The little wizard circled the perimeter of the house, tapping his umbrella on the cobblestones beneath him as he went. The winds of London whispered to him through the streets and alleys, kicking up the hem of his robes and disturbing the laces of his shoes.

"Repello Muggletum." No flashy or gaudy effect. No sparks or lights or fizzles or dings. Just a warmness in his fingers. High above him the house's crooked chimney occasionally burped little puffs of black smoke into the starry sky that blanketed the city. Old paint was peeling off of the building in great spiraling strips and wooden shutters hung uncomfortably over whitewashed windows. The yard was overgrown, weeds and grass spreading between the cobblestones beyond the lawn. Thick gravel crunched beneath expensive shoes as the young Seville crossed the threshold. Craning his neck to take in the entire property, the wizard's lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

The door tingled testily under his palm as he pushed it open. Rewarded with a warm and inviting glow the wizard slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Over an ancient rug and around an impressive glass case, past a cozy fireplace and down a flight of steps. Around a corner and through a door and he was there.

Weeks of preparation on his part had finally paid off. His father's money and influence was instrumental- but it was truly Priggo who'd earned the credit. He had achieved what he had worried might have been impossible; he'd convinced Lacidus to give him use of those things which he needed without divulging the reason for his need. It was Priggo who had chosen which of the houses to use. It was Priggo who had furnished the building. It was Priggo who had moved the necessities downstairs. It was Priggo who had tested the limits of the enchantments protecting the place. And it was Priggo who would soon be filling the house with new occupants.

_________________

The Ravenclaw stared calmly across the chamber at the little wizard, waves of energy still pouring out across the floor in all directions and rippling as it flowed around the feet of hushed spectators. Two identical beams of flashing light met between the duelists, exploding spectacularly. Smoke and haze billowed up in great clouds around Maxwell, who quickly and efficiently went to work creating a shield.

Like lightning Priggo was behind him and for the second time great arcs of electricity met and flashed sending collected dust up in into the air around the competitors. Flashes of kinetic energy sparked against the stone at each wizard's feet as they circled around each other, casting spell after spell, matching each other move for move.

The Slytherin's umbrella popped open and a torrent of moving air swept past him, swirling excitedly. Max's protections were stripped away and his wand knocked aside as pulses of deep violet energy struck his chest two, three four times and he was tossed back. Priggo's breaths were short and quick, his heart thundering against his ribs and lungs.

The ringing in his ears were like bells of victory. Progress.

_________________

Things were happening faster than he'd expected. Friends and rivals, allies and enemies were all revealing themselves now. Distrust and paranoia marked everything he did in those passing weeks. His smiles and laughs and nods were like expertly molded sculptures rising and fading from that pale and indifferent mask that was his face.

Those dark and clouded people he called friends, allies, servants and tools were abstract and distant. They stood away from him in the hall and made little effort to engage him on any sort of social, emotional or intellectual level. They did not enjoy his company- he could smell that on them. But behind his glassy eyes a great and complex machine was working, endless cogs turning in synchronization. He watched the way they looked at him when they thought he wouldn't notice, he saw the way they refused to see or speak to him as they passed him in the halls. He watched them with cold, intelligent and hungry eyes.

McGonagall was fooled easily enough. She smiled and prattled at her little student who had mastered his other form so effortlessly, unaware that these lessons of theirs were years in the making.

Snape was impossible to fool, of course. But Priggo didn't have to. All he had to do was convince the good professor to use him and that would be enough.

Flitwick was naive, nodding and smiling at the Slytherin who seemed so ashamed of his past transgressions.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Time outside of class was engulfed by his search. The Daily Prophets in the Enclave were sorted into piles, each page, each article, each line was noted with little marks from a scribbling quill. Dark wizard sightings were circled in ink of one color, references to dark artifacts circled in another. Mentions of attacks or other curious happenings were underlined, the space between sentences filled with tiny writing.

_________________