The Basilisk Whisperer {Marauder's Era}

PROLOGUE

 "If we can handle a Dark Lord and a Werewolf, my old friend, I am sure we can handle Mr. Ryder."

Albus Dumbledore stared at the crackling fireplace; as it hissed lyrically, lifting rocks and debris off ground, a faint hint of an old man with balding hair was visible, hovering. "You don't understand, Dumbledore..." the man said. Dumbledore could not see much, through the thick flames and light breeze; despite that, he was able to analyze the concerned look on his friend's face. "If Ilvernmory cannot handle him, I am not sure what can."

"You underestimate Hogwarts, headmaster," Dumbledore kneeled down. "Tell me more about Russel Ryder."

"He's a great student, don't mistake that, Dumbledore - but - but, he's manipulative! Charming!" Dumbledore felt as if Smith Callaway, the Ilvernmory Headmaster, had been keeping this in his chest for long. "You do know what he was arrested for, don't you?"

"Enlighten me, Callaway."

"Orchestrating a grand scheme to sell cheat codes and homeworks and projects - he had half of the school buying from him, a fourth of the school working for him, most of the school in debt to him, and five teachers - five teachers, bribed to help him. He shall be released from Juvenile Incarceration tomorrow, and Ryder doesn't have a place to stay."

Callaway's description of Ryder reminds Dumbledore of a student. A student which had gone the wrong path. Perhaps, if things went very wrong, Mr. Ryder would follow his path, but Dumbledore would not let that happen. He would not let another Dark Lord grow on his watch.

"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome him home," Dumbledore smiled.

"I'm sure you understand, Dumbledore. He is a very powerful wizard, and to put his skills to a waste," Callaway stopped. "I suspect he possesses powers similar to you."

"I'll watch out," Dumbledore said, amused.

"Very well, then," the image started to fade. "Ryder was expelled two months ago. You will take him to Hogwarts in two days."

'The Dungeon', they called it. It was an old and abandoned building located in the depths of Drakona Juvenile Magical Rehabilitation; grim and dark, it's walls have not been cleaned in centuries. Guards rarely went there; unbeknowst to them, the Dungeon is where everything happens. Gambles, drinking, smoking, fights - during day, where teenage prisoners are let out for break, the Dungeon represents a mini club.

Russel Ryder uses this to his advantage.

The dark brown haired boy grinned as the brawl started in front of them; Smith, a tiny but efficient fighter was pounding on Duster, a large teenage boy with a bullet scar on his forehead. As expected, Smith was completely destroying Duster.

"Hopefully you did not injure Duster too bad," Russel said in a low tone. The older boy next to him nodded.

"I gave him a good blow on the foot; did not suspect a thing, that guy - I used a mask."

Duster was now on the ground, and Smith was starting to dig his way through his head. "Hopefully it works. I have seventy five percent betting on Smith. You'll earn your fair share of ten percent, Terry, don't worry."

"You're a genius, if this is how you make money," Terry said. Like Russel, he had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, with similar pale skin. "We played him good, and I don't feel bad for Duster a bit. I enjoyed kicking his ass earlier."

"That's what a bully deserves."

Smith deliveres one final blow, and what was left of Duster was now merely a pulp with a pool of blood surrounding it. Smith raised both his hands, blood trickling down his nose. "Bring him back to his cell," Russel gestured towads the unconscious boy on the ground. Terry, with a body bag at hand, attempted to lift Duster up.

One by one, boys and girls alike started to approach him; those who won the bet were gifted galleons, and those who lost (the large majority), gave much more. No one dared to leave without paying their debt - Russel had established fear in each of their pathetic heads, and crossing him would be similar to mental suicide.

He was left staring at the pile of money, barely fitting on both his hands. "Money's good," he pocketed it.

As people started leaving, and Terry started to lift Smith's body away, a wave of relieve washed over him. This was his last day in this wretched prison, and though he enjoyed the money he earned him, he did not enjoy the experience.

It was true, though, what his fellow friends had told him: people in prison were much easier to manipulate. They were much more emotional, with much more desires and goals, which made them fortunately reckless. It left most of the delinquents incarcerated in the place in debt to him.

"Hey, Jackson," Russel called out. A small boy turned towards him, eyes betraying fear and jumpiness; he had been the last to leave the 'Dungeon' before him, and he was not very keen on staying. "Make sure Mason and Blackburn pay their debts. See me in two hours in front of my cell."

After a quick nod, he swiftly scrambled away. A smirk reached his lips.

"Russel Ryder?"

Russel lifted his head towards his cell border, quickly pushing the money he was counting towards his pocket. A guard now stood in front of his cell, and in his hand was the key which would free Russel forever from this hellhole.

"You're free," the guard stated. Russel looked back towards his trunk; he had packed the night earlier, all his belongings now packed into his trunk. The trunk may look small, but inside was another room, which he could access with a flight of stairs.

"Hands behind your back," the guard ordered, and Russel complied. The cell clicked open, and before he could blink, his hands were cuffed, and his trunk was now levitated above him.

"Follow me, Mr. Ryder."

As he walked through his final steps in this place, he couldn't help wondering what would happen after. Earlier, his ex-Headmaster had informed him that he was going to Hogwarts.

But he did not want to go to Hogwarts. America was his home. Even though he did not want to admit it, Ilvernmory was his home. But he had to hire a traitor, didn't he? And the traitor had to snitch his operation. His fists clenched - the first thing he was going to do free was slitting the traitor's throat.

As he passed multiple cells, he could not help but notice the glares he received, the 'hallelujahs!' yelled, and lunch trays thrown at him. The only thing keeping these prisoners from doing these to him earlier was fear; and now that Russel was gone, they had nothing to fear.

Finally, the guard led him towards a metal door, which opened in command. In front of him was a busy hub of released prisoners and visitors; nothing was seperating him from the free world anymore.

"Stand still," the guard instructed. As his shackles dropped, he could see Melling smirking at him in the midst of them all. He waved at him sarcastically. "Welcome back to the free world, Mr. Ryder."