The discovery of the Half-Blood Prince's annotated Advanced Potion Making textbook felt less like a lucky find and more like a massive acceleration of his academic timetable. After his solitary, intense perusal of the stolen text, Anduin estimated that the wealth of practical, optimized methods contained within would allow him to bypass months of laborious, experimental brewing.
He calculated he could now master the foundational elemental spells and basic Defense Against the Dark Arts counter-charms—the current focus of Phase 1: Acquisition of Knowledge—in approximately one week, rather than the initial two.
This freed up his subsequent time to accelerate his Potions training and, critically, begin Phase 2: Tactical System Development—the selection and rigorous practice of his core defensive spells.
He felt a rare surge of intellectual satisfaction, a feeling akin to finding a crucial piece of strategic intelligence that shortens the entire campaign.
As Anduin cut through the deserted upper-floor corridors on his way to the Great Hall, his senses, sharpened by two weeks of uninterrupted magical and physical training, went taut. He heard a subtle, almost imperceptible sound emanating from a third-floor classroom—a faint shuffling of robes and the low murmur of voices.
Curiosity is a tactical vulnerability, Anduin reminded himself, halting his progress. But this sound was not the ordinary echo of a passing student. The classroom was used for First-Year Defense Against the Dark Arts, a period that had ended hours ago, and the door was locked. Is this another researcher? An unauthorized student? Or something strategically relevant?
His operational instinct to gather intelligence overruled his desire for an uninterrupted journey. He needed to know who was operating outside of normal parameters. He decided against using a basic unlocking charm, as the click of the tumbler, however faint, might alert the occupants. Direct confrontation was not his goal; information was.
He drew his wand, pointing it not at the door, but at the side of his own head. He prepared to cast a spell he had only learned theoretically at the Charms club meeting—the Hearing Enhancement Charm.
The spell was a high-level piece of acoustic magic, developed by a Ravenclaw senior named Quirrell during his research into sound wave manipulation. Its function was to exponentially increase the sensitivity of the caster's hearing, often used in counter-magic to detect silent spell vibrations or amplified sound traps.
However, the technique was inherently dangerous and required extreme Magic Precision to cast and maintain. Failure to modulate the amplified input could result in a crippling sensory overload.
With a focused mental command and an exacting, minute flick of his wand, Anduin cast the spell.
The world instantly erupted into a deafening, chaotic cacophony. The gentle, ambient noises of the castle—the groan of old stone, the hiss of torch flame, the distant drumming of wind against glass—were magnified a thousandfold.
The sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears was like a bass drum. He swayed, his vision momentarily flickering from the sensory shock. It was a severe testament to the current immaturity of his technique.
Modulate. Filter. Focus, he demanded of his core magical energy.
After a few agonizing seconds of pure auditory chaos, he managed to impose a minimal level of filtration, selectively dampening the internal sounds and tuning the magic toward the low-frequency vibrations near the locked door. Pressing his ear against the thick oak, he managed to catch fragmented, venomous whispers.
"…Tomorrow night… Charles… must pay… hahahaha… those Gryffindor fools… I'll teach him a lesson…"
The volume was still barely manageable, interspersed with muffled laughter and the shuffling of several sets of feet. He immediately recognized the distinct, reedy voice of Sampur Travers, the pale, venomous Slytherin from his Potions class. The other voices were rougher, older, and unfamiliar—suggesting a group drawn from the upper years. The key phrases—Tomorrow night, Charles, fools—were enough.
Anduin instantly neutralized the charm. The sudden return to silence felt like a physical shock, and a sharp, blinding headache immediately bloomed behind his eyes. He leaned against the stone wall, waiting for the dizziness to subside. He had held the charm for less than ninety seconds.
His mind, however, was already in the analysis phase.
The Players: A multi-year Slytherin clique, led or at least incited by the younger, fanatical pure-bloods like Travers. The target was Charles McKinnon, a key figure in Gryffindor and the nephew of a noted member of the Order of the Phoenix.
The Timing: "Tomorrow night." The headmaster, Dumbledore, had been conspicuously absent from the school for increasingly long periods, undoubtedly engaged in the escalating external conflict. The pure-blood faction saw this absence not as a vacuum, but as a window of opportunity—a brief lapse in the ultimate authority that protected the castle's traditional rivals.
The Conclusion: This was not a random fight; it was a pre-meditated political attack, a direct projection of the escalating war outside the castle walls. The Slytherins, feeling emboldened by the external political climate and their perceived connection to the Dark Lord's growing power, were initiating the first move in what was likely to become a sustained campaign of harassment and intimidation.
Intervention? Anduin considered the question with cold detachment. He was not a protector of Hogwarts, nor was he ideologically aligned with the Gryffindor faction. His primary directive was survival and self-development. Intervening in inter-house conflict was a massive strategic risk that would immediately expose his skill level, compromise his neutral position, and consume valuable training time.
However, Charles McKinnon was an acquaintance—one of the few students he had formed a neutral, vaguely favourable impression of. More importantly, Charles had previously provided him with minor, untainted social assistance.
Strategic theory dictated that a well-placed, low-cost investment of strategic favour could yield far greater returns in the future. The cost of a warning was minimal; the potential benefit of a future obligation from a highly placed pure-blood family with ties to the Order was significant.
Anduin made his decision. He would intervene at the lowest possible level of risk.
He proceeded to the Great Hall. Dinner was already being served. As he sat at the Slytherin table, he performed a subtle surveillance sweep. Several older Slytherins, known for their aggressive pure-blood rhetoric, were noticeably absent. Their return to the hall shortly after, sitting down to eat with an air of casual, feigned normalcy, confirmed his suspicions—the planning session was complete.
He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Charles McKinnon was there, completely oblivious, laughing loudly with a group of friends. Anduin decided to intercept him before he left the hall, minimizing the time he had to spend in the open.
He finished his own meal with professional speed, ignoring the greasy nature of the school food—it was fuel, nothing more. He packed his books and exited the Great Hall, stationing himself in a dimly lit corner of the entryway, where he could easily isolate a target without drawing significant attention.
A few minutes later, Charles and a small group of Gryffindors finished their meal and headed for the doors.
"Charles!" Anduin called out softly, his voice just loud enough to cut through the chatter.
Charles, surprised to hear his name from a Slytherin, turned. When he recognized Anduin, he gave his companions a brief explanation and a wave, then walked toward him, his expression one of confused curiosity.
Before Charles could speak, Anduin swiftly gripped his arm—a quick, firm, controlling gesture—and pulled him into the deeper shadow of the recess.
"What is going on, Anduin? You look like you've just robbed the restricted section," Charles asked, his voice low but tinged with amusement.
"Listen to me," Anduin cut him off, maintaining eye contact. "I need to know about your movements tomorrow night. Do you or your group have any plans outside the common room?"
Charles's amusement vanished, replaced by instant suspicion and a flash of surprise. His heart rate likely spiked, a clear physiological reaction Anduin noted. "We… we do have something planned for tomorrow night, yes," Charles admitted cautiously. "It's one of our prefect's birthdays. We were planning a traditional, unofficial night excursion up to the Astronomy Tower to celebrate."
The perfect isolation point, Anduin thought, confirming the ambush location. The Astronomy Tower was notoriously remote, providing excellent sight lines for the attackers and minimal chance of immediate intervention.
"You must listen carefully," Anduin instructed, his voice dropping to a hard whisper. "Your night excursion must be cancelled. If you insist on going, you and your group will be walking into a planned attack. You are in danger."
Charles stared at him, his eyes wide. "An attack? From whom?"
"The specifics do not matter. The threat is real and it is targeted," Anduin stated, unwilling to compromise the source of his intelligence (his illegal eavesdropping) or expose his knowledge of Travers's fanaticism. "If you cannot cancel, then at the very least, you must assume a pre-staged ambush and proceed with extreme caution, well-armed and prepared for a confrontation."
Anduin released Charles's arm and took a step back, concluding the transaction. "Do not tell anyone where you heard this. I have given you the intelligence you need. Your decision on how to use it is your own."
He didn't wait for Charles to fully process the information or offer a response. He simply turned and walked away, blending back into the normal flow of students.
The mission objective—delivery of low-risk strategic intelligence—was achieved. Anduin felt no moral investment in the outcome. He had upheld his side of the implicit, transactional favour. If Charles, a member of a politically motivated faction, chose to ignore the warning, any subsequent loss would be solely the result of his own inadequate defensive planning. Anduin's resources were now solely allocated to his own development.
Back in his room, after his late History of Magic class, Anduin settled down to his customary routine: reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet while practicing a complex wand movement for a Fourth-Year Disarming Charm. The newspaper, far from offering comfort, only reinforced the chilling context for the petty conflict brewing in the castle.
The front page was dominated by a large headline and a stern portrait of the newly appointed Minister for Magic.
"MILLISON BARNOLD VOWS RESOLUTE ACTION: CURSES AUTHORISED AGAINST DEATH EATERS!"
The article detailed the Minister's impassioned public speech, a fiery declaration that the Ministry would no longer operate with kid gloves. Citing an unprecedented escalation in Death Eater activity and the horrific use of Dark Arts in recent skirmishes, Minister Barnold had formally given the Auror Corps a devastating new mandate: the use of the three Unforgivable Curses—including the Killing Curse—was now fully authorized against known Death Eaters in the field.
Anduin's focus sharpened, the wand movement momentarily forgotten. This was not merely an escalation; it was a fundamental shift in the entire conflict. The Ministry, previously constrained by its own laws, had just embraced the tactical brutality of its enemy. It was a sign of desperate, escalating war. The lines were hardening, and the conflict was consuming everything.
The external world is on fire, Anduin thought, dropping the newspaper onto his desk. And the students here are acting out a microcosm of that war. The pure-bloods in Slytherin feel their time is coming, empowered by the chaos. The Gryffindors, tied to the old guard, are defiant targets.
His strategic assessment was reinforced: the time for gentle, academic advancement was over. He had to assume that the professional ruthlessness of the outside world, where the Killing Curse was now officially sanctioned, would inevitably bleed into the castle.
His accelerated schedule was correct. His need for Instinctive-level defensive spells was paramount. He had given Charles his warning; now, he would prepare for his own fight.
Charles McKinnon now has a warning about an ambush at the Astronomy Tower. Will he cancel the plan, or will he prepare a counter-ambush, knowing the Slytherins will be expecting an easy target?