Somewhere in the interior of a rather old and established castle. Ancient, towering busts reaching up to the ceiling, adorned a hall of magnificent proportion. Only a few flickering lamps surrounded the enormous marble checkered floor. Within the grandiosity of the halls, lay the diminutive form of two young boys kneeling over the floor in absolute stillness, one of whom was crouched with a kerchief clasped firmly over his nose. The other was sprawled on the floor, and was gazing vacantly into space.
After what seemed like an eternity, the crouching boy got up, specks of red staining his kerchief, and turned to face his companion.
"Thank you, Tom," he whispered.
The younger boy, Tom, white as a sheet, was wiping off beads of perspiration. He had managed to keep it under control, all right, and undoubtedly saved both their lives. But he could not rid himself of the feeling of lingering horror of tonight. It could have gone wrong, horribly wrong...
The spell was all Erik's idea, actually. Erik, two years above him. Erik, a stalwart wizard, adored by the professors, Erik, the idol of students. He was so full of promise. It was true that Hogwarts had no dearth of talent, Tom thought, but Erik was a different class altogether. Erik was competent, and would have proven a useful ally, unlike some of his…friends. It was Erik who had understood the finer aspects of magic, and introduced to Tom the necessity of pushing their limits in the wizarding world.
But after what happened tonight, Tom found himself doubting his decision. Erik was brilliant all right, but too unreliable. Too reckless, too unpredictable...
Erik looked at Tom quizzically. For a moment, the latter looked as if he were about to say something. But the next instant, he shook his head, smoothened his cloak, and walked away.