It Takes a Thief to Catch a Thief

I didn't even notice when I'd set the empty bag down on the floor.

Randall perched on the empty bag the twins and I had set down earlier and said,

"Make yourself comfortable."

I sat down reluctantly.

"Hang on a second. Phone's ringing. Yeah—Flint. What? Food wrappers piled up in the corner of compartment eight? The food itself? Ah, just the wrappers and boxes? Guess the owner dumped the actual food before he got sick? Clear it all out to the platform for now. Yeah. The staff'll handle the recycling. Yeah. Sorry, urgent call."

Randall pulled out his iPhone, checked the time, then smiled and asked me,

"Everyone's calling you Hogwarts' Galileo, or the hunting dog from Korea, and so on. You know that?"

A brief silence.

"Eh, you don't have to answer. Just a bit of icebreaking. This is actually the first time we've properly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talked, isn't it? Last year when you caused that mess in Professor Kingsley's class, got praised by the Headmaster instead, and ended up in the hospital wing—we only exchanged a quick hello then, right?"

".....Yes."

"Right. I knew from that moment. You were going to be Hogwarts' Al Pacino. You can tell just by looking at the eyes. Of course, right now you're still just Thug Number One who gets hit by a carriage seven minutes into the movie."

Another brief silence.

He looked at me.

His gaze didn't waver.

"Hand over two cartons of cigarettes to me. Or if you don't like that, hand over everything."

Student Council President Huey Randall's Buddha-like merciful smile was fixed on me.

"What'd you hide in the ceiling? I'll let it slide, so pay the customs duty."

Crazy? He called me for this? How the hell did he know?

I stared at Randall.

Deny it? Play dumb?

But the moment I met those eyes, I knew.

No point. This guy already knew everything.

"...Yes."

I said quietly.

"Eugene Kim, third-year Hufflepuff."

"Yes."

"Is causing trouble a hobby of yours? Heard you got into it with Willen at the station. Zacharias's crew came storming in demanding I punish you."

"I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to apologize to me. Apologize to yourself for racking up detention points the second the year starts. I get why you're doing it, but tone it down a little. You're way too conspicuous."

Randall glanced at his iPhone screen for a moment, then continued speaking to me.

"Your business partners, second-year Gryffindors Fred Weasley and George Weasley. Just the two of them? No other accomplices?"

I hesitated, unable to answer right away.

"So it's exactly the three of you, huh. What kind of goods are we talking?"

"Contraband."

"Specifically?"

I hesitated a beat longer, then opened my mouth.

"Snacks, toys... and cigarettes and condoms."

Randall's expression didn't so much as twitch.

"How much?"

"Five packs of cigarettes. Ten boxes of condoms."

"And the Weasley twins?"

"...I'd rather not say."

"Figured as much. I've got a rough idea anyway. There's five hundred forty students per year, and once you add international students, exchange students, and the ones in the boarding program, the total's over four thousand. No way you'd only bring five packs."

I couldn't hide the bitter smile at his razor-sharp analysis.

Randall adjusted his glasses.

"What kind of revenue target did you set? What's the expected profit?"

"Um.... about two hundred galleons a month left over."

"Right, four hundred galleons a month. Current exchange rate's exactly one galleon to six euros, so it's not exactly raking it in. Your adoptive dad's loaded—doesn't he give you allowance? What are you even earning this for? The twins at least have the long-term goal of building a toy distribution network. What about you?"

"I said two hundred galleons."

"I can see you calculating behind your eyes. Obviously you halved it."

Fuck, how does he know everything?

I gave a wry smile, shifted into a more comfortable position, and started talking off the cuff.

"Is this Legilimency?"

"So I was right on the money? Can't be Legilimency. Private use is illegal, you know that. And last year Professor Kingsley even praised you for being good at Occlumency. Said a second-year was performing at fifth-year level."

"And right after that he also said my Charms were like a fifteen-year-old performing at nine-year-old level. He even sent a letter home, so I spent the entire break getting worked over at a Charms academy."

"Tough break. So, the answer? What are you planning to use the money for?"

"....My adoptive father gives me allowance, but he doesn't understand me investing in things like Bitcoin, so this is the only way..."

"Okay. Cut. This is a tax audit. No need to spill your entire family situation. So you're not planning to expand the trade by buying weird shit with the profits? Stick to this level. Whether you spend the money on snacks, buy some girl a Hermès bag, or throw it at Bitcoin or whatever—I don't care."

"....Yes. But why....??"

"Wondering why I'm letting it slide?"

"Honestly… yes."

"You think you're the only one doing this?"

I looked up.

"What?"

"There's one or two every year."

Randall said.

"Students smuggling like you. There was one last year, one the year before that."

"...Really?"

"Yeah. All the same. Hide it in the ceiling, use an Extension Charm, use Transfiguration. At first everyone thinks they're the only clever one until they get caught. But they all get caught. Page two of the student council manual is twenty-nine ways to catch smugglers."

He turned his gaze toward the window.

"And it's easier to manage when you know about it."

"Manage?"

"Yeah. An unknown smuggler is more dangerous. You don't even know what they're bringing in. But kids like you—everything's visible. What you bring, who you're working with, how much you're selling."

I slowly nodded.

Information control, huh.

"Is the student council president allowed to do that?"

"Knowing someone's breaking the rules and looking the other way?"

Randall laughed.

"You've got mid-to-late teens, boys and girls, crammed into one dormitory—you think you can control those desires?"

"...Well..."

"You can't. Because they're human."

He crossed his arms.

"There are kids who want to smoke. You think banning it means they won't? They'll just do it in secret. Better to manage it—where and how much."

He folded two fingers.

"And condoms. You think teenagers don't have sex drives? Not a chance. Better to let them do it safely. Way better than them going without and causing an accident."

I closed my mouth for a moment, then carefully said,

"...That makes sense."

"Right?"

Randall nodded.

"So whether it's cigarettes or condoms, I'll look the other way within reason."

"...Thank you."

"But."

His eyes sharpened slightly.

"You're in charge of quality control."

"Quality? Me?"

"Want me to tell Professor McGonagall exactly what happened? That you tripped Willen at the station and cursed him out? There wasn't just one or two witnesses. Start losing points again and a lot of people are going to hate your guts."

"Even so, I'm not even on the student council..."

"Even so, whatever so—doesn't matter. I'm the president. Send me a QC report by text every Friday. Obviously scramble it so no one else can tell what it is."

The person in front of me was starting to feel less like a student council president and more like some mafia boss.

"Cigarettes can't have anything weird mixed in. No potions, no poison—absolutely not. Check the expiration dates on the condoms too. Don't use cheap crap. If you're going to use them, use good ones."

"Yes… understood."

"And one more thing."

"What is it?"

"The smugglers I don't know about. You catch them."

I widened my eyes in shock.

"Me again?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"You know how. How they hide it, how they bring it in."

Randall smiled.

It was the first time I'd seen that expression.

Cold, precise, and strangely human.

"It takes a thief to catch a thief. That's just how the world works."

"No, I'm only a third-year now."

"Where did I put Professor McGonagall's number..."

I thought for a second, then nodded.

"Ah, I'll do it. I said I'll do it."

A brief silence.

Unable to stand the awkwardness, I chewed on my words and finally spat something out.

If not now, I had the feeling I'd never get another chance to talk like this with this person.

"Sunbae, what are you going to do after graduation? Heading to the Ministry?"

Randall's eyes went round as if he hadn't expected that, then he burst into a hearty laugh.

"You can say things like that too? So the rumor about the bloodless, tearless vampire from the East was a lie?"

I laughed awkwardly and ground my teeth inwardly at Zacharias's crew for spreading that kind of crap.

"I'm planning to become an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Already finished the special unit interview—barring anything weird, I'll be appointed."

"Ah....."

At the words "Department of Magical Law Enforcement special unit," the memory of Marcus's brother Tobias dying flashed through my mind.

Why do these people want to become Aurors? He's good at studying, has the student council president résumé—can't he just join a nice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠company, pull a high salary, do some investing, and live quietly in peace? Why walk into the fires of hell on his own two feet?

Before I knew it, I opened my mouth.

"Aren't you scared?"

"Hm?"

"You could die. Aren't you scared? Someone at your level could just be a civil servant in the administrative department. Or go to a good university. Hogwarts student council president—plenty of places would want you."

Randall's eyes widened, then he smiled faintly.

"University? Are you telling me to prep for N.E.W.T.s and A-levels at the same time? Talking that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rough—you really are the hunting dog."

"I'm asking because I'm genuinely curious. And at your level, prepping three or four electives at once wouldn't even be work. Your grades are famous even in our year. All O.W.L.s were A's, right?"

"Ah, right. You guys wouldn't know yet—they switched back to the O-to-T grading scale."

"What? Why? After only two years?"

"Lots of reasons, but let's just say the parents went and slammed into Umbridge about it."

I was about to argue, then pictured Korean parents filing complaints with the education office and found myself strangely convinced.

"Ah, so the answer? Please answer. Think of it as the fee I agreed to pay up front."

I watched Randall mutter bitterly that I was like a broken steering wheel that wouldn't turn no matter how hard you tried.

"Eugene Kim. You don't know this yet, but I've already received quite a few obituaries for the sunbaes I went to school with. I'll be getting more from now on."

I thought Randall's smile looked sad.

"Even if the world seems peaceful, it's relative. Someone's bleeding on the front lines. Of course I'm scared—how could dying not be scary? I still haven't played the next Zelda series. I want to see England win the World Cup, and I'm curious whether the Avengers beat Thanos. There are too many things I like to keep thinking about death. Same for you, right?"

Randall grinned at my silence, then showed me the family photo on his iPhone lock screen.

"I'm scared, sure, but I'm more scared of a future where my parents, my little sister, my girlfriend are bleeding and hurting. My sister Hailey's got a personality like absolute shit, but I still hate the idea of her being in pain. Of course if she lives too happily that might piss me off too. So what can I do? I have to choose the lesser evil that ends with just me. If I'm lucky, I survive too. Right, hoobae-nim?"

".....You have to survive."

"Hahaha. Uncharacteristically sentimental. Eugene, the Headmaster said something once. Individual Albus Dumbledore is overwhelmingly stronger than individual Barack Obama. But Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts is an overwhelmingly weaker man than President Obama of the United States. You know what that means?"

"That there are fewer things one person can do alone than you'd think?"

"That individual power has limits. Trust the organization, trust society, trust your comrades. You hang around with your own crew too. Just now you pulled off this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cute little trade with the Weasley twins. I'm saying try giving a little of your heart to the people around you."

I couldn't bring myself to brush off Randall's voice, laced with laughter, as a joke.

Every time I looked this good-hearted president straight in the face, I thought of Tobias—who had died hundreds of times right in front of my eyes yet never took his gaze off that Muggle child—and of myself freezing in place before him. I couldn't meet his eyes head-on.

"I'll try. This, and the earlier thing too."

"Good."

Randall stood and held out his hand.

"Then the contract is sealed."

I took the handshake.

His fingertips were cold.

"Looking forward to working with you."

"Yeah. Head back to your crew now. Stay here too long and it'll look suspicious. If the professors catch us, even I won't be able to cover for you."

Huey Randall opened the door and left.

He didn't look back.

Only I remained.

I sat there blankly for a long time.

The woman who gave me everything and took everything from me—my salvation and my demon. At that moment, I had no idea that Huey Randall would stand against her and be murdered.