Dark Moon 1
"Read this." His colleague flops the newspaper on the table. It has the words Daily Prophet in bold letters. The main page article says 'Dumbledore Secret Purist?' then shows a moving picture of the man speaking on a podium, his face looking as if he’s speaking directly to you. Underneath, it continues, 'Muggleborns no longer allowed in Hogwarts? Dumbledore says no, but how come there aren't any Muggleborn first years? In the next few years, the last Muggleborn students will graduate, then Hogwarts will completely become reserved for Pure and Half-bloods. Something never thought of, even by its founders. Even now, with the new school years, there are no Muggleborns admitted. A conspiracy? Or—'
He stops reading.
"What is this, the Quibbler ? What has the Prophet become, another conspiracy rag?" He puts down his tea, which is starting to taste sour. He wonders, why is everyone so up in arms? So no more Mudbloods— that's a good thing. You don’t hear him complaining; if anything, he should throw a party. He would, but he bets those vultures at the Prophet would take notice, and everyone would somehow find a way to point fingers at him. Ridiculous.
“But it does make you think, right?”
A moment of silence passes. He raises a brow at his colleague.
“I’m serious. No Mudbloods, that's impossible. They’re like cockroaches, Malfoy. There's more every year, and suddenly they just, stop?”
“You're wasting my time if you want to theorize about Mudbloods. They're gone, be happy. Honestly, Goyle, you're more interested than the actual reporters.” He flips the Prophet, wondering if his investment's paying off. He frowns. Well, there's always next year.
“But why now? Or more importantly, what happened?”
Malfoy looked at him over the top of his paper, then returned to reading. Huh? There's a shortage on Gillyweed?
“What if they find the person responsible?”
He stops reading but doesn’t look up from the paper. “You know something, Goyle.” He was a plum man with a round face. He looked innocent from a distance, but Malfoy knew the truly disgusting things he’d done. The man wasn’t bright, never was in school, never was now.
Goyle shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know anything, Lucius, but... people are talking. They're saying someone must have made them disappear. And if they find out who it was…”
Malfoy folded the paper deliberately, setting it aside with a sigh. “And you think this ‘someone’ will be found?”
Goyle shrugged, his eyes darting around the room. “People are curious. They might start digging.”
A smirk played on Malfoy's lips. “Let them dig. They'll find nothing. Besides, even if there was someone responsible, they would have covered their tracks well. Unlike you, Goyle, not everyone is so sloppy.”
Goyle frowned but said nothing. Malfoy leaned back, taking a sip of his tea, savoring the moment. “Enjoy the peace while it lasts, Goyle. This is a new era for us. Embrace it.”
Goyle nodded, though his unease was evident. Malfoy, however, felt a sense of satisfaction. The world was finally aligning with his vision, and nothing—not even Goyle’s incessant worrying—would spoil it.
“What if… I know who did it.”
That made everything collapse. The tension suddenly grew. Malfoy glared at him, slowly folding the paper and returning it to the table. “You do?”
“Yes. I do.” The man’s enthusiasm was returning. “It was me.” He smiled with crooked teeth.
The tension died. Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked toward the window. It was a rainy day, and raindrops made trails on the glass.
“It’s true!”
“I thought you'd stopped lying when that half-blood punched your teeth in.”
“That was one time! It’s true, I really did it!”
“How? You don’t even have the brainpower to perform a sixth-year spell. How did you manage to do something our ancestors have been trying for eons? Bad breath? Poor impulse control?”
Goyle was starting to get angry. “You don’t believe me because you think I’m stupid. But I’m not stupid, Lucius. I did it. I found a way.”
“Enlighten me? It would make good entertainment.”
The man frowned, his fists clenched. “Do you know how Mudbloods are enrolled in Hogwarts?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s this book, you see. It’s an old book, and a quill! Powerful items made by the founders. They write down all the names of every Mudblood ever! I found the book and turned it to ash, torched everything in Fiendfyre.”
Malfoy looked at the door and windows. He grabbed his wand, and Goyle recoiled back for a second, his hands moving to his back pocket. Malfoy waved his wand in the air, performing an anti-scrying charm. The window and door glowed for a second before the light disappeared.
“You used Fiendfyre? In Hogwarts?” Malfoy asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Goyle nodded. “Yes. I snuck in during the summer, when the castle was mostly empty. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. The book and the quill are gone. No more Mudbloods.”
Malfoy didn’t believe Goyle for a second. He knew about the book; his ancestors had written about it in their journals. It was supposedly protected by one of the most powerful charms and curses, created by the founders of Hogwarts themselves. And Goyle, who could barely read a book about Charms and couldn’t even perform a simple unlocking spell, managed to break through unnoticed? Let alone summon Fiendfyre—there were enchantments on school grounds that prevented such magic, and the alarms it would set off would have Aurors on him in seconds. No, something else was going on.
He studied Goyle's face, noting the eagerness and smugness. It was clear that Goyle believed what he was saying, but there had to be another explanation. Someone more powerful, more cunning, must have orchestrated this, and Goyle was either being used or deluding himself into thinking he had done it alone.
"Goyle," Malfoy said slowly, "let's assume, for argument's sake, that you did manage to destroy the book. Why would you take such a risk?"
Goyle puffed up his chest. "To rid Hogwarts of Mudbloods. To make it the pure place it was always meant to be."
Malfoy nodded, feigning approval. "A noble goal, certainly. But tell me, how did you get past the enchantments and the wards? How did you manage to control Fiendfyre?"
“I… I was just… I snuck in through. I don’t. I burned the book. I remember it, Lucius!”
“You remember?”
“Yes!”
“Hmmm. Goyle, I want to test something.” Malfoy took out his wand, and Goyle whimpered, grabbing his own wand in reflex.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Easy for you to say! I know what you're going to do, Malfoy!”
“No you don’t.” The tip of his wand shone white. “I just want to take a peek into that mind of yours.”
“I—ah…”
“Don’t you want to remember it too? This would be your proof. You’d be a hero to pure-bloods everywhere.” Malfoy told him everything he wanted to hear. And like the idiot he was, Goyle bought it.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” He beckoned Goyle closer, until his wand touched his head. “I’m not as good as Snape, but I know my way around.”
“Beaten by a half-blood?” Goyle mocked.
“That half-blood managed to ace his O.W.Ls, something you failed. Now hold still.” He grabbed Goyle’s head. “Legilimens!”
As Malfoy delved into Goyle's mind, he was met with a swirling chaos of disjointed thoughts and memories. He navigated through the clutter, searching for the crucial moment Goyle claimed to remember.
A dark figure stood ominously above, shadowing the man. He was familiar, someone Malfoy had seen before. His words came out in hisses, pointed at Goyle, who whimpered. Other shadows came, ganging up on the man. The vision fades, and Malfoy saw another scene: Goyle entering the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, opening a door to an animated book and quill. He muttered a spell, and both objects fell like ordinary tools. Another vision appeared: Goyle's surrounded by shadows, all whispering in hushed tones. Presenting the book and quill to a figure who spoke. Malfoy knew who he was.
The Dark Lord.
The spell ended, and Malfoy found himself back in his study. Goyle was foaming at the mouth, his body twitching on the couch.
“Ugh. Dobby!” In a flash, the house elf appeared.
“Yes, master.” The elf bowed.
“Call the healer. Tell them Mr. Goyle overdosed again.”
“Right away, master.” The elf nodded and apparated away.
Oh well, Goyle was a known drug addict. It probably wouldn’t be traced back to him. He’d seen the man snort three shots of powdered unicorn horn earlier. Disgraceful. A shame to all pure-bloods. If it wasn’t for Goyle’s family—especially the land they owned—he would never associate with them. He remembered his father’s words: some pure bloods are purer than others.
Malfoy sat back, his mind racing. The Dark Lord was behind this. Goyle had been a pawn, used to achieve a larger goal. The absence of Mudbloods at Hogwarts was orchestrated by Voldemort himself. This changed everything.
Malfoy knew he needed to act cautiously. The Dark Lord’s involvement meant that this was part of a much larger scheme, one that could have dire consequences for anyone caught in its web. He would need to inform the other Death Eaters and ensure they were all aligned. But more importantly, he had to protect his own interests and his family.
He rose from his chair, pacing the room. Malfoy also needed to discreetly gather intelligence from his Ministry contacts. This was a delicate game, and he needed to play it perfectly.
Malfoy glanced at Goyle, still twitching on the couch. He couldn’t afford any loose ends. Goyle was incompetent, why would the dark lord choose him? A patsy? Maybe… For now, he would make sure Goyle was taken care of, and then he would plan his next move.
The stakes were higher than ever, and Malfoy intended to come out on top.
An assassin watches in the dark, blending effortlessly through the manor halls. Even its magic, layered over through the years and considered one of the greatest defensive spells in the world, is nothing to her. She moves like a shadow or a breeze, undetected. She walks behind the manor's master, passing through every door he does. She could stalk him for days, or even years if she had to. She waits until he’s out of the manor before finally leaving.
Once safely five miles away, she activates the device. A small pocket watch, easily hidden. They call it a glint phone. She presses the blue glintstone on the cover; the cogs and gears move, then slowly the phone opens. Within is a rotary dial and a mirror. She quickly flips the dial, each striking the numbers she was ordered. Then tugs the switch to the side. It picks up almost immediately, the mirror shimmering to reveal an image.
“Did he take the bait?” the voice on the other end inquires.
“Affirmative,” she answers back.
“Good. Keep shadowing him. Your replacement will come in a week. Report anything useful.”
“Of course, master.”
“On the blackest night,” the voice intones.
“We are her knives,” she replies, and the call ends.
The Glint Phone
A device made by the Vullian Conspectus, functions as a communication device utilizing glintstone vibrations.
With an influx of new technology, the Academy believed they could improve their designs using glintstone. It ultimately proved to be a poor imitation.
No wonder it was deemed archaic in the coming age. Only used by those who want things hidden.