Perkin and Wil stood in a shadowed corner, watching the broomstick spiral out of control in the sky above.
"Didn't you say it would just make the broomstick hard to control?" Perkin asked, his voice laced with panic. "This looks like a lot more than just 'hard to control'."
Wil smiled slightly. He had purchased that vial of silvery Magic Resistance Liquid from a shady stall in Knockturn Alley. The dark wizard there had promised it would make a broomstick incredibly difficult to handle.
Wil had immediately thought of Damian. Since Damian was a star Quidditch player, and Wil had always wanted to cause him trouble, he bought the Magic Resistance Liquid on the spot.
However, what he hadn't told Perkin was the dosage. Only a few drops were needed for a minor malfunction. Since Perkin had injected the entire vial, the consequences were bound to be severe.
"Don't worry, the effect is just a bit too good," Wil drawled slowly. "Regardless, our goal of stopping him from winning the match has been achieved."
BOOM! The broomstick exploded in mid-air, and a massive fireball instantly engulfed Damian.
Perkin's expression froze. The blood quickly rushed to his face, turning it a mottled, furious red.
He grabbed Wil by the collar and roared in fury. "That stuff you gave me—what on earth was it?!"
Perkin's anger didn't stem from any reluctance to hurt Damian. It came from sheer terror. If Damian was blown to bits, Perkin would definitely be implicated. The crime of murdering a classmate would earn him a one-way ticket to Azkaban!
Wil feigned complete innocence, stammering, "I... I don't know! The seller said that vial would only make the broomstick hard to control..."
He certainly wasn't going to admit that he knew the standard dosage for the Magic Resistance Liquid.
Suddenly, a massive commotion erupted from the stands above.
Looking up, they saw Damian burst out of the fireball. He plummeted toward the pitch, quickly landing on a transfigured pile of sponge mats.
Seeing that Damian still had the strength to cast magic, Perkin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. If Damian had died, his life would have been over.
The McNeill family had some influence in the Ministry of Magic. As long as no one died, there was room to maneuver.
Still, he wasn't going down alone. He would drag Wil down with him.
"There's no way to settle this now," Perkin hissed, glaring at Wil. "If I'm found out, I'll definitely be expelled! And if I am, don't think you'll have it easy either. You gave me that liquid!"
Wil scowled gloomily. "It's already happened; we just have to manage the fallout. As long as you don't name me, I'll have my father pull some strings. We can arrange for you to transfer to the Durmstrang Institute."
Wil had a relative who was a professor at Durmstrang. It would be simple to place a pure-blood student who had made a "minor mistake."
Perkin thought about it and felt the terms were acceptable. But he still needed to communicate with his family—perhaps they could extract even more favors from the Crabbes.
Late at night, in the quiet ward of the Hospital Wing.
The other patients in the room were fast asleep. A dark shadow flashed past the window, and a lithe black cat quietly hopped onto the windowsill.
Damian immediately opened his eyes. He looked under his bed and saw a pair of glowing eyes. Nox's body blended perfectly into the gloomy shadows of the ward.
"Found them?" Damian whispered.
The pair of bright eyes bobbed up and down. Damian took it as a nod.
Picking up his wand, he transfigured his pillow to look exactly like his sleeping form. He scooped up Nox and quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself, his body melting into the background.
No one would ever suspect that a student who had just survived a lethal fall would quietly sneak out in the middle of the night.
Damian was simply making preparations in case the school's justice fell short. He didn't intend to do anything too extreme while still inside Hogwarts' walls.
The corridors were completely empty as he navigated the path from the Hospital Wing down to the Slytherin dungeons.
After slipping into the common room, Damian followed the subtle directions Nox provided.
Before curfew, Damian had ordered Nox to use his shadow clones. The cat had secretly tracked Perkin and Wil, pinpointing the exact locations of their dormitories.
Now that the castle was asleep, Damian came hunting for them with Nox's true body in his arms.
Soon, he found one of Nox's shadowy clones crouching silently in front of a heavy oak door.
With a tap of his wand and a whispered Alohomora, the lock clicked. The door swung open silently.
Inside the dim room, several Slytherin boys were sleeping soundly in their four-poster beds.
Damian quickly located Perkin's bed. He extended his right hand, and twenty or thirty glowing runic scripts quickly materialized over his palm. After a few breaths, the ancient runes merged together, forming a translucent, spectral raven.
With a slight lift of his hand, the raven spread its ethereal wings. It flew directly toward Perkin, sinking seamlessly into the sleeping boy's chest and vanishing without a trace.
Perkin remained fast asleep, completely unaware that his fate was now sealed.
This was the Raven's Eye—a unique rune-based magic from Damian's past life that could flawlessly track a marked target anywhere in the world.
After marking Perkin, Damian did nothing else. He quietly slipped out and repeated the exact same process in Wil Crabbe's dormitory, planting a second Raven's Eye.
With both of his targets marked, Damian retreated to the Hospital Wing. The entire operation took less than twenty minutes, and not a single soul discovered his absence.
The next morning, Damian was abruptly awakened by a noisy commotion outside the ward.
Madam Pomfrey's stern voice echoed from the doorway. "This is the Hospital Wing! You shouldn't be here disturbing my patients!"
"A shocking event has occurred during a Hogwarts Quidditch match," a sharp, dramatic woman's voice replied. "As a premier journalist, I have a duty to reveal the truth to the public."
"Move aside. You have no right to obstruct a Ministry of Magic official," a high-pitched, girlish voice chimed in. "We are simply here to express our concern for the injured student!"
Hearing that grating, oily tone, Damian immediately recognized the speaker. It was Dolores Umbridge.
Madam Pomfrey sighed in defeat. "Fine. But please keep your voices down. The children need their rest."
A moment later, three people marched into the ward.
Leading the pack was a haughty Umbridge. She was dressed head-to-toe in her usual, nauseating pink—a pink cardigan, a pink tweed skirt, and a pink handbag clutched in her stubby fingers.
Behind her followed a thin, severe-looking middle-aged man with his hair parted down the middle.
Next to him was a woman clutching a crocodile-skin handbag. She sported an elaborate, bizarre set of stiff blonde curls and wore a pair of ugly, jewel-encrusted spectacles.
The trio made a beeline straight for Damian's bed.
Umbridge plastered a sickeningly sweet, affected smile on her toad-like face. "I am Dolores Umbridge, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Education at the Ministry of Magic."
"Beside me is Walton McNeill from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"And this is Rita Skeeter, a special correspondent for the Daily Prophet."
"We are here to formally investigate the broomstick explosion that occurred during yesterday's Quidditch match. We hope you will cooperate fully."
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