The trap in the Park
The cutting morning wind scraped against Hadrian's face like a dull blade, mixing with the pain he carried within.
Each step on the park's damp earth echoed the weight of his invisible scars.
Ducks glided across the lake, indifferent. Hadrian bent forward, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. That was when a shadow fell suddenly over him, smothering the mist and the timid sun hiding behind melancholic clouds.
An ancient cold, almost reptilian, slid down his neck. The air shivered—subtle and lethal.
And by pure instinct, not speed, Hadrian threw himself to the side. A sharp buzzing tore the air as a bluish spell hit the spot where he had just been standing, exploding against the water and raising a geyser of steam.
The stench of sudden death filled his nostrils. He rolled on the cold pavement, his wand already in hand like an extension of his fear and fury.
— Lumos Maxima! — he shouted, ripping through the silence. A dying star burst from the tip of his wand, spinning wildly through the air and sculpting the darkness around him, revealing where the attack had originated.
From the woven shadows, a shape emerged. Tall, draped in black robes that seemed to absorb what little light remained. A silver mask gleamed like a skull in dying moonlight.
A Death Eater — a mark of slaughter and hatred carved into metal.
— Good reflexes, — the Death Eater said.
Hadrian didn't answer. He acted.
A blast of Expelliarmus shot from his wand like a spear of raw force. The hooded figure deflected it with a gesture so casual it bordered on contempt.
"This guy is strong. Run." the Passenger hissed in his mind.
Hadrian gritted his teeth and ignored him.
The duel exploded — if it could even be called a duel.
Spells sliced through the humid air, colliding in shards of light and smoke. Hadrian moved with the desperate agility of youth, but every block, every dodge, stole sweat and strength from his trembling body.
He was only a student, even if he knew a handful of advanced spells. He was no match for a seasoned wizard.
"You fool, it's too late to run. Let me take over." the Passenger snarled.
The enemy was a maestro of the wand — precise, economical, implacable.
He was strong. Very strong.
And he seemed amused by Hadrian's futile resistance. His reflexes were sharp, but in a duel like this they were his only shield — and fragile as glass.
— "He's trying to exhaust you. Stop being an idiot and give me control!"
— "Shut up!" Hadrian roared.
A brutal Flipendo slammed into him in that moment of distraction, hurling him three meters and rolling him across the ground.
The impact ripped the air from his lungs, a strangled cry escaping while warm, metallic blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His fingers trembled over the protective amulet hanging from his neck.
The amulet was silent.
His protectors should have arrived by now.
What was happening?
"We're trapped, idiot. No one's coming. You have no chance. Let me take control."
Then Hadrian finally looked at the fog-like darkness consuming all light.
A Curtain.
A translucent dome, black as liquid pitch, surrounded everything — the park, the lake, the trees, even the dying sky.
A prison of shadow, rippling like smoke from an eternal fire.
A perfect seal.
"I told you to run, but you never listen."
A chill ran down Hadrian's spine.
To break the Curtain, he had to defeat the enemy — or hope his protectors noticed the dome.
— Haven't you learned anything essential, Percival?
The voice cut through the air — dry, acidic, steeped in a disdain he knew too well.
A deeper cold than dawn slid into his gut.
— What…?
— This, — the voice whispered, closer now, venomous — is a Curtain of Shadow. Nothing gets in. Nothing gets out. No alerts. No rescue. It's just you… and me.
Hadrian pushed himself to his knees, rising with an effort that burned through every muscle. His wand trembled in his fist — not from fear, but from impotent fury.
— Who the hell are you? he spat, green eyes blazing as he searched for the target.
— Silence. The word cracked like a whip. — Have you learned nothing? A duel admits no confidences.
And the fight resumed.
Hadrian poured every ounce of skill and rage into the spells he knew.
But nothing worked.
The adversary was a black wall, dissolving each attack with fluid, almost elegant movement. He was playing with him.
With a negligent flick of his wand, the man made tar-like roots erupt from the asphalt. They coiled around Hadrian's legs like serpents and yanked hard, slamming him to the ground.
His wand flew from his hand, rolling away uselessly.
The hooded figure approached, measured steps echoing inside the shadow dome.
Standing over the immobilized Hadrian, gloved hands reached up — first to the hood… then to the silver mask.
He removed it with deliberate slowness.
Dark eyes, deep as abysses and filled with bitterness, met his.
"Now things get interesting," the Passenger murmured.
It was Snape.