"Heh, isn't that a rather pathetic inquiry, Randall?" Anduin scoffed, his smile hardening into something utterly predatory.
"Aren't all your venerable pureblood families constantly swimming in liquid gold? Why would a scion of the noble House of Rosier concern himself with such a trifling sum? Ten Galleons is pocket change, a mere expenditure on parchment and quill ink."
He maintained his crushing grip on Rozier's arm.
"If you genuinely lack the funds, you simply petition your family for the allowance. They will pay it. After all, if the monthly premium is missed, then I must regretfully cease my services. And when I stop 'protecting' you, Randall, you will find yourself in a far more painful, far more uncomfortable position than you are in right now."
Anduin gently, but forcefully, emphasized the word 'protecting,' his eyes silently promising a retribution far worse than anything Travers could conceive.
Rozier felt a tremor of despair run through him, accompanied by a sharp, burning pain where Anduin's hand constricted his arm. Even his dull, fear-addled mind grasped the implications immediately: he was trapped in a vicious, unwritten contract.
Failure to comply meant not just social ruin, but a direct, physical consequence administered by the one person he now genuinely feared. His entire future at Hogwarts, which he had hoped to glide through lazily, had been instantly plunged into a deep, chilling darkness. With a dry swallow, he grit his teeth and mumbled a barely audible acceptance.
"Very wise," Anduin replied, releasing his grip just enough to prevent the arm from snapping. He sensed the precise moment of Rozier's defeat and was now ready to move from coercion to incentivization.
"Rozier, I am a fair man, and I am not without compassion for a man in your difficult situation. I will not make the entire arrangement burdensome. If, in the future, you find yourself genuinely unable to acquire the Galleons, you can compensate me with other forms of valuable currency."
Rozier, his eyes wide with a desperate, glimmering hope of an alternative escape, immediately latched onto the offer. "What else? What else could I possibly offer?"
Anduin chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "Ah, the list is extensive. Knowledge of the Dark Arts not widely circulated; obscure Rosier family heirlooms of magical significance, provided they are unique and fascinating; information regarding current events that a Muggle-born like myself would never be privy to; or, of course..."
Anduin's voice dropped, and he glanced pointedly down at the figure of Travers, lying unconscious at their feet like discarded rubbish. "...or you can facilitate my acquisition of assets from your less-intelligent peers." He looked back at Rozier, a calculated glint in his eye.
"In fact, you can arrange for that fool Travers to bring the money to our next little appointment. You can then use the proceeds you acquire from him to cover your own monthly premium. It's a perfect, self-sustaining financial model, wouldn't you agree?"
With that statement, Anduin turned and, in one fluid motion, knelt by the prone form of Travers. He professionally searched the boy's robes, quickly locating a small, embroidered pouch. Anduin counted the contents with the swift precision of a seasoned merchant: 12 Galleons and 6 Sickles.
He stood up, holding the purse triumphantly. "Look at this piece of luck! This quite thoroughly covers your entire share for this month, Randall. I'll keep the excess as a contingency fund for future expenses. For next month, let's keep your protection fee at a flat 8 Galleons. And if you deliver especially useful intelligence or perform a significant service in the future, I will offer you additional financial rewards. How does that sound? A guaranteed retainer, funded by the very people who wish to harm you? Not a bad contract, is it?"
Rozier, his spirit crushed, found himself muttering under his breath, focusing on the only small detail he could still intellectually process.
"Does this man misunderstand what 'rounding down' means? Shouldn't it technically be 7 Galleons and a few Sickles if he were to be generous?" Yet, he quickly stifled the thought. He despised Travers, and the immediate relief of having the current month's fee covered by the idiot's own pocket was a small, perverse victory. He had no choice but to accept the cold, hard logic of the arrangement.
"Very well, Anduin," Rozier conceded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I understand. I agree to the terms."
"Excellent. Cooperate well, and I will be fair," Anduin affirmed, his expression becoming serious again.
"Now, you mentioned information. I am paying for your insight. Do you have any pressing intelligence at this very moment, anything from inside the House or any whispers from outside the school? Be truthful. I assure you, I am an exceptionally fair person when dealing with reliable sources."
To underscore the seriousness of the exchange, Anduin placed his hand back on Rozier's shoulder, his fingers digging in with a sharp, warning pressure.
The sudden physical reminder of his compromised position caused Rozier's mind to race frantically, desperate to provide something of value to escape the immediate pain. The terror forced a repressed memory to the surface, something he had dismissed as drunken bragging.
"W-wait! I remember something," Rozier stammered, his eyes darting toward the shadowy woods.
"I once heard a sixth-year, Quick Wilkes, bragging to us in the common room. He was saying that his uncle, a Death Eater, was planning a major operation against the Order of the Phoenix around Christmas. It was a massive operation, planned for the holiday break. He said it was going to be a bloodbath. Of course, Wilkes is a complete windbag, and it might just be a total brag to impress us, but he was incredibly specific about the timing!"
Anduin's casual demeanor evaporated. His eyes narrowed instantly, becoming sharp and dangerous, like chips of obsidian. He looked at Rozier with an intensity that seemed to drill into his soul, searching for the slightest trace of deception. "Are you certain of the timing and the target, Randall? This is not a matter for casual speculation. If you lie, the consequences will be... unforgettable."
"I swear it! I swear on my family's magic!" Rozier pleaded, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.
"That Wilkes senior always boasts. He even showed us newspaper clippings of their past attacks on Muggles and spoke about how his uncle was being groomed for a major command. He was very specific: Christmas, and the target was definitely the Order of the Phoenix. He said they were planning to capitalize on the holiday when many members would be in one location or traveling alone."
Christmas. The information was explosive. It immediately brought Lily Potter to mind, along with James, Sirius, and the few other allies Anduin had.
He didn't know if the rumor was accurate, but given the escalating tension in the wizarding world and the identity of the source (a Death Eater's nephew), he had to treat it as an active threat. He stored the chilling detail instantly, the fear for Lily overriding his political maneuvering.
With the vital intelligence secured, Anduin finally loosened his grip. The immediate absence of pressure caused Rozier's already frayed nerves to snap, and he collapsed onto the damp grass, gasping for air.
Anduin looked down at the pathetic figure. "This news is exceedingly valuable, Rozier. Consider your protection fee waived for the entire next month. Furthermore, consider this a reward."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the mint-enhanced bottles of the Euphoria Potion. He handed the phial to Rozier. The boy stared at the label, his hand shaking as he accepted the glass bottle. The transaction—going from a life-threatening confrontation to receiving an experimental potion—further shattered Rozier's already tenuous grasp on reality.
"Don't be nervous," Anduin said, with a final, chilling note of amusement. "It's merely a powerful draught of cheer. Take a sip now; it will do wonders for your nerves." He then realized he had forgotten a crucial detail. "By the way, it seems your family already has connections to the Dark Lord, correct? Your cousin is a Death Eater, yet you sold him out easily enough."
Rozier, already defeated and now chemically prompted, opened the phial and took a desperate gulp of the sweet, potent liquid. The effect was immediate: the paralyzing fear subsided, replaced by a strange, buoyant sense of relaxation and resignation. He managed a weak, wry smile.
"Not everyone is a fanatical devotee of the Dark Lord, Anduin," Rozier confessed, his voice calmer, slightly detached.
"The one who is deep in that mess is my cousin, Evan Rosier. He is powerful, older, and took over the family with terrifying zeal, often treating the rest of us like dirt. Most of us in the junior branches wanted nothing more than to remain neutral, to simply protect the family property. Evan forced the entire Rosier lineage to swear allegiance and publicly support the Dark Lord. If anyone is going to suffer for that allegiance, I pray it's him, not me."
He finished the last drops of the potion, the surge of good feeling finally giving him the strength to stand back up, albeit shakily.
Anduin nodded, absorbing the dynamics of the pureblood inner circle. The internal feuds were deeper and more bitter than he had anticipated.
He gave Rozier his final instructions: "When Travers wakes up, you will tell him he simply fainted from the shock of confronting a superior wizard, and that you valiantly covered for him. Tell him you were so traumatized by my sheer presence that you fainted as well. I don't mind you taking the credit for this humiliation, or the blame for the money. Now, you've earned your rest."
He retrieved his own purse and, with a final, calculating look at the subdued boy, walked away, leaving Rozier to face his own internal chaos and the impending resurrection of the unconscious Travers.
When Anduin was truly gone, disappearing into the gloomy shadows, Rozier finally allowed himself to breathe—a long, shuddering gasp of pure relief. He glared at Travers, a surge of hatred, amplified by the recent psychological torment, coursing through him. He couldn't resist. He shuffled over and aimed a swift, satisfying kick into Travers's unconscious ribs, gritting his teeth.
"You arrogant fool," Rozier muttered, his voice thick with a mix of fury and self-pity. "You dragged me into this swamp. I just wanted to drift through these years, and now I'm a traitor and a bloody informant!"
The residual fear, combined with the extreme emotional high of the potion, was too much. He collapsed onto the frost-tipped grass next to Travers, shivering violently as the damp cold set in. "I'm tired. Let it all end quickly," he whimpered, and the Euphoria Potion, working against his profound exhaustion, dragged him into a deep, unnaturally peaceful sleep.
A few hours later, as the deep winter twilight had fully descended and the temperature plummeted, Rozier felt a rough, painful shaking.
"Rozier! Rozier! Get up, you useless idiot!"
He blinked awake instantly, his body stiff and aching, looking up at the groaning, furious face of Travers.
Travers was clutching his head, his face a mask of confusing pain, as if he had been repeatedly struck by invisible force. "You're finally awake! That bastard must have ambushed us both. What happened? How long were we unconscious? It's utterly freezing; it's practically night!"
Rozier, recalling Anduin's carefully constructed lie, sniffed dramatically, rubbing his eyes. "I… I don't know, Travers. You just suddenly crumpled. He must have used some kind of powerful, undetectable curse. It was terrifying. I was so overwhelmed by the sheer force of the magic that I collapsed right after, and I'm frozen! We need to get back to the castle immediately."
Travers, too consumed by his physical pain and lingering rage to think clearly, could only agree. He cursed Anduin with every vile epithet he knew, but he needed to move. He and Rozier, supporting each other, began the long, agonizingly slow walk toward the distant, glowing windows of Hogwarts Castle.
Every step was a trial. Travers's body was wracked with pain from the initial paralyzing charm and subsequent kick, while Rozier's limbs ached from the cold and the residual stiffness of his ordeal.
As they stumbled back, shivering and miserable, Rozier silently clutched his side, fully aware that his body was battered, his loyalty compromised, and his future was now directly tied to the cold, calculating power of Anduin.
He was no longer a Rosier heir; he was a terrified, unwilling spy, bought for a mere eight Galleons a month.