83 83: Why so serious?

Alaric left the Arithmancy classroom somewhat annoyed. He'd tried to get some more information out of Granger, but the girl had decided if she didn't speak, she wouldn't let anything slip. Because of his constant questions, Professor Vector chastised him several times and ended up giving him an extra essay on Numerology for the week. 

If things kept going like this, Alaric would've to ask Lysandra for help, but he didn't know how much his sister would pry on a secret none of her friends knew except Miss Library. 

How annoying, he thought.

Looking out of the window, Alaric noticed the sun starting to disappear behind the mountains. It was evening already. He quite liked Arithmancy, so time always seemed to fly by whenever he stepped foot into that class. 

That couldn't be said for Herbology. Professor Sprout was nice, but Alaric didn't get the charm of magical plants. Maybe that was the reason his sister was better at it and Potions than him. Nonetheless, he still liked to be well-taught on the topic — and he had a specific little cranny on his suitcase for the subject — so he'd study the curriculum even during leisure hours. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge if it helped get the upper hand on someone. 

With an hour till he had to go to the greenhouses, Alaric went to the bathroom to cool off. 

If he had a favourite loo in the castle, it'd be the girls' one on the second floor. Moaning Myrtle's little home. Barely anyone, especially girls, used the bathroom because of her. Myrtle didn't like her fellow witches that much. And after the basilisk incident last year, no one even liked to walk too close to its entrance. 

To be honest... Myrtle was a pretty good listener. During last month, when Alaric wasn't exactly a bundle of joy, he found himself numerous times in that bathroom just talking while she listened. Rarely did Myrtle opine on Alaric's rants, but when she did, her advice was strangely mature for a ghost who died as a teen girl. 

As usual, when Alaric entered the bathroom, it was deserted. A row of chipped and stained sinks stood beneath cracked mirrors, the reflections in them distorted and twisted. Water trickled incessantly from rusty faucets, and the floor, cold and slick, was strewn with puddles, reflecting the weak sunlight coming through the window. 

The cubicles had their doors half-hanging, which creaked ominously as they swayed on rusted hinges. Their walls were riddled with peeling paint and etched with weird, badly done, fading graffiti. A sense of loneliness hung heavy in the air, but that was probably because of Myrtle, who'd wail in her usual sorrowful manner from one of the stalls whenever she felt like it.

He beelined to the nearest sink and twisted the valve, letting the chilling water fall on his good hand and the sink before cupping a handful and wetting his face. 

He took off his robe and folded it neatly on top of a dry sink. He scoped some more water and continued to wash his face until, from the corner of his eyes, he saw a spectral body leaving one of the toilets.

"Hiiiiii, Alaric!" Myrtle greeted him with a toothy see-through grin, purposely dragging the word out. 

"Hey, Myrtle," Alaric said as he folded back the sleeves of his shirt and loosened his green tie. "You seem happy,"

"Oh, I am! So, so happy!" She exclaimed, bouncing around in the air and floating closer to him. "There was this one Hufflepuff boy that kept doing number two on my favourite fifth-floor toilet, and that's a no-no for me. So when he was distracted, I sent a jet of water up his... oh, I know you get it!" 

Alaric chuckled and looked into the mirror above the sink, mentally noting to avoid the fifth-floor loo. He'd like to keep his backside water-jet-free. 

"So, what're you doin' here?" Myrtle asked with a silver blush, floating upside down. "Did you come to see me again because you missed me?"

"You could say that," Alaric lied, wanting to use the bathrooms at school without trouble. 

"Oh, how wonderful," She giggled before placing a finger on her chin in thought. "That reminds me, have you made up with your sister yet? I caught her crying a few days ago in her bathroom... I could hear her from the pipes," 

"I have," He said, feeling a tinge of guilt deep within. And it should've been sooner, he thought. 

"That's great but..." Myrtle tilted her head, looking at his face through the mirror. "Why do you still seem sad?"

As he turned off the water and dried his face with a simple wandless spell, Alaric silently laughed, wondering how a ghost could read him better than most. He loved his friends dearly, but rarely could they see through the mask he put on when in turmoil. Apart from his sister, mother, and uncles, he guessed only McGonagall and the ghostly girl could understand his emotions. 

"A friend of mine got injured. But he's alright now, don't worry about it," Alaric said, massaging the back of his neck that was sore from looking at parchment for so long. 

Taking out his pocketwatch, he saw he still had thirty minutes left, but just as he was about to say goodbye, the door to the bathroom clicked open. 

"Someone in here?" A troll-like, familiar voice reached Alaric's ears, and he stopped the Disillusionment charm he was doing. 

Marcus Flint, dressed in his quidditch robes, entered the bathroom like he owned the place. Alaric felt a surge of ire at the sight of the seventh-year student and tightened his grip on the sink he used moments before, still looking at the mirror. 

"S'that you, Grindelwald?" Just the tone of his voice made Alaric tighten his jaw, but he refrained from doing anything yet other than glancing briefly at Flint. "Watchu' doin' here?"

"That's none of your business, is it?" Alaric spat, now turning fully to him. 

"Ah, calm down, will ya?" Flint lifted his hand in the air but had a light sneer on his face. "I just heard someone talking. Was that you speaking to Wailing Wanda?"

Alaric looked over his shoulder to the spot Myrtle stood moments ago, but she had left. That was good. No witnesses. His eyes scanned over the rest of the bathroom, and when he was sure the Baron wasn't stalking him today, his lips grew into a smile.

"And watchu' smilin' for?" Flint's sneer turned into a chuckle. "Wait, don't tell me you were talkin' to yourself. Did you get a bludger to the loaf as well?"

"Colloportus. Muffilato,"

Alaric pointed his wand at the opened door, which was sealed with an odd squelching noise, and the sounds echoing from outside disappeared, plunging the bathroom into total silence. 

"What was that for?" Flint asked, taking a step back. He couldn't hide the budding fear in his voice. 

"Why so serious? Scared? It's to give us a moment alone," Alaric said calmly. He pointed his wand at Flint. "Take out your wand,"

"W-What?"

"Take out your wand, Marcus," Alaric repeated, but this time, his face contorted into an ugly scowl. "We're going to have a duel," He made an exaggerated bow. "Like the gentleman we are,"

Flint let out an incredulous gasp and bolted for the door. He thought he was about to escape, but when he twisted the handle, the door remained closed. Again and again, Flint twisted it in panic, before finally reaching for his wand in his robes and pointing it at the lock. 

"A-Alohomora!" He tried, but the door didn't budge. 

"It's no use," Alaric said, his voice so grave that the seventh-year felt the hairs on his arms stand. "A stupid mutt like you couldn't even begin to comprehend how the unlocking of a magically sealed door works,"

Trembling, Flint raised his wand at Alaric, but he couldn't keep his arm steady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Flint shouted through fear and gritted teeth. 

"Me? I'm just giving you a chance," Alaric stated with a disgusted expression, showing just how much he wanted to skip this part. "A chance to prove you're more than a half-troll who got lucky in attending this school and actually deserves his place. After all, I'm an incredibly benevolent person,"

"Y-You think because you can cast a Patronus, that you can beat me?" Flint tried to sound confident but wasn't very successful. "Your jus' a third-year! What do you even know about duelling!"

The student got into the traditional duelling stance and stood facing Alaric, who hadn't moved at all. 

"Who was the troll in your family, Flint? Your mother? Or your father? Maybe neither, and you just came out looking like that. I can't imagine a mother loving her son who's born with such a face,"

"Confringo!" Flint yelled, and from his wand, a blasting curse flew at Alaric. 

With a simple flick of his hand, Alaric deflected the spell. 

"Ah, you attacked first," His smile grew wide. "That means, whatever I do now, it'll be self-defence,"

"Wha—"

"Mordeo!" Alaric exclaimed, firing a red curse at the seventh year. 

It hit its target on the upper right side of the torse, completely shredding his robes in that location. Flint fell to the ground, whimpering in pain and clutching the now-bleeding wound that resembled a large bite mark. 

"Somebody—" He tried to call for help, but his voice was drowned by the sudden explosion of every sink and toilet in the bathroom. 

Even Alaric himself was startled but quickly regained his composure after deducing his anger made his magic run wild and out of control. The accidental magic caused the bathroom floor to be covered by an inch-tall layer of water, soaking Flint and turning red because of his blood. 

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Alaric rhetorically asked with a sadistic smile as his head hovered above Flint. "Just like it hurt Theo when you hit him with that bludger,"

"I-It... it wasn't... on purpose!" Flint stuttered through the pain. Even his hair was getting bloody now. 

"Oh, but I saw you laughing, Marcus," Alaric pressed his foot down on the wound, and Flint yelped in even more pain. "I saw you laughing with your buddies as you left for the changing rooms that day. What was funny, Marcus? WHAT WAS FUNNY?"

"I'm... s-sorry,"

"WHAT WAS FUNNY?" Alaric yelled, his blue eyes wide in rage. "WAS IT FUNNY SEEING HIM FALL OFF HIS BROOM? WAS IT FUNNY INJURING HIM? WAS IT FUNNY THINKING YOU HAD KILLED HIM?"

"P-Please..." Flint tried to beg, but barely a word came out of his mouth. His breathing was ragged, and his ears were ringing from Alaric's shouting. 

"Such big words that were leaving your mouth just moments ago," Alaric chuckled dryly, kicking him on the stomach. "Where is all that bravado now?" He kicked him again. "C'mon Flint, where is it?" And again. 

Finding the seventh-year unresponsive apart from his shallow breathing, Alaric placed his hands on his hips and looked up, contemplating how he was feeling. With a sigh, he pointed his wand at Flint's wound, muttered a spell under his breath, and watched as the wound closed itself.

"This is for Theo. Yes, for Theo," Alaric muttered to himself before crouching near Flint's head. "How about I give you a gift? I'll have to modify your memories, but I'm sure you'll remember the pain,"

"...w-what?" The large and bulky quidditch player mumbled, barely conscious. The only thing he saw before passing out was the streak of red coming at him, and the pain of millions of knives stabbing at him at the same time.

"Crucio!"

**********

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's always nice to show this side of Alaric's personality, and what he's capable of.

Anyways, did you know the total of ants on Earth weighs more than the total of humans? Now you do.

Don't forget to leave comments and reviews!