NOTES: swearing, the usual.
there is no update schedule i'm just writing really fast because i love this au? look, plot. more plot!
2: a hatred a day keeps dementors away.
"Oh, shut up already, Malfoy!"
Harry's head shot up. Next to him, Ron did the same thing. Hermione was already looking across the Great Hall where the Slytherin House tables were. It was easy to spot where the clamor was coming from.
"What's that, Walker? Got a problem with me?"
"Yeah, I do. Have for days. Your arm's practically healed, what are you still going on about!"
"What's happening?" asked one of the Gryffindors near them. "What're they shouting for?"
"Malfoy got himself mauled first day of class," Ron said through a mouthful of breakfast toast. "Apparently the Walker bloke there doesn't appreciate him complaining about it every hour of every day since Madam Pomfrey let him go."
"..Aren't they in the same house?"
"You wouldn't know it by looking at 'em."
Malfoy's voice was rising above the general din of breakfast chatter now, which had all but stopped as the argument continued. For all of Malfoy's faults, Harry had never heard him shout like that before. Purebloods like him being above that sort of peasant thing, he supposed.
"How dare you say that to me!"
"I'll say whatever I dare, you presumptuous foxwattle!"
"What's his spine made out of?" Seamus leaned over to ask. "Dragonsteel?"
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone go in on Malfoy like that before," Harry admitted, almost admiring. "Never mind another Slytherin. What's a foxwattle?"
"A plant," Hermione said on reflex. "Bit like a stinging nettle, but worse."
"...Why's it called foxwattle?"
"You really want to ask her that first thing in the morning?" Ron intervened before Hermione could launch into a spiel about the nettle's history and magical properties. "She'll never shut up."
"Ronald!"
Ron's name rang echoingly. The room had fallen silent all of a sudden. Looking over, Harry could see that Walker was again the cause, if the crushed goblet in his hand was any indication.
Harry had never been more interested in Slytherin's affairs than he was now. Why wasn't Gryffindor's table closer?
Allen tried not to see red.
Easy enough. Slytherins loved wearing green instead. He didn't mind himself, preferred black and white and didn't mind switching out his red cravat for a green one occasionally, but red was Mana's color.
Red was the face paint that he and Mana had gotten at the fair. Red was the sunset they watched every night they were able to. Red was the fireworks on New Year's. Red was the matching ribbon they wore, when Allen was still young enough to enjoy that sort of thing.
Red was the spells sparking off of Mana's wand, and those of his acquaintances.
Red was the color of Mana's blood on the snow, painting it like an abstract impression. Salt thrown onto watercolors.
If not red, then green.
But, god, his eye hurt when he thought about green.
Malfoy was looking nervous now. He was standing, trying to look down his nose despite being nearly the same height as Allen himself.
Allen hated green. He hated snakes, too. The Vatican Ministry was full of them, snakes. Green snakes.
He hated snakes. Lying, foul, manipulative, selfish and cold and heartless.
But was he any better than them now, in this bed of snakes?
"Take out your wand," he said, quiet. He felt much the way Neah sounded whenever he was particularly angry. He felt cold. Cold like dread. "Take out your wand, Malfoy."
"Or what, Walker?" Malfoy did nothing but talk big. Words were his weapon, Allen realized. Words and his family name. "You'll hex a cripple, will you?"
"I'll hex your bloody toes off if you ever insult my father again," Allen hissed. His hand was trembling, but he didn't reach for his wand yet. He wouldn't, not unless Malfoy showed any sign of doing the same. "Take out your wand."
He supposed the reason for Malfoy being so unsettled was the fact that Allen was still smiling. Had been for a while now, after the shouting stopped. He felt numb, not cold.
Someone approached. Allen looked over to see who it was, because the first lesson ever taught at Rosa Croce was to be aware of your surroundings. NOAHs could be anywhere.
"What's going on here?" she asked. On her robes was pinned a green badge that said Head Girl. Allen couldn't quite remember her name at the moment.
Everything returned to perfect clarify the moment he processed her question over the sound of Malfoy's nonsense excuses of being threatened.
"I challenge Draco Malfoy to a duel," he said. "You have heard of dueling, haven't you, Malfoy?"
"He's hurt," said one of the girls nearby, petulantly.
Allen looked at her like she'd spouted the most outrageous nonsense he'd ever heard since arriving at Hogwarts, and he'd already met Trelawney.
"He's still got an arm."
Malfoy scowled. "You want me to duel without my wand arm? Are you mad? No witch or wizard would accept a challenge like that."
Allen felt his lips curling into a sneer before he could stop it. "From what I hear, you aren't exactly the type to wait for your opponent to accept a challenge. Why should I grant you that same courtesy?"
"Is that a threat, Walker?"
"Lower your wand!" The Head Girl hissed. Allen hadn't even realized he was starting to pull it out from inside his robes. "Are you trying to lose us points, Walker? Put it away!"
"I couldn't care less about your blasted points."
"Be that as it may, we are Slytherins. This is your House, too, Walker. We stand together. That means no dueling each other."
"Seriously?" Allen hissed back. He stopping taking his wand out, though. "You're not allowed to duel each other?"
"Civilized wizards don't duel, Walker." Malfoy spat the words out as though they were poison. The girl from before laid her hand on his arm, like she wanted to coax him into calming down. "Then again, I suppose you're about as civilized as your daft clown of a fath-"
Red flashed. Someone screamed.
Allen thought it was himself.
"Remind me why we're going again?" Ron groaned.
"It was your suggestion, Ronald." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Couldn't this have waited until after classes?"
"He could be gone by then," Harry added. "I don't think he was hit that badly. I don't really fancy a visit to the Slytherin Common Rooms just to see how he is."
"I heard he doesn't even stay in the Common Rooms," Ron said. "Not that I blame him. It's fancy and all but downright dreary, being underwater."
"Really? I think it sounds quite nice."
"You want to be a Slytherin?"
"I didn't say that. Just that being in an underwater castle sounds nice."
Ron leaned over to mutter conspiratorially to Harry. "Being underwater sounds nice, she says."
"It does," Harry said. "I mean, if you could breathe down there too."
He didn't know what Hermione saw in it, but the thought of being deep underwater where nothing could reach him sounded very appealing at the moment.
Of course, he would also have been very much alone down there, which he thought was arguably worse than being targeted by a mass murderer. And he was quite sure how barmy that would have sounded, so he didn't say anything of it as they continued up the stairs towards the hospital wing.
"You're mad, the both of you," Ron muttered.
"I killed a giant snake, of course I'm mad."
Hermione was smiling. Remembering that she'd been petrified near the end of the final term last year wasn't pleasant, but after the initial scolding about going into the Chambers alone (Lockhart apparently stopped counting as proper supervision after she heard he was willing to leave Ginny down there to die), they had a great laugh about it.
Mad. Definitely.
Then her smile dropped and she pulled on both of their robes, tugging them into the shadowed archway of the corridor. Ron tried to say something but she shushed him before he could.
A shout rang out behind them, making them all go quiet. Harry heard footsteps and tried to press himself flatter against the wall.
"...not tolerate this sort of behavior..."
"..unaware you were... tolerating... Severus."
"Snape," Ron whispered, as if they didn't already know. "Who's he talking to?"
"We're about to find out soon," Hermione said desperately.
She pulled them out of the shadows and further down the hall. Harry spotted a open door and stuck his head inside to make sure it was empty.
"In here," he said.
Hermione lit her wand and gave the room a quick lookover before letting him and Ron pile in. After their countless mishaps, not to mention what happened their first year, they realized one could never be too careful looking for a hiding spot.
She put her wand out just as the footsteps started up again.
"Hope they weren't following us," Ron said.
"Can't be." Hermione shook her head. She seemed sure of this. "Snape was one of those voices, right? He must be going to the hospital wing too."
"Then who's the other bloke?"
"Teacher?" Harry suggested.
"..uncivilized behavior..." It was Snape again. Harry could hear the lip curling disdain, having been on the receiving end of it enough times. "Dueling first thing in the morning. Is that what they teach at the Institute?"
"I wouldn't know," said the other person. Harry wouldn't say he could tell someone's age from their voice, but it did sound like an adult. "I never went to that school."
"He sounds like Walker, doesn't he? I mean," Ron said, making some sort of gesture at the front of his throat. "Thicker. The accent. But it sounds like him."
"Judging by your reaction, whatever school you attended clearly wasn't much different. His own House."
"We don't have Houses where we come from, Severus. I assure you, Allen will treat those of Slytherin just as he would any other House."
"I have four students in the hospital wing right now, Campbell. Had Ms. Tapia been any slower in deflecting those spells I daresay there would have been many more, and not just from Slytherin."
"See? Indiscriminate."
Whomever it was, they sounded far too lighthearted for Harry's taste, given the subject at hand. Walker seemed friendly enough from what he'd seen. Not the type to purposefully stun everyone in sight.
As it was, only those who had been in the near vicinity of him and Malfoy had been caught in the one-sided crossfire. He did find it curious, though, that he never heard a single spell being uttered in those few seconds. Must have missed it. It had gotten loud right away, with all the teachers descending on them to break up the fight.
"You tread on thin ice, Campbell," Snape was saying in his bare resemblance of a snarl. "You and that nephew of yours."
Nephew, Harry mouthed in the dark. He tried to get a closer look. Unfortunately, that meant he would have had to open the door wider when Snape and this Campbell person walked by; a plan that was foiled by Hermione having common sense and swatting at his hands before he could do anything.
"As head of Slytherin House I will give you and your charge a fair warning." Snape didn't sound happy, but Harry had never really heard Snape sound like anything else. He supposed this was just the Potions master's default mood. Irritable. "If he cannot learn to control himself, this incident will be neither the first nor the last of its kind. Regardless of what the Headmaster may say about the boy's magic, repeated offenses of attacking his own classmates without provocation will lead to expulsion."
"Perhaps if you would impress upon your House not to insult and antagonize their own Housemates, my nephew would not feel the need to defend himself."
"You encourage his use of hexes to defend himself against mere words?"
They came to a stop near the door of the room Harry was hiding in, blocking out the small bit of light that had managed to make it in. Luckily, Snape had his back to them.
Harry saw another man just about Snape's height. His hair was dark and unruly, it seemed, sticking out as though he hadn't combed it that day. He looked nothing like Walker.
"Words are knives when used properly, Severus. Not everyone is capable of fighting back insult with insult. You think the world is filled with people like you? A sharp mind, a sharp tongue, and a willingness and ability to strike others with it? You think a child in distress would be capable of the same wittery?"
The other man never took his voice above a hallway whisper, but that only made it feel all the more real. Harry could not see Snape's face; he could only imagine that sort of scorn and disdain the teacher was showing, if he was showing any at all.
All he could see was a gleam of white. It looked like eyes.
"You preach about civility yet burn the hands of those who seek your help. You pester those who are unwillingly ignorant, berate them for not knowing what you know. I've heard of your classes, if they can even be called such. I know what happens in them. It reminds me of my own childhood."
Snape took a step back, not down the corridor but towards the room where they were currently hiding. Hermione barely suppressed a gasp, only breathing in sharp through her nose. Snape froze.
Harry was ready to pull them deeper into the room, lest Snape not only catch them eavesdropping, but also smack Ron in the nose by throwing the door open. One of those he could live with. The other he would rather not be subject to the aftermath of.
"Your pitiful school did teach you something of value, then." There was a sneer in those words.
"Oh, no. You are quite mistaken, Severus."
The man, Campbell, leaned in rather than drawing away, as most people did when confronted with Snape. Harry supposed few people ever willingly initiated the confrontation themselves, though. Aside from McGonagall.
"Schools do not teach us how to speak, or what to say. How to regard others." There was the flash of white again, which Harry now understood to be teeth. Campbell's teeth, glinting with his grin in the torchlight. At least, it had to be. Eyes couldn't glow white, could they? "People do."
Mad, Ron had said. Absolutely mad.
"...So it would seem," Snape said. "I wonder, then, what sort of people you've had the pleasure of associating with."
Campbell smiled. It was exactly the kind of smile Harry had seen on Walker time and time again.
"Only the best kind."
It took Snape another moment to let out a scoff and turn on his heel to leave.
"Not going to visit your students?" Campbell said to Snape, currently out of Harry's sight. "Careful, Severus. One might think you didn't care about them at all."
"You'll find that unlike some people, a Hogwarts professor has quite a bit of work to do. And unlike some people, I prefer to attend to my House charges as soon as possible. Not hours after."
They were spoken so flippantly that Harry had a hard time believing Snape hadn't just encountered someone who seemed like they'd be all too willing to snap someone's neck at the drop of a hat.
The man kept walking down the hall. His footsteps echoed long after Snape's had disappeared. For a minute, the only other thing Harry could hear was his and Ron's breathing.
"..His uncle's scary," Ron whimpered. "Bloody mad and brilliant, talking to Snape like that, but.. scary."
"Come on," Harry said, opening the door and looking both ways up and down the hall. "Let's hurry, before lunch is over."
The Matron looked up when Neah walked into the hospital wing. He could tell immediately which beds belonged to the incapacitated students; there were a number of Slytherins crowded around them, chattering softly like little birds.
"This way," Madam Pomfrey said quietly, jerking her head towards the farthest corner of the wing. "I had to ward off his cot after the first Slytherin tried to hex him while my back was turned."
"What happened?" Neah asked.
She pointed to one of the four occupied beds.
"Ah." He smiled. "That's my nephew."
The Matron didn't seem to be as proud as he was of Allen's defensive capabilities. Understandable. Allen's hexing humor was often on par with both Marian's and Neah's
Which was to say, near-ghastly.
"Ciao," he said, pulling the curtain aside after the Matron let him through the protective charms that wreathed the cot in something like frosted glass. "Yikes, you look rough."
Allen grunted, and even that was wheezy at best.
"What'd you use? Ivuoto?"
"God, no, Neah, I wasn't trying to kill anyone." Allen rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand. "Rigetto. Rebounded off a Shield Charm. And maybe the bat-eared one on the girl. Someone screamed at her."
Neah snorted. "Marian was right. You are a piece of work."
"I went to school with Kanda," his nephew groused. His smile was fond, though. "He cuts all but the worst hexes. I had to find something that would work."
"You do know that getting hit in the head with Rigetto is about as dangerous as you can get without getting into blood and open wounds?" Neah tapped his knuckles against Allen's head a few times. "How did you think concussions happened?"
"..I'll try not to aim at anyone's head."
"That's a good boy." Neah patted Allen's hair, smoothing it out of his face. "..How bad did it get you?"
The boy pulled down the collar of his shirt with a grimace. It didn't have to go down far; just below his collarbone was the edges of a massive bruise that Neah knew spanned his entire chest. He winced.
"Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion for it, but it works slow so I have to stay here until it's gone... Just as well that it bounced back to me. I wasn't intending to cast one that strong."
"If you didn't want to hit anyone with that spell, you shouldn't have used it."
Allen frowned as he pulled the blanket back up to his throat. "..I wanted it to hit Malfoy."
"Was he that bad?"
He could see the corners of Allen's expression loosening at the seams like a patchwork doll. The boy was a child, after all. Abandoned, orphaned, shuffled around. He was a bag of bones held together by the name Mana.
Maybe Marian had been hoping that living in the Rose Cross Institute would help. Maybe he was right. Maybe it did help.
Maybe it only made things worse.
"He-" Allen sucked in a breath and swallowed. It probably hurt to do anything else but breathe. At least he wasn't crying yet; that would've hurt more. "He said... that I was sent here because my father didn't want me. That Mana didn't want me. That my mother never wanted me. I know- I know it isn't true, I know he's lying, he doesn't know what he's talking about, he's just being-"
The smile just looked painful now. Allen had a long ways to go before he could make it look effortless. He'd get there eventually. Neah was there to help with that.
Reaching up, Neah brushed away the hair over Allen's left eye. A line of scarred tissue slanted through the eyelid, the wound having been deep enough to leave some lasting damage. They'd managed to get it healed before he lost it entirely, but his sight was already lost by then.
Allen hadn't wanted to get a prosthetic though. Said he was fine as he was and that they didn't have to spend the money on it, despite the fact that Marian never paid for anything anyway.
Said it was all he had left of Mana. Of the night Mana died.
"People will say and believe all sorts of things, Allen." Neah curls his hand against Allen's head when his nephew doesn't push him away or give any other indication of disliking the touch. "The only way to stop them is to tell them the truth. And even that isn't a guarantee."
Of course he wouldn't dislike it. Mana probably used to stroke his head like this. He did it for Neah, too, when they couldn't sleep after their lessons.
"If you won't do that, then you'll have to find other methods."
"I've.. already told them I don't like talking about it. Linali and the others understood."
"They would. They're orphans, like you."
"I'm not a-"
"You were an orphan," Neah said, soft but firm. "I was an orphan, and so was Mana. Marian was a half-orphan. Linali Li is an orphan, Kanda was an orphan, Lavi, Barry, practically everyone you know in Rosa Croce was an orphan. That's why you were in Rosa Croce."
He got up from the bed and dropped into the chair nearby. Allen wasn't looking at him now, instead staring resolutely up at the frosty, wavy ceiling of the warding charm.
"You're an orphan," Neah repeated. "But that doesn't mean you don't have a family. I had Mana, and the NOAHs."
"You killed all the NOAHs," Allen muttered. He was reaching out for the glass of water on the side table but found it just a little too far away.
Neah ignored him. He was wrong, anyway. Neah only killed most of them.
"Marian had Maria, for a while."
"She's dead."
He ignored that too.
"Ms. Li has her brother. Bookman picked Lavi up. Kanda won't admit it, but he has Noise and Daisya, and Froi. He especially won't admit to Froi. And you, you have them. All of them. That's what you wrote to me about, remember?"
Allen let out another grunt as he tried to sit up.
"And besides, Allen, you've got me and Marian now. We might not be Mana, but we'll do what we can." Neah looked up and blinked. Allen was looking at him like he'd grown three heads and another pair of ears. "..What's that face for?"
"I.. I was just.. I thought about you and Cross being my dads, and I couldn't. I.." He said nothing else and just laid back down, staring horrified at the ceiling, hands clasped over his chest like he was praying. Then he let out a breath that shuddered from more than just the bruise on his chest. "... What a terrible thought."
"It can't be that bad. I've been a great uncle!"
"You nearly killed three people just getting us out of France, you great buffoon."
Neah conjured a cushy yellow pillow with a flick of his wand and dropped it onto Allen's face. He forewent a sticking charm though, and didn't bother ducking when Allen threw it back at him with a shout.
"I suppose I'm not as great as I think, if you've managed to get yourself a slew of detentions within the first three weeks of term."
Allen was laughing. That was good enough.
It was surprisingly easy to get Madam Pomfrey to let them visit Allen Walker. Harry always thought she never let anyone in if they weren't either related or in the same House, or known friends.
Then again, how would the Matron even know who was or wasn't a friend? Maybe she just had a sense for it. Like Hermione had for whatever mess Harry was about to accidentally get them into.
Speaking of which, Hermione was giving him that look again. The one she usually gave him and Ron whenever they were about to do something stupid and she knew, but couldn't decide if it was worth it to try and stop them and thus risk being pulled into it just to make sure they lived.
Granted, that had only really happened twice by now. Harry wondered what the Near Death Experience count was for the average Hogwarts student, if he was going to break any records by the time he graduated.
"Through here, you three." The Matron directed them over to the furthest cot in the hospital wing. It looked normal until they got closer, upon which Harry found that it seemed to be shrouded by a film of frost. She must have seen their confusion. "Mr. Cassidy over there thought to get a little revenge for his friend. He's been hit with a Dragon Itch Jinx for his troubles, courtesy of Mr. Walker here."
"Dragon Itch?" Harry asked. Hermione looked surprised and was craning her neck to get a look.
"Brilliantly nasty, I'd say. Gives you a terrible itch, then keeps you from scratching at it by turning the skin into dragonhide. You don't usually see it outside of dragon countries." She shook her head with a sigh. "Well now. I'll see if his uncle is quite finished with his visit."
"Oh-" Harry took a step back. "No, no! It's fine, we don't want to- we don't, right guys?"
"Right, yeah," Ron agreed hastily. "We can wait. I mean, we barely know the blo- ow! Hermione!"
She hid her arm behind her back and fixed him with a sharp stare.
"Don't be, Mr. Potter. The man lives in the castle, he can visit any time he wants." Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and tapped on the invisible barrier obscuring the cot from view. In a moment, the man from before stepped out of the shroud. He gave them barely a brief glance before looking at the Matron again. "Neah, Mr. Potter and his friends here wanted to have a word with your nephew. I hope we haven't interrupted anything?"
"Well," he said, "not exactly-"
A yellow pillow bounced off the back of the man's head and landed at the Matron's feet. She looked at it with something unreadable on her face.
Walker's uncle pointed his wand at it and Vanished it away.
"Not exactly." He grinned, about as devilishly handsome as Lockhart was after 4 hours of answering his fanmail.
Which was to say, Harry could tell it was there, but something like Lockhart's unrelenting smugness (swelled up to the size of Aunt Marge) was preventing it from being properly appreciated. Poor man.
"Actually, Matron, there was a thing I wanted to ask you, if you had the time. Allen, I'll be back in a bit."
Madam Pomfrey ushered off to the side, letting Harry, Ron, and Hermione slip into the shroud. Allen Walker-Campbell was holding a violently fuchsia covered throw pillow up over his head, just in the middle of throwing it.
"..You're not my uncle," he said.
"That's not cursed, is it?" Ron asked.
"Why would it be cursed?" Walker lowered the pillow far too slowly to not be suspicious. He cleared his throat. "Who are you lot anyway? You're not in my year."
"What, you know everyone in your year?"
"It's a habit." He gave Ron a blinding smile, like the one Campbell had given Snape, but ramped up to the strength of the sun on a cloudless day. Or a particularly strong Lumos Solem. Harry felt cheated, somehow. "So?"
"Oh, er- I'm- Harry. Harry Potter. These are my friends, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger."
"Allen. Walker." Walker jerked his head in the direction his uncle had left in. "It says Campbell on the paper, but I refuse to be verbally related to the duncecap over there."
"I heard that, dear nephew," came muffled through the shroud.
Walker threw the pillow. There was a pop and no screaming, so Harry supposed it had been Vanished away like the other one.
It was... a strange thing to watch. Harry had always equated 'uncle' with 'oppressive, derisive, hateful, overweight codger', not someone who didn't mind having a possibly cursed pillow thrown at them. Twice.
"Did you need anything?"
"Er... well-" Harry wondered how they were supposed to say this. It sounded like a better idea on their way up here, and Ron was the one who thought of it anyway. "We were- we were in the Hall for breakfast, too. This morning, when you.."
"When you knocked Malfoy flat on his arse," Ron supplied. "It was brilliant, by the way. Don't think I've ever seen anyone throw a jinx that fast."
Harry expected some sort of agreement; most people who tried to hex Draco Malfoy would have, though Harry could count on one hand the number of people he'd heard of that tried. He and his friends among them.
Walker looked neither mad nor gleeful to find someone else that disliked Malfoy (not that it was hard). He just... looked. And then he looked contrite.
"I missed, though." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and winced with the motion. "And I ended up hitting some people who had nothing to do with it."
"Yeah, but they were all Slytherins anyway. Bet they deserved a lot more than a Bat-Bogey," Ron said, looking at the other occupied beds. "Foul lot."
"I'll thank you not to talk about my House like that," Walker said with a smile so serene it was almost scary. It reminded Harry of Campbell, earlier. And also made Harry wonder what Campbell had meant when he said that Walker would treat Slytherins the same as any other house.
"Well that's what they are! Have you heard them? The way they talk to others, it's-"
"Of course I have, Mr. Weasely. I have classes with them all the time." Walker looked a little amused. "I am a Slytherin, you know."
There's not a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin.
Harry looked at the scar over Walker's milk-colored eye, and felt that Walker was doing the same with Harry's own scar. Curse marks. He resisted the urge to rub at it on reflex.
Ron looked constipated. Or confused. One couldn't be sure without asking.
"You cast those jinxes nonverbally, didn't you?" Hermione finally spoke up. She looked like she'd been waiting to say something for ages and didn't care about the drastic change in subject. "We didn't hear you shouting."
"Nonverbal?" Walker frowned. "Oh- you mean without incantation. Yeah, I suppose. Why?"
Hermione had her lips pursed in thought. "We aren't taught nonverbal casting in Hogwarts until sixth year. Isn't it the same at other schools?"
"The nature of our magic in Rosa Croce requires us to obtain an intense focus and control over our abilities as early as our second year," Walker said almost mechanically, like he was reading off a welcome pamphlet. He delivered it a lot smoother than Stan Shunpike did, though. "We can do most simple spells nonverbally by our third year. But we don't have nearly as many classes as you have here, so our curriculum does allow for more time to practice things like that."
"What about jinxes then?" Hermione sounded almost upset. Harry couldn't really figure out why. "Do they teach you to do those nonverbally in class, too?"
"Oh, no, I figured that out while dueling. We had duels regularly in Rosa Croce." Walker laughed, and it didn't sound mocking at all. "All in good fun, of course."
Harry had a hard time believe this person belonged in Slytherin at all. He wasn't stuck-up or arrogant, and he was talking to Hermione like it was the most natural thing in the world. Granted, there was really no way to know Hermione had Muggle parents without asking her right out.
"Any more curiosities, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, then looked between Ron and Harry like she was scolding them for making her do all the talking.
"Um," Harry said, thoroughly, nonverbally scolded. "I was.. wondering... I mean, you don't have to answer, but- what were you fighting about? You challenged him to a duel, right?"
"Yes, I did." Walker had on a wry smile now, though it was still carefully devoid of anything like anger. "He insulted my father."
Harry supposed he understood. Well, he never really knew his father, so it wasn't like he could take anything personally. All he had to go on was what everyone else said, and everyone, of course, had their own opinions. That only made it all the more frustrating.
"He doesn't know my father's dead, though, so I guess I'll apologize for overreacting next time I see him."
"What?" Harry balked. "No, you don't have to- I mean, it wouldn't matter. He knows my dad is dead and he's still a right bastard about it. Malfoy's just.. he's just like that. If anything it makes him worse."
"Oh." Walker's face fell. He looked so disappointed. "Then I guess I'll just be telling him to stop being such a flobbery git. I'm older, he's got to listen to me, right?"
Harry immediately thought of a flobberworm with Malfoy's hair and face on it. Ron burst out laughing, so he must have been thinking the same thing. Even Hermione had a strained smile like she was trying not laugh.
Harry took one look at her and they both dissolved into giggles until Madam Pomfrey tapped on the warding charm again. Campbell ducked in with a wave.
"Matron said you ought to stay for another hour or so, rest of the day if your bruise doesn't let up. It's- lunch, yes?" Walker's stomach growled. He flushed. "Yes, lunch. I'll see if the Matron will let us bring some food up. What's your classes for today? I'll swing by your teachers and gather up the homework for you."
"What? No. You can't go talking to my teachers for me. You can't go into my classrooms!"
A flick of his wand extracted two pieces of parchment from inside Walker's robes, one of which Harry recognized as their timetable. The second one was-
"A map, Allen? Are you still getting lost?"
"Don't you dare waltz in there looking like that!"
Harry realized just then that Walker's uncle was wearing capri pants with long socks and a pair of loafers along with a standard set of robes. He found himself agreeing; even if his uncle hadn't been an insufferable overinflated windbag, Harry wouldn't want him talking to his teachers dressed like that.
This was partly because Harry did not want to see Vernon in capris, ever.
"I will behave, nephew." Campbell flashed another smile. Hermione made a little noise that he seemed to ignore. "Ciao!"
He left, and Walker buried his face in his hands with a groan. Harry and Ron shared a look.
"..Your uncle's, er. Interesting."
Walker didn't answer Harry. He just rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head like he wanted to hide from the world.
"We'll, um, we'll be heading off," Harry said. He couldn't help but grin a little. "Hope you get better soon, Walker."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Jinx Malfoy again, will you? Merlin knows he needs to get knocked down a rung or two."
Ron stepped out first with Hermione behind him hitting him on the arm, to which he let out a yelp. Harry smiled at their antics until he turned back to Walker, who had rolled over and was now looking somber and thoughtful at the spot where Ron was standing.
When he noticed Harry was looking at him, he smiled again. It slid easy onto his face, in spite of everything. Like someone putting on a mask.
"Thanks for visiting, Mr. Potter. And it was nice to meet you, properly."
"Yeah," Harry said. His tongue felt heavy. "Sure. Any time. Um, Harry's fine, if you want. Potter's a bit- well."
Walker chuckled. "You can call me Allen, then. I don't mind Walker, though. I like it. Reminds me of my dad."
Harry went after Ron and Hermione, feeling like he understood what Walker, Allen, was talking about. 'Mr. Potter' reminded him of his father, too.
It also reminded him that he wasn't his father. Reminded him to remind everyone else that he was Harry, not James.
/ / /
"What are you smiling about?" Ron asked as he caught up with them.
"Nothing," Harry said. "..Allen's a bit odd for a Slytherin, don't you think?"
"Allen?" Hermione gave him a look, to which he responded with a shrug. "I'm more concerned about his.. well, his bloodline."
"Since when did you get worked up about ancestry, Hermione?"
"His last name's Walker-Campbell, Ronald," she said, shoving Ron's shoulder as she went. They grabbed him by the robes before he toppled over the staircase railing. "Sorry. I don't know about Walker, but I've heard of the Campbells before. I can't remember where, but I haven't got a very good feeling about it."
"Hermione," Harry said, slowly, "this had better not be the part where you make us break into the Restricted Section of the library in the middle of the night, only to find out you've had the book in your 'light reading' pile all this time. Again."
"Oh, fine, if you two are too scared to go looking in there, I'll do it myself."
"What?" Ron squawked, running down the stairs after her. "You can't do that! You're Hermione, you can't break the rules! ...Again!"
"Don't be silly, I'm not sneaking in there. I'll ask Professor Binns for a permission slip. It'll be easy. Of course, it might take half an hour, but I know it'll be worth it."
"You're going to search the entire Restricted Section in half an hour?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald, it will take half an hour to get the slip. Honestly, have you ever even tried talking to Professor Binns?"
Ron made a face. "I try not to think about it."
Dementors were curious things. Not quite alive, not quite human. Creatures born from death and decay, bringing it with them wherever they roamed. Omens.
"How's he been, Neah?"
"Alright, I guess." He shrugged, then remembered that it wouldn't be seen. "Jinxed four students and challenged another to a duel. In public."
Marian let out an amused snort. "He's only been there 3 weeks."
"Are you kidding me, Marian?" Neah laughed. "There's a boy got his arm torn up by a Hippogriff on the first day of term. Hogwarts is almost as bad as Rosa Croce."
"Just wait until Kanda gets there."
"Next year, you think?"
"Maybe. Komui's still working on it and I need them where they are right now."
"Where they are is stuck inside a country you hate, Marian."
"I don't hate Vatican City, Neah. I hate the Ministry."
"Them's fighting words, ain't they? You talk to the Ministry with that mouth?"
"Shut up."
He cracked a grin, then leaned back when the chill began encroaching on him. Oops. Stay focused.
"Have you found a lead yet?" he asked quietly, watching the shadowy figures drift about the outer grounds of Hogwarts.
"Rumors. Ears to the ground. You know how the NOAHs are."
Yes, he did.
"You still don't remember anything?"
"I never went near 'it'." Neah took a sip from the goblet in his hand. Pumpkin juice, this time. For now. "Substitutes don't get exposed to much more than necessary, and 'it' wasn't necessary."
Marian let out an exasperated sigh. "Sure, make my job harder, why don't you?"
"You've had, what, 35 years to search for the blasted thing? How are you so bad at your one job?"
"Technically I've only been looking for it recently. I spent most of that time before that keeping you from getting caught, you ungrateful ass!"
"It's all your fault anyway," Neah drawled. The sounds of cursing and objects breaking from Marian's side made him grin. It was more Marian's guilt at this point than anything. Neah just liked reminding him of it. "Try looking for dissennatore."
"Dissennatore? What makes you say that?" A pause. "..Did you remember something?"
"No. Well, yes. Technically no." Neah swirled the juice in his goblet, pensive. "We don't see them very often in Vatican City, or in Italy, so I'd forgotten about them."
"So why are you remembering it now?"
"Great Britain's Ministry of Magic uses them, apparently. They've been sent as guards around Hogwarts."
"They WHAT."
"Oh. You haven't heard? There's a serial killer on the loose. Apparently he wants to kill Harry Potter. You know, the boy who killed Voldemort. Allen just made friends with him."
"Merlin's fucking nose hairs- Why didn't you tell me this sooner-"
"Marian that's not important right now." The other man tried to cut in. Neah shushed him loudly into a disgruntled silence. "You recall what we know about the dissennatore? They grow in places where others have died. Born from decay. 'It' has always been in the business of death. And where there's death, there's decay."
"And where there's decay, we get dissennatore. Brilliant. Like I haven't already checked every report of cold spots in Vatican City."
"Then try outside the Vatican. Try outside of Italy. Try Sicily."
"That's technically part of Italy."
"Oh, right." The dementor was coming closer again. Neah took another step back. "Portugal?"
"..Why Portugal?"
He shoved his wand into one of their faces and fired off a shower of purple sparks. The dementors backed off with a hollow cry, then tried to come back at him.
Neah thought about the NOAHs. He thought about Joyd. Desires. Road, Mightra, Tryde, all of them.
He thought about Adam, too. About Mana.
He thought about Portugal.
"Oh," he said, continuing to walk back until he was too close to Hogwarts for the dementors to follow. "..Just a hunch."
"What, is that all you got? Nothing more convincing? You're not going to spout some bullshit about a rumor you heard on the streets that people were coming back to life?"
"Well, that too, but really it's just a hunch. And anyway, this is your job, Marian, not mine. Why are you making me do all the work?"
"...When I see you, Campbell, I am going to Avada Kedavra your traitorous hide so hard your nonexistent grandchildren will feel it-"
Neah flicked his hand and snuffed out the bright red flames contained within the glass phial floating beside him, effectively cutting Marian off mid-sentence. He watched it revolve for a moment before stoppering it and stowing it away inside his robes. It didn't seem like Marian was keen on calling him back.
"He talks a lot, doesn't he?"
The dementors did not answer. Nor did the withered flowers they left in their wake.
Neah turned around and went back to the castle to fetch his nephew from the hospital wing for dinner. And then homework, because Neah wanted to drink alone and unbothered, in silence.
...Lots and lots and lots of homework.
. . .
ivuoto: from 'il vuoto', vacuum. a charm that creates a variable sized vacuum space, usually for explosive purposes. or suffocation.
rigetto: from 'rigettare', reject / refuse. works like everte statum, but does actually leave lasting damage depending on spell strength. feels like being hit with a jet of water
dissennatore: dementor. official italian translation
neah has a very complicated relationship with his brother mana. and cross. they drink their problems away together.
