Chapter 11 – More Questions than Answers

"They told him 'Don't you ever come around here

Don't want to see your face, you better disappear.'"

Alex's face was red with exertion. The chill that swept across the frigid lawn - the grass of which was coated in snow – hardly registered through the warmth of his workout.

"The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear

So beat it, just beat it!"

He bounced up and down as the shrubs and trees rushed past, his arms straining as the dumbbells he clutched went up and down over his head. His legs and core worked furiously to stay balanced on the precarious seat upon which he was sat. He looked down at the golden-brown head of hair situated between his thighs, and the heavy gusts of misty breath blowing from a mouth that panted furiously.

"You better run, you better do what you can

Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man."

Alex pumped his arms, up then down, up then down. Scott continued running, barely slowed by the ninety-ish pounds of person perched upon his shoulders.

"You wanna be tough, better do what you can

So beat it, but you wanna be bad!"

Scott's shoulders were broad enough to accommodate him, though he didn't know whether his friend could withstand another lap of the lake. He hadn't had to support Scott on his shoulders once in all of their exercises, and Alex didn't envy his friend for continuing to do it now.

"Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it

No one wants to be defeated!

Showin' how funky and strong is your fight

It doesn't matter who's wrong or right

Just beat it."

Finally, Scott began to slow as they passed a large beech tree beside the lake, near the foot of the castle. He lowered himself carefully, allowing Alex to climb off. After Alex had alleviated some of the pressure, he pulled a large thermos from his backpack and began to drink greedily from it. Alex went and leaned against the beech tree, trying to catch his breath.

Scott came over after draining the last of the thermos, still breathing heavily. "I think that's all for today," he panted. "We'll head up for breakfast now. I think we're good for tomorrow."

"Are we going to do this tomorrow morning, too?"

Scott shook his head. "Nah, better to keep as much energy as we can for the afternoon," he said.

It was only two days before the Christmas holidays began, and both Scott and Alex had spent the past three weeks working at maintaining a healthy regime out exercise and eating. Scott had stressed the importance of focusing on 'concentric techniques', the explanations given thereof befuddling Alex. Regardless, they'd kept up their workouts, varying the practices on a day-to-day basis so as not to overwork certain areas of the body.

During their practicing, Scott had taken to levitating weights and flinging them at Alex, simulating the behaviour of a Bludger on the attack. He'd so far passed the tests by carrying the battered Beater's bat that Scott had had delivered from his home, reacting quickly to the heavy hunks of metal by smacking them away. They'd had a few close calls when Alex had deflected the weights back at Scott, who had been forced to dodge swiftly out of the way, narrowly avoiding losing several teeth.

In the weeks that had passed, Alex had noticed a slight change to both physiques – boy and girl. After being assured by Scott that the change hadn't been due to swelling from muscle strain, Alex had very excitedly proclaimed themself 'buff'. Scott had - quite unnecessarily, Alex thought - reminded them that an extra centimetre or two of muscle didn't exactly constitute ripped.

They were making their way back into the castle now, headed for the Great Hall to the right of the Entrance Hall. A thought had occurred to Alex that made him feel slightly anxious.

"Er, Scott?" he asked as they entered the hall, breathing in the myriad scents of eggs, toast, and sausages.

"Yeah?"

"Well, if I'm not a guy tomorrow, do you think it'll hurt my chances at all?"

They sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Ethan hadn't come down yet, though it was a weekend; he was likely sleeping in. Scott watched Alex for a while, a contemplative look on his face.

"You managed some pretty impressive exercises as a girl, mate," Scott assured him. "And there's been plenty of brilliant Beaters who've been girls. I mean, you've listened to the Holyhead Harpies play."

"I'm not Gwenog Jones," he mumbled anxiously.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Alex, this was your idea. Don't get cold feet now after we've made so much progress."

Alex didn't respond, instead poking moodily at his yoghurt.

Scott sighed. "You're still sure you don't have control over your Metamorphosing? Because if you're that worried, maybe you should... I dunno, grow yourself some giant biceps or summat."

He shook his head. "No, it just happens by itself. Sometimes I can guess when it's going to happen, but I can't force it to do what I want."

Scott hummed, his face showing that he was deep in thought. "Well, maybe you can get a read on what that means," he suggested. "And by read, I mean literally – in a book. We'll head up to the library next, see if we can't find a solution."

That was Scott's usual answer to understanding most things; read a book. Somehow, he doubted that the answers he needed were hidden in some old tome, but Scott liked to feel like he was making progress by doing something, so he wasn't about to decline.

As breakfast progressed, Ethan eventually joined them.

"Well, if it isn't the Two Stooges," Ethan observed. "Been enjoying your pain games?"

"There's Three Stooges," Scott pointed out. "Which makes you the third. What took you so long?"

Ethan rolled his eyes, grinning. "I was just checking up on Cyril. Making sure he's warm, but not too warm. I don't want to mess with his hibernation."

Ethan spent the rest of breakfast piling some of the least healthy foods onto his plate, which were coincidentally some of the most flavoursome. He tore into his breakfast with open relish, casting sly glances in their direction as he ate. Their food was fine, but Alex couldn't help missing some of the less healthy options Hogwarts provided.

As he had suspected, Alex found no solutions to the block he was facing regarding his Metamorphosing. The books that described the abilities of Metamorphmagi sometimes vaguely mentioned emotional stress and trauma interfering with the ability. These instances, however, normally mentioned that the ability to alter forms was inhibited entirely, rather than uncontrollable. They came to the conclusion that Metamorphosing had to be worked at as one grew, and that complete control wasn't expected until later in life. The issue with this conclusion was that Alex wasn't sure how one could go about working at their abilities in the first place. In the end, he left the library with more questions than answers, and no solution to the potential problems he might face at tryouts the following afternoon.

Scott awoke to his curtains being pulled back. The room was pitch black, but he could see Alex's blond hair through the darkness.

"We aren't doing our exercises this morning, Alex," Scott muttered sleepily. "Go back to sleep."

"Scott, I think it's going to happen," Alex's voice came through the darkness. He sounded panicked.

Scott squinted through the darkness up at the blond looming over him, and incanted, "Lumos." The wand on his bedside table lit up in response. His hornbeam wand had become so attuned to him that he didn't even need to touch his wand for some spells now. He sat up to look at Alex.

"You're sure?"

He nodded in response, his face wrought with worry. "I don't feel... male at the moment, or at least not fully. It's like an in between that I get sometimes."

Scott thought he could see what Alex was talking about. Upon closer inspection, Alex's hair seemed longer than it had before they'd gone to bed, and their face seemed softer.

"Er, what exactly do you want me to do about it?" Scott asked uncertainly.

"I don't know," Alex muttered. "I thought maybe if we did something masculine, I could... I dunno, ease it back a little?"

Scott glanced at his watch, which was beside his lit wand. Its hands indicated that it was a quarter past twelve.

"It's late, mate," Scott complained. "You've got all day tomorrow, surely it can wait?"

Alex sighed, crestfallen. When they'd returned to bed, and drawn the curtains back, Scott extinguished his wand with a whispered, "Nox." He felt guilty for denying his friend, but he really wasn't sure that Alex's solution was a good one. It sounded like procrastination, which he doubted would have the desired effects. He'd researched hypnosis and placebos, and he didn't think that was what Alex needed. If he was a she for the tryouts, it'd be better to get it done now, rather than have it be a problem when the actual Quidditch matches came around.

Besides, he really was tired.

The following morning confirmed Alex's fears, as she was now sporting long blonde hair, and was a few inches too small for her pyjamas, among other significant changes. She'd given Scott a frosty good morning that had matched the weather outside, but had maintained the diet that the two of them had been sticking to. Scott had repeatedly insisted that she had no need to worry, and that she'd perform perfectly. Even Ethan, who normally scorned their plans to join the Ravenclaw team, had joined in the assurances.

The three of them trooped down to the Quidditch Pitch at three thirty in the afternoon. As they entered the pitch, they saw a singular person sitting in the middle of the snowy field. Ethan turned to head up into the stands, but before he left, he turned back around to face Alex.

"Um... Good luck," he muttered, reaching forward with his spindly limbs and awkwardly hugging her.

"Thanks Ethan," she whispered.

"Where's my hug?" Scott teased, smirking.

Ethan moved towards him, his arms rising threateningly in a hugging motion. Scott sidestepped the attempted embrace, and strode onward to the centre of the pitch. Alex trailed behind him anxiously. Sitting on a fold out chair in the middle of the pitch was Ryland Valerian, a fifth year, and Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Up close, he looked weedier than he seemed during the match a few weeks prior. The rest of the pitch was entirely barren of life - the other prospective players hadn't arrived yet.

"We're a little early," Scott was murmuring. "That's good. Makes a good impression."

Valerian glanced up from a clipboard that he had clutched in his hand, taking them in briefly. "I'm assuming that you two are," he checked his clipboard, "Scott Carter and Alexis Wroxton?"

"That's us," Scott confirmed, grinning crookedly. "Before the others get here, would you like a sample of some of our flying?"

Alex gulped, and quickly gripped his hand nervously.

"No need," Valerian said flatly. "Congratulations. You're Ravenclaw's newest Beaters."

They blinked at him, and then glanced at each other, baffled. Scott wasn't entirely sure that he'd understood.

"I'm... I'm sorry, but did you say –" Alex began.

"You two are the only ones that put your names down in three weeks," Valerian interrupted. "You'll find your robes in the changing room, as well as your broomsticks and bats. Come back out when you're ready." He raised a whistle to his lips and blew hard.

Summoned by the shrill sound, four blue-robed figures trooped out onto the field, clutching broomsticks. Scott and Alex exchanged another bewildered look, but obediently headed for the changing rooms. Once they'd entered, they sat on a bench next to one another.

Alex looked dazed and confused. "Well, that was..."

"Anticlimactic?" Scott suggested, arching an eyebrow.

"Sort of makes you wonder what the point of all the training was," Alex muttered.

"Well, no point looking a gift Hippogriff in the mouth," he said. "C'mon, let's get these robes on."

They found that robes had already been set aside for them based on the sizes that they'd listed when they'd signed up for tryouts. Scott's robes were emblazoned with his name and a 12, whilst Alex's name was accompanied with an 18. After they'd changed and retrieved their equipment, they returned to the pitch where the five other players were flying through the air.

Valerian's voice called out from where he was hovering, "Team! To the ground! We've got two new members I'd like to introduce you to!"

The other members of the Ravenclaw team were a variety of ages. A seventh year was the first to land, and he approached the two of them. "Finn Mannix," he greeted. "Seeker."

"Scott Carter, Beater," he introduced cockily.

"Alex Wroxton, same," she said, less so.

A third year Keeper named Josh Grech came next, and then Anna Hope-Jenkins, a fifth year and Chaser.

"It'll be nice to have another girl on the team," she said to Alex fondly.

Alex's face went pinker than it already had in the cold. Scott guffawed.

The final player walked up to them then, and Scott was instantly struck by how attracted he was to this boy. They weren't as tall as he was, but he had a certain confident air to him that made him seem taller than he really was.

"Roger Davies," he said, shaking Scott's hand. He held his hand out for Alex to shake, but she burst into a fit of giggles, her face now bright red.

"I've got to say, Ryland," Finn Mannix said, "you got quite the wee pair. They must be the youngest in about –"

"A century," Scott supplied eagerly.

"Yes, well, necessary measures, and all," Valerian muttered. "Especially given recent changes."

Anna growled. Josh scowled. Roger frowned.

"Well, if everyone's finished introductions, I think we ought to get our final practice for the term in," Valerian sighed. "Grab your brooms, and get in the air, if you please."

They each took flight as the Captain released the balls into the air. The two Bludgers rocketed off, whistling dangerously as they went. Valerian had Scott and Alex try to keep the Bludgers off anyone that the large balls deemed worthy of assaulting. By and large, they performed quite well for their first ever practice. They didn't have any real targets to knock the Bludgers back at, but Alex managed to impress with a well-aimed hit that knocked a Bludger that had gone for Roger into another Bludger, which had been barrelling towards Finn.

Something that troubled Scott, however, was team synergy and motivation. He wasn't sure why, but the team seemed to perform as less of a team than one would expect. He thought back to the match against Hufflepuff. Sure, there'd been struggles in teamwork, but that had been due to the previous Beaters. The other players hadn't struggled too much, though they didn't even come close to Slytherin's expertise on the field. He wondered if the membership spill had demoralised the team, somewhat.

At five thirty they left the pitch with Ethan, who was wrapped in several layers of wool.

"Well done, you two," he congratulated sincerely as they walked up the snow-strewn path to the castle.

"We didn't exactly succeed at tryouts, Ethan," Alex reminded him. "No one else showed up."

"You're still technically better Beaters than anyone else in Ravenclaw," he reasoned. "And your practice was pretty good. Neither of you got a bloody nose once, which is a first for Scott, I think."

"Ha ha," Scott said dryly. "You know, I don't much fancy our chances against Slytherin in February with those brooms."

Alex grimaced her agreement. "Yes, but first years aren't allowed brooms," she pouted.

Scott shook his head, pushing the great doors to the entrance hall open. "I'll go to Professor Flitwick. He loves me. I'm sure he can talk Dumbledore into making an exception for us."

"You could ask Foley as well," Ethan said. "He's part of your fan club, too."

"Most of the teachers are, really," Alex added.

"Oh, yeah," Scott said sardonically. "Snape's President, of course."

They laughed uproariously, which was joined by a familiar shrieking cackle. They turned around, and Scott's temperament soured as he saw Skeres and Pellon coming over from the dungeons, wearing identical smirks.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, Carter. You'll hit your head on the ceiling," Skeres taunted.

"And considering this ceiling," Pellon smirked, glancing up into the towering darkness above them, "that's quite a feat."

"Oh dear, it looks like Hagrid missed a few little bastards in his last de-gnoming," Scott said, looking at the two Slytherins dispassionately.

"Can we move, Scarlett?" Pellon asked. "The smell of Mudbloods is overwhelming."

Alex and Ethan immediately clamped their hands over Scott's shoulders in case he launched himself forwards.

"Good point, Em," Skeres said, her smile predatory. "Especially with two of them dirtying up the place."

Ethan's grip on Scott's shoulder became lax as he blinked confusedly. Scott doubted that he'd ever been labelled with that slur before. Skeres and Pellon strode by them into the Great Hall, laughing vociferously as they went. Scott and the others followed some distance behind. Once they'd sat down and begun eating dinner, Alex began talking in a low voice.

"So, that word they use, Mudblood," she muttered. "It's a word they use to describe people like me, right? People who don't come from wizard families?"

Scott nodded grimly. Ethan was examining at his mashed potatoes with a conflicted expression.

"But... Skeres called Ethan a Mudblood, didn't she? But Ethan's parents are magic?"

Scott looked to Ethan, waiting to see if he'd answer. Eventually, he did.

"I... Well, yes, they are. But they weren't born into it. They were both like you – muggle-born. I was raised since birth in the wizarding world. But I think... I suppose to some people that doesn't really matter." He spoke quietly, and Scott could tell he was still very confused.

"Really, it just proves that the arguments they make are a load of dung," Scott said, parroting something his mother had once mentioned. "They always say they don't like muggle-borns because they haven't been raised with wizarding values, but it's really something more basic than that. It's a made up difference they invented because they want to feel superior to someone else, and have an excuse to do it!" He slammed his fist on the table to emphasise his point, overturning a goblet filled with pumpkin juice in the process.

A few people glanced over in alarm at the noise. Alex shrugged at them.

The platform lowered slowly, swaying only slightly as Michael glanced over the edge. One hundred feet to go. The walls were beginning to become glossy with dampness, having surpassed the water table some time ago. The light from his wand illuminated the faces of the two other members of his team on the platform with him. Suspended between them was a wooden case, within; the object that would bring them that much closer to their goal – to answers.

Michael checked again – fifty feet to go. The chains of the lift clinked noisily, echoing around the rocky walls of the hole they had tunnelled into the earth. He thought back on how privileged he was to be descending the tunnel at all, how very lucky their scans had been. The very walls of the structure below had been concealed from most magical detection through pollutant nullifiers – magic he hadn't thought possible in the Early Middle Ages. They'd only detected the structure's magical eccentricity in their scans because Hogwarts had such a distinct area of pollution. The complete void that the nullifiers had created had contrasted heavily with the millennium old field of arcana and had thus proved the presence of something buried beyond any doubt.

The lift clattered to a stop at the bottom of the pit, and Michael stepped off. A few other members of the team had been awaiting their descent at the bottom, though they didn't bother sending the platform back to the castle's third floor; the entire team had come down to observe their findings today. The entrance chamber they found themselves in hadn't been as well preserved as further down into the ruin, and much of the carvings had degraded to unrecognisable levels. This section had already been endlessly analysed, however, and so they continued down a long corridor.

The stone passage sloped downwards as it progressed, and the distinct sound of trickling water could be heard overhead. Sections of ceiling and wall that had collapsed hundreds of years prior – now cleared and no longer blocking their progress – loomed out of the gloom, taunting Michael like poorly preserved wounds in history.

Eventually, they found their way into a tall chamber. The rest of the team were milling about in here, moving quietly as though afraid to wake something ancient from its slumber. This chamber had intrigued Michael the most so far. The architecture was unlike most he had observed of the Early Middle Ages, and had clearly been aided in its construction by sophisticated magicks.

Most curious about the chamber was the ancient wooden door; perfectly preserved and sealed tight. The runes scratched into the door's face described the powerful nullifying ward that had been placed around the door. No magic spell would unseal this door. The ward had been so strong that even passive magical effects had been extinguished once in proximity. A keyhole sat beneath the silver handle, and it was this that had stalled them for many weeks.

Synthesising the required key had been an arduous process, but entirely necessary. Physical destruction of such a finely preserved specimen had been out of the question, and would have no doubt been ineffective considering the protections that they hadn't been able to detect, but theorised were in place.

Michael opened the wooden case that had been brought down with him, and careful lifted the silver key from within. He carried it over to the door, and slowly inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted, and heard a click. The door was unlocked.

Hardly daring to breathe, he pulled the door open, and stepped gingerly into the next chamber. Once he had passed the door, he tried casting a spell. "Lumos," he muttered, and the wand-tip lit up. It didn't reveal much of the chamber before him, but he had the distinct impression that it was far larger than any they had yet encountered. He scanned his immediate surroundings, but couldn't see any signs of danger.

"Clear," he breathed back to his crew. He moved cautiously forwards, as several voices behind him murmured lighting charms of their own. He wanted to get a better understanding of the chamber before disturbing it with less passive lights, and so maintained his own weaker charm.

Eventually, he managed to find a wall, upon which was carved relief art. His jaw dropped. High relief carvings of this calibre were hardly ever seen outside of Antiquity, let alone a period of history where art was expressed in a strikingly different fashion. The style he was seeing resembled far more something from Ancient Greece or perhaps a more modernistic Romanesque artwork. The presence of such a carving was an anachronism in a place that was constructed in the Early Middle Ages. He'd expected to have his questions answered, but already he was faced with far more questions than answers.

He continued to examine the wall. The immensity of the carving was boggling to his mind, and he became focused on interpreting the shapes and figures depicted in the relief. It seemed to show several witches and wizards coming together. Tendrils spiralled from their heads, from their eyes, ears and mouths. The tendrils ended in a basin that looked very familiar to Michael.

Carvings of urns or pots came next, as well as a depiction of a monumental construction project. It seemed something was interred within the construction. He kept moving along, still examining the stonework with interest.

One of the crew members called out in the darkness, "Professor, you might want to see this."

"What is it?" Michael replied, not taking his eyes from the carving. He could see what looked to be the ocean, a terrifying serpent rising from its depths. Upon a cliff face was a man shielding a woman from harm, and in his hand he clutched a head.

"Statues," the man said uncertainly.

Michael wasn't completely listening. He was looking at a scene depicting a crowd of people screaming in terror or perhaps pain. Between them was a monster; a snake-like body, folded wings, and upon its head a crown of serpents. He glanced back at the man by the sea. The myth of Perseus, then? But then... what did that have to do with this ruin?

His heart stopped when he heard it. A faint hissing, echoing in the darkness. He was about to cry out a warning when, suddenly, light burst into being in the chamber. Nearly every facet of the cavernous room was thrown into stark relief. Michael kept his eyes firmly focused on the carving.

"Whatever you do," he shouted, "do not -"

He was cut off by the sounds of panicked screaming. A dozen voices cried out in terror, nearly drowning out the furious hissing that filled the chamber. Then, the screams stopped as quickly as they had started. All Michael could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, and the hissing and spitting as it came closer and closer. He gazed at the carving of the serpentine monster, and saw its eyes, murderous and inhuman. He couldn't move – it was as though he had already turned to stone. The hissing drew closer, and the sound of something sliding accompanied it. Michael wracked his brain desperately for something, for some genius idea to save him. Think, he thought wildly, think!