Walter's consciousness drifted in and out. Time had become a distant concept.

The black fog over his vision had thinned considerably, but his eyelids still felt like lead. He made out two figures walking toward him.

"Is that a vampire?" Moody stated the first thing the magical eye caught.

The spell was almost away, then Dumbledore stopped it.

In the moment the black fog thinned, the headmaster caught the finer details. Walter's life force had been drained by more than half, and something else had taken hold too. A curse.

And then there was the most obvious thing of all,

"There's a lady's diadem on its head. Sapphire." Moody's magical eye tracked the fire dancing in the gem. "Has it been controlled?"

Dumbledore's expression turned grave.

Carefully drawing out a wand, Dumbledore asked Moody to hold position. There was a theory forming about what lay ahead.

Dumbledore moved slowly toward Walter.

Back near the underground altar, Snape and Lucas were watching the whole affair as an audience.

Lucas was making full use of the manor permissions just inherited. Fingers fumbling, adjusting the mirror's angle in clumsy increments, after considerable effort, the view finally locked onto the headmaster's face.

Nobody had asked for a close-up of the headmaster.

Before Snape could say a word, Lucas adjusted the image again. This time the view finally settled on both figures drawing closer together.

Walter seemed to have recovered some clarity. Consciousness drifted back to shore.

Not far away, a white-bearded old man held a wand raised.

The most powerful wizard of this century. Walter understood exactly what Dumbledore was capable of inflicting.

But if anyone could save Walter now, it would be Dumbledore. It would only ever be Dumbledore.

The will to survive surged back up. The limbs were beyond control, but Walter forced both eyes wide open.

What the others saw was something else entirely.

The vampire appeared to be fighting something. Dark shadows churned and layered themselves behind Walter, massing and churning, almost coalescing into a human shape.

Dumbledore cast a Dark Magic purification spell.

That type of spell worked well on wizards. On a vampire, it caused a different kind of damage.

Walter's regenerative ability was suppressed completely.

The spell struck. Walter immediately began to writhe in agony.

Walter wanted to live!

Walter opened his mouth and found breath coming, and speech. The ability to speak had returned. Something had to be said now!

Begging the headmaster for help was still possible. This was the last chance. Say the right words, and maybe there was still a way out.

But Walter found a hand already rising toward Dumbledore. A vampire's bewitching enchantment, sent without permission from the mind giving the order.

"Save me!" The attack and the plea left in the same instant.

The attack missed.

But the headmaster did not destroy Walter.

Walter gathered what strength remained. The first thing to do was knock that strange diadem off the head.

But the body still would not obey.

"Save me, Albus... I can tell you a very important secret." The words came out, and something shifted in the mind behind them.

Walter understood, tonight's visit might not have been a scheme of one.

Who had guided the headmaster here?

Who had sold those tainted artifacts?

Who stood to gain the most from all of this?

Ah. There it was.

Lucas Graham.

Now Walter knew Lucas's secret.

Knew, at last, what made this young wizard truly frightening.

Walter had seen it earlier than almost anyone else alive, a dangerous figure was about to rise.

This fog barrier, three kilometers across, had been prepared for Walter from the very beginning.

Thoughts grew steadily clearer. Teeth ground together in fury. But nothing could be said.

Lucas Graham.

Certainly watching from the shadows right now.

The fact that speech had returned might not be an accident. So what did Lucas want said?

Certainly not the name of the mastermind behind everything.

Walter's mind raced.

And then the despair arrived, the realization of what Lucas was making happen. Speak the secrets buried deepest. While forcing the most important words back down the throat.

"Albus, save me — promise you will save me! I can tell you a prophecy. A prophecy that has been partially deciphered. It will affect the future of the wizarding world!"

Moody's expression hardened. The magical eye stayed locked on the vampire.

This was precisely what had directed them here.

"I will do everything in my power," Dumbledore said with gravity. "Would you like to first remove the diadem on your head? That thing is causing you considerable discomfort."

Walter gritted his teeth.

It was not the diadem. But that could not be said.

"The Whisperer shakes the scales... the apprentice alters the course of fate... the star of the old world shall return from days gone by... one of them will defeat the Dark Lord..."

The prophecy poured out fast. With every word spat free, the tongue moved more easily.

This was what Lucas wanted Dumbledore to hear.

"You see — do you understand! The apprentice! The apprentice!" Walter cried out.

Let that word put the headmaster on alert. A dangerous apprentice. With that person in the world, fate was never going to improve.

But Dumbledore did not catch the meaning.

A moment of silence. Then: "How do you intend to prove what you say?"

"I hid the crystal ball that recorded the prophecy. I hid it inside the school... save me, and I will take you to retrieve it!"

Faster and faster. And with the speed came something strange, a feeling of freedom, of lightness.

To everyone else watching, what they saw was a figure withering. Hollowing out.

Whatever had been behind Walter, whatever it was, was undergoing a transformation.

The blue gemstone blazed.

"Be gone!" No anger needed. The headmaster's voice carried its own authority. The spell struck precisely the shadow radiating that chaotic, dark energy.

The shadow shrieked.

Dust cascaded down from Walter's stone-stiff ears.

"Don't, no, save—"

The dark shadow tore free from Walter's body. A hand finally rose again. But there, in full view of everyone, cracks began surfacing across the skin.

Fractures split across that handsome face.

CRASH

The figure collapsed. Nothing remained but a heap of rubble on the ground, the only proof that someone had stood there at all.

A small pebble rolled and spun its way to Dumbledore's shoe, coming to rest when it touched the leather.

The manor's magic began to stir.

The next instant, a surge of power gave chase to the fleeing shadow.

Darkness and magic collided. Silent combustion, lasting only a moment.

Flames fell through the air and extinguished themselves before they reached the ground.

Walter was dead.

Dumbledore and Moody went silent.

Lucas and Snape went silent too.

Then the portrait reappeared. Without preamble, it said one thing: "It is about to begin."

With those words, the garden flowers bloomed all at once. Seeds that had withered for years, buried deep in the soil, split and sent up shoots, growing into fragrant blossoms within moments.

Water surged up in the pond. The first rush was cloudy, and it swept across the galloping horse sculpture, rinsing away the rust and the grime.

Then the water fairy in the pond awakened.

A fresh wind moved through the entire manor. The black fog scattered. The cursed objects caught fire on their own.

The headmaster crooked a finger. No powerful magic, no contest of force against the manor.

Yet that striking diadem descended into waiting hands.

This time Lucas smoothly shifted the mirror's close-up onto the diadem.

A real feel for controlling the view, developed in record time.

Snape rolled his eyes at the behavior of a child who had found a new toy.

Then looked again at the enlarged image.

"This is... Ravenclaw's Diadem?" The portrait's voice rose sharply. The first to call the object by name.

Lucas glanced over, the question asked entirely through a look.

What is that?

"Ravenclaw's Diadem, said to be a relic of the Four Founders." Snape's tone was heavy as the knowledge was filled in.

Then a sensation on the wrist. The Dark Mark, growing faintly warm.

The first time since that day.

The Dark Lord was nearby.

➤ Next: Inheriting a Fortune

Chapter 239 - Inheriting a Fortune

The two groups finally converged on the manor grounds.

It was well past midnight. The wizards confirmed each other's identities in a few quick exchanges out in the open.

Then they all looked at Lucas.

Lucky bastard.

Moody gave the blond wizard who'd appeared out of nowhere a long, suspicious once-over, then turned that same look on Snape.

These two were the biggest winners of the whole affair. "I think we ought to thoroughly investigate these two Slytherins. They didn't run into a single scrap of danger — just went underground and walked away with a manor."

Snape's face went iron-grey.

"I made it perfectly clear," he said. "Walter and I came into conflict inside the old house above ground. I was even forcibly Transfigured."

He turned to Dumbledore and pointed at Moody. "This madman's definition of 'encountering danger' is truly impressive. Someone like him probably considers running into a vampire and running into a werewolf both completely trivial matters!"

Dumbledore rejected that characterization.

"Of course not. Tonight was quite harrowing for you both — and it's thanks to your protection that nothing happened to Lucas. Why don't we go inside and talk?"

The adult wizards all looked toward Lucas.

Lucas blinked, then realized he was now the master of this enormous estate.

A place he had never set foot in before tonight.

"We go in?" He steeled himself and walked ahead.

Snape frowned. "Are there no House-elves awake in this manor?"

At the reminder, Lucas experimentally snapped his fingers. Two House-elves appeared, thin as skeletons, both of them.

They looked as though they urgently needed medical attention. Serving as guides was beyond them entirely.

One of them, overcome with excitement, attempted a bow. The moment it bent at the waist, it couldn't straighten back up and toppled straight into Snape's robes.

After the collision, the House-elf tried several times and failed to get back on its feet.

It seemed to be seized by immense grief. Leaning against Snape's shoe, it began to cry.

Snape's expression went completely dark.

This was an entirely different kind of anger from the argument with Moody.

"Sorry, Professor!" Lucas hurried over to help the House-elf up and gave the freshly materialised 'House-elf in collapse' a little warm water.

"Let them rest." Lucas sent the House-elves off. He led the way himself, navigating unfamiliar corridors until he found a room that could reasonably be called a sitting room.

Snape pressed a small bead into Lucas's palm.

"The situation here hasn't been assessed yet. Go back for tonight." He closed Lucas's fingers around it. "That's a Portkey."

Snape said it so naturally that neither of the other two adult wizards found anything odd about it.

A portrait hanging in the reception room erupted.

"What are you saying!" It looked ready to force itself out of the frame. "Who do you think this manor belongs to!"

Thanks to the portrait's outburst, everyone's eyes fell back on Lucas, someone who looked like an adult but was, in fact, a child.

Sending the master of the manor away while a handful of unfamiliar wizards held a meeting inside. When said out loud, it did sound rather strange.

Moody was still sizing Snape up.

More suspicious than ever now, the type of wizard who had designs on a student's property.

The longer the look, the less Snape resembled a decent person.

Snape felt his skin crawl under Moody's magical eye. The madman's gaze kept drifting toward his wrist.

Snape suspected the other man could see straight through the fabric to the mark beneath.

Dumbledore stepped in smoothly. He offered the portrait a polite apology. "Lucas is still a minor, and this manor is far too vast for him to manage alone. Do you think he might need a guardian in the wizarding world?"

That was a pointed question.

The portrait went quiet.

It wasn't truly worried about the heir being unable to protect the estate.

Think about it, this young wizard had handed over Ravenclaw's Diadem without so much as a change of expression.

"Rather than the matter of a guardian," the portrait said, tone sharpening, "I believe the Diadem that vampire was carrying should belong to this manor."

What if they pushed for it? The family could come to possess Ravenclaw's Diadem.

"That item cannot remain here." Dumbledore refused.

"Can you find Ravenclaw's heir and return it to its rightful owner, then?" The portrait's voice turned mocking. Arms crossed, it held itself with the self-satisfaction of someone newly pleased about having an heir to crow about.

"That is not the issue." The headmaster spoke calmly. "A very powerful Dark curse was once attached to that object. I need to take it back and investigate."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." The headmaster recited the motto engraved on the base, tone edged with regret. "A pity that dark shadow stole those treasures away."

After the portrait's relentless pressing, the headmaster agreed all the same, once the Diadem had been purified, it would be returned to the manor.

Throughout all of this, Lucas did not offer a single polite word on the matter.

Very Slytherin of him. When someone else steps up to fight for an interest, they know exactly where to look.

Moody had little respect for the portrait's posturing.

If Dumbledore weren't such a pushover, what could one portrait actually do if the Diadem stayed at the school?

"Aren't you concerned about the inheritance itself? The Ministry of Magic won't simply let a young wizard walk away with a manor unchallenged."

Moody thought ahead to what these two Slytherins would have to face once the Ministry got involved. Having been an Auror, Moody knew the Ministry's methods for absorbing other people's property better than most.

Their bag of tricks was seemingly endless.

But Dumbledore looked resolved to play the good man all the way through. Turning to the portrait again with the same proposal, did Lucas need a guardian in the wizarding world?

"Yes. But I don't want that person to be you." The portrait's position was unambiguous.

"I have no intention of putting myself forward. I only wish to recommend a suitable candidate — someone Lucas already trusts." Dumbledore looked toward Snape.

Snape frowned.

He met the old headmaster's blue eyes and couldn't read a single thing behind them.

He was already Lucas's mentor. There wasn't much practical difference between that and a guardian.

But why was Dumbledore making a point of formalising the title?

The Diadem, the vampire, the prophecy, the Dark Mark, this matter of inheriting a manor had pulled in far too many unrelated threads.

What was Dumbledore scheming?

Snape was still turning it over when Lucas accepted the suggestion with open enthusiasm. "I think that works! I agree!"

The portrait was incensed by how cheaply the heir was giving this away.

It stormed out through the frame in fury, then turned around and came straight back.

Letting a second-year manage everything on his own was genuinely impossible.

The portrait looked Snape over with a critical eye and agreed with the greatest reluctance.

Snape noted that he himself had not yet nodded.

No one thought he would refuse, except —

He met Lucas's expectant gaze. With a faint look of disdain, he shifted a step further away.

After a long moment, with only Lucas paying any attention, he gave a small nod.

.

Christmas was a warm holiday.

People generally enjoyed exchanging good wishes and sharing in the joy of the season.

Lucas and Snape returned to Spinner's End in the early hours of the morning.

Everything inside the house was exactly as they had left it.

The two wizards dropped onto the sofa, exhausted.

A moment later, Lucas jumped up.

The sofa bounced. Snape, who had just been drifting toward sleep, fixed him with a stare loaded with murderous intent.

"I'll go make some tea." Lucas glanced at the Christmas tree in the sitting room and noticed for the first time that a large box wrapped in green paper had appeared beneath it.

From the kitchen came the sound of rummaging. The kettle was filled and set to boil.

Snape draped an arm over his eyes. Dark again.

He heard a soft rustling from the corner of the sitting room.

Before they'd left, he had placed a prepared gift under the tree.

If Lucas hadn't dropped hint after hint, Snape would never have thought to prepare anything. And Lucas had just inherited a considerable fortune tonight, this gift was beneath notice to him now.

Snape tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere. Then he heard the sound of wrapping paper being torn from the corner.

Lucas was carefully peeling the paper open along the folded edges. A moment later, a book lay in his hands.

The title was vaguely familiar. It looked like the second book on the third shelf of the second bookcase in the study.

Lucas flipped through the table of contents. A great many obscure potions, all requiring specialised brewing techniques.

The corner went quiet.

Snape listened. Of course. He exhaled a slow, knowing breath.

"Professor! Professor!"

Snape startled. He nearly launched himself off the sofa, the voice was far too close. It felt like someone whispering directly into his ear.

He wasn't wrong.

He opened his eyes and Lucas's face was right there in front of him.

Snape swatted him.

"What are you doing?" Tone severe, gaze equally so, he put some distance between himself and Lucas.

"Thank you for the Christmas gift!" The blond wizard's eyes were bright, a Potions book clutched to his chest.

The sheer, uncomplicated warmth of it caught Snape off guard.

His better judgment reminded him there was some performance in this, the book was rare, but it was not out of print.

The little apprentice was very good at providing that sort of emotional warmth.

Lucas paid no attention to Snape's bluster. He had already brought over the small gift he had placed under the Christmas tree.

"I got you a gift too!" He crouched at the side of the sofa, looking more and more like a large, overeager pet.

Snape looked Lucas and his gift over with a critical eye. After a moment, two fingers reached out and lifted the gift bag by its handle.

The Potions master's deft fingers undid the elaborate bow on top. The gift box opened on its own, revealing a bundle of knitted fabric inside.

"What is... this?" The small box was stuffed to the brim.

Snape gave it a tentative tug. The box had been fitted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. He pulled out a length of knitted fabric, grabbed one end and kept drawing it out, until he had extracted a complete scarf.

He stared at it for a full half minute, genuinely unable to follow the logic of this gift.

"A lot of people in our house give these. They say something handmade expresses the feeling better." Lucas presented the scarf with some pride. "I specifically chose dark grey, and worked in a warming enchantment."

He had spent weeks racking his brain over a Christmas gift.

He had started with a few options, but small alchemical trinkets felt too dull.

One afternoon, passing by the common room, he had spotted a student knitting a scarf.

In Lucas's experience, it was generally girls who knitted scarves for people.

He himself had never once received a handmade item as a gift. People defaulted to not giving an Alchemy master something hand-crafted, because masters were extremely particular about the quality of handiwork.

Lucas had always quietly hoped someone would give him a scarf. But people assumed he already had plenty, and no one ever had.

He stood there and watched for a while.

The student's technique was rough to an alarming degree. Look too closely and you might think the scarf was a fishing net.

In a rare moment of curiosity, Lucas asked, "Is that a gift for someone?"

The student shot an irritated look, then recognised Lucas as the younger student who had helped put out a fire. "You wouldn't understand. Move aside, you're blocking my light."

Just from watching that basic knit stitch, Lucas had picked it up entirely. Simple enough to do with his eyes closed. And even as he watched, the student dropped another stitch.

Lucas pressed on out of genuine curiosity.

Pushed far enough, the student finally said: "Who isn't going mad with Christmas gifts! She's even richer than me, doesn't like jewellery, doesn't wear accessories either!"

Every avenue blocked. So the upperclassman had a flash of inspiration and landed on a scarf.

Lucas genuinely thought it was a brilliant idea.

His confidence had been quietly deflating under Snape's stare, though.

After a long pause, Snape asked with an odd expression: "Who taught you how to do this?" Fingers moving over the soft fabric, already picturing Lucas knitting away in the dormitory.

"A lot of people in the Slytherin dormitory are knitting these." Lucas sold out his classmates without a flicker of guilt.

Snape, true to form, followed that thread: "It seems I have not been assigning enough homework." He fixed his eyes on Lucas. "Don't waste your time making things like this by hand. If I were cold, I am perfectly capable of buying something from a shop."

Lucas deflated visibly. He pushed his handiwork's merits as hard as he could. "I wove in some unicorn tail hair — it's even warmer, and it helps ease shoulder aches. You can't buy that in a shop."

The gift Lucas had given Hagrid this term was a specially crafted grooming comb, it wouldn't hurt animals, could enhance the shine of their coat, and would automatically collect shed fur.

Any animal that tried it once would love it.

Lucas hoped Hagrid would use the comb on the unicorns. Though of course, if Hagrid chose to lend it to the centaurs and that helped Lucas develop a few clients, that wouldn't be a bad outcome either.

Snape knew nothing of these small schemes. After a long silence, managing it with what appeared to be considerable effort: "Don't make a habit of this... Merry Christmas."

The kitchen erupted — the kettle shrieked like a steam whistle.

Both wizards flinched. Lucas still had something to say, but Snape shoved him toward the kitchen. "Go turn off the heat, it's unbearable. Where's that tea you were making?"

The shove nearly knocked Lucas off his feet. There was a faint suggestion of personal grievance behind that particular amount of force.

But Snape had received the gift well enough. At least it hadn't been handed back.

Lucas walked toward the kitchen in a fine mood.

➤ Next: A Scholar's Nightmare