Dealings

October 8, 1992, 12:50 PM, Great Hall, Hogwarts

Adam Clarke

The Great Hall buzzed with activity during lunchtime as students filled their plates with various culinary delights from all over the globe.

Yet, I found myself staring at a solitary eclair with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Its glossy chocolate glaze seemed to beckon, promising a world of rich, creamy indulgence.

However, as I gazed at it, my excitement was tempered by a sense of unease.

Su, my ever-observant friend, looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Adam, are you alright? Never seen you hesitate to eat dessert.”

I tore my gaze away from my dessert and met Su’s eyes.

“I’m just… not quite hungry, I suppose?” I replied, though the real reason lay in the complexities of both the days ahead and before.

While my eyes remained fixed on the eclair, my mind wandered through a labyrinth of thoughts and emotions.

It’s this tournament. I thought.

The presence of students from different schools, each with their own unique traditions and skills, had turned our once-familiar surroundings into a whirlwind of chaos and unpredictability.

It wasn’t just that, however; Lockhart’s odd competence, a baffling twist in the narrative of a seemingly inept professor, had added another layer of mystery to the already perplexing events.

The world had been turned askew, and I couldn’t help but wonder about the true nature of it all.

Add to that the fact that Grindelwald is rising in power, Voldemort is at large, and there’s been no sign of the Diary… I thought and frowned. I know it in my mind that there’s no point in worrying about what I can’t control, but my heart just can’t seem to help itself.

I shook my head as I gathered myself once more. I could worry about this later; right now, there was a delicious dessert with my name on it!

But, just as I had finally decided to take a bite of the tempting eclair, I was interrupted by an unwelcome pat on the shoulder.

Annoyance flickered in my gaze as I turned to see Tony.

“What.” I said, my irritability just hostile enough to stop my friend from whatever he was about to say.

For a brief moment, Tony looked apologetic, but his expression quickly transformed into one of excitement, his eyes shining with a newfound enthusiasm.

“Adam!” Tony exclaimed, unable to contain his zeal. “You’ve got to come see!”

I shot Tony a questioning look.

“See what?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued, though I did not let it distract me.

With my eclair finally in hand, I took a bite, savoring the exquisite taste. The choux pastry was light and airy, a delicate contrast to the rich custard within. The chocolate glaze perfectly complemented the creamy center.

I was so overtaken with pleasure that I missed whatever Tony ended up saying next. Wiping my mouth, I turned my gaze back at the boy. “I’m sorry?”

Tony shook his head, amused by the interruption.

“Enjoying yourself?” He said, though excitement resurfaced as he continued. “There was a tournament announcement!”

“Oh?” I said, taking another sumptuous bite. “Have they decided on who our school’s Quidditch team members are?”

Tony nodded in confirmation, grinning. “And the first match too. Guess who’s playing.”

“Well, obviously Hogwarts since we’re hosting…” I said, though Tony didn’t look particularly impressed with that guess. “And… I don’t know. Durmstrang?”

“No.” Tony said. “Beauxbatons.”

“Is that so…”

My gaze drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where Harry was engrossed in conversation with Oliver Wood, as well as Fred, and George Weasley. Their animated gestures and excited expressions left little doubt in my mind: all four had made the school’s Quidditch team.

A rush of pride for my adopted brother filled me, surprising me for a moment.

Turning back to Tony, I wondered aloud. “I can see Harry, Fred, George and Wood made it; who else?”

Tony leaned in closer, all too happy to share. “I forgot their names, but I know that we’ve got a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin in the ranks for Chasers— and I know that Davies will be the third Chaser.”

“Davies, huh? He’s basically the captain of the Ravenclaw team, already. All that’s stopping him is that he’s not experienced enough for it yet.” I said. In the canonical timeline, Davies had indeed gone on to become the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, and his skills as Chaser were widely acknowledged. “Good choice. Roger Davies and Oliver Wood working together…”

“I didn’t know you were so interested in Quidditch, Adam.” Su commented, giving me an odd look, as if she had not expected me to say that.

That brought a smirk from me. “I do pay attention from time to time, you know.”

I quickly shifted the conversation, though. “But what I pay most of my attention to is my own practice. Speaking of which… Did they have any news on the dueling tournament?”

Tony chuckled, as if he had been waiting for me to ask.

“Ah, I was just getting to that.” He said. “The Quidditch match begins at the end of the month, on Halloween, and the Ministry will be holding preliminary dueling bouts leading up to the main event.”

“Preliminaries?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Tony nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess there have been too many applicants for the league.”

“Even taking into account how large this event is going to be?” I wondered out loud.

“I guess.” Here, Tony shrugged. “They probably want to narrow it down a bit, get the best of the best? I don’t know.”

“No, you’re probably right.” I said. “Separate the wheat from the chaff and all that.”

As I finished off the last delicious bite of my eclair, I absorbed this new piece of information. It made sense, given the growing interest in the dueling tournament.

People don’t want to waste their time and Galleons watching relatively average wizards and witches fighting. I thought. They want the good stuff. Skill, power, determination. They want to be swept away by it all.

Halloween. I now had a clearer timeline in my mind— a bit over three weeks to prepare for my first match.

As I began to devise strategies and training methods, I was interrupted by the arrival of a familiar face.

“Adam.” Mira Goshawk said, her tone a mixture of excitement and urgency. “Have you heard the news?”

I gestured to a grinning Tony. “Tony just got done filling me in.”

Mira nodded, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that surprised me.

“October the Eleventh. Noon.” She stated firmly, as if marking a date of great importance. “Our usual spot. Don’t be late.”

With that odd message, she turned and walked away, leaving me to stare after her with a sense of intrigue and annoyance.

Did she truly believe she could simply order me around without so much as a by-your-leave?

It was a notion that grated on my nerves, for I had never been one to be easily manipulated or cowed by any authority.

I shook my head, dispelling the frustration that threatened to linger. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to meet with her again— I’d been trying to find the time to do it, but I was always getting sidetracked in one way or another.

Plus, I couldn’t deny that her knowledge and insights were often valuable.

Still, I made a silent promise to myself that I would have words with the girl when next we met. While I respected her, I wasn’t going to let her push me around like that.

As I was lost in my thoughts, contemplating Mira’s message and my forthcoming conversation with her, Su’s voice cut through my musings with a startling question.

“Adam… Did Mira just ask you out on a date?” She asked, her tone innocent.

I blanched in shock, completely caught off guard and at a loss for words. The absurdity of the notion left me momentarily speechless, and I could feel my cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. “What?”

Su and Tony burst into laughter at my reaction.

“Look at his face, he’s all red!” Tony couldn’t help but say. “Nicely done, Su.” 

I swallowed as I turned my gaze to Su, who was giving me an impish grin. Why, you little…!

“You got me.” I admitted defeat with as much grace as I could manage in the situation. “This time.”

“Yeah, she did.” Tony said, prodding my shoulder and laughing once more.

I huffed in both annoyance and amusement, my gaze shifting toward another eclair on the table. There were details to sort out and mysteries to unravel, but for now, I decided to focus on the simpler pleasures in life.

After all, sometimes, a little humor and indulgence were the best ways to prepare oneself for the troubles that lay ahead.

oooo

A Few Hours Later, Near Hagrid’s Cabin…

The Sun hung low in the sky as I dropped the wheelbarrow off near Hagrid’s cabin. My brow was slick with sweat, and I wiped my face with the back of my hand, feeling the exertion of the past few hours. 

Taking on a few of Hagrid’s tasks had proven to be more challenging than I had anticipated.

Hagrid, always bustling with activity, had been busier than usual because of the Tournament, which left me with the lion’s share of the work.

As I caught my breath, I couldn’t help but appreciate the physical exertion. It provided a welcome release from the complexities and uncertainties of the magical world.

The tangible effort required to complete the task was a grounding experience, helping me to refine my focus.

My intention to head off to the secluded spot to feed Astrid was momentarily halted as I spotted a familiar head of blonde hair in the distance.

It was Draco Malfoy, flanked by his ever-loyal companions, Crabbe and Goyle. I pursed my lips, curiosity mingling with a sense of caution.

Despite our many meetings, Draco and I had never been close, to say the least.

Our interactions were usually tinged with a certain tension, and the fact that he brought his two sycophants with him didn’t spell any good news.

With Astrid’s hunger in the back of my mind, I debated whether to approach them or to keep my distance.

A moment later, I realized it was pointless. For all his faults, Draco was the determined sort; he would— and already has before— follow me until he got the answers he seeked.

I sighed quietly to myself, my fingers instinctively finding the familiar shape of my wand in my pocket. The warmth that radiated from it provided a small but reassuring comfort as Malfoy and his companions got within speaking distance.

“Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle.” I greeted them evenly, my voice devoid of any particular warmth. “What are you doing here?”

Draco responded with a subtle nudge of his head, indicating that he wanted to speak privately.

“A word, Black?”

Staring at Draco for a moment, my eyes narrowed slightly in uncertainty. I couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted this unusual visit. However, after a moment’s consideration, I nodded in acceptance.

Draco shot a glance toward Crabbe and Goyle, who obediently walked a bit further away, positioning themselves to keep a lookout. With a sense of wary caution, I turned my attention back to Draco, waiting for him to speak.

“Coming to me in public— that’s brave.” I remarked, a faint edge of sarcasm in my voice. “Aren’t you worried about how this might look?”

Draco met my remark with a counter, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Well, you see, for all people know, we could be having a fight right now. Crabbe and Goyle here are just keeping a lookout.”

I couldn’t help but smirk back.

“Oh? Are we fighting right now, Malfoy?” I asked, my tone challenging.

“Hardly.” Draco scoffed, though he swept his gray gaze around for a moment before turning it on me. “Have you heard?”

I nodded in response. “Yes, I’ve got the news about the schedules— everyone knows by now, no doubt.”

“I’ve applied for the younger dueling division.” Draco said, catching me by surprise.

My eyebrows were raised at his unexpected admission.

“Not the Quidditch tournament?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

“Didn’t even apply to that.” Draco replied, shaking his head with a dismissive gesture. “Quidditch is fun— but dueling…”

I understood the sentiment without him needing to finish the sentence.

Dueling held a unique allure for many wizards and witches, myself included. The thrill of competition, the display of skill, and the opportunity to prove oneself in a magical battle were aspects that resonated deeply within the wizarding world.

“Say no more.” I said with a knowing nod. I couldn’t help but respect his choice. “I have to say, I’m surprised.”

Draco’s silver eyes bore into mine, and there was a flicker of annoyance in his expression. It seemed that he had expected a different response from me, one that perhaps didn’t involve any hint of surprise or doubt.

“Surprised, Black? What for?” He questioned, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

I shook my head slowly, meeting his gaze evenly. “I figured you’d go for both Quidditch and Dueling.”

“Hmph.” Draco turned his nose up. “I would perform well in both categories, no doubt—”

“Indeed.” I cut in, rolling my eyes, but Draco ignored it.

“—But it’s best to focus on a single pursuit for this Tournament.” Draco finished, sending me a light glare for daring to interrupt him.

“Why have you come to meet me, Draco?” I inquired, my impatience getting the better of me. It seemed unlikely that he had sought me out just to share the news of his application to the dueling division.

Draco’s silver eyes held a hint of hesitation, and it was clear that he was carefully choosing his words. I had my suspicions, but I wanted him to admit it, to reveal his true intentions, whatever they may be.

“A duel.”

“A duel?”

Draco nodded.

I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his proposal.

I’m so popular these days.

“Not that I’m rejecting your request.” I began, a note of caution in my voice. “But why? You do realize I’m in the older division, right?”

“I do.” He confirmed with a determined expression. “And that’s precisely why. I want to test myself against someone clearly superior— in Dueling, anyway.”

His quick addition that my superiority was limited to dueling ability drew a chuckle from me. “Well, Malfoy, you certainly have a way with words. Very well; if you’re up for the challenge, I won’t refuse. When do you want to do this? Now?”

Draco considered for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not right now.” He replied. “I’ve got a few things to take care of today and the next week and a half. How about on the twentieth?”

“Sounds fine.” I nodded. “Enough time to improve afterwards.”

As Draco turned to leave, I halted him with a question that had been gnawing at me.

“Draco.” I began, my voice calm but genuinely curious. “Why are you so interested in dueling against me specifically?”

Draco’s gaze met mine, startled and yet thoughtful before it turned somewhat derisive. Still, I could tell that it held no real bite.

Just a knee-jerk reaction, I suppose.

“Greengrass.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowered as he explained further. “I suspected Greengrass was up to something. I overheard Davis bringing it up to Greengrass.”

“You just happened to overhear a conversation between Davis and Greengrass.” I said dryly, but Draco kept his face neutral. His soul thread, on the other hand, jittered with both amusement and annoyance.

“I can be discreet when necessary.” Draco said, turning his nose up again. “You’re not the only one with a way to become invisible.”

I couldn’t help but be impressed by Draco’s resourcefulness.

A smirk crept onto my lips as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It suddenly made sense; Draco was not only scoping out the competition but also aiming to receive the same lessons that Daphne was.

“So, you’re looking for an edge in the dueling tournament.” I mused, the realization dawning on me. “Resourceful, and clever, Malfoy. Very clever.”

“Slytherin.” Was Draco’s only response.

“Quite.” I said with a shake of my head. “But don’t think I’ll give you insight on her capabilities so easily.”

“Never said it would be easy.”

“That’s the spirit!” I exclaimed with a sly grin, clapping my hands once.

My sudden burst of enthusiasm seemed to startle Crabbe and Goyle, who had been lurking in the background, doing their best to appear disinterested in our conversation— not that they could hear us, at any rate.

“Now.” I continued, my voice lowering conspiratorially. “You should probably go before your two lackeys start thinking you’re adopting my ‘evil Mudblood ways.’”

I watched as Draco turned to leave, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

That kid is growing on me.

I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

oooo

10:00 PM, Knockturn Alley, London…

Alastor Moody

The very air seemed to pulse with the essence of unease. The cobblestone streets were narrow and winding, creating a labyrinthine maze that concealed its secrets from prying eyes.

The storefronts that lined Knockturn Alley were a stark contrast to the colorful and cheerful shops of Diagon. Here, each establishment bore an air of sinister allure. Grimy windows showcased twisted and macabre curiosities, from shrunken heads to dark magical artifacts.

The flickering, sickly light of the street lamps cast eerie, elongated shadows, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

Hooded figures and cloaked individuals moved through the alley with an air of hurried secrecy.

Amidst this bleak backdrop, Alastor Moody, the grizzled and battle-hardened ex-Auror, navigated the treacherous terrain. His magical eye swiveled independently, scanning his surroundings for any signs of danger or deception.

His patience had long since worn thin, and annoyance gnawed at the edges of his resolve. 

His previous leads had yielded nothing but frustration, and the bureaucratic hand of the Auror Office moved at an infuriatingly sluggish pace.

It was a familiar feeling for Moody, one that had driven him to take matters into his own hands time and time again.

His magical eye continued to swivel independently, scanning the dark corners and hidden crevices of the alley for any hint of any elusive threats.

The weight of responsibility bore down on his shoulders, and he knew that he couldn’t afford to wait for official channels to catch up.

The Auror Office, with all its regulations and protocols, often felt like an impediment to Moody’s relentless pursuit of justice.

He had faced down dark wizards and creatures that would make most wizards quiver in fear, and he had little tolerance for the red tape and bureaucracy that could slow the process of bringing malefactors to justice.

Moody’s experience had taught him that when the darkness threatened to consume the Wizarding World, action needed to be swift and decisive. It was a belief that had guided him throughout his career and had led him to defy the constraints of the system when necessary.

That belief was why he now found himself in front of a dimly lit bar tucked away in the recesses of Knockturn Alley.

The air was thick with whispered conversations and the clinking of glasses.

Moody knew that his target was here, enjoying a pint with a group of associates, no doubt celebrating the success of yet another illicit venture.

He pushed open the creaking door of the bar, and the room fell silent. The patrons, a motley crew of shady characters and ne’er-do-wells, recognized him instantly.

Moody’s reputation as an unyielding— and often brutal— enforcer of justice preceded him, and his presence in this den of iniquity sent a chill through the room.

The flickering candlelight revealed the faces of those who had been reveling in their ill-gotten gains just moments before. Moody’s magical eye darted across the room, sizing up potential threats and assessing the situation.

He had faced dangerous adversaries in his time, but these criminals were not his concern at the moment. He had one target in mind, and he intended to confront them directly.

His heavy, mismatched footsteps echoed on the wooden floorboards as he strode purposefully toward the bar. The tension in the room was unmistakable, and all eyes remained fixed on him. Moody’s jaw was set, his scarred face etched with determination.

The target, seated at the bar with a pint in hand, turned slowly to face Moody, his expression a mix of surprise and trepidation.

Moody’s voice, gruff and unyielding, cut through the silence. “We need to talk.”

His target, aware that there was no escaping this confrontation, nodded reluctantly before nudging his head outside. He gave Moody a wary expression as the man joined him.

Moody’s gaze was unwavering and relentless.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Mundungus Fletcher muttered through the gloom of the alley. “Running out of leads, I take it? You only ever come to me when you have no other choice.”

Moody’s expression remained stern, his magical eye scrutinizing Fletcher for any signs of deception.

He had crossed paths with Fletcher more times than he cared to count, always when the trail had grown cold and desperation had begun to set in.

“That’s right.” Moody growled. “You’re one of my last resorts, as always. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Fletcher, but I need information, and I need it now.”

Fletcher’s eyes darted around nervously, his fingers trembling as he resisted the urge to reach for his wand. He knew that the wrong move would land him in jail for the night, or worse.

“What’s it worth to you, Moody?” Fletcher replied, his voice a mix of wariness and greed. “Information doesn’t come cheap in these circles.”

Moody’s magical eye continued to scrutinize Fletcher’s every movement and expression. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

Fletcher, however, wore a knowing grin.

“I’ve known you long enough.” He said. “You’re trying to get an idea of what Grindelwald is doing.”

Moody’s face darkened at the mention of Grindelwald.

The battle— if you could even call it that— they had engaged in during the summertime had left its scars.

Grindelwald was a dangerous and cunning adversary, one whose machinations could have far-reaching consequences for the wizarding world.

Mundungus had assessed the situation correctly; Moody’s visit was indeed related to Grindelwald’s activities.

The stakes were higher than ever, and Moody’s wariness was well-founded. He had seen firsthand the devastation that Grindelwald could unleash, and he was determined to prevent further chaos.

“Am I right?” Mundungus says, a smug grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Moody’s response was curt, his voice laced with impatience. He ignored Mundungus’s self-satisfied expression, his focus unwavering. “What do you know?”

Mundungus cast a wary glance around the alley, ensuring they weren’t being overheard. With a reluctant sigh, he acquiesced, revealing the morsel of information he had gathered.

“Grindelwald’s been making inquiries.” He said, his voice hushed. “Inquiries about acquiring supplies.”

Moody’s magical eye blinked in response.

“Supplies for what?” Moody demanded, his tone stern and unyielding.

Mundungus hesitated for a moment before answering. “I don’t know the specifics, but it’s been hush-hush. He’s been reaching out to a few of my contacts, asking for rare magical ingredients and artifacts, things that could be used for who knows what. None are traceable.”

“Rare ingredients?” Moody’s keen interest sharpened as he pressed for more details. “What kind are we talking about here?”

Mundungus hesitated again, as if weighing the risks of sharing further information. He relented, realizing Moody’s good eye had scrunched even further.

“Some of the usual things.” Fletcher began. “You know, rare potion ingredients, powerful magical artifacts to help his effort. But there have been a few requests that struck me as odd, even for someone like Grindelwald.”

Moody’s magical eye blinked with intrigue. “Odd? Like what?”

Mundungus took another cautious look around, then leaned in closer to Moody.

“Basilisk venom.” He said, and lowered his voice even further. “And a Dementor’s Cloak.”

Moody’s expression darkened at the mention of the last two items. Basilisk venom was among the most potent and dangerous substances in the wizarding world, and a Dementor’s Cloak, a relic from the darkest corners of magic, was deeply unsettling. These were not the kind of supplies one casually acquired; they hinted at a far-reaching and malevolent agenda.

He knew that Grindelwald’s ambitions were vast, but this new information suggested a level of cruelty and power that sent shivers down his spine. 

With a nod of acknowledgment and a sack of Galleons dropped in Mundungus Fletcher’s hand, Moody disappeared into the shadows of Knockturn Alley once more, his mind racing as he considered the implications of this ominous revelation.

The battle against Grindelwald had just taken a darker and far more dangerous turn than he’d feared.

Albus will not like hearing of this.