Freshman Draco Malfoy stands on his desk with a paintbrush, tracing an intricate, swirling silver square on the whitewashed wall of his new dorm room. Once he finishes the shape, he uncorks a vial of forest-green potion and pours a few drops that immediately spread in all directions, stopping at the silver border. He takes a step back, watching the rich, deep green coat the wall . . .

"Why are you in my room?"

Draco nearly topples off the edge of the desk, but he catches himself and turns to see the willowy young man who silently slipped through the force-field door. With sleek, dark hair falling to his shoulders and sharp green eyes over a sharper Grecian nose, he wears a well-cut gray overcoat, tailored trousers, and a green merino scarf.

"Your room?" Draco climbs off the table, straightening his own black blazer and tightening his hunter green tie. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood. I quite clearly requested a single room."

"As did I."

"Well, I'm sure my request went through. You see, my father is a much-appreciated donor of this university . . ."

"So is mine."

"Oh, I'm sure all donors are much appreciated," Draco chuckles, shaking his head, "but my father happens to be at the elite level— you know, they don't disclose the exact amounts, but our name's on the short list for the naming of the new library . . ."

"So is mine."

Draco stops mid-sentence.

"There's clearly been an error," the other man shrugs. "The force-field door let me in without any trouble, and this is quite a spacious suite, just as I'd been told to expect." He glances around. "It's got the guest bedroom and everything . . ."

He stops mid-sentence as well.

"Clearly an error," Draco says, but with less conviction in his voice.

The other man nods and then tilts his head with a curious glint in his eye. "What is it you were doing with that potion?"

"It's a special alchemical paint I invented," Draco says with no small pride. "It fills in the silver lines by itself."

"I suppose it's not removable?"

"Not at the moment," Draco smirks. "I'm planning to figure out the dissolver sometime this year."

The other man, far from being irked, smiles serenely. "That's not a problem for me, actually. That shade of green's one of my favorite colors, anyway."

"Glad to help." Rolling his eyes, Draco clambers onto the table again and resumes painting, turning his back to the intruder.

Yet the man keeps talking. "You know, an illusion would accomplish the same effect far more efficiently."

"Only a master illusionist could pull that off," Draco snorts. "What with the particular sheen and luster . . ."

"Like this?"

Draco whirls around to see the entire opposite wall covered in silver loops and green paint, perfectly matching his own design. He narrows his eyes. "Is it permanent?"

"Only a master illusionist could take it down," the man replies with a blank expression, yet Draco can hear smugness in his voice.

Draco looks down at his vial of paint— small, yet already half-spent— and sighs. "I don't suppose you could do that for the rest of the walls."

"I suppose I could." The man snaps his fingers this time— for extra drama— and all the walls are decorated with green and looping silver.

"Shall I do the upholstery to match?"

"That'd be fine," Draco says coolly.

Another snap, and the whole room is done up in shades of green and gray. Before he can stop himself, Draco admits, "It looks marvelous."

"Thank you for the design idea," the other man nods.

Suddenly, a third man walks into the room— small, dressed in blue from head to toe, with shaggy black hair and an eyepatch— then stops short and scowls. "What the hell are you all doing in my room?!"