Lukas suffered for his early night. By four in the morning, according to the tempus charm he practiced (and succeeded in casting after two attempts), his dry, aching eyes stared at the canopy of the bed, the darkness biting at them like light. The heat gathered around him sunk lethargy into his bones, and it sat there like torture as his exhausted body cried at his mind to let it rest.
It didn't. Never really did.
Still, he was used to early mornings. The silent hours would be bliss over the next few years – privacy to shower and time to prepare for the day in peace. Snores still fluttered around the dorm as he shouldered his bag and left, and silence breathed a sigh into the Slytherin quarters, sweet sleep in the crackle of the hearth flames.
A stone beside the exit had a groove worn smooth into its craggy face by a millennium of use. Lukas pushed it, and the door ground open.
To the dungeons. To Hogwarts. To a new life.
He whiled away the hours until breakfast sweeping the central areas of the castle. Each corridor he traversed and tower he glimpsed scratched out a place in his head.
Lukas spent the last half an hour before breakfast sat outside the locked doors of the Great Hall, doodling ghosts and ghouls and pumpkins in his notepad. He'd gotten entirely lost in it when the sharp announcement of footsteps rung through the cavernous reaches of the hall. Lukas started, clutching his notepad to his chest while his eyes skittered across hidden spaces.
Just someone coming down. Lukas let out a shuddering sigh and jumped to his feet. Nothing more.
Quietly, he withdrew into the dusty shadows that still hung around the alcoves and pillars where the weak candlelight couldn't touch and waited until he saw the familiar face of Severus Snape.
Flowing black robes had replaced the suit, the sleeves cinched tightly up to the elbows. The draping tails hung limp now as Snape trudged through the halls, but Lukas expected they'd swirl about fantastically if he walked a bit quicker.
Lukas stepped out of the shadows and Snape jumped when he appeared. Eye for an eye. His posture sharpened up in a blink. He threw back his shoulders and brought his heels together with a crisp tap, but no amount of raising his chin would obscure the drooping eyelids and dark circles.
"Black. What are you doing out of bed?"
Lukas pulled out his notebook and wrote as he walked. 'I have insomnia. Should I not be out of bed?'
"There is a curfew from ten at night, although…" Snape rubbed the side of his nose, black eyes sliding down to Lukas, "there is no clear termination. One would suppose it ends when the corridors are no longer patrolled, which is from four o'clock onwards, so at this time, Mr Black, you are not supposed to be in bed."
My god, he actually read the whole thing. Lukas put on something that might resemble a sunny grin if he tried a little harder. 'When does breakfast start?'
"Six-thirty sharp. It is now—" he flicked his wand – a tempus? Lukas's curve at the beginning needed to be much smoother if so— "nearly twenty-five minutes to. Congratulations, Mr Black. Your first day at Hogwarts and you have already delayed the beginning of breakfast."
Lukas glanced at the staircases leading into the Great Hall. In the distance, a slow set of footsteps meandered in the echoing cavities above them. Evidently, Hogwarts wasn't bothered if breakfast didn't begin promptly at half past six.
When he looked back, Snape strode to the door, and with plenty of that theatrical robe billowing now. Delightful. A single tap of his wand, the doors gave a loud, mechanical clunk and swung inwards. Lukas followed Snape inside.
Only the thin light of dawn seeping through the east windows illuminated the hall, cool rays catching the dust dancing in the air. The room before him darkened left to right in an achromous gradient. Snape, the dark figure striding down the centre, didn't break the greyscale.
Yet above him, the sight exploded into chromatic brilliance. The enchanted ceiling displayed the sunrise in all of its glory. Navy sighed out to a china blue expanse that dominated the centre, then clashed dramatically with the orange aura of the rising sun. Throughout the whole canvas broken ribbons of pink clouds darted across the playful blue, observed by the pale wink of the crescent moon. Lukas's breath escaped in a gasp, and his footsteps slowed to nothing as he tipped his head back to the splendour.
Nature captured between manmade walls.
The spell broke when Snape took his seat at the head table. With a clattering racket than made Lukas jump, the day's breakfast appeared on the long trestle tables. The sweet scent of pastries and the rich aroma of eggs and meat swamped the dusty, clean smell that had pleasantly tingled Lukas's nose only moments ago. A little nausea turned his stomach at the assault, but by the time he sat at the Slytherin table, it had faded out of notice.
It wasn't long before the other early birds began filtering into the hall, none of them first years. Lukas took a careful note of each of their faces as they stole into the hall and took their seats. Here and there, a two flittered in, but mostly they sat alone, eating breakfast, poring over a book or a paper, or simply watching the sky turn to day in peace. A sharply dressed man with glasses joined Snape at the head table. They exchanged a brief greeting but no more.
At half seven, (or rather seven thirty-two, according to the tempus that Lukas had been casting at frequent intervals, trying to get a feel for the way the magic in the spell worked), the prefects guided the first set of first-years into the hall, and the quiet sanctity of the early birds was irreparably shattered. It was the Ravenclaws. The Slytherins arrived third, after the Hufflepuffs and seconds before the Gryffindors (at precisely seven thirty-eight).
"Good morning."
Lukas glanced up from his second cup of coffee. Wronski had taken the seat beside him again, about arm's length away. The seating arrangements had changed only slightly, with Shiori joining the girls and the boys sitting slightly closer to Lukas and Wronski, further from the five girls.
Interesting. And what the fuck did Wronski want after Lukas had jabbed a knife at him? He smiled anyway and gave him a small wave. 'Cause hey, he wasn't going to be glowering off anyone who wanted something to do with him after that. Wronski smiled back and dished out a meal of scrambled eggs, thinly buttered toast, and some sort of sandwich. His eyes lingered on the empty plate in front of Lukas, but the obnoxious comment didn't come. Score to Wronski, especially as Lukas had eaten breakfast – he'd had a croissant with strawberry jam and picked the flakes off his plate while the morning drifted by.
Not long later, Snape dropped a stack of papers roughly equidistance from all of the first-years with hardly a passing glance. A grimace turned Lukas's lips as Wronski handed him the last, ragged piece from the bottom of the pile when all the other first-years had finished their scrabbling. Great. Now it'd be shreds by the end of the week.
"Hey?" Wronski held his timetable in his hand and once he had Lukas's attention, tapped their first slot. It was Charms with the Hufflepuffs. "Do you want to try to find this now, so we aren't late?"
Lukas nodded, a small smile curling his lips, studded with teeth and bemusement. No one had ever tried to be his friend before, especially not after he threatened them with a knife.
•─────⋅ ⋅ ⋅─────•
Lukas had a talent for remaining unnoticed, but apparently that didn't go as far as lessons in Hogwarts. A small nudge persuaded Wronski – Seb, as the boy insisted – to answer for him on the register, and he'd slipped from attention all day so far.
So far.
After lunch was Transfiguration with the Gryffindors. Lukas and Seb left early, as they had breakfast, to find the classroom ahead of time, but before long they were surrounded by Slytherins. Yaxley and Gallus sat at the end of the bench beside him and Seb, Gallus making broadly gestured jokes and laughing at himself, while Yaxley looked taxed to keep up.
The Gryffindor boys, predictably, sat at the back. And predictably, their laughter ground like the clash of symbols against Lukas's ears. He sunk further into the table between his folded arms, glowering at the front of the classroom.
McGonagall's lesson brought with it their first attempt at practical magic: changing a matchstick into a needle.
Transfiguration was a bit trickier than the other first-year material – the theory had actually looked like theory instead of the abstract blabbering of basic charms – but Lukas would be able to do it. Unquestionably. He wasn't being defeated by this fucking match, all he had to think about it a little more. Nothing else.
Chewing on his lip, he cast the spell over and over on his matchstick, but no matter how he twisted the theory around in his head, nothing changed besides that dismal grey colour creeping into the wood. And that was if it wasn't just his eyes going funny from staring at the damn thing so long.
When he checked the clock, it was halfway through the damn lesson, and he'd cast this spell about fifty fucking times and nothing had changed. Lukas dropped his wand with a hiss. The rub of his hands over his face drew frustrated heat to them. Seb laughed and Lukas glowered at him as well – bastard had made less progress than him.
Something was missing. Transfiguration might be a little harder, but it wasn't that different to the charms or jinxes he'd already cast. He knew what he wanted, and he'd held that pristine in his mind, bobbing like a sparkling lightbulb right at the very centre: he wanted the bloody match to look like a—
That was the problem. He wanted the match to be a needle, and that meant he had to think about the change. Well, here's all your useless knowledge coming in handy. You know the structure of wood on a microscopic level and you know the structure of metal – let's bring some science into this alchemy.
Science. Lukas almost grinned. Sure, he hated chemistry, but it was something familiar.
"Mr Black?"
For a moment, that went totally over his head. Black? Who's Mr Black? Then he caught McGonagall's eyes boring into his skull like twin screws, and he grimaced, sinking even lower into the fold of his arms. A trace of sympathy marred her stern expression, but it wasn't if she knew why Lukas looked so miserable. Only two lessons…
Lukas nodded. Perhaps he could get away as shy.
"Are you having a problem with the spell?" Lukas shook his head. McGonagall crossed her arms, ruffling herself as if it offended her that a first-year wouldn't be having problems with the spell on their first day. "Let's see it then."
Lukas glanced around. Gallus and Yaxley had their beady eyes on him, Gallus sniggering something to Yaxley behind his cupped hand. Great.
No point trying the new way until he had some time to think it over, so he cast it the same way as before, flicking his wand through the precise movements with the spell name ringing through his head. The wood greyed, the end seemed to lengthen and narrow, and Lukas could have sworn there was a tiny dip in the head when he looked closely.
Huh, so it worked on the subconscious level a little too. So what if he subconsciously believed something distinctly false or mythological about one of these spells? That could be interesting…
"Mr Black?" McGonagall spoke sharply, a frown gathering her brows. "I believe I asked you to cast the spell, not wave your wand about and stare at your match."
No getting out of that one. Damn it. He picked up his notebook and turned to a fresh page. McGonagall's face softened as he wrote the note. He handed her the match (because you really couldn't call it anything like a needle yet) with the notepad, and she took them both.
'I'm mute.' The note read. 'I have to cast spells non-verbally. See.'
McGonagall's eyes were wide as she looked between his note and the match.
"Very well." She set Lukas's things down on the table. "I will have to speak with the headmaster about this. Carry on as you are for now. Good work, Mr Black."
Lukas groaned low in his chest and banged his head on the table as she walked away, sending Gallus into hooting laughter. Fuck.
•─────⋅ ⋅ ⋅─────•
On Wednesday morning, Lukas received a letter delivered by bland but cute brown owl. The note was short and sweet, and if he tied it to a stick, it'd probably make a good white flag for his hopes and dreams surrendering to meddling teachers.
'Dear Mr Black,
'Professor McGonagall will escort you to my office after your Transfiguration lesson today to discuss your disability. I look forwards to meeting you.
'Yours sincerely,
'Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'
So that afternoon, Lukas wound up right at the tippity top floor of the castle side by side with McGonagall. Their trek ended in a bland stretch of corridor staked out by a hulking statue of a gargoyle set in a wall.
"Lemon drops," McGonagall announced brusquely. Lukas frowned at her, his lip drawing back from his teeth, but his eyebrows jumped up when the gargoyle, with a hideous grating, trundled aside to reveal a spiralling staircase.
"Step on," McGonagall said. "He's waiting for you."
Lukas would have been happy to leave him waiting until his deathbed, but he stepped through the stone arch and onto the step anyway. As soon as his foot left the corridor, another grumbling scrape echoed around him and the stairs rose like a great swirling escalator. In a couple of seconds, McGonagall was out of sight and Lukas was alone with the deafening grind of stone on stone.
The moving staircase was incredible and all, but it was also slow. After a minute of tapping his foot and grimacing at the sound, Lukas got sick of it and took off at a jog up the stairs, just quick enough to get his heart going without sweating.
Before he could knock on the small door at the top, an old man's voice rang out around him. "Come in, Mr Black."
The headmaster was nowhere in sight when Lukas first stepped through the door. Instead, a sweep of cabinets and tables opened before him, all full of delicate instruments made from gleaming silver. Bookshelves hemmed the room, funnelling the path between the spindly tables up to a short set of stairs that curled around behind a grand set of mahogany shelves. The pigeonholes in them each cradled its own scroll.
Lukas edged through the small room, his bag pulled tight to his back as he skirted the little tables dotted over the floor. The mechanisms on the tables kept drawing his eyes, his feet slowing to a snail's tap as they submitted to the fascination ticking in his mind. The glass-front cases that lined the walls held even more and each was a wonder to behold. It was a marvellous collection – each intricate, finely-crafted device must have cost a fortune, and a lot looked as if they had a use too.
Lukas stood at the foot of the stairs debating if this particular piece – a small globe that depicted a map Lukas didn't recognise in a mix of silver plate and mesh – would fit in his pocket when the headmaster called out again.
"Mr Black, while I respect and appreciate your curiosity immensely, we do have a meeting scheduled."
Lukas clicked his tongue against his teeth, and with one last lingering look at the globe, he climbed the stairs. The space at the top was wide and airy. Gleaming polished wood trickled away to grand floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the lake and the forest far to the left. Lukas traipsed across the floor with his eyes devouring the beautifully bound books behind the old man and the huge array of portraits covering the rest of the walls. They all watched Lukas as he took his seat in a well-padded armchair, ruffling their clothes and sitting forward in their frames to squint at him.
Dumbledore smiled at Lukas across the table, the shape of it muffled by his long, silver beard. His eyes crinkled up in a happy scoop of wrinkles as he did. "You are free to continue to peruse my collection once our business is finished, Mr Black. I'm not one to curb a young student's interest, wherever it may lie."
Lukas gave a thin smile and nodded, but a strained warble drew his attention from the headmaster. The bulk of the desk had blocked the cage off on his way over here, but now, the gilded dome and the scrawny chick perched within were just a couple of metres away.
Like Lukas's attention bothered it, the scruffy, pink-skinned thing cried again. Lukas grimaced, leaning away from it. God that sound was awful. Not that he could put his finger on why; perhaps it was a touch too high-pitched, a fraction out of tune, or maybe it was the slight sting it sent through his eardrums. Either way, nothing about the bald, wrinkled thing was endearing at all.
"He does look far better than that most of the time." Lukas turned back to Dumbledore, his eyebrows drawing together. Wasn't it a baby? Did it have a bath yesterday? As if that would improve anything. Dumbledore continued apparently oblivious of Lukas's scepticism, rheumy old eyes stuck on the chick and a fond smile curving his wrinkled lips "Phoenixes are reborn from their ashes when they die, and Fawkes had his Burning Day only yesterday. In two weeks, he'll be his handsome old self again."
Surely phoenixes should be a little more aesthetically pleasing than that, recently dead or not. Wasn't that the whole point?
"Now, on to business." Dumbledore rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. The way he peered at Lukas over the top of them was reminiscent of the sorting, but the gaze was softer now, a little twinkle behind it. If Lukas hadn't known better, he might have thought he'd been wrong about that glare. "Professor McGonagall has informed me that you are unable to speak, is this correct?"
Lukas nodded, pulling his feet up onto the chair to cross his legs.
"Ah…" Dumbledore tapped his fingers against his lips, considering. "In which case…" His hand dipped below the desk and when he raised it, he held a wand, pointed directly at Lukas.
The chair toppled over with a thunderous clatter, and that damn bird set off into a torrent of squawking again. Lukas skittered backward until he knocked against the wide banister, his own wand in his hand and his heart spasming up in his throat. All of the painted figures jumped up and started jabbering to each other. So many of them talked that the words all jumbled together but none of it was savoury.
Shit. What now? What the fuck could he do against whatever Dumbledore wanted?
"My dear boy." The headmaster rose from his chair and raised his hands. If it had been a breath quicker, Lukas thought he would've broke and ran. His arm trembled, and even the baggy sleeves didn't hide it. The portraits quietened down at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, leaning forwards in their frames. One crotchety old man put a listening horn to his ear. "Whatever seems to be the problem?"
What? Some of the tension seeped out of Lukas's jaw. Was it not something bad? Lukas swallowed hard and pointed at the wand, now set on the table, and shook his head. Dumbledore frowned until Lukas repeated the action.
"Ah!" His hands fell to a genial spread "I was simply going to cast a spell that would allow you to project your thoughts in the form of writing – just to make the conversation easier for you, you understand?"
Like hell you are. Lukas pocketed his wand and wrote a note. His hand was still fucking shaking. What kind of stupid reaction had that been anyway? Dumbledore didn't have any reason to do anything to Lukas right now. He hadn't done anything suspicious, right? With tight lips, Lukas slapped the notepad on the table for Dumbledore to read and picked up his fallen chair.
'I've coped like this for several years, and I am content to continue to do so. I'm sure you have a spell to project the contents of my notes into your brain – just to make the conversation easier for you.'
The last of the tension vanished from the headmaster, and Dumbledore gave a light chuckle as he slid the notepad back. "I'm more than happy to read them myself, Mr Black. So you've had this disability for a long time?"
Lukas planted himself back in his chair and wrote a reply. 'I don't call it a disability, but yes, for about six years now.'
"I believe it was, if my memory serves correctly, Professor Snape who visited you during the summer, correct?" Lukas nodded. "Did he know about this?"
'Professor Snape was content to let my guardian do the talking.'
"And your guardian didn't inform the professor either?" Lukas shook his head. "Why is that?"
'Because I don't like special treatment.'
Dumbledore gave him an intensely patronising smile. Prick. "Our curriculum makes it difficult to hide a verbal impairment. However, that does beg the question, Mr Black – where did you learn to perform non-verbal spells to such an impressive level?" The old man leant forward and levelled his gaze at Lukas, who ducked his head in a show of shy humility. Oh, you honour me with your flattery, Professor. I have to hide my reddening cheeks. The portraits started whispering to each other and Lukas noticed one – a thin, pompous man – peering at him with a special intensity. "You are a muggleborn student, are you not, Mr Black? You do realise that most witches and wizards don't even attempt non-verbal spells until their fifth- or sixth-year?"
Lukas kept his eyes low as he flashed the note with his reply. 'I didn't know it was so special. I had to try something.'
"But you must have had some prior knowledge of non-verbal spells?"
Lukas bit his lip, eyes on the twisting of his pen between his fingers. Was the old man trying to dig something up? Did he wonder if his memory wipe hadn't worked as well as he would have liked? Maybe Lukas hadn't been as stupid thinking that as he'd thought. Lukas took his time over the note, with lots of shy glances up to Dumbledore while he made a show of writing quickly and scribbling over blank patches of paper.
'Professor Snape took me to Diagon and I was so worried about having a problem I had to think of other ways to do magic. But the only magic I had seen was Professor Snape doing spells without speaking, so it was the first thing I thought to try. I didn't really know what else to do if it didn't work, so I kept practicing until it did as soon as I got here. I mean, people always tell me I'm very smart and analytical, so I suppose it really helped!'
The headmaster kept his smile on while he read the note, but some of the feeling seemed to drain out of it. Dumbledore couldn't tell if genial, shy little Lukas lied through the note, even if he suspected it, and there wasn't that much of a lie anyway.
Dumbledore handed Lukas's notebook back and perhaps with a little force, the smile filled up again, this time with beaming jollity. "Well if so, this is all spectacular, Mr Black, a show of spectacular talent, but I'm pleased to tell you that you won't have to struggle behind your classmates for your time here." Lukas's eyebrow twitched. Struggle behind? Was that so? "You see, here in the wizarding world we have spells and potions to cure all manner of muggle ills, and I'm sure our healers will have your disability fixed in no time."
Lukas had already finished his note by the time Dumbledore finished talking. 'Your spells and potions cure physical trauma, not psychological, and I don't want anyone in my head.'
A moment of floundering came across Dumbledore's face. "My dear boy…"
Lukas held up a finger and wrote. 'I don't want talk about it. It's irrelevant.'
The expression cemented into sagging lips, and Dumbledore spread his hands toward Lukas, long knotted fingers splayed. "Mr Black, perhaps this is something the school should know about. We may be able to help you with your troubles."
'They're finished. It's only lingering issues – nothing the school should know about.'
The old man narrowed his eyes. Lukas twitched as Fawkes cried again. Shit, that sound went through him. Gritting his teeth, Lukas pulled his notebook back from Dumbledore.
'Is that everything?'
"Yes…" Dumbledore gave his head a slight shake and smiled. "Yes, of course. Of course. Just remember that any one of the teachers are willing to help you with any problems you might have, whether to do with your disability or something else entirely. Now, I'm sure you want to go see your friends, and dinner will be starting soon. So off you go, Mr Black. Have an excellent evening!"
Lukas gave Dumbledore a quick wave once he'd pushed the chair back under the desk, and as soon as his back was turned, he let all the groaning building in his chest show on his face.
Fuck sake. He had to write to Jack about that.
On his way out, he almost pocketed the globe, but something about the air around it brought him up short, echoed by the taste of ash and baking bread. There were probably jinxes all over it. Perhaps he'd take it in a few years; he'd inevitably be up here again.