The silhouette looked up: there were the usual dark walls to keep company, as always, but this time the woman had come as well.

"The creature's growing strong" she informed him, bowing her head slightly to showcase her respect – whether she simply faked it because she was too afraid to do otherwise, or because she actually felt sympathetic, only she could know.

His left brow lifted in doubt: most likely she did not even know herself, but even if it was only fear that moved her, so be it. It was not loyalty that was to be sought, but fear. Fear could mold and shape men to the liking of those who knew how to do it.

"It's found more... rats and other creatures from withing the lake" continued the woman, her eyes still fixed on the cold stones that worked as the flooring.

"Has anyone noticed?" his voice sounded raspy, most likely because it hadn't been used in a rather long time. He ought to talk more, in order to have it sound better, certainly, but time to do it would come. Other things came first, and they were far more important.

"None" she replied, "but–"

"Who?" he could not do with being discovered this close to the date, everything had worked beautifully, no one was to know before then...

"The merepeople, Master" she replied fearfully. "I think... I think it has found a way to go into the lake, at times, to catch a few fish, some fresh water–"

He considered her words: merepeople weren't people, after all. He knew Hogwart's old Hedmaster, Dumbledore, could speak their language and would sometimes communicate with them. Dumbledore was long dead, however, and at present he knew of none in the School's staff that could understand their tongue – none whom he mistrusted, anyway.

And in addition, even back in the days where Dumbledore – he who could, if he wanted, talk with them – had dwelled there and had had the opportunity to come to the lake as many times as he wanted, he had never willingly gone to have a conversation with them.

The possibilities of the merepeople revealing their secret was very low, therefore. And the day was drawing closer, so that made them fall even lower. But that didn't mean that he was okay with how the situation had developed.

"I thought I had made it clear", he stated, rage flowing into his body, "that the creature was not to leave the room. Or had I not?"

"Yes, of course, but–"

"But?" he was really starting to grow impatient. "What 'but's are you trying to throw back at me now, woman?"

"As I said, it's grown!" she answered quickly, falling onto her knees. "It's much harder for my spells to keep it inside, and the food... I fear the food is not enough for him anymore either".

"Give it more, then!" he got up; it was anger that now had hit his body. "As much as he needs! And for the spells – strengthen them! Are you a witch or not, eh? Are you?"

His wand was now pointed at the figure, down sobbing.

"Y-ye-yes, Maester, I am. I-I shall do it now, if it pleases you, I shall go immediately..."

"You should've gone as soon as you noticed they were not enough anymore!" he could feel his hands burning: had she really grown that fleeble? Had the accident really worn her out that much? What was of her wits?

"M-m-master, mercy, I have only checked this morning, when you requested–"

She should've not spoken. Forgiveness was the last thing one wanted to beg him. "Did you really need my request, woman? Wasn't your brain bright enough to make that out for itself? Have you really become this unuseful?"

"M-m-maester has the right of it, he has, I was stupid..."

"Were?" he laughed, disgusted. "It is under my impression you have been. Now go, before I grow too sick of you!"

The woman got up sloppily, stumbling on her own feet. She was so weak, he felt repelled. Not able to lay his eyes on her figure any more, he drew his wand even wider and pointed at her.

"Crucio!" he screamed, and a red light exited the point of the stick. As soon as it hit her, loud screams immediately filled the Hall...

Minho opened his eyes. They felt so heavy, he had to to wet them a little with some of the water he kept in a glass on his nightstand.

A cold shiver ran down his back, and then was when he noticed he had sweated. This does not make sense, he thought, sitting up. It's freezing cold outside. How could I sweat?

Little by little, rocked by the continuous ticking of his watch (which was laying right next to the glass of water), the memories of the dream he had just had suddenly rushed back to mind.

That could be why I am all sticky, he considered. That Hall, and that red light at the end... oof, what a nightmare.

Had it really been just a nightmare though? Minho had had his share of bad dreams as a child, but no one had been so clear, so vivid.

The Slytherin shook his head: luckily, he had not screamed – or at least, that was what he assumed, since none of his dorm mates seemed to have been awaken by his sudden stirring – but the taunting voice of that woman, well – that would've been more than enough to frighten anybody.

But why had he dreamt of her? Could it truly be just a very bad nightmare? Could the two people have just been creations of his own mind?

Truthfully, Minho hoped they were. Had they been alive, he didn't know whether he would've felt worse knowing they existed and he couldn't do anything to help the poor woman, or knowing they existed and living with the fear that he might well meet with the man one day.

He was really angry. Minho had not felt the anger as if it had been inside him, – which he thanked the Lord for – but simply through witnessing the man's sudden rage wave, he had immediately grasped some hidden, well-established hatred was impregnated inside his soul. He had no other explanation for that. He used one of the Unforgivable Curses.

Wherever the man dwelled, no matter if strong or weak, far or close, real or false, the boy really found himself wishing he would never have to meet him again – even if just in his dreams.

~🤍~
we're getting serious right here (•~•)

also, something i have been actually meaning to say for quite a while now is a big sorry if you're finding my chapters kinda low qual, i have been feeling quite stressed lately & i think it has kind of taken over my writing as well?

i still love writing this story & coming up w cool n exciting chapters, so i hope this reflects and that you still are enjoying them!

thank you guys, you seriously are the reason why i have kept being so active; this story would be nothing without you❤️.

Vic🌙.