I couldn't help but be worried. It was my natural state of being; the worrying was as much of a constant part of me as was the trolling by this point, I reckoned. My fingers were twitchy, my eyes scanned the passing students. I kept a smile on my face, even as more than a few students giggled and whispered at my passage. A few shyly waved in my direction, and as I gave them gentle nods of the head back in reply, they broke into even louder fits of giggle and moved on.
A quiet hissing caught my attention, and brought me to a halt near a wall from whence the hissing came. I extended my right hand in front of a seemingly unassuming brick wall, and watched as the smallish Draghul emerged from the hole, curling into my open palm and widening its jaws up towards me.
I blinked.
Then, I dashed on the double.
My passage through the kitchen was like that of a typhoon, and my descent into the sewers like that of a raging tsunami. I skedaddled through the secret shortcuts in the sewers, avoiding the traps that I dreaded had been sprung already, and came to a halt in front of the door where the two guard Draghuls stood with their fangs bared, jets of fire and ice billowing in the air at the intruders.
The intruders had a Protego to prevent their unneeded death, but they were having a hard time concentrating on anything else. Slithering Mantaguards were already nearing, deadly steel-like whips slashing in the air.
"Halt!" I roared, left hand extended, and the Gargoyles ceased their unrelenting assaults. I caught my breath a second later, staring at the incredulously shocked expressions of the trio of Gryffindors that had, indeed, come to knock at the door of my secret lair.
"There you are!" Hermione huffed, her fizzy hair looking slightly singed. Ron had a nasty gash running alongside his left arm, and Harry was looking mightily pale, but relatively unscathed. "What do you think you're doing, setting deadly traps in the sewers of Hogwarts!?"
"Staking my claim," I replied nonchalantly, trudging past them and snapping my fingers. The Draghuls resumed their stations, and my eyes critically went to the one on the left, a nasty crack on its chest. "Did they get you with an Oppugno? Does it hurt?" I asked.
"Those nasty mantas got me," Ron answered, just as the Draghul whined pitifully, lowering its neck in my direction for some head rubs. "H-hey!" Ron spluttered, "Don't fall for their tricks! I'm bleeding here-"
"Episkey," I said with a roll of my eyes, jabbing my wand in his direction. Ron looked down at his arm, which had stopped bleeding, and then grumbled something. I didn't catch that, busy as I was counting the survivors of this unwarranted assault. "There's three less Mantaguards-my poor darlings, the bad evil Gryffindors hurt you," I cuddled one, which had now resumed the relative softness of stone.
The others emitted gentle, cooing cries. "S-Shade!" Hermione yelled, catching my attention once more. "You should be more worried about them nearly having killed us."
"Eh, whatever," I shrugged, "You'd survive. I did teach you last year. If you weren't able to throw a Protego, you'd be in hot waters in this year's NEWT."
I then placed a hand against the door, and whispered the keyword to have it open. It slid aside, casting the room in its healthy verdant glow. "Do clean your feet on the carpet before coming in," I said, "Or use a cleaning charm. Whatever you fancy."
I stepped inside, gesturing with my left fingers to the side, where refreshments in the form of water bottles and juice packs rested. A couple floated forward, "If you want some tea, just ask and I'll have it prepared."
A couple of packets of biscuits landed neatly on a small circular table which I summoned forth from a corner. The room was cozy, and the entrance hall even had an appearance of being the coziest of them all. Well, if one ignored the ever-looming giant head of Shadowdrake peering down upon the guests like they were utter filth to be annihilated from existence, or the countless Draghuls that roamed the ceiling or gingerly flew from one corner of the room to the other in a variety of sizes, then yes, the room was cozy.
There were also Mantaguards scuttling beneath shelves, or hanging from the walls upon steel wires.
Why acquire living pets, when you can craft them from stone?
Suits of armor, prototypes mostly, rested against the walls.
"Doesn't that look like a Skrewt shell?" Harry asked, glancing at one of said armors' prototypes.
"Because it is," I acquiesced. "I asked Hagrid where he buried the foul creatures of hell and went to dig their shells up. One man's cherished carcass is another man's priceless magic-resistant armor. Though I do need to stoke up the forge to get the plates to bend, and you wouldn't know just how hard it is to get a few holes into them in order to sew them together," I grumbled. "Books make it look easy, but when you can't use magic to forge weapons, then it's suddenly an all too different tale."
I gestured at a few chairs, and took my own seat. "So, what can I do for you that you came all the way down into my Hall of Shadows?" as soon as I said that, the torches by the far ends of the wall flickered to life, and a pleasant musical beat started to play. "Ignore it," I said with a snicker. "I've got this prepared just in case I ever have to fight a group of evil wizards and they give me the time to glower and taunt them."
Hermione looked mightily displeased, but that displeasure was soon replaced with vivid, burning curiosity as she tried her best to memorize everything around her.
"Do you know why Professor Lupin isn't teaching?" Harry asked, "I tried to ask Sirius, but he said he didn't know either. Dumbledore's too busy to answer too-"
"Not a clue," I said with a light shrug. "Must have had something more important to worry about."
"Listen mate, it's all right. We're in the know," Ron said, "You know, the Order of the Phoenix stuff-we know because Sirius told us."
"Quite interesting," I answered with a chuckle, "But unfortunately for you three, I haven't the foggiest idea what this Order of the Phoenix thing is," though I did now have a new line of inquiry with Professor McGonagall thanks to Ron's ample mouth for telling me. "I suppose it's a secret organization of some kind that both Sirius and professor Lupin were a part of?"
"Dumbledore didn't tell you?" Hermione asked, wary. "You're pretty much in his office once a week, you worked for his brother over the summer, we all thought you were in the know-"
I helplessly shrugged. "What can I say," I sighed. "Guess he understood I hadn't much time on my hands to begin with to join this secret society of sorts," I pointed at Shadowdrake, whose stony head dropped down ever the slightest. I lifted my hand, and patted a spot under the Draghul's chin. The purring the dragon emitted was enough to make the ground tremble a tiny bit. "I'm working on interweaving protective enchantments on Gargoyles in my spare time, and forging weapons and armors."
"And why would you do that?" Harry asked, "Unless you're expecting something bad, like a war."
I shrugged. "I like doing this kind of stuff. You ever built a sandcastle by the sea? Some people like to build sandcastles, others like to build real castles. I like to build stuff, no, rather, I love to build stuff. That it's highly dangerous, deadly stuff to anyone but me isn't really my concern."
"Yeah, sure, until you come down one day and find three half-munched corpses, mate," Ron snorted, cracking open a pumpkin juice can and drinking from it. "Can't you have a more normal hobby? Like chess, or gobstone."
"Then what about Hagrid?" Harry pressed on. "Do you know where he went?"
"I don't know that either," I said with a sigh, though I could think about some possibilities. "I was even looking forward to his NEWT classes."
The trio stared at me wide-eyed. "B-But you hated his classes!" Hermione exclaimed. "We all saw the way you looked during those-"
"Well, yes, of course I did," I retorted, "He doesn't know the meaning of class-safety! But on to the NEWT level, I'm the only one he has as a student. Currently, I'm doing nothing but homework with Professor Grubbly-Plank, but when he comes back, we'll be going Forbidden Forest-Delving, and that will be an exciting experience, because I'll be field-testing some of my...prototypes," I glanced at the suits of armor. "Also, I might be thinning the dangerous creatures of the Forbidden Forest a bit, but I can't do that without knowing what lies in wait in the dark."
I clasped my fingers together, plopping my chin atop them. "Why should one wait for evil to come knock at their doorstep? Go find it, I say, and reap it in its crib."
"Yeah, all right," Ron rolled his eyes, "Not gonna meddle in this," he opened a package of biscuits, and munched on one. "This is kind of a comfy place," he added, "Barring the giant gargoyles that look ready to eat us alive, that is."
"Ron," Hermione huffed, "Where do those doors lead to?" she asked instead, glancing at a couple of doors opposite the entrance.
"Other entrances," I lied easily enough. "Well, a couple of secret entrances that double as escape routes are always welcomed." I pointed to a corner where a cauldron rested unused, "That over there is my potions' corner. Currently, I'm bound to start working on an oil meant to counter curses of low intensity. Should take me a month to get done, and a couple of weeks of full immersion to imbue some pieces of leather and cloth with it."
I grimaced. "I should have worked on it last year, but I busied myself with the Mantaguards before Dumbledore got angry about the prototype and I ditched the highly lethal armor in favor of some good old fashioned medieval stuff."
"Wouldn't a Protego spelled on the clothes be enough?" Ron asked.
"I've got those too," I said. "Your brothers actually are quite good when it comes to enchantments," I added. What I didn't say was that I even had my underwear enchanted. Because why cut corners on personal protection? A Protego here and one more there were merely extra protection. "Problem is that the protection doesn't really keep its strength after a couple of shots, while Potions, which take longer to brew and are quite harder to make, are far more long lasting."
I beamed a smile, "Professor Snape has proven invaluable in that," and as I said that, I inwardly chuckled since I was using both the living professor, and the younger version of him known as the Half Blood Prince to cut corners wherever I could.
"Well, whatever," Ron said.
Hermione, meanwhile, had busied her way out of the table and towards the book shelves. I quietly sipped at my water bottle, happily thankful that the prohibited books were in another room all together.
My eyes then snapped to the small table by the armchair near the chimney, and to the book resting atop it.
My heart froze.
"Looking at the books?" I asked, nonchalantly standing up and crossing my arms behind my back as I neared the bookshelf, "I've gathered quite a bit over the course of last summer."
"Some of these are first editions," Hermione gushed, "They must have cost you a fortune!"
No, not really. These were books that students forgot at Hogwarts, and that the Room of Requirements all too happily gave me by the score. I had thirty-five copies of Hogwarts a History second edition, all autographed by the author, market price for collectors of five hundred Galleons each. Professor Binns might not have been a teacher back then, but apparently the subject was so loathed one literally had to force the students to walk home with their books, and most others would just throw them away in empty classrooms.
Then, through the magical powers of Hogwarts, they'd end up in the Room of Requirements for the joy of future students.
The numbers of recently abandoned History of Magic books reached the three digits after Professor Binns' tenure at Hogwarts began.
"Not really," I answered. "Many I found while cleaning the Hog's Head. Old stuff Aberforth had for school and never bothered putting in a bookshelf. He gave them to me with a roll of the eyes and a scoff, which I think is Aberforth-speech for 'Here you go, keep them or burn them'."
I should have expected Hermione's next question, because of course, it had to come while I was busy summoning the book on Magick Moste Evile and shrinking it to a pocket-sized thing that I could hide within my robes' pockets.
"Can you loan me some?"
"One at the time," I answered. "And before getting another, you have to bring back the one you took."
And only afterwards, did I realize what I had condemned myself to.
For fucks' sake, why do I keep on falling for this breach of my sanctuary's private life?
Salazar, did you have to contend with Godric Gryffindor's incessant invasions too?
I'm starting to understand your reasoning for the Basilisk, Salazar.
I should get around to finding a toad and a couple of chicken eggs.
Just...just for scientific reasons, of course.