Severus Snape did not walk to the Headmaster's office; he surged there in a cold, silent fury.
He had no evidence. The Ministry dismissed Legilimency as unreliable, citing the ease of memory modification, and without a witness, his stolen stores were as good as gone.
But a loss of over a thousand Galleons required a scapegoat for reimbursement, and Snape was determined that it would not be him.
When he reached the office, he found he was not the only petitioner. Gilderoy Lockhart was already there, wearing a smile that set Snape's teeth on edge.
"Please wait, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.
"Good afternoon, Snape!" Lockhart beamed. "Why the rush? Don't tell me you've heard of my plan for a Dueling Club and came to volunteer as my assistant?"
"A Dueling Club?" Snape's irritation flickered into sharp contempt. He looked Lockhart up and down with a gaze that plainly asked: You?
Lockhart, immune to subtext, didn't blink. "The situation is grim, Albus. People have been hurt. It is necessary to train the students in the methods I have used countless times. As a member of the Dark Arts Defense League, I am uniquely qualified."
Dumbledore's agreement came surprisingly fast.
"You won't regret this!" Lockhart chirped, looking as though he'd just handed Dumbledore a winning lottery ticket. "A small contribution to my alma mater. It's not every day one gets such expertise for free."
"That is truly kind," Dumbledore replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "For an assistant, perhaps Filius? He was a dueling champion in his youth."
Lockhart's face faltered. He paced the office, searching for a graceful exit. "Filius... yes, quite powerful in his day, I'm sure. But I doubt he could keep up with my pace now. To be honest, had the British circuit not been so quiet lately, I might well be the champion myself."
Snape felt a rare urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. Lockhart's eyes then settled on him, narrowing as he tried to recall Snape's school years. He vaguely remembered a Slytherin boy with greasy hair who was often the target of Gryffindor pranks.
A Potion maker, Lockhart reasoned. What can a man who spends his days over a cauldron do in a real fight?
"Professor Snape," Lockhart said, his tone dripping with false concern. "Actually, never mind. I fear my magic might be too potent. I'd hate to cause you an injury."
"You? Hurt me?" Snape's voice was a low, dangerous silk. "How interesting. As it happens, I know a thing or two about dueling."
"Excellent!" Lockhart clapped a hand onto Snape's shoulder before the Potion Master could retract his words. "There we have it, Albus! Snape shall be my assistant. I'll make sure the poor man doesn't get hurt."
Snape wrenched his shoulder away, visibly repulsed, and wiped his hand on his robes as if cleaning off slime.
"Now that we are settled," Dumbledore said, ushering them toward the door, "Severus, what was it you needed?"
"I am reporting a theft," Snape snapped, his anger returning in a rush. "My private stores have been raided."
"Oh!? A robbery?" Lockhart spun around, eager to prove his utility. "I've caught more thieves than I can count. I have an automatic tracking spell—I'll have the culprit by morning!"
Neither man looked at him. Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a long, silent look of understanding.
"The board will compensate the loss," Dumbledore said softly. "In the meantime, Severus... pay attention."
"I am paying attention," Snape hissed, his cloak billowing as he turned to leave.
"Wait! Snape!" Lockhart scurried after him. "About that tracking spell—I'll do it for free, colleague to colleague! Let's go to your office..."
"Ah.. no need." Snape felt a cold shiver.
He recalled Lockhart's "healing" spell that had vanished Harry Potter's bones. He had spent years protecting Lily's son, and this buffoon had managed to de-bone the boy in seconds.
"And.. About the Dueling Club," Snape said, a cruel, thin smile touching his lips. "I shall be delighted to assist you."
Lockhart beamed, oblivious to the death warrant he had just signed. "Splendid! Before Christmas, then. We'll do a small demonstration. Nothing lethal—just Expelliarmus. Protego is a bit advanced for you, I expect."
...
Elijah felt the weight of a target on his back.
Ever since the theft, Snape had been a shadow in the corridors, his dark eyes scrutinizing Elijah with a silent, heavy intensity. Legilimency was useless against a transmigrated soul bound to a Horcrux, but Snape's suspicion was a physical pressure.
In the final Potions class before the holidays, the pressure broke.
"Miss Weasley," Snape's voice cut through the bubbling of cauldrons. "Tell me the uses of dragon blood."
Elijah stood, his expression carefully neutral. "Twelve, sir."
He had expected something more obscure, but this was basic first-year material. "Discovered by Headmaster Dumbledore. It is used for cauterization, pain relief, and healing, as well as in cleansers and wart treatments."
"Correct," Snape said, looking profoundly annoyed. "Then perhaps you can enlighten us on the properties of Phoenix tears? Or Runespoor venom? Chimera mane?"
The message was loud and clear: I know what you stole.
"We haven't studied Phoenixes, sir," Elijah replied coolly.
"And yet, you might find you need to know," Snape leaned in, his voice a whisper. "To know what might save your life if you were, for instance, poisoned by your own acquisitions."
"Thank you for your concern, sir," Elijah said, meeting his gaze. "If I ever find myself in possession of such expensive ingredients, I will keep your advice in mind."
Snape's jaw tightened. "And morning dew? What use has that?"
"Practicing the Animagus transformation, perhaps," Elijah shrugged. It was a perfunctory answer—he didn't have the moth pupa required for the ritual, nor did he even have his own body—but it served to end the interrogation.
"Quite," Snape spat. He ended the lesson by deducting five points from Gryffindor because Ginny was "sitting restlessly."
"He doesn't like you," a dreamy voice said as they packed away.
Elijah looked up to see Luna Lovegood. "Evidently," he replied.
"You look very strange," Luna said, her protuberant eyes fixed on him. "But much better than before." She skipped away before he could ask what she meant.
...
In the Great Hall, a crowd had gathered around the notice board on the ground floor.
"Dueling Club," Fred explained, throwing an arm around Elijah's shoulder. "Tonight. First meeting."
"We have a plan," George added. "Remember what you did to Marcus Flint? If the Slytherins try anything, we want you to give the younger ones a proper thrashing."
"Specifically Draco Malfoy," Fred grinned. "His father's been a headache for Dad all summer."
"If they cause trouble, I'll handle it," Elijah said simply.
"That's the spirit! If you're this tough in front of Harry, he'll be head over heels," George joked.
Elijah rolled his eyes, but the moment was interrupted by Percy, who stepped between them like a shield. "What are you two whispering to Ginny about? Don't go leading her astray."
"We wouldn't dream of it," the twins said in unison, sharing a look that suggested Ginny was already far beyond their influence.
They had noticed her spending an unusual amount of time in the girls' bathroom with Harry, Ron, and Hermione lately.
Percy ignored them and steered Elijah away. "Don't mind them, Ginny. You're different. The professors are all impressed with your work—even Hermione says you're studious."
He patted Elijah's shoulder with a heavy sense of responsibility. "If you keep this up, you'll be a Prefect. Then Head Girl. Then a position at the Ministry. People look down on families like ours, Ginny. You have to be better. You have to plan."
Elijah listened to the lecture in silence. Percy was ambitious, perhaps to a fault, but his concern was the only genuine thing about the interaction.
"Just don't be like Fred and George," Percy warned as they walked. "And certainly don't be like Ron. He has no goals. He doesn't even know what he's doing half the time."
"Pfft~ yeah!"