Four men sat around a table, the soft, flickering light from the lanterns that
hung above casting long shadows that seemed to stretch beyond the wood,
drawing the room close. The air was thick with tension, each of them focused
solely on the game as a phial sat center of it all. The prize. The reason any of
them were even there.
The phial was small, its shimmering contents holding the room in an almost
hypnotic trance. The liquid inside glowed faintly, like starlight caught in a bottle,
promising power; both mysterious and dangerous. The game they were playing
was more than just the cards. It was the looming potential, the allure, and
promise the phial ensured.
Niccolò DiVincenzo needed it. There would be no second chances tonight. If he
lost, the consequences would be dire. His fingers gripped the edge of his cards,
his knuckles tightening just enough to betray his calm facade. He looked at his
trick: an Ace of Swords and Two of Cups. Not great but solid enough. A mix of
both potential and uncertainty. The weight of the game pressed down on him as
he struggled to balance the choices and stakes of this deadly serious game.
Across from him sat Marco Bellini, his eyes sharp and calculating. Marco was a
man of few words. A man whose mere presence was enough to make those
around him uneasy. There was something about the way he held himself, always
composed, always in control. He was gifted in bluffing and his intuition about
the game was uncanny. His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the
table as he considered his next move.
With a single fluid motion, Marco placed a handful of galleons into the pot, his
eyes never leaving Niccolò. He wasn't just playing with the cards, he was
playing with the men around him, concerned only with their reactions…And
Marco was a master at reading the smallest, most subtle shifts in behavior.
Niccolò shifted his eyes to the phial again. It glinted in the center of the table,
its subtle glow like a heartbeat pulsating in the darkness.
Giovanni De Luca, seated to Niccolò's right, remained quiet. Giovanni wasn't a
man to show his tricks - figuratively or literally. He watched. He studied. When
he made his move, it was calculated and sure. He held a tension that was only
visible to the observant eye. Always thinking several steps ahead.
Giovanni's move was slow, yet steady, as he placed his galleons in the pot with
careful precision. The calmness of his actions sent a shiver through Niccolò.
Giovanni's poker face was impenetrable, his mind always at work, measuring
odds and searching for weaknesses. It would be stupid to underestimate him.
Then there was Lorenzo Moretti. The bastard.
Lorenzo was an enigma, a man whose unreadable face gave little away. Where
others had shown subtle signs of tension, Lorenzo sat like a rock. His
movements were smooth and effortless. His eyes, however, were anything but
still. There was a shift, Niccolò realized, in the way he looked at the phial, a
brief moment of hunger. His trick, when it came time to bet, was no different
than the others as he added his galleons to the growing pot. The man didn't
need to show his cards. His game was never about the trick he held - he played
in the way he made everyone believe he had nothing to hide.
All eyes were focused on Nico now.
Niccolò let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The decision was now
his. Hovering his fingers over the table, he traced the edges of his cards as his
mind raced. His trick was risky, but the prize was too precious to give up.
He pushed his galleons to the center of the table, just enough to stay in. He
swept his eyes over the others. Marco's eyes never wavered, Giovanni's lips
were pressed together in concentration and Lorenzo…Lorenzo's eyes flickered
with a barely perceptible shift of interest.
The next card came as Marco flipped it over, revealing the Ace of Cups.
A low hum of tension filled the room. Niccolò didn't flinch. He had been waiting
for this moment. The Ace of Cups was exactly what he needed.
The final piece of the puzzle.
His heart pounded in his chest and he allowed himself a fleeting moment of
satisfaction. His trick was now a combination of cards that could turn the game
in his favor. As his pulse quickened, he kept his face neutral, not allowing the
others to see the quiet victory in his eyes.
Marco raised the stakes first and Giovanni followed. Lorenzo, the last to act,
showed no sign of uncertainty, but his eyes were sharper than they had been a
moment ago. The pot was growing and the weight of the small phial seemed to
grow heavier, more tangible with every increase in the wager. Niccolò slowly
pushed the rest of his galleons into the pot before leaning back in his chair, he
couldn't afford to show any hint of desperation. Not now.
"Chiamo," Marco said, his voice low, almost resigned.
Giovanni followed suit, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
Lorenzo nodded, his eyes locked on Niccolò, waiting for the final confirmation.
With an arrogant confidence, Niccolò revealed his cards, one by one.
The Ace of Swords. The Three of Cups. The Two of Coins. The Ace of Cups.
"Primiera," he said, softly.
Marco's confident grin faltered as Giovanni let out a small, surprised whistle.
Even Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, the faintest sign of respect flickering in his
gaze.
Niccolò let the silence drag for a few moments before he plucked the phial from
the center of the table, ignoring the galleons that sat there. "Bene, Signori," he
said, his lips curling as he pocketed the potion. "Credo che questa sia la partita."
He had won.
Without another word, he stood, smoothing his coat, his fingers brushing the
telltale bulge of the precious liquid he had won. With the adrenaline of success
still pumping through his veins he eyed the galleons that still sat on the table
greedily, before deciding that he had taken enough risks in that room for the
night. If he reached for the currency there was a chance the three men would
not let him leave alive.
It was time to disappear.
With swift, silent steps, Niccolò exited the back of the tavern. The air outside
was fresh, a welcome contrast from the stale and stifling tension inside.
Muttering a quick incantation to cast the Disillusionment Charm, he made his
way down the dark and narrow alley. With a final glance over his shoulders,
searching for any prying eyes, he Apparated with a soft pop.
The air shifted around him, the world rippled and spun, before he reappeared in
a secluded glade. The feeling of disorientation hung thick for a few moments -
He had always hated Apparating - before he was able to focus on the world
around him.
The glade was still, silent, cradled by the shadows of towering trees whose
gnarled branches twisted high above, nearly blocking the faint light of the
moon. The ground beneath Niccolò's feet was soft, covered in a thick layer of
fallen leaves and moss. He had chosen this place for the meeting that was
about to take place. It was his solitude and rarely, if ever, disturbed. No wildlife
ventured to this area, no whisper of wind. Just a quiet that was both welcoming
and unnerving.
Niccolò's breath came slow and steady, matching the measured pace he took as
he made his way to the center of the glade. His heart began to thump wildly in
his chest, increasing with every step he took, until he paused at the center. He
glanced over his shoulder once more, eyes flicking to the treeline behind him,
then to the dark shadows of the glade ahead. The moon was barely peeking
through the canopy, offering just enough light to see by, but not enough to
reveal everything.
As the minutes ticked on, his nerves began to get the best of him as he gave
another glance over his shoulders. He could feel eyes on him from somewhere
in the shadows. Friend or foe, one could never be sure. Niccolò brushed his
fingers against the polished wood of his wand, the action offering him some
comfort as he caught some movement through the corner of his eye.
With this, he did draw his wand, turning towards the movement and holding it
ahead of him prepared for an attack.
"Lower your wand, fool."
It took a moment for the voice to register, but once Niccolò recognized the
familiarity in the dry, no nonsense, tone he did as ordered. He raised his hand
to hover over his coat pocket, the phial tucked inside was glowing faintly
beneath the fabric. This is what the other man was here for. And he had
promised a reward beyond imagination…though, in silent reservation, Niccolò
began to wonder if it was he who actually held the true treasure.
"I have what you ask," Niccolò spoke loudly across the glade, his Italian accent
heavy in the English he was now speaking. "And you have the galleons?"
The man stepped closer, meeting Nico in the center of the glade, the hood of his
cloak covering all but the nose and mouth of his face. He said nothing as he
reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch, tossing it to Nico's feet.
The pouch landed with a soft thump, the leather absorbing the fall, as the coins
inside made a muffled clink. Nico bent to retrieve it, his fingers brushing against
the leather, stopping only when he felt a wand in his neck.
Niccolò raised his hands, palms forward, as he slowly stood up, the wand in his
neck matching his movements before pressing in harder when he was finally
standing straight. He glared at the man before him as he slowly reached inside
his pocket and pulled the phial into view, the contents inside shimmered like
liquid silver, casting an eerie light in their darkened surroundings.
The air hummed with magic as Niccolò's fingers twitched on his wand and the
man quickly snatched the phial from his grasp. The deal was now sealed. The
transaction complete. Yet, the air was thick and as the man inspected the phial
of glowing liquid, Niccolò felt his heart drop as he caught the faintest hint of a
smile on the man's lips.
It came without warning.
Avada Kedavra.
The curse struck him before he could make a sound or raise his wand in
defense. The blinding light consumed him in an instant and his body fell limp,
his last breath stolen away in an explosion of green.
The man stood over him, his shadow stretching long across the clearing. His
hand still held the phial, which he inspected more closely as he gave a slight
nod to himself, confirming the contents were what he had been seeking.
Without another glance at Niccolò's lifeless form, he turned and disappeared
into the shadows, leaving behind the silent glade and a fading crack of magic in
the air.
"And if it was actually expected of me to babysit ," Hermione spat that final
word, her anger getting the best of her, "the very least you could have done is
talked to me about it beforehand."
Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, her usually bright brown eyes now
almost black as the two stared at each other. Hermione had been unsuccessful
in catching Ginny alone until that Tuesday afternoon, where she had spotted the
fiery redhead disappearing into one of the Green Houses just before lunch.
"I wanted to," Ginny said, using every ounce of control she could muster to keep
herself calm. "I tried."
"Did you?" Hermione's tone was laced with sarcasm. "When? Was it on the train
when you disappeared after we were dispatched to our assigned carriages? Or
when you ignored me knocking on your door yesterday morning?" She let out a
short dry laugh, "Or was it after you had Neville stop me from delivering the
letter I had written to the Headmistress?"
Ginny pressed her lips into a thin line, her frustration running freely now, "If you
had delivered that letter, you would have lost your Prefect status, Hermione.
The Headmistress is not aware that you hadn't actually agreed to this."
Hermione's eyes grew slightly at Ginny's statement, momentarily lost for words.
Why would she lose her Prefect status for questioning what was really going on?
Surely the Headmistress wouldn't go through such drastic measures because of
that…would she?
The look in Ginny's eyes as she studied her said otherwise.
Her mind was racing, but she quickly regained her composure, Ginny's words
still lingering in the air. She bit back her frustration as best she could, "Why
didn't you just tell me?" Her voice was still heated. "Instead of sneaking around
like you have been?" She clenched her fists at her side, her nails digging almost
painfully into her palms. "You know I wouldn't just go along with something like
that, not without a proper explanation."
Ginny's jaw tightened, her eyes burning, "If you could kindly smother that pride
and temper of yours for a moment, maybe you might actually see the bigger
picture. This isn't just about you, it's about all of us." She paused for a moment,
allowing her words to sink in. "This is about Theodore Nott and what he has to
be hiding."
The mention of his name hung over the two of them and Hermione felt her
stomach twist. She didn't know why the idea of Nott made her skin prickle and
her mind want to rush to the front lines of his defense. Yet, as she stared
defiantly into the eyes of one of her best friends, she couldn't shake the stories
and whispers of Vesper Nott as they came crashing down on her.
Voldemort Loyalist.
Death Eater.
Murderer.
Missing.
Theodore's father.
It was enough to make her blood run cold.
"He's been on surveillance for weeks," Ginny continued. "We're meant to keep
an eye on him and interfere only if it's absolutely necessary. No one knows if
he's loyal to his father's cause, but we can't risk it." She threw her hands up,
clearly exasperated, "I don't want to be in this position anymore than you do.
But I don't have a choice."
Hermione could still feel the burning rage in her chest, "So what has he done?"
Ginny's frustrated expression faltered as she blinked at her, "What?"
"What has he done?" Hermione repeated, her eyes narrowing. "If you're only to
interfere if absolutely necessary, then he must have done something."
"I don't-" Ginny started, but was cut off.
"Has he threatened somebody?"
"No."
"Used magic inappropriately?"
"No, not that I'm aware of," Ginny said, her moment of confusion dissipating
quickly under her returning frustration. "And I don't appreciate-"
"Oh, you 'don't appreciate' what, exactly? Forgive me for not understanding
exactly what you're trying to say."
Ginny pressed her lips together trying to calm herself, raising her hands then
pressing them against an invisible force as she slowly lowered them, tightly
pressing her arms at her side. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened
them sharply, "If you would just shut-up for one second maybe I could help you
understand."
"Please," Hermione said mockingly, gesturing for her to continue. "Enlighten
me."
Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously as she took a step forward. Hermione didn't
flinch. "We're all in this together, whether you see it or not," she said, halting
her advance. "All of us. And, sometimes, we have to make hard choices even if
they make us angry, frustrated or even scared."
Hermione's expression remained unchanged, "I get that, Ginny. More than I
believe even you do. But you've all decided that Nott is a risk without any real
explanation as to why. Because he's the son of a Death Eater?" Hermione rolled
her eyes, "Sure, keep hiding behind that excuse. You're keeping secrets and I
don't like it."
Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but Hermione pressed on, not allowing her to
speak.
"What about Malfoy?" Hermione's question shot out like a dart, her eyes focused
hard on Ginny. "He still has the Dark Mark. You can't just forget that, no matter
how much Harry wants to believe he's changed. That mark doesn't just
disappear."
For the second time, Ginny's expression faltered, her fists clenching at her side,
"What about it? He's not the one we're talking about here."
"Oh, right, because Malfoy is the lesser threat?" Hermione's question hung
above them like poison. "That makes perfect sense." The heat in her chest
continued to grow, nearly burning her from the inside, she was sick of the
double standard at play here and at the secrecy of it all.
Ginny's jaw tightened. "I know Mafloy isn't innocent, but he's not the focus right
now." Her voice was like a razor and Hermione could see she was struggling to
keep her emotions at bay. "Theodore Nott is. That's who we're talking about."
Hermione clenched her fists, refusing to back down, "I'm not saying that Nott is
perfect, Ginny. But I'm asking you, honestly, what has he done to make him
more dangerous than Malfoy? Just because his father is still missing doesn't
automatically make Theodore Nott guilty of something."
Ginny's eyes were now narrow slits, "And I'm not saying that Malfoy is a saint -
Merlin knows he has a lot to answer for. I'm also not accusing Nott of rampaging
around murdering kittens. That doesn't change the fact that he's still a liability."
Ginny took a step closer, her voice lower but intense. "You know as well as I do
that no one is going to let him off the hook. Not until Vesper Nott is found."
Hermione wanted to break something. Ginny had answered her question
without actually answering anything at all. It was infuriating. While she could
see Ginny's point, she couldn't shake the comparison of Nott and Malfoy. It
gnawed at her unyieldingly.
"You know what?" Hermione snapped, shaking her head in frustration. "I'm not
going to pretend like there isn't a double standard here. You want me to watch
Nott? Fine. But don't act like Malfoy doesn't deserve the same level of scrutiny."
Ginny went to fire back, her hands balled into fists, but bit her tongue. She was
tired of this argument. They weren't getting anywhere.
"Do you really think if Malfoy acted out we wouldn't notice?" She asked, "You
think that just because no one is talking about his mark that it's been
forgotten?"
Hermione scoffed at her.
Ginny frowned, "Look, we're watching him too. He doesn't have free reign over
anything, despite what you might believe."
The sharpness in Ginny's tone gave Hermione pause, and for a moment the fire
between them cooled just enough for her to actually absorb what Ginny was
saying.
"I'm not making excuses, Hermione," Ginny added, quietly, "I'm telling you the
truth. If or when Malfoy decides to act out, we'll deal with it. Right now, our
focus is on Nott. The Aurors are intercepting his correspondences and we're
expected to report anything we learn to them. Assigning you to be with him was
the best course of action."
Hermione's eyes shot through her like blades at that final statement and Ginny
raised her hands defensively, a white flag signaling she didn't wish to argue
further. "I should have told you all this before, and I'm sorry. I was afraid you
might refuse, so I figured if I didn't give you the chance things would just
naturally fall into place."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile on her lips was unmistakable.
"It's surprising you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw with that sort of logic."
Ginny offered a hesitant smile of her own, accepting the olive branch Hermione
was offering. "Yeh, well, even the Sorting Hat has to be wrong occasionally."
Hermione chuckled, running her fingers through her hair before she focused
back on the redhead in front of her. She had to let this go, at least for the time
being. From the information she had gathered so far, it was not just the Auror's
and the Headmistress who held an interest in Theodore Nott. The Order did as
well.
"Next time, Ginny, please just tell me everything from the start." Hermione's
words were low and measured.
Ginny nodded, the fatigue in her eyes very apparent. "I promise."
For now, this would have to be enough.