hallowe'en pt... 3? maybe one more. one half more.
big. plot dump. i'm probably gonna make a post or something to clear up some details that have been revealed so far, if it's.. overly confusing. i mean if it's really confusing i ought to rewrite it to make it less confusing, first, so if it is... 'yknow. lemme know.
edit: i forgot he's not supposed to have a wand but he has one now. he just does.
7: a thousand armies won't stop me
The entire Slytherin table was staring at him as he entered the Great Hall.
..Well. Most of them were staring at him. The ones in his year who actually knew him. And Malfoy too, who had looked away just briefly to make a nasty face at someone behind Allen.
Probably Harry, because when Allen glanced back, Harry and Weasely were both making faces back at him.
"Hey," he said as he sat down.
"Hey." Malinda looked at him weirdly.
"...What?""
She made a meaningful headtilt at the Gryffindor table. He pretended not to know what she meant and shrugged in response with a bewildered look.
"Potter?" She said. When he still didn't show any sign of understanding, she continued. "Again?"
"What? What about him?" he said in a hushed tone. The Headmaster was giving a short speech, much like he'd done at the opening ceremony. "I'm not allowed to make friends with other Houses?"
"No." The answer came from Wynfor, who was sitting across from Allen.
Malfoy hadn't said anything, but Allen could tell what he was thinking thanks to the look on his face.
"Okay, look." He looked at the two of them in turn to make his point. "I'll say this one more time— I have no idea why you've all got this House rivalry thing going on, and frankly, I don't care much for it. Please leave me out of it?"
"You've never said that before," Wynfor pointed out.
"..Okay, I'll say it once and never again. I don't want to get caught up in all this!"
"'Fraid that's not possible, Mister Walker-Campbell," said someone else a few seats down. Allen vaguely recognized him as one of the Slytherin Quidditch team's reserve beaters, Amsel. He looked tired, too. "You've already signed the pact. You have to honor the laws of our people, and that includes instigating hostilities against all other Hogwarts Houses at every possible moment."
"The— the what. When did I sign anything?"
"..When you gave the password to enter the Common Rooms the other day. It's a verbal pact."
"He didn't," said the girl next to Amsel. Allen almost couldn't hear her, with how softly she'd spoken. "Malinda did."
"What?" Amsel blinked. "Oh. Never mind then, Walker-Campbell, you're fine."
"Please," Allen said, "just Walker."
"No he's not fine!" Wynfor insisted. "By entering the Common Rooms, he still indirectly—"
Before Wynfor could say anything else, the food materialized onto the tables as it always did. A slice of pie flew into his mouth and he almost choked on it.
"So noisy." Adler put her wand away and yawned. "Just eat, Wynfor. Who cares if he makes friends with centaurs or the Giant Squid in the lake."
"Why are you equating other Houses with quasi-sentient creatures on Hogwarts grounds?" Allen asked.
"Aren't we all just quasi-sentient creatures on Hogwarts grounds?" she replied, slopping down a pile of... it looked like creamed bogies.
Allen wasn't sure what to address first. Thankfully, their Head Girl had it covered.
"Nihilism is prohibited during Hallowe'en Feast," said Tapia. How she managed to hear them from the Seventh Year's end of the table, Allen would never know. "And before, and after, and for the two months following. Try the ants, Walker."
"Um.. sure." He reached over to get himself a small handful, then peered at them. "Chocolate-powdered?"
"Chocolate ants," Malinda said. "They're not real ants."
Allen chewed a few of them. Tasted rather real to him.
He helped himself to some of everything else after. A pumpkin pasty, a serving of ghoulish goulash (it gave off a very eerie fog-like steam that really set the mood), and some of that treacle tart Harry had recommended, dotted with cream and little pumpkin candy decorations.
He'd never celebrated Hallowe'en like this before. Rosa Croce wasn't a religious school, but being stationed in Vatican City as it were, they did observe Allhallowtide. Just.. not so much in the same way Hogwarts did Hallowe'en.
Theirs was a much more sombre affair, even amongst others who celebrated Allhallowtide. Rosa Croce was just that sort of school.
Spending this kind of day in such a light-hearted manner was... warming, to say the least. Allen felt like there was less of a weight on his shoulders. Still, he also felt like it was missing something, something that he and his friends did every year.
There weren't any graves they could visit, here. No beacons to light, no bells to toll. No Jerry to help with the baking of soul-cakes.
Just a lot of really odd-looking food to eat.
"Oh, Allen—" Malinda suddenly shook his elbow. "Don't eat so much. You've still got half of Honeyduke's waiting back at the dorms."
"..You left my candy in your dungeon?"
"Walker, mate, you make it sound so ominous," Glenmoor pitched in, muffled by a mouthful of mystery meat. "Like we're trying to lure you in there or something."
"Can you honestly swear on your soul, on pain of death, that you aren't trying to trick me into staying in the dorms with a food-slash-candy coma?"
"He makes us sound so devious," Glenmoor said to Malinda instead.
"We are," she pointed out. Then she turned back to Allen. "We're holding your candy hostage."
"No you're not," Allen said, smiling. "Not if you want me to pay you back for the rest of it, plus interest."
"Oi, you three," Tapia called out again. Goddamn how far could she hear? "What did you smuggle into the castle this time? I need to know so I can bail you out if Snape asks."
"Nothing!" Malinda says back, grinning. "Just Honeyduke's."
"Sweets?" Tapia makes some kind of sound that.. sounds contemplative. "What kinds?"
"Honeyduke's."
"..How much?"
Malinda says again, with all seriousness, but less smiling, "Honeyduke's."
Allen watched their exchange in silent for a moment, then caught Glenmoor avoiding eye-contact. He felt a momentary flicker of fear.
"...Malinda?" he began, tentatively. "Did you buy out the entire store?"
"If Slàine and I had that kind of money we'd be in de Flitt's Private Academie du Magic, or whatever linguistic monstrosity she's renamed herself to." She paused. "..Or we'd have bought Hogsmeade itself. Edelmira, are we allowed to buy villages?"
"Mister Filch's list of prohibited items does not include deeds relating to the purchase or ownership of properties, Wizarding or otherwise," the other girl replied. As she spoke, she held a goblet of pumpkin juice and swilled it the way Neah did his wine.
Which was to say, like a goblet of juice.
"..Unfortunately, there are items banned on the basis of being too valuable to have on school grounds. I'd say it's a safe bet that having enough to buy Hogsmeade would get you detention. And we'll take your money." Tapia downed the rest of the goblet's contents and then gestured for someone to get her a refill. It was quite impressive, actually. "Why would you want to buy Hogsmeade? There's no profit to be made there. Cannich, that's where you want to look."
"Canaich," Glenmoor corrected in a mutter.
"Canaich, thank you. Beautiful place. Brimming with energy, apparently. My aunt Gisela spent two weeks there last summer, went from being unable to tell apart Mandrakes from mangoes to brewing potions like you wouldn't believe. She swears it changed her. Uncle Lino's been trying to get a permit to study the place since then. Imagine being able to learn magic in a place like that."
"That sounds neat," Malinda mused. "Though you'd think something like that would've been found and documented by some witch or wizard already."
"That's why, Seymound." Tapia drank again. Allen had never seen their Head Girl so talkative before. Was it the pumpkin juice? Was that even pumpkin juice? "Pioneering research into places like that is where you'll get the most gold for your Galleon."
"Actually," said the girl next to Amsel again, just as quiet and even as before, "due to the falling rate of conversion to and from Muggle currency in recent years, some are starting to speculate that Galleons are being made with Fool's Gold—"
The upper end of the table erupted.
"..What are they talking about?" he asked Malinda, scooting closer to her and further away from... that. He never thought people would actually argue about how money was made. Nor that it could get that heated and terrifying. "Why are they like that."
"Seventh Years," she replied blithely while trying to push aside the peas in her ghoulish goulash. "I can't wait 'til it's my turn."
Allen tried to indicate Amsel and the girl next to him without outright pointing at them. "Those two aren't Seventh Years, are they?"
"Zeze's dad works with goblins. She must have picked it up from there. Amsel... hangs out with her a lot, is my best guess."
They were discussing (arguing) things he hadn't considered before, and probably never would. If this was what Seventh Years learned, he wasn't sure he wanted to make it there. They looked just short of flinging food at each other!
Glenmoor also seemed to be uninterested in whatever mess was going on over there. "Do you learn about this sort of stuff in your school, Walker?"
"Learn what?" Allen said, helping himself to more goulash and pumpkin cookies while their upperclassmen were busy. "How to talk really loudly?"
"That's just a part of general incantation practice. I mean about... whatever they're talking about over there."
"You mean... Wizarding finances and stuff?" He chewed on a chunk of pumpkin thoughtfully. "..Not really, no. All of our classes tend to focus on.. magical theory and applications. Oh, and magic control, of course."
Glenmoor's nose scrunched up. "What, like.. basic control? Little kid stuff?"
"There's adults out there who can't properly control their magic," Allen pointed out. "That makes it more than just little kid stuff."
"..Isn't that just an idiot with no talent?"
Malinda smacked him on the shoulder. "Slàine!"
"What?" Glenmoor shot back, then grimaced and grabbed a napkin to wipe his arm. "Ew, you got potatoes all over me!"
Allen watched them with a small smile.
/ / / / /
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Eventually, the Seventh years (and co.) came to some agreement and settled down. The castle ghosts surprised them by slinking up from the tables and out of the walls to do a little dance. Or as they called it, formation gliding.
Allen talked about how usually he and the other students at Rosa Croce would be visiting graves around this time, as they didn't celebrate Hallowe'en in quite the same way. That was probably what they were doing, or would be doing soon.
It was a slight change in his holiday routine, but he didn't mind too much. This was about how much he generally ate during the autumn months back in Vatican City, just on a more daily basis. Once winter started, the vines that made up his left arm would go into a period of dormancy due to the cold weather and his appetite would... well. Go to back to normal, so to speak.
Lavi made fun of it a lot, but even he had to admit it was a good indicator of when the temperatures would start dropping more sharply. Time for the instructors to go about touching up the charms set up around the institute to keep it cozy. He noticed that was only something found in in places like the Common Rooms and the Great Hall here at Hogwarts, probably because the castle itself was just... too big.
Wearing multiple layers really took a lot of getting used to.
"I hate leaving the Great Hall," Malinda muttered. "You can tell the Head Students and Prefects try to keep us in line but there's always those few who just— ow! Stop pushing!"
"Sorry," muttered the person behind her. It sounded suspiciously like one of Malfoy's lackeys. Probably Crabbe.
Because a moment later, they also heard Malfoy hissing, "Can't you watch where you're going, Crabbe?"
"Boys," she muttered. Glenmoor coughed but otherwise remained wisely silent.
"It looks a lot more crowded today," Allen noted.
"Probably because everyone's especially stuffed full and slower than slugs!"
Someone made a sound like a dying cow.
"What was that supposed to be?" was asked quietly from that same direction.
"..The sound of a slug."
"That was awful."
"You give it a go, then!"
"Uuugghhh," Malinda groaned under the onslaught of squelchy sounding growls and someone who seemed to have howled for no reason at all. Allen tried not to laugh.
"Hey!" She grabbed his arm as he was trying to squeeze his way out to the side of the crowd. "Where do you think you're going?"
Allen blinked and pointed to the rapidly approaching split in the hallway. "...To my room?"
"We still have your candy!"
"Yeah, okay. And? What's the rush?''
"Yyyooouu still have my money."
"Ah, but see, that money isn't with me." Allen flashed a smile. "And I need to return to my room anyway if I want to get it, so why don't I just pay you and pick up the sweets.. say, tomorrow?"
Malinda pretended to think for a moment. "..I'm gonna have to add daily interest to it."
"You're trying to wring me dry is what you're trying to do."
"The rich feed the poor! With all that money you gave us for candy, any Pure-blood would be considered poor."
"Oh." Allen made a mental note to himself to stop asking his uncle for so much money.
Where did Neah even get it all? He wasn't exactly employed, in any normal sense. He did know that Neah and Cross had done some writing or other a while back, but books couldn't possibly pay that much, could it? They weren't even all that popular.
"I don't feed anyone," Glenmoor said with a sniff.
"Well you're not exactly rich, either."
Glenmoor's mouth opened and closed several times, but in the end, he settled for staying silent and sulking off to the side.
"Not all Pure-bloods are rich," Malinda whispered. "But enough of them are that everyone likes to pretend they are, too."
"...Then what about you?"
"Me? I'm Half-blood. I wasn't raised like that. Well, granddad tried, but no one listened to him, seeing as he married a Half-blood himself. Not sure if he knew she was, at the time. He's always got ways to avoid the topics every time we make a point of asking him..."
"Why is it such a big deal?" Allen asked. He'd been meaning to ask it a while now. "I know Pure-bloods are rare, but I've never seen anyone make that big a fuss about what sort of parents you had."
Malinda looked at him like he'd sprouted another head. Or maybe that was Neah behind him. He turned around to check.
Nope. Not Neah.
"It's... Well. It's not a thing, really, more like..." Malinda made a vague handmotion and shrugged like she wasn't sure what to say. "Slytherins tend to be more uppity about it than others. But you'll find people like that anywhere, too... It's sort of a status thing? Pure-blood means old blood, and old blood is generally, well. Better off. So they think they're better than others. Old blood means old names, old inheritance, old property. Houses and assets passed down the family over time until it builds up. Isn't your uncle the same? That's where all your money's from, isn't it?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"..You've never wondered?"
"Nah," he said, shrugging. "It was never a big deal."
"How is that not a—" Malinda dragged her hands down her face. "Allen bloody Walker, you.. ugh."
"Haha. I can't say much about him, 'cuz that'd be rude of me, and also I really don't know about his past," Allen said when she didn't continue. "But my dad never talked about stuff like that. Cross... didn't, either. And the rest of us at the school were.. more or less orphans, or adopted— or both, like me. The professors never really talked about things like.. blood-status, so.."
"...So does that mean you don't have a—"
Something like a silver cloud of smoke flashed between them, darting down the halls— or flying, rather. It was shaped a bit like a large bird.
"That's.. where your room is, isn't it, Allen?" Malinda pointed out. Glenmoor was drifting over, trying to see what they were looking at. "I mean. Your quarters. Dorm?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Well, there's a lot of things down that hall, but... my quarters are definitely one of those things."
"Was that a Patronus?" Glenmoor asked.
"A what?"
"Oh my God," Malinda groaned. "What are they teaching you down there?"
"Practical magic," Allen said dully. None of this.. Runes and Astronomy stuff. "What's a Patronus?"
"Charm. For warding off..." Glenmoor's voice dropped. "..Dementors."
They shared a look with each other.
"...You don't think...?"
"No!" Malinda shoved them out of the crowd finally, because it was starting to go backwards for some reason. She looked around to make sure they hadn't been heard. "Impossible. Dementors aren't even allowed on school grounds. There's no way they could make it into the castle."
"How d'you explain that Patronus, then?" Glenmoor pointed down the hallway where the silvery light had gone. "And what's it doing down here?"
"Can it be used against people?" Allen asked. His hands suddenly felt cold, even the one that was made of roots and vines. "To attack people?"
"It... that..." Malinda's lips thinned. "I don't know that anyone's ever tried... Allen?"
He didn't answer her. Instead, he turned and sprinted after the lingering trail that glittered like the stars in the night sky, barely visible under the torchlight.
It felt like that night again, that cold, snowy night. The moment of ringing silence that followed the crash of the carriage, when it seemed the world had forgotten to breathe. When he had floundered through the snow that reached his small knees.
It wasn't the sounds of shouting or fighting that had him worried. It was the silence. It was the fear that everything was already over, that he was too late and there was nothing he could do.
The blood pounding in his ears was better than seeing it on the ground. The burning of his lungs was better than a motionless body lying in front of him. His hand gripped his wand too tightly, but it was better than seeing Mana's hand lying in the snow under the debris, far too limp and far too pale.
Just ahead, the door at the end of the hall swung open. He held his wand up reflexively, like they were all taught to in Defensive courses.
It flew out of his hand before he could even blink.
Behind him, he could hear Malinda and Glenmoor's muffled surprise, and he could hear the sound of his wand bounce of the wall with a whirl. It fell to the ground with a soft clatter that almost echoed in his ears. Nothing followed the Disarming Charm, because they had already made eye-contact.
"...Ma—" The name died a cold, hoarse death in his throat.
It felt horribly familiar, staring at the tip of Neah's wand. And the look on Neah's face, slightly grimaced, slightly twisted, was familiar too.
Someone screamed. His left arm burned, and his vision went black.
"Wake up... Neah, wake up."
"M'not.." He muttered, rubbing his eyes. "..M'not Neah."
He blinked, blearily. Mana looked almost disappointed, but it was replaced with a wide smile.
"Oh. Well, wake up, Allen! You sleepyhead, you'll catch a cold if you nod off out here. Neah used to do that all the time.. I'd have to wake him up every time then, too."
Allen sat up. The soil was cool and dry between his fingers, mixed with straw and bristly grass and weeds. He looked around.
The wheat field stretched for what seemed like miles, hills of green-gold, tinged amber with the setting sun. Like a field of fire.
Mana picked him up easily, even though he was almost 5 now. He was just small for his age, Mana would say. Nothing more.
Maybe Mana was just big.
"Who's Neah?" Allen asked, like he did every time Mana called him that. It sounded like the name of a friend. Someone very close.
"Someone very dear to me," Mana said. It was the same answer he gave every time Allen asked. "I miss him very much. And you remind me of him so much, Allen."
"Hope you find 'im soon," Allen said, sleep-slurred. Just like always.
This time, Mana said, quietly, "He died a long time ago."
Oh.
"Oh."
Allen couldn't think of anything else to say, so he hugged Mana's shoulder and tried not to fall asleep right away. He looked behind them as Mana went back to the manor, watching the withered tree he'd been sleeping against grow smaller and smaller.
The breeze blew past, bringing with it a fresh breath of air and sending ripples through the field. Shimmering waves of gold.
"Don't fall sle̦͈̙͎ëp yet, Al͎͋ͅlĕ͓̺͓̳n," he heard Mana say, but the words were growing faint and muffled. Like there was cotton stuffed into his ears. "Yo͛u'r̎e͕̟ͨ̆͌ ẗoö́ͬ̂ͦ b̗͍͂̕ig͑ a͔nḑ̬̮̒ͯ̚ heå̩̘͑ͮv́ͮ̀y̍ f̶̺or̴̆̓̊̚ t̼h̊̄̄̚isͨ oͬld͂ͮ m̼aͨn̰̞̹ tͩ͋o͘ p̣͇ͦut ť͏͈oͭ͊̍̓ b̭̆͊ed͒͑̂ͮ̆ nowͯͧͣ.̸̱͂͊̐"
"M'not..."
His own voice sounded distant, too. like it was echoing. They were in the foyer now, dark and clouded and musty. Everything seemed to echo here, even Mana's footsteps.
A giggle came from the side, and that echoed too. There were some kids in the living room. A boy his age, scraggly and rough; another, older, cleaner, but in a way that seemed like he wasn't very comfortable with it; and a girl. A girl.. he couldn't remember.
The candy in her hands looked faded and old, and smelled of dust.
"...len... Allen!"
It was still dark when he finally became aware of it again.
"..D'you think he can hear us?" That sounded like Malinda, though he'd never heard her that worried before. "Allen? Allen, are you... can you hear us?"
"Say something, Walker. Or, I dunno, wiggle a toe. Or your head. A finger!"
Allen tried to wiggle his fingers. He couldn't feel anything moving and there was no response that they'd seen it.
He tried again with his left hand. It felt extremely weird this time, but the darkness got... not so dark.
"-Oh!"
Then he realized that the darkness was actually his arm's Gummy Ficus tendrils layered in front of him to the point of blocking out the light, and that it was slowly drawing back.
Which also meant—
"Merlin, Walker," Glenmoor said wheezily. Allen was still blinking away at the sudden change in lighting. "You never said your arm was a tree."
"Technically," Malinda said weakly, "Gummy Ficuses aren't trees."
"Ma- Neah," Allen managed to say before they got into another argument. "My uncle. I saw... What happened?"
"Um.. well, you ran down here all of a sudden. You were white as a ghost, Allen. By the time we got here, I.. I guess your uncle accidentally disarmed you." She fidgeted with her hands and then motioned towards the inside of the room.
"Hey," Neah said quietly. He was still standing where Allen remembered seeing him before everything went... black.
Or, well, before his arm decided to suddenly explode.
"Hey," he said back. "Um.. what happened?"
"Well," Neah began, shifting a small jar with a flame in it into the crook of his other arm, as though to hide it from view. "I overreacted and disarmed you on instinct, like the Missus said. Then... I suppose either you or your arm thought I was a threat, so it..."
Neah mimed a firework going off with his hand.
"It was almost wrapped all around you, Walker," Glenmoor added. He looked calm, but from the way he kept looking around and glancing at Allen's arm, it was likely just a front. "Blocked the hall and everything. Mister Campbell said not to touch anything and to just let you.. or it. Let it calm down on its own."
Allen wiggled the fingers of his left hand again. It never felt like it did with his right hand, but he still had the sensation of something moving and twitching. Right now, the tendrils hadn't quite reorganized themselves into a solid arm shape yet. That would require manually shaping them.
He would just have to deal with a mass of twisted plant matter until then.
Neah's shoes entered his vision, so he peered up at his uncle.
"Didn't want to set your arm off, so I stayed back a bit," Neah said. Allen nodded shortly. He wondered if Neah had heard him almost call him Mana. "What are you three doing here?"
"There was a.. light thing," Allen said. "A Patronus? It went down the hall this way, so we followed it. I thought.. I thought something had gone after you."
Neah's had a weird sort of smile that didn't quite sit right on his face. It was fond, something Allen had seen often enough, but also... kind of. Well.
Hm.
"Dumbledore used it to send a message," his uncle said, gesturing behind him. "It's gone now."
"I didn't know you could use a Patronus to send messages.." Malinda muttered.
"Speaking of messages— I don't mean to alarm all of you, but Dumbledore sent warning that Sirius Black managed to get into Hogwarts. No screaming," Neah said pointedly, holding a finger up at both Malinda and Glenmoor the moment their mouths opened. They took a few deep breaths, and he continued once it seemed like they'd calmed down a little. "We'll be heading to the Great Hall. Once we're there, you will report to your House Heads, and you will stay there. Allen, you know what to do?"
"Yeah," Allen said breathlessly. His mind was still churning from... whatever it was he had seen earlier. Did he black out? He wasn't sure. "...Yeah. I'll be quick."
"He's not coming with us?" Glenmoor cut in.
"He will," Neah assured. "But he has a few things to gather up. I can't let either of you head on out alone, so you'll have to bear with waiting a few minutes."
Malinda nodded and grabbed Glenmoor's arm, even though it didn't look like he was going to dart off anyway. "It's fine. We'll wait."
Glenmoor pulled them both further into the room and gave Allen a meaningful look, tipping his head in Malinda's direction as discreetly as he could. It seemed she was more than a little shaken by what had happened. Or what was happening.
"I'll be quick," Allen told his uncle again.
Neah beckoned at the two of them. "You two, come in more. I'll keep the door secure until Allen's done."
"Um, is there a way to send a message back?" Malinda asked. Allen saw her hovering around the couch when he reached the foot of the stairs. "Our Head Girl and Boy might worry."
"If any of you know how to send a Patronus with a message, feel free. I can't cast one."
"Oh." She didn't question it further.
"..I can Charm a letter, perhaps. Ah, but writing is..."
Allen went to his room and dug out a small satchel that had been prepared ahead of time. Inside was an enchanted silver pin, taken from his Rosa Croce uniform and strung on a necklace, and a set of red juggling balls.
He shoved the satchel into his book bag and brought them both with him downstairs. The necklace he put on right away, tucking it out of sight under his vest.
"..You're gonna do homework?" Glenmoor asked in mild disbelief. He and Malinda were sitting on the edge of the couch. "This is Sirius Black we're talking about here. Surely the professors will excuse us for one day at least."
"Well if they do, then that's great." Allen shrugged. "If they don't, I'll have it done."
Glenmoor didn't say anything for a while. Then he muttered under his breath. "Wonder if there's time to grab my bag..."
"No can do, bambini." Neah was at the dining table, but instead of sitting down he had one arm leaning against the back of a chair, holding his wand, and the other one carrying the jar with the still flickering flame. "It's off to the Great Hall with you three. No time for detours. I can't possibly keep all three of you safe on my own if you scurry about."
Malinda let out a smaller whimper. "Is it that bad?"
"There's a mass murderer running loose around the castle! One that isn't—"
"Uncle."
"..." Neah cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "There's a mass murderer in the castle, Miss Seymound. I believe that alone is enough to convey how bad it is."
She gave a small nod, but didn't say anything else. Neah brought up the jar he'd been holding, flame still lit.
"We're heading off, Marian. Allen's safe, as you've heard."
There was a grunt that Allen definitely recognized as Cross.
"You alright, kid?"
"Um... yeah," Allen replied. He still felt... off. "More or less."
"Okay. Call me back you can. You too, Campbell."
"Will try," Neah said before Allen could even process the thought of Cross actively wanting to talk to him. "Ciao!"
"What do you mean try—"
Neah snuffed out the flame with his wand and tucked the bottle away inside his robes. He took out the Foe-glass monocle and settled it over his left eye, attaching the chain to a clasp on his ear.
"Ready, you three?"
Allen shared a look with his classmates, who were decidedly confused by what had just happened, but they didn't protest.
"Yeah," he said.
Neah's smile was grim and tight. With a flick of his wand, the warding spells that had been set up were dispelled, and the door opened.
They followed him out.
"I have Mister Glenmoor and Miss Seymound here," Neah said as they approached the doors to the Great Hall. Pomona was on guard a ways away from the entrance. "And my nephew. They're all fine."
She squinted at him briefly, then at the kids.
"Glad to see you all safe and sound. Go on in, then. We've placed a number of protective Charms and wards ahead, so it might feel a little fuzzy," Pomona said. She looking at Neah meaningfully. "Albus asked to see you once you got here."
"He's inside?" Neah asked. He ushered the kids to the door.
"Not anymore," she replied, shaking her head. "He's gone back to his office after sending the rest of the staff out to sear—"
Seymound and Allen both let out a yelp.
Neah lifted his wand immediately out of reflex, but lowered it when he found out why they were so surprised.
"Your hair!" Seymound squeaked, pointing at Glenmoor, whose hair had gone from black to sandy blond. She turned around and then did the same to Allen. "And yours!"
"What- Oh my God, Walker, you're—"
"Oh no," Allen groaned, grabbing handfuls of his hair. It was no longer eggshell white. "Uncllleee.."
Neah looked between Pomona and his nephew. "Can I fix his hair?"
"There's another round of Charms at the door," she said. Her badly hidden smile was both apologetic and trying hard not to laugh. "And inside. I don't think Albus will make them stay longer than one night, but if they have to leave the Hall for any reason, I reckon any small amount of Transfiguration will be undone every time."
"Hmmm." Neah twirled his wand idly. "Did you hear that, Allen? You'll have to Transfigure it yourself for tonight."
"Last time I tried, I looked like a half-ripened tomato..."
Glenmoor had his arms crossed, but he still managed to give Allen a shoulder-bump. "I dunno about whatever egg custard color that was you had— ("Yours is egg custard.") —but I can definitely do old man white if you need help."
Glenmoor finished it off with a devilish grin. Which, given the sandy blond hair, made him look much more like Malfoy than either of them were comfortable with. Allen made an face not unlike that of a particularly affronted Hippogriff.
He turned to Neah again. "Uncle..."
Neah shrugged helplessly. His nephew let out a grumble.
"Don't forget, Neah," Pomona called out softly after them as they entered the hall. "Albus!"
Neah gave her a salute without turning back.
She was right about the fuzzy feeling. He felt the Illusion Charm on his left eye fizzle away, but luckily most of the scarring was hidden by the monocle. Allen was the only one who noticed and peeked over curiously.
He looked away when Neah gave him a little smile.
"Allen, Slàine and I have something to take care of first," Malinda said. Neah noticed that Severus and Minerva were still here, looking in their direction and seemingly waiting for them to come over. "We'll find you in the Slytherin section after?"
"I'd rather not end up wandering into a sleeping bag next to some other House," Allen muttered. "Or next to Malfoy."
They all looked the same. Squashy and purple. And there didn't seem to be any immediate distinction on which House had which area.
Malinda looked at Glenmoor, who shrugged. "S'fine."
"I'm going to see what the Headmaster wants, then," Neah said to his nephew. "Did you want to try calling Marian tonight?"
"Is Cross even capable of keeping his voice down? Because I'm going to be surrounded by people and I don't want questions."
Neah thought about it. "...I think—"
"Actually please don't answer that!" Allen added hastily, holding his hands up and looking... more frightened of the answer than of the fact that a mass murderer was in the castle. "I already know for a fact that he can't. I'll just— I'll talk to him later this week. Tomorrow?"
"I'm sure he'd love that, Allen." Neah laughed at the face Allen made. He also made a note to yell at Marian for not having more discretion about keeping his voice down where Allen could hear. "Ciao. I'll be back soon, hopefully."
"Mrmpgh... ciao."
Neah had another look around the hall, stopping at places where he could make out the thin, warped veil of magic indicating a layer of protective Charms. There were students standing watch, some of whom he recognized as Prefects, and others being the Head Boys and Girls.
If not for the few teachers near the hall entrances and the ghosts hovering about, he'd think this room to be poorly guarded.
"Campbell."
Neah turned in the direction of that curt address. "...Severus."
The Potions professor did not look all too pleased to see him. His upper lip twitched, but did not curl as Neah had seen it do often enough. "Well, what are you waiting for? The Headmaster wished to see you."
"So I was told." Neah glanced briefly at Allen and the other two as they walked by and joined the rest of the students, digging around for the last few sleeping bags. Glenmoor looked less uncomfortable now, and his hair was black again. "Did you stay behind to escort me there?"
"Of course not." Severus did sneer then. "As Head of Slytherin, it is my duty to make sure all my students are accounted for. Thanks to your nephew, however..."
"Yes, let's all blame the boy for being worried about my well-being!" Neah clapped the man on the shoulder cheerily, making him stumble a step in surprise. He headed for the nearest door. "Come come, Severus. Best not to keep the Headmaster waiting."
In hindsight, it was probably not a good idea to use casual antics as a method of deflection with someone like Severus Snape.
Then again, in hindsight, Neah was... Not very good at hindsight.
"Can you show it to us later?"
"Okay, fine, later!" Allen hissed. He looked around to see if anyone was trying to eavesdrop, or if one of the Prefects was going to come swooping down on them again for talking. They'd already made a commotion when some of the students kept remarking on his hair when they should've been sleeping. "After I get it fixed up."
"What do you mean fixed up?" Glenmoor was practically bouncing in place, despite that fact that he was lying down and half-asleep.
Allen pulled his sleeve back just enough to show the fan of roots he'd been hiding until then. "Does this look anything like a hand to you?"
"No." Glenmoor wasn't wearing his glasses and thus probably couldn't even see Allen's face clearly, let alone his hand. "Is it supposed to?"
"Well, yes. You've noticed I don't walk around with a tree hanging out of my shoulder."
"Usually."
"Not a tree," Malinda muttered from Glenmoor's other side. She sounded sleepy. "Para... paras'tic shrub... creep'r vines."
"It's attached to my arm, Malinda. I think I'd know what it was."
She let out a grumbly whine at being contradicted, and promptly fell asleep.
"I actually have no idea what it is," he confided once he was sure Malinda was asleep. "It's, like.. part tree, part shrub, part creature-eating-hell-vines."
Glenmoor looked only mildly alarmed.
"I eat a lot to satisfy its whims," Allen said. "And to keep it from turning me or anyone else into a prune."
"You're doing the world a great service, Walker."
Allen pulled the sleeve over his hand and buried his arm back inside the sleeping bag, out of sight. It turned out they weren't given any time before lights out, so his book bag was sitting between him and Glenmoor for safekeeping. And with everyone being asleep, that satchel he'd brought along might be unnecessary after all.
He still felt better with the rose cross pendant around his neck, though. It was one of the few things he didn't mind bringing with him from Rosa Croce. It made him feel a bit safer.
"Hey, Walker," Glenmoor whispered, just as Allen was getting himself settled down to finally sleep. "D'you have a grandfather?"
"Hm?" he replied sleepily.
"There was a guy at Hogsmeade. Kinda big, bit bulky... had a huge hat. Said he was looking for you." Glenmoor was watching him. He was very observant, Allen had learned. "Said he was your grandfather."
Allen felt his mouth dry up.
"..Did he look kind of like my uncle?"
"Um. Not really. He had... short hair I think. Stubbly." Glenmoor made a square-shape with his hand around his chin. "Really.. looked like some kind of strongman. Y'know. Big."
An image came to mind. It was a memory of the manor he lived in with Mana, of one of the grander rooms that no one was allowed into for any length of time alone, especially not him or the other kids. A room full of paintings and pictures, like a family tree, but not quite.
One of the family portraits had a man like that. A big man, with a beard and a mustache.
But that man was—
"No idea," he said. "Besides, didn't you guys say the Campbells were dead?"
"Your uncle is pretty not dead, mate." Glenmoor shuffled a little closer, lowering his voice even more. "Maybe they went into hiding and faked their own deaths. That's why your uncle's still alive. And that explains your dad being around to, y'know, adopt you. Maybe he really was your granddad. He even had a photo of you as a kid, red hair and all."
"That's creepy, seeing as I've never met a grandfather... ever."
"...Well when you say it like that, yeah." Glenmoor scooted back to his original place. He was quiet for another moment. "Maybe your uncle knows."
"Yeah," Allen said softly. He yawned as realistically as he could and tried to force himself to doze off. "Maybe."
The wide, shallow-bottomed basin hovered an inch above the Headmaster's desk. In it was some shimmering sort of non-liquid, clouded by a swirl of silver.
The silver, fog-like substance had risen out of the bowl and formed itself into a very familiar face. After a moment, it zoomed out to include the shoulders, the torso, and an abnormally tall top hat.
"Well?" Albus said, watching Neah as he circled around the desk to look at it from a different angle. "Do you recognize him?"
"Where did this come from?" Neah asked, gesturing to the figure rising from the bowl. "Is this a memory?"
"It is. Miss Tapia, Head Girl of Slytherin, came to Severus after the students returned from Hogsmeade. He, in turn, brought her to me. She and several others reported the presence of a man looking for one of their classmates." The headmaster looked at Neah over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Your nephew, in fact."
Neah removed the monocle and its clasp, squinting at the figure with both eyes. Then he looked over his shoulder where Severus was still standing, watching them both.
When he looked back, Albus was regarding him expectantly.
"Iscriva."
The tip of Neah's wand lit up. He used it to draw a pentacle in the air, leaving a lingering trail of pale violet light. Once finished, the parts that were starting to fade lit up again like a brand.
"His name is Adam Walker," Neah said. He pressed the tip of his own wand to his temple and drew out a thin, barely visible sliver of silver. "He... was... the main representative of the NOAHs Faction within the Vatican Ministry."
He tapped his wand to the center of the pentacle and murmured the spell under his breath, a slur of words that were less important than the non-verbal intent required to cast it. The silver mass of memories spread throughout the pentacle until it grew into the shape of a painting, just half the size of the original.
In that painting was the same man floating above Albus's Pensieve, and two children on either side of him, hands on their shoulders.
"After Mana and I lost our parents, he took us in," he said, with less fondness than one might expect.
Sometimes they called him father. Sometimes, Adam.
"Was, you say?"
"He's supposed to have died more than 30 years ago." Neah flicked his wand. The memory dispersed into smoke and eventually disappeared. He looked at the memory projection from the Pensieve again. "Whoever that man is, he's a filthy impostor. I'd rather he never come anywhere near my nephew, Headmaster."
"It is possible to place a ban on his trips to Hogsmeade, assuming that this impostor is of the persistent sort," Albus said, waving a hand over the projection. It sank down into the basin, and another wave caused it to levitate back into the cabinet it came from. "However, Cross Marian is Mister Walker's official guardian. Might I suggest the two of you have a chat, first?"
Oh. "Right. Of course."
"I hope that Mister Walker does not take this news too badly." The Headmaster sighed. "Now, Severus, I'd like you to join those searching the East Wing. Neah, if you would—"
"Happy to help, Albus."
"Good, good. I've heard you're quite capable of covering a large area on your own. In the event that Black has managed to escape from the castle, there would be only the Hogwarts grounds left to hide away in..."
The cat was truly a clever thing.
After he saw the last of the wand-lights go out from inside the castle windows, Sirius got up. He couldn't stay under the Whomping Willow forever.
But the cat sat itself down at the mouth of the hollow, refusing to budge.
Sirius tried to usher it off with a shoo, nudging at it with his foot. It only turned its squashy face to look at him like he was an idiot.
Well. Compared to a cat that could tell Animagi apart from normal animals, maybe he was a bit of an idiot.
Judging by the way its tail stood straight up like it had when he first met it, it was on the alert against something. Despite being able to turn into a hound, Sirius didn't have quite the same level of animal instincts.
But the cat was clever, so he trusted its judgment and settled down in the hollow again, waiting for whatever dangers to pass.
Not long after, the cat turned and went deeper down into the hollow. Sirius followed it until he could barely see the top of the castle through the opening.
A shadow passed by above, startling him. A Dementor? It couldn't be. They weren't allowed on Hogwarts grounds— that was the only reason why Sirius had been confident enough to sneak in and remain here as long as he had.
He feared the worst, but this shadow didn't hover above the ground, it flew. It circled above the tree like a cloud made of dust, black in color and strangely distinct. It didn't look like a Dementor. He'd never seen anything like it before.
Except... possibly..
"A Death Eater?" Sirius muttered once the shadow had gone. At his feet, the cat let out a mreow. He'd gotten too used to talking to himself. "Can't be. With Dumbledore in the castle, no Death Eater's stupid enough to—"
The cat hissed angrily before he could finish. Sirius didn't wonder why. He barely had time to stumble backwards and avoid toppling over when the dark cloud seemed to turn around and come right towards where he was hiding.
The Whomping Willow swung its branches— Sirius had no time to wonder if that would be of any use, because the cloud seemed to continue on unhindered, like water going through a sieve.
He imagined that, from the outside, it would've looked as though the cloud was being sucked into the tree's hollow.
It washed over him, feeling cold and oily, and like someone had set off a lightning bolt nearby. But after it passed, he felt no change in himself, indicating that it wasn't something Conjured, like a Patronus.
He whirled around, wand raised, expecting to meet someone in a black cloak and wearing one of those frighteningly gaudy masks.
What he saw instead was a cloud of ink in the shape of a man. A pair of eyes, shining bright white. In a moment he found himself shoved against the wall of the tunnel, a hand fisting the front of his robes, and the tip of a wand an inch from his nose.
He hadn't even seen it move.
When he blinked, the inky cloud vanished, and all that was left was a man with bedraggled hair and a black-glass monocle on his face. It was a testament to both of their abilities that Sirius still managed to get his wand hand between them in that brief amount of time, and that the man managed to stop his lunge before Sirius's wand gouged into his throat.
"House Black," the man hissed. It sounded like he had a rather personal sort of animosity with Sirius's family. Though it was probably fitting for someone who'd been wronged by You-Know-Who. Like himself. "Find what you were looking for?"
Sirius would've asked how he knew that, but at this point there wasn't anyone in the Wizarding world that didn't know about him. Or what they thought they knew about him.
"Sorry, have we met?" Sirius countered, just as hushed. Who knew how many others were wandering above ground looking for him right now. His only hope now was to look for an opening to blast this man away and escape into the forest.
The man tapped his wand against his monocle. The surface of the glass lit up with the outline of a crest that Sirius swore he'd seen before.
"House Campbell," he said in hoarse recognition.
It was a small and undistinguished house, not exactly known for any accomplishments or feats of magic. They called themselves Pure-bloods, and that had been enough to earn them a place on the Black Family Tree, however distant and unnoticed.
They were, however, among the first families to swear allegiance to the most notorious Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever known.
And they were supposed to be dead.
Yet here he was, the only son of Caterina Campbell, standing before Sirius with a murderous light in his eyes that screamed of anything but dead.
What fool, Sirius had thought earlier. What fool Death Eater would be stupid enough to show his face on Albus Dumbledore's front porch?
A Campbell might.
"Well?" the man said, wand trained onto Sirius's face once again. "No answer?"
He looked down. Sirius felt the press of fur and unbridled hissing rage against foot.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Sirius balked.
"Really?" he said, in a tone of breathless exasperation. "You're going to crack a joke right now? Like this?"
The man grinned. "Life is short. I have a sense of humor that's wasted on the world."
Sirius rolled his eyes and jabbed his wand into the man's throat, sending out a jet of red light.
i decided i wasn't satisfied just making up side-events while harry goes on his little adventure, so [heath ledger voice] why so SIRiuS
i promise there is a good explanation for how it happened. really.i don't know when i'll manage to get to explain it in a reasonable way, but there is one.
bambini: pl. of bambino, child / kid
iscriva: from iscrivere, to inscribe. commonly used in italy for more archaic, nonverbal magics. or to teach wand movements.
regarding the pentacle: i'm not sure if i'll be able to incorporate more of it in the future, but the pentacle in this case is part of the ritual tools for real world stregheria / the strega tradition, the others being the wand, cup, and blade.
