Chapter 16: Death and Domain - Chapter 16
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Blood and guts.
It was all I could think about as I paced around the expanse of my room, wearing down the hardwood beneath my feet. The soft rug I used to have was long gone, of course—my room had been one of the first to be pilfered. All that was left was my bed, a single dresser, and an ancient standing mirror, black mold spots around the edges, old age wounds.
The anger bubbled up once more, and I pictured it again. The comfortable weight of a knife in my hand. Flavius' lifeblood spurting out in a beautiful arc. His intestines hanging down to his knees like unspooled thread, hands feebly trying to pick them back up together.
I bit down on my lip, forcing myself to sit on my bed and breathe easy. I can't say I particularly enjoyed the whole killing business. People were hardly useful as corpses, barring a few exceptions. But there's a special kind of person out there that just brings something out of me. Some hidden part of me I only let loose so it doesn't dig itself out by force.
Even now, hours later, the urge to kill Flavius after I found out the books on soul magic were gone was still hard to contain. Earlier, I had gotten halfway across the house before I stopped myself. I would've gutted him like a pig otherwise, magic or not. When that veil of rage had lifted—and that was only because I'd accidentally taken a peek into the sitting room where Ophelia Prince used as her own study—I found myself standing a few steps away from Flavius' study, a kitchen knife in hand.
Unfortunately, I knew rationally I couldn't allow myself the pleasure quite yet. Even if I could, I would be done if he managed to pull his wand on me. In fact, I realized I'd been quite lucky he hadn't gone ahead and started something with me earlier in the hallway. I might've gotten the drop on him, but then what? What would I do, beat him to death? Forley was a call away, and though I was still a Prince, the elves' main bond was to the head of the house.
No, I was putting the carriage before the horse here. I wasn't Harry Potter, after all. No one was gunning for me besides a few angry teenagers. Beyond being strong enough to take them on next semester, there was no clock ticking away at me. I didn't need to rush things just to bottle them for not taking care enough.
Flavius would get his, yes, but I had to be smart about it. I didn't know a wit about how magical investigations worked. Abusive or not, I didn't want to end up in Azkaban for botching his assassination because some DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enforcement) newby waved his wand in a simple spell and got dinged with my name back
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It took two days into my month-long plan until I had enough. Who was I kidding? I wanted what was mine, and I wanted it now. That's how I found myself, some ten days after boarding the train out of Hogwarts here, back in the village of Hogsmeade, my school trunk in hand.
Initially, I wanted to go the Polyjuice route. Every family worth its salt had Moste Potente Potions in their library—the Blacks being no exception, I had read it late at night under a blanket with Celeste when we were seven—and you don't spend as much time around Snape as I did when I was young without learning a thing or two.
I knew exactly where to go in the Alley to get what I wanted. Some ingredients in Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, a couple others in Pernicious Potions where questions were never asked, and a few that I already had in my own inventory. So long as I didn't buy all the ingredients at the same place, no one would catch on.
Now, Polyjuice itself was a rather advanced potion—it was a wonder Hermione managed to do it in her second year in canon, and with contraband ingredients at that—but it was no obstacle for Octavian. He was no half-blood prince, but he had the thing down to a science.
Even now, they were still stewing back in the potions' room of our basement, just in case I had need of it in the future. It wasn't as if I had to worry about Flavius going in either way. The man was barely at home, and when he was, he was drinking in his study or fucking whores in his room. I doubted he would know which potion I was making if he did decide to snoop around what I was doing.
But by God, I couldn't wait the month that it took to brew it to start making some moves.
The ring of a familiar chime brought me back to the moment as I opened the door and stepped inside the store. Dervish and Banges was one of the smaller stores in Hogsmeade, ensconced away at the end of the main street from which the town was clumped around. Which was why I was always surprised to see how much traffic it attracted.
Inside, an old lady was just finishing ringing a two-headed violin at the counter, a group of three friends played around with a set of undersized quidditch that resembled a pinball table, while a young couple browsed further into the store, the mother cooing at the kid in her arms who pointed up and giggled at the sunny sky the store had for a ceiling.
"Bye! Have a nice day!" Finished with the old lady, the pretty girl behind the counter turned my way. "Hi, how can I—oh, Octavian. Hi!" Her already cheerful voice got even more bubbly. She waved me in excitedly. "Come in, come in. Dad's just working on some new project inside."
Amused, I remembered all the sputtering and stuttering Octavian went through whenever the cute, caramel-haired Livia Dervish spoke to him. To be fair to him, Livia was a few years older than him, having just graduated from Hogwarts last year, and the only experience Octavian had with girls had ended in trauma and heartbreak.
It was no wonder he was getting fleeced over on the sales of his products. The boy could barely think around a girl like her.
"Hey, Livia," I said easily. "You look lovely today. As usual." Then I heaved up my trunk and walked up to the back of the store where a beaded curtain separated the store from Mr. Dervish's workshop.
The young couple with the kid had grabbed one of my toys, a fist-sized cube that emitted realistic sounds of animals back at you if you named it. The little boy said, "Puppy" and a little yap answered him back.
The mom cheered, the dad applauded, and the boy looked at the little cube like it was the best thing in the world. I only hoped he did more than look. Looks don't count as sales, in my books.
Stopping in the doorway, I noticed Livia wasn't following me, so I turned to look at her. "Are you coming? I brought some new stuff today I'm sure you'll be interested in."
Livia was still behind the counter, staring at me as if I'd grown a second head. "Uhm, yes." She laughed awkwardly, brushing back a strand of hair. "Yeah, I'll just…" She looked in the direction of the couple, turned to me, blushed. "Uhm, yeah, I'll be right there."
I grinned at her. Livia was a Ravenclaw. A very nerdy Ravenclaw too. Before, I only thought she liked Octavian's creations. They were a marvel of magic, in all fairness, so it was no wonder a girl whose father owned a magical equipment store was fascinated by Octavian's unorthodox way of inventing.
Well, now I knew. My boy had game. Unconscious game, but game nonetheless.
I found Dereck Dervish propped over a table, staring pensively into a brown box with a circular hole cut in its side. Mr. Dervish wasn't the most handsome man around, a bit on the chubby side, with grizzled hair receding from a wrinkled brow and thick side whiskers that seemed almost glued to the sides of his face.
Mrs. Dervish must have done all the hard work in making a pretty daughter.
The man turned as I walked in. "Livia, be a dear and grab—" He blinked owlishly at me. Turned to a calendar pinned to the wall behind him, then turned again, a smile pulling at the lines of his face. "Ah, it's today! Wonderful! Octavian Prince! Good, good. Come on in."
He waved me over enthusiastically, taking the heavy trunk from my hand and plopping it over the only unoccupied surface around.
His workshop was double the size of the store, long and narrow with tables littered with trinkets and ongoing projects running the length of the room on both sides. On the walls, old bookshelves served as further storage for half-completed magical items, some flying and buzzing about on their own, others clicking and rattling loudly like a baby calling for their parent's attention. Red and blue lights blinked every ten seconds in at least two different spots in the room, and one shelf at the farthest corner was shrouded in never-ending fog.
"It's good of you to come, Mr. Prince," the man said, clapping me on the shoulder. "I had started to think you'd turned away from little old Dervish to bigger and better things."
I chuckled. Not yet, old man. Not yet. "I'm always on time, Mr. Dervish," I said. "I wouldn't want to leave you wanting for too long."
Dereck seemed delighted at my answer. "And it seems like you found your voice, too." He clapped again, his hands this time. "Wonderful, wonderful. It does wonders to the artist, I will tell you. I expect even better inventions from now on."
I raised an eyebrow. Did that mean anything? "I'll try not to disappoint," I settled on answering.
"Oh, I doubt you will," he said, then he patted my trunk like it was a dear friend. "Now leave this here, for a moment, and come with me. I want your opinion on this." He brought me over to the table with the brown box and pointed at it with extreme suspicion. "Do you know what this is, Octavian?"
Leaning closer to it, I tried to hold in my mirth when I noticed the lens peeking out of the hole on the side. Obviously I knew what it was, but I could exactly tell him that.
"I couldn't tell you, Mr. Dervish. But it looks remarkably muggle."
He gave me a serious nod. "As expected, you have a keen eye. This is, in fact, a muggle contraption called a projector." He waved his hand dramatically as he said it, and I gave him all the oohs and aahs it deserved.
"And what does it do?" I asked.
Mr. Dervish stared at me. "I know it's hard to believe, Octavian, but if I were to turn this on, and if I had one of those magical snakes—films, we would see a whole new world light up against the wall, anything from the stars in the sky to the American human-hybrids they call cowboys to a great hawk made of fire carrying men on its belly on its way to the moon.
"Think of it as a pensieve. Except those are great, unwieldy things. And expensive too. You won't find one in any old magical household, no. Only at the ministry and with the old lords. But if I could recreate this… this…" Shaking his head, he let out a breath of pure awe. "This most exceptional of muggle magics, then anyone would be able see the many wonders of our world."
I couldn't help laughing a bit. "I'm afraid I'll have to steal that honor away from you, Mr. Dervish."
He looked back at me, puzzled.
Waving him over, I fiddled with the latch of my trunk, which popped open its three compartments. On the bottom one, I had stacked up all the usual trinkets that I already sold at the store, like the animal-cube one and all the other toys. Octavian had a good stockpile of them, as he spent most of his free time in school and at home making them. T
Then, in the middle compartment, twelve small suitcases, like the classic ones where shady businessmen carry stacks of money, sat in three piles of four. They were all different in size and color, but that's more because I just bought whatever was cheapest in second hand stores after exchanging some gold for pounds at Gringotts.
I took one out and set it on the table. "Now, this is just a prototype." At Mr. Dervish's questioning look, I clarified. "It's the first model, so there's still some things I can improve with it."
Opening up the case, the only special thing about it was that the side that sat on the table was half-covered in a reddish liquid. "I based this off the pensieve in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, actually. You just pour a memory into the liquid and anyone can watch it as if they were there in person, only without having to dunk their heads inside."
Mr. Dervish's eyes shone with wonder. "You did it…" he whispered. "This is…"
"Magic," Livia said behind them. She, too, was looking at the suitcase with bubbling excitement. And when she caught me watching her, she turned red all the way to her neck.
I gave her a confident smile. In reality, the liquid was just water with a few drops of red ink. The real magic was in the bottom of the case. There, an enchantment to identify any magical substance in the water would trigger the other enchantments in the case, which could conceptually read the memory and play it on the top half of the case.
Just like a projector.
It had taken me no more than five minutes for me to fashion it, but I had no doubt the insular wizards and witches of Britain would eat it up like an incredible breakthrough. The price of pensives was in the tens of thousands of galleons, and even then very few new ones were made each year. Usually by a small group of enchanters in Switzerland.
I could undercut them by a factor of ten and still make a crazy profit.
"That's not all." I pointed to the topmost compartment of the trunk, where I had a dozen other smaller enchanted items to sell. "These are all new too. You can say I've been inspired this past week."
Mr. Dervish barely seemed to have noticed me. He was laughing joyfully at the memory of a five-year old Livia dancing in the woods playing out on the case. I hadn't even noticed him pulling it out of his head. "Brilliant, Mr. Prince," he said. "Just brilliant."
Beside him, his daughter had buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. Poor girl.
"Thank you, Mr. Dervish," I said. And since they couldn't see me, my cocky grin turned a tad predatory. "However, my inspiration came with some other reconsiderations, you see. So before we go any further into our business relationship, we'll just need to have a little conversation about prices."
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