Term's End.
A new Dumbledore stood at the podium, a far outcry of the cheerful grandfather earlier. Even Jago could see the man was barely holding it together, a thunderstorm of anger and frustration bubbled in his eyes.
"As many of you are now aware," he'd begun, his voice loud and demanding, "there has been an incident of utmost importance within these walls. A powerful magical artifact has gone missing, and while I cannot share the specifics, I must impress upon you the seriousness of this matter. The castle has been sealed with protective wards, and every effort is being made to ensure its recovery."
Jago's heart had nearly stopped at those words.
The dormitory was silent except for the occasional snore from Ron and Dean. The Stone burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of what he'd done. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing. The search had been relentless. Dumbledore, looking more haggard than Jago had ever seen him, had sealed the castle with arcane wards. Ghosts and portraits scoured every corner, dragging students out of hiding spots. Jago had watched as older students were hauled before Dumbledore, their stashes of contraband—booze, cigarettes, dark tomes—spilled out for all to see.
It was as if the man could see through stone, flesh, and thoughts. Luckily, he had yet to turn his formidable intellect against Jago. Jago gingerly got out from his bedside and looked about. A pang of guilt hit him when he saw Neville's empty bed. The boy had survived the worst of it physically, but mentally? He had been a wreck. Thus, he had been reloacted to his ancestral manor for an early summer break.
It wasn't just Neville who had been touched by Apollo's curse.
Walk three times in front of the room, wishing for whatever you want. A hidden door will take you there.
"What if they catch me? What if this is a trap?" Jago wondered.
"And what if it isn't?" his alter ego whispered smoothly in his mind. "You need answers. The castle is asleep. Take the chance before it's too late."
He crept towards where Neville's bed and clutched the footside of it, begging for a silent apology for his cowardice. Of course, the forgiveness never came. Gathering his wits, Jago left the dorm. He sneaked through dime a dozen obstacles to reach his goal.
Finally, he reached the corridor from his dream.
"Three times," Jago muttered, drawing in a shaky breath. He placed one foot before the other and began pacing.
"I need a place to hide something," he whispered on the first pass, his voice barely audible.
"I need a safe place to keep it," he repeated on the second, the words steadier now.
"I need to be sure no one can find it," he finished on the third, his steps slowing as his heart raced.
With a soft click, a hidden door materialized in the wall before him. Jago hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. The voice in his head urged him forward, coaxing him with promises of safety and control.
"You don't have a choice," it whispered.
He opened the door and slipped inside.
The Room of Requirement was vast and cluttered, filled with mountains of discarded objects: old books, broken furniture, chipped cauldrons, and forgotten trinkets piled high in precarious stacks.
Jago's breath hitched as he stepped further into the room, his boots echoing softly against the cold stone floor. His hand instinctively slipped into his pocket, clutching the Stone.
"It's perfect," he murmured, gazing around.
"It's better than perfect," the voice purred. "It's your sanctuary now."
But Jago hesitated. Something about the room, despite its apparent solitude, felt too convenient. Too easy. He turned, half expecting someone to appear behind him, but the door had vanished, leaving him alone.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Jago muttered.
The Stone seemed to glow brighter in his palm, and for a moment, he imagined the faces of Hermione and Neville flickering in its surface. Regret and anger churned within him, warring for dominance.
He tightened his grip. "You have a choice," he told himself. "You always have a choice."
But the voice inside him laughed softly. "Not tonight."
With trembling hands, Jago placed the Stone into the chest and closed the lid
Summer Break
Jago scowled in frustration at the orphanage's environment. Neither at Hogwarts nor here could he catch a break from weeping faces. His own problems were bad enough but it seemed the universe itself was hellbent on drowning him in despair.
News of NATO's retreat from Poland dominated the screen, the words scrolling at the bottom like an endless reminder of impending doom. Terms like "juggernaut" and "Soviet advance" echoed across the room. The news sent adults clutching at tissues and whispering prayers.
But Jago didn't care about NATO or the Soviets or who would claim mainland Europe next.
All he could think about were Hermione's lifeless eyes staring back at him. Every scream Neville let out before collapsing reared up in his ears like the screech of a broken train. He curled his hands into tight fists under the table, nails digging into his palms as he tried—and failed—to shove those memories down. The Stone still felt heavy in his mind. Its warmth and comfort felt like a mocking laughter rather than anything else.
Before he could sink any deeper into his torment, the grainy voice of the orphanage director crackled over the intercom:
"Attention. All boys to the gathering yard immediately. I repeat, all boys to the yard."
A collective groan rippled through the room, and chairs scraped noisily against the floor as the boys grudgingly complied. Jago shuffled behind the others, letting himself fall toward the back of the pack.
The yard was quiet except for the shuffling of tired feet and the distant cry of gulls. The boys stood aimlessly, looking at one another in confusion as there seemed to be no one waiting for them.
"What's this about?" One boy asked.
"Fuck this, anyone got a cig?" Another asked.
Just as the boys began to chatter and grow rowdy, a loud, piercing whistle cut through the air like a knife. Jago's muscles instinctively tensed, and the group quickly straightened, their rebellion snuffed out by the shrill sound.
From the far corner of the yard, two men strode forward, their crisp military uniforms practically gleaming under the overcast sky. The taller of the pair, younger and sharp-eyed, stepped forward, his presence alone enough to command attention.
"Form up. Lines of five!" he barked, his voice carrying authority that didn't need a second order.
The boys hesitated for only a moment before snapping into clumsy lines, their disorder soon ironed out by the sharp, watchful gaze of the younger man. A tense silence fell as the senior officer—an older, graying man with a weathered face—stepped into the middle of the yard.
The war is evolving," the older man began.
Evolving? Jago thought. What a strange way to say we're getting our arses kicked.
"The Prime Minister's office, in conjunction with the Crown, has authorized a state of general mobilization," the officer continued. "While it is unlikely boys under sixteen will serve on the front lines, you will undergo emergency training effective immediately."
Panicked murmurs broke out at that.
"You will be taught evacuation protocols, basic first aid, survival skills, and physical training," the older officer went on. "Each generation faces its challenges. Our fathers and grandfathers repelled the darkness of the Third Reich, securing peace and liberty for the free world. Today, you stand at the edge of another crisis—one that demands bravery, resilience, and discipline."
The man stood silent for a moment before beginning anew.
"The free world will not cede to the madness of the Bolshevik Baboonry as long as its youth stand defiant with the love of liberty in their hearts." The man rambled on.
Jago resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Great. More guilt, more responsibility. Just what I need.
Hogwarts Express
The steady chug of the Hogwarts Express filled the air as Jago took a deep breath.
This was nice. This was home.
He was now back in familiar territory.
He wasn't the same boy who had boarded the train a year ago. Taller, broader, and sporting a healthy glow, he adjusted his too-tight shirt awkwardly as he walked down the corridor of the train. Each step felt lighter, his muscles carrying him with an ease that came from months of early morning jogs, push-ups, and drills under the stern gaze of a retired colonel who brooked no nonsense.
"Oi, Sev! Look at you!" Seamus's voice greeted him as he found their compartment. The Irish boy gave a loud whistle, leaning out from the sliding door to size him up. "What's in the pumpkin juice over at that orphanage of yours?"
Jago grinned sheepishly and ducked inside. "Something like boot polish and a bucket of sweat," he quipped
"Blimey, Jago," Ron said, nudging him with a grin. "You look like a second year Cederic Diggory!"
Jago tugged at the collar of his undersized shirt, looking faintly embarrassed. "Exercise, lots of it," he admitted. "Old colonel wouldn't let us sit still. First thing every morning, running laps. Drills after that. Wasn't much fun at first, but I guess it paid off."
"Paid off?" Seamus said with mock indignation, clapping Jago on the back. "Mate, you look like you could carry three trolls across the common room and not break a sweat. You're practically glowing!"
Dean leaned forward, his expression more earnest. "I mean it, Jago," he said. "You look… better. A lot better than you did last year."
"Thanks," Jago replied, his voice softer as he took the compliment. "Not feeling like death warmed over helps too."
"You could've sent an owl or something," Ron chimed in, pulling a Chocolate Frog from his pocket and tossing one to Jago. "Kept us guessing all summer. Last I heard, you were off training to fight Bolshies or something."
Seamus barked a laugh. "What'd they call it again? The hope of the free world?"
Jago laughed, albeit faintly. "Yeah, something like that. Colonel kept saying we had to be 'battle-ready.' Not that we're going anywhere near a battlefield. It's just drills and prep work in case something big happens."
His friends nodded, but the chatter fizzled out when they noticed Jago tugging again at his shirt's tight sleeves. Dean tilted his head, picking up on it first.
"Those don't fit you anymore, do they?" he asked.
Jago grimaced, "No. Everything I own's too small now. Not much left in the orphan's fund to replace them, either. Managed to grab one new set of robes, but that's it."
"Well," Ron started, a touch awkward, "you're not alone there. Mum says hand-me-downs build character. Bet she could show you a thing or two about stretching every Knut."
Jago cracked a fake smile at that. Great, more hands me down.
"Cheer up, mate," Seamus said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "At least all that character-building leaves you looking fit. Reckon the girls will notice this year?"
Confrontation
The sun started to set soon and even Seamus didn't have enough bulster in him to maintain conversation. The announcement chimed in that they were nearing their destination and boys broke off to change or to meet others.
The corridor outside the changing rooms was dim. Jago adjusted the heavy bundle of his robes in his hand.
Inside, Neville Longbottom was pulling his shirt over his head. The bruises and scars scattered across Neville's chest and shoulders were a map of the life he had lived since that terrible night. The sight made Jago's chest tighten.
"Sorry," Jago muttered, averting his eyes and taking a step back. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
But Neville's voice stopped him. "Why shy away, Jago?" Neville asked, still fiddling with his shirt buttons. "Stay. See your actions up close."
Jago froze in the doorway. He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Neville's over his shoulder. "I'm not sure I know what you mean," he said.
Neville gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don't play dumb. You were there that night," he said, pointing to his chest. "You saw what happened—what Voldemort did. Or are you too much of a coward to even own up to it?"
"I said I don't know what you're talking about," Jago replied curtly, stepping back into the hallway.
Neville didn't let up. "Coward" he shouted. "You weren't brave enough to face him, so you ran, didn't you? And then you had the audacity to take the Philosopher's Stone with you."
Jago stiffened, his grip tightening. "That's a bold accusation, Neville"
"Is it?" Neville countered, stepping forward and closing the space between them. "I told Dumbledore everything. How you were there. How you snuck off and then the stone vanished that same night. But you knew he wouldn't believe me. Didn't you?"
Jago looked down, letting out a sharp exhale before his lips curved into a faint smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't need to convince you of anything," he said. "You can go ahead and think whatever you want, but I didn't take anything. And I wasn't there."
"Liar," Neville hissed, "I have my eye on you, boy. Remember that."
Jago gave him a flat look, "Likewise, Longbottom. Likewise."
As he left the room, another weird sight greeted him.
Now there's something you don't see everyday. Jago thought.
Daphe and Pansy walked hand in hand while Tracey Davis haulted their baggages and dashed to follow.
"Hey wait up!" She said but neither complied.
Huh. You don't ever see that in the Slytherin circle. Jago thought.
Indulgence
He glared at his cauldron, frustration bubbling along with the potion inside. Earlier, he had nearly tipped a handful of asphodel roots into the bubbling brew by mistake, his movements restricted by his ill-fitting clothes.
No. He wouldn't mess this up. Not after a solid month of steady work. All E's so far—Exceeds Expectations. Snape was lurking nearby, monstrous as ever, his robes billowing dramatically every time he moved.
He had been particularly vicious since Gryffindor's unexpected house cup win last year, a blow delivered in the eleventh hour by Dumbledore's infamous point award system. Jago was certain the man was just waiting for him to mess up. He tightened his jaw. He'd be damned before giving Snape more ammunition.
"So pathetic," the other Jago drawled in his best imitation of Snape's voice. "All this whining over what? A potion? A shirt that's too short? You have the power of gods tucked away in your dirty little hands, and you're moping over Snape's point deductions? Truly inspiring, Harry."
"Shut up and don't call me that!" Jago muttered.
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" The other Jago pushed off the pillar and circled him slowly, though his phantom footsteps made no sound. "Pretend it doesn't exist. Pretend I don't exist. Tuck the Philosopher's Stone under your bed like it's some forgotten trinket. Tell me, Jago, do you even remember where you've hidden it now?"
Jago froze for half a second before resuming his stirring.
His mind strayed, unbidden, to the small hollow behind the mirror in the forgotten classroom on the sixth floor. He hadn't dared use the stone, not since he took it. But it called to him sometimes, pulsing like molten lava in his thoughts.
"You think the stone will disappear if you just ignore it?" the shadow mocked. "Why? Because you've decided you don't need it? Let me tell you, Harry, you are what's truly weak here. You have gold at your fingertips, immortality, power. Yet you'd rather eke out an existence in hand-me-downs and failure."
"Go away," Jago whispered harshly.
"You'll never be rid of me. You invited me in when you cooked the Dursleys. And deep down, you know I'm right. You'll use it. It's only a matter of time. After all, it's not wrong to use what's yours, Sevatar." The alter ego said after fading away.
Damsel in Distress
Rip. Tear. Kill.
Jago paused. That was a very odd thing to hear in a castle stroll. Hearing nothing, he resumed his walk.
Rip…..
The voice hissed and Jago felt something creeping behind him, he whirled with his wand but found nothing. This time around, he was sure he heard nothing.
"Fred? George?" Jago called out the notorious pranksters but nothing. This was mobid, even by their own standards.
Rip. Tear. Kill
An incredible amount of dread filled him as the walls creaked and a massive slythering sound filled the room. Unable to spot his enemy, Jago decided that discretion was the better part of valor and bolted.
The walls seemed to close in around him, the sound of something massive slithering and scraping against stone echoing behind him. He didn't dare look back. His lungs burned, and his legs ached, but he pushed himself harder, the voice still ringing in his ears.
Finally, the sounds faded, and he skidded to a stop, leaning heavily against a cold stone wall. He doubled over, gasping for air, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. Sweat dripped down his face as he tried to steady his breathing. The castle was silent again, but the dread still clung to him like a shadow.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He glanced around, half-expecting the walls to come alive again, but everything was still. He straightened up, trying to shake off the lingering fear.
As his breathing slowed, he heard voices—sharp, cruel, and unmistakably female. They were coming from around the corner, near the abandoned girls' bathroom. Jago hesitated, then crept closer, pressing himself against the wall to stay out of sight.
"Honestly, Tracy," Daphne Greengrass's voice cut through the air like a whip. "How hard is it to get a simple Charms essay right? Even a first-year could do better than this."
Jago peeked around the corner and saw Daphne and Pansy Parkinson standing over Tracy Davis, who was slumped against the wall, her face buried in her hands. Tracy's shoulders shook with silent sobs.
"I-I'm sorry," Tracy stammered, her voice trembling. "I thought I got it right this time. I didn't mean to—"
"Sorry isn't good enough," Pansy snapped, her voice dripping with venom. Before Tracy could react, Pansy slapped her hard across the face.
The sound echoed in the empty corridor, and Tracy let out a choked cry.
Jago's grip tightened on his wand, but he stayed hidden. Daphne and Pansy were dangerous, especially together. He wasn't sure he could take them both, even if he wanted to.
"The Greengrass family has always looked after you," Daphne said coldly, her wand twirling lazily in her hand. "We paid for your tuition, your food, even got your useless mother a job. And this is how you repay us? By botching my homework?"
"I'll fix it, I promise. I'll do it again—"
"No," Daphne icily interrupted. "You've had your chance. Now it's time for a lesson."
Daphne pointed her wand at her and let out a few stinging hexes.
Tracy yelped as the spell hit her. Pansy laughed cruelly as Daphne continued, firing hex after hex at Tracy, who crumpled to the floor, trying to shield herself.
"And let's make sure you don't forget this," Daphne said. With another spell, her skin started darkening and Tracy let out a shriek at her darkening skin.
Fuck this. Jago said.
His eyes darted to the plumbing near the bathroom entrance. Without thinking, he aimed his wand and whispered, "Diffindo."
The spell sliced through a pipe, and water burst forth, spraying everywhere. Daphne and Pansy shrieked as the cold water drenched them.
"What the—?" Daphne shouted, whirling around.
"Run!" Pansy yelled, grabbing Daphne's arm. The two girls scrambled away, slipping and sliding on the wet floor.
Jago waited until they were gone before stepping out. Tracy was still on the floor, her face buried in her hands, her sobs muffled. He approached cautiously, his wand still in hand.
"Hey," he said softly, crouching beside her. "They're gone."
"Go away," she coughed. "Just leave me alone."
Jago hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of potion—a leftover from one of Seamus and Ron's prank wars. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "It's a basic reversal potion. It should fix… that."
Tracy stared at the vial, then at him, her expression a mix of fear and confusion. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jago shrugged, looking away. "Because no one deserves to be treated like that," he muttered. "Just take it."
Gryffindor Dorm Rooms
Where the hell have you been?" Dean snapped, standing up as soon as Jago entered. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? The professors locked everyone in the common room hours ago. If you'd been caught—"
"I wasn't caught," Jago interrupted. "I just… needed some air."
"Air?!" Ron said.
He stood up and punched Jago lightly on the shoulder. "You are lucky Filch hasn't murdered you and burried your body in the woods."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's ju-" Jago paused. "Wait! Filch?"
Ron nodded darkly and Dean sighed. "You have no idea what just happened, do you?"
"Dumbledore's got the whole place on lockdown. If they'd found you—" Dean started.
"But they didn't," Jago said sharply, cutting him off. He rubbed his temples, trying to push away the lingering unease. "Look, I'm here now, alright? What's done is done. What's the situation?"
"Someone mutilated Filch's cat and hung her up with a warning written in her blood." Seamus said. "And wrote some nonsense about the Chamber of Secrets."
"Subtle. Real Subtle." Dean muttered.
"What?" He said.
"The message said, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.' And then there was something about 'mudbloods' needing to watch their backs." Seamus said.
Ron glared at him. "You don't have to say it like that, you know."
Seamus held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just relaying the news. Don't shoot the messenger."
Dean, who had been pacing, stopped and turned to Jago. "It's bad, mate. Really bad. The whole castle's in an uproar. The professors are scrambling, and the students… well, let's just say the Slytherins are loving it."
"Lovely. Just Lovely." Jago muttered.
Exposure
Gilderoy Lockhart's Dueling Club: Master the Art of Magical Combat!
"Welcome, welcome, my dear students!" Lockhart boomed, spreading his arms wide as if embracing the entire room. "What a pleasure it is to see so many eager faces, ready to learn from the master himself! As you all know, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, have faced countless dangers and emerged victorious every time. From the Wagga Wagga Werewolf to the Bandon Banshee, I've triumphed over them all!"
Ron groaned, slumping in his seat. "Merlin's beard, does he ever shut up?"
"Doubt it," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. "He's probably got a whole book of stories he hasn't recited yet."
"I don't like to admit this lads" Jago started. "But I am starting to think Malfoy has a point about Dumbledore's mind. He keeps hiring moron after moron for this post."
The three paused and stared back at Jago in shock. Even the other Jago stared at him in shock from his perch.
"What?" Jago said. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day, no?"
"Blasphemy." Dean muttered.
"Heresy." Ron said. "What's next? We will have to be friends with Malfoy?"
"I'm gonna puke." Seamus said pretended to throw up all over the floor.
"You guys just suck." Jago muttered right as Snape finished wiping the floor with Lockhart.
"Thank you, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, scrambling to his feet and trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. "A most… instructive demonstration. Now, let's pair up and practice, shall we?"
As the students began to pair off, Jago couldn't help but smirk. "Well, that was entertaining," he muttered to Ron.
"Amazing? That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "I am beginning to respect Snape!"
Now it was the boys turn to glare at Ron in shock and the flustered and blushed harder than his trademark haird.
"What?" He said. "A broken clock is right thrice a day, no?"
Neither said nothing but Seamus lob a watter ballon at the back of his head, "heretic!"
Before he could launch into a tirade against Seamus, a shadow loomed over them.
"Perhaps you would like to enlighten the class on what precisely is so fascinating that you are not paying attention to the demonstration?" Snape said.
Jago's smirk vanished in an instant, his spine stiffening as if bracing for impact. Ron hastily wiped at his head, muttering apologies, but Seamus, being Seamus, leaned casually back in his chair with a lopsided grin.
"I don't know, Professor Snape. Does Lockhart has anything worthwhile to teach?" Seamus said.
Dean audibly sucked in a breath, wide-eyed, while Jago pinched the bridge of his nose. Ron gave Seamus an almost impressed glance before mouthing, You're mental.
Snape's eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits as he stared down at Seamus, who maintained his grin but with noticeably less confidence now. The silence stretched agonizingly long.
"I see." Snape said and walked away.
The group sat stunned.
"Am I dead?" Seamus whispered dramatically, patting at his chest as if checking for injuries. "Did Snape really just not take points? Or hex me? Or… anything?"
"This…" Dean said, rubbing his temple as though trying to piece it all together, "this is a world gone mad."
Revalations
The sound of the slamming classroom door echoed in the empty chamber, and Jago felt all eyes on him as Seamus spun around, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"Why?" Seamus demanded, jabbing a finger toward Jago. "Why in Merlin's saggy balls did you choose right now to show off like that?"
"What are you talking about?" Jago replied. "I didn't show off. I just kicked Malfoy's smug face into next week. He had it coming."
Ron, pale and jittery, was pacing back and forth while muttering something under his breath. Finally, he stopped, rounding on Jago. "This isn't about Malfoy getting his—though that was brilliant, for the record," Ron said quickly. "It's about how you won."
Jago frowned. "What are you on about? He swung, I dodged, I hexed. Pretty standard, yeah?"
Ron's gaze shifted uncomfortably. "You talked to the snake."
"I what?" Jago asked, baffled.
"That snake—Malfoy's spell summoned it," Ron explained, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "You didn't just vanquish it or hex it like anyone else would've. You… talked to it. You told it to go away."
Jago shook his head. "So? I didn't want anyone getting bitten."
"That's not so!" Ron exclaimed, exasperated. "You spoke Parseltongue. Do you know what that means?"
Jago stared at him blankly.
"Of course he doesn't," Seamus said.
"Parseltongue," Ron said, "is what people call snake-speaking. It's rare, Jago. People associate it with… well, bad wizards. Dark wizards. You Know Who himself was a Parselmouth!"
Dean reentered from his post at the door, shaking his head grimly. "We're not being followed… yet. But Ron's right, mate. You doing that? With this business about the Chamber of Secrets going on? People are gonna start pointing fingers."
"This is insane," Jago growled. "All of it. A bloody snake was summoned—of course I told it off! What was I supposed to do? Let it bite someone?"
Ron threw up his hands. "That's not the point! Look, Jago… in this castle, people don't need much of a reason to turn on someone. Especially if that someone's a Muggleborn like you."
"Exactly," Jago snapped. "That's the real issue here, isn't it? Not Parseltongue. Not snakes. Just that I'm a Muggleborn who embarrassed Draco bloody Malfoy in front of everyone. The heir of Slytherin accusation? It's just another excuse for purebloods to throw their weight around."
"You can't just write this off as pureblood garbage, Jago!" Ron shot back, his voice rising. "People are terrified. There's a monster somewhere in this castle, petrifying students left and right. If the whispers start saying you're behind it—"
"Let them whisper!" Jago snarled, cutting him off. "You know the truth. You all know I had nothing to do with this. I don't give a damn what a bunch of scared little cowards think."
"In fact, yeah. I am the heir of fucking slytherin. If this is what strikes fear into stupid little minds, than so be it!" Jago declared much to their stunned silence.
"You are not the heir of slytherin." Dean sighed.
"It doesn't make sense," Ron said. "Parseltongue isn't just some random thing. It's hereditary."
Dean tilted his head, curious. "Hereditary? Like, passed down?"
"Exactly!" Ron replied, snapping his fingers. "It runs in bloodlines—Salazar Slytherin's bloodline, to be exact. That's why it's such a big deal in wizarding families. If you can speak Parseltongue, it usually means you've got a connection to him."
Seamus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So, what? You're saying Jago's secretly a Slytherin heir?" He snorted. "Wouldn't that be a laugh."
Jago's face hardened. "It's ridiculous. I've got nothing to do with Slytherin or his bloodline. You know that."
"I know, I know," Ron said quickly, waving his hands to calm him down. "That's what makes this all so weird. You're a Muggleborn. By definition, you can't have ties to Slytherin."
Dean leaned against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. "What about your parents, Jago?" he asked softly. "Do you know anything about them? Like, could one of them have been… well, not a Muggle?"
Jago stiffened. "I have no idea who my parents were," he said curtly, his tone making it clear he wasn't open to further questions.
Library
They glared and threatened him as he walked inside. Another girl had been petrified last night.
Jago strode in with his jaw set, a challenging fire burning in his eyes as he defiantly met the glances thrown his way. He squared his shoulders and dared anyone to say a word. None did. They only muttered behind his back or shifted uncomfortably as he passed.
Cowards, Jago thought bitterly, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.
He stopped infront of the book he was looking.
Magical Families of The Great Britain and dove in.
The sound of heavy footfalls disrupted his concentration. He didn't need to look up to know who it was; the tension in the air practically announced it.
"Still at it, are you?" Neville's voice was low but carried an edge sharper than Jago had heard from the usually mild-mannered boy. "You don't stop, even after I warned you."
"Piss off, Longbottom," Jago snapped without even looking above.
"You think ignoring me will change anything? I know what you are," he hissed, his words brimming with accusation. "Pretending it's not your fault won't make you any less guilty."
Jago leaned back in his chair, fixing Neville with a cold glare. "Go. Away."
Neville smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Deflect all you want. It won't help you. The moment you slip up, the minute you so much as look at someone the wrong way—" He stepped forward, narrowing the gap between them. "—I'll make sure you're dragged straight to Azkaban."
"Why don't you try and drag me there now?" Jago growled, his voice low and full of venom. "Come on, Longbottom. Let's see you try."
Neville straightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side. "Don't tempt me."
"Don't threaten me," Jago spat.
The growing tension was shattered by the sharp, exasperated voice of Madam Pince. "Out, both of you! This is a library, not a dueling arena!"
Neither boy moved at first, still glaring daggers at each other.
"Now!" Madam Pince barked, pointing toward the door.
Neville broke the stare first, pulling back and sneering. "You've been warned, Jago." He turned sharply and marched toward the exit, but not before muttering under his breath, "Snake in the grass."
Jago stood, gathering his papers with more force than necessary. As he passed Neville near the doorway, he leaned in just enough to murmur, "Don't you ever threaten me again, Longbottom. Next time, I won't walk away."
Rally!
"You need to stop, Jago," Cormac began, his tone dripping with authority he didn't quite possess. "We know you've got something to do with all this. First Hermione, then Colin. People are starting to talk."
The man's neither prefect, nor quidditch player. Hells, not even an academician. Yet he still walks like Merlin's gift to the house.
"Let them talk," he retorted. "I've done nothing, and none of you can prove otherwise."
Cormac stepped closer, his cronies moving to flank him. "If you harm anyone else—"
"Back off, McLaggen," Jago snapped. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
Cormac sneered, emboldened by the murmurs of agreement from the others. "You're a bloody parselmouth! That's all the proof anyone needs! It's only a matter of time before they throw you out!"
"fuck off." Jago sneered and Cormac struck out and grabbed him by the throat.
"I can snap your neck like a twig here, boy. You are good. Real good. For a second year." Cormac sneered.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" Angelina demanded,
Cormac glared but took a step back, muttering something under his breath.
"What? Teaching a brat to not be a murderous hag is a bad thing?" Cormac asked.
"That's not true." Oliver said stepping between them all.
"Says who?" Cormac demanded.
"Says Professor Dumbledore." Oliver retorted and the grumbling died down.
Jago brushed past them, his fists still clenched, and headed up to the meeting spot.
His steps faltered when he saw Ron sitting on a bed with a brusied face.
"Ron, what happened?" Jago demanded.
"Ravenclaws. Wanted to send a message to you." Seamus muttered.
Jago's jaw tightened, and he spun to face the group. "Enough," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're done being sitting ducks. It's time to remind these idiots who we are."
"Jago, wait—" Dean started, but Jago cut him off.
Jago grabbed Dean and forced him to look at Ron's injuries.
"They've gone after him, one of ours! And you expect me to sit here twiddling my thumbs while people keep getting hurt?"
Dean shifted uncomfortably, his voice rising in protest. "You're talking about violence again! Last time, people got hurt, Jago!"
"And they're getting hurt now because we've gone soft!" Jago shot back
"They've forgotten what we're capable of. They think they can just throw blame at us and get away with it. Well, it's time we reminded them why they used to fear us."
Dean opened his mouth to argue again but faltered under Jago's glare.
"We're doing this," Jago said, his voice firm and resolute. "Right now. Follow me if you've got the guts."
When they reached the spot near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Jago paused, his eyes narrowing in focus. He began pacing in front of the wall, his thoughts fixed on what they needed.
A place to train. A place to prepare. A place to become dangerous again.
The Room of Requirement materialized before their eyes, its door tall and foreboding. Jago pushed it open without hesitation. Inside was a vast, shadowy space filled with dueling dummies, obstacle courses, and racks of enchanted weaponry.
"This is where we fight back," Jago declared. "No more holding back."
"Bah! Finally!" Seamus declared. "Finally, the Night Lords are in action again."
"Better start working on my aim again." Ron said with a crooked smile from beneath his tattered face.
"As much as I hate raining on our collective parade." Dean said. "We are just 4 guys here. And some of our enemies are from the senior year."
"That's where we unleash our equalizer. Something I have been working on with a …. Friend." Jago said and he lifted his arms. In response, the training area grew dark.
"Now repeat after me." Jago ordered.
Preysight
Ron was the first to break the silence. "Bleeding hells! I can see in the dark!"
"Dark?! By the Gods, I can see through walls!" Seamus said.
"Ave Dominus Nox" Jago said.
A Time For Gentleness
Jago approached the secluded corridor near the greenhouses, his boots clicking lightly against the stone floor. The warm glow of late afternoon filtered through the large windows, casting a golden hue that seemed to melt some of the tension from his muscles after the grueling training session. He saw Tracy perched on a wide windowsill, her legs swinging idly as she sipped from a bottle of juice.
"Jago!" Tracy called, her face lighting up with a broad smile. She set down her drink and waved him over.
Jago did something that even his boys would be surprised by.
Jago smiled. Gently even at the cute slytherin waving him over.
"Hey, Trace. You got yourself a nice spot here." Jago said.
She handed him a second bottle of juice from her bag. "Figured you'd be thirsty. Apple juice—it's the best."
"Pumpkin juice might disagree." Jago said and Tracey made a choking sound.
"Pumpkin juice is for trolls. Apple juice is for a more refined palette." Tracey.
Taking the bottle, Jago frowned playfully. "Now I feel bad for not bringing anything."
Tracy waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please! It's not a competition, Jago. Just... sit down and relax."
"So," Tracy began, "did Seamus manage to not set anything on fire this week?"
Jago smirked. "Not a chance. He found a stash of Filibuster's Fireworks, and now he's experimenting. Claims it's all in the name of 'academic growth.'"
"You're kidding. That boy's going to get himself locked in Filch's broom cupboard for a week."
"I give it two days max," Jago grinned. "He can't resist showing off."
She perched her chin on her hand as she imitated Seamus's confident swagger. "'Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the grandest explosion Hogwarts has ever seen!'"
Jago laughed. "That's disturbingly accurate. You'd make a great Seamus impersonator."
Tracy tilted her head, adopting a faux-serious look. "Honestly, Hogwarts should pay me to roast students. It's a much-needed public service."
Jago chuckled, but Tracy leaned in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Speaking of public service, you're not going to believe what I've been working on."
"Oh?" he replied, intrigued.
Tracy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "A wicked little spell—mind-boggling. It can pierce illusions and glamours." She paused dramatically. "I call it... Veilcleaver."
Jago raised an eyebrow. "Veilcleaver? That's... actually a solid name. Very dramatic."
Tracy nodded enthusiastically. "Right? I knew it sounded awesome. It's going to blow Preysight out of the water. Speaking of—did Preysight work for you?"
Jago hesitated, scratching the back of his head. "Kind of? I mean, it worked for detecting outlines, but anything super subtle, and I was toast. Made sneaking way harder."
"Of course!" Tracy boasted. "I made it after all. Not even the mighty Jago Sevatarion can survive against my wit!"
"Hark hark hark." Jago said in his worst imitation of Tracy's laugh.
"Oh that's just terrible dear." Tracey said.
"Guess I'll have to trust you," Jago said, smiling.
"Now, onto the juicier stuff. Do you know Blaise and Daphne are dating?"
"Wait, what?" Jago pretended to be taken aback.
"Mm-hmm," Tracy said with a sage nod, savoring the moment. "Caught them holding hands near the dungeons the other day. It's official."
"Nice?" Jago said.
"Yup. And you know what's even better?" She said. "Malfoy's absolutely seething. He's convinced Daphne's just trying to make him jealous. Classic drama."
His eyes lingered on the large sunglasses perched atop her nose, a strange choice given the indoor setting.
"Trace," Jago began, his voice soft but edged with curiosity, "why're you wearing those?"
Tracy froze, her hand reflexively darting up to adjust the frames. "Oh, these? Just... thought they were cute, you know?"
Jago tilted his head, unconvinced. "Tracy."
Her smile faltered, and she tried to laugh it off, turning her face slightly away. "Jago, it's not a big deal. Really."
He gently but firmly reached out, catching her hand before she could pull further away. His grip wasn't forceful, but there was a quiet insistence in his touch. "Trace," he said again, his tone firmer now. "Let me see."
For a moment, Tracy hesitated, biting her lip. Then, with a trembling sigh, she dropped her hand, allowing him to carefully remove the sunglasses.
He frowned at the bruise covering her eye.
"Who?" he asked calmly
"Daphne." She said.
"Fuck it." Jago got up but she grabbed his hand before he could stomp off.
"Jago, don't. Please, just—don't get involved. It'll only make things worse." Tracey pleaded. "Half the school thinks you are a murderer, just take it easy."
"No," he said firmly. "This? This stops now."
Tracy pleaded with him to stop as he broke away from her grip but Jago didn't relent. He had murder on his mind.
Fin
Author Notes: A bit long of a chapter, but it had be done. Now that the foundations have been laid, we will have a lot more Night Lord's stuff turning Hogwarts into Nostramo 2.0
Also, do note Harry isn't a carbon copy of Night Lords. I had envisiged him as a mixture of Talos and Sevatar.
Rest assured, you will get your badass Harry in time with lots of action. Peace!