"Mr Tadpole, how are you?"

A little confused, he searches for the source of that question until he sees me in the doorway of his entrance.

"Oh, Tom, it's you! Do you wish to pick up some mail?"

"Not quite, sir …"

He cheerfully nods. "Why don't you come in then?"

I step closer to his counter and immediately have to duck since an owl is coming to a halt on his shoulder that very moment.

"Is that Starling again?" I ask, pointing at the lively animal. "The one that likes to block your Floo Powder fireplace?"

"Yes, yes, it's the old oddball." Mr Tadpole strokes Starling's feathers with his free hand and winks. "The usual suspects usually all gather in the same place, don't they …"

"Indeed." I clasp my hands behind my back as I circle his well-worn shop. Whatever he's selling, at least he's shrewd enough to not expose it too obviously here.

"You haven't been around for quite a while," he soon says as he sets Starling aside. "Noticed that no one could make too much sense of your absence after the holidays."

"You know how gossip works," I nonchalantly retort. "Once rumours arise, there's hardly any stopping them …"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "A few students have even made bets on whether you'd come back."

"Well, and here I am," I say, inspecting the old fireplace once again. "C'est la vie, as the French say."

"It's good to see you, Tom, really. But why aren't you watching Quidditch like the others?"

"I tend to have deviating interests, sir." I meander back to the counter and lean on it to say, "I'm sure you understand."

"Don't like sports either."

I smirk. "Mr Tadpole, if I may be so bold – do you still sell a thing or two on the side?"

"Whether I still sell smuggled goods? Well, I do have to make a living, don't I?"

I simply nod.

"What do you need?"

"Sir, do you happen to have …" I look up at the ceiling and shrug my shoulders just to proceed looking straight at him again. "Eternal candles, by any chance?"

"Eternal candles? You want to read at night and the wand light only gives you dry eyes, eh?"

I resolutely nod my head again. "It's such a misery …"

"I'll have a look."

So he mysteriously says, however he's merely checking the cupboard directly behind him.

"Here!" he calls out, holding up a large candle. "White and eternal!"

"Do you have five of these? In black, perhaps?"

He gladly nods. "That's what I call good business … But black?"

"Sir, I wish to avoid being accused of stealing them from the Great Hall …"

"Ah, sure, sure, Dumbledore doesn't like you very much, right?"

"Is that what people say …"

"I'm afraid so, but worry not – Dippet loves you," he simpers. "Wait, let's see, down here – ah, yes! Black, and five of them!"

"Thank you, if I become blind from this day forth, it's definitely not because of you."

He cackles and grabs a bag, which Starling immediately gnaws on at the counter … But still using it is better than walking back to the castle with those ritual candles in my bare hands.

"Oh, and – you don't happen to have any paint as well?"

"Paint?" He's surprised, but he nods. "Do you want some colour in the dungeons?"

"Kind of – a friend's birthday in May, a little vandalism never hurt, did it?"

I have no intention of using the paint for anything but black magic. But whatever song people wish to hear, I'll sing.

He can't help but laugh and circles back to the old cupboard. "But I only have white to offer, Tom."

"That's fine."

"Great, then we're in business."

"We are, and would you be so kind," I begin, counting out a few gallons onto the counter, "as to not tell anyone about this?"

Like a mutineer he smiles. "Of course not. And while we're at it - you're not interested in Firewhisky, are you?"

"I'm afraid not. But I bet Avery is a good customer."

"Quite so recently, yes, but I promised him I wouldn't tell that anyone either."

I inwardly groan. That lowers my hopes about his promise of silence for me as well …

"I believe," he begins in a whisper, "that someone wants to organise a little dance party in the dungeons soon." He winks – I sigh.

The infamous, very much forbidden, yet occasional parties of the houses at Hogwarts are what the Slug Club would love to be. But why on earth does Slytherin have to invite so soon again?
How inconvenient …

"Would you like to try some of the other drinks?"

I almost forgot about the bargaining I was in the middle of.

"Thank you, too kind, but no – I hardly ever drink."

"And do you need any … writing utensils? A calendar maybe? With discount, of course, in the middle of the year."

"Not necessary, sir," I reply, pointing to Harper's book inside my pocket.

"Oh, a diary?"

Since I've been trying to stay away from her, I've literally been carrying it around with me.
By that, somehow, despite everything that's happened and everything that's going on, she's still close to me. And I literally hate myself for this sentimentality, but currently my sanity is hanging by a thread and hence this form of … grounding … is essential.

"Something like that, sir," I hear myself say, already grabbing the bag, "thank you very much, Mr Tadpole!"

"Of course, anytime," he claims as I step out of his shop again.

Hogsmeade tries to charm me in its pre-summer simplicity. But I'm exposed to the sun far too much up here, it's warm and ever promising … Hence unbearable, and about time to prepare for the ritual under the ground, now that the school is distracted by Quidditch.

"Is that necessary?"

Echidna had reacted quite fatalistically to my plan so far, but me smearing the floors of her master's hallowed halls with white paint seems to annoy her.

"I believe so …" I mumble as I place a circled pentagram on the floor in front of the mighty statue head of Salazar Slytherin.

Echidna keeps gliding past me suspiciously, glancing at my attempt at occult art, until at some point she moves on to grab the dead sheep floating in the air near the entrance.

I don't really want to look, but I can't bring myself to close my eyes whenever she sinks her fangs into flesh, breaking bones and spurting blood.

Snakes usually swallow their poisoned or strangled prey. But Echidna … Echidna's behaviour is somewhat capricious for her species. She poisons, strangles and disfigures … I'm reluctant to accuse her of a tendency towards dark theatrics, but be it only out of boredom – we obviously have that in common.

"They're always dead already," she complains while I keep on colouring.

"How am I supposed to bring a shrieking sheep down here? It's still better than what you've been getting for the last few centuries …"

"Better make sure I don't eat you," she hisses, causing me to look up and grin at her from the other end of the chamber.

So we really do develop a sense of dry humour as of lately!

"Feel free," I mumble, "then I wouldn't have to follow through with this nonsense …"

After the sheep has disappeared into the void, she crawls back to me to rest her heavy head next to my pentagram.

"What are these signs?" she whispers.

"Runes." I take a step back to examine my work.

An eternal candle at each point of the pentagram, so no light may escape, and also one rune for each, in their respective order.

Dagaz at the top, as the inner light at full moon, then Hagalaz, the transformation rune. The third point with Eiwaz for magic and the half moon, then birth with Berkana and finally, at new moon, nothing but darkness – Nauthiz.

"Tomorrow's full moon will show us if that works …"

"And when it does," she hisses, "we will finally devote ourselves to our duty?"

"What?" I ask, my mind set on the runes.

"I have been waiting for centuries to see the master's heir fulfil the duty –"

"Duty?"

My occult work of art isn't quite perfect yet. I keep redrawing blurry lines …

"Mudblood must no longer taint this school!"

"Come again?" I listen up, the dripping paintbrush in hand.

"I was waiting for you to cleanse –"

"We're not cleansing anything, Echidna," I firmly say, standing up tall as though it could ever make up for our difference in height. "It's not my problem dear Salazar wasn't able to convince his three friends all these centuries ago. I'm not playing caretaker for him a millennium later, and neither will you."

"But it's our duty, Heir of Slytherin, you –"

"Why care about blood?" I snap at her. "Haven't you been listening? It's not Slytherin's madness that's bothering me, but a very much alive Grindelwald preaching supremacy! I have completely different –"

"Death to the Mudbloods!" She now fully rears back and suddenly inches her head towards me in a clear attempt at intimidation. Treacherous, yellow eyes on me as she whispers, "You will not avoid your duty –"

"Oh no, Echidna," I hiss, trying not to let my respect for the sheer size of her teeth show, and with a wink of my hand, I ignite a Fiendfyre that flares up so high that she immediately retreats. "You don't get to give me orders. And those of your master lost their validity centuries ago. I stand before you now. You obey me and only me, for remember that I, too, am capable of inflicting pain on you. Don't give me a reason to. From now on, we concentrate on what's important nowadays, which certainly doesn't include this so-called duty!"

"That is what I was born for –"

"Forget what you've learnt," I demand, the flames of my fire now dancing around the room instead of being a threat – merely a friendly warning. "Where does your allegiance lie? With a dead man that tortured you, or with me? I don't want to do what he did. You are far too majestic a creature, Echidna. But if you leave me no choice, I don't hesitate …"

I glare at her for what feels like eternity – until she finally lowers her head again and lets it rest next to my painting.

Thank heavens, she could've just as easily killed me in one movement – but as is so often the case, audacity wins …

"Was that clear?" I ask.

"No pain," she whispers, it's a humble plea and just what I need.

I can only imagine what Slytherin did to condition her into such obedience. But as long as it benefits me and keeps Harper safe, I'll take that advantage, just like the benefits the Chamber of Secrets provides …