendance, so she's not been expelled."
Mel privately hoped Tauriello would be brewing again soon, but she knew that in the long run, it would lead to disaster. Not just for her, but for Alphard, too.
On the fourth day, she was released from the Hospital Wing and returned to lessons. Most of the professors were on the same lesson, so a good part of the first day was relatively easy. Then came Defense.
When the six students walked into the classroom, an instant hush fell over them as they took in the scene: they were standing not in the center aisle but a corridor with three evenly-spaced doors on each side.
"Your task today," Riddle said from behind them, closing the door, "is to practise for your final presentation. Each of you are to take a room, in which you will find a mouse in a cage. This is your first opportunity to get a solid grip on your assigned task. Speak the incantation, let the magic flow through your wand, become familiar with the outcome. Rather than focus on your feelings toward the outcome itself, pay attention to your physical reaction—the energy, the power. Get started."
Heart thumping in her ears, Mel entered the room on the left between Harper and Alphard. Inside was all white except for a wooden table upon which sat a cage. Immediately after closing the door, the heaviness of pure silence filled her ears. The light above was harsh, fluorescent, reminding her uncomfortably of the time in '41 when they'd had to take Auntie Bertha to an overcrowded muggle hospital.
The cage was empty save for a newspaper, a stack of crackers, and a tiny mouse, eyeing her warily as if it was whisking up her intentions.
Mel looked around helplessly; there wasn't any way she could go through with this. She couldn't torture a mouse. She didn't even mind the ones that snuck into the McCreadys' flat and nibbled on their bread.
She heaved a sigh, wondering what the two on either side of her were doing in their rooms. They both seemed to have infinitely easier tasks than she: Alphard simply had to kick up the nervous system and Harper could do whatever she pleased with the mouse.
But she at least had to try. Tentatively, she raised her wand at the now unsuspecting mouse eating a cracker. "Crucio!"
Nothing at all happened. Mel tried again and wasn't any more successful. Of course she wasn't. Even if she wanted to hurt this mouse for some ungodly reason, she'd never be able to cast such a powerful curse. What the hell had Riddle been thinking?
"Having trouble?"
She started so badly, she dropped her wand. It emitted a loud honk as it clattered on the floor, causing her to jump yet again.
Riddle had somehow entered the room without her noticing. He stood patiently, surveying Mel as she snatched her wand and straightened up.
"N-no, sir," she stammered, looking away and feeling her cheeks grow pink.
"Are you sure? I'd be happy to offer assistance."
His tone sounded sincere, almost kind. There was no point in assisting her with something she'd never be able to complete. Best to tell him now rather than look like a complete dunce in front of the class at the end of term.
"Professor, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do this," she blurted in one quick breath. "I don't want to cause this mouse any pain and my magical ability is, quite frankly, abysmal."
He cocked his head to the side, keeping his dark eyes on hers. It was quite unnerving to have his full attention, a scenario that had only played out in her dreams. "Now, Melody, of course you can do this. Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying since the beginning of term? You are all capable of the tasks I've assigned, and you are not an exception."
Perhaps it was his encouraging words or maybe the use of her given name, but Mel ached to believe him. "Are—do you mean that, sir?" she asked somewhat pathetically, but Riddle didn't seem bothered by it.
"Yes, I do. Not many are aware of this, but the Cruciatus Curse has no lasting effects if cast for less than five minutes. A select few have strong enough willpower to block it out entirely. They separate themselves from it, you could say."
This brought slight relief, but not enough.
"What I've learned about this particular curse," he continued, "is that anger lays the foundation. Anger, fear, sorrow...all of those negative responses we're told to smile through serve as propellants for raw magic, if used properly. Does that make sense?"
Mel nodded, even though it wasn't exactly clear. "Yes, sir." She did understand anger, fear, and sorrow, an abundance of all three, constantly, especially now without Double P to blur it out.
Riddle held out a pale hand and pointed a long finger at the cage. "Start with bringing up the root of your anger and work out an association with the mouse. Projecting your intent on something you're not partial to is the first step of many, but you'll find that once this is mastered, the rest come easily."
He turned away and walked out as Mel stood still, mulling over his guidance. It did make sense, she supposed.
First, she decided to make a list of what had angered or dismayed her lately. This was almost too easy, considering her life had been an utter mess so far, segueing into an all-out circus starting in '45.
Number one, I can't have Alphard. Number two, Auntie Bertha's gone. Number three, my future under the Regime is precarious at best. Four, Harper and I have drifted apart…
After a bleak recital of the list, she figured out that in order for the statements to mean anything, she had to let the feelings overtake her instead of reducing them to tiny stabs in her chest.
I can't have Alphard… She pictured him in her mind, his tall frame, glittering dark eyes, smooth black hair, that smile full of straight teeth… God, she loved him, but she could never have him. Soon he'd realise that, too, and no longer want her. Sorrow flooded her chest at the thought of Alphard with another girl in white, holding her hands and kissing her at his lavish wedding ceremony. That'll never be you.
A tear trickled down her cheek; it was working but not well enough. The hope of the Regime being overthrown and allowing her and Alphard to be together was too great, blocking the way. On to the next one: Auntie Bertha's gone.
The thought alone was much more poignant. Tears were flowing now as she replayed the ugly scene from last summer, along with her mother's awful premonition. In fact, the pain was so strong, it brought her to her knees with her hands covering her face. Better than nothing, she supposed as she wiped her eyes and got a grip on herself, but she doubted bursting into tears was very useful for casting any kind of curse, let alone the Cruciatus.
Number three, a culmination of one and two, served well to incite anger, but still not enough. And number four, well, who cared at this point? Harper obviously had her own preoccupations. That didn't mean Mel wasn't lonely, though, considering she had no friends at all now that Antonia Longbottom was back to pretending she didn't exist.
Oddly, this made her angriest of all. How dare Longbottom be so callous and cold just because Mel had fallen victim to Double P like half the school? She'd even unofficially but blatantly excluded Mel from her group. From overhearing Beatrice Winter, Mel knew they were still meeting up in Vector's classroom. She clearly was no longer welcome.
Glaring at the oblivious mouse with puffy, narrowed eyes, she assumed proper stance: shoulders back, hand raised 100 degrees, wand pointing down at it, feet apart. "Crucio!"
A loud bang filled the room and the mouse jumped back, but she appeared to have only startled it, for it ran around the cage, frightened.
Alphard, Auntie Bertha, Grindelwald, Harper, Longbottom, she recited in her min as she gripped her wand tighter and tried again. "Crucio!"
This time, the bang accompanied by a squeak filled the air as the mouse rolled across the floor of the cage, thrashing its tiny claws wildly. Yet again, it recovered a second later, even though Mel kept her wand trained on it. The curse wouldn't last more than a second.
However, that second had raised Mel's confidence through the ceiling. If she'd had enough force and will to carry out such a strong curse for a second, there wasn't any reason she wouldn't be able to control the duration eventually. Once she figured out how to do that, it was all uphill from there according to Riddle, who would know best out of anyone.
Mel felt a bit bad about the pain this mouse had yet to suffer, but it was sure better than unleashing her anger on a student, ala Annie Messier last year. Sometimes we must take the good with the bad, she told herself as she raised her wand again.
And best of all, even if a bit disturbing, the high from performing the curse was just as strong, if not more so, than an entire vial of Double P.
-x-
Alphard wondered if he was pronouncing the incantation wrong, or standing the wrong way, or just being wrong for this spell. A jolt was leaving his wand and hitting the mouse, but it didn't seem to have any effect at all.
He heaved a sigh and tucked his wand back into his robes. Time was up in less than a minute, and he had to go over the theory again if he was to make any progress at all.
"See you," he told the mouse, feeling like a fool. It was probably best that he not grow fond of a creature he would be causing pain on a regular basis.
They gathered in the corridor, looking around for Riddle. They didn't see him, so the air filled with chatting about their progress. Then his voice rang across the room from his office, silencing them instantly.
"Until Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen. Felix, Harper, and Alphard, please see me."
The three chosen ones exchanged uncertain glances. Mel, despite having puffy, bloodshot eyes, waved goodbye to them on her way out. Once the other three cleared out, Alphard and Murdoch walked side-by-side to the office, Harper trailing behind them. Once they reached the door, Murdoch bumped Alphard out of the way to hold it open for Harper, waving her through.
"Please close the door behind you and have a seat," Riddle told them, nodding to the two chairs in front of his desk.
Again Murdoch nearly knocked Alphard over pulling the nearest chair out for Harper. Alphard was getting agitated, since the girl was oblivious to his eagerness. She and Riddle looked at each other for a moment as the two boys stood behind her, neither of them wanting to take the other chair.
Riddle also remained standing, plunging straight to the point. "Our Leader will be arriving at six o'clock this evening. I am counting on you three especially to ensure that the best representation of Slytherin House is on display."
The trio was too stunned to speak for a moment. "Our Leader?" Murdoch blurted. "Grindelwald is coming to Hogwarts?"
"I've just said that, Felix," Riddle replied, his voice threatening impatience. "Do I have your word that you'll keep the Slytherins in line? It is imperative that we uphold our status as the superior House."
"Yes, sir," Murdoch answered at once, despite not having any authority in the castle, attempting to sneak back on Riddle's good side.
"Yes, sir," Alphard and Harper chorused in noticeably different tones. Alphard's betrayed him, leaking apprehension, while Harper's was neutral.
"Thank you."
Once they were dismissed, they headed to the Great Hall, assuming the same order as before—Murdoch annoyingly striding next to Alphard while Harper meandered, unhurried.
"Isn't this wicked?" Murdoch hissed in excitement. "I'll bet he's looking for the best and the brightest for the Ministry."
"I suppose," Alphard replied without enthusiasm. Aside from the Slytherins, the rest of the castle was unlikely to take the news well. He knew the Head Girl, Beatrice Winter, was bright enough to withhold the guest's identity until the last possible second, but word travelled fast. It only took one kid to associate Grindelwald with the devil and spread unbridled panic among the younger-years.
Also, there was the fact that Alphard was trying to contain his own panic. Grindelwald was finally going to make moves on Hogwarts. Many families, like the Weasleys and Abbots, were in hiding, allegedly planning a revolt, but so many still felt Hogwarts was the safest place for their children. He and his peers would be finishing in a few months' time, but that didn't mean he wasn't concerned about the rest of the students.
Hogwarts had been a refuge away from his overbearing family. For others, it wasn't or would cease to be. Like Mel, he realised, his lungs weighing down when he recalled Cygnus' treatment of her. Little wonder she'd gotten into that Double P rubbish.
"Oi, Yaxley," Murdoch called, startling Alphard out of his reverie. "Gather round Grisham's group and tell them there's a meeting after supper…"
Harper followed Alphard into the Great Hall before turning to him. "I reckon we should start passing it along as well. Should we tell the other Houses?"
"No, Beatrice will sort it," he assured her. "No doubt she's heard it from Whitehouse already, probably before we did."
He paused, considering asking her how her task was going, even if they had to use vague terminology. But then she pointed to a figure with light brown hair approaching the Slytherin table. "Oh, there's Tauriello. I'll start with her."
Alphard watched her go, thinking about how relieved he was to finally be finished with Theobroma's detentions, though he found it odd that Riddle had taken Harper's when he claimed he had no more time. Perhaps it was because Theobroma had gone from fearing him to falling head over heels for him. What on Earth Riddle had said to enchant her so deeply was beyond Alphard, but at least she'd been dissuaded to start back up with the Double P.
Riddle seemed to have a way of dissuading—or persuading, for that matter—anyone into anything.
Stop dawdling, Alphard scolded himself. More students were trickling in, ready to tuck into supper, so he had to catch them now for the message to have spread by the end of the meal. He headed straight for Evan Rosier and his group of blokes at the end of the table.
Evidently, they were successful, for every Slytherin showed up in the trapezoidal meeting room by ten to six, waiting for instructions.
"What's going on?" an obnoxious fourth-year boy demanded of Alphard as soon as he walked in the room. "Are we preparing for war?"
"Nothing of that sort," said Harper, who by default had slightly more authority over Slytherin due to being the only seventh-year prefect. Additionally, she was the only girl who hadn't gotten married off, earning her the nickname of "Mother Hen" by the younger-years.
"So what, then?" the boy prodded.
"Mind your manners," Murdoch snapped as Yaxley sneered at the younger boy. As predicted, he shut his mouth and faced forward.
Alphard realised that everyone was staring at him, waiting for information with vulture-like expressions.
"Erm, so our Leader will be making a visit in fifteen minutes."
To his distaste, every one of them exchanged looks of glee. "I need you to be on your best behavior and show our Leader the pride and unity of Slytherin." He thought that would suffice, since they were barely listening, whispering excitedly.
This was fortunate, because it was woefully clear that Alphard had no clue what to do. His sense of authority and rationality had vacated, replaced with anxiety. He could hear his blood rushing about, his heart thumping in his ears. He hadn't an idea he'd be so fussed over seeing Gellert Grindelwald in person.
Harper, upon seeing Alphard's face, clapped her hands twice. "Enough!" It was so unexpected, he was jolted out of the grip of panic.
"Listen, if any one of you lot step out of line, you're going straight to Riddle," she threatened calmly, nodding her head.
"He uses hexes!" Otylia Masiakiewicz added to general horror.
"Does he?" Harper replied with an air of impatience. "In any case, he will not be pleased. Now everyone stand up and form two lines by year. Backs straight and march as one."
Alphard glanced at her as they made their way in front of the first years, who seemed tinier and sparser with each passing year, and led them out. He was glad to learn that Harper probably wasn't getting hexed in detention, though he wondered what Riddle had her doing. He'd never gotten detention in his life, but he knew from his Housemates that most of them involved lines or some other menial, non-magical task.
That line of questioning was severed as they re-entered the Great Hall. While the Slytherins were excited to see the Minister, the rest of the school exhaled breaths heavy with tension and misery. As usual, his eyes found Mel at the head of Ravenclaw table, looking uneasy but still attempting to keep her face passive. Further down the table, Antonia Longbottom had her arms crossed and a blatantly defiant spark in her light eyes.
Alphard joined Beatrice Winter at the front, where they stood on either side of the podium, facing the tables. Tradition mandated that they remain there until the headmaster arrived at the podium, but neither Head seemed sure if this was to be followed when Grindelwald was introduced. Beatrice evidently decided it was, catching Alphard's eye and giving a quick nod.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dippet said mechanically from the headmaster's seat. "Please welcome our dear Minister and Great Leader, Gellert Grindelwald."
Everyone, including Antonia Longbottom, politely brought their hands together, but the increase at the Slytherin table was clearly audible. Alphard's sweaty palms stuck together as he stood rigid with his hands clasped behind his back, listening to heavy footsteps approach the podium. A flash of strawberry blonde hair retreating to the Gryffindor table caught his eye; he and Beatrice were to be seated. Trying not to dart, he went over to the Slytherin table and took the space between Yaxley and Harper.
Alphard wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. A stone-cold authoritarian, perhaps, a German version of Riddle. Whatever it had been, it was not the man that stood at the podium.
Gellert Grindelwald did indeed fit Alphard's vision of German—tall, platinum-haired, and blue-eyed—but the satisfied grin negated any strictness. He was positively beaming at them as his gaze swept the Great Hall.
"Good evening, students of Hogwarts," he greeted with a smile filled with straight white teeth. Alphard wasn't sure if he was imagining it, or maybe it was the slight American accent, but Grindelwald sounded downright cheerful.
"I am honored to see you have welcomed me so graciously to your school," he continued. "It is clear why Albus Dumbledore wanted to protect it so strongly. From your obedience to the examination records the Ministry has been receiving, I have learned that the next generation of wizards is bright and clever beyond measure."
Grindelwald paused and looked away with his lips pursed thoughtfully, as if considering what to say next. "The changes in our world have worried some, if the news I am gathering is correct. Many of you are tracing your lineages back, placing a metric on your own magical talent. I do not encourage that."
The silence following that pronouncement was so thick, it seemed to seep into Alphard's lungs. If he could turn his head to look around, he'd bet every eye was on Grindelwald, filled with surprise and disconcertment. The only one in his peripheral vision was Harper, who was watching the Minister with her usual blank expression.
"You all have magical talent in varying degrees. You would not be sitting here if this was not the case. I'm not interested in whether your family is full of muggles. If you are a magical being, you have an equal chance of using magic if you qualify as a wizard, which I believe is after the standard examinations, correct? Once you are qualified, the only thing I ask of you is that you place the future of the wizarding world above your own. Do this, and I promise you will go far."
Then his handsome face broke out into a grin again. He instantly looked much younger, even more so than the professors, most of which were at least twenty years his junior. "Good luck, students, and happy holidays. Headmaster, perhaps one of the professors would be so kind as to give me a tour of the castle?"
Predictably, Riddle volunteered and the rest of the conversation was drowned out when Beatrice clapped loudly, starting a room-wide applause. The Heads waited until Grindelwald and Riddle left the Great Hall before lining everyone up and dismissing them single-file.
In the dungeons, only the steps of the Slytherin boys echoed around the corridor. Everyone was chatting amicably except for Alphard, silent until Murdoch and Yaxley approached him.
"Come with us, Black," Murdoch said as if giving a suggestion.
He looked behind him, but the other prefects seemed to have the younger-years in control. The trio slowed their pace. "Riddle's hosting a get-together in his office," Murdoch muttered to Alphard. "We would like you to join us."
In disbelief, Alphard turned to Yaxley, who nodded without a trace of rancor. "He said he'd be glad to have you."
"Er, alright," said Alphard, bewildered. The cluster of boys were ahead of them now, under Rosier's control. A second later, they were nearly bombarded with a band of marching, chatting girls. Murdoch's eyes snapped to their dark-haired leader, which didn't go unnoticed by Yaxley.
"Still after Messier, are you?" he remarked. "I sure don't blame you, mate. Those curves are killer."
Murdoch flushed a furious red and clenched his jaw. "Shut up, Yaxley."
Alphard couldn't understand why the pair of them were always together despite obviously unable to stand each other. He supposed there was some sort of Knight-bond at play. To get them back on topic, he asked, "So when is this 'get-together' occurring, then?"
"Supposed to be in fifteen minutes," Yaxley replied, "but now that he's showing the Minister around, it'll probably be a bit later."
"We should go to the classroom anyway," Murdoch suggested. "Perhaps he'll take our Leader down there and we can make an impression."
"I suppose…"
They passed the stone wall to the common room and continued to the Defense classroom. Alphard was hoping like hell Riddle wouldn't take Grindelwald there, but before he went into full panic mode again, Murdoch turned and grinned at him. "He lets us drink a bit now that we're of age. It's grand, considering how much stricter he is than old Slughorn."
"So, er, what do we do?" Alphard asked as they entered the dark, cold room.
"Depends on if Murdoch remembered to take the gobstones," Yaxley answered, taking his usual seat in lessons.
"I did," Murdoch said as he did the same, so Alphard followed suit. Though it was a considerable waste of time, playing gobstones wasn't the worst way to pass an hour. Perhaps Riddle wouldn't return at all and they'd simply move to the common room.
No such luck. Twenty or so minutes into the game, the professor walked briskly into the classroom. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said as he passed, not sparing them a glance. Alphard was relieved to see him without a blonde companion.
Riddle went into the office and closed the door behind him as Yaxley and Murdoch started bickering quietly about a move. "My turn," Alphard told them.
He expected the door to the office to open any second, but a good block of time passed while Alphard sat tensed-up. Just as he began to hope that he wouldn't come out, the door swung open.
"Enter, gentlemen," Riddle called.
Inside the office, he was seated at his desk, in front of which was a semi-circle of three identical, velvet chairs. On a small table with a green-shaded ceramic lamp, providing the only light, was a tray of four goblets. Murdoch went straight to that, passing a goblet to Riddle before taking one of his own. Yaxley took another, and Alphard realised the last was for him. Trying to keep the distaste off his face, he lifted the goblet off the tray.
The other three seemed to be watching him as they raised the goblets to their lips, forcing him to take a sip. It became considerably harder to keep a straight face, so much so that he failed miserably, cheeks burning as his nose scrunched up.
Thankfully, no one commented. "So what do you reckon?" Murdoch asked no one in particular. "You think the Minister really believes everyone here has the right to do magic?"
"No, that's rubbish," Yaxley replied. "He's just saying that because there's still so many Dumbledore arse-kissers in this school."
Murdoch glanced at Alphard, who stifled the urge to bristle in discomfort. There wasn't a shred of evidence that Alphard preferred Dumbledore over Grindelwald, but his classmate seemed to have picked up on it. With a clench of horror, he recalled that Murdoch's assignment was Legilimency, and Alphard hadn't a clue how to perform the counter-spell.
"Black," Yaxley was calling, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "What do you reckon? Think old Grindy's gone soft on all the lesser bloods?"
Alphard's mind blanked, but luckily his mouth was working without it. "We'll see, I suppose."
"Or perhaps he ought to move it along, eh?" Yaxley continued. "Perhaps someone should prompt him in the right direction. The faster he cleans the filth, the better, you reckon, Black?"
For one horrible second, Alphard sat with his mouth slightly open as his mind imploded.
"I believe," Riddle said softly, and the two boys' heads swung to him at once, "that our Leader has got a plan that aligns with bringing forth a superior magical society."
"I agree, sir," Murdoch said, nodding, even though he had doubted the Minister himself not five minutes ago.
Yaxley fell silent. After another round of firewhiskey, Alphard's head was starting to fuzz. Riddle asked, "How are your tasks coming along?"
"Very well, sir," the other two chorused.
Belatedly, Alphard cleared his throat. "Well, sir." His voice was meek and unconvincing, but again, no one seemed to give it much thought.
"Mine's just swell," Yaxley boasted. "It shouldn't be long before I see that green light. I surely want that bitch of a mouse dead by now."
Murdoch chuckled, Riddle smirked, and Alphard tried to keep his face still. He knew that Mel and Harper, for some godforsaken reason, had been assigned Unforgivable Curses. The Killing Curse might've shared the same classification, but as far as he was concerned, it was in an entirely different category. How could anyone, even Yaxley, want to rip another's soul from their body?
And how was it being allowed? That was easier to answer: the Head of the Magical Education Department, Cassius Malfoy, had a history of leniency toward Hogwarts. He left it mostly up to Dippet, who evidently had passed along the torch to Riddle.
Alphard glanced at him and saw that Riddle had his dark eyes trained on him. He took a tiny swallow of firewhiskey and faced Yaxley, who was still detailing his murder plan. Oftentimes, especially lately, it was hard to believe Riddle was only two years his senior. He was a master of intimidation...yet his comment about the Minister came off less than enthusiastic for a Knight.
"Gentlemen, I'm afraid we must end a little early this evening," he said after another excruciating ten minutes. "I've got to catch up on grading, a result of an expansion of my detention schedule. All the more proof of a dire need for discipline reform in this castle. Wouldn't you agree, Felix?"
Murdoch, who most likely wouldn't agree due to all the trouble he landed himself in on a regular basis, nodded vigorously.
On the way back to the common room, Alphard wanted to take advantage of the boys' looser tongues and ask them about the Knights' activity, but they abandoned him almost instantly. At least that gave him the chance to think.
His thoughts were swirling in his head, jumbling in confusion. Grindelwald was not a proponent of blood purity if his words were to be believed. Riddle, who Alphard suspected was the Dark Lord's closest follower, sided more with Grindelwald than the Knights' apparent ideology. Yet Murdoch and Yaxley had agreed with him rather than challenge him…
Alphard realised he was standing in front of the stone wall. "Machiavelli," he recited, making a mental note to ask his brother more about the Knights. He could write Cygnus a letter, but it was probably best to wait until he went home for the holidays. Cygnus would speak more freely face-to-face, and Alphard really needed to focus on his impending exams. To cause even more stress and dread, they were being held NEWT-style for "maximum preparation."
In the common room, Yaxley and Murdoch were seated by the fire, speaking in low voices. Murdoch was absentmindedly setting up another game of gobstones on the small table beside them. "Oi, Alphard!" he called upon spotting the Head Boy. "You in, mate?"
Alphard shook his head. "I'm heading to bed, mate." The truth was that his stomach hurt just from those two or three gulps of firewhiskey. Also, he'd reached his limit of time spent with his fellow Slytherins for the day. "Goodnight."
Murdoch mumbled a response while Yaxley ignored him. It mattered not, as Alphard was finally going to lie down. He remembered that he should've asked Harper to collect the rounds reports, but who knew where she was. I'll get them tomorrow, he told himself moments before drifting off into a choppy, fitful slumber.