Chapter 33. The chamber, the regret and the duelling club.
The sinks groaned as they shifted apart, stone grinding against stone, revealing a dark, yawning tunnel beneath. Jakob stared at it, his amazement flickering across his face for only a moment before he steadied himself.
"Oh, I really shouldn't do this," he said, trying but failing to keep his excitement hidden.
He shook his hands, rolled his shoulders, and tilted his head from side to side, his neck giving off a faint cracking sound as he peered into the dark abyss below.
"Shit, I hope I don't die now," he added under his breath before his lips twisted into a wide smirk. "Well… here we go."
Taking a breath, Jakob stepped forward and leapt into the darkness. The slide was steep, the smooth walls rushing past him as he descended.
A low chuckle bubbled in his chest, and he bit down hard to suppress it, the thrill of the moment threatening to bring out his inner child.
When he landed at the bottom, however, it was anything but graceful. The Slytherin hit the ground at an awkward angle, his momentum sending him tumbling over a jagged stone.
The impact sent him hurtling through the air, his robes whipping sharply around him before gravity pulled him back down.
He struck the ground with a heavy thud, landing awkwardly on his arm.
Pain erupted instantly, white-hot and blinding. He gritted his teeth as a sickening snap echoed in his mind, clutching at his arm.
A moment later, the familiar warmth of his healing magic spread through him, the pain ebbing away as the bone knit itself back together.
Jakob pushed himself up slowly, his arm still tingling from the lingering effects of his Philosopher's stone shard.
He brushed off his robes, grimacing as the damp chill of the tunnel seeped into his skin.
"Well," he muttered, flexing his arm experimentally, "that could've gone worse."
With a flick of his wrist, his wand was in hand. "Lumos," he said quietly, the tip flaring to life with a soft glow.
The air was heavy and damp, carrying the faint, earthy scent of decay. The light from Jakob's wand illuminated the tunnel stretching out before him, its slick walls glistening with moisture under the dim glow. Each step he took had a dull echo, quickly swallowed by the oppressive silence.
Jakob paused mid-step, a faint crunching sound breaking the stillness beneath his shoe. Lowering his wand slightly, he tilted the glow downward—and froze.
Scattered across the damp floor were bones, brittle and gleaming faintly in the wandlight. Small creatures, larger ones—it was a chaotic mixture of remains.
"Must be one hungry basilisk," he muttered under his breath, in a mix of unease and amusement.
Carefully, he stepped over the bones to make sure he didn't accidentally ring the dinner bell.
After walking straight forward for a minute or two, Jakob stopped, his breath catching slightly as his wand illuminated a massive pale form. The shed skin of a basilisk stretched out before him, its translucent, scaly surface glowing faintly in the light. The sheer size of it made him raise his wand higher, his lips parting in awe.
"And here I thought it'd be as small as Saliza," he murmured in disbelief.
Curiosity took hold as he stepped closer, his fingers twitching slightly as he reached out, brushing the surface of the shed skin. It felt cool and papery beneath his touch, the texture faintly brittle yet unnervingly smooth.
A calculating glint appeared in his eyes as he withdrew his hand. This is worth a fortune, he thought. The skin was not only rare but also an invaluable ingredient in the hands of any skilled potion master. He made a mental note to return with proper tools. This was a find too valuable to leave behind.
Jakob continued forward, his wandlight cutting through the heavy shadows of the tunnel.
The air felt denser here, colder, sending a faint shiver down his spine as he stepped into the deeper end of the cavernous space.
At the far end, dominating the wall, stood a massive circular door, its surface catching the faint glow of his wand as he approached.
Carved into the door were twisting, coiled serpents, their bodies entwined in an intricate pattern that locked the entrance tightly shut. The snake's heads were raised, mouths slightly open, as though frozen mid-hiss.
Their eyes caught the light, glinting in a way that made them look almost alive as if they were watching him. At the very centre lay a larger serpent, its two emerald eyes fixed unblinkingly on him.
Jakob stopped in front of the door, excitement making his heart pound loudly in his ears. Drawing in a slow breath, he hissed, "Open."
The Parseltongue left his lips like a whispering wind, and immediately, the central serpent began to shift. Its body uncoiled, slithering along the grooves of the door. The smaller snakes followed, retreating as if compelled by the larger one to give it free passage.
A deep, grinding noise echoed through the chamber, the ancient mechanisms slowly coming to life.
At last, the door unlocked with a heavy rumble, the serpents fully retracting into the stone. It swung open slowly, revealing the chamber within.
Jakob's shoes splashed softly against the wet stone floor, creating a faint echo as he entered the chamber.
Snakeheads lined the path ahead, their carved jaws frozen in silent hisses, their empty eyes staring forward as if standing watch. Water lapped at their bases, sending faint ripples skimming across the floor in the glow of his wand.
He took another step when the torches lining the walls suddenly flared to life. Jakob froze, his wand snapping upward, aiming it forward as every muscle in his body tensed. His eyes darted around the chamber, scanning for any sign of movement.
If the basilisk appeared now, he knew he stood no chance. His mind raced, already mapping out the quickest escape route. His grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles whitening as he unknowingly held his breath, listening intently for any sound, any hint of danger.
But nothing came.
Instead, the light revealed the full scale of the chamber. Stone walls stretched high into the shadows, and at the far end, dominating the space was an enormous sculpture. Jakob let out a breath of awe as his wand light reflected off the sharp, stern features of Salazar Slytherin's face.
"All right, twenty minutes, then I'm out," Jakob whispered, casting a quick Tempus. The glowing numbers hovered briefly in the air before fading away, starting the countdown for his exploration.
The Slytherin moved carefully through the chamber, his wandlight casting long, shifting shadows across the towering walls and uneven, damp floor. His eyes scanned the space, searching for anything that might be worth noticing.
Water pooled in shallow patches, rippling faintly as he stepped around them. Some appeared deceptively deep, and he took care not to misstep. The stale scent of mildew clung heavily to the air, invading his senses and leaving behind the faint throb of a headache.
As he approached the left wall, the light from his wand caught on a series of carved letters. Narrowing his eyes, Jakob stepped closer, the serpentine curves of the script immediately catching his attention. It reminded him of the ancient writings he had studied in Egypt over the summer.
Raising his wand higher, he watched as the letters shimmered faintly before settling into words he could understand: Salazar Slytherin, the mightiest of the Hogwarts Four.
Jakob scoffed. "Not even a little modest, were you?" he muttered, shaking his head as he continued his search.
His fingers brushed over the intricate carvings of coiled snakes that adorned the walls, their patterns twisting and writhing in endless loops. They seemed to guide his gaze naturally to the massive stone face of Salazar Slytherin, its sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of his wand.
Frowning, Jakob stepped closer to the base of the sculpture. His light revealed faint engravings near the foundation. As he knelt to examine them, he noticed fragments of the basilisk's shed skin scattered near the statue's mouth.
"Not opening that one," he murmured, stepping back cautiously.
A sigh escaped him as he straightened, his gaze sweeping once more around the chamber. For all its grandeur, the room didn't appear to hold any secrets—or at least none willing to reveal themselves easily. Wandering to the far corners, Jakob half-hoped to find hidden doors or concealed compartments, but each step only deepened his disappointment.
"So, is this really it?" Jakob mumbled, his voice echoing softly in the stillness. Casting a Tempus again, he watched the glowing countdown hover in the air. Five minutes left. He sighed. Perhaps the chamber held more, but it was clear he would need far more time to uncover its mysteries.
Defeated, Jakob was about to leave when something unusual caught his eye. On one side of the wall, a heap of carved snakes lay tangled together, their overlapping bodies arranged in a way that seemed almost intentional. It looked… off. Curiosity flickered to life, and he strode forward, narrowing his eyes at the peculiar carving. His fingers brushed over the snakes, noting how they protruded slightly from the otherwise smooth surface.
"Open," he hissed, stepping back with a wide grin, anticipation sparking across his face. But as the seconds stretched and nothing happened, his grin faltered, fading into a frown.
"Open door," he tried again, more irritated now. Still nothing.
His frown deepened as a frustrated growl escaped him. "Salazar, Mudblood, Pureblood, snake, old man who wants to kill his students!" he hissed rapidly, his annoyance boiling over into outright frustration.
The snakes remained perfectly still, their carved forms as lifeless as ever. Jakob's jaw tightened as he glanced at his wand and cast Tempus once more. His time was up. With a resigned sigh, he turned to leave—only for his eyes to land on the words carved into the opposite wall again.
A questioning smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flickering in his eyes as realization dawned.
"No… he wouldn't," Jakob muttered, the disbelief in his voice edged with sly amusement.
He turned back toward the heap of snakes, his gaze sharpening as the puzzle piece clicked into place.
Steeling himself, he hissed in Parseltongue, "Salazar Slytherin, the mightiest of the Hogwarts Four."
The snakes began to shift, their carved bodies sliding apart as though imbued with life.
Jakob watched, his heart pounding, as they moved to reveal a circular, onyx-black stone embedded in the wall.
The stone pushed outward slowly, the grating sound of it scraping against the wall filling the chamber. Jakob's head whipped around instinctively, his eyes darting to the Slytherin statue's mouth. It remained closed, and nothing else seemed to change in the chamber either.
Turning back, his wandlight caught the stone's surface as it stopped moving, now fully exposed. He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at it.
"A pedestal?" he whispered, tilting his head slightly in surprise. Without thinking, his hand began to reach forward, his fingers almost brushing the smooth surface before he pulled back sharply as though catching himself in the act.
"This is not a good choice, Jakob. You shouldn't do it. You have no idea what might happen," he murmured, trying to convince himself to turn away. But even as he spoke, his signature smirk began growing wider.
"No one remembers a coward," he stated firmly. Nodding along to his statement, he placed his hand on the black pedestal.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through Jakob's palm as though a blade had sliced it open. He tried to pull his hand back instinctively, but it was stuck—glued to the stone.
"Shit, this isn't good," he muttered, panic rising in his voice.
He tugged harder, pocketing his wand and dragging up his sleeve to expose his entire arm. Using his free hand, he tried again to pry himself loose, but it was no use.
The stone began to glow, a ghostly green light pulsing faintly, illuminating his trapped hand. Jakob's breath almost seized as he watched his skin turn translucent, the eerie glow lighting up the veins in his palm. A cold dread settled over him—it felt like something was judging him, weighing his blood and finding it unworthy.
Then came the second wave. A liquid-like substance began pouring into the open wound in his hand from the stone. Jakob watched in horror as the veins in his palm turned the same unnatural green. His hand went numb, the sensation spreading like frostbite.
"Stop! Halt! Salazar!" he hissed in desperation, but the stone ignored him.
The crimson light of his magic flickered to life in his veins, the stone's healing ability fighting back against the invasive green. But it wasn't enough. The green substance was stronger, pushing his magic back faster and faster.
"Fuck!" Jakob growled, grabbing his wand with his free hand. Pointing it at his arm, he took a shaky breath, his voice trembling as he prepared to utter the incantation to sever it. The green glow had already crept past his wrist, spreading up his arm. His vision blurred, his body shuddering with weakness as he struggled to steady himself.
Just as he was on the verge of collapse, something deep within him stirred. With a single powerful heartbeat, it rose from his chest and flooded outward.
Black smoke-like tendrils seeped inside his veins, snaking rapidly toward the invasive green glow. The two forces collided, a violent struggle playing out under his skin. Jakob watched, barely conscious, as the darkness overwhelmed the green, pushing it back inch by inch.
The green liquid began spilling from his wound, dripping onto the black onyx pedestal and pooling on the floor. The darkness relentlessly pushed forward, expelling the last traces of the green substance until his veins were clear.
Jakob fell to his knees, his chest heaving, giving a faint, relieved smile as the last green glow disappeared. But the darkness didn't stop there. It seeped out from his hand and coiled around the pedestal, swirling like a vengeful storm. Cracks began to spiderweb across the stone's surface before, with a sharp crack, the onyx shattered, scattering shards across the floor.
Jakob gasped as his hand came free, feeling a relief he never thought he would experience. He stared at his palm, watching as the dark smoke retracted, curling back into him like a guardian returning to its post.
"Thanks," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible but filled with gratitude.
As the last tendrils of darkness disappeared, Jakob flexed his fingers, frowning. The familiar red glow of his healing magic didn't return.
"Don't fucking tell me that it…" he growled in anger. But just as a new wave of panic began to rise, the crimson light began to faintly flicker to life again, sluggish and weaker than before, but it was still there.
He exhaled in relief, leaning back against the chamber wall, his body trembling with exhaustion.
It was still working—but not as it once had. The realization settled in Jakob's mind like a weight. He glared at the shattered pedestal pieces scattered across the floor, frustration simmering in his chest.
"If I'd known it would cost me a piece of the Philosopher's Stone shard, I never would've touched that cursed thing," he muttered bitterly.
As the cut on his palm finally closed, he flexed his fingers, noting how sluggish the process had been. I hope this is only temporary, he thought, though deep down, he knew it wouldn't return to what it once was.
Jakob straightened, his eyes falling on the wooden lever, which was now visible where the pedestal had stood. It was dark and scuffed, jutting out just enough to catch his attention. He stepped closer, his shoe brushing aside fragments of the shattered onyx stone.
For a moment, he hesitated, his hand hovering above the handle. Something about it felt wrong, a prickle of unease creeping along his skin. Ignoring it, he wrapped his fingers around the rough, cool wood. Without another thought, he pulled it down with a little more force than necessary.
A deep groan echoed through the chamber walls, the lever sliding smoothly back into the stone as though it had never existed. Jakob blinked, watching as a section of the wall shifted inward to reveal a hidden passage beyond.
"Slytherin's private studies," he proclaimed victoriously with a smile to match it.
Jakob moved carefully, his wand casting just enough light to guide his steps. Behind him, the entrance rumbled shut with a heavy thud. Torches along the walls flared to life, their flickering light casting dancing shadows around him. He paused, tilting his head slightly at the faint, familiar sound of stone snakes locking back into place.
His gaze drifted to a simple iron handle now fixed to the smooth stone where the entrance had been. Letting out a low, humourless chuckle, he stepped closer.
"So, nearly die getting in, but it's just this to leave?" he mused, brushing his fingers over the cool metal before turning away.
"Very clever, Salazar," he muttered dryly, his lips twitching into a smirk as he turned back toward the revealed room.
The room was cloaked in thick spiderwebs, their delicate threads shimmering faintly in the torchlight. Dust blanketed every surface, a testament to centuries of neglect. The air carried a dry, stale scent as though it had been sealed away since the time of Salazar Slytherin himself.
Jakob's eyes swept over the space, taking in its understated grandeur. Against the far wall stood a tall, narrow bookshelf; its dark wood warped slightly with age, yet it still looked elegant.
The spines of the books it held were bound in rich, faded leather, raised with unfamiliar titles in curling script. Some were sealed with heavy clasps, their very presence whispering of knowledge that wasn't meant for everyone to see.
At the centre of the room stood a black desk, its surface cloaked with a thick layer of dust. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the edges sharp and clean, while intricate carvings of serpents coiled along its sides. Behind it stood a grand chair with a high back and armrests adorned with silver serpent motifs. It was reminiscent of the queen's throne in the Slytherin Five's private room, though this one was built more for comfort than for a show of power.
Jakob stepped further into the room, brushing cobwebs aside as he approached the bookshelf. His fingers itched to touch the spines, to open the heavy tomes and uncover the secrets they held. His gaze darted across the titles, many written in old, unfamiliar scripts, while others bore no titles at all.
A low, contented hum escaped him as his eyes roamed over the collection. "Where to even begin?" he murmured, running a hand over the nearest shelf and stirring a small cloud of dust.
He pulled one of the books from the shelf, its heavy weight settling in his hands. Dragging his fingers across the cover, he watched as the dust fell away, drifting to the floor like ash.
"Darkest of Magic, Vol. 14," Jakob read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes widened as he opened the book, a grin spreading across his face. Had anyone seen him now, they would have thought he looked like a child unwrapping a long-anticipated Christmas gift.
The first page revealed a cluster of runes, their intricate lines curling and crossing in patterns that left him baffled. The second year frowned slightly, tilting the book closer as though the answer might leap out at him. Still, the meaning was as close to him as ever.
Turning the page, his breath hitched as his eyes fell on a spell.
The title, Instrue Focis, stood bold at the top of the page, the ink so dark it seemed to sink into the parchment. Beneath it, the description read:
To curse your foe, to torment most foul, speak these words while your wand points to the sky. Then, by your will, the heart shall rebel against its fleshly prison, tearing free through the throat it once served. Watch as the curse bends your victim low to spew forth the organ of life and scream in pain until death claims what is owed.
Beneath the description, an illustration sprawled across the page, more grotesque than the words. It showed a man bent forward, his face twisted in terror and pain, his lips stretched grotesquely around the sinews of a heart. Blood dripped down his chin, pooling at his feet, while the heart dangled as though caught halfway between life and death.
Jakob stared at the page for a long moment, his grin slowly widening. He let out a low chuckle as he closed the book. "That must be unpleasant," he murmured to himself with a dark amusement in his eyes.
Without a second thought, he slipped the book inside his robes, patting it as though securing a precious treasure before turning his attention back to the rest of the collection.
Jakob searched the shelves a little longer, his gaze narrowing as a specific title caught his attention. Frowning, he pulled it free. The book's title read Horcruxes: The History and How to Make Them.
He recognized the name of the author embossed on the spine—Herpo the Foul. Jakob raised an intrigued eyebrow as his curiosity piqued and opened it without hesitation.
Skipping past the lengthy preamble, his eyes landed on a page bearing an intricate diagram—a triangle drawn in precise, crimson lines, its edges surrounded by runes. Beneath it, the text began:
For those who seek to defy the natural end, a Horcrux may grant the illusion of immortality. Yet such dark magic demands a sacrifice most terrible. First, a victim—sacrificed within the bounds of the Gelum Triangle ritual. Second, an object—chosen as the vessel to house the severed fragment of thy soul. Third, the spell itself, which shall tear the soul asunder, dooming the caster to a life both eternal and damned.
Jakob's gaze flicked to the accompanying illustration. The drawing was crude yet unmistakably disgusting.
A man knelt within a carved triangle, his mouth stretched open, teeth sunk into the flesh of another man, lifeless at his feet. Above them, a ghostly light was shown ripping free from the kneeling man's body, floating toward a small vessel at the triangle's centre.
Jakob's lip curled in disdain as he snapped the book shut.
"Not going to eat another person and rip my soul apart. That's just idiocy. Who the bloody hell would be so stupid?" he muttered, shoving the book back onto the shelf with a shake of his head.
Wandering further through the room, the teenage boy's eyes scanned the shelves for anything else of interest. Among the dusty tomes, two titles dedicated to Parselmagic caught his attention, their worn covers still readable. One, in particular, stood out—Healing Through Parseltongue.
"Looks like this could come in handy," he muttered, slipping the book into his robes alongside the others.
Taking another slow turn around the room, Jakob's gaze swept over every detail. He was careful not to touch anything too obvious or tempting, the memory of the pedestal and its cost still fresh in his mind.
One particular item caught his eye—a glass sphere housing a swirling mix of green and dark matter. Intrigued, he leaned in slightly, studying the rune etched onto its surface. It looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
Jakob's fingers twitched with the urge to inspect it further, but he shook his head, forcing his curiosity aside. Whatever it was wasn't worth the risk.
Just as he was about to call it a day, a faint flicker caught his attention. The torchlight near the wall behind the chair, its flame's movement, was slightly off from the rest. Frowning, Jakob stepped closer.
He ran his hand along the wall, his fingers brushing over the cool stone until he felt it—a faint draft, subtle, but it was there.
Taking a step back, he tilted his head in curiosity.
"Open," he hissed, half-expecting nothing to happen.
The wall shuddered and slid aside, revealing a dark, narrow passage leading further into the unknown.
Jakob's lips curved into a smirk. "I really should learn from my mistakes and not push my luck," he muttered, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him as he eagerly stepped forward. "But where's the fun in that?"
The tunnel stretched ahead, its darkness swallowing everything beyond his arm's reach. The teen drew his wand and flicked it once.
"Lumos,"
The wand tip flared to life yet again, casting a cool, steady glow that danced across the rough stone walls.
Jakob moved carefully along the uneven ground, which began to gradually incline beneath his feet. The slope grew steeper, his shoes scuffing slightly as he adjusted his pace. Just as he thought he might have to climb, the path levelled out into a flight of stairs carved neatly into the stone.
At the top, the stairs ended abruptly at a blank wall of smooth stone.
Jakob stopped, his wand light illuminating the surface. There were no markings, no hinges—nothing to hint at its purpose. But he didn't need a clue. Leaning in slightly, he hissed.
"Open."
The wall shuddered, a low rumble passing through the stone before it slid inward, revealing a new space behind it. Jakob stepped forward, his wand held high—and froze.
"Amy?" Jakob questioned, shocked and confused.
"Jakob?" Amy replied, her expression mirroring his, her voice carrying the same disbelief.
Jakob's gaze fell on the older girl, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of an enchanted wall lamp. She stood in a thin blue bathrobe that clung to her damp skin, the loose tie around her waist allowing it to gape slightly. More than a glimpse of her cleavage was visible, and the hem stopped just above her upper thigh, exposing more of her legs than Jakob had ever seen before. Her wet hair hung in dripping strands, and her wand was raised, aimed straight at him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded sharply. "And where the bloody hell did you even come from?"
Jakob swallowed hard, letting out a nervous laugh as he dropped his wand and raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, let's not do anything rash—"
Amy's expression shifted from surprise to icy suspicion, her grip on her wand tightening. "What did you say to me in the Divination classroom the last time we spoke there?"
Jakob blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "What?"
"Answer the bloody question," she snapped, her voice rising. "Or I swear on Morgana, I'll hex you where you stand."
"Fine, fine!" he said quickly, his hands still raised. "I said that Slytherin's monster was a basilisk!"
Amy stared at him for a long moment before exhaling sharply, lowering her wand slightly. She gave him a quick once-over, her brow furrowing as her expression shifted from suspicion to mild disgust.
"Why are you so dirty?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "And why do you smell like shit?"
Jakob tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid focusing on Amy's legs or the curve of her breasts, but his eyes betrayed him. Finally, while still staring at her, he blurted out, "Can you dress so I can focus?"
Amy glanced down at herself, taking in the state of her robe, before smirking as her gaze returned to him. "Turn around," she said, lazily spinning her wand between her fingers.
Jakob turned slowly, muttering curses under his breath for losing control. Every part of him wanted to risk a glance back, but he forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead.
When Amy finally told him to turn back, he spun around a little too quickly, only to feel an odd pang of disappointment when he saw her now dressed in her private clothes. They were far less distracting, much to his dismay.
"Now tell me," Amy said, crossing her arms as she leaned slightly against the desk. "Why are you here?"
Jakob hesitated, his mind scrambling for something convincing. "I found this tunnel, and it opened when I pushed it, so… I went inside, and, well, here I am," he said, the words spilling out awkwardly. He tried to focus on spinning a believable lie, but his thoughts kept drifting back to how distracting she had looked just moments ago.
"Really?" Amy asked, her tone dripping with mock disbelief. "And where exactly was this tunnel? The sewers?"
"Yeah, it was actually, I…" Jakob began but stopped mid-sentence, frowning. "How did you—?"
She gestured at him, her eyes flicking over his dirt-streaked face, his robes spattered with muck, and the strong smell lingering around him. "It wasn't exactly a hard guess."
"Oh. Yeah. Figures," he muttered, glancing down at himself with a grimace. "I should go."
Without waiting for her response, Jakob turned quickly and headed for the door.
"Wait." Her voice cut through his stride, rooting him in place. His jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes briefly closing. Damn it. So close.
"Why were you in the sewers? And why would it lead into the queen's chambers?" she asked, her tone neutral, though her gaze was anything more than that.
Jakob turned slowly, already crafting his response. "Saliza spotted something strange near the forest," he stated evenly. "I followed her and found a tunnel. It wasn't until I was halfway through that I realized it connected to the sewers. At that point, I figured it might lead me back to the castle, so I kept going. As why it led here..." he said and shrugged. "No idea. Maybe a secret passage? Hogwart is filled with them."
Amy's eyebrow arched, scepticism flashing across her face as she crossed her arms. "And that's it? There's nothing you're leaving out, Jakob?"
He met her gaze with a faint smile, tilting his head just enough to seem at ease. "If I were keeping secrets, would I have come to you about the basilisk?"
Her gaze didn't waver. She stepped closer, her tone cutting through the quiet like a knife. "I remember that conversation ending in a way you didn't like."
Jakob's posture remained steady as he raised his chin slightly. "I came to you because I trust you," he said firmly. "What happened after doesn't change that."
The room seemed to hold its breath as Amy's sharp eyes locked on his, dissecting every emotion, every expression, every twitch of his features. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Jakob didn't move. He didn't flinch.
Eventually, her shoulders relaxed, the tension in her stance softening. A small, reluctant smile flickered across her lips.
"Let me go out first," Amy said quietly, her voice still firm but lacking its earlier edge. "I'll clear away any students still lurking around. Then, you go straight to your room. There's been another attack—another mudblood has been petrified."
Her eyes looked him over one last time. "With the way you look right now, it wouldn't be good if anyone saw you."
She didn't wait for a reply before brushing past him. Jakob's chest tightened, a cold weight pressing harder than he anticipated as a thought struck him—what if it had been Hermione?
"Who?" he asked, his voice carefully masked, even as his mouth turned dry.
Amy paused at the door to the Slytherin common room, her hand resting lightly on the handle. She glanced over her shoulder, a flicker of thought crossing her face before she answered. "Someone in your year."
Jakob stiffened, his stomach twisting. Shit.
"Sally-Anne Perks, I think."
The relief that washed over him almost made his legs buckle, but he forced himself to keep his composure and expression neutral.
"Right. She's in Hufflepuff, isn't she?" He added a small shrug, feigning indifference.
Amy responded with a disinterested shrug of her own, clearly done with the topic. Without another word, she slipped out, leaving him alone in the room.
The minutes dragged, each one stretching endlessly as restlessness clawed at him. Just as he began to pace, the door creaked open again.
Amy stepped inside, releasing an exasperated sigh as she raked a hand through her curls, irritation flickering across her face.
"All clear," she said, her tone hinting at frustration.
"What happened out there?" Jakob asked, offering her a confused smile.
Amy sighed again, heavier this time. "I told everyone to go to bed. But apparently, 'go to bed' translates to 'please finish your tasks and make me wait.'" She shook her head, muttering, "Morgana, I miss the days when I could curse whoever annoyed me."
Jakob's lips curved into a sympathetic smile. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing a great job. A good queen only curses her followers when there are no witnesses," he joked.
Amy's irritation softened, a small, appreciative smile breaking through as she leaned casually against the wall. "You should get moving before they come back," she said, tilting her head toward the door.
Jakob nodded and moved to leave, only to freeze when Amy's wand rose, its tip pointed directly at his chest.
"How rude. No goodbye kiss?" she asked, her tone light, though an unmistakable edge of challenge lingered in her words.
He blinked, caught completely off guard. "You seriously want me to kiss you right now?"
Amy's smirk deepened. "Oh, I do."
Before he could reply, she stepped closer, her lips brushing against his in a quick yet passionate kiss, leaving him slightly off balance.
She pulled back, the smirk softening into something lighter as she flicked her wand toward the door. "Go," she said, airily as though nothing unusual had just transpired.
Jakob lingered for a moment, his thoughts scrambling to catch up before giving a hasty nod and finally stepping out.
He made his way to his dormitory, his black robes swishing softly with each step, leaving behind a faint but unmistakable stench that would undoubtedly draw complaints in the morning.
Pushing open the door, he entered to find Pansy at her desk. She sat with her legs crossed, clad in soft green pyjamas, her quill scratching sharply against parchment. Her irritation was clear in the aggressive rhythm of her strokes, but the smell hit her before she even turned.
"Merlin's beard, Jakob!" she exclaimed, recoiling as she set her quill down with a clatter. Her nose wrinkled as she turned to glare at him. "What in Salazar's name is that? Have you been bathing in troll sweat?"
Jakob leaned casually against the doorframe, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. "Care to guess, or should I just take a shower first?"
Pansy pinched her nose dramatically and pierced him with an unwavering glare. "Please, spare me the theatrics. The bathroom's all yours."
Jakob didn't move, but his smirk grew wider as he seemed to enjoy the moment.
"Don't just stand there grinning like an idiot! You are stinking up the dorm!"
With a soft chuckle, Jakob pushed off the frame, making his way to the bathroom. "Don't wait up. It's been a long day."
Pansy rolled her eyes as the door clicked behind him, shaking her head. "Why does he always find new ways to surprise me with his stupidity?" she muttered. However, she couldn't stop the gentle smile from forcing its way onto her lips as she heard the faint sound of his humming over the rush of water.
When Jakob emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and his composure restored, he found his roommate still seated at her desk. She turned to face him, her sharp eyes scanning him critically.
"Now that you don't look, smell, or act like a troll, care to fill me in on your latest adventure?" she questioned sarcastically with a hint of genuine curiosity.
Jakob shrugged nonchalantly, waving his hand like the information he was about to offer wasn't that interesting. "Nothing special. Just found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and took a little stroll."
Pansy's quill slipped from her fingers, her mouth falling open briefly before she recovered, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. "You were in the Chamber when the Mudblood was attacked?" she pressed, her voice tinged with both curiosity and incredulity.
Jakob crossed the room and flopped onto his bed, propping himself up against the headboard. "Yeah," he said simply. "It's strange, though. I didn't hear a thing. If I'd walked in a moment later, I might've been the next victim."
Pansy stood, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she stared him down. "Jake, you've got to stop this reckless, Gryffindor behavior. Don't you realize you're not immortal?"
Jakob glanced up at her, noting the genuine worry etched across her face. He sighed, his voice softening. "I'll be more careful," he promised. Then, his expression shifted as excitement began sparking in his eyes. "But you have to see this—I found books down there. Salazar had a real kink for dark magic. There's this spell I need to show you. You won't believe it."
Despite herself, Pansy couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, her worry momentarily melting away. "You and your obsession with old, dusty books," she teased, shaking her head. "Alright, let's see it then."
Later that evening, they sprawled across Jakob's side of the bed, surrounded by the three ancient tomes. Jakob flipped through the pages excitedly, reading the books aloud with a clear fascination.
Pansy lay on his arm next to him, her right leg over his, listening intently at first and occasionally chiming in with questions or sarcastic comments.
But as the hours passed, her nods became slower, her eyelids heavier. Eventually, she drifted off, her head slowly dropping to the side as she snuggled against his neck, falling asleep.
Jakob glanced down, his expression softening with quiet amusement. For a moment, he hesitated, then carefully shifted the book to one side, making sure not to wake her.
His voice softened to a murmur as he continued reading—more to himself now, the dim glow of the room casting their quiet moment in a rare, peaceful light.
The next morning, the Slytherins gathered near the notice board outside the great hall after breakfast, drawn by the commotion surrounding a new poster.
Flanked by his usual group of friends, Jakob approached the crowd to see what the fuss was about. As he got closer, Professor Lockhart turned, his signature dazzling smile already in place.
"Ah! Mr. Quade!" Lockhart exclaimed, stepping toward him with outstretched arms. "My dearest fan and friend. I trust you'll be attending?"
Before Jakob could respond, Lockhart clapped a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be friendly but landed somewhere closer to theatrical. Jakob raised an eyebrow, his irritation barely concealed.
With a dramatic flourish, the defence against the dark arts professor strode away, leaving Jakob to roll his eyes in exasperation. Jakob turned to Draco, who appeared just as confused—and a little disgusted. With a shrug, the raven-haired boy nodded toward the poster, and the two boys shifted their focus to read it more closely.
"Duelling club?" Jakob muttered, reading the bold title on the parchment.
"Wicked," Draco murmured with clear interest. His gaze drifted toward the Gryffindors approaching the notice board, their leader flanked by a cluster of housemates.
Draco smirked, his tone dripping with disdain as he said loudly, "Bet I could take down the blood traitor who lived."
Theo snickered beside him, raising a hand for a high five, which Draco eagerly returned. Jakob let out a mocking chuckle directed toward the Gryffindors, but his eyes held a subtle, calculating readiness, fully aware they might retaliate.
Harry stepped forward, his expression hardening as he caught Draco's remark. "Big words for someone who only caught the Snitch because the other Seeker was knocked out of the game, Malfoy."
Jakob groaned audibly, clearly bored by the comeback, but before he could respond, Pansy stepped forward.
"Oh, please," she drawled, crossing her arms and fixing Harry with a cold stare. "Potter, you're hardly in a position to talk. You spent three days crying in the hospital wing after Jake knocked you out last match. Did you cry to Mummy and Daddy about it? I heard your sister was there too—crying right along with you."
Jakob laughed out loud, as did many others, motivating Pansy to press further. "Merlin, Potter, even the Ravenclaws are laughing at you now," she sneered, gesturing toward a few nearby students who were stifling their laughter alongside the Slytherins. "Isn't it embarrassing to be so worthless?"
Harry's face darkened, his hand darting toward his wand as his anger boiled over. But before he could so much as draw it, Jakob's wand was already in his hand, aimed steadily at the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Point that disgusting thing at her," Jakob said coldly, his voice dropping into a dangerously low tone, "and it'll be the last thing you do before waking up in the hospital wing again, Potter."
The corridor fell deathly silent, all eyes on Harry. He glared at Jakob, his jaw clenched as he silently debated whether it was worth drawing his wand and risking the consequences.
Draco, standing just behind Jakob, looked momentarily surprised but quickly recovered, his trademark smirk creeping back onto his face as he watched the scene unfold.
Pansy edged closer to Jakob, her chin tilted up defiantly, her gaze fixed on Harry with barely concealed glee. "Go on, Potter," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "Let's see how brave you really are."
"Please lower it, Jakob," Hermione blurted out, her voice soft but firm.
The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, and the moment they hung in the air, her eyes widened in horror. She clapped her hand over her mouth like she'd uttered a forbidden curse.
Jakob froze, his head slowly turning toward her. His shock was evident, his green eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. The world around them seemed to blur, the murmur of students fading under the crushing weight of her mistake.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. She had known the rules—never address him in public, never acknowledge their secret friendship. She had broken the unspoken agreement that kept them both safe and now she had handed him the burden of fixing this.
Ivy stood nearby, her expression mirroring Jakob's disbelief. But unlike the others, she caught the flicker of pain in his eyes as he processed what Hermione had done.
Jakob's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he made his decision.
"You don't have the right to call me by my first name," Jakob hissed, his voice slicing through the tense silence like a blade. Each word dripped with venom as he added, "And you have no right to even look at me, you filthy little Mudblood."
The reaction was immediate—gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd like a wave.
Hermione stood frozen, her face pale, her lips trembling as though she wanted to say something but couldn't. Her mind screamed at her to defend herself, to explain, to beg for forgiveness, but no words came. She was paralyzed, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she could have ever imagined.
Jakob's eyes stayed locked on hers, and for a fleeting moment, he saw past the present.
He saw the girl who had come to him that first night—timid and grateful, alone and afraid. The girl who had thanked him in a quiet whisper for the smallest act of kindness. And now, like then, he had hurt her. He had shattered something fragile and precious, and the pain of it stabbed him like a dagger to the chest.
But what choice did he have?
"Flippendo!"
Jakob barely registered what was happening before he saw the crimson glow reflected on Hermione's tear-filled cheek, her face frozen in shock. Time seemed to slow as his eyes snapped to the bolt of red light hurtling straight toward him. He instinctively raised his wand, but before he could act, a blur of movement crossed his vision.
Theo stepped in front of him.
The spell struck the Nott heir straight in the chest, sending him flying backwards.
Gasps erupted from the surrounding students as Theo crashed hard onto the stone floor, sliding several meters before coming to a stop. A tense silence followed, broken only by his pained groan as he tried to sit up.
Jakob stared after him, momentarily stunned. Draco and Goyle rushed hurriedly to their downed friend's side.
But Jakob's shock was brief, quickly replaced by a burning fury.
His head snapped toward the caster.
Ron, who had just cast the jinx, looked as shocked as the other students around him. He struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed—a slimy Slytherin sacrificing himself for another, even worse Slytherin.
Jakob's glare hardened, his expression turning darker as the grip on his wand tightened, a single thought burning in his mind: Oh, I hope you enjoy seeing your own heart, Weasley.
He raised his wand, but before he could act, a voice sliced through the commotion.
"What is going on here?"
The students parted instinctively as Professor Snape strode forward, his robes billowing so sharply they slapped a Hufflepuff across the face. The girl let out a startled, pained yelp, raising a hand to her cheek, but she didn't dare utter a word. Snape, utterly indifferent, continued his march, not even sparing her so much as a glance.
He stopped in the centre of it all and took in the scene. His sharp gaze swept across the gathered students, lingering on Jakob, who had lowered his wand and adopted a neutral expression.
"He shot a jinx at Nott!" Pansy yelled, pointing an accusatory finger towards Ron, whose face flushed with defiance.
"He called Hermione a Mudblood!" Harry interjected angrily, pointing back at Jakob.
"Silence!" Snape hissed, his tone cutting through the different shouts of accusations like a knife.
He turned his sharp gaze to Harry, his expression colder than ever. "Ten points from Gryffindor for uttering that word. And I would suggest you say nothing more if you wish to keep the rest."
The Gryffindors groaned and huffed in silent protest, but none dared to speak again.
Snape's piercing gaze shifted to Jakob, his dark eyes narrowing. The professor noticed how Jakob's glance flicked briefly to Hermione before he quickly averted his gaze in a way the professor recognized all too well.
"Is this true, Mr. Quade? Did Weasley strike Mr. Nott with a jinx?" Snape's voice was calm but carried a dangerous edge.
Jakob hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze meeting Hermione's. Her eyes shimmered with tears before she turned and fled, Ivy quickly following after her.
Jakob's jaw tightened as he looked around at his friends, all of whom stared at him expectantly.
"Yes, Professor," Jakob finally said with a steady voice. "He did. The spell was aimed at me, but Theo took it instead."
Smirks spread across the faces of the Slytherins as they exchanged satisfied glances. Snape's expression didn't change, but he gave a curt nod.
"Another fifteen points from Gryffindor," he announced coldly. "And fifteen points to Slytherin for an excellent display of unity."
The Gryffindors erupted in protests, but Snape's glare silenced them instantly. He moved to Theo, flicking his wand a few times over the boy to ensure there was no lasting harm. Satisfied, he straightened and addressed the crowd.
"Disperse," Snape commanded curtly, and the students began to move toward their respective classes.
As Jakob and his friends passed the Gryffindors, he discreetly reached out and grabbed Ron's arm firmly.
"If you ever try to attack me again, Weasley…" Jakob began, his voice calm—too calm.
Ron yanked his arm free, glaring at him. "You'll what? Rip my heart out or something, you wannabe Death Eater?"
Jakob tilted his head, his lips curling into a chillingly amused smile. "Something like that," he replied softly. His tone was so honest, so sincere, that Ron felt a cold shiver run down his spine as though an icy spider had crawled over him. His face faltered, and he took a small step back, suddenly uncertain.
Jakob said nothing more, turning smoothly and continuing toward his next class, his Slytherin friends walking beside him.
The Slytherins walked into their Charms class, joining the already-seated Ravenclaws.
Jakob slid into a seat between Theo and Draco, his mind still buzzing with the morning events. As Professor Flitwick bustled about preparing for the lesson, Jakob nudged Theo lightly with his elbow.
"Thanks, mate," Jakob said in a low voice, ensuring it wouldn't carry. "But I have to ask…"
"Why did I do it?" Theo interrupted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair.
Jakob nodded, genuinely curious. Theo was a good friend, but he hadn't imagined him stepping into harm's way like that.
"Yeah," Jakob admitted.
"You didn't have to take a spell straight to the chest for me."
Theo shrugged lightly as if the answer to his question was the simplest thing in the world. "I don't like owing people anything," he replied casually.
Jakob frowned, his confusion written all over his face. "You don't owe me anything."
Theo turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. "You helped my sister," he countered simply. "I helped you. Now we're even."
Jakob opened his mouth to retort, to argue that it wasn't the same, but a small shake of Draco's head caught his attention.
Jakob hesitated, letting out a quiet sigh instead. Finally, he offered Theo a small, genuine smile.
"Thanks, mate," he said sincerely.
Draco, who had been unusually quiet, leaned over and whispered to his best friend as the Charms class progressed.
"Mate, why didn't you counter that idiot's jinx? I've seen you. Your reflexes should have caught that."
Lost in his thoughts, Jakob blinked at the question, momentarily confused. He had been staring at the blank parchment in front of him, replaying the look on Hermione's face in his mind—the pain, the betrayal. It gnawed at him louder than the chatter of the class around him.
"I don't know," Jakob replied with a shrug, sounding distant.
Draco frowned, misinterpreting his friend's distraction as frustration over the morning's events. "You're probably just thrown off because of Weasley," he said, his tone light as he tried to shift the mood. "But the way you told that Mudblood off… even I got a bit shocked."
Draco clapped Jakob lightly on the shoulder in approval, but before Jakob could respond, a sharp voice interrupted them.
"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Quade," Flitwick said from the front of the room, his high-pitched voice cutting through the room's hum. "If you don't care to listen, at least be silent so the rest of the class can focus."
Both boys nodded obediently, but as Flitwick turned his attention back to the rest of the class, Draco leaned closer again, his voice lower this time.
"And thanks for, you know… protecting Pansy," he murmured. "I would've done the same, but you were quicker."
Jakob glanced at his best friend, his expression softening. He nodded slightly. "Of course, mate."
As the class shifted to the practical portion of the lesson, the room grew livelier, with students moving about and practising their charms. Jakob caught snippets of whispered conversations, hushed tones that carried his name. His classmates were murmuring about the confrontation in the corridor, about how he had spoken to Hermione.
The weight of it pressed against him, the whispers and pointed glances only reinforcing the unease already twisting in his chest. But Jakob stayed silent, focusing on the charm before him, forcing himself to block out the noise. For now, at least, it was all he could do.
Jakob remained unusually quiet throughout the entire Charms class, one of the rare times he hadn't contributed to earning points for Slytherin. When the lesson ended, he silently gathered his belongings and walked out with the others.
Daphne fell into step beside him as they headed toward the Great Hall.
"Jakob, are you alright?" she probed softly with a hint of worry.
He glanced at her, forcing a small smile to mask the storm inside. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
She studied him for a moment with a sceptical expression. "Nothing. You've just been a bit quiet since the incident this morning."
Jakob reached over, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked. "I guess I'm feeling a bit stupid," he admitted lightly. "You know, almost getting hit by that idiot's jinx. That's all."
Daphne nodded, though her eyes lingered on him with quiet concern. When they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Jakob released her hand, stepping back as if he had just remembered something.
"I forgot my Herbology book upstairs," he said casually. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."
She hesitated but eventually nodded, following the rest of the group inside. Jakob turned, heading toward the Grand Staircase.
He climbed the steps with a neutral expression, blending in seamlessly with the flow of students.
When he reached the sixth floor, he slipped into an empty classroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
With a flick of his wand, he cast a silencing charm around the room. The quiet wrapped around him as he walked to the worn chair at the front of the room and sank into it.
His chest tightened, each breath shallow and uneven. The image of Hermione's heartbroken face replayed in his mind like a cruel echo, sharper with every passing second. The words he'd spat at her earlier ricocheted in his head, louder and more venomous with each repetition.
Jakob's breathing quickened. No matter how much air he dragged into his lungs, it wasn't enough. He tugged at his tie, loosening it as a prickling sensation spread across his skin, like thousands of tiny needles piercing him at once.
Closing his eyes, he willed the feelings to subside, but they didn't obey. Instead, the dark mist began to seep out of him, curling around his body like living shadows. His jaw clenched, fists tightening against the rising tide of energy within him. It rose higher and higher, threatening to tear him apart.
With a sharp inhale, Jakob straightened in his chair—and screamed.
The dark mist erupted outward, slamming into the walls with a force that left deep dents in the stone. The room shook violently, pieces of rock crumbling to the floor as the energy unleashed itself. Then, as quickly as it had come, it vanished, leaving the room silent and still once more.
Jakob sat motionless, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The crushing weight on his chest eased, the tightness in his throat loosening bit by bit. He dragged a trembling hand through his now-damp hair, leaning back in the chair, his breathing gradually evening out.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion settled over him. His hands trembled slightly, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece himself back together.
After dinner, the Great Hall had been transformed. Jakob entered with Pansy and Draco, his eyes immediately drawn to the long duelling stage set up in the hall's centre.
A crowd of students gathered around it, their excitement buzzing, almost making the air in the hall feel electric.
Jakob, however, hung back, positioning himself near the wall close to the entrance where there were far fewer students.
"Can't we stand a bit closer?" Draco asked, glancing at the crowd near the stage.
"I'll go with you," Pansy offered, looking questioningly between the two boys.
"Don't look at me," Jakob said with a shrug and a faint smile. "Go if you want to. I'll stay here."
Draco shrugged in response, his interest in the duelling far outweighing his curiosity about Jakob's choice. He strode toward the stage, Pansy following behind him as they slipped into the crowd.
Jakob watched them go before briefly scanning the gathering. His stomach tightened as his eyes swept past Hermione, standing near Ron by the stage. He quickly averted his gaze, settling against the wall as he waited for the event to start.
"Not going to stand beside your friends, Mr. Quade?"
The voice startled him slightly, and he turned to find Amy Frome leaning casually against the wall beside him, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement.
Jakob offered her a small smile before turning back toward the stage. "I'm fine here, Miss Frome."
Amy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his casual dismissal. "You don't want to stand closer to the action?" she asked teasingly, pushing off the wall and stepping closer.
Jakob shot her a glance, noting her relaxed demeanour.
"I'm perfectly good here as well," she continued playfully. "And since everyone's attention is on the stage, I suppose I can tolerate the company of a second year—if he behaves himself."
Jakob chuckled softly, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as he met her gaze. "Even though I was here first, it would be my pleasure to have you beside me, Miss Frome."
Amy rolled her eyes at his formality but didn't move away, maintaining her usual unbothered posture.
The room hushed as Gilderoy Lockhart stepped onto the duelling stage with his signature flourish, his bright robes shimmering under the lights. Jakob leaned his head back against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched the spectacle unfold.
"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards of all ages!" Lockhart began, his voice booming with theatrical enthusiasm. "Welcome to what is sure to be the most exciting event of your Hogwarts year—the first meeting of the Duelling Club!"
Jakob rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. This man loves himself more than any of us ever could, he thought, glancing around to see if anyone else shared his scepticism. Most of the students seemed captivated, hanging on Lockhart's every word.
Jakob snorted. "Real tosser, that one."
Beside him, Amy tilted her head slightly, her lips quirking into a faint teasing smirk. "Oh, my sources say the professor likes you."
Jakob raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Keeping tabs on me, Miss Frome?"
Amy didn't respond immediately, her smirk deepening as she stepped a fraction closer to him.
Her gaze flicked toward the crowd of students, who remained captivated by Lockhart's exaggerated tales of his duelling prowess. The professor's voice carried on, regaling the audience with an obviously fabricated account of a duel with a troll in France.
Without a word, Amy's fingers brushed lightly against Jakob's wrist—a touch so faint it might have been accidental.
Jakob stiffened slightly, his eyes darting to her from the corner of his vision. "Amy, stop. Someone might see us," he whispered with a low tone as he checked the surrounding crowd as subtly as possible.
Amy gave him an amused smile and withdrew her hand casually as if nothing had happened. Without another glance at him, she turned and made her way toward the entrance.
When she reached the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder and gesturing with a single finger for him to follow.
Jakob hesitated, glancing around once more. His instincts screamed at him to stay put, to avoid anything that might draw attention. But something in Amy's silent command made him falter. He exhaled quietly, pushing off the wall and followed her out of the Great Hall.
When he stepped into the corridor, the air felt cooler and quieter. Amy was waiting. Before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him toward the shadowed wall behind the doors. Her mischievous smile lingered as she leaned closer.
Jakob, needing the distraction more than he wanted to admit, gave in. He stepped forward, his hand moving to the back of her head as his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that quickly deepened.
Lockhart's voice still droned on from the stage, his exaggerated tales carrying faintly through the closed doors. However, neither Jakob nor Amy paid any mind to it.
His hands moved to hers, intertwining their fingers as he pressed them firmly against the wall, holding her in place as their kiss deepened.
Amy pressed herself closer, her body arching into his, and Jakob responded, his hands wandering over her upper body, exploring her curves and breasts with an intensity only a teenage boy can. She let out a soft sound of approval, her breath hitching as he touched her with more confidence than usual. She tilted her head back slightly, a satisfied smile gracing her lips.
Encouraged, Amy halted her kissing and lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist in a silent invitation. Jakob smirked and accepted, moving his hands under her skirt and lifting her as she braced herself against him.
He leaned into her, his lips trailing down her neck. He tasted it with both his lips, tongue and teeth, hearing her trying to hold her approving and slightly painful moans, feeling himself grow harder at her sound, at her smell, her taste. Just before he was ready to risk it all, not caring about the consequences, they heard it.
"Leave him alone."
Jakob abruptly stopped and pulled back slightly to look at Amy with shocked confusion. She mirrored his expression with her flushed cheeks, her tousled hair falling in loose strands around her face.
He gently let her down, their connection severed as both turned toward the doors.
Curious and worried murmurs sounded from the mass of students and teachers as the faint voice repeated, "Leave him alone!"
They slipped back into the Great Hall, unnoticed in the chaos that was about to erupt.
Jakob's eyes immediately took in the scene before him: Draco stood on one side of the duelling stage, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, while Harry stood on the other, his expression a mix of determination and dread.
Between them, a snake slithered with a dangerous intent toward the crowd, its head low and eyes fixed on its prey.
"Leave him alone!" Harry hissed again, louder this time.
The room was silent except for the snake's hissing response. Jakob's sharp eyes caught the subtle lowering of its head, its aggression visibly disappearing.
Around him, students whispered nervously, their gazes darting between Harry and the snake. Jakob's lips curled into a broad smile as realization dawned.
Harry Potter had just spoken parseltongue.
Jakob glanced back at Amy, who was still catching her breath, her cheeks red and her lips swollen from their earlier moment. She looked at him in surprise, her brow furrowed as she tried to process what had just happened.
Jakob returned his gaze to the stage, his grin widening. The Boy Who Lived just made the biggest mistake of his life, and everyone had been there to witness it.
And among the crowd, he spotted her—the girl he wanted to see it the most, Hermione.
Later that night, the Slytherin common room seemed more alive than usual with the student's animated chatter.
The topic of the hour: whether Harry Potter could possibly be the heir of Slytherin.
Jakob sat on the couch, surrounded by his usual group, while Draco took centre stage in the conversation, gesturing emphatically as he spoke.
"Potter is not the heir of Slytherin. How could a Gryffindor be it?" Draco scoffed in disdain.
"But he spoke to the snake," Crabbe countered, earning a nod of agreement from Goyle.
"Do you really think the Boy Who Lived would start attacking Mudbloods? He's a joke," Blaise said dismissively, shooting a glance at Crabbe.
"But why would he have the ability?" Theo asked, confused, as he looked to Draco for an answer. "Only the heir can speak Parseltongue."
Jakob pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a quiet sigh. Beside him, Pansy sat silently, watching the exchange unfold with mild interest.
"Who the bloody hell cares if he's the heir or not?" Jakob said finally, his tone cutting through the chatter.
"What do you mean?" Daphne frowned curiously. "This is kind of a big deal."
Jakob leaned forward, his gaze sweeping over the group. "I personally agree with Draco—Potter isn't the heir. But wouldn't it be better if the entire school thought he was?"
His question hung in the air, met with puzzled expressions. Seeing their confusion, Jakob sighed and continued.
"That idiot has been a thorn in my side for far too long. I imagine he's not a favorite of yours either, right?"
The group nodded in agreement, muttering their grievances about Potter.
"So here's the thing. We get the whole school to believe he's the heir. Then we just wait until the next attack happens, and—" Jakob clapped his hands together sharply. "Boom! The Boy Who Lived becomes the boy Who got expelled."
Blaise's face lit up with understanding. "Mate, that's brilliant!"
Jakob smirked. "I know. But the best part would be if we made sure he was alone when the next attack happens. That way, there's no doubt he'll take the blame."
"That would be impossible," Draco interjected, shaking his head. "He's always surrounded by people."
Jakob nodded thoughtfully, but then his smile turned sly. "Maybe now, but will they still stand behind him after tonight? He just revealed that he has Salazar's gift—a Slytherin trait. What would his precious friends think of that? We should start being nicer to him, showing everyone that Potter has been recognized as one of us. I know at least one redhead that would throw him into the fire over it."
The group exchanged uncertain glances, the suggestion clearly unsettling. But as they thought it through, the logic became clear even though they still didn't enjoy the thought.
"We start slow," Jakob explained, leaning back against the couch. "Greet him when you pass him, but make sure you only look at him. Let his friends notice the change. Do this, and we'll see how things progress in a few days."
The group nodded, their initial hesitation fading as they began to see the potential in Jakob's plan.
Autumn had turned to winter, and the castle grounds were covered in a delicate white sheet of snow.
Last year, Jakob would have been outside, hurling snowballs with his friends and laughing as they ran through the cold. But this year felt different—he didn't have the energy or the will for such distractions.
While most of the students, including his friends, were outside enjoying the snow, Jakob sat alone in the Great Hall. The room was unusually quiet, with only two Ravenclaw girls seated in a distant corner. One was crying softly, and the other whispered words of comfort, but Jakob didn't notice them. His focus was entirely on the book in front of him and the potion he was carefully tending—a project Professor Snape had assigned for extra credit.
"Haven't I told you that distraction is the most dangerous thing when handling a potion, Mr. Quade?"
Jakob didn't flinch as he knew who the familiar, cutting tone belonged to.
He closed his book, stood, and offered a respectful bow. "Apologies, Professor Snape. I'm simply waiting for the potion to be ready for the next step—which should be in about five seconds."
Snape raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing as he observed the boy. True to Jakob's words, five seconds later, his wand, lying on the table, began to gently vibrate.
"Excuse me for a moment, Professor," Jakob said calmly. He lowered the heat under the cauldron, stirred the potion four times anticlockwise, and added the finely chopped fairy wings. The mixture turned a vibrant shade of green, signalling it was complete for the moment. Jakob secured the lid, knowing it would need to rest for fifteen minutes before the next step.
Satisfied, he turned back to Snape. "All set, Professor."
Snape studied him and the brewing potion for a moment with an unreadable expression before uttering. "Impressive, Mr. Quade. However, do not let confidence turn into arrogance. Harder potions will not forgive even the slightest lapse in concentration."
Jakob nodded. "Of course, professor. Thank you."
Snape gestured toward the bench across from Jakob and sat down—a rare and unexpected move. Jakob frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of it.
"I've noticed you've been quieter lately," Snape stated with an even tone. "I have no interest in hearing your personal issues, but I will offer you some advice."
Jakob remained silent, showing his peaked curiosity with one raised eyebrow. He watched as Snape leaned back slightly, his gaze growing distant.
"When I was young," the potion professor began with a softer-than-usual tone. "I once said something to a friend that I regretted for the rest of my life. I never apologized, and that decision has haunted me since that very day. If you feel similarly about something, do not wait too long. The longer you wait, the harder it becomes."
Jakob's heart began to race, though he masked his expression. Does he know? He wondered. Is this about Hermione? Or something else entirely?
"Do you mind, Professor?" Jakob asked calmly despite the tension building in his chest, "If I may ask. What did you call your friend?"
Snape hesitated, his dark eyes scrutinizing the boy for a second or two before he finally replied. "I called her a Mudblood."
Jakob's eyes widened slightly. The weight of the word, coupled with Snape's admission, made it seem like all the air in the room suddenly became much heavier.
It was clear now—Snape had pieced it together. He must have seen the scene outside the Great Hall, understood the real situation between him and Hermione, and realized the truth.
What now? Jakob thought. Will he tell someone? Will he notify my father?
Snape's sharp gaze seemed to pierce through Jakob's spiralling thoughts. Standing abruptly, he adjusted his robes and fixed the boy with a pointed look. "I don't usually discuss personal matters with my students. And if I hear that you've spoken of this to anyone…" His voice dropped to a low, threatening tone. "I. Will. Make. Sure. You. Regret. It."
Without waiting for a response, Snape swept away, his robes billowing behind him.
Jakob exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his body. He allowed himself a faint smile as he watched Snape's retreating figure. The professor wouldn't tell a soul.
Maybe he's right, thought Jakob as he turned back to his potion. Perhaps I should talk to her after Christmas.
Jakob stared at the potion before him, lost in thought for a moment over the conversation.
With a flick of his wand, he cast a time-freezing spell on it, ensuring it would remain as it was until his next free time.
Methodically, he began cleaning up his workspace, ready to leave, when the distinct flapping of wings caught his attention.
Looking up, Jakob frowned as a large black great horned owl soared gracefully into the Great Hall. He recognized it immediately—it was his father's owl. The bird swooped down, landing before him, and released a letter sealed with the Quade family crest.
He hasn't sent me letters since I started here. Why now?
The owl hooted softly as Jakob absently petted its sleek feathers, offering it a small piece of rat tail from his ingredients. The owl took the offering and flew off, leaving him alone with the letter. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the parchment and read.
To Jakob Quade, Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Quade,
My son,
This would have been a surprise, but as plans have changed, I must inform you beforehand.
You, along with Ella and Susie, will be travelling to Sweden to witness a winter solstice that occurs only once every 150 years. The darkest night will be darker still, as the moon will not show, and the ancient Druids of Sweden will perform their sacred rite. If you are fortunate, you may witness something extraordinary—something you will never forget.
I intended to accompany you myself, but circumstances have led to Emma and me travelling to France for business during the winter.
P.S.: I expect you to learn from this experience. Write a detailed paper upon your return—no excuses.
- Thomas Quade
Jakob sighed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he folded the letter. So much for spending the holidays at home, he thought. With a flick of his wand, the parchment ignited, the flames consuming it in seconds until only ash remained.
Though disappointment lingered, he found a small silver lining. At least I'll get some time with Ella and Susie, he mused, turning back to his workspace and resuming the task of tidying up.
Finally finished, Jakob gathered his cauldron in one hand, his bag in the other, and started toward the exit.
As he neared the entrance, he caught sight of Harry and Ivy Potter walking toward him. The twins noticed him simultaneously, their expressions shifting, postures straightening defensively as though bracing for a confrontation.
Jakob slowed his pace slightly, meeting Harry's gaze with a calm, neutral expression. "Heir Potter," he said simply, giving a small nod of acknowledgement before continuing past them without a glance back.
Harry froze mid-step, his glare melting into wide-eyed surprise. Ivy, just as taken aback, turned to her brother. Together, they stood there, staring after Jakob as he disappeared around the corner without another word.
"What the hell?" Harry muttered, his brow furrowed. "Did you just see that? Or did the Quade snake actually greet me as Heir Potter and walk away? No sneer, no threats. He looked… neutral. Am I sick?"
Ivy glanced back toward the hallway where Jakob had disappeared, a faintly sad smile tugging at her lips. "Who knows, Harry," she said softly, a note of sympathy in her voice. "Sometimes, when people realize they've made mistakes, they try to change."
Harry scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're joking, right? Why would he change? Just a few days ago, he called Hermione a Mudblood. Or did you forget?" His tone grew sharper as he glared in the direction Jakob had gone. "Quade hasn't changed."
Ivy didn't respond. Instead, she turned and headed into the Great Hall, Harry following closely behind.
"Hey, by the way," Harry said as they stepped inside. "Mum told me about the trip. Are you excited to go to Sweden?"