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"Let's aggressively go over the tactical plan exactly one more time—"
Rabastan Lestrange leaned heavily against the cold stone wall of the fourth-floor trophy room, speaking in a low, harsh whisper to Avery. "Mulciber flawlessly lures that damned, filthy cat directly in here with the bait, you stand by the door and keep a strict watch, and I'll personally, violently take care of the smelly beast."
He viciously kicked a small, reinforced metal cage resting at his feet. The silver moonlight slanting through the high windows illuminated his heavily acne-scarred face, revealing a deeply twisted, highly sadistic gloom and ferocity that absolutely did not mathematically match his young age.
"Are you absolutely, 100% sure the Potion actually works on cats?" Rabastan squinted his dark, cruel eyes at Avery.
"S-sure," Avery stuttered, genuinely a bit deeply scared by the older boy's fierce, psychopathic look, but he still nodded frantically. "This specific Potion, I secretly got it directly from Snape before... you know, back when he used to actively help us with our advanced Potions homework. He explicitly said it was entirely fine—"
"Snape." Rabastan violently gritted his teeth, his face contorting with pure, unadulterated pureblood disgust. "That filthy, greasy half-blood brat... he's been aggressively hanging out with that arrogant little Black lately. Can we even mathematically trust a single word that traitor says anymore?"
Well, you absolutely should have logically said so much earlier if you entirely didn't believe the potion would work—we're literally already standing here in the trap— Avery felt a bit deeply wronged by the accusation and immediately defended himself: "Yes! Severus... I mean, Snape. His raw Potions skills are absolutely top-notch in our year. Everyone in the dungeons completely trusts his brews."
Rabastan pulled a long, highly dangerous face and threatened coldly:
"Hmph. Listen to me very closely, Avery. If things get physically messed up tonight, you logically know exactly what will happen. Absolutely none of us will legally get away clean, and I will personally make you pay for it."
Avery shivered violently in the freezing draft—he had historically, personally seen Lestrange's terrifying, psychopathic cruelty with his own two eyes in the Slytherin common room. He had once violently played with helpless rabbits using highly illegal dark magic, not only brutally tearing them apart, but also surgically, sadistically taking out their internal organs while they were still alive and stringing them up like grotesque trophies just to feed the older students' pet snakes. And he could still wildly, heartily laugh while doing it.
Avery had also heard terrifying rumors that his older brother, Rodolphus Lestrange, would actually heavily use Unforgivable dark magic directly on people—tonight, Avery genuinely shuddered to wonder exactly how Rabastan would brutally deal with that poor, helpless cat.
"Mm," Avery responded, his terrified voice barely audible over the rattling of the cold windows.
We are absolutely all purebloods, Avery thought miserably, so exactly why do the terrifying Lestranges physically seem to have hearts made entirely of cold stone? In massive contrast, the Black brothers—they might be arrogant, but they look and act exactly like two perfectly flawless, highly disciplined princes. Avery stared at a massive pimple on Rabastan's nose, complaining heavily inwardly about his own terrible political alliances.
Meanwhile, heavy, silver moonlight streamed brightly into the dusty corridor from the high, arched windows.
This Evie Frye, she physically runs so incredibly, terrifyingly fast! Lily and Mary were panting heavily. Evie would sometimes abruptly stop on a dime, and sometimes violently rush forward to chase the shadows, possessing a flawless, highly mathematical rhythm and incredibly light, completely silent footsteps. She moved exactly, biologically like a highly trained hunting cat!
Every single time they violently turned a sharp stone corner, Lily and Mary genuinely felt like they were actively about to completely lose her in the dark.
This brilliant little Ravenclaw witch is so incredibly bold, physically fast, and absolutely decisive. She honestly should have been Sorted directly into our Gryffindor! Lily thought proudly.
The three little witches ran and stopped tactically along the way, aggressively running through corridor after dark corridor, flawlessly circling massive stone pillars, quietly climbing the shifting stairs, and finally, safely arrived at a long, drafty corridor entirely filled with gleaming suits of ancient armor on the fourth floor.
And the battered, grey cat, Church, had just quickly turned into a dark doorway directly ahead of them.
Evie paused, pressing her back flat against the cold stone wall, and inquired highly tactically with her massive blue eyes; she wasn't entirely familiar with the Castle's complex architectural layout yet, only logically knowing that there was a designated Charms classroom somewhere on this specific fourth floor.
"The trophy room is directly ahead. The heavy oak door is entirely, permanently unlocked here," Lily whispered highly quietly into Evie's ear.
"We absolutely shouldn't be illegally running around the castle at night," Mary squeaked, her voice trembling with lingering, massive fear of expulsion. "Please, absolutely do not ever do this again, Lily."
Mary literally, predictably said that exact same sentence every single time they broke a rule—Lily gave a brilliant, highly sly Gryffindor smile, gently put her index finger directly to her lips, and firmly motioned for her friend to be absolutely quiet.
The three little witches exchanged a highly synchronized, determined look and completely quietly crept towards the slightly ajar door of the trophy room.
In a dark, dusty spot between two massive glass cases where Church often appeared on patrol, Mulciber had carefully placed a small, highly disgusting pile of raw, minced salmon violently mixed with Snape's pink Potion and a few strands of his own greasy hair.
The highly stupid, greedy cat had indeed completely fallen for the trap, aggressively following the scent all the way into the room—Mulciber was currently highly, secretly pleased with his own brilliant tactical execution.
This groundbreaking, highly advanced idea of using behavioral modification Potions directly on magical animals... I honestly don't know exactly how Avery came up with it. What an absolute waste of genius, Mulciber thought.
In the heavy quietness of the corridor, the three little witches pressed their ears completely flat against the heavy oak wood of the trophy room door, and muffled, highly sinister voices clearly came from inside—
"You're... you're not actually planning to violently kill it, are you?" Lily instantly, flawlessly recognized Avery's whining, cowardly voice.
?!
The three little witches standing outside the door immediately exchanged highly horrified, wide-eyed glances in the dark.
Inside the room, Church—who had successfully smelled the absolute most delicious, chemically enhanced dried fish in the entire world—was currently highly docilely, pathetically circling Mulciber's heavy boots. The cat looked completely, chemically dazed, sticking out its rough tongue entirely clingily, repeatedly licking the dark leather of Mulciber's shoes, and gently, highly affectionately meowing.
Mulciber looked completely, utterly disgusted by the affection, but remained absolutely motionless to avoid spooking it.
Rabastan, standing directly in front of him, leaned heavily forward, his dark brown eyes aggressively, viciously staring down at Church—
"You filthy, snitching, pathetic dead cat. You directly got me a brutal detention with Filch last week... You're exactly, biologically just like your pathetic Squib owner: completely low, entirely magicless, and completely dirty."
Neither Avery nor Mulciber verbally responded; this specific, highly psychopathic side of Lestrange always made them a bit deeply, genuinely scared for their own physical safety.
Rabastan violently bent down and aggressively, roughly picked up the battered kitten directly by the scruff of its bony neck. The drugged cat was completely, helplessly still docilely meowing at Mulciber, acting exactly like a harmless, affectionate little kitten, highly inspiring deep pity in any normal human—
But that absolutely did not mathematically include the psychopathic Rabastan Lestrange. He roughly, violently threw Church directly into the cold metal cage, slamming the iron door shut with a loud clang. He grinned wickedly at his two terrified followers, and said coldly, "Using a simple Silencio charm to keep it quiet—that absolutely wouldn't be any fun at all."
"Let me officially, highly aggressively show you something genuinely nice first—Cruc..."
BANG!
The heavy oak trophy room door was violently, aggressively pushed wide open. The physical sound honestly wasn't incredibly loud, but the sudden, violent intrusion completely, successfully made Rabastan's highly complex wand movement go wildly wide. Avery panicked, violently jumping backward, stumbling highly clumsily over his own feet, and aggressively knocking over a massive, clattering silver Gobstones medal display behind him.
Three highly angry, fiercely determined little witches suddenly appeared directly at the doorway—
"You! You... you absolute..." Lily desperately wanted to violently curse them out, but, being a polite twelve-year-old, she suddenly found her pureblood vocabulary entirely lacking.
"Scum of society!" Evie smoothly, aggressively supplied her military father's favorite, highly accurate Muggle catchphrase.
"Right!" Mary nodded her head completely vigorously from the back. "Absolute scum!"
Rabastan was initially violently startled by the sudden ambush, but he incredibly quickly recovered his arrogant composure. Seeing that the physical newcomers absolutely weren't the terrifying Argus Filch, he slowly, highly arrogantly let out a long breath, a deeply mocking, cruel smile actively playing on his scarred lips.
"Oh—" Rabastan deliberately, highly aristocratically drew out his arrogant tone, his dark gaze aggressively, violently sweeping over the three girls. "What an absolute, massive coincidence. Oh, look. It's exactly three... smelly, pathetic Mudbloods."
Mary's face instantly, violently lost all its color.
"Who on earth did we actually think it was?" Lily's facial expression remained completely, terrifyingly icy, entirely unchanged by the heavy slur. She aggressively stepped directly forward, flawlessly, physically shielding her two friends entirely behind her own body, and steadily, flawlessly raised her willow wand directly at Rabastan's chest.
"Ah. So it's merely the highly scared, pathetic second-year Lestrange, the constantly defeated, cowardly Avery, and... oh, a guy who physically looks exactly like a braindead Mountain Troll." Lily laughed completely, utterly disdainfully.
So incredibly, undeniably cool— the completely invisible Regulus, standing highly perfectly hidden in the dark corner under his flawless Disillusionment Charm, genuinely wanted to aggressively applaud her for the flawless, highly accurate roast.
"Your Mudblood mouth is quite terrifyingly sharp. Absolutely no wonder I physically smelled a horrific stench from halfway down the corridor," Rabastan said coldly, aggressively pulling out his own thick wand.
His two cowardly followers already looked highly panicked, pleading in a highly desperate, low voice from the back, "Lestrange, let's just go! Don't literally let Filch legally catch us in here with them!"
The highly tense, freezing standoff lasted for a few agonizingly long seconds.
"Hmph. You filthy girls are highly lucky this time," Rabastan sneered. He arrogantly picked up the metal cage by the handle and was actively about to violently escape through the secondary staff door directly behind him.
"Leave the cat!" Evie commanded sharply, an absolutely freezing, lethal cold fury actively burning deep in her massive blue eyes.
"What cat? There is absolutely no cat here, and you have absolutely zero legal proof otherwise." Rabastan snorted completely coldly, entirely, arrogantly disregarding the physical threat of three younger, Muggle-born students. "Little Mudbloods, I highly advise you not to aggressively meddle in pureblood affairs."
"Only an absolute freak like you—would ever actually feel sorry for Filch's filthy little beast. That big, pathetic Squib."
"Do you logically, truly think you can physically take it with you?" Evie stepped aggressively forward. She was flawlessly, highly steadily holding her wand in her right hand.
But suddenly, with blinding, terrifyingly smooth physical speed, she aggressively reached her left hand directly beneath her blue-trimmed Ravenclaw robes and violently drew a gleaming, lethally sharp, highly polished silver short sword.
Schwing. The sharp click of the blade locking into place echoed loudly.
A massive, profound, highly terrified silence instantly fell completely over the entire trophy room.
Absolutely everyone was completely, utterly stunned—
Rabastan froze, his wand lowering slightly in pure, unadulterated shock. He absolutely, fundamentally never expected that the very first Wizard he ever saw in his entire life who aggressively, flawlessly practiced both lethal swordplay and wand combat simultaneously would be a tiny, twelve-year-old Muggle-born girl—
Was this terrifyingly aggressive assassin really, actually Sorted into the wrong House? Regulus smiled highly coldly from the shadows. Standing flawlessly entirely under the Disillusionment Charm, his own polished hawthorn wand was absolutely, mathematically already steadily, lethally pointed directly at the back of Rabastan's thick neck.
The ultimate dual-wielding build, Regulus thought, his gamer heart soaring. This is going to be incredibly fun.