AN: So again, the contents of this chapter sort of came to me a long time before much of the rest of the story had fully formed. I knew Tom would be crucial to the DA in the last year, I knew he'd be a little Hell-raiser. The title of this chapter is different to the norm of song lyrics, partly to reflect the different perspective it has, but mostly because I couldn't call it "Main Titles"... but the piece of music this chapter is based on can be found in the 'Strange as Angels' Spotify playlist. It's from a movie called 'Cihcken Run' and it has some HEAVY 'The Great Escape' themes in it too... I've tried my best to encapsulate that intrepid, cheeky, defiant mood that I think the song has and how it makes me feel **things** when I listen to it.
Chapter 97 - "The Ballad of The Cooler King"
"Coast is clear! Run for the One-Eyed Witch!" Tom whispered to Lars and Jeffrey.
The three of them tiptoed through the darkness, as soft as shadows, ducking behind the large and looming statue.
"Good job, Men." Tom said to them, flashing Lars and Jeffrey his best confident, debonair, Steve McQueen-esque smile. "We've made it past The Carrows and Filch. It should be easy-sneaking up to Classroom 17 now."
"We better hurry up." Lars said, checking over his shoulder nervously. "The others will be waiting for us."
"Alright, let's move double-time then!" Tom said, stepping out from behind the statue and continuing on his shadowy path up to the Fifth Floor.
Their feet made no sound as they traversed the deserted Hogwarts halls that night. Jeffrey had learned a silencing spell when Professor Flitwick had been looking the other way in the Library, and had charmed all of their shoes to virtually make no noise. Tom had given Jeffrey his ration of pumpkin juice that week as a way of congratulating his fantastic idea. Jefferey was good at Charms. He'd told Tom that his father was an Enchanter at Gringotts Bank and helped to set up all sorts of magical protection spells on the building and its contents. Jeffrey wanted to be just like his Dad when he left school, to go and work for Gringotts, and from the pictures Tom had seen of Jeffrey and his Dad, the similarities didn't stop there; Both father and son were thin and hook-nosed, and both sported a pair of thick, round glasses. Jeffrey's hair was a pale blonde that stuck up out of his head in little spikes and Tom had watched him many a time in the Gryfindor dormitories styling each spike carefully with his wand tip, crafting them into the shape he wanted with a hair-gelling charm he'd learnt. Jeffrey was clever, there wasn't a charm that he couldn't master if he put his mind to it, but he also had a streak of impish silliness about him.
"Stop!" Tom whispered suddenly, extending an arm across Lars and Jeffrey.
All three of them came to a halt at the entrance of the Hall of Stairs, looking around expectantly for the apparent danger Tom had alerted them to.
"What?" Jeffrey asked when he couldn't see anything.
Tom silently pointed to the ground, and the three boys leant over the banister to peer down at another staircase a few floors below them. It swung silently through the air, carrying with it a small, furry creature, poised on the top step.
"Mrs Norris!" Jeffrey hissed as the boys shrank back into the shadows. "Did she see us?"
"Not yet." Tom said, eyeing up the cat below them. "Lars, do us the honours."
Lars reached inside his robe pocket and produced a small vial of a swirling black potion. He held it over the side of the stairs and promptly let go.
"Bombs away."
The potion fell through the center of the moving stairs, plummeting down through several floors worth of space until it hit the very ground floor. It exploded into a thick and noxious black cloud and fizzed loudly. Mrs Norris hissed viciously at the disturbance and jumped from her step, drawn towards the black cloud. Tom, Jeffrey and Lars watched as the caretaker's cat slinked off to find her owner and alert him to the noxious cloud now flooding the Ground Floor.
"An excellent distraction, Lars." Tom said, patting the large, burly boy on the back. "When Filch and The Carrows turn up, they'll be occupied several floors below us."
"We better keep moving though." Lars said. "That's my last bottle of Peruvian Darkness Potion."
The three boys stepped onto the staircase that would carry them upwards and on to the Fifth Floor, thankful for the diversion Lars had given them below.
Lars's strength was in Potions. The Malmsteens were rather prominent Alchemists in Germany, with Lars's mother being the witch responsible for creating Ambrosia Juice, one drop of which would make even the foulest, most disgusting food, taste like heaven. Lars and his family had relocated to Britain after Bertie Botts had expressed an interest in creating a line of sweets using Mrs Malmsteen's Ambrosia Juice, and then the War had started, trapping them in the country. Lars had worked hard to get rid of his German accent, hoping it would make him less noticeable, but he still sometimes dropped his 'w's and 'j's, and his appearance made him stand out regardless… He was already a good 5'8 at eleven years old with thick, black hair that he could tie into a short ponytail at the back of his neck. Yet, despite his rather intimidating appearance, he was as gentle as a pygmy-puff, but he could still give a decent shove in a fight when the Slytherins picked on Tom.
Both Jeffrey and Lars had taken their fair share of beatings and abuse for "standing up for a mudblood", despite both of their rather respectable wizarding pedigree, but, as far as they were concerned, Tom wasn't just their fellow Gryffindor but their brother-in-arms. And because of the kindness they'd shown him, Tom knew that they were already bonded for life.
Tom gave a gentle rap on the door to Classroom 17. This part of the school was utterly deserted. All of the classrooms in this corridor were empty and unused now Hogwarts had struck Muggle Studies from its curriculum, but it meant that Dumbledore's Army could use them as gathering points… Two knots in the wood of the door shifted and morphed into a pair of eyes. Tom straightened his back as the eyes looked him over. The eyes blinked back at him satisfactorily and morphed back into wood-knots. The door opened for them, letting a small burst of noise and chatter bleed out into the corridor and Tom, Jeffrey and Lars stepped inside before it closed behind them swiftly.
The three Gryffindors stood amongst a throng of chatter and activity as students moved all about them: crafting potions, studying maps, practising Duelling drills, leafing through The Daily Prophet, tuning a wireless, tending to each other's wounds, discussing plans… It was a hive of activity of everything they shouldn't be doing.
"Ah! Cooler King..!" Neville called out to Tom from the center of a group of students. His back was bent over a table stacked with papers but he waved the First Years over to him. Tom, Lars and Jeffrey moved through the bustling crowd to Neville's table, stopping only when they were face to face with the leader of Dumbledore's Army. Neville smiled at them all, his kind face creased with a few too many lines for a seventeen-year-old. "Good to see you out again." he said to Tom.
"I'm sorry we couldn't get here earlier. The Carrows didn't let me out of The Cooler until about half an hour ago." Tom said with a roll of his eyes.
"And you came straight up here?!" exclaimed Neville. "Bloody hell, I wouldn'ta minded if you'd wanted the evening off to have a shower and a rest…"
"Never. Straight back into it. The enemy aren't going to harass themselves, are they."
Neville let out a little huff. "No, I guess not." He stood up to his full height and shouted out to the other students dotted about the room. "Hey everyone! Let's give a round of applause for Tom Lukather, The Cooler King! Without him, we never woulda got Aberforth's supplies smuggled into the castle!"
The other students put their hands together in a short, but heartfelt show of their gratitude. Tom went a little red and hot under the collar but gave a very dramatic bow nonetheless. "The Cooler King" was the name Dumbledore's Army had dubbed him with because of his uncanny ability to handle the isolation and deprivation of The Coolers. Tom now became the go-to man if the DA needed a distraction or something to divert the attentions of The Carrows away from what they really wanted to achieve. Tom was the fall-guy. He happily went to The Cooler time and time again, in the knowledge that somewhere out there, in another part of the castle, the DA were achieving their true goals. And once they had finally made contact with Aberforth and the rest of The Order on the night Tom had fought spiders and reunited with his sister, their work had only just begun…
"So, what did I miss while I was away?" Tom asked Neville.
"Well, Aberforth managed to get a few copies of The Quibbler to us. Told us some real, true news about what's going on outside Hogwarts. Not the propagandist drivel they publish in The Prophet. But after a few days, the ink bled and the writing turned into gibberish. Luna thinks the Death Eaters must have caught up with her Dad and hexed their printing press."
"A real shame too. Daddy had published a very good article about the top ten most effective herbs for use in healing potions." Luna chimed in from across the room, whilst she tended to Dean Thomas's black eye and freshly split lip.
"Oh, if you can remember the first letter of the herbs in the article, I might be able to guess them." Lars said, striding over to Luna. "My mother uses them all the time in her Alchemy crafting."
"Let's see… there was one with an "A"…" Luna said, scratching her head. She led Lars away to a quieter corner of the room where they could carry on speaking.
"Anything else? What about sightings of Harry Potter?" Tom asked Neville eagerly.
"Not yet." Neville said with a heavy sigh. "We hoped that we might be able to hack in to the Ministry's communication channels with the wireless Aberforth gave us. But no luck yet. Jeffrey, we know you're good with that kind of stuff…"
"A honing charm, perhaps. Or maybe a gemini charm to turn it into a Ministry receiver might work. I'll have a look at it now…" Jeffrey said, pushing up his thick, round glasses.
He wandered over to a small group of Ravenclaws gathered around the wireless, casting spells and fiddling with the buttons on it, all trying to get more than just static out of the machine. They all looked up at Jeffrey with expressions of relief when the little First Year came to join their tinkering session.
Tom felt warmed seeing his friends being so useful, both of them already gainfully employed and not five minutes through the door.
"And what about me?" Tom asked Neville. "What's your next big mission for me?"
"Tom, you're only just out of The Cooler! We can wait a few days before starting the next thing we've got planned."
"The enemy won't wait!" Tom said, puffing his chest out and placing his hands on his hips. "Come on. Tell me what's next on the cards."
"Well…" Neville sighed, looking into Tom's eagerly awaiting amber eyes. "The next big thing is… trying to set up a permanent link to Aberforth. Using her."
Neville pointed towards a large, squared thing propped against the classroom wall. It was wrapped in a big white sheet but Tom could clearly see the outline of four sharp corners. He looked back to Neville, who nodded approvingly at Tom, and the young Grydfindor boy stepped forwards and placed a hand upon the wrappings. Slowly, he removed the sheet from the object and there, in his hands, he realised he was holding a painting. A magical, moving painting of a young girl.
"Who is she?" Tom asked.
"I dunno. Aberforth gave her to us. Says there's an identical one down at The Hog's Head, and she can go back and forth between this painting and his."
Tom watched the girl for a moment. She was blonde and demure, gazing out of the painting with an airy sense of sweetness. He flinched a little when the girl smiled at him, still being relatively new to the idea of "moving paintings", and propped her back against the wall.
"She's too valuable to leave here." Neville said with a sigh. "During the day, we have to leave this room relatively unguarded. The Wood Sprite Ginny placed in the door is a bit of protection, but it won't be enough if The Carrows find this place. And we're rapidly outgrowing this classroom." he added, casting his eye around the crowded space.
Tom knew Nevillle was right. The Hogwarts resistance had only started off as a handful of people: Ginny, Luna, Neville… But as the weeks had rolled on and the Carrows had spread their love of torment and cruelty widely throughout the school, more and more students had started coming to Classroom 17. Nowadays, you were lucky if you could find a place to sit down once you were inside. Classroom 16, next door, was a no-go; a large and ominous sign hung on the door which read "Danger! Violent Ghoul Inside! Keep Out!". None of them had the expertise of knowing how to deal with a ghoul, so they'd left the classroom untouched and stayed well clear of it…
"So, where else is there for us?" Tom asked. His eyes traveled back to the girl in the painting. "And won't she trigger the caterwaul charms if she's a stranger stepping foot on Hogwarts grounds?"
"Nah, she's not a real person, is she. No offence." Neville said to the girl.
The girl shrugged her shoulders back at him.
"And carrying our messages back and forth is fine, but I had bigger plans for her than just that." Neville said enigmatically, sparking Tom's interest.
Tom raised a brow at Neville, inviting him to speak on.
"I want to use her to get out of Hogwarts. Use the magic linking both of her portraits together as a sort of… tunnel out of the school. I mentioned the idea to Aberforth. He says it'll only work if she's in a… space that bends the rules. Somewhere that is part of the castle but also isn't. Somewhere that we can mould to suit our needs instead of us working around it." Neville said.
"Well, where's like that?!" Tom asked with a flap of his arms. "Hogwarts is all brick and stone. We can't mould it. Let alone break the umpteen wards and charms they've placed on this school that are as old and ancient as time itself."
"I know somewhere like that..." Neville said with a small, triumphant smile. "Somewhere we can mould."
"Where?"
"We've used it before, in the DA."
"Where, Neville?!" Tom asked exasperatedly.
"The Room of Requirement."
Tom furrowed his brow. He'd never heard of that room before. Maybe it was in another hidden part of the school that he'd yet to stumble upon. Ginny, who had previously been overseeing a group of students practising their disarming charms, wandered over to Neville and Tom's side.
"You talking about our relocation plan, Neville?" She asked him, placing a hand on her hip.
"Yeah, but I'm not sure The Cooler King's too keen on the idea. Look at his face."
"Well that's cause he's got no clue what the Room of Requirement is, Neville! He's a First Year, remember! He wasn't here the last time the DA used it."
"Oh, right, yeah…"
"What is this room?" Tom asked them both.
"A Room that appears only when needed and disappears in the blink of an eye." Ginny said. "At least four, maybe five times the size of this classroom, that gives the asker exactly what they're looking for."
"Well that's ideal!" Tom said enthusiastically. "Why haven't you been using it before now?"
"Because… the Deputy-Headmaster knows that it exists." Neville said flatly.
"She… she does?" Asked Tom.
"Yeah, a few years ago when we had another particularly nasty piece of work in charge here, Professor Smith used to teach us Duelling skills in there." Ginny said. "It's a shame, really… How things change. Professor Smith used to be on our side until that bastard murderer got his claws into her. Now she's a traitor too, no better than the rest of them…"
Tom cast his eyes to the floor, biting his tongue. He resisted the urge to stick up for his sister and Severus, remembering what the two of them had told him:
"Not a word to anyone. Even if they call us worse than the Devil."
The young boy cleared his throat and looked up at Ginny and Neville again. "Well… you said that you can ask the Room for specific things, to suit our needs… Why not ask it not to let the Deputy-Headmistress in? Or to hide itself from her?"
Neville considered Tom's idea. He nodded slowly. "Alright. That's the plan." Neville said, slamming his palm down on his desk. "But the trouble now will be creating a big enough distraction to get everything in here moved to the Room of Requirement without being noticed."
Tom raised a single hand to Neville, a cheeky smile already brushing his lips.
"Say no more, General. Distractions are my field of expertise."
Ginny let out a melodious laugh, patting Tom heartily on the back. "Harry would like you, Tom. You remind me of him…"
Tom glowed with pride. He didn't know Harry, he'd only heard anecdotes and stories of The-Boy-Who-Lived's life, all of which seemed too spectacular and amazing to be true, but the other Gryffindors in the older years assured him that they all were…Judging from the way all the students talked of him, he must have been a special person indeed. A legend. And anyone who got under The Carrows's skin was somebody he admired greatly. Tom liked being compared to Harry, especially by someone as pretty as Ginny Weasley… But as he watched her face, the red-headed girl's expression grew morose and sad, and Ginny wandered away from Neville and Tom, lost in thought. Neville's face also frowned in empathy and Tom could tell that the leader of the DA hated seeing his friends in pain.
"So, Tom." Neville said abruptly, turning back to the boy. "When can you have something ready for us?"
Tom returned Neville's expectant look with his lopsided, Steve McQueen look he'd been practising in the mirror.
"Tomorrow night should be fine."
Tom kept his fist firmly clasped around the burlap sack in his hands. The creature inside the bag wriggled and hissed quite fiercely, but he held firm. He already had quite a few bite-marks to show for this mission and he wasn't going to let his efforts go to waste…
But, his head was starting to thump, hanging upside down from the atrium roof, as he was…
The three of them, Lars, Jeffrey and Tom, we're all hanging from the ceiling like a little gaggle of vampire bats. All of them had red faces, from all the blood rushing to their heads, but they hung there in absolute silence. Jeffrey had used the last of his 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes Stick-Fast Glue' on their shoes. And after a few trials of walking up the walls of the Gryffindor Common Room, they were now well and truly welded to the atrium's ceiling. Waiting for just the right moment…
Lars and Jeffrey were holding similarly thrashing bags to Tom, with their arms also coated with nasty, red bite marks. Jeffrey had fallen straight into the water, up to his neck, when they'd gone out to the Black Lake to retrieve their catch. Tom eyed up the puddle amassing on the ground just beneath Jeffree, each drip falling from his sodden-wet hair and plummeting to the stone floor with a tiny splash. A strained smile tugged at Tom's mouth.
"Don't, Tom." Jeffrey said flatly.
"You'll be hours in front of the Dormitory mirrors, trying to get all the spikes back." Lars replied with a giggle.
"Why didn't either of you have to wade into the water?!" Jeffrey asked grouchily.
"Because we both trapped our grindylows on the shore!" Lars replied with a roll of his eyes. "You shouldn't have eaten your sausages on the way down to the Lake. That was your bait! That's how we used to catch them in Germany."
"But I was hungry…"
"Oh Jeff, you're so precious over your hair!" Tom snorted.
"Says you!" Jeffrey retorted. "Your fringe is down past your nose now! Can you even see anything through those curls?"
Tom ran a hand through his long, hanging hair. If he were standing upright, his curls would be covering his eyes, but his upside-down position meant that they were well and truly out of his face. He still hated haircuts, even now as a teenager. Matthew would almost certainly drag him into the hairdressers the next time he went home, but even then, he could only stomach having a few inches taken off it before he'd feel a fierce sense of discomfort lancing down his spine.
"I can see perfectly well, thank you." He responded curtly.
The grindylow in Tom's bag gave a loud screech. Loud enough to make Tom flinch and almost drop it to the ground.
"Sounds like yours is a feisty one, Tom." Lars said.
"How long till Evening Meal ends?" He replied nervously.
"Any second now…"
Almost on cue, the doors to the Great Hall swung open and out trickled the first few somber students. Slytherins. Some of whom Tom recognised just from the tops of their heads alone as he peered down from the roof: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson… Some of the worst of his pureblood tormentors. Their footsteps were a rhythmic marching beat as they began their procession out. A silver-haired Slytherin Seventh Year passed by beneath them. A boy that Tom recognised, who he'd seen often in the corridors, looking upon the other Slytherins mournfully as they beat up him, Lars and Jeffrey, but never engaging in the pummelling himself…. Many of the Slytherins rolled their sleeves up to their elbows these days, as a way of showing off the inked Dark Marks some of them had on their wrists, clearly indicating to the rest of the student body that they had parents who were real Death Eaters. Tom could see both Crabbe and Goyle's meaty, exposed forearms crossed over their chests at that moment. But the silver-haired boy kept both of his sleeves buttoned firmly down to his wrists. Almost like he was ashamed to show his arms. Tom had meant to ask Neville or Ginny who he was. Why his eyes were so haunted and hollow. Why even his fellow Slytherins seemed to shrink away from him out of fear, despite his obvious distaste for their practises.
Whoever he is, he's getting a face full of grindylow. Tom thought with a shrug.
"Now!" Tom cried to Lars and Jeffrey.
As one, the three boys let go of their bags and dropped their grindylows to the floor.
Tom's grindylow had torn through the bag and burst out of its confines by the time it reached the ground. It gave a nasty, toothy snarl at the nearest Slytherin student, and Tom admired his handiwork of the big, red "1" he'd painted on the side of the creature as it wrapped itself around Vincent Crabbe's face. Crabbe's muffled scream was music to Tom's ears as he stumbled back into the Great Hall.
Jeffrey's grindylow took a little longer to emerge from his bag, but it too was soon out into the open and wrapped around Pansy Parkinson's leg in seconds. Jeffrey's big number "2" on the side of the creature was a little water-smudged, but still visible. "Get it off me! Get it off me!" Pansy screamed like a banshee, which only seemed to enrage the grindylow more.
Lars's grindylow was the last to hit the floor. But by the time the third and final creature had scratched and bitten it's way out of the bag, panic had already set in amongst the students on the ground.
Jeffrey frowned at the last Lake-creature they'd captured. Instead of the number he'd expected, Lars had written a big, red "4" on the side of it.
"Lars, I think you wrote the wrong number…" Jeffrey said, pushing his round glasses up his nose before they fell off his face and smashed on the ground.
"No he didn't. I told him to write a "4" instead of a "3"." Tom replied, his smile wide and wicked.
"Why?
Screams echoed through the atrium as the grindylows were let loose on the students still in the Great Hall. From where they hung, the three boys could hear glass smashing, Slytherin's wailing, The Carrows screaming for order, rushing footsteps. A symphony of disorder.
"Because…" Tom replied, grinning like a maniac. "… when The Carrows are trying to round them up, they'll find number 1, 2 and 4. And what would you think if you found 1, 2 and 4, Jeff?"
Jeffrey thought for a second and eventually began grinning too as understanding struck him. "That there was a number 3 out there somewhere."
"And they'll spend all afternoon looking for grindylow 3, when grindylow 3 doesn't exist." Tom said with a nod.
"Oh Tom, that's excellent." Lars chuckled.
"How did you think of a prank like that?" Jeffrey asked.
"My Dad said that some boys in his school did it on their last day…With sheep though, not grindylows."
The steady trickle of students coming out of the Great Hall turned into a torrent of people, all clamoring to get as far away from the grindylows as fast as possible. Somewhere amongst them, Tom saw Ginny, Luna, Dean and a few other DA members slip away in the ensuing panic. Before they rushed off to take advantage of the distraction the three upside-down boys had caused, Neville turned to the roof and gave them all a big thumbs up. Tom gave a thumbs up back and Neville promptly left to use the time Tom, Jeffrey and Lars had given them wisely.
"Good work, chaps. Good work." Tom said to his friends as he surveyed the carnage beneath him.
"Alecto! Get it off my arm!" Tom heard the incredibly high-pitched and panicked voice of Amycus Carrow shriek from within the Great Hall.
"Yeowwww!" Shrieked back another voice. "It bit me! It bit me!"
Jeffrey and Lars were laughing like baboons as they walked down the walls of the atrium. Tom too was breathless with mirth when his feet landed right-side up on the floor. Lars and Jeffrey slipped away in the midst of the panic but Tom lingered, watching as Amycus Carrow frantically waved his right arm all over the Hall, desperately trying to pry off the grindylow whose jaws he had clamped around his appendage, his whole right hand somewhere inside the creature. Alecto was grabbing at the creature's many flailing tentacles, but her brother was screaming and moving too quickly for her to get a good grip on the grindylow.
"Get it off my arm! Get it off my arm!" Amycus cried, over and over again.
"I'm trying! Stay still!" Alecto replied in a fluster, the grindylow's slippery tentacles sliding out of her grasp once more.
"Hey, Professors!" Tom hollered at them.
Alecto and Amycus both instantly stilled, turning towards Tom with a look of pure surprise. Even the grindylow seemed to quieten. The Carrows's look instantly melted into one of burning hatred when their eyes found Tom, standing squarely in the Great Hall's entrance.
"I hear they like sausages!" Tom said, flashing his lopsided grin at them both.
The Carrows both snarled at the young boy.
"But…" Tom said, looking at the grindylow still clamped around Alecto's right hand. "…it looks like you've already given it five, Professor."
Tom was given five days in The Cooler for pulling that stunt.
The Gryffindor boys stood outside the Staff Room with their faces beaming with mischief. Tom looked at the dual set of armor suits and nodded to his companions.
"Pedagogica Magica." Tom said aloud to the statues.
He wasn't sure he'd remembered it right for a second. He'd tried listening closely to what Neville had told him, but it all sounded like gobbledygook to Tom still. And then the armour suits moved to his command…
Apparently Professor Sprout had trusted Neville enough to tell him the password to the Staff Room so he could help himself to the keys to the Greenhouse without having to walk all the way down to the Hufflepuff dormitories first to ask for her permission. No one in the student body had been told the password to the Staff Room before. Not even Hermione Granger, who would have killed to have unlimited access to her Professors. But Sprout had assumed Neville to be harmless enough to be granted with the privilege, and Neville made a habit of only going in and out of the Staff Room when he knew most of the Professors were elsewhere. Of course, now the keys to every part of the castle were kept under the direct control of the Headmaster, somewhere within his Office. But the important information that Severus Snape couldn't lock away was the password.
The password into the Staff Room.
The armour suits began pulling the tapestry out of each other's helmets. Tom's stomach wriggled with excitement and he could feel Lars and Jeffrey growing restless and fidgety with mischievous energy already. Yet Tom stayed calm and still, trying to save his energy for the mission he was about to embark on. He pulled back the tapestry, and there was the door, waiting for him to step inside.
"Lars, have you got it?" He asked, looking back to his friend.
The young Gryffindor reached inside his cloak and removed a vial from the inside pocket.
"I had a little help from Fred and George Weasley in finalising the formula." Lars replied, withdrawing a bottle of dark-grey liquid and holding it out to Tom "It took up quite a bit of Aberforth's time, snuggling my letters to them back and forth, but we got it. They said their potion was guaranteed to add at least fifty years to you…"
"Excellent." Tom said, taking the bottle from him. "How much do I need to use for it to work? Half the bottle?"
"A few drops at most!" Lars replied, eyes wide.
"Alright, alright, keep your ponytail on." Tom said with a flash of his Steve McQueen smile. "Well, I'll see you on the other side again, chaps."
"Good luck, Tom." Jeffrey and Lars both said.
Tom gave both of them a firm salute and he disappeared inside the Staff Room door.
He crouched low, ducking to the floor as soon as he was inside. Tom had expected the Staff Room to be empty this time of the day, but he heard voices. Two voices. Both of which he recognised as he crawled and shuffled about the many mismatched armchairs.
"And what about your Grandfather's Father? Was he a Wizard?"
"All of my mother's family were magical, I've told you already…I'm afraid you will only find "fault" with my Father's side. Don't you have better things to do than delve into my genepool, Deputy-Headmaster?"
"I need to ask these questions as a formality, Professor Mcgonagall. The Ministry have decreed it."
"Well then The Ministry can do their own genealogical research into my family tree, rather than pestering me for all the recollection!"
Tom stopped for a second, poised behind the back of an old, blue armchair. He peered out from behind the furniture and saw where the two voices he'd heard had come from; Professor Mcgonagall, his Head of House, was sat in another high-backed armchair, gripping the arms tightly, her face scrunched and sour. She sounded irritated and angry too. More so than normal… The other voice, asking her all the family history questions, was his own sister, Circe.
"I told you, Minerva…" Circe sighed from her own armchair opposite Mcgonagall's. She took off her glasses, placing them on top of the pile of papers and the quill in her lap, and rubbed exasperatedly at the bridge of her nose. "The Headmaster and I have been asked to interview and compile the family trees of all of the Professors at Hogwarts, to determine their magical purity."
"Purity….Purity! What codswallop! You won't find a witch or wizard alive today that doesn't have some kind of muggle or non-magical family member in their tree. Not even the so-called "purebloods". Do you really hope to replace every member of Staff on roll who betrays some kind of non-magical heritage? Because you will be very short staffed here, if that is the case."
"All you need to do, Minerva, is just answer the questions. I'll deal with the rest." Circe said firmly.
Tom eyed up the Staff Room, looking for the great brass coffee machine Neville had told him about: his target for today. He spied a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye and silently snuck over to his next point of cover: a large, plush green chaise-lounge.
"And what does that mean? Am I to expect a trial? To be hauled up in front of that Pink Monstrosity at The Ministry, as I've heard others have had to endure, because my father's side of the family were muggle?"
"You really don't know of any witches or wizards on that side of your family? Think carefully." Circe said, fixing her old friend with a powerful look.
"I…wh-... No. No I don't." Minerva said exasperatedly.
"Look at your father's Grandmother again…" Circe said leadingly, pointing at a name on the piece of paper on her lap.
Tom took the opportunity of a rustle of paper to make a dash for another high-backed chair. The brass coffee machine was mere feet away...
"What are you talking about? My father's grandmother was a wool-worker from Dunferml-"
"She was a very powerful witch from the Macmillan family. Quite the family scandal that she decided to marry into muggle blood, wasn't it. Struck from her family's records for marrying a non-magic man. No record of her existence outside of the anecdotal family stories you tell me..." Circe interrupted.
Tom stilled for a moment as silence fell between the two women. He peered around the worn, paisley patterned armchair he was currently behind, intrigued by the two women's conversation. Tom could only see Circe's face, Mcgonagall was completely obscured by the back of her chair, but the expression that he saw on his sister's features confused him. It was harsh but not harsh, firm but not firm. The cold, unfeeling Consort who he had known Circe to be before his memories had come back to him, but a softer and more loving look now burned in her eyes.
"Won't you… Won't you face backlash if you're found to be making up my family records?" Mcgonagall asked after a long and tense silence.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Minerva." Circe replied with an airy sort of dismissal. "Any questions or queries of my research that the The Ministry want to follow up, they caaaaahhh…"
Circe's voice failed her as her eyes locked with Tom. Heart-stopping surprise filled her.
Tom stared back at her. A daring smile spread across his face. Almost as if he was daring her to say something… To raise the alarm to his presence and chuck him out.
Circe's mind froze up. Her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. Unable to think or feel anything beyond her reeling shock. And when she didn't do anything, Tom nodded politely to her and carried on in his sneaking as if he'd merely passed her in the street…
"But there are others here, Circe. Members of staff whose family histories are even more "impure" than mine." Minerva said tearfully.
The old witch drew a handkerchief out of her pocket to blow her nose. Tom used the noise to close the last few feet of distance between him and the coffee machine. As Minerva wiped her face and composed herself, Circe watched Tom with rapt horror.
"What are you doing?!" she mouthed to him as Minerva dabbed at her eyes. "Get out of here... !" she added, furiously pointing at the door. "Get o-"
She had to suddenly halt her waving, snapping her arms back into place in her lap as Minerva turned to face her once more.
"I know you have told me to leave you be before…" Mcgonagall continued hoarsely.
Circe could only half-listen to Minerva as she watched Tom unstopper the potion bottle Lars had given him and tip the whole thing into the coffee bean hopper.
"But you cannot ask me to abandon you to them. Especially when I still see the goodness in you…" Mcgonagall said shakily.
There was silence for a second as Tom flashed an impish grin at Circe. She wanted to scream at him.
What the hell are you doing?!
"Circe…?" Minerva asked unsurely.
The young boy disappeared behind the back of another high top chair. Circe shook her head and looked to Mcgonagall.
"Uhh… what did you say?" she asked her.
Minerva sighed and looked at Circe's hands, almost like she wanted to reach out to them. "I know it will be painful to admit that you've made a mistake… in following Severus into this… but I will be here. If you wished to-"
"Minerva, please… don't do this again." Circe said exasperatedly.
The door to the Staff Room opened and Circe felt her blood turn icy as Alecto and Amycus Carrow came sauntering in. She gasped, darting her eyes to where she had just seen Tom, jumping to her feet.
"Carrows!" she exclaimed a little too loudly.
Alecto and Amycus both abruptly halted their conversation and looked at Circe with deep frowns. Tom poked his head out from behind a chair, looking at her too.
"I am… uh… conducting Staff interviews in here. Is there somewhere else you can go?" she asked shakily.
"We just came in for a cup of coffee." Alecto replied unsurely.
"Oh, then let me get you a cup…" Circe said, grabbing both of them by the wrist and yankin them towards her.
Circe manhandled the two twins across the Staff Room, pushing them by the small of their backs on a route through the chairs that avoided where Tom was crouched. Circe's eyes locked with Tom as she shoved them in the direction of the coffee machine.
"Get out!" she mouthed silently at him again.
Tom merely replied with his Steve McQueen grin. He could tell that his sister wanted to throttle him. He'd wanted to hang around to see the potion Lars had given him take effect. But perhaps it was time to go...
Tom began crawling his way over to another chair that was closer to the exit and Circe rolled her eyes as she reached the coffee machine.
"Do you know how this thing works?" she mumbled nervously. "This is my seventh year here and I still don't know how to make the milk warm! Watch out for the Eagle… he bites."
Alecto and Amycus frowned at each other as they began making themselves a drink. The clatter of their mugs in the awkward silence gave Tom enough cover to look out from behind his chair. Circe furiously waved her hand behind her back at Tom and the young boy crawled on hands and knees towards the Staff Room door. Circe caught Minerva looking at her and she smiled awkwardly back at her, clasping her hands together behind her back.
"Oof…" a small, muffled sound came from behind an armchair as Tom hit his head on the furniture.
Circe's eyes bulged. Minerva frowned and began turning her head towards the noise she'd just heard…
"Minerva!" Circe shouted, lunging forwards desperately. She positioned herself squarely in front of Mcgonagall, blocking her whole view of the Staff Room. "Your interview with me is finished. Thank you for your cooperation. I'm… I'm going to show you out now…" she said, turning to announce her intent to the seemingly empty room. Her eyes scanned the chairs and the space around them, looking for Tom's face and seeing no one.
"Alright…" Minerva said, rising to her feet.
Circe made a grab for Minerva's arm and began dragging the poor woman across the room. She passed by a hanging hammock and saw a pair of amber-brown eyes staring at her from behind a mass of cushions. Circe swallowed hard, tugging on Minerva's arm firmer as she man-handled her to the door.
Once she'd pushed Mcgonagall out into the corridor and made her hasty, panicked goodbyes, Circe turned back to the Staff Room.
"How many sugars, Deputy-Headmaster?" Amycus asked her from across the room.
"Wh-what?"
"For your coffee." The male Carrow replied.
"I… uh… none."
"Ah. Then, here you are, Deputy." Amycus said, holding a steaming mug of coffee out to Circe, walking towards her.
"No!" She shouted. If Amycus was by the door, then Tom would never be able to sneak out unnoticed.
Amycus stopped in his tracks. Circe did not wait for him to ask any questions about her strange behaviour. She almost jogged across the room, taking up her previous place in front of the brass coffee machine again. She took the mug from Amycus's hand, suddenly remembering something as she stared into the steaming liquid.
"Thank you…" she mumbled, her face twisting with disgust.
Didn't Tom just put something in this?
"What's the matter, Deputy?" Amycus asked, noticing her scrunched nose and hesitance to drink. "Too good to take a drink from the likes of me?"
"I… no. I just…"
"With the way you and the Headmaster speak to us sometimes, it's hard to believe we're on the same side!" Scoffed Alecto. "Steppin' over the both of us, screamin' in my face the other week in front of that boy in The Cooler, the two of you up there in the Headmaster's office in the evenings, making decisions without anyone else… And now she's too high and mighty to have a drink that one of us has made!"
"Don't… don't be absurd, Alecto. Of course we're on the same side." Circe replied hurriedly.
She glanced down to the cup in her hands, internally grimacing.
Tom made it the last few feet to the Staff Room door, his cheeks aching with the strength of his smile. He had to swallow a squeal of mirth as he watched Circe and The Carrows take a sip from each of their mugs of coffee…
He turned to leave, satisfied his work was done, and ran straight into a shirt but stout wall of flesh.
"Oh! Goodness me!" Filius Flitwick exclaimed, as Tom staggered back from him. "Thomas! What on earth are you doing in here?!"
"Lukather?!" Amycus spat out, his mug of coffee clattering to the floor.
Circe's face was as pale as paper when she turned to face him.
Tom gasped and went sprinting past Flitwick and out of the Staff Room…
Lars and Jeffrey were waiting expectantly behind a corner when he burst out of the tapestry.
"Run for it, lads!" Tom cried at them.
"But the…the potion… Did it work?!" Lars asked.
But Tom didn't reply, instead sprinting straight past them both.
"Get back here, Lukather!" Came an incandescently angry voice behind him.
The next people to emerge from out of the Staff Room door were The Carrows, but not as they knew them…. Both of them were grey-haired and withered, their skin mottled with liver spots and their backs bent with age.
"It worked! The Weasley's Rapid Aging Agent worked!" Lars laughed.
"Lars! Come on!" Jeffrey shouted, pulling on his sleeve.
The Carrows tried to run at them, but could only manage a feeble shuffle. They seemed to be growing greyer and more infirm by the second.
"Goodness me, Tom. How much did you give them?! I said a few drops!"
"Lars?!" Jeffrey exclaimed again.
The other two boys turned and ran after Tom. The decrepit and hoarse cries of Alecto and Amycus hollering at their backs. Circe emerged from behind the tapestry too, her curly hair now bright white and her face engrained with deep wrinkles. She could barely stand up straight as she hobbled out on her old legs. When the Aging Potion wore off her and she could grip things again with her arthritic hands, she was going to strangle Tom… If The Carrows hadn't tried to do it first.
Tom was sent to The Cooler for six days for that stunt.
When they snuck a few of their own rigged parcels into the letters and packages Severus was due to search through that week, the Headmaster opened them up unknowingly and sent a plume of fluorescent green Colombian Itching Powder all over his office.
Severus's face had itched for weeks after that one. And Circe too had felt the aftermath of that prank when the powder had somehow got into their bedsheets…
That one had earned Tom a week in The Cooler.
When they charmed the Giant Squid to turn bright pink and emerge from the waters of the Black Lake whistling the tune of 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips', they'd kept the whole school awake with the Squid's warbling that night.
That one earned Tom nine days in The Cooler.
When they slipped a whole vat of Madame Pimpernelle's finest 'Ruby Red Never-Fade' hair dye into the Slytherin Prefect's bathroom, Crabbe and Goyle had bashfully come to breakfast the following morning looking like a pair of tampons….
That one earned Tom eleven days in The Cooler.
When they hexed the roof of the Great Hall to
display the music video of Bowie and Jagger's 'Dancing in the Street' instead of the sky….
That one earned Tom thirteen days in The Cooler.
When they transfigured every single doorknob in the school to turn into a hedgehog upon contact…
To The Cooler he went…
And every single moment Tom spent in the darkness, he counted down the seconds until he could get out and begin his next distraction for Dumbledore's Army...