(Vincent's POV - Hogwarts)
I sat at my desk in my dorm, a worn chessboard spread out before me, the pieces frozen in a mid-game stalemate.
It had been one month since I'd brought Blaise and Theo into the fold. One month since Cerberus was born.
I'd been teaching them, pushing them. Not just magic, not just spells and combat training we would meet outside Hogwarts after the term and I would teach them how to use guns, knives and more.
It was a slow burn, this game we were playing. A long game that wouldn't bear fruits for decades. Thirty years, maybe more. I'd seen it, a glimpse of the future during my first life. The rise of social media, the internet, the way information could spread like wildfire, burning down barriers, exposing secrets.
That's when the real work would begin.
A smirk twisted my lips. The old bastards wouldn't even see it coming.
Blaise and Theo lay sprawled on the Room of Requirement's floor, panting, sweat dripping from their brows. I leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching them catch their breath. The Room, obliging as ever, had transformed into a training space – bare stone walls, a few battered training dummies scattered around, the lingering scent of sweat and magic.
"Where the hell did you even learn this?" Blaise gasped, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his voice a raspy whisper.
I just smirked. Let them wonder. The less they knew about my past, the better.
"How are your other tasks coming along?" I asked, my voice a casual rumble. "Seen anyone with… potential? Anyone who might be… useful?"
I'd given them this assignment a few weeks ago – observe, analyze, identify. Not just strength or magical talent. I was looking for something more. Intelligence. Ambition. A willingness to… bend the rules.
Theo, pushing himself to his feet, ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "A few possibilities," he said, his voice a bit strained. "There's that seventh-year, Adrian Pucey. He's got connections, knows how to get things done. And his younger brother, Marcus, in fourth year, he's… observant. Sharp."
Blaise nodded, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah, and there's that sixth-year witch, Millicent Bulstrode. Bit of a brute, but loyal. And loaded. Her family's got a vault at Gringotts the size of a cathedral."
"Slughorn?" I asked, my gaze fixed on them. "What about him?"
Blaise snorted. "Please. The old walrus is all about connections, favors, stroking egos. He'd sell his own grandmother for a bottle of rare brandy and a seat at the right table."
"He could be… manipulated," Theo said, his voice thoughtful. "He's susceptible to flattery, to offers of… exclusivity."
"True," I said, a plan already forming in my mind. Slughorn, for all his flaws, could be a useful pawn.
"What about Daphne Greengrass?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow.
"She's smart," Theo said, his voice quiet. "Resourceful. And her father… well, he's on the rise in the Ministry. A close ally of Fudge."
Blaise grinned, "Look, mate, whatever happened between you two, it's not my business. But she's a prime target for recruitment. Powerful family, connections in all the right places, and she's smart. She could be a major asset."
Blaise was right. Daphne… she was a key piece of the puzzle.
I sighed. "I'll… think about it."
"Think fast, mate," Blaise said, his grin widening.
(Daphne's POV)
The past few months had been…weird.
Vincent.
I'd been avoiding him. It was easier that way. Before… well, before the truth.
I'd still spent time with Blaise, and even Theo, when Vincent wasn't there of course. We'd talk about magic, about books, about music. We'd argue about politics, about the Ministry, about the future. It felt… normal.
But now… Blaise and Theo were practically glued to his side, their faces grim, their eyes always watching, always assessing. They barely spoke to me anymore .
I missed him. I missed our talks, our arguments, the way he'd challenge my assumptions, push me to think differently.
But I also feared him. The fire at Malfoy Manor… His confession… It had changed everything. I knew what he was capable of. The darkness that lurked beneath his surface… It terrified me.
I saw them, Blaise and Theo, disappearing into the Room of Requirement one afternoon. They went there a lot these days. Training, I guessed. Or maybe plotting. I wanted to use the Room myself – there was a new Transfiguration spell I was trying to master – but it was always occupied. Always.
A few days later, I was heading to Charms class when I felt a hand on my arm. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. It was him. Vincent.
He looked… great. I couldn't deny that I loved the long hair and especially the earring.
"Daphne," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Can we talk? In private."
"I… I'm on my way to class, Vincent," I stammered, my gaze darting around the crowded corridor.
"It's important," he said, his gaze unwavering.
"What about?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
A flicker of something… impatience? … crossed his face. "It's about something you will be interested in but can't be done here with too many eyes and ears."
"Please," he said, his voice softening a fraction. "Just… ten minutes. In the Room of Requirement."
The Room. I'd been dying to use it. But with him?
I hesitated, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Curiosity. Fear. A longing I couldn't quite suppress.
"Fine," I said, the word a reluctant surrender.
The air in the Room of Requirement crackled with a familiar energy. As I followed Vincent, my gaze traced the shifting walls, the space morphing to accommodate his unspoken desires. I couldn't help but remember… the training sessions, our wands flashing, his laughter as I finally mastered a particularly tricky spell. The stolen moments between intense drills, our conversations ranging from ancient runes to Muggle movies. And the kissing, the touching… that breathless, exhilarating.
I pushed the memories away, a lump forming in my throat. It was different now. Everything was different.
"So," I said, my voice a touch sharper than intended, "What did you want to talk about?"
He didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Are you afraid of me?"
The question hung in the air, a challenge, an accusation. I met his gaze, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"Yes," I whispered, the word a reluctant confession.
"You shouldn't be," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I would never hurt you, Daphne."
His words were meant to be reassuring, but they only sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to believe him. But the fire at Malfoy Manor… his confession… the darkness I'd glimpsed in his eyes…
Silence stretched between us, a chasm filled with unspoken truths. I didn't know what to say.
"You told me once," he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, "That you wanted to be strong. Like me. Do you still want that?"
I nodded, the memory of the werewolf attack flashing through my mind. The terror, the helplessness… the raw power Vincent had unleashed, the ease with which he'd dispatched those… monsters…
"I can still help you with that," he said, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "Look, Daphne, we were friends first. I know you think I went too far with… the whole Malfoy business… but it had to be done." He paused, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive murmur. "I still want to help you get stronger. We don't have to be… like we used to be. We could… try being friends again. What do you think? Do you want to be stronger?"
His words were a lifeline, a promise of power, a glimmer of the connection we'd once shared. I thought about the werewolves, their snarling faces, their claws slashing. I thought about the fear, the helplessness, the way Vincent had stood between us, a shield against the darkness. I wanted that strength. The ability to protect myself. Maybe… in a deep, hidden part of me… even the ability to protect myself from him.
"I do," I whispered, my gaze meeting his.
He smiled then, a genuine smile that lit up his face, chasing away the shadows. It was the Vincent I remembered, the boy I'd…
No. I pushed the thought away. It was different now. We were different.
He extended his hand. "Friends?"
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they clasped his.
(Vincent's POV - Hogwarts)
May already. Time was a slippery thing.
Daphne had been back in the fold for weeks now, her initial hesitation melting away under the intensity of our training sessions. I'd told blaise and theo that she did not know about cerberus she was back for training only.
Daphne had proven herself, though. She was dedicated, pushing herself to her limits in the Room of Requirement.
Blaise and Theo had recruited Adrian Pucey. The seventh-year Slytherin had passed our tests – a combination of subtle challenges, carefully orchestrated scenarios designed to reveal his character, his loyalties, his willingness to… bend the rules.
We'd inducted him into Cerberus in the Room of Requirement, the weight of the Unbreakable Vow sealing his fate. As he was graduating this year and had already found a job at the ministry, he would be our agent there..
Blaise, Theo, and even Daphne had been asking about the runes. They'd seen the power they granted, the edge they gave me.
"Next year," I'd said, my voice firm. "You're not ready yet."
They needed more training, more discipline, a deeper understanding of the magic they were trying to wield. The runes were a tool, yes. But they need to be stronger so their bodies can handle them.
The rest of the year went on at a "normal" pace, we took our O.W.L.s and the term was over, I was going to meet theo and blaise at a farm my grandp…I owned it was time to introduce them to guns.
The air was thick with the smell of hay, manure, and something… metallic. I stood in the center of the barn, a worn wooden table before me, its surface covered with an array of firearms.
Blaise and Theo stood a few feet away, their eyes wide, their expressions a mix of awe and apprehension. They'd apparated next to my apartment a couple of hours ago and I had driven them here. We couldn't just apparate here without scaring the staff and farmhands and because they did not know where it was.
"So," Blaise said, "What's all this, then?"
"This, my friends," I said, "Is a crash course in ."Firearms or the Boomstick as some would call it."
I gestured towards the table. "Let's start with the basics."
I picked up the Smith & Wesson 5906, its weight familiar in my hand. I checked the magazine, the satisfying click of the bullet chambering echoing in the stillness of the barn.
"This," I said, holding up the pistol, "Is a firearm. A handgun."
Blaise whistled.
Theo, his brow furrowed in thought, took a hesitant step closer to the table. "How… how does it work?"
I explained the mechanics of the firearm, the bullets, the trigger, the safety. I showed them how to hold it, how to aim, how to control the recoil.
"It's not magic, boys," I said, handing the pistol to Theo. "It's engineering. Physics. But in the right hands… it's just as deadly."
Theo took the pistol gingerly, his fingers trembling slightly as he examined the cold metal. Blaise, however, was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to get his hands on the weapon.
I showed them how to load and unload the pistol, how to clean it, how to care for it. Then, I moved on to the other weapons on the table. A sleek, black shotgun. A powerful hunting rifle. A few other handguns, each with its own quirks, its own personality, I had made some more trips to my dealer.
"Remember," I said, my voice firm, "These are tools, not toys. They're dangerous. Lethal."
We spent the rest of the afternoon practicing. Loading, unloading, aiming, dry firing. I corrected their grips, their stances, their breathing.
One funny moment was when Blaise tried using the shotgun and the thing flew off his hands, the face he made was priceless.
"Control, boys," I said, my voice a low, insistent rhythm. "It's all about control. Of the weapon. Of yourselves. Of the situation."
The sun dipped low on the horizon, Blaise and Theo were exhausted, their arms aching and shoulders hurting.
It was a good day.
The goblin sneered at me, his yellow eyes glittering with a mix of greed and grudging respect. "So, Mr. Van Doren," he rasped, his voice like nails scraping on a chalkboard, "You want to buy… all of it? The businesses, the properties, the… assets?"
I leaned back in the plush chair, the velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the cold, hard stone of the Gringotts office. "That's right, Griphook," I said, my voice a calm, measured rumble. "Everything the Malfoys owned."
It had taken weeks of careful planning, subtle maneuvering, and a few… persuasive… spells to get this meeting. The Malfoys, those arrogant, pureblood bastards, were gone. Their legacy was up for grabs. And I intended to be the one to claim it.
"It will be… expensive," Griphook said, his gaze lingering on the stack of documents I'd placed on his desk. Deeds, contracts, inventories. The remnants of a fallen empire.
"Money is no object," I said, my lips curving into a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
He grunted, a sound that might have been approval. Goblins respected power. And I was the one who'd killed Voldemort.
"The Ministry has… concerns," Griphook said, his voice a sly whisper. "About your… sudden interest… in Malfoy Holdings."
"Tell the Ministry," I said, my voice hardening, "That I'm simply… diversifying my portfolio."
The truth, of course, was far more complicated. This wasn't just about money, about turning a profit. This was about control. About influence.
I'd already started making moves. A publishing house, its presses churning out a steady stream of Ministry-approved propaganda. A potion ingredients supplier, its warehouses overflowing with rare and potent herbs. A chain of magical artifact shops, their shelves stocked with wands, amulets, and… other, less savory, items.
The wizarding world was ripe for a takeover. Fudge, the cowardly fool, was blinded by fear, his grip on power slipping with each passing day. Dumbledore was preoccupied with destroying the last piece of voldemort.
I intended to fill the void.
"The contracts are in order," Griphook said, pushing the stack of documents towards me, a greedy gleam in his eyes. "Sign here, here… and here."
I did, my signature flowing across the parchment with a practiced ease. The ink shimmered, a magical bond sealed. The Malfoys' empire was now mine, it did cost me millions upon millions of galleons.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Van Doren," Griphook said, a rare smile twisting his lips, revealing pointed teeth that gleamed like polished ivory. "I suspect… we'll be seeing more of each other."
I rose from the chair, a surge of triumph coursing through me. "I suspect you're right, Griphook," I said, my voice a quiet promise.
The cool air of Diagon Alley was a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of Gringotts. I strode down the cobblestone street, my mind still buzzing with the deal I'd just struck.
I rounded a corner, my gaze scanning the bustling crowds, and then I saw them. Potter and Black.
They were standing outside Flourish and Blotts, Potter with his nose buried in a book, Black leaning against a wall, his gaze scanning the street. I could feel their eyes on me before they even registered my presence. I quickened my pace, hoping to slip past unnoticed.
No such luck.
"Van Doren!" Black's voice, a warm baritone that cut through the din of the crowd, stopped me in my tracks. I cursed under my breath, and turned, forcing a polite smile onto my face.
"Black," I said, my voice a cool nod. "Potter."
Potter just glared at me, his green eyes narrowed.
Black, however, seemed… less hostile. He even offered a tentative smile.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he said.
"Just… running errands," I replied, my gaze shifting between Black and Potter.
"Right," Black said, his smile widening a fraction. "Errands. Of course."
He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on me, a hint of… something… in his eyes. Curiosity? Assessment? I couldn't quite decipher it.
"Listen, Vincent," he said, his voice dropping a notch, "I wanted to thank you. For… well, for everything."
I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Everything?"
"You know," Black said, a touch awkwardly, "For… taking care of… You-Know-Who. For saving Harry."
"It was… a necessity," I said, my voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah, well," Black said, shrugging, "Necessary or not, you did what needed to be done. And I… well, I appreciate it."
Potter snorted, his disdain palpable. "You shouldn't be thanking him, Sirius. He used me. He used all of us. He's a…"
"Harry," Black interrupted, his voice firm. "That's enough."
He turned back to me, his expression softening. "Look, Vincent, I know there's… bad blood… between you and Harry. And I understand why. But… well, you saved his life. You saved all our lives." He paused, his gaze searching mine. "Maybe… maybe we can start over? Put the past behind us?"
I met his gaze, a flicker of something… respect, maybe? … stirring within me. Black was different from the other Order of the Phoenix types. He understood the cost of war, the darkness that lurked within even the best intentions.
And Potter… he hadn't mentioned the fact that he was a Horcrux. The seventh Horcrux. The one that Dumbledore was now burdened with. Interesting. It seemed the old man was keeping this information to himself for now.
"Perhaps," I said, my voice a noncommittal murmur.
"Good," Black said, a genuine smile lighting up his face. "Come on, Harry. Let's grab those books and get out of here."
He clapped a hand on Potter's shoulder, steering him towards Flourish and Blotts.
With having a very 'big' foothold in the business side of the wizarding world I could relax a little, I would now focus on helping Blaise and Nott get close to my level, Stepping into the political game would have to wait until I was out of Hogwarts.