Chimaera Of Judgement

49: The Chimaera Of Judgement

Nearly the size of the Great Hall, if only half the height, Albus, Rose, Caspian and Jezabel found themselves walking into a room full of strange, antiquated weapons and armor, and the odd tapestry rolled up and stashed atop a heap of trophies here and there. Silver, bronze and iron glinted at them from all corners of the well-lit chamber. At the back of this, sitting on a battered, ornate chair that could once have been a throne, sat-

"MALKIN?" Rose blurted.

"Welcome to my humble home away from home" said Atticus Malkin, chapped lips already twisted into a grin of dark pleasure. Peeves hung in the air by his shoulder, mean little face expressionless. "It's intriguing, all the things here. Must be the castoffs from the Armory, what they thought wasn't worth displaying. Ever since our dear poltergeist found it for me, I've made this my sanctuary, war room, and all around clubhouse."

None of them could find the words - any words, much less appropriate ones. Malkin prompted, "Surprised?"

"More like... underwhelmed," Rose continued, aghast. Albus could tell she'd almost dropped her wand, but then her grip redoubled on it. "You've been doing all this? Running us ragged, dropping and suffocating students, turning the whole bloody castle on its ear? Are you taking the piss?"

"Don't act all that blown away," he grunted, lazily swinging a leg from the arm of the chair. "If it'd been an obvious personage like, say, the Headmistress, someone might have noticed who was pulling the strings."

She glowered at him. "She was your first victim, wasn't she? You drove Peeves to-"

"Hah!" he burst out. "It would have been brilliant, yes, but that he did all on his own; pure accident. Tickles me all the more. It was rather an inspiration, however. There was so much I could do... so much..."

As he spoke, it seemed every ghost within the castle converged on their location; Peeves had already been there, but now they were joined by the four House ghosts, each one hovering menacingly near his seat of power. Even Moaning Myrtle showed up to pout at them, arms folded in defiance. Malkin paid them no mind, as if they were gnats unworthy of his notice - or a part of him that drew no attention, he was so very used to their presence.

Albus spared a look over at Caspian, wondering if he was still going to try the Disarming Spell, but his bunkmate was beside himself; not that it mattered. Malkin was apparently so convinced they were at his mercy that he hadn't even twitched toward his own wand.

Equally depressing was the sight of Jezabel's wholly resigned features. Albus now knew she'd recognised Malkin's voice through the wall before the rest of them, having spent five-and-a-half years in the same House with him. Why she hadn't spoken up before he could only hazard a guess, but his guess would be that she was so dismayed to learn his identity that she couldn't find her voice. He knew he couldn't.

"What do you think of my menagerie?" the boy asked them, gesturing grandly at the ghosts. "Quite good company, once you get used to them; though they more or less will have no remembrance of being here. Better than listening to Scorpius whinge about his father, or Genevieve whinge about Scorpius. The best sort of friends, in my opinion: they do whatever you tell them, then float away as if you were perfect strangers when you're done with them. It's a shame real people aren't like that."

"You sad, deranged little-"

"Temper, temper," Malkin said, eyes flashing at Caspian. "The less rudeness you show, the longer I might play with my food before I eat it."

While Albus tried to decide what to make of that, he saw a ghost zooming toward Malkin, a wand in its hand. A quick glance told him the action had cost Caspian his weapon.