“There’s something I need to tell you,” Hermione began.
“Need my help?
Feel free to ask—if it’s a big favor, I can’t help, and if it’s a small favor, I don’t feel like it, but ask anyway,” Linus babbled smoothly.
“Be serious!” Hermione glanced around before dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Tonight at dinner, I overheard Harry making plans to have a wizard’s duel with Malfoy at midnight in the trophy room.
Ron is his second.”
Linus put on an exaggerated expression, dropping his voice just as low.
Leaning close to Hermione’s ear, he whispered, “News of this magnitude ought to be reported straight to the International Confederation of Wizards.
Bringing it to me is really beneath its importance.”
Hermione kicked his leg in annoyance.
“This is a wizard’s duel!
It’s dangerous!”
“Those two can barely cast *Lumos*,” Linus said with a wave of his hand.
“Rather than worrying about them getting hurt, you should be concerned for the fate of the trophies in that room.”
“Wandering around the school at night will cost our house massive points,” Hermione added.
“True enough.
Those points were painstakingly earned by the brilliant Miss Hermione Granger—it would be an absolute shame to lose them like that.” Linus grinned again.
Hermione sniffled in frustration.
“You jerk, Linus!
I’m never bringing you food again!” she cried as she ran off.
“Oh dear, it seems things got a bit ruined, Mr.
Sangwood.” The air beside Linus shimmered and distorted, revealing a figure—Professor Dumbledore, who had been concealing himself with a Disillusionment Charm.
“Since you overheard everything, Headmaster, please make sure those kids stay safe tonight.” Linus kept his head down and continued reading.
“Shouldn’t our Savior’s ‘Savior’ handle their escort personally?” Snape’s sarcastic remark from Potions class had already spread among the first-years, and even Dumbledore had heard of it.
“If you’re here to borrow a book, Headmaster, please help yourself.
I don’t have time to entertain you.” Linus turned another page.
Dumbledore blinked.
“What a cold and heartless boy.
And after I spent all night playing chess with you, too.”
Linus jotted down some notes on his parchment, ignoring him.
“If I recall correctly, *Moste Potente Potions* belongs in the Restricted Section,” Dumbledore said, peering at Linus through his half-moon spectacles.
“Professor McGonagall signed a permission slip for me,” Linus explained briefly.
“Personally, I don’t believe a first-year wizard should be handling such dangerous knowledge.” Dumbledore reached toward Linus’s book.
Linus slammed his hand down onto the page with a sigh.
“All right, Headmaster.
What do you want me to do?”
“Perhaps, Linus, you might be willing to lend a helping hand to a helpless Mr.
Harry Potter tonight.” Dumbledore pulled his hand back, smiling at the boy sitting near the library entrance.
Linus straightened up and looked the Headmaster directly in the eyes for the first time in the two months since term had started—having learned Occlumency, he possessed a bit more spine than before.
“Professor, your thoughts are terribly complex.
Perhaps you’re trying to think about too many things all at once.” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“Oh?
I had no idea young Linus was a master of Legilimency as well.” Dumbledore beamed with amusement.
Linus handed his book to Dumbledore.
“Please return this to Madam Pince for me.” Turning around, he walked briskly toward his dormitory.
Behind him, Dumbledore called out, “Would you rather give up knowledge than offer a hand?”
Linus didn’t answer, merely raising a fist into the air as he walked.
At midnight, Harry and Ron tiptoed into the common room, only to find the fire in the hearth still burning.
A short distance away, two silhouettes sat on the sofa in silence, each turning pages of a book.
Harry hurriedly pulled Ron toward the portrait hole, only to hear a shout from behind them: “Harry!
How could you?”
Hermione set her book down and rushed over to them.
“Don’t interrupt a sacred duel,” Ron snapped, glaring at her.
“If Percy finds out…” Hermione bit her lip.
“Ignore her,” Harry told Ron, climbing through the hole first.
Hermione followed Ron through, and then came the other person from the sofa—Linus, who ambled along unhurriedly to play along with tonight’s game of pretend.
“Linus?
What are you doing here?” Harry asked in surprise, noticing another person had joined their group.
“I’ve never seen a legendary wizard’s duel before,” Linus said, sounding entirely sincere.
“Please, you must let me come along and observe.”
Harry looked pleased and nodded.
“All right.”
“But you can’t interfere,” Ron piped up from the side.
“If Harry dies, I get to take his place first.”
At the mention of dying, Harry turned a bit pale, but with Linus right beside them, he couldn’t show weakness.
He could only force himself to stay composed as he led the way.
Hermione tagged along reluctantly.
“I—I’m only here to stop you three from wandering around at night.
If we get caught, you have to testify for me!”
Linus looked at Ron.
“I bet George doesn’t even use an excuse like that when he goes looking for trouble with Filch.”
Harry burst out laughing, his nervous tension easing considerably.
Ron rolled his eyes thoughtfully.
“He will soon enough.
I’m going to sell him that line for two Knuts.”
“Remember to give half to Hermione.
We have to respect original intellectual property,” Linus replied lazily.
Angry, Hermione stepped forward and pinched Linus’s arm hard.
Linus grimaced in pain, not daring to utter a peep.
Bathed in midnight moonlight, the group hurried to the trophy room on the fourth floor. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The room wasn’t large, with glass cabinets lining both sides filled with trophies.
Ron and Harry kept watch while Linus and Hermione wandered around inspecting the displays.
“Award for Special Merit…
Recipient: Tom Riddle,” Linus read slowly, looking at the silver trophy in front of him.
Harry leaned in.
“Is there something special about this trophy?”
“No.” Linus shook his head, then smiled at Harry.
“Who knows?
Maybe you’ll win one of these someday too.”
“Me?” Harry blushed.
“For defeating Malfoy here tonight?” Ron asked excitedly.
Linus looked at Harry again, adjusted his hair and clothes, and said unhurriedly, “Look sharp, Harry.
Put on a good show later.”
Grip on his wand tightening, Harry walked over to the doorway to scout, staying alert for any ambush from Malfoy.
Minutes ticked by agonizingly.
The agreed-upon time arrived and passed, yet their opponent remained a no-show.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the adjoining room: “Sniff around, my sweet, see if you can find them.”
It was Filch.
Realizing what was happening, a terrified Harry waved frantically for the others to follow him.
Hugging the walls, they muffled their footsteps as best as they could while creeping away from Filch.
That was easier said than done.
The castle was packed with suits of armor, and a moment’s inattention could send them clattering into metal.
To prevent this, Linus stealthily cast Silencing Charms on the suits of armor along their path.
Then Linus noticed his Silencing Charms had been dispelled.
He snapped his head up toward the empty air behind them, where Dumbledore, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, was smiling back at him.
Before Linus could jump up and curse the old man for his shameless interference, Ron crashed into a suit of armor in the dark.
The deafening clatter woke even the sleeping portraits in the distance.
“Run!” Harry shouted, and the four of them bolted.
They dashed through corridor after corridor and raced up flight after flight of stairs.
Soon, Linus had taken the lead, pulling the group along.
They finally skidded to a halt in the corridor near the Charms classroom.
They were far enough from the trophy room now, and not only Harry and Hermione, but even Linus was out of breath.
Leaning against a nearby suit of armor, Linus wheezed for air while cursing Dumbledore furiously in his head.
Hermione leaned against the wall with her left hand while clutching Linus’s robes with her right, panting heavily.
“I—told you—told you so!”
Harry slumped against the wall, tugging at Linus’s sleeve, equally breathless.
“We…
should be safe…
for now.”
“We have to get back,” Ron panted, hands resting on his knees.
“If we get caught, my mum’s going to kill me.”