"It's Green! It's got to be Leon Green! He's the one who set me up!"
In the Slytherin boys' dormitory, deep in the Hogwarts dungeons, Draco Malfoy paced back and forth, barking at his two cronies.
"The Chamber… our Malfoy Manor has a secret chamber, and the Blacks definitely do too! Green must've found some treasure in there and is rubbing it in my face—showing me who's boss!"
"The Heir… he's practically threatening me! If I keep fighting him for the Black inheritance, he'll keep framing me like he did today!"
"It's got to be… it's got to be him!"
Draco, convinced he'd cracked the truth, was practically vibrating with manic energy. His pale cheeks flushed an unnatural red as he trembled with excitement.
The more he thought about it, the more his logic seemed airtight. So, he started piecing together the other mysteries.
"How could a petrification spell stump so many professors? And why would Peeves listen to a student's orders?
"Green's got to be using some dark, shady magic…
"That's it! My dad said Green's father was loyal to the Dark Lord, just like Aunt Bellatrix, and now they're both rotting in Azkaban.
"Green definitely knows dark magic!"
Draco instinctively touched his newly regrown hair. The last flicker of desire to challenge Leon for the Black inheritance fizzled out.
This guy plays dirty!
If Peeves hadn't been so sloppy, and if Dumbledore wasn't still sharp enough to avoid pinning the blame on a governor's son, Draco Malfoy might've been in serious trouble today.
Forget the Black inheritance—it wasn't worth it! Draco wasn't about to risk his neck for something he might not live to enjoy.
…
After the initial investigation wrapped up, Dumbledore took Peeves back to the Headmaster's office. He used a few tricks to probe the poltergeist's memories but found no glaring inconsistencies.
The only oddity was a fragment of intense fear—vivid but without clear images. It was possible Peeves' memory had been tampered with.
Possible, not certain. Ghosts' memories faded over time, especially for wizards who weren't particularly powerful in life. After a century or two, most ghosts retained only their deepest memories, forgetting the rest. Peeves was unique, but no one had studied his memory before, so it was unclear if he followed the same rules.
Fear…
In the past, the only one who could scare Peeves was the Bloody Baron. Even Dumbledore himself only got a sliver of respect from the poltergeist.
Dumbledore mulled it over, then decided to run a test. He locked eyes with Peeves, his blue gaze glowing faintly. Peeves' usual goofy grin faded, his expression turning blank, almost robotic.
Dumbledore spoke: "Bloody Baron."
Peeves flinched, his face twisting into terror before shifting to fawning flattery.
Dumbledore nodded slowly and continued, "Albus Dumbledore."
Peeves' expression softened, his flattery now half-hearted, almost perfunctory.
Dumbledore kept his tone steady. "Argus Filch."
Peeves' face contorted into disgust, complete with a mocking grimace.
Dumbledore paused briefly before saying, "Draco Malfoy."
Peeves' expression smoothed out, like a calm lake, showing nothing.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Gilderoy Lockhart."
The lake stayed still, not a ripple.
This time, Dumbledore paused longer, lost in thought, before saying a surprising name: "Harry Potter."
Peeves rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and silently mouthed "silly baby."
Dumbledore let out a small breath, then, with utmost gravity, said, "Leon Green."
In an instant, Peeves looked like he'd seen a ghost in broad daylight—which was saying something, since he was a ghost. His wide face stretched an inch longer, his tiny black eyes filled with raw fear. He tried to curl in on himself, as if desperate to go unnoticed, terrified of being spotted by something.
…
Fifteen minutes later, Peeves left the Headmaster's office in high spirits, humming a tune.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, fingers steepled in front of his nose, deep in thought.
"Doesn't prove anything, does it?" a voice piped up from one of the portraits on the wall. It was a wizard with black hair, dark eyes, a sharp look, and a goatee, dressed in Slytherin-colored robes.
Before Dumbledore could respond, another portrait—a witch who'd been pretending to sleep—opened her eyes. "Phineas, you can't favor Green just because he's your great-great-grandson."
Phineas Nigellus Black yawned lazily. "Did I say anything wrong? Peeves had weird reactions to Malfoy and Lockhart too. Why not suspect them?"
The other portraits stirred, no longer feigning sleep, and the room erupted into a noisy debate.
One said, "Lockhart's only been here a few days. It's normal for Peeves to have no strong impression of him."
Phineas shot back, "Lockhart's the type you'd remember after an hour!"
Another chimed in, "Malfoy's a Slytherin too, and isn't he, like, your great-something-grandnephew, Phineas? Why not take his side?"
Phineas scoffed, "Why would I care about some Malfoy kid?"
Someone teased, "But Green doesn't even go by Black!"
"Yeah, hasn't he already inherited the family fortune? Why hasn't he changed his name?"
"Probably because he doesn't like it! The Blacks aren't exactly a lovable bunch."
Phineas' face turned red, veins bulging as he defended himself. "Green is a Black… Leon! The Black family's business isn't the same as some petty squabble!"
He rambled on about "Black glory" and "family revival," drawing laughter from the other portraits. The office filled with a lively, cheerful buzz.
After the laughter died down, a stern old witch with long, silver curls spoke up. "Headmaster Dumbledore, you might want to check the portraits' daily observation logs."
"Hmph!" Phineas snorted, unimpressed.
"Thank you, Dilys, excellent suggestion," Dumbledore said, pulling a thick ledger from a drawer and flipping to the most recent pages.
The ledger recorded the daily observations of every portrait in the castle, tracking the movements of anyone in their line of sight after curfew. Each day, the portraits reported to a deputy headmaster's portrait, and the headmasters took turns archiving the records.
Dumbledore checked Leon's night wanderings. For a Gryffindor, they weren't excessive, but for a first-year, they weren't exactly rare either.
Then…
Dumbledore flipped to the entry for September 1, the first day of term. It clearly noted that late that night, Leon had cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and Leoned on the eighth floor for a long time. He'd clashed with Peeves, easily subdued the poltergeist, and trapped him in a bottle. Then Leon headed downstairs.
The record cut off on the third floor.
There were no portraits in the third-floor corridor.
And the portraits near the second-floor staircase hadn't reported any students wandering that night.
September 1. Leon. Third floor. Peeves.
Dumbledore's finger tapped the page lightly.
He racked his brain, trying to recall when Peeves had gone quiet for over two weeks.
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