Chapter 651: Secret Gathering
Draco pressed his forehead against the cold StoneWall, the night wind howling through his open collar. His scarf dragged on the ground, filthy with dust—just like the Malfoy pride it once symbolized, now utterly ruined.
He could still pretend to be indifferent in front of others, but alone, he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Between the faint, stifled sobs, a white ghost emerged from the toilet. She tilted her head, watching the boy quietly weep. The glee in her eyes faded, replaced by deep sympathy. Behind her thick glasses, her eyes shimmered with understanding.
Moaning Myrtle drifted closer, hovering beside Draco. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did someone inside bully you?”
Draco flinched at her voice. He hastily wiped his tears, snarling, “Get lost, Moaning Myrtle!”
“Don’t be like that,” she said softly, drifting nearer. “Tell me what happened. I can help you…”
“Help me?” Draco sneered. “What can a ghost like you possibly do? Can you teach those bullies a lesson?”
“I most certainly can!” Moaning Myrtle grinned, passing through the wall and back again with a showy flourish. “How about I splash them with water when they’re in the restroom? Then their home would think they wet themselves!”
Draco let out a cold, bitter laugh. “That’s nothing. I want them worse than me—worse than death. I want them to die.”
“I understand,” Moaning Myrtle nodded earnestly. “Some people… you just wish they’d vanish from the earth forever.”
She sighed. “Too bad neither of us has that kind of power…”
Before she could finish, her eyes suddenly lit up.
“Wait! I remember—there are people who do know that magic!”
“What magic?” Draco asked blankly.
Moaning Myrtle winked playfully. “Of course… dark magic.”
She lunged forward, suddenly right in his face, making a grotesque grimace.
Draco’s heart stopped. His face tightened.
“Dark magic? You mean those people from Durmstrang?”
“Tsk tsk.” She wagged a finger. “No, no. All Hogwarts students—started years ago. And Dumbledore never caught them!”
“Hogwarts has a secret group? One that even Dumbledore doesn’t know about?” Draco scoffed. “How do you know? Sounds like a lie.”
“I know,” Moaning Myrtle huffed. With a plunk, she dove back into the toilet and shot back out. Then, only her upper half remained visible, grinning mischievously. “You see, I often hide in here—eavesdropping on students’ secrets. I know more incidents than you’d ever imagine!”
Draco shivered. He took an involuntary step back, wondering if he’d said anything dangerous in the restroom.
In his short life, Draco Malfoy hadn’t yet carried much weight in his heart. But right now, the clearest memory was the shame of his own tearful face.
“Don’t you dare tell anyone what you saw, Moaning Myrtle!” Draco snapped, already commanding.
She shot up from the toilet in an instant, water splashing across the floor. She floated in front of him, her ghostly face nearly level with his. Her hand reached out, passing through his head as she gently brushed his red-rimmed eyes.
“I won’t tell,” she whispered. Then her tone brightened. “So this is our secret, right?”
“…Yes.” Draco leaned back, forcing a nod. “Never tell anyone. Take this secret to your grave.”
“Of course… I promise.” Suddenly, her voice grew quiet. “I know why you don’t want anyone to know. I was like you once—sensitive, lonely, always bullied. Then… I died.”
Seeing her about to burst into tears like her name suggested, Draco cut in sharply:
“Anyway—who in this school teaches dark magic?”
Moaning Myrtle sniffled, lifting her eyes to meet his. “You want to know?”
“Of course.” Draco didn’t hesitate.
He’d always been drawn to dark magic. Once, he’d even wanted to go to Durmstrang—only his mother, Narcissa, had refused.
“Follow me,” Moaning Myrtle said, extending a hand. “They’re having a meeting tonight. I’ll take you there myself.”
Draco reached out, symbolically gripping her hand—though he only felt a chill pass through his fingers. Then, the ghost slipped through the thick StoneWall, vanishing.
Draco: “…?”
A few seconds later, Moaning Myrtle shot back up from the floor. “Sorry! I forgot you can’t walk through walls. Wait—I’ll find a way out for you…”
Before Draco could speak, she plunged back into the toilet and vanished.
Draco: …
Even if there was a hole in the toilet, could he really crawl through it?
…
“Mr. Grindelwald’s cloak?” Wade asked. “It’s still here. Need it?”
“No,” Antoine said, voice dripping with mystery. “You need it. Put it on. I’ll take you somewhere… interesting. I only just found out—Hogwarts has some very fun activities.”
“What kind of activities?” Wade asked, unimpressed.
“Dark magic… Unforgivable Curses.” Antoine grinned. “Right under Dumbledore’s nose. Can you believe it? Want to see?”
“Unforgivable Curses?” Wade fell silent. Then, he pulled the cloak from the drawer, draping it over his shoulders. He pulled the hood up, and his face vanished into shadow.
Antoine downed a bottle of Polyjuice Potion, transforming himself into a student’s form. Underneath his Salem Academy uniform, he wore a cloak of similar color to Wade’s.
The grass was finally showing hints of green, but the cold remained. Students in thick cloaks were everywhere—unremarkable in the crowd.
Under Antoine’s lead, the two descended deeper into the castle. Wade noticed with irritation how smoothly Antoine used the moving stairs, arriving at the lower levels in seconds.
“You’re a Salem professor,” Wade muttered. “How do you know this place better than most Hogwarts students?”
“On enemy ground,” Antoine said lightly, “knowing the terrain is basic survival, my dear Bellby.”
“Bellby?”
“From now on, you’re Bellby.”
“How did you even find this dark magic group?” Wade asked, curious.
Antoine paused, then said, “Probably just… like attracts like.”
“You’ve studied some dark magic too. But you treat it as a research tool. But those who live it? I can tell at a glance—”
“Because the Wizard Purity Party is full of them. And they’re drawn to me—because my appearance and age can be faked. But magic… magic can’t lie. The feel of it? That’s impossible to fake.”
Wade stared at him.
To gain the trust of such a group—posing as a student—couldn’t just be about mastering dark magic. There had to be more.
What did Antoine do to earn their acceptance?
The thought barely formed in his mind when he suddenly remembered the victims of the Wizard Purity Party—those burned to ash, tortured to death, or left broken and screaming.
He’d seen such scenes before—many times—in Gellert Grindelwald’s gray castle.
No matter if they deserved it or not, these people used dark magic without hesitation.
Maybe the peace of Hogwarts had lulled Wade into forgetting what kind of people he was dealing with. He shook his head, clearing his mind.
Then, Antoine stopped before a painting. He tapped the serpent on the canvas twice, tracing a strange, ancient symbol.
The serpent’s eyes glowed faintly. The painting slid open, releasing a wave of damp, rotting air.
…
In the darkness of the pipe, the ghost glowed with a faint, eerie light—just enough to cast a shadow on the walls.
Draco crawled through the cramped tunnel, his cloak smeared with webs and slimy residue. His hair was tangled with insect bodies. Every step echoed with his ragged breath.
“Are you sure this is the way?” Draco gritted his teeth, crushing a spider that scuttled past.
“Of course!” Moaning Myrtle floated ahead, her body almost merging with the pipe’s walls. She turned, lifting a finger.
“Shhh.”
The usually loud ghost whispered, “We’re almost there. No talking—don’t want to be caught.”
Draco murmured, “I won’t speak. But you—aren’t you afraid of being discovered?”
“I’m not afraid,” she chuckled. “But if they find out I’ve been eavesdropping… they’ll change the meeting place.”
Before he could respond, she raised her finger again. He clamped his mouth shut, moving forward in silence.
Below, rustling sounds. Draco froze.
Moaning Myrtle reached out, pointing to a rusted wire mesh ahead.
Carefully, Draco inched forward and peered through the holes.
There, in the room, stood a dozen figures wrapped in black cloaks. Most kept their hoods up—tall, short, impossible to tell gender or age.
Draco recognized two: Crabbe and Crabbe. Their massive frames stood out clearly. Even without faces, he knew them.
Crabbe seemed fascinated by how to sneak a chocolate bar into his pocket without being noticed. The other Crabbe stood close to another cloaked figure, constantly trying to start a conversation.
Each time, Draco felt a pang—like his old followers had been replaced. That dull-witted fool… when had he become so ambitious?
He glanced at Moaning Myrtle. She signaled him to stay put, then gave him a gesture he didn’t understand—before drifting away.
Draco: …
Wait! Come back!
How do I get out?
He roared in silence, forcing himself to recall every twist and turn from the way in. How many corners had he passed?
Could he really become the first Hogwarts student to starve to death in a pipe?
He turned, checking the path behind him. The walls were covered in scuff marks—clear signs of previous crawlers. He exhaled in relief.
Just as he settled into a slightly more comfortable position, three more figures entered. The door locked behind them.
Then, the black-cloaked leader spread his arms, voice warm. “Come closer, Theo Nott… and you too, Bellby. We’re brothers. Don’t act distant.”
They shuffled forward, forming a tight circle. Only then did he speak again.
“Though I’ve said this many times, I must repeat it—”
“Gellert Grindelwald is old. The Dark Lord is dead. Dumbledore is mad. The Ministry is weak.”
“Brothers and sisters! The future of the wizarding world belongs to us! The world belongs to us!”
“To achieve our goal, we must use every power at our disposal. Master the magic our enemies wield. Abandon blind loyalty. Throw away weakness and morality. Fight for a true dawn!”
“We must face our greed. Embrace the hunger that burns in our souls. We want all the gold in the world flowing to us. We want the Minister of Magic kneeling to kiss our rings. We want the most beautiful people crawling at our feet. We want to melt the world into the shape we desire!”
“We are not remnants. We are not followers. We are the future!”
Another cloaked figure raised a cup. “To our future!”
The others echoed, “To the future!”
They drank. Their breaths grew heavier—excited, as if savoring a world they’d only imagined.
On their fingers, rings glinted under the candlelight. Skulls carved into the metal seemed to grin.
Draco’s heart skipped.
He reached up, touching his bare finger.
There had once been a ring like that.
But then…
He remembered the detentions in Professor Snape’s office. The bitter taste returned.
A whole year of punishment—sorting disgusting potion ingredients, doing chores for other professors, cleaning with Filch. Each return to the dormitory left him exhausted. He had no time for anything but assignments and Quidditch.
And even Quidditch offered no real relief. Slytherin’s training was just as grueling as Gryffindor’s.
Worse, since Harry Potter arrived, Slytherin had lost their Quidditch streak. The pressure was unbearable.
In short, during those years, Draco Malfoy had been forced to cut ties with the newly formed Death Spirit Club. Eventually, he even forgot where he’d left his ring…
Now, staring at the mysterious, fervent crowd below, Draco’s eyes flickered. His other hand slowly brushed the place where the ring had once been.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
