In The Shadow The next few days were manic, Peter honestly felt as though he hadn’t stopped. He had barely seen Nicholas, let alone any of his other friends as he played Sheppard to the youngsters. So far, aside from an accidental knee scraping there had been no casualties to his flock, and he felt confident to let them alone to sort themselves out.

It felt good to be back in his uniform; perfectly tied tie and flowing robes, plus the authority afforded to him by the prefects badge earned him newfound respect from his fellow students. It brought a renewed sense of confidence with the added responsibilities, and part of him suspected that was why Flitwick had chosen him over Denis. Denis already possessed confidence being the team captain; he didn’t need the prefects badge to give him more. Where as Peter had always felt a lack of confidence when dealing with other students, to suddenly find the ones his age and older looking at him with respect and anyone younger than him viewing him with a touch of awe boosted that confidence considerably.

Only the Slytherin gave him any problems, but then they gave any prefect a hard time. That didn’t change the fact that when he told them to do something they did it, albeit with much protest. Peter was quickly learning that the best way to deal with a Slytherin was to intimidate them with as much superiority as he could muster. Nine times out of ten it would work.

Then there was the last one in ten.

The resident Dark Lord in training, Slytherin prince, and general nuisance Xander Coleville gave him an acrid look that would have wilted most people. “I have business out this late.” He stated flatly, the note of patronizing anger in the young Dark Lord’s voice. It was as if he was as if coming across a prefect that late at night was wholly inconvenient for this Lordship.

Peter drew himself up to his full height, “And what business would that be?” he inquired matching the Slytherin’s tone.

“That is none of your concern Ravenclaw.” He stated as if the house name was a derogatory word, “just stand aside and let me go…”

Peter’s arms crossed and he arched an eyebrow; “I think you should return to your common room, before I have to take you before Professor Snape.”

The petulant look on the Slytherin’s face was quickly replaced by a sneer, “I don’t have to answer to you…”

“Actually you do.” The sharply nasal voice of Professor Snape preceded the man’s sudden materialization from around a corner. The head of house Slytherin placed a hand on the young Dark Lord’s shoulder and nodded towards the prefect, “You will do as the prefect says, or I will have you serving detention in the menagerie Mister Coleville.”

The young Dark Lord seemed to deflate a little as the potions master took the wind from his sails.

Snape gestured to Peter; “Now either you let Mister Watts will escort you back to your common room, or I will take you there myself.” There was a note of menace in the mans voice, something that said if Snape had to escort him, something particularly nasty would happen to the young Dark Lord along the way.

There was a slight nod of agreement and they were soon winding their way back down towards the Slytherin “dungeon”, the Prefect a model of calm authority a pace or so behind the enraged Slytherin fourth year.

“I should blind you,” the Dark Lord in training murmured, “skin you alive, lock you in a barrel of salt and bury you beneath your damn library …”

“Are you finished?” Peter asked, growing tired of the tirade of threats, “because I would be more than happy to cast a charm of silence on you.”

Coleville didn’t like that, and the hardening of his eyes said as much. Peter smiled inwardly as they finally stopped at the hidden door to the Slytherin common room. Not a closely guarded secret, Peter had learned about it in his first year, but Slytherin’s liked to pretend they were masters of intrigue.

As the Slytherin glared at him, he waited patiently for Coleville to utter his password and enter the common room. Once he was alone in the hallway again, he shook his head and returned to his patrol.

***

It was getting late and he finally turned for his own dorm. He was tired, and he still had a little homework to do before he turned in, the duties of being a prefect were going to put a strain on his study time, but then Flitwick has wanted to teach him another series of lessons with the duties and Peter had just accepted it in his stride.

The rustling of robes, and the sound of footsteps running down the hall cause him to look up. He was in the shadows of a stairwell at the time and his black robe allowed him to melt into the darkness, and he watched a small brown haired young man run past his alcove. It was well past curfew, and Peter was starting to wonder if any students actually obeyed the curfew. He muttered a curse to himself, and realized this was why most prefects he had encountered were so grouchy, chasing after renegade students to the wee hours of the morning would grate on even a Hufflepuffs nerves.

He set off at a hurried pace, dogging the younger student who didn’t turn, he was so intent in rushing about that he didn’t even notice Peter was behind him. And the Prefect wondered what was so important for him to risk such an obvious flight through the halls. Snape was always roaming the halls at that hour, and to fall into the potion masters hands was the last thing anyone wanted.

The figure ahead slowed, and Peter instinctively slowed with him, marching with a direct purpose to collar the younger student and drag him back to his dorm room kicking and screaming if he had to. But something held him back, and Peter’s eyes narrowed as he realized they weren’t alone in the corridors.

His hand reached into his sleeve and produced his wand, a shaft of ebony wood his father had excavated on one of his expeditions, and it was very old and intricately carved with ancient patterns. It had been a gift for Peter’s fifteenth birthday. He searched about and stepped into a darkened shadow to remain unobserved.

“Did you get the charm?” came a whisper from the darkness.

The student in the hall reached into his robe and produced a silver rod, “I have it,” Peter recognized Quinn’s voice, a third year from his own house. He frowned, trying to get a better look at the sliver rod in Quinn’s hands.

“Excellent,” Coleville stated stepping out of the shadows, and Peter felt his hand tighten on his wand, that little weasel had slipped out again.

He made to take a step forward into the light, but paused when a larger pair of figures stepped into the light on either side of Coleville, each wore the Slytherin colours, one of the new comers, a girl, wore the glittering badge of a Slytherin prefect.

He recognized her as Marcie Tanner, a seventh year. The other one was her brother Jordan, a sixth year Slytherin with a particularly vicious temper. Peter hung back again, what ever was going on, his own badge wouldn’t protect him.

Quinn extended the rod and Coleville took a hold of the other end of it, a confident look in his eyes, “Are you certain you wish this?” he asked.

Marcie stepped forward to object, but Coleville’s raised hand stopped here. Peter’s frown deepened as he watched the exchange, had a seventh year just been commanded by a fourth year?

Quinn nodded, a little too enthusiastically, still holding onto his end of the rod, and Coleville’s smile became deeper, more predatory, “Excellent.”

Peter contemplated leaving and finding a professor, but to move now would give him away, and he didn’t fancy dodging three Slytherin, especially when two of them were the Tanners. He remained deathly still, his wand rolling between his fingers.

Coleville uttered a few words in ancient Latin, and the rod lit up for a moment, a wash of energy flowing from him down along the rod and into Quinn, a few seconds later the reverse happened and the rod stopped glowing.

Coleville released the rod and looked about him, a cold smile playing over his face, “this is…”

“…Interesting.” finished Quinn, picking up the sentence from Coleville.

“Did it work?” Marcie asked looking confused.

“Oh it…” Quinn began.

“…Worked all right.” Coleville finished as he smiled that predatory smile of his, “This new state will…”

“…take some getting used to.” Quinn ended.

Peter had a rising sense of dread within him that something terrible had just happened. He looked around for a way to escape should he be noticed, but he had little choice but to remain and watch.

Quinn pushed his hair back out of his eyes and gave a smile, “I should…”

“Of course.” Coleville said dismissing him, turning back to his cohorts the three Slytherin began to march down the corridor back towards their dorm. Quinn in turn slipped the silver rod back into his robes and started back towards Peter.

The Ravenclaw Prefect waited until Quinn was almost ontop of him before he stepped out of the shadows to block the younger students path. Quinn appeared surprised, and then a flicker of amusement passed across his face. Up the hallway, Coleville stopped and turned.

Peter took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “What are you doing here?” he fixed his gaze on Quinn, trying not to think of the three Slytherin who were watching him from the far end of the hall.

Quinn smiled, “I sensed you,” he said simply, “you really shouldn’t spy on people.”

Peter wasn’t about to be thrown off, “What were you doing?” he demanded in a tone that said he would tolerate nothing but a straight answer.

“I don’t have to tell you that.” Quinn replied.

“Then you will tell Professor Flitwick.” Peter said a forceful note entering his tone.

Quinn laughed; up the hall Coleville mimicked the laughter.

***

Flitwick examined the rod in his small hands, turning it over in his hands as he peered through his spectacles. He looked up at Peter quizzically, “And you said it transferred something between them?”

Peter nodded, folding his arms, still standing behind Quinn, the younger Ravenclaw had stopped laughing and now appeared quiet and demure, more his old self. But the disjointed conversation that had flowed from the two students in the hall, the way they finished each other’s sentences…

Flitwick returned to examining the rod, “it could have been a transference spell,” he stated thoughtfully, chewing on his moustache, “but there would be some kind of residue on the conduit…” he squinted at Quinn, “And you claim that nothing happened?”

Quinn looked nervous and shrugged, “It glowed a bit, but that’s all.”

Flitwick set the rod down, “very well, since there appear to be no ill effects I will let you go back to your bed…”

Quinn nodded and took a hesitant step towards the door.

“However…” Flitwick said his voice growing stern, “You were out past curfew and that means I will have to deduct twenty five house points from Ravenclaw and give you one weeks detention. You may leave now.”

Quinn nodded and scurried from the room like a frightened mouse. Peter turned to follow him, but Flitwick stopped him. “You said they were finishing each others sentences?”

Peter paused and turned back, removing his glasses he polished them with a shirt tail, “I can’t explain it professor, it was like they flowed from one to another.”

Flitwick thoughtfully tapped the rod, “I will do some research, and try to find out what this is.” He continued to muse aloud, “It is from our reliquary but I have always assumed it was nothing more than a archaeological artefact, it has no innate magic that I can sense.” He looked frustrated, as if annoyed that he had missed something, “I will have Xander Coleville brought to my office tomorrow morning to tell me what he did to… activate this.” He touched the rod again, “Until then I thank you for your diligence and suggest you get some rest.”

Peter inclined his head to the Head of House Ravenclaw and walked from the professor’s sanctum. His mind whirling through the events he had witnessed, knowing full well that Coleville would tell Flitwick nothing. The Dark Lord in training had been just a nickname Nicholas had coined for the Slytherin last year, but suddenly the nickname held a whole new menace.

When he entered the Ravenclaw common room he found Denis sitting on a deep blue couch scribbling into a notebook with a quill. The Captain of the Quidditch team looked up at him and frowned, “You look exhausted.”

Peter shrugged, “It’s been a long night, I should sleep if I am going to make it to Mrs Sprouts herbology class tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, exciting!” Denis said with obvious sarcasm as he grinned at the worn out Prefect, “Have a good sleep.”

Peter barely heard him as he slowly climbed the stairs to the dorm room he shared with Denis and another Fifth year, Robert was already asleep and snoring as Peter began to get ready to sleep, fishing out his pyjamas from his drawer. He paused when his eyes passed over the U’at, and in a sudden burst of insight he placed his hand flat against its glassy surface.

He was standing within what he had called the mindscape; a place the U’at drew him to whenever he initiated full contact with it. It was a place within his own mind, and he was still aware of the world around him. It was like the U’at projected what it wanted him to see overtop of the real world.

He looked about him and concentrated on his memories of what he had seen. The U’at projected the sequence of events that had happened when Coleville had activated the rod. To another side it projected the rod as it had appeared in Flitwick’s hands, and then another image of the dual conversation flow from Quinn to Coleville appearing in another place in his mind. They were all projected at the same time, and for a moment Peter was disconcerted, it took some getting used to seeming different memories playing out in little windows in his own mind.

[Select a Codex] the golden lettering scrawled across his vision, as three books appeared before him. He could read their labels, Libra Archeolgis, Hazrods guide to arcane objects and another one labelled simply: Confessio. He chose the latter.

The book leapt to life of its own accord, the pages stirring and turning rapidly like a strong wind carried them. It eventually stopped and the words and diagrams on the page cleared naturally translating before his eyes into English.

[The rod of binding, an ancient artefact used to bind a Legilimens]

He blinked not quite following, without prompting another book appeared automatically cross-referencing for him, the pages turning till he had a definition. The U’at read his mind and responded him like the efficient tool it had been designed to be. A Legilimens was a psychic mage, one that was proficient in Legilmancy or the magic of the mind. The book snapped shut and vanished, and he returned to the main text.

[Created to ensure the service of those gifted with an innate knowledge of the Legilmantic arts the binding process permits a flowing of ideas from one to another without limitations. Possible side affects of this process are…] Peter scanned down the page till he found the sentence finishing.

From what he understood from the text, Coleville had subverted Quinn’s control of his own mind. But if the text was to be believed the sharing of knowledge was a mutual flow. So in a way they were no longer two distinct individuals but rather a combined being. There were complex spell diagrams explaining the process and the theories associated with the spells.

“I knew that it wouldn’t take you long to work it out.” Quinn said from across the darkened room, and Peter started, the mindscape dissolving as he withdrew his hand from the U’at.

Peter cast a quick glance over at Robert, but Quinn shook his head, “he won’t wake.” Something about the way Quinn said it made Peter believe him.

He swallowed, aware that his wand was sitting on the edge of his bed across the room with his robe. “What do you want Quinn…” He was suddenly hesitant, was it Quinn or was it Coleville, or was it both of them?

“I’m still Quinn,” the younger student stated pushing his hair out of his eyes reflexively, “I wanted to tell you not to interfere. I can’t protect you if you do…”

“Protect me from what?” Peter asked wondering if Denis would come to bed soon, a small hope.

“I did this of my own choice Peter,” Quinn insisted, “If you try to stop us I will be forced to hurt you.”

Peter frowned, “Why?”

Quinn looked puzzled and his hand lifted his wand as if against his will, “Obliviate.” The memory charm burst forth and swept over Peter rapidly.

The light faded and Peter stared at Quinn in some confusion, “you’re not supposed to be out of bed,” he sated flatly as he crossed to his bed, laying out his pyjamas and undoing his tie.

“I just wanted to say good night.” Quinn stated with his usual mousey smile, and Peter was sure a loud noise would send him scurrying to hide somewhere.

“Alright, good night.” Peter said yawning as he watched the door close, it was past his usual bedtime and he had an early herbology class the next day.