The red spark of a hex grazed his cheek, leaving a line of blood in its wake. Sirius stumbled back, reached his hand up and returned with crimson dripping off his fingers. He spat and turned back to his opponent. There was a sinister glare in his eye as he began to circle the floor. He intended to draw blood too.
Arvirargus Burke circled with him. The only sound to fill the air was their footsteps echoing on the worn marble. They were playing cat and mouse, and neither role had been established yet. The edge of Sirius' mouth twitched.
Suddenly, Sirius hurled a Bombarda maxima and then jet after jet of offensive curses. He was mad, and his spells were as red as the blood that dripped on his robes. Burke weaved in and out, maintaining a stoic face even when one clipped his shoulder.
In response, he threw Petrificus totalus, and Sirius, with his limber elegance, barely dodged it. Sirius narrowed his eyes.
And suddenly, it was arc after arc of colors, each one more menacing then the next. They collided with Burke's shield, which was just beginning to fracture - but not yet. When his shield shattered, Burke flung a Stupefy and another Petrificus totalus.
Sirius blocked them, sent them spinning back. Light sizzled between them - shields broken - bones colliding with marble floors - a stray Aguamenti sent a tidal wave barreling through the room - Sirius threw up a shield and his feet went skidding back as he held the rush of water hurtling towards him. The wave dropped and scattered over the floor.
Alright then, two can play with elements.
An Incendio forced Burke back. Another Aguamenti brought him forward. And then it was fire and water and singed wood - smoke filled the air - curses slashed through it - red and green and silver and blue. Desperation dripped down Sirius's face. He, exhausted, threw a last resort spell. Blocked. He sent it again. Blocked. And again. Dodged. And agai-
He was as surprised as anyone else when it hit Burke. When the last of the smoke cleared, he gazed upon a silver candelabra across from him.
Well, Dearborn never ruled out human Transfiguration.
Silence filled the lecture hall. Only Peter was daring enough to let out a slow wolf whistle. James quickly followed with a whoop and a, "Nice one, Black!" Remus slowly applauded the performance.
Professor Dearborn entered the dueling ground and commented, "Nice job, Mr. Black. Good foot work, though a slight dependency on offensive spells. Luckily, your partner seems to be more defensively inclined, as you just saw in our exercise. Your last move," a small grin tickled his mouth, "unconventional, but effective. I do suppose a candelabra cannot hex you back-"
The candles of the candelabra lit up violently.
"-Though apparently they can display anger. Now, if you please, let's transfigure him back."
"Right, Professor, there's one slight problem with your request."
"And what is that?"
"I have no bloody clue how to turn him back. We haven't learned human transfiguration, I just threw out a spell that sounded alright."
Dearborn's brows rose, "Well then, would someone like to escort Mr. Burke to the hospital wing? And be careful. Scratching the silver would be a tragedy."
XXX
Avior Mckinnon tumbled into the Ministry lobby in a cloud of green smoke. He let out a cough, and then proceeded to dust off excess ash from his robe. He had made it five steps out of the fireplace when he was grabbed roughly by the arm and turned around.
"Alastor," Avior noted dully.
This was not an infrequent occurrence.
"You look like shit," Alastor Moody replied, scanning the man. Avior's auburn beard carried more traces of grey than it ever had. His normally polished robes were speckled with floo powder and stained with signs of frequent late night potion-making. Most noticeable were the wrinkles that he had gained in only the past year. They stretched and redrew his face so that he looked perpetually worried.
"Yes," Avior agreed half-heartedly, "seems to be a common thing these days. Where are we going?"
"Where else?" Alastor grumbled.
They made their way through the lobby, their steps sending multiple echoes that bounced off the black stone walls, until it sounded as if a regiment was walking through, not just a weary potioneer and a stocky auror.
Alastor pushed Avior into a seemingly abandoned fireplace, far away from everyone else and their wandering eyes. He gave a nod, and Avior returned it. This was not a traditional floo fireplace. There was no green dust that sat in a bowl alongside the stone. No, this fireplace had been constructed for a very different purpose.
Avior stood inside. A soothing voice echoed within the stone, "Name, please?"
"Avior Mckinnon."
A pause, then, "You have been authorized to use this transportation. Thank you."
The stone ground of the fireplace opened up, hurtling Avior into complete darkness. Alastor Moody almost smiled when his ears were greeted with complete silence. He remembered Avior's first journey and the screams that accompanied it. Much had changed in the year since.
XXX
Early evening in the Hogwarts library was breathtaking. The flickering sunlight swam in through the windows; the smell of parchment and the scribble of quills rang in the air. Magical lights floated around students with stacks of books in front of them. Shelves of ancient tomes ran higher than the eye could see.
Yes, early evening in Hogwarts was breathtaking. For a first year.
Unfortunately, Marlene knew better. The Hogwarts library had been the setting of many outrageous - sometimes even carnal - tales, and most of them were not associated with reading or revising. (They usually always involved two things: liquor and the consequences of liquor.)
Fortunately for her record, Marlene was actually there for reading and revising. But, twilight hour in the library was often a bustling place, and she scrambled to find a seat. Eventually, she spotted a table for four, where Sirius and Peter were sitting. She hurried over, and set down her bag sternly. It landed with a loud thump, and more than a few eyes turned.
Peter, who had been balancing on the back legs of his chair, toppled over in surprise. He evaluated the bag cautiously,"Good Merlin, Marlene, what do you have in there? Bricks?"
Marlene looked up at him, "Just the one. Lily needed it for Ancient Runes, but she couldn't get back to the dorm in time, because the old painting in the Charms hallway - well, it's a long story."
Sirius raised a brow, unamused.
"It's a good thing you're here actually," Peter said with a grin, "I wanted to ask you about Dorcas."
"Oh!" Marlene smiled at him, "I noticed you were partnered with her. She's killer at dueling. You're going to ace the course."
"Right, but do you know how I should approach her? She gives off a very particular vibe...what's the word, Sirius?"
"Ready-to-shit-your-pants-and-run-away-screaming terrifying," he said, his feet crossed on the table, his eyes never leaving his book.
"She's not that bad," Marlene defended weakly.
"She made Gilderoy Lockhart shit his pants and run away screaming," Sirius countered, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"I bet Gilderoy Lockhart deserved it," Marlene said pointedly.
"Probably, but nonetheless, point still stands. Your mate is scary."
"Everyone has their fair share of scary friends."
"Oh, yes, James Potter is very horrifying. His hair is nightmare worthy," Sirius deadpanned.
"Let's not forget Remus Lupin, who one time snuck out in the middle of the night and risked detention all for a hot chocolate," Peter supplied.
"Looks like it's just you and Evans with the scary mates," Sirius said off-handedly.
"Don't compare Dorcas to Snape," Marlene snapped once she understood the intention behind his remark.
Sirius smirked, "Touched a nerve there, have we?"
Marlene bristled, "I can't account for the rest of them, but Dorcas is nothing like Snape."
Sirius put up his hands in mock surrender, an almost smug look to him, and returned to his book, tucking his wand behind his ear. Marlene held onto her anger, even as she turned to her potions book and began making notes on her parchment.
The two of them sat there for a while, and Peter poked his head up from his Charms book every once in awhile to evaluate them. Marlene's anger was visibly simmering, and Sirius seemed to pay no heed. Her knuckles were white as bleach, and her scrawl ripped into the parchment more than a few times. He secretly wondered if she would punch Sirius. He decided he'd stick around to find out.
An hour passed. The three of them sat while the lights grew brighter, and outside, the dark shadow of night slowly passed over. Marlene ripped into her parchment again, and the quill feather she held was mottled from her tight grip. Then Greta Catchlove approached their table.
Greta Catchlove was Perfectly Put Together from her blonde curls, tucked back by a headband, and her pressed sweater to her regulation length skirt. Her robes proudly bore a blue and bronze prefect pin. A year older than the three at the table, she had become well-known in the school: Greta Catchlove would heal any scraped knee, bake cakes for her friends in the kitchens, and did not have a single mean bone in her body. She greeted the three, but she smiled at Marlene sweetly and inquired after her summer.
"Decent enough," Marlene grinned weakly, "Marc got us seats in his box for all the Puddlemere games. And Maverick filled out the England-Romanian traveling paperwork, so he could surprise me with a day trip to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Some family quidditch matches and visits to Diagon, but other than that, nothing really happened."
Peter noticed that there was something rehearsed about the way she spoke, as if she had practiced her answer for this very question in a mirror.
"I was wondering…" Greta bit her lip and hesitated, "if you knew where Manning was? I didn't see him at the table this morning or on the Express last night. Not even in the tower. Is he coming later in the year?"
At that, Marlene's shoulders sagged. Any anger she might have still childishly held in her fists disappeared and was replaced by weariness.
"Manning's not coming back," she whispered at last, and even Sirius looked up from his book, though his face remained flat, "he-um-got an offer. From the Mahoutokoro School of Magic to study Charms. They saw his O.W.L. scores, and they were some of the best they'd seen, so they offered him this opportunity, and he took it."
"Oh," Greta said, "I thought he'd tell me if something like that happened to him. We were writing letters," a faint blush covered her cheeks, "but I guess it would take an awfully long time for a letter to get from Japan to Scotland."
"Yeah, I guess it would. I'll-um-let him know you asked after him. The next time I write," she turned back to her book.
"D'you mind giving me his address then?" Greta asked shyly.
Marlene froze, her wide brown eyes becoming even wider, before nodding slowly, "Yeah. Sure. I don't have it on me, but I'll hand it to you later."
Greta beamed, "That'd be wonderful! Thank you, Marlene." And off she went with her black Mary Janes and white lace socks.
When she was out of earshot, Sirius raised a brow, "What happened to your brother, Mckinnon?"
She shot him a wary glance, "I just told you, didn't I? He's at Mahoutokoro studying Charms."
"Alright, if that's what you're telling everyone."
Marlene stiffened at the words, but she took a deep breath and continued writing. Sirius looked back at his book and crossed his other ankle. There was almost an understanding between them.
XXX
Avior Mckinnon stood at the end of the long, white hallway, and something heavy fell over his shoulders and settled in the pit of his heart. He remembered distantly when it was small, a couple of rooms at the most. Now, he could not see the end.
"There've been more?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer that he knew would follow.
"Unfortunately," Healer Bonham replied, and her voice dropped, "they're getting younger too. Minister doesn't think we can hide it anymore."
"When did the Minister come by?" Alastor asked gruffly, standing behind Avior's tall frame.
"He didn't," the Healer answered, "but we got his patronus. Some of the memory charms on the parents are slipping. It's been too long now, almost a year."
"What are we going to do about them?" Avior asked, poking his head into the rooms as they walked through the hallway.
"The parents, you mean?" Bonham inquired.
"Yes, the parents. I don't want them to be worried. They're going through a very terrible thing," Avior said.
"We should just cast the memory charm again," Alastor suggested, "that'll buy us a bit o' time."
"It won't be enough," Avior sighed, "I'm sure the Prophet will get wind of it now. We've hidden it for a year now, and that's been impressive enough."
"The Public will go into a frenzy. The Minister can't handle that right now. Politics has been very messy these days," Bonham said.
"Yes, yes, I, too, read the Prophet and know what's going on in the Ministry. The Minister can handle it," Alastor snapped.
"I'm afraid that inevitably everyone will know about this hallway, sooner or later," Avior said almost calmly.
"Let's hope for later, then," Bonham murmured.
"This is not a hallway for hope."
The other two made assenting noises. They knew all too well the Death that lingered and crawled along the pure white walls.
XXX
Marlene Mckinnon sat curled up in her bed with the drawings open. Her ruddy gold hair was piled on top of her head, and she twirled her wand between her fingers while she read the dusty tome in front of her. Two jars of bluebell flames hovered in the air near her, providing her with necessary reading light.
She heard the door open and slam, causing her bed to shudder. Without looking up, she asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
An angry huff.
"You have a burnt hole in your jumper, d'you know that?" Mary asked, and though her voice still trembled with steel, her intent was kind.
"Ah, yes, that'd be Vaslav's doing. He's done this to two of my other favorite jumpers and singed the tassels on Lily's bed hangings while he was at it."
"Do you know where he is?" Mary said, and her voice was soft.
"Sleeping on the radiator," Marlene answered back absentmindedly.
Mary walked over and scooped up Vaslav, a miniature Antipodean Opaleye dragon. Maverick had given him to her in the middle of the summer. He was a bit of a demon and always intent on burning up essays, but never cigarettes. He fit in the palm of her hand, and she had named him Vaslav after one of her favorite male muggle ballet dancers. Though having him broke more than twenty school rules, he made Mary feel safe, especially after last year, so Marlene and Lily handled the burnt essays and jumpers, and Mary coddled him like a rabbit.
Marlene suspected that Dumbledore knew of Vaslav's existence, but he never said anything when he passed by the girls in hallways. Only whistled and smiled from beneath his half moon spectacles.
Mary flopped on her bed, setting Vaslav on her stomach while he snored smoke.
"I hate him," she finally said to the ceiling. It was a bitter sentence to match a bitter girl.
"I know," Marlene answered, "ask Dearborn for a different partner. Tell him what happened last year. He'll understand."
Mary sat up to look at Marlene, "I don't want to be weak. Asking Dearborn would be weak."
"You aren't weak."
"I feel weak, standing in front of him. I feel my skin crawl, and I just want to scrub everything away until I'm bleached bone. I hate him."
Marlene held her eyes with Mary's, "Talk to Dearborn."
Mary pursed her lips and then glanced away, stroking a finger down Vaslav's spine. A few moments passed. Marlene flipped a page.
"We'll see."
Marlene nodded at her friend, and Mary reached to her night stand to tune the Wizarding Wireless. She went past channels of Quidditch games, Ministry news reports, and Celestina Warbeck's warbling voice.
"He'll get what's coming to him," Marlene said at last, interrupting the silence between the two.
Mary paused, her whole body stopped, and she shuddered as she let out a breath, "He will. If I have to kill myself."
Mary settled on hearing an announcer recount a Quidditch game, and she lay back down on her bed. The fingers on her wand hand twitched. They were itching for blood. They had been waiting for the murder to flow into her veins. For the sadness and vulnerability and all the messy emotions to drain out of her bloodstream and be replaced by raw, unbridled vengeance. And now, here it was, slowly circulating through.
The dorm grew still, and the two girls in their beds let the sound of Quidditch drown out the silence.
XXX
On the fourth floor of Hogwarts, there hung a large, ornate mirror. It was old and warped, and the glass was scratched irreparably. Still, Sirius Black considered it a favorite of his. Mostly because the mirror, when prompted by a spell, swung open to reveal a passageway to the basement of the Hogsmeade post office.
The passageway was as large as any classroom, and the Marauders had settled there. The boys had conjured up a ratty, but comfortable couch: an orange suede material topped off with a thick blanket. Floating candles settled in the air, and the stone space was littered with cigarette butts, papers, empty tea cups, Honeydukes wrappers, and restricted books, mostly on animagi and map making.
The four of them were there now, lounging around. James and Peter were diligently doing their homework. Peter was poring over a Charms essay, while James researched dueling for Defense. Remus, however, was absentmindedly studying the Marauder's Map, while Sirius lounged on the couch and puffed at a cigarette.
Muggle cigarettes and Wizarding cigarettes were both addictive, but Wizarding cigarettes packed a punch of magic behind them as well. Some of them carried charms so that the smoke smelled like the roaring sea or a grassy Scottish meadow. The more expensive ones were infused with felix felicis.
Sirius, however, currently had a plain old Muggle cigarette, and as he smoked, he wondered what exactly had happened to Marlene's brother. Manning Mckinnon, though he was a year older than Marlene, was frequently mistaken as her twin. He was everything that she was not: a Ravenclaw prefect with a wide, easy smile and kind, light eyes. He had a particular affinity for Charms that could give Peter a run for his money, and Sirius could not shake the idea that he was not where everyone said he was.
"Prongs," Sirius said, "d'you know where Marlene's brother is?"
Peter looked up curiously from his work, shaken out of his reverie. He shot Sirius a wondering glance.
"Which one?" James responded, distracted, still jotting down good defensive spells.
"Manning. He's supposed to be in his seventh year, no?"
"Marls says he's in Japan, studying Charm theory or something. Why'd you ask?"
"Greta Catchlove asked after him, and Marlene didn't seem too happy about it."
"Marls and Manning are really close. I don't think she'd be jumping for joy that he's halfway across the world. Plus, I reckon having all her brothers away from home isn't exactly a cakewalk."
He pondered on that for a while and took a drag.
"No," he said at last, "I suppose it wouldn't be."
(And for a moment, he was not thinking of Marlene's brother, but another brother. One who was dark haired, sickly pale, and dressed in green.)
"What's with the sudden curiosity in the Mckinnons?" Remus asked, a glib smile on his face.
"I just wasn't sure her brother went to Japan, is all," Sirius said dismissively.
"You heard her say it yourself," Peter added.
"She just seemed very...downtrodden."
James raised a brow and looked up from his work, "And you suddenly care about Marlene now?"
"What? I thought we liked Marlene?"
"We do," James agreed, "she's my mate, but you've never cared for her that much."
"We're friendly."
Peter half scoffed half laughed, and Sirius gave him an inquisitive glance. "What?"
Peter bit his lip, then answered,"For a few years, I was certain that you hated her."
"I did too," Remus agreed.
"What are you two on about? I get along with her better than Macdonald or Evans. We joke sometimes. We play Quidditch just fine, don't we?"
"Yeah, but you can be a little cold to her, mate," Remus nudged gently.
Sirius frowned and took a long drag from his cigarette. Finally, "Well. I figure she's alright."
"She is," James said at last.
And that was that. The boys resumed their tasks, and Remus conjured up a kettle of tea, still hot. They entered a well-practiced silence between the four. And they carried on like that for a while.
"Prongs," Peter started, "you holding quidditch trials next week?"
James grinned, "Sure. Only if you promise you're going to announce this year. You were hilarious when you subbed in for Toots that last match."
"No promises," Peter responded, "but I talked to McGonagall about it, and she said as long as I didn't swear more than five times about the Slytherins, I'd be in."
"That can't be too hard," Remus said, pouring the four of them cups of tea.
"It is," the other three chimed. They looked at each other simultaneously, and all burst out laughing. Their laughter carried throughout the passageway, their own secret place.
Remus handed them their cups of tea. It was a bit of an unusual sight: four of the most notorious boys in the school, hiding out in a secret passageway, sipping from delicate, pink tea cups that Mrs. Potter had sent with James in his trunk a few years back.
"Cheers," Remus said, holding up his cup to clink.
"To what?" Peter asked, but held up his cup dutifully.
"To the wonderful prank I've been planning out while you two did your schoolwork."
"I'll cheers to that," James said with a grin, and Sirius, too, held up his cup with a pensieve, amused look about him.
They sipped their tea, and Peter pointed out that they had already had one detention in the school year, and two in the first week just seemed to be pushing it.
"You'd only get detention if you got caught," Remus noted.
"And will we get caught?"
"Well, it's a fifty-fifty chance. Most likely."
"Brilliant," James said.
And they clinked their cups again.
XXX
While the boys were in their passageway, someone else was in their dormitory. It was a surprisingly organized chaos. Robes were hung up on conjured hooks, trunks lay open at the foot of beds, revealing folded jumpers and trousers, and even the ashtray on the window sill had been cleaned out. Quidditch posters, Muggle girls on bikes, and photos of the four gathered on the walls, but the beds were made.
The two intruders, a boy and a girl, quickly examined and scanned the room. The boy accidentally knocked over a cauldron, and the clang that followed caused their hearts to beat erratically. When no one came in, they put the cauldron back and continued with their task.
"What are we looking for?" the boy asked, a mere whisper.
"Anything related to his father," the girl answered, and nodded to James Potter's trunk. Their hands dug through the clothing, the Quidditch kit, the textbooks, until they stumbled across a bundle of letters. The first letter on the stack was from Fleamont Potter.
The boy raised his brows, "Could it be that easy?"
The girl, in return, shot him an exasperated look, "It's never that easy."
XXX
The first wisps of dawn streamed in through the vast windows of the Great Hall. Only a few students sat at their respective house tables, and they were scattered throughout the large room. At the Gryffindor table, there were only three.
Marlene Mckinnon had folded her robe neatly on the bench beside her. She shook out the latest copy of the Prophet and stroked the feathers of her Great Horned Owl, who was pecking at a sausage. She shooed him back to the Owlery and began to stir her morning cup of Earl Grey.
Sirius Black sat down across from her. And then there were four. She set down the Prophet to glance at him.
"Morning," she said, unsure.
"Morning," he replied, and his voice dripped with drowsiness.
"You're up rather early," she commented and brought the Prophet back up to read.
"Never slept," he said.
She raised a brow, "Can I expect a brilliant Marauders prank during the day?"
"Possibly," he grinned, "what're you doing up so early?"
"Vaslav woke me up."
"Mary's cat, right?"
She almost chuckled, but pursed her lips, "Something like that."
She sipped at her tea, and Sirius poured himself a cup of Earl Grey.
"Any good news?" Sirius asked, nodding his head to the paper.
"Good? No," she said, flipping a page, "interesting? Perhaps."
"Any interesting pieces you care to share?"
Her brow furrowed from behind the paper, and she set the Prophet down on the table, "D'you want something, Sirius? Did James send you to look after me?"
He looked surprised, "Nothing like that, I thought we were mates, Mckinnon."
"Mates don't use surnames," she said precisely and pointedly.
"Alright, I'm sorry, Marlene, but have I done something to offend you?"
"You've never cared to get to know me. A bit weird to start now, don't you think?"
"Peter said that he thinks I'm cold to you."
"You can be," she said slowly.
"And if I am, I don't mean to be. You're probably one of the coolest girls in the year."
She rolled her eyes, "Don't be a tit, Sirius."
"Honest!"
A small smile played at the edge of her lips, and she took another sip of her tea.
"Minchum's put more Dementors in Azkaban," she said at last.
Sirius appeared confused.
"You asked for interesting pieces, didn't you?" Marlene said, and when he understood, he grinned.
"Wouldn't fancy a stretch in Azkaban now then," Sirius said, and he leaned back.
"Has anyone ever fancied a stretch in Azkaban?" Marlene asked, raising her brows.
He barked out a laugh, "Fair point."
She gifted him with a weak smile, and he grinned back easily, a winking twinkle in his eye. She wondered if this was how James learned to love Sirius: With brilliant mischief and good-intentions draped around him, illuminating him.
But she had been in too many Quidditch practices with him to know the unintentional cruelty that cloaked him as well. He would slam a bludger into anyone's ribs without a second glance if it meant a win for his own team. Though he was often catlike in his limber elegance (when he walked down the hallways, adjusting a bag on his shoulder, when he crossed his ankles and read in the common room), she had seen a predator quality in his eyes, reminiscent of a rabid dog. Gryffindor's crimson robes suited him well. He seemed built to wear blood.
In these moments of darkness, she remembered her brother, Maddox, when he was young. Not in his days of childish curiosity, but the dark days after he started speaking to the paintings and before she began. She remembered the particular cruelty he carried with him and its similarity in Sirius.
"You all right?" Sirius asked, his left hand reaching gently to touch her arm. Right before he did, he caught the all-too-familiar glimpse in Marlene's eye, seemed to think better of it, and drew back. He grew stiff and polite.
She looked curiously at him, "Brilliant, just tired is all."
His weak smile was an echo of hers just a few moments ago, "More tea, then? How'd you like it?"
She paused, scanning him. The moment of kinship had seemingly passed. What was left was a skeleton of formality. He must've recognized the way she looked at him. The grimace that flittered through her eyes as she remembered the saying she heard so often: Watch out for those Blacks, Gaolach. You might've been told that we're horrible, but they're made entirely of black maggots and demons. You never trust a Black. Not with your money, not with your friendship, and definitely not with your life.
She knew she should give him the benefit of the doubt. She knew that something about Sirius was different, but the words rang through her ears nonetheless. He must've known. He must've been used to it even.
Her next words were polite as well, "A splash of milk and a spoon of honey."
And they carried on in civility.
XXX
In the blackness of the Forbidden Forest, a solemn pair of students tread. The girl held a lantern in front of her, which did a dismal job of lighting the way for the two. Only a few paces behind, the boy shuffled with his arms crossed and a near pout on his face.
"There's no use in even trying," the boy grumbled, "if the seventh years couldn't do it then-"
"-Then what?" the girl snapped, "don't think you're smart enough to outwit blubbering Mulciber?" she challenged with a quirked brow.
"I didn't say that," the boy countered, and if possible, his pout increased.
"Lighten up," the girl said with a glance of a smile, "I'm brilliant, remember?"
The edges of his lips tucked up, but immediately disappeared when they heard a twig snap. The singular sound echoed in waves around them. It was not just a twig in their minds, not in this forest. It couldn't be a twig; it had to be bones, delicate wrist bones, leg bones, the curve of a spine.
Their breaths hitched in their throats, and their sweaty, clumsy hands instinctively reached for their wands. Back to back, the notches of their spines fitting in with the other's. Like magic. The boy closed his eyes and leaned his head back and listened.
"Do you hear that?" he whispered, and his words were met with a shake of a head.
"I don't hear anything," she said.
"Exactly."
Her eyes widened until they were as big as the Hogwarts plates. This forest, teeming with life, was Silent. They were being watched; there could be no other explanation. The girl's lantern went out with a gust of wind - but was it wind? Plunged in complete darkness, the girl frantically reached for the boy's hand and gripped it, squeezing the fingers until they were numb. She closed her eyes and let out a breath, slowly but surely. For a moment, she was almost prepared to die-
Laughter. Cackling laughter surrounded them on all sides, and then a circle of light surrounded her and her companion. She squinted up at the light source and discovered an entire circle of students, sitting high up in the trees, primly dressed, all bearing their lighted wands down on the two.
"Look at these scared sixth years. About to piss their pants," one of the boys, a leader, said, hopping down from a very tall branch with a practiced grace. He landed on his two feet and swaggered over to the pair. His hand stroked the girl's cheek and then patted it like he would a little child. The signet ring on his hand left a red mark on her left cheekbone.
"They think they can do better than we can," he bellowed to the other in the circle. Sneers and laughter. "And Mulciber," he said, addressing the large, lumbering figure sitting atop a tree, "how does it feel to be called 'blubbering'?"
The large figure dropped from his branch, and the thud that followed sent quivers up the girl's bones.
"Not particularly nice," he said, and when he stepped in the light, he bore a sadist's grin. Mulciber loomed over the girl, but she stood unwaveringly, even as he smirked down at her.
Another lithe figure dropped down from the branches. When she entered the lighted clearing, the others quieted. Her dark hair was pulled back from an elegant face in a tight bun. She wore refined robes with a high, dark neckline, and her signet ring, larger than any of the boys', glinted under the waning moonlight. She was the leader, and everyone knew it.
"Now, boys," she said with a slow, ruby smile, "you didn't even give them a chance to prove themselves. I'd hardly call that fair."
"They were scared shitless," the boy defended, "they wouldn't have gotten farther."
"They might have. We'll never know now, will we?"
The others in the circle were rendered speechless. There was almost a look of shame to their cruel faces.
The leader approached the pair, still trembling in the center. She smiled with an attempted kindness, but in the warped light and shadows, her face appeared monstrous in its beauty and falsities.
"A valiant effort, the pair of you," she said, though there was a laugh in her voice, "perhaps a better try next time."
"Next time?" the girl asked.
The leader raised a brow and gave her an apprehensive look, "But of course. We'll stop at nothing short of death to accomplish this task, won't we boys?"
Raucous cheers met her words.
"Perhaps we won't even stop short of death," she said with a twisted smile.
The girl found the boy's hand again. The most terrifying things in the forest were right in front of them. Madness bubbled in the circle's blood, and their leader was the most ruthless of all.
"Come along, boys," the leader said, and the shadows of figures dropped from the trees and began to follow the girl with the high necked robes. The pair began to do the same, but were stopped when the leader glanced at them with a wary look.
"Did you think you were going back with us?" she asked.
"Well, we can't very well spend the night in the forest," the boy scoffed.
"I believe you can," she responded with a small smile,"You still have a few hours to see to your task. I hope you do, and do it all in one piece. I'd hate to clean up after you."
She withdrew a port-key from the folds of her robes, and the circle disappeared. She almost laughed to see the gaping faces of the boy and the girl.
The night swooped onto their shocked expressions.
XXX
The St. Mungo's Healer bustled along in the white, crisp hallways. She hummed a tune as she walked along, but her eyes darted around her, ensuring that no one followed her. She nervously smoothed down the folds of her bright green Healer robes and passed smiles to fellow Healers and nurses alike.
At last, she entered a rather deserted hallway. With one last glance behind her, she pushed open the door to a room. Inside, two beds were nestled against a sterile wall. They were both made with navy blue blankets and hospital corners. A wind chime was hung up in a corner, and a light breeze caused it to sing out melodiously.
The Healer closed the door gently behind her and went to the wind chime. She tapped out the tune she had been humming, and then lay on the left bed. She closed her eyes, and she heard the wind chime speak in its soothing voice.
"Name, please?"
"Lisa Bonham," she said softly.
"You have been authorized to use this transportation. Thank you."
The bed caved in on itself, and she was transported into the very familiar hallway.
She dusted off a piece of lint from her robes, and only when she looked up did she let out a stomach-churning scream. From behind, a delicate hand clamped over Lisa's mouth, silencing her. The other snaked to wrap around Lisa's neck. The hand began to squeeze. She flailed, trying desperately to reach for her wand, but it clattered out of her robes. Her eyes were beginning to flutter, and all she could see was the wall in front of her. The wall, the terrifying wall.
Against the pure white canvas, written in sickly blood were the words: Abandon all hope those who come here. It dripped down, and the bloody ink carried a green sheen to it. It was splattered everywhere, puddles of this horrifying, unnatural liquid. At last, Lisa's strength began to wane, though she clutched desperately at her throat, hoping that she might live through this. She heard the horrifying sound, and she knew that her throat had collapsed.
The last thing she saw was a woman standing over her. Blood coated the bottom half of her face, turning what might have been a pretty face into something malicious and blood thirsty.
"For my daughter," she said resolutely, and as her crimson-covered footsteps walked out of the hallway, Lisa Bonham took one last, shuddering breath.
