Chapter 4: Carles Malfoy

Seven years ago

"James!" Amanda cried, dropping to her knees beside him. James was clutching his head, groaning. "It hurts so much... my head!" Amanda tried to steady him, her eyes darting around in panic. "Help... please, someone-!" Professor Snape appeared as if from shadow, his voice low and stern. "What's going on here? What are you doing out this late?"

Amanda ignored his tone and looked up, pleading. "Please, help him. Something's wrong! I followed him... I tried to stop him-" Snape's expression shifted. He knelt beside James without another word.

As they waited, James's eyes went unfocused. Visions slammed into him - a girl and a boy dueling someone, spells tearing through the air. A young woman joined them, and together they fought a powerful enemy... then the vision changed. A woman laughed, mechanical and hollow, watching students scatter from a brutal attack. No matter where they ran, they died.

"Expelliarmus!" A woman's voice cut through. She stepped into view - the same woman who'd fought beside the pair, the same one facing the villain. It was his sister. Christina.

The vision snapped. James gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. He was lying in Amanda's lap, breathing hard while Snape studied him, expression unreadable. "Smith. What did you see?" Snape's voice was ice and iron, deep enough to make it clear he already knew something was wrong. James blinked at him, startled. "Vision... I saw a vision." No hesitation. Fear had a grip on his throat. Something was very wrong.

"James... James..." Amanda cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Are you alright? We should get you back to the house, James." Her voice was thick with worry.

"Your friend is right, Smith. Return to your house. Be grateful I'm not taking points for roaming the halls at this hour." Snape's gaze didn't leave James's face.

Amanda helped James to his feet and guided him back.

By morning, James was different. Amanda found him under a tree, staring at nothing. She approached with a wary smile. "James?" Her voice was soft, gentle. It made him look up. She sat beside him. "James, I know something's bothering you. You can always tell me. What happened?" She was the only one in their House who noticed him, who cared. No one else had, not even in first year.

"Something... or someone... is calling me, Amanda. And I don't know who," James said. Amanda laid her hand over his. "James, tell me. Does this happen often?"

He thought for a minute. "Always. Sometimes it stays quiet. Other times it hits out of nowhere."

That was when Amanda understood: James was in trouble. The headaches, the visions - they never stopped, and there were no answers.

That night, Amanda was about to slip from her room when she saw him again. He'd been sneaking out for nights now. She never followed before. Tonight, she did.

And then she saw it - a shadow, floating, coiling around him.

"James!" Her voice rang down the empty hall. The shadow turned toward her. No hesitation. "Lumimaxima!" Her spell shot out, but it didn't banish the thing. It ricocheted, flying straight back at her.

Shocked, she threw up a shield. "Protego!" It didn't hold. The magic crashed into her. "Ah-!" She was flung off her feet, her back slamming into the wall. She yelped, pain lancing through her, then crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud. Magic - dark and painful - burned through her. Through the haze, she saw James standing there, staring. But he wasn't there. His eyes were glazed, distant.

She tried to call him. He didn't hear. She screamed into the empty corridor. The last things she remembered were the shadow, James's hands moving through a spell she didn't know, and then... they were gone. Both of them. She was alone. Then black.

Present Time

"So that's what happened?" Christina was still reeling. "That means James didn't run away. Someone kidnapped him! But who?" Rowan's conclusion was grim. "If James really was taken, it had to be a powerful witch or wizard."

"And whoever it is, they'll use him for something," Christina said, already moving.

"Thanks for telling us. That helps - a lot." Her voice was firm, but gentle. She turned and strode out of the Hospital Wing. Rowan followed. "If James really is kidnapped, it has to be someone strong," Rowan said as they headed back to their common room to grab supplies. "Whoever they are, they want James for a reason."

"Ah, if it isn't Christina Smith."

The drawling voice stopped them cold. Christina turned. "You!" "Rowan, go ahead. Wait for me in the Great Hall. I need to talk to her alone," Christina said - gentle, but her tone left no room for argument.

Rowan hesitated, shot the other girl a glare, then stormed out of the dorm. Christina turned her full attention to the girl now lounging on her bed with a sinister smile. Austie Carrows.

"How does it feel to be famous?" Austie asked, mockery dripping from every word. Christina felt the disdain rolling off her. The question wasn't curious. It was a jab. "I don't enjoy it. I hate drawing attention to myself." Austie's smile turned bitter. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Cold. Dark. "You don't belong here," Austie said. "You'll cause chaos and trouble, just like your brother."

Christina didn't flinch. She met Austie's eyes. "If you have a problem, take it up with the Sorting Hat. It put me in this house for a reason. I won't back down unless I'm provoked." she said with a bitter smile touched on her lips. Austie's answering smile was forced, her eyes burning.

Both of them were Gryffindors - the house of courage and bravery. Christina proved it by standing her ground. Austie proved it by being arrogant, confident, and a bully. She'd already accused Christina of theft and sabotaged her cauldron once, earning Snape's wrath.

Christina turned to leave. Austie's hand shot out and seized her arm, nails biting into skin. "Stay out of my way, or you'll regret it," Austie hissed. "My family's wealth and influence will ruin you. I'm engaged to Charles Malfoy. My parents will make sure you're expelled." Christina raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "No offense, but I really don't care. About your family. About your fiancé." Her voice was edged with disdain. "About you. If you want me out of your way, then stay out of mine."

She wrenched her arm free and walked out, a victorious smile on her face.

Christina found Rowan in the dining hall. Students were scattered around - some eating snacks, others cramming over books, a few hunched over chess boards. Rowan was at their table, toast and sausages half-eaten, eyes on a newspaper. "Hey, I'm back. Looks like you found something interesting," Christina said, sliding into the seat across from her.

Rowan set the paper down and slid it over. "Look. The Prophet says the Phoenix are hunting James Smith down. And there's a lead on where he might be."

Christina leaned in and read the headline:

JAMES SMITH: THE REBELLIOUS YOUNG GRYFFINDOR ON THE RUN AGAIN

James Smith, a Hogwarts student sorted into Gryffindor House, has vanished once more. Rumors claim the boy was involved with a dark wizarding group - the same group that allegedly led him to break school rules by entering the Forbidden Forest. Whispers say he's been in contact with a dark wizard.

It's been four years since he disappeared without a trace. Until last night. The Phoenix Circle has uncovered a clue to his whereabouts.

"This boy's only getting more popular," Christina mumbled.

"And so are you," Rowan shot back. "Girl, this paper's everywhere. Your name's about to be dragged into it again because of your brother."

Christina couldn't help the thought that followed: James has been missing for four years. Georgia said he vanished before he could finish his seventh year.

"It's still hard to believe he was kidnapped," Rowan said doubtfully. "It says here he's on the run." Christina picked the newspaper off the table. "No idea. Maybe he was being controlled by magic," she said, dropping into a chair. She read the full article, then studied the moving photos. Something in James's pocket caught her eye. She leaned closer. "Is that a... handkerchief?"

White fabric. A rose and a skeleton embroidered on it. A shield on the back.

Christina's breath hitched. She had one just like it. She'd had it since she was a child.

She flipped to the other images. "Look," Rowan said, pointing. "James was spotted near the Dark Forest again. The question is - why's he there?"

Christina squinted. "He's holding something... what is that?" She tried to make it out and failed.

"Hold on. No way." Rowan's voice went up an octave. "That's Sharmel Rowena Walker's wand. The sorceress. How does he have it? That wand's kept by the Lestrange family."

Rowan was already scanning the other headline:

THE WAND OF SHARMEL ROWENA WALKER MISSING FROM ERAGON LESTRANGE'S ESTATE

August 29, 1988 - The wand of the famed sorceress vanished from the Lestrange Estate. The housekeeper reported a shadow with overwhelming magic - magic no one could counter. The intruder's identity is unknown, but the power was unmistakable.

"That can't be right," Rowan said, shaking her head. "It's impossible to take Sharmel's wand. That wand's loyal only to her. So how did this mystery sorcerer get it?"

"As far as I know, even if someone else has Sharmel's wand, they can't control it," Christina said thoughtfully. She remembered everything Georgia taught her about wands and their masters. "It won't work for anyone but the owner."

"Could it be connected to the dark wizards?" Rowan asked, still reading. "Those groups that use dark magic? And Lady Sharmel's wand was stolen that easily?" Suspicion laced her voice.

"We'll figure that out later," Christina said. "First, we need to get to the storage room. I owe Professor Snape."

Rowan shook her head. "No, we owe Professor Snape. But Austie ruined everything. And she's a Gryffindor! I can't believe she'd cost our House points like that."

Christina sighed. Guilt still gnawed at her, but Rowan just scowled and crossed her arms. "It's not your fault. It's Austie's. For sure," Rowan scoffed.

Christina stood and headed for the exit. Rowan followed. The girls left the dining hall and returned to the common room, where they found their prefect. They explained what happened. The prefect pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "Are you kidding me? This is going to cost us points."

"It wasn't our fault, Joseph!" Rowan jumped in, defending both of them. "Austie sabotaged our activity. That's why Professor Snape's cauldron broke." Rowan's patience snapped. "Are you out of your mind, Carrows? You're a Gryffindor! What you did was ridiculous. You sabotaged our task, smashed the cauldron, and made a fool of us in front of Professor Snape. You're dragging the rest of us down with this childish crap. If we lose the House Cup because of you-"

Austie's calm didn't crack. Rowan's words slid right off her.

"I swear, Carrows, you're a second year and you still can't act like one," Rowan went on. "If we lose the House Cup, it's on you!"

Austie's face flushed red - rage and humiliation fighting for space. Joseph stepped in. "Listen, Austie. Don't forget you're a Carrow. You carry your father's name. What you did was a disgrace. Drop whatever this is with Christina and focus on your lessons." Austie's face burned, but she forced herself to calm down. She crossed her arms, a small slip of parchment pinched between her fingers. "Actually, Professor Snape told me that if we want our points back, we need to get him something."

Rowan and Christina's eyes went wide. Rowan's narrowed right after. Skeptical. Doubtful. "That's perfect," Joseph said, hope flaring in his voice. "The three of you should do it. Now." Rowan opened her mouth to argue, but Joseph cut her off. "You have to. That's the only way we keep from losing more points. And who knows - Snape might give some back."

"Exactly," Austie said, her smile bitter and plastic. "So let's go. Christina. Rowan." Christina and Rowan had no choice. They wanted the points back too. So they followed Austie.

They followed Austie, keeping a few paces behind. "I don't know," Rowan whispered to Christina. "I've got a bad feeling about this." Austie stopped abruptly at a door. "We're here," she said, pushing it open and slipping inside. Rowan and Christina followed. The room was pitch black. They couldn't see their hands in front of their faces.

"It's so dark in here..." Rowan muttered.

They took a few cautious steps forward - and the door slammed shut behind them.

"Hey-!" Rowan spun and lunged for the handle. She wrenched at it, but it wouldn't budge. Locked. Sealed. Austie's doing. She'd cast on it. "Austie! Let us out!" Rowan shouted, pounding the wood.

Austie's voice came from the darkness, sly and amused. "I take it you still don't know where you are. This isn't a storage room."

Rowan's eyes went wide. She shoved at the door again. "What are you saying?" Anger and annoyance sharp in her voice.

"Why don't you use Lumos and find out?" Austie suggested. A light flared. The room was illuminated - just for a second.

As the light died, Christina edged forward - and a low, guttural growl rumbled through the dark.

Something shot out of the black. Thick. Woody. It clamped around her wrist like a vise.

"Ahhhh-!" Pain lanced up her arm.

"Christina!" Rowan spun, wand raised.

Austie's voice drifted from the shadows, cool and delighted. "That's Devil's Snare. Nasty plant. Grabs anyone foolish enough to disturb it. The tendrils will strangle you if you fight."

Her laugh followed - thin, scheming. "See you two later... if you manage to get out."

Footsteps. Austie walking away. Her laughter fading with each step.

"Hey-! Austie!" Rowan slammed her fist against the door. "You're not actually leaving us in here, are you?!" She pounded harder. "Austie!" Her groan was pure frustration.

Christina gritted her teeth and shoved her wand against her wrist, right where the trunk-like tendril had her. She spat a spell under her breath. The plant recoiled, hissing, and let go.

She stumbled back, clutching her wrist. "We need to get out. Now!"

Rowan didn't waste a second. She raised her wand. "Lumos." "Once we escape, I swear I'll turn Austie into a frog!" Rowan snapped, still fuming.

The girls tried everything. They kicked the door over and over until they finally heard someone outside. "Blimey, is anyone 'ere?" Hagrid's voice called. "Hagrid? Hagrid, is that you?" Rowan asked, eyes lighting up with hope.

"Blimey, what's all this then? How'd yeh youngsters end up in there?" Christina threw her hand up to cast a spell as the tendrils reached for them. Behind them, the door thudded loudly. Hagrid slammed his body against it until it burst open. He froze when he saw them - Rowan was a mess, and Christina is fighting off the tendrils. Without hesitating, he yanked Rowan out, then grabbed her. Christina is shocked at how easily he carried them both while beating the tendrils back.

"Alrigh' then, that's enough o' that, now," he said, shaking them off. He set Christina and Rowan down before slamming the door shut. Rowan and Christina stood, dusting ourselves off. "Ugh, look at our uniforms! They're ruined!" Rowan groaned, glaring at her robes. Devil's Snare had nearly shredded them. Hagrid turned to us, concern all over his face. "Are you alright, kids? Y'all nearly got caught up in there! How'd yeh even get inside?"

Rowan stomped her foot. "It was that evil witch! Ugh, I can't stand it!" She tried to storm off, but Christina caught her arm. "Rowan, wait! What are you trying to do?" Christina's voice was a mix of disappointment and worry. "To Austie, what else?! I'm not letting what they did to us slide, Tina!" Rowan tried to pull away, her face red with anger, but Christina stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. "Rowan, no. Whatever you're planning, don't do it!"

Rowan snorted and stared at her in disbelief. "Seriously, Tina? Don't tell me you're being a coward with her?" "What? No, of course not," Christina said quickly, "I'm just saying, don't do anything that could get you suspended or expelled, Rowan. You'll put yourself in danger, and your reputation here at Hogwarts will be ruined. The Headmaster, the professors, the higher-ups - they could kick you out of the academy!" Christina said, staring at Rowan. But Rowan only shook her off. "Tina, I know you're obedient. Yes, you followed the rules. But sometimes rules have to be broken, especially when people in power use their family name as a shield. Austie's almost the same, even if her family isn't as high-ranking. We can't just stay silent while they walk all over us. It isn't fair!"

Christina tried to calm Rowan. "I know, Rowan, but there's another way to do this without putting yourself at risk," she said softly. A mischievous, sly thought crossed her mind, but she kept it hidden from Rowan.

Rowan's anger faded a little, replaced by confusion. "What are you going to do?"

Christina only smiled. "Leave it to me."

She turned to Hagrid. "Hagrid, thank you so much for saving us. If it weren't for you, things could have gone badly." Her tone was soft and polite.

Hagrid beamed at her. "Blimey, at least I got yeh both outta there in the nick o' time, kid!" He gave a wink and a thumbs up.

That night, while the other girls were downstairs, Christina slipped back into the dorm. With the help of a breeze, she searched through Austie's belongings. She opened Austie's trunk and smirked. "Ah, the most valuable things for girls." She pulled out a small bag of undergarments and glanced at the door before drawing her wand. She aimed it at the garments and whispered, "Castre" The tip of her wand glowed green, and the light sank into the bag.

Castre - worked like the Stinging Jinx, but slower - it took at least an hour to activate. Once the victim touched the cursed item, they'd suffer relentless itching, especially anyone with allergies.

"Between Austie and me, I'm the more evil witch," Christina chuckled darkly, a wicked smile on her face. She tucked the bag back into the trunk exactly where she found it and closed the lid.

The next morning, Austie walked strangely. She kept fidgeting but couldn't scratch properly because she was eating breakfast in the Great Hall. The itching eased for a moment, then came back worse. Rowan watched closely while Christina calmly ate.

Finally, Austie couldn't take it. She shot up from her seat. "Ah...! It's so itchy...!"

Every head turned. Austie clawed at her chest through her robes. "Austie! What happened?!" her friends gasped, horrified.

"Look, she has red rashes!" a first-year Gryffindor pointed. Angry red marks were spreading up her neck, down her thighs, and between her legs. Austie cried as the itching intensified and the skin began to swell.

Rowan snorted, then gasped when she saw Austie. She whipped her head toward Christina - and caught it. A wicked smile, quick and sharp, meant only for her. No one else saw it.

Rowan understood instantly. Christina had promised to "take care of it." She didn't ask questions. She just turned back to the chaos at the Gryffindor table, and maybe, just maybe, she was enjoying the show.

Across the Hall, the Slytherin table watched. Unlike the other Houses scrambling to help, they observed. One of them snorted. "Hey, Charles. Isn't that your fiancée?"

A few others turned toward the Gryffindor table, smirks curling at the corners of their mouths.

Charles, a boy in Austie's year, looked at her. His face gave away nothing, but disappointment sat heavy behind his eyes. He was annoyed. Irritated that his name would be dragged into this again. Everyone in Slytherin knew he and Austie were engaged - arranged by their fathers when they were still children.

He couldn't fathom why his father had picked her.

His gaze swept the Gryffindor table until it snagged on someone else. Something in his expression shifted. He nudged the boy beside him and gave a slight nod in her direction. "Remind me. Who is she?" The boy let out a dark chuckle. "You mean that girl? She's James's baby sister. Don't tell me you're interested in her. You've got poor taste." He sneered, mocking. Charles looked at him. His face didn't shift - no frown, no twitch. But his eyes were alive. Cold, sharp, assessing.

The boy recognized that look immediately and dropped his gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, barely a whisper.

Charles's attention slid back to her. Without looking away, he said, "Christina Smith."

His voice was low, quiet, deliberate.

The boy beside him heard it and understood. After all, this was Charles Malfoy. Charles never filled the silence. He said a name and waited, because people who interested him were worth the wait. He could tell - or thought he could - that Charles had a glint of interest in Christina.

Charles studied her, taking her in piece by piece. She was young. Too young to be at Hogwarts, really. A delicate, youthful face with smooth skin and a scattering of faint freckles across her cheeks. Greenish-blue eyes, focused and expressive. Soft, naturally shaped brows framed them. Her long, wavy brown hair fell past her shoulders, the front strands highlighting her forehead and giving her an effortlessly gentle look.

Then it hit him - he'd been staring too long. It bothered him. He nearly slipped, nearly lost that perfect composure. For the first time, he'd fixed his eyes on someone and forgotten to look away. Had Christina caught his attention? He couldn't tell. But the boy beside him could.

Christina could feel it - someone was watching her. She didn't know who. But it sent a shiver down her spine. Professor McGonagall arrived with Professor Dumbledore. Both wore expressions of horror and concern when they saw Austie, swollen and shaking on the floor.

"All of you, move, please!"

The crowd parted at once, clearing a path as the two professors knelt beside Austie. She was in a terrible state. Dumbledore drew his wand. "My goodness, what kind of spell is this?" McGonagall asked, staring at Austie's inflamed skin. "The spellwork is foul," Dumbledore said grimly. "It resembles a Stinging Jinx, but this is far more dangerous..."

He murmured an incantation. Austie whimpered, her nails clawing at the air as she tried to scratch the itching. McGonagall caught her wrists. "No, dear. It will only worsen if you do that," she said, firm but gentle.

Austie could only sob. Her face was unrecognizable - swollen, blotched with angry red rashes. Dumbledore's spell took. The worst of the magic faded, but the swelling and rashes remained.

"We must get her to the Hospital Wing immediately," he said. A seventh-year stepped forward to lift her. The second his hand touched her arm, he jerked back with a hiss. "Argh-!" He stumbled away, scratching furiously at his hand. Welts were already rising.

The crowd flinched and stepped back as one. "What was that? Did Austie pass it to him?" Whispers broke out. Humiliation burned through Austie. No one could see it under the swelling, but inside she was seething. Someone had cursed her. And she already had a name for them.

One name.

Christina Smith.

That was the only name in her head.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore carefully levitated Austie with their wands. The second-year boy who’d brushed against her — already clawing at his arms — was treated just in time, before the itching spread. 

Christina’s eyes tracked them to the doors. 

Rowan leaned in. “Did you do that?” Her voice was low, meant only for Christina. “That spell of yours is dangerous. But I’ll admit it was useful. Seeing Austie like that? Satisfying. Devil’s Snare’s got nothing on you.” 

Christina didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Rowan already knew. 

Christina did feel bad for Austie. A little. But when someone threatened others, when they thought they could hex whoever they wanted and walk away clean — she wouldn’t let it slide. 

Sometimes people needed to taste their own medicine. Needed to know what it felt like to stand in someone else’s shoes. 

Even if those shoes were burning. 

Christina remembered something — right before it all happened.  She’d gotten a note. Anonymous. _Someone put a Knockturn curse on your cloak._ 

With a little help from the wind — a quiet Ventus to lift the hem — she finally saw it. A faint shimmer on the fabric. And she knew who. 

Austie. 

Austie had slipped something onto her cloak. Something that would itch. Burn. Humiliate her in class. 

So Christina didn’t hesitate. 

She didn’t just counter it. She didn’t just cleanse her undergarments where Austie’s spell had already started to bite. 

She replaced the cloak. 

Hers for Austie’s. 

They were the same size, after all. And Christina made sure the swap was perfect — same fold, same loose thread at the cuff, same faint ink stain near the hem. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d never know. 

She smirked. Wicked. Slow. 

Let Austie wear her own curse. 

Hospital Wing – Late Afternoon

The Hospital Wing smelled of dittany and starch. Madam Pomfrey had drawn the curtains around the bed, but not all the way. Enough to see. 

Austie Carrows was propped against the pillows, one arm wrapped in salve-soaked bandages, her face blotchy and swollen. She’d been scratching. Hard. The allergy was real — magical hives, Pomfrey said. Nasty. Painful. 

“—and it was her,” Austie was saying when Charles stepped through the gap. “Christina Smith. She must have put something in my robes. Or my ink. She’s a mudblood, they know all sorts of dirty tricks—” 

She stopped when she saw him. Her expression rearranged itself into something fragile. Wrong on her face. “Charles. You came.” 

He didn’t answer right away. He never did. 

He took in the room. One chair. He didn’t sit. He stood at the foot of the bed, hands behind his back, posture perfect. Like he was observing a specimen. 

“Pansy said you were clawing at yourself in Charms,” he said. Voice level. Quiet. “Pomfrey says it’s an allergy. Uncommon. But not impossible.” 

“It’s not—” Austie’s voice hitched. “She did this. I know she did. Right after I talked to her. After I warned her to stay away from you.” 

Charles’s eyes moved to the bandages. Then to her face. No reaction. His face didn’t shift. But his eyes were alive. Cold. Sharp. Assessing. 

He knew. 

He’d been in the dorms when it happened. Heard Daphne muttering about Austie’s “new perfume.” Saw the vial on her nightstand. Imported from Knockturn. Unlabeled. “Guaranteed to punish thieves,” the shopkeep had promised. Austie had been so proud of herself. 

She’d tried to curse Christina through her things. But, she got her own skin instead.  

He also knew that Christina was also the one who case a spell on Austie's belongings and replaced her cloak to hers.

Charles knew. And he said nothing. 

Gryffindors can be dangerous when provoked. And between Christina and Rowan, it was Smith — Christina — who was the real threat. Was she really a Mudblood, like Austie claimed?

“Did she,” he said. Flat. Not a question. Not an agreement. 

Austie took it as one. She latched on. “Yes! You have to tell Snape. Tell your father. She attacked me. She’s dangerous, just like her brother. You have to—” 

“Have to?” 

One word. Softer than before. The room got colder. 

Austie faltered. “I—I mean— we’re engaged. You should—” 

“Should.” 

He said her own words back to her. No inflection. Just holding them up so she could see how they looked. 

Austie’s swollen eyes filled. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Like what? 

Like she was something pitiful. Like he’d expected better and found this. Like she’d embarrassed him. 

Because she had. 

Charles’s gaze didn’t waver. Pity wasn’t quite right. Disappointment was closer. Disappointment that his name, his house, his future, was tied to someone who’d curse herself by accident and blame a girl she’d already lost to. 

He took one step closer. Not to comfort. To be precise. 

“You told Christina you spoke for me,” he said. Still quiet. Still without anger. Anger was for Gryffindors. “You told her I’d have her expelled.” 

Austie’s breath caught. “I was— I was defending you!” 

“No,” Charles said. “You were defending yourself. Using me.” 

Silence. The kind he weaponized. It stretched until Austie’s fingers twisted in the sheets. 

“You will not touch her again,” he said. Not a request. Not a threat. A statement of fact, like the sky was blue. “You will not use my name again.” 

“Charles, please—” 

“You are my father’s choice,” he said. “Not mine. Yet.” 

That yet landed like a stone in water. 

He looked at her then — really looked. At the hives. At the tears. At the girl who thought cruelty was power. And he felt nothing. No rage. No urge to help. Just… the quiet knowledge that she’d done this to herself. 

Pity. But the Slytherin kind. The kind that doesn’t reach out a hand. 

“Rest,” he said. “Pomfrey says you’ll scar if you keep scratching.” 

He turned to leave. 

“Charles!” Her voice cracked. “Aren’t you going to— aren’t you going to do something about her?” 

He paused in the gap of the curtains. Didn’t look back. 

“I am,” he said. 

And then he was gone. 

He didn’t tell Pomfrey about the vial. He didn’t tell Snape. He didn’t tell his father. 

He just walked down the hall, steps measured, thinking of a different girl. One who’d looked him in the eye and said “I don’t care about your fiancé.”

Christina Smith. 

He said her name in his head. Low. Quiet. Deliberate. 

"Interesting."

To Be Continued....

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