Lucas went quiet the moment Alice came to stand beside him.

She looked terrible. Rigid as a stone, picking at her fingers without realizing it, the skin between them had already started to bleed.

"It's going to be all right." He patted her shoulder. "This term might be rough, but things will slowly get better."

Alice's share of responsibility in this whole affair was small.

The spell had been cast by an older Ravenclaw student. The fairy had been mutated by Horcrux magic. Walter had only pretended to be backlashed by the contract for interrupting Alice's cry for help, a cover for everything else Walter had done.

Alice had simply been softhearted. She had tried to nurse a dying fairy back to health, and after the creature mutated, she had attempted to feed it honey and milk.

But Lucas knew what it looked like when students started to shut someone out.

He thought for a moment. "Do you want to go and see Walter off?"

Alice shook her head sadly.

She didn't know how she was supposed to face Professor Walter. But she had come anyway.

"In that case, let me take you somewhere." Lucas cut through her private grief.

Just then, the students clustered around Professor Walter erupted into a burst of rowdy noise.

Whatever they had heard, they all turned and looked toward where Lucas and Alice were standing.

Alice went rigid and didn't move.

Lucas looked blankly toward Walter at the center of the crowd. He heard Marcus shout in disbelief: "Lucas! Walter is actually your great-great-great-grandfather!"

Lucas glanced at Marcus. It was barely even a look. Marcus instinctively shut his mouth.

"Please don't broadcast that quite so loudly." Walter's voice carried over the crowd, unbearably sentimental. "Lucas is a very shy child. And besides, he may not necessarily want to be so close to someone like me — a vampire." Walter stirred the pot further and added: "After all, I've missed the years of Lucas growing up. We'll take it slowly, slowly..."

Lucas didn't answer right away. He looked helplessly between his classmates and Professor Walter, at a complete loss.

His original plan had been to make an awkward exit.

Then Professor Snape appeared at the entrance to the hall.

He was entirely out of place among the tender farewells. He surveyed the room, gaze settling on the Slytherins who had been bewitched by a vampire's looks.

These students had gathered here, surely not because of Walter's transcendent teaching ability, but the empty fantasies in their own heads?

The Slytherins caught in Snape's gaze, Marcus at their head, all quieted down. They backed silently away from the innermost ring around Walter, wishing desperately that their Head of House hadn't seen them there.

"Severus, I never thought you'd come to see me off as well." Walter deliberately made things unpleasant for Snape.

Snape ignored him. "Mr. Smith — your tie is not properly knotted. One point from Gryffindor."

"Mr. Cairns — take your hand off Miss White's shoulder. Putting your arm around someone in a public place. Five points from Ravenclaw."

The deductions cooled the students' appetite for gossip all over again.

Students on the outer edge saw which way things were going and began to slip away. The ones who remained read the room and made their final farewells to Professor Walter.

Standing next to Snape, Walter looked even more frail.

It was hard not to feel that Professor Snape was about to brew Professor Walter into a pot of potion.

Lucas watched all of it from beneath the corridor.

He gave Professor Snape a slight, grateful bow. He noticed the dark circles under the professor's eyes. The Hospital Wing duties had all wound down, so what had kept Professor Snape up through the night?

Lucas quietly filed that away. Then, like the other dispersing students, he moved quickly away from the scene.

He led Alice all the way to the girls' bathroom on the second floor of the castle. Because of the ghost that haunted it, the place was rarely visited.

It was also the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, though of course the Basilisk no longer posed any threat to students now.

Alice was startled to see Lucas walk in with such easy familiarity.

He entered with complete composure, as if it were nothing more than an empty classroom.

Caught up in his attitude, Alice went inside as well, full of puzzlement.

She hesitated a moment, then finally asked the question she most wanted answered: "Is Professor Walter really your elder?"

Lucas had no interest in discussing it at length. He had no need for another elder managing his life, let alone one whose origins were shrouded in mystery and who didn't have long to live.

Alice had a kind of naivety that made her believe whatever anyone told her.

Lucas let out a sigh. "We all know we should repay those who are good to us," he said carefully. "But how to tell a good person from a bad one, that's actually a question in itself."

Alice clearly didn't follow. She simply took it to mean that Lucas hadn't yet fully accepted Professor Walter.

Alice had one more question. "Why are you still willing to talk to me?"

Because Alice's surname was Albert.

The truth can be hurtful sometimes.

Lucas wasn't genuinely arrogant, wasn't a loner by nature.

Glory required building and tending. And besides, he genuinely knew that Alice was innocent.

A bout of crying cut off whatever answer he might have given.

A strange flushing sound came from one of the toilets.

Through the cubicle partitions, it was plain to see that every stall was empty. Yet from inside one of them, a faint weeping had begun.

The crying grew louder. It didn't sound entirely sorrowful, it sounded more like a performance, exaggerated and drawn out in response to whoever was listening.

A moment later, the sound drew closer, as if pressed right against the cubicle door. A pearlescent ghost slipped accidentally straight through the panel and stood exposed before the two young witches.

Alice let out a startled cry.

"This is one of the castle's ghosts. Her name is Myrtle." Lucas introduced her. "She is the Forgotten Myrtle."

"That's wrong!" A sharp, high-pitched voice cut in close. Myrtle corrected him, displeased: "It's Moaning Myrtle!"

Alice looked from Lucas to the ghost and back again, curious about the two different versions.

Lucas, with the ghost pressing right up to his face, remained completely unmoved.

"Myrtle was originally a Ravenclaw student," he explained, quite calmly. "Due to an accident, she died here. This bathroom has had a ghost ever since, and other students stopped coming."

That much sounded right to Alice. It did sound like a forgotten ghost.

Then Myrtle's piercing wail rang out: "You're here to bully me too! You throw books at my head, ten points for a hit to the head, five points for hitting my body!"

At first Alice didn't understand what Myrtle was weeping about. Then she realized the "points" being tallied were not what she had imagined.

"How can people do such a thing!" Alice was appalled. "That is truly awful!"

Lucas remained perfectly calm. In his previous enrollment, Myrtle had already been here in this place.

For a stretch of time, he had hidden here to avoid the Slytherins who liked to make his life difficult.

Over time he had listened to Myrtle speak about the past, again and again. The young Lucas had come to see the things this castle had chosen to deliberately forget.

But he had never once stopped to wonder how Myrtle had died, not until much later, when he learned about the Basilisk.

Now, bringing Alice here was his way of showing this naive young witch another side of the world. And of laying some groundwork for his handling of the Walter situation.

Lucas watched Alice anxiously trying to soothe Myrtle, toilet water spreading across the wet floor all around them. He sincerely hoped that this time, Myrtle might find release a little sooner.

➤ Next: Reopening for Business

Chapter 221 - Reopening for Business

Alice and the still-softly-sobbing Moaning Myrtle exchanged a glance.

Separated by life and death, both witches were equally puzzled.

With two pairs of eyes fixed on Lucas, Lucas said unhurriedly to Alice: "I know what's been happening lately has made you very sad. You haven't been to the library in a long time. I imagine you've wanted more time to think. If you're going to be thinking anyway, why not learn something about Moaning Myrtle's story?"

"Learn about Moaning Myrtle's story — and then mock her? Humiliate her?" Moaning Myrtle's voice was razor-sharp.

Aggressively, Moaning Myrtle passed straight through Lucas's body. Alice saw Lucas give an instinctive shudder, but the expression on Lucas's face never changed. Perfectly composed.

That composure was something to envy.

Alice knew what Lucas's situation had been like in Slytherin back in first year. She had watched with her own eyes as Lucas moved from the far end of the long table to a seat in the middle.

Even now, when Lucas didn't come to the Great Hall to eat, someone would always think to bring a portion along.

Lucas got along with Slytherin very well.

Alice had never thought that was particularly impressive, not until she went through what she was going through now.

Then she heard Lucas say, steady and calm: "Perhaps here, you can find a way to help a ghost move forward."

.

As late autumn drew near, the shops of Knockturn Alley reopened.

After round after round of Auror screening, the tension had finally lifted. Businesses operating in grey areas began to resurface.

Wizards cloaked in black robes moved through the dark.

The long-vacant booths of the Knockturn Alley tavern filled once more with outlaws conducting their dealings.

In an unnoticed side alley, a wizard draped in a grey robe passed quietly through.

Walking past a cross-legged potions brewer, the figure tossed a single gold coin with a practiced flick.

Many wizards came through Knockturn Alley. But there was only one who came through every time without any business to discuss and always left a single gold coin.

So even though the figure wore a different disguise each time, that familiar gesture gave them away. Same person. Again.

The cross-legged brewer showed no reaction. The one who sent money on a daily basis had long since become a matter of routine.

No pleasantries were exchanged. Moving with easy familiarity, the figure turned into another narrow alley and disappeared into the night.

Over time, the brewer had worked out the pattern.

Whenever the coin-bearer came, rumours about the mysteriously appearing shop in Knockturn Alley would start circulating again.

Walter walked alone through the pitch-black fog blanketing Knockturn Alley. A vampire's particular constitution made it easy to stay hidden in the dark.

Even visiting for the first time, no wizard moved to cause any trouble.

People always assumed a group shared common traits, that wizards who studied the Dark Arts were hardened killers, say, or that vampires were all very old.

Walter held a rough hand-drawn map and searched for the designated location.

Walter's sense of direction was neither good nor bad. The circled spot on the map was already close. Then the black fog began closing in around Walter.

Walter stopped, suddenly alert.

Listening carefully: nothing beyond the wind, and the wind itself was cycling, repeating, going nowhere.

Walter looked into the black fog. Whatever magic had been used on it, even a vampire's keen night vision couldn't see through.

Before any real anxiety could set in, a dim amber light appeared ahead, warm in the surrounding darkness, like a lure-lantern at the bottom of the deep sea.

Walter understood at once what the shop was. The legends about this place had made the rounds.

To date, wizards of all sorts had left nothing but good reviews.

That was, of course, very possibly survivorship bias, only those who came out the other side had the chance to leave a review at all.

But thinking of the wizards who had gone around boasting about it, bad people among them were everywhere, every one of them who had stumbled upon this shop had walked away not feeling as though they had been in any danger.

The most important thing, of course, was that people always found what they were looking for inside.

Walter slid both hands into pockets and walked toward the shop with a light step. Beneath that relaxed exterior, the vampire was quietly mapping every possible escape route.

The wind chime above the shop door swayed gently. A faint incense burned inside, agarwood laced with the scent of blood, origin unidentifiable. The two scents blended well. No matter how carefully Walter tried to pick them apart, it was impossible to place what that blood belonged to.

"Good evening, sir." The shop owner in the grey robe offered a polite greeting. A white fox mask marked with red patterns covered the shop owner's face.

"I noticed you wandering nearby for quite some time," the shop owner said, welcoming Walter with easy attentiveness, "as though searching for a particular establishment. But there is no better shop in this alley than mine. You are my very first vampire customer."

"Can I get a discount?" Walter's tone was breezy.

Walter strolled with affected nonchalance among the displays, casting a critical eye over the items around the room.

Coming through this alley, Walter had taken precautions to conceal appearances. But the shop owner had named the race point-blank, and a faint, persistent unease settled in.

"I've heard of this shop," Walter said, with a provocative edge. "I came in with some expectations. Looking at it now, it falls well short of my personal collection."

The shop owner maintained a smile. Or more precisely, the fox mask was smiling.

The duplicitous Walter rounded a black candelabra. Its scent was probably not something a human could easily tolerate. For a vampire, it was just right.

Walter stopped in front of something that resembled a set of scales.

A brass-bodied weighing scale, its mechanical structure encasing several large counterweights visible at a glance. Walter was quite certain of its purpose.

With nothing better to do, Walter stepped up onto it, or tried to. A vampire can hover off the ground to some degree.

Walter floated above the scale, thinking to use that particular racial advantage to put pressure on the shop owner.

No contact with the scale. Yet the machine was registering a reading.

The needle swung back and forth, then settled on 48.

After that, no matter how Walter adjusted the hover height, the number didn't change.

Walter let out a scornful "tch" and moved on to the rest of the shop.

Finally, Walter turned to the shop owner and stated the purpose of the visit: "I need some fresh human blood. Since you could identify me as a vampire, you won't be surprised to hear I have a need for it. I am a very particular customer, but as long as your goods meet my requirements, I am extremely generous."

Walter fixed the shop owner with a challenging look. "You wizards — limited lifespans and all — can occasionally offer a pleasant surprise. So let's see. Can you predict what I need? Go ahead. Guess what I'm looking for."

➤ Next: Act First, Report Later