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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The confrontation with Dumbledore was a paradigm shift. Kaelen had walked into that room seeing the world as a chessboard, a game of logic where the most intelligent player was destined to win. He had walked out realizing he was playing against a master of a different game entirely—one that used illogical, unquantifiable pieces like love and loyalty with devastating precision. It was infuriating. It was a variable he could not control. And therefore, it was a threat he had to understand.
When the holidays ended and the student body returned, filling the castle once more with their noise and pointless drama, Kaelen's focus changed. His primary field of study was no longer Transfiguration or Potions, but the bafflingly illogical social dynamics of the Gryffindor house, specifically its three most prominent members.
He watched them from across the Great Hall, from the shadowy corners of the library, from behind the stone pillars in the corridors. He was not a spy; he was a researcher, and they were his fascinating, infuriating test subjects.
He saw the way Ron Weasley would sacrifice his own academic standing to cheer up Harry Potter after a particularly grueling Potions lesson. He saw the way Potter, in turn, would risk detention to defend Weasley from Malfoy's taunts. And he saw Hermione Granger, the most complex piece of the puzzle. Her mind was sharp, logical, almost on par with Nott's. Yet she consistently sabotaged her own efficiency and safety for the sake of her two academically inferior, rule-breaking friends.
"Look at her," Kaelen murmured one afternoon in the library, watching Hermione frantically trying to correct Ron's Charms essay while also researching Nicolas Flamel for Harry. "She's performing the work of three people, two of whom are actively hindering her progress. From a logical standpoint, they are liabilities. Parasites. Yet she cultivates the relationship."
"Perhaps she's lonely," Nott suggested, not looking up from his own text on blood curses.
"Loneliness is an emotional state, not a strategic advantage," Kaelen countered. "She is willingly weakening her own position for theirs. Dumbledore would call it 'friendship.' I call it a tactical flaw."
While the trio was chasing the ghost of Nicolas Flamel, Kaelen, Nott, and now occasionally Daphne Greengrass, were conducting their own, far more efficient research. They knew a powerful object was hidden in the school. They knew Quirrell and Snape were vying for it. They didn't care about its history; they cared about its function.
"Immortality is a fool's game," Daphne opined one evening, her voice a soft, silvery whisper in their quiet corner of the common room. She was examining a stolen copy of Moste Potente Potions. "It invites too much attention. True power lies not in living forever, but in building a legacy that does."
"The Philosopher's Stone is a tool for transmutation as well," Nott pointed out. "Infinite gold. Financial power is the foundation of all other forms of influence."
"A means to an end," Kaelen stated, his eyes dark and thoughtful. "But not the end itself."
Their research led them to a startling conclusion far faster than the trio's bumbling investigation. The object was the Philosopher's Stone, created by Nicolas Flamel, and Dumbledore had hidden it at Hogwarts because the one trying to steal it was Voldemort, operating through a host. The evidence was all there, in the advanced texts, for anyone logical enough to piece it together. The troll, the jinx, Quirrell's constant turban to hide a second face—it was a simple, elegant equation. The only unknown variable was the identity of the host.
One blustery evening in March, Kaelen was returning from a private "study session" in the Restricted Section when he noticed a light on in a disused corridor. He approached with silent, practiced ease and peered around the corner.
He saw the Gryffindor trio huddled around a large, black egg resting on a table. Standing with them, wringing his hands nervously, was the oafish groundskeeper, Hagrid.
"…won it off a stranger in the pub," Hagrid was muttering. "Seemed quite glad to be rid of it, ter be honest."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He recognized the egg from a particularly obscure text on magical creatures. It was a Norwegian Ridgeback. A Class XXXXX magical creature. Illegal to own, impossible to conceal, and utterly, magnificently dangerous.
A slow, cold smile touched his lips. It was perfect. A perfect, predictable, and utterly sentimental mistake.
He slipped away unnoticed and returned to the common room. Nott and Daphne were engaged in a silent, intense game of Wizard's Chess.
"Hagrid has acquired an illegal dragon egg," Kaelen announced, his voice a low monotone that nonetheless cut through the silence.
Nott's knight kicked Daphne's bishop off the board with a vicious cheer. Daphne didn't even flinch. Her cool blue eyes rose to meet Kaelen's. "And Potter and his friends are involved, I presume?"
"Naturally," Kaelen said. "They see a magical creature in need of saving. I see a source of dragon heartstring powerful enough to craft a dozen wands, and hide worth more than this entire castle's furniture." He paused, a dark glint in his eyes. "It's a shame, really. A baby dragon is a terribly inefficient use of such valuable raw materials. It's like using a diamond to hammer a nail."
Nott let out a short, sharp laugh. Daphne's lips curved into a faint, appreciative smirk.
Over the next week, Kaelen watched the drama unfold from a distance. He knew when the egg hatched. He could practically smell the Gryffindor trio's panic from across the castle. They were breaking dozens of school rules, risking everything for a scaly, fire-breathing pest they had named 'Norbert'.
His moment came when he overheard the trio, in a hushed, frantic conversation, detailing their plan. They were going to smuggle the dragon up to the tallest astronomy tower on Saturday at midnight, where friends of Ron Weasley's older brother, Charlie, would be waiting to fly it away to Romania.
It was the most beautifully stupid plan he had ever heard.
He found Malfoy sulking by the Black Lake that afternoon.
"You look troubled, Draco," Kaelen said, his voice laced with a faint, almost imperceptible note of sympathy.
"It's Potter," Malfoy spat. "He gets away with everything. He's got a dragon, you know! A real dragon! Hagrid is hiding it in his hut!" Malfoy had been spying, of course. It was the only form of cunning he was capable of.
"A dragon, you say?" Kaelen said, feigning mild surprise. "That is a serious infraction. A public danger, even. If a professor were to find out… say, Professor McGonagall… and if she were to catch them in the act of smuggling it out of the castle… the consequences would be severe."
He let the suggestion hang in the air. He watched the cogs slowly turn in Malfoy's mind, the dawning glee of a perfect revenge plot illuminating his pale features.
"The astronomy tower," Malfoy whispered, a greedy, triumphant smile spreading across his face. "Saturday. Midnight."
"I wouldn't know anything about that," Kaelen said smoothly. "I am merely a concerned citizen." He turned to walk away.
"Wait," Malfoy called out. "Why are you telling me this?"
Kaelen paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Because, Draco, you were right all along. It's an injustice. I'm simply helping you balance the scales."
He left Malfoy preening, convinced he had just been handed the ultimate weapon by an admiring underling. Kaelen felt a cold, satisfying sense of control. He had set all the pieces in motion. Malfoy would run to McGonagall. McGonagall would catch the Gryffindors. They would be punished, their heroic bond tested by detentions and the loss of house points.
And Kaelen would be there, in the shadows of the astronomy tower, watching it all. Not to see them get caught. But to see exactly how they reacted when their sentimental, illogical plan inevitably burned to the ground. Every crisis was a data point, and this was an experiment he had no intention of missing.