Snape was trapped in an enclosed space.

Apparition failed. Every offensive spell he cast forward came hurtling back at him from behind.

He gripped a glass marble — a Portkey he had prepared in advance for this expedition.

The original plan was simple: the moment the vampire tried something, he would activate the Portkey and take Lucas with him.

But Lucas was not with him right now.

There was still a chance they could regroup.

Snape struck the space in front of him with a frustrated fist.

Without magic, the physical movement didn't rebound on him. His fist connected with a mirror.

This place was a cage sealed shut by mirrors.

Reflected back at him were countless versions of himself, all making the same motion, each one receding into the darkness in a row — a young wizard in his mid-twenties, hair falling across his face, dressed all in black, brooding and furious. Like a trapped beast.

He had completely failed to protect Lucas.

He had left Lucas with portraits that weren't entirely right in the head.

Snape had heard Slytherin stories over the years. The vast majority of Slytherin families were ordinary households; those with real wealth like the Malfoys were the exception.

But nearly every Slytherin family had a handful of those "family stories", the kind worth endlessly boasting about in the common room until the end of time.

Those pure-blood family trials were not generous gestures to share great wealth with an heir.

Dying old wizards occasionally warped into something ordinary people couldn't begin to comprehend.

Sometimes they made the heir kill a family member. Sometimes they demanded the heir sacrifice something precious.

From the brief interaction he'd observed, Snape had a vague sense that Lucas's ancestral portrait was not easy to deal with.

Lucas was usually sharp enough. But could a young wizard with so little experience of the world really negotiate successfully with portraits like that?

He should have told Lucas before they arrived: when dealing with portraits like these, you don't simply go along with what they want.

The living had to show dignity and resolve. Not become an instrument of the dead.

But then Lucas might face the portrait's anger directly.

Snape was unwilling to admit it, but even if he had been there in person, he couldn't have made the choice for Lucas.

And if he couldn't decide for Lucas to give up this staggering windfall, then he could only wait.

Damn this waiting.

He had spent his whole life waiting.

Wait until eleven and everything will be fine... wait until I'm grown and everything will be fine... wait until I become a Death Eater and everything will be fine... wait for the headmaster to protect Lily...

And then there was Dumbledore.

Snape lifted his head. There was something in his dark eyes, a faint, fragile hope he couldn't even perceive in himself.

He had informed the headmaster of this outing before they left. Walter should have said something to the headmaster as well.

Perhaps the headmaster would arrive at the critical moment.

This manor was extraordinary wealth in itself. If the Dark Lord were to return, the fortune Lucas carried and the boy's own gifts could tip the balance of things.

But only if the boy came out of this unharmed.

Snape's torment never made it to a third round.

Before he could even work out a priority sequence in his head, the enclosed space cracked open.

He was back in the room with the suspended horses.

Scorch marks covered the walls. The scene felt oddly familiar, was this not strikingly similar to the devastation in the Slytherin dormitory not so long ago?

Then Snape saw Lucas Graham, completely unscathed, turning to smile at him without a care in the world.

The adult Lucas had a kind of startling, genuine innocence. But what truly made others envious was the luck that came with it.

"Professor!" Lucas greeted him with a brilliant smile.

He then cheerfully filled Snape in on everything that had happened in the five minutes Snape had missed.

"This is my ancestor, Owen De Villotte. He thinks very highly of me — he was just telling me a few things about inheriting the manor."

Snape watched the portrait angrily slam a fist against its frame.

Whenever Lucas described something, he left out every last detail.

He had nearly provoked a portrait back to life with sheer rage. What kind of "appreciation" was that supposed to be?

"I'll give you one chance to tell it again properly." Snape walked to Lucas's side and pressed a hand down on his shoulder, so that if anything unexpected happened, they could activate the Portkey immediately.

As things stood, it seemed he didn't need to.

He would also have to restrict Lucas's use of the Ageing Potion going forward. The boy's height was not sitting well with him.

"He challenged me and this portrait of mine to see which of us would catch fire first. What on earth do you expect from a young wizard that age?" The portrait gave an irritable summary of events.

Caught out, Lucas could only stammer. When Snape's sharp gaze swept over him, he fell back on his well-practiced routine and played dumb: "I would rather die than yield!"

Ha. The hand clamped on Lucas's shoulder tightened. Snape would sooner twist that lucky head clean off.

"It does look, from here, like you were even more 'rather die than yield' than the portrait," he said coldly. "Otherwise I wouldn't have needed to collect your remains. Because you would have burned until there was nothing left."

He glanced at the portrait, which had already given in.

But was it truly that easy?

"Well... there's also the fact that..." Lucas hesitated. "I'm the only bloodline this family has left."

He drew his wand and sketched a simplified version of the branching diagram he'd seen in his Arithmancy materials.

Skipping over five or six generations of inbreeding and disinherited wizards, the family tree wasn't so different from most. It started with a man and a woman at the top, gradually branched outward, then the branches withered, and finally the main line was severed entirely.

Only one outermost branch had extended further, thinning out through several Squibs and Muggle marriages, with Lucas at the very end.

Because Lucas was the only hope left.

Snape and the portrait both stared at the lopsided tree. Neither spoke.

A moment later, Lucas flicked his wand and scattered the diagram into the air.

While Snape's attention shifted toward the portrait, Lucas turned and gave the portrait a quiet, satisfied smile from behind Snape's back.

This portrait understood what could be said and what couldn't.

There was another reason it had agreed so readily.

Throughout this manor, its eyes were everywhere.

It had seen everything unfolding along the main path. The young wizard standing before it had not come simply to inherit the manor.

There was another plan entirely.

And the one Lucas called a mentor, who was, in reality, kept largely in the dark, was perhaps genuinely important, but at the same time served another purpose.

He was Lucas's alibi.

Outside, the vampire's situation was not looking good.

The grave-robber that had plagued other families was on their doorstep, and before it had even managed to cause much trouble, it was already close to being finished off.

A young wizard like this needed no additional warnings or guidance.

Lucas should inherit the devillote name as soon as possible, and let the wizarding world know that this family line had not been extinguished.

➤ Next: Bubbling With Mischief

Chapter 237 - Bubbling With Mischief

The car stopped outside the old manor.

Dumbledore and Moody climbed out.

During the final ten minutes of the drive, Moody's reverence for the Headmaster had quietly returned. He couldn't tell what magic Dumbledore had used, but those young Muggle men had spilled every detail they'd witnessed like beans rattling out of a jar. Moody suspected the magic contained some element that compelled truthful accounts, he'd noticed that not one of them said anything exaggerated.

The letter they'd received had only marked a rough area on the map. A wizard couldn't Apparate to a place they'd never seen. With no exact destination, they'd had no choice but to search the surrounding area on foot.

Alastor stretched his limbs. The bones in his body cracked like popping seeds, and after some vigorous movement of his face, his magical eye swiveled back to center and stopped its sideways drift.

Moody looked at the grimly foreboding manor and sensed a few faint traces of magic.

"This is the place." The old Auror finished warming up, drew his wand, and began working the perimeter for clues.

Dumbledore smiled and straightened the clasp on his beard, then turned to the bewildered Muggles. "Ghosts do exist in this world."

He gave a little wave. Behind the slightly parted curtain of one of the manor windows — the one the Muggle explorers were tremblingly pointing at, a fluorescent green ghost poked its head in and out.

"Over there — did you see that!"

"You saw it too?"

The explorers pressed against each other in fright. Dumbledore's smile turned mischievous. "Just like Ghostbusters? Is that what you do?"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded. "I'm not on Peter's team, but we have our own way of handling things."

The old wizard pressed a finger to his lips. "Exploring old manors is very dangerous — it's easy to encounter something unpleasant. Today is Christmas. Please grant an old man one small request: go back to your families. They're waiting for you at the holiday dinner, aren't they?"

"Can ghosts kill people?" the blond Muggle asked, still trembling.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes. Which is why I'm going to use a certain scientific instrument on you. From now on, you won't be able to go exploring places like this. Even if you want to, your body will instinctively steer clear."

Five or six minutes later, Dumbledore bundled the Muggles, who still had plenty of questions, back into the car. This time, they drove off in the direction of home.

Moody had circled the area without finding anything. He came back looking puzzled. "Why not just Obliviate them?" That was what wizards normally did.

"Magic cannot stop an adventurous heart," Dumbledore said. "But people always let their adventures make them neglect their families."

Moody didn't quite follow the reasoning. As far as he was concerned, people who courted death dying was perfectly normal. Dumbledore always wasted time on things like this.

"How do we get inside?" The Auror asked the one question he actually cared about. The house looked distinctly wrong, but he couldn't find a magical entrance.

Dumbledore walked into the manor.

They were in luck. Lucas was in the middle of completing the final ritual.

He drew a silver knife across his palm, blood filling a small cup, roughly ten ounces of fresh blood. When the portrait finally called a halt, the altar absorbed it all. A gentle magic swept through the entire space, and the objects that had faded and aged with time briefly recovered their former splendor. A miniature structure of the manor rose up on the altar.

Lucas glanced at it, then hastily muttered a healing charm. The spell wasn't strong enough to close the cut completely. He began fumbling through his pockets for Dittany and bandages.

Snape couldn't stand watching. He confirmed with the portrait that the ritual had ended, then crossed to Lucas. He took hold of the hand Lucas had bled from and summoned the Dittany out of his pocket himself. With precise control, the Potions Master let a single drop fall onto the wound.

Lucas jolted with pain. Before he even had the chance to cry out, the wound had closed.

The portrait pulled a pained expression, the look of someone with a toothache, and said, "Someone has entered the old manor."

The figure inside the frame stepped out. Lucas and Snape saw a view of the manor grounds: Dumbledore and another wizard were making their way inside.

"Let them in," Lucas said. A command, delivered by a wizard whose eyes were still faintly red from the bloodletting, yet who spoke entirely in the manner of a man who owned the place.

He murmured to Snape: "Walter is still outside."

The blond wizard's mind churned with mischief, thoughts bubbling up one after another. "Let's not go out just yet. Let the Headmaster get a good look at what sort of trouble his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has been up to."

Lucas didn't forget to offer his mentor a word of flattery. "You are the only true candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

Snape gave him a sideways glance. Lucas knew when to stop.

He'd spent far too long in Snape's office, long enough that there were certain things Snape hadn't bothered to hide from him. Like the Defence Against the Dark Arts application. Lucas had been there when the Headmaster told Snape through the fireplace: "That position already has a candidate."

The portrait let them in. The gesture was hardly necessary, Lucas had already taken control of most of the manor. This heir was a dangerous figure. In front of his mentor, Lucas played the obedient pupil; in reality, he'd been quietly reminding the portrait of its place. That it was nothing more than a painting. A tool for opening doors. A prop for setting the mood at the right moment.

Whatever subject his mentor was currently teaching, he was surely not suited to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Lucas turned to the portrait. "Find Walter's location. The vampire."

Ah. The very vampire he had nearly played to death.

The portrait slipped out of its frame. It had little desire to come back and watch the heir perform.

The view shifted to Walter, standing at the edge of the garden. Across the distance, the Headmaster and the limping wizard were approaching.

Dumbledore hadn't spent a moment searching for an entrance. The manor had simply opened itself for them.

A good sign. It meant Severus and Lucas's work here had gone rather well.

Moody stared at the scene, astonished. He had just gained a new appreciation for how formidable Dumbledore truly was.

➤ Next: Protection Fails