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‘Is there anything more disheartening than watching the one you love suffer time and again?’ Heir Malcom Baddock thought bitterly. Curse this war and its effect of hampering his well-weaved plans.
Heiress Astoria Greengrass nudged his side. “You’re doing it again.’’ Her mouth quirked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied as he sipped his tea leisurely. As per usual, he carried himself with an air of aplomb. He rolled his eyes inwardly when Heir Draco Malfoy, flanked by his two manservants, swaggered toward his seat at the centre of the Slytherin table. Was there anything more ridiculous than a Malfoy’s swagger? His father had taught him since a young age that swagger was nothing more than bluster arranged to mask uncertainty. Any Baddock worth his name would never do something as irreverent as swagger.
Malfoy’s gaze went fleetingly to the professors’ table, and his lips morphed into an ugly sneer when they landed on Dolores Umbridge. As expected of a peacock with a pea-sized brain, his eyes shot toward Heiress Potter next.
Malcolm ran his finger over his wand lightly. The magic of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Baddock made the tiny hairs on his arm stand to attention. It was Dark and ravenous, waiting patiently for the most opportune moment to pounce. Unlike most of the Noble and Ancient Houses of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, House Baddock of Worcestershire believed firmly that true strength spoke for itself, and those who were truly accomplished rarely needed to brag.
He was the descendant of High Master William Baddock, the most accomplished goldsmith in recorded history. Wixen from all over the Magical World fought to possess the masterpieces his family produced. Be it enchanted, embellished with protective and Ancient Runes or what they excelled at: cursed jewellery… House Baddock had produced many an outstanding piece. What they never did, though, was brag or disclose the secrets of their craft.
Astoria gave him a grin. “Maybe we should celebrate Ostara more ardently this year and honour the awakening of your heart. What a lovely thought.” Her wicked eyes flashed bright blue. “Last year’s Yule Ball had doused all your fire. You had me worried, I swear. I’m glad that Professor Umbridge had relighted the hearth in your chest.”
Malcolm’s vision blurred as memories he abhorred assaulted his mind. It took all his self-control not to strangle his best friend.
Last year had tested the limits of his patience and stretched it way beyond what he could take without exploding. For a nightmarish moment, he thought he had lost her. Pain erupted inside his chest, sharp and punishing, coming from his very soul. Flashbacks of the moment Heiress Celeste Potter’s Aura disappeared from Hogwarts’ grounds exploded in his head, the memory vivid and sharp. His ears recalled the shouts of alarm when she reappeared, hugging Heir Diggory’s cold body to her chest. Malcolm was suddenly sucked into a vortex of frigid wind, but he called on all his strength and took a deep breath.
He would never relive that ordeal again. He forbade it. He’d been a year younger, less confidant, but last summer had taught him a lot. He should’ve never taken a step back when Dean Thomas asked Celeste to the Yule Ball. He should’ve never hesitated.
So what if he were a year younger? It wasn’t as if age mattered to Wixen. As for his House, he could always make her believe that Slytherin did not equal evil. Actions spoke louder than words.
His eyes narrowed on Dumbledore. The old coot’s bigotry and the shady means he used to vilify House Slytherin and shred its reputation were a debt he planned to pay slowly and painfully. If he thought that the Dark Faction was over, he was sorely mistaken. House Baddock had always ruled from the shadows, and now that news of Lord Black’s whereabouts had reached his father, Lord Calum Baddock planned to bring the rightful Heir of Lord Arcturus Black to his throne. The Black Faction needed its leading House back.
But before that….
He watched with hooded eyes as Celeste Potter exchanged a meaningful look with the members of Dumbledore’s Army and stood up. Her chin raised, she left with Granger and Weasley guarding her back.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into that hateful smirk.
“They’ll make their move tonight.” His voice had an edge to it.
Malcolm still remembered his first night at Hogwarts. At eleven years old, he hadn’t understood why everyone swore that Celeste Potter was so special, but within a few weeks in Hogwarts, he’d understood it perfectly. Wild, unattainable, cynical, witty and tough. She was the perfect Slytherin under the lion’s pelt. It didn’t matter that his foolish housemates didn’t see her for what she truly was. The spawn of the Death Eaters and their twisted ideas mattered little to him. Most importantly, she was his perfect match. Compatible Magic was believed to be a myth among Wixen. For him, it was his present and the future he strove to build with Celeste.
He raised an eyebrow when Malfoy pushed his chest forward, drawing every eye to his new, shiny badge and waited for Umbridge. He mouthed something, and her eyes bulged with glee. Malfoy motioned for the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad to follow him.
“Oh my,” Astoria propped a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his. “Should we follow them?”
An instinctive thrill shot through him as he put his hand into his pocket and touched the item his father sent three days ago. He looked down at his badge with disgust and stood regally.
His expression softened when he looked down at his best friend. “I must do this alone. This is my first Courting Gift.”
Astoria pouted and fanned herself vigorously. “Would I ever find someone as devoted as you, Malcolm? I wonder if I should congratulate Lady Potter or envy her.”
His lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “You brat. You’ll find your perfect match one day.”
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Malcolm waited patiently for Draco to explain his plan for the umpteenth time, his gaze never straying from his smug, pointed face.
As expected, they had planned an ambush, a cheap plan to get rid of Dumbledore and Celeste at once. Fortunately, Malcolm was an observer by nature. He knew how to fade into the background, and he had a great deal of experience observing people and guessing their next moves. He’d been waitin for this moment, and now, he could hardly wait to deliver.
“Do you understand?” Malfoy demanded.
Heiress Pansy Parkinson pressed a hand to her chest and laughed with glee. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity. Do you think we’ll get Potter expelled?’’
Malcolm pressed his lips together to keep from snorting. He was so utterly unimpressed.
“Hogwarts will be the last of her worries once I’m done with her,” Malfoy sneered.
“I’ll bring Professor Umbridge,’’ he volunteered innocently.
Malfoy nodded and waved him off. “You do that, Baddock.” As always, he made the deadly mistake of underestimating a Baddock. Every Malfoy had an abundance of sheer arrogance, but not enough strength to carry it. They might learn the error in their ways soon.
The moment the Inquisitorial squad headed for the seventh floor, he dashed towards Umbridge’s office.
“Heir Baddock.” Her girlish, simpering voice greeted him and made him fight not to roll his eyes. That voice, paired with the toad-like appearance, emphasised the cruelty and malice behind her seemingly harmless appearance.
“Professor,” he bowed his head even though his wand quivered in his arm-holster with the need to curse her.
“Tell me,’’ She clapped her hands. “Is everything going according to our brilliant plan?”
“Of course, Professor,” he smirked, and it appeared downright sinister, almost as if he’s been bottling something else behind the gesture.
Umbridge blinked and cleared her throat. “Then let’s join them.”
He nodded and produced a small box from his pocket. “Before that, allow me, Professor.” He opened the upper lid and smiled widely when the stupid woman inhaled gingerly, forcing herself to speak through the greed in her eyes. “T-this is….”
“A gift from my father. He sends you his warmest regards.” Malcolm stared at said gift. It was a masterpiece, indeed. Like every item produced by a Baddock Master.
The details on the cat-brooch were extraordinary, down to the pink diamonds it had for eyes. Umbridge’s hand shook as she traced her forefinger over the small ears. “It’s stunning.”
“Thank you, Professor,” he said. “You should put it on. We have a reason to celebrate tonight.”
“Indeed,” she agreed readily and snatched the small box from his hands.
Malcolm’s anticipation was fulfilled when she pushed the pin through the fabric of her pink jacket and secured the clasp.
Her face turned ghost-white, and her eyes widened at once. Malcolm met her confused ones with unfeeling, grudge-filled ones. His lips lifted in amusement to drive his point. “How does it feel, Professor?”
Understanding and a marrow-deep dread dawned on her as her gaze went slowly to her chest. She clutched her jacket and gasped in pain. He pointed a finger at the brooch and shrugged. Her senses seemed to stagger as her brain acknowledged what was happening.
The cat’s eyes shone, and black bled into the pink. Dizziness rushed over Umbridge, and she swayed, staggering with sluggish, ungraceful movements. When she screamed, and her fingers started clawing at her neck, he winced. Sweet Salazar, at least the wards he set around the office would keep intruders and meddlers away.
Umbridge sank to her knees, and he followed her with his eyes. He put his hands in his pockets and drawled. “Let me count your crimes, Dolores. You insulted the Lady of a Noble and Most Ancient House time and again, used cursed objects on her, harmed her bodily and threatened her. Methinks this punishment is too light for the likes of you. Alas, I can’t alert Dumbledore lest he forces his disgusting ‘let’s save everyone’ ideas down my throat.”
She wheezed something unintelligible, and he tsked. “I do not speak gibberish, but know this, Professor: this tortured look suits you, it’s majestic even. See you….never again.”
He snapped his fingers, and a dark light burst out of the brooch and devoured her. The cat blinked, and its eyes turned a bright emerald-green he was quite familiar with.
Malcolm picked up the brooch, and his usual blank expression cracked. His lips curled into a faint smile. “I hope she’ll like my gift.”
With a new resolution, he made a swift turn and headed towards the seventh floor. He needed to alert Dumbledore’s Army—no matter how much he abhorred the name—and help them teach the Inquisitorial squad a good and thorough lesson.
After that, he had a witch to pursue...