Halloween crept up on the school quickly. An eerie atmosphere blanketed the students, as they travelled from class to class in pairs and little groups; whispering amongst themselves. The murmur of 'Daisy Meadowes…' and 'hasn't come back…' rang through the halls, and little Lobelia had disappeared from Hogwarts' halls days ago. The rumour was that she wanted to be there for her sister's last moments.

George hadn't been convicted of anything, but left the school just days after Lobelia did. It was undetermined if he attacked his girlfriend. Or perhaps that was ex-girlfriend, Tom considered. Everyone knew Daisy wouldn't last the holiday.

Harrison, in particular, was rather on edge. He seemed paranoid, and would eye those around him with suspicion- especially the boys in their dormitory. Only Orion was exempt from this and- more strangely- so was Tom. Harrison had never hidden his dislike for Tom, although that hadlessened in recent months, so it was strange that Tom was free from Harrison's suspicion.

Atticus was also very on edge; but in a less of a watchful way, and in more of a 'blind terror way'. It was significantly less impressive.

Tom was aware that Avery had, through some kind of low-level manipulation, initiated a truce with Harrison. Atticus was likely hoping that Harrison's more compassionate nature would prompt the green-eyed boy to protect him. After all, it was unlikely Tom would go out of his way to protect anyone. And Harrison had proven that he, bare minimum: cared about people.

Avery was therefore sticking close to Harrison. It was a ridiculous decision- all it did was cause Harrison to become more and more irritated by the blond boy's presence, and less likely to jump in front of him should the 'crazed maniac' attack.

Potions was one of the only lessons where Harrison was granted a respite, and was placed on the other side of the classroom to work with Tom.

Atticus was neither pleased nor subtle about his displeasure.

"Your shadow's becoming impatient," Tom pointed out drily, pouring half an ounce of toad vomit into the cauldron.

"Because Merlin forbid I get a moment of peace," Harrison said strongly, crushing a spider eyeball with the side of his knife.

They worked in silence for a moment; Harrison scraping the contents of his chopping board into the cauldron, and Tom stirring on a low heat.

"So what was involved in this 'truce' the two of you set up?" Tom asked curiously.

The pair of them glanced at Avery, who was desperately attempting to keep Harrison- and Tom- in his line of sight, and was having to lean across the desk to do so.

"…Was it twenty-four hour protection?" Tom drawled dubiously.

"He literally just asked for us not to hate each other. This… stalking was not part of the deal," Harrison complained, waving his knife in the air. "I don't know why he's being so weird. He was always so… closed off, and cold."

"He's been spooked. Purebloods are usually safe in the current political climate. For a well-bred member of society like Miss Meadowes to be attacked in such a muggle manner… well, it's quite the statement."

"You think it was a statement then?" Harrison asked, in the kind of tone that suggested he was trying to be casual, but failing. "So the person might try again? They could still be dangerous?"

"Statement was probably the wrong word to use," Tom admitted carefully. "Perhaps, instead, consider these events as… an example of possibilities? It's not like there have been many attacks on Purebloods recently. This is all bringing the likelihood to light. And for someone like Avery who values his personal safety very highly…"

"I don't understand why he's picked me out though," Harrison protested. "He's got you, who would be way more valuable if he was attacked."

Tom inclined his head. "Yes, but Atticus is attempting to take advantage of your propensity for empathy."

"You mean he thinks I'm more of a gullible git."

"That's putting it bluntly: but I suppose the general sentiment is correct." Tom glanced at his sullen partner, and almost empathised. "Look… as I said, he's been scared. He's like an animal, latching onto the nearest figure of strength for comfort. He'll realise that he's being ridiculous soon, the girl will die, and you can both go back to antagonising each other over muggle and wizard relations. Perhaps then you'll have your moment of peace."

"My my, Riddle." Harrison smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were feeling sorry for me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom spoke smoothly.

Harrison furrowed his forehead as he eyed Atticus. "So what does he do in the classes we don't have together?" he asked. "He's made sure he's near me in things like Potions."

"Oh, he sticks close to me instead. Apparently power makes up for low emotionality at a pinch."

Harrison snorted. "It's like shared custody. I suppose that makes you the dad in this deal."

"And you the mother."

"Yeah, but that would make us married."

"Lucky you," Tom said salaciously. "I've heard I'm quite the catch."

Harrison shuddered dramatically, spots of red high on his cheeks. "Thank Merlin we're making a memory erasing potion- I only have to suffer with that image for another 30 minutes."

"And I'll treasure it for the rest of my life." Tom winked wickedly.

Harrison turned a bright crimson.

Oh, but this was fun.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harrison mumbled, echoing Tom from earlier.

"Using my own words against me, now? How Slytherin of you."

Harrison snorted dismissively. "I'm going to get the wolf's blood."

He'd only taken a few steps before his foot slid on a discarded ostrich feather. Tom watched curiously as Harrison toppled over, flinging out an arm to catch himself. He hit the cobble floor with a muffled 'hmph!', and the sound of metal hitting stone. Out of Harrison's pocket fell a gleam of silver, which skidded and finally came to a rest by Tom's foot.

"What's this?" he murmured softly, bending down to pick it up.

"It's nothing," Harrison said quickly, scrambling to his feet.

"Really? Nothing"

"Yeah, so if you could just give it back..?"

Tom squinted down at the locket, running a fingertip over the etchings in the front panel. "Flowers…" he murmured. "How familiar…"

"Familiar?" Harrison chuckled. "Of course it isn't."

Tom looked at him flatly. "This is Daisy Meadowes' locket."

Now why would Harrison have this? Tom didn't believe he'd stolen it- or, indeed, taken it from the scene. Harrison wouldn't be capable of something like that. He was far too moral.

"What?" Harrison blinked innocently. "No, it's just a random necklace thing," he insisted.

"No, I'm quite certain that it's her locket."

"You're probably just tired-"

"It was missing from the crime scene."

"Or maybe it's my grandmother's-"

"I'm not stupid, Harrison."

The other boy slumped sadly, realising the game was up. "No, you're not. That's the last thing you are."

Tom arched an eyebrow pointedly.

"Fine, then. It's hers." Harrison admitted. "I didn't take it or anything- I just- I found it in the dormitory the night we were told she was attacked. I don't know where it came from."

"How peculiar. Do you suppose it means one of our associates committed the offence?" Tom hummed, probably not acting as alarmed as he should be.

"That was my first thought," Harrison sighed. "I dunno- I know it's not Orion, or Avery- unless he's a much better actor than I thought- I know it's not you-"

"How?"

"Huh?"

"How do you know I wasn't responsible?" Now that Tom knew why Harrison suspected their dormitory of the crime, it was even stranger that Tom had been excluded. "I'm more than capable of it."

"It's not how you'd kill someone, though."

"…Pardon?" Now it was Tom's turn to blink in confusion. Harrison had been considering how he would kill someone?

"If you were going to kill Daisy Meadowes, you wouldn't hit her, or kick her, or do any of that other 'uncivilised' stuff," Harrison air-quoted. "You'd be… elegant about it. You'd use magic, for a starter."

"I'm glad to hear you have such a high opinion of me." Tom couldn't deny that Harrison was essentially correct. The style of Miss Meadowes' undoing was far from what Tom would accomplish if provoked. "You seem to have this all figured out."

"I'm pretty experienced with murder," Harry said ruefully.

Tom's attention was drawn by Chloe Babbage nearby, who shrieked as a shower of red erupted out of her cauldron and showered down, plastering her hair to her forehead. The students around her leapt to their feet and scurried away, leaving Professor Slughorn to rush towards the panicked girl, throwing a cleaning spell towards her. The students further away barely glanced at the action, continuing to ladle oak toad venom. They were all so clueless, Tom mused in disgust. Barely considering the larger things, never looking beyond what they were told or wanted to think about. They were so ignorant.

"So what do you think we should do?" Harrison asked, a touch of reluctance colouring his tone.

"About what?" Tom asked, dragging his focus back to his partner.

"The locket, of course. Someone in our dormitory attacked Daisy Meadowes."

"Well," Tom considered. "Do we know that? It could have gotten into the room a number of different ways."

"I guess..."

"I suppose we should inform the teachers. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore," Tom suggested unwillingly. He did loathe interacting with the deputy headmaster.

"Or maybe not."

Oh? Tom's gaze flicked to the green-eyed boy. How odd. Harrison struck him as the moralistic, 'we should inform the teachers of the murderer' sort.

Harrison coughed. "What I mean is… well, Dippett's quite incompetent, isn't he? And… I don't trust Dumbledore hugely."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

Harrison rushed to explain himself. "We do live in a dorm with our suspects… maybe we should just keep an eye out. It was probably a one-time thing. It's not like we have any actual proof, anyway."

"If that's what you feel is best," Tom gave a small shrug. It wasn't like he particularly cared.

"Plus…" Harrison added quietly, "Orion's family's one of the darkest there is- there's no way they wouldn't suspect him. He could do without that kind of suspicion… Rigel had a fit last night."

So that was the real reason. Loyalty to his friend.

"Fair enough," Tom dismissed. "I'll keep an eye out."

And with any luck, this shared secret between them would encourage trust and friendship. Another step down the right path.

"Thanks," Harrison replied with a small smile. His eyes rested on the locket in Tom's hand for a moment, and he seemed to be pondering something; a question flashing across his eyes. But Harrison's lips pursed stubbornly, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Tom wondered what had just passed through Harrison's mind, but dismissed it. It couldn't have been that important.

The Halloween decorations were even more impressive than they would be in fifty years. It appeared that 1943-era Halloween was both gorier, gutsier and celebrated with more gumption than it would be in the future.

Blood literally dripped from the cracks in the walls, along with a weird puss-like substance. Unsettling laughter leaked from crevices and echoed around corners; whilst shards of pumpkin flesh crunched underfoot, and spiders fell from the ceiling. Even Harry was vaguely disturbed by the skulls that would appear lurking in doorways and dark classrooms; jaws clattering on their hinges.

"This is all very dramatic," Harry mused, spinning on his heel to watch a crowd of bats winging down the corridor.

"Isn't it great?" Orion said enthusiastically. "I mean… I could do without the dripping blood-" he pouted, "-but Halloween is a time of renewal, of celebrating death as a gateway, instead of damning it." Orion frowned shortly. "And I could do with some positive-thinking towards death right now."

"How's Rigel? After his… thing?" Harry winced.

"In St Mungo's. But they have a great children's ward- highest quality care, I'm told- and the nurses really love him there. He'll be having the time of his life. And Meissa enjoys their sleepovers so…" Orion twitched slightly, which may have been his attempt at a shrug. He brightened. "Anyway, Halloween's a time for celebrating death. Seeing it a turnover- not mourning what could happen. And Halloween is great fun in St Mungo's. They hand out these ghost sweets where the flavours disappear and reappear in your mouth. Rigel loves them."

Harry grinned; happy that Orion was feeling so much better. This was the happiness he was trying to protect.

"So what's the Halloween feast like?" Harry asked, curious as to how it was different. The Halloween feast had always been amazing at Hogwarts- when there were no trolls, petrified cats or deranged prisoners, that was.

"The feast? Incredible," Orion breathed. "I never think it can get any more delicious, but they manage it every year. What were your Halloweens like, when your family was alive?" His eyes widened and he clapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh- was that an insensitive question? I'm so sorry- you'd think what with… everything… that I'd know what was appropriate to say-"

"We didn't really celebrate the 'witching hour'," Harry reflected. "Whenever it was Halloween, we'd stay inside."

Halloween had been the one holiday where the Dursleys hadn't indulged Dudley. No matter how much he whined, or begged, or cried, Dudley had never been allowed to engage in any of 'that occult nonsense'. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon spent the evening of the 31st huddled on their sofa, watching Christmas films on high volume. Harry, of course, had been locked in his cupboard, but he'd always heard the screams and giggles of children from outside the house, and wished he could join them. They'd sounded so free.

"That's awful," Orion gasped. "Imagine not celebrating Halloween!"

"I don't have to," Harry responded drily.

"But Halloween's such a big deal in the wizarding world. It's all about indulging in magic, and connecting to the dead- how can you not- your parents were magical, weren't they?"

"Yeah," Harry remembered James and Lily's happy faces, literally sparkling on their wedding day. "Yeah, they were. But they just didn't agree with Halloween." Or Halloween didn't agree with them, he finished mentally.

Orion looked disapproving. "Well, whatever you do, don't tell Walburga."

"Walburga? Why not?"

"The Black family is very traditional; we get very into the 'breaching of the veil' and 'communicating with the dead'. We always had to hold a Dead Man's Fire."

"Dead Man's Fire?"

"It's… sort of like a séance, I suppose, but without the dead answering back. We have a fire, and talk to any recently deceased. Usher them into the afterlife, if you will. It's about finding acceptance, restoring your bond with magic- there's supposed to be a strengthening aspect, but we never focused on that. Grandfather was a staunch traditionalist, and Walburga follows him closely in old rituals. I think it makes her feel closer to Uncle Pollux."

"Her father?"

"He died when she was young. He was the one that Father and Walburga always contacted during the Fire."

"Oh." The Black family really had awful luck. "That's so sad."

"He had the same thing as Rigel. Aliquid's Syndrome." Orion said slightly bitterly. "Obviously, though- his progressed later."

"So does the Dead Man's Fire work?" Harry asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

"It's more of a gesture than an actual working thing. But I think there is an element of connecting to the other side, yes. I always feel… something. Ghosts are stronger on Halloween- more tangible. I don't see a reason why those who have already passed on shouldn't also get closer."

"Really?" Harry cocked an eyebrow. "I thought even in the magical world, once you're gone… you're gone."

"Usually. But, as I said, Halloween weakens the wall between the dead and the living- or at least that's what a lot of traditionalists believe." Orion looked discerningly at Harry. "Didn't your parents ever talk about this?"

"Oh, they were very modern," Harry said dismissively. "And we were quite isolated in the village- mostly friends with muggles, really."

"Sounds horrifying," Orion shuddered genuinely, and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

"I've told you before, they're just normal people-"

"Oh, look!" Orion rolled on the balls of his feet, and bounced towards a portrait. "It's a Dead Man's Fire!"

Orion gestured at a painting. The painting gestured back: little witches and wizards sending angry scowls towards Orion. They were sat around an open novel: the pages of the book set alight and crackling merrily. The book was perched upon a pile of ripped papers, which we were similarly blazing. The witches and wizards were sat in a peculiar formation: triangular; all holding hands over their heads. The witch sat at the peak of the triangle had her head flung back, long strands of hair the colour of molten gold, turned russet by the glow of the firelight.

"Is there anything significant about the triangle?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh absolutely," Orion said enthusiastically. "The number three is very powerful. It's represented by the runespoor in the runic alphabet. Its venomous qualities and the long associations of serpents with dark magic means that the number three is very closely connected with dark and death magic. It also symbolises balance, which is very important when performing death magics."

"Balance?" Harry said doubtfully. "The number three is odd. That doesn't seem very balanced."

"The runespoor has three heads, all with different personalities and tasks. One's the planner, one's the dreamer, and the last is critic head. Often the critic head will be so negative that the other two heads bite it clean off, and thus the runespoor dies. Balance needs to be maintained between the three aspects, which is where the equilateral triangle comes into play."

"Well, thanks for the lesson, Professor Black," Harry teased.

"You're welcome," Orion said cheerfully. "I do love runes."

Harry snorted, and they set off down the corridor once more.

The Halloween feast was indeed incredible. It was at lunchtime, rather than dinner- Orion said it was because many students were missing from dinner; either setting up rituals, or having been taken home to engage in Halloween traditions with their families. The lunch feast was missing a few of Harry's favourite treats: there were no banana splits, for one, but that didn't stop Harry's jaw from dropping as he entered the Great Hall.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Orion crowed victoriously.

Harry grinned reluctantly, and dodged as a bat swooped down, lightly skimming the top of his head.

The Great Hall had been transformed into an eerie cavern; the benches creaking ominously when students shuffled on them. The lights were dim, and flickering slowly between blue tones and red tones. The enchanted ceiling was pitch black: an ominous, dark mass of swirling shadows, causing the hair on the back of Harry's neck to stand to attention. The stone walls were damp; dripping and moist with cloudy water.

"Peters!"

Harry glanced around the Hall, and spotted Atticus at the Slytherin table, waving widely.

"They're already here," Orion said delightedly, and began dragging Harry towards their gathered friends. "Halloween greetings!" he declared, pulling Harry down to sit next to him.

The plates on the Slytherin table were encircled by live, hissing snakes; hundreds of gleaming copper and emerald scales twisted and entwined. Harry picked up a serpent-shaped biscuit, sporting tiny edible spheres for eyes.

"Original theme," he said drily.

Riddle responded with a lazy smile. "They've really gone all out."

"Well, I think they've done a marvellous job," Walburga declared, waving an arm. "I can't stand it when they try and make Halloween funny. It goes against all tradition. I could, however, do without the blood oozing from the cobbles- it's quite disgusting. Completely ruined my new shoes."

Walburga lifted the edge of her skirt to reveal crimson stains on her shoes, which Harry assumed were some kind of fashionable, black patent things.

"Your ankle's showing," Druella pointed out airily, and Walburga let go of the fabric with an indignant huff, leaving the skirt to fall back down.

"I'm not quite that medieval, Ella," she said severely. "I have very few issues with ankles. I've started wearing dresses to the knee, actually- it's all the range in Paris. It's when skirts show everything from the thigh to the derriere that I start to feel faint-"

"I heard 'derriere'," Rupert responded suddenly, spinning around on his bench. "Who's derriere? Because I'm looking at a great one right now-"

"It doesn't concern you," Druella sighed. "Why don't you occupy yourself elsewhere?"

Rupert shrugged, and did so; getting up and crossing the hall to the Hufflepuff table, where he seated himself across from a girl and started flirting in earnest. Harry looked at the girl who had captured Rupert's attention. She was a tall, curvy brunette with large doe-eyes and bright red lips. She was, to be honest, completely gorgeous- and she had the typical 'frame' of Dolohov's conquests.

"Isn't that Maraina Wheelan? She's a fourth year." Orion said obliviously.

"She's a fourth year?!" Harry exclaimed.

"She clearly developed young," Walburga said dismissively.

Druella, on the other hand, looked horrified when she heard of the girl's year. "That means she's fourteen!"

"Yes, it does," Walburga agreed. "I would have thought Rupert would have better taste, honestly."

Druella was fuming. "If I find out he's actually done anything with her, I swear to Morgana, I will skin him…" she hissed.

"If they haven't done anything yet, he's clearly hoping to."

"If he lays one finger on her…"

They all watched Rupert get closer and closer to the red-faced girl, until he finally stroked the back of her hand and gave her a wink.

"That's it," Druella said fiercely.

She marched towards him, and pulled him to feet. Harry caught Riddle raising an eyebrow as Druella gestured wildly and turned to the fourth year; Mariana, and began talking to her too; softly but just as firmly. Mariana gasped and looked like she might slap Druella, before hitting the table and storming out of the room. Rupert looked irritated, and began shouting at Druella angrily; who responded just as loudly.

"Does she… er, do this a lot?" Harry asked carefully.

Walburga winced, still keeping her eyes fixed on the altercation at the Hufflepuff table. "Only when Rupert gets too predatory."

"And it just wouldn't be a Hogwarts celebration without risk of grievous bodily injuries, now would it?" Riddle said, far too amused by it all; scooping some pumpkin pie onto his plate.

Druella returned from her quest- victorious- and sat back down, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

"Where's Rupert gone?" Orion asked.

"He decided his time would be better spent elsewhere," Druella said sweetly.

"And Mariana?"

"She didn't like being told that sex with a sixth year wouldn't make her feel better about herself."

Harry's eyes widened. "That… that was harsh."

Druella gave him a dismissive look. "I'm not letting Dolohov destroy another girl's self-esteem when she's too young to know any better. There are plenty of sixth and seventh year girls for him to leech off of."

"I do wish you'd be less… aggressive, Ellie," Walburga said, but seemed to know it would make very little difference. "It's not a very attractive quality."

"I don't care," Druella said determinedly. "If confronting the girl head on helps her, then I'll do it."

"What a rousing vow of feminist duty," Riddle said, thoroughly bored. "Perhaps you should eat now. The food's getting cold."

"You're such a mother," Druella snorted, rolling her eyes. She took a leg of chicken anyway.

Riddle sent Harry a smug smile. "Oh no, it was established earlier that Harrison's the mother. I'm the father."

"When's the wedding?" Atticus sniggered.

Harry groaned, and slumped on the table. "Kill me now," he groaned; and then remembered that Riddle might take that as a genuine request. "I don't mean that," he said, glaring up at the Slytherin prefect.

"Of course not." Riddle smiled down pleasantly.

"Hmph."

"So are you going home this evening, Burga?" Druella asked.

"No," she replied, frowning. "Mother's busy this year, and Grandfather died, so there'd be no one to lead it. Besides, everyone else in the family is visiting Rigel." Walburga looked downcast at the thought. "This'll be the first year we don't do one."

"That's a shame," Druella said soothingly. "But it won't be the only chance you have to contact your dad."

"I know. I just wanted to tell him about… you know." She took a big breath. "Anyway, what's done is done. Perhaps I'll hold a Christmas séance," Walburga said, reining in her emotions. She pushed the pumpkin pie around her plate with a fork.

"I'll help," Druella offered.

"Thanks, Ella," Walburga smiled, and the two girls held eye contact for a minute before glancing away.

"My parents have called me home. We'll be conducting a Dead-Man's Fire together," Atticus said self-importantly.

Silence followed the announcement. He'd obviously expected it to be bigger news than it was.

"Well, you've chosen the right night to do it," Riddle said, with a smile that bared his teeth.

"Pardon?"

"If there's any night that Miss Meadowes' attacker will strike again, it's Halloween, after all. The night of death, and ghouls, when evil walks the hallways and creeps through windows."

No one should be able to say that with as much relish as Riddle did, Harry thought.

Atticus tried to appear unaffected, but he gulped visibly and pulled at his collar.

Harry glared at Riddle. He knew as well as Harry did that the perpetrator might be sitting amongst them- did he really need to be giving them ideas of prime murder time?

Riddle gave Harry an innocent smile, but Harry wasn't fooled. He knew precisely what he was doing.

"Daisy Meadowes is dead."

Professor Dippett made the solemn announcement at dinner, taking off his pointed hat and clutching it close to his chest. Dumbledore bowed his head, and many of the staff members looked teary-eyed.

They weren't the only ones. Several of Daisy's Ravenclaw friends were clutching each other and bawling their heads off; looking like the heart had been ripped from their chest. One of the Ravenclaws let out a heart-wrenching scream at the news, and had to be escorted, shaking violently, out of the Great Hall.

Lunch was a somber affair.

Harry felt awful. The locket burned a hole in his pocket. Perhaps he could slip it to Lobelia unnoticed.

Hermione would be appalled that he wasn't saying anything. Even Ron would make some sort of doubtful remark. But Harry stayed strong in his decision not to tell anyone.

It wasn't like he wanted Daisy's murderer to go unpunished. He just… He didn't have any real proof! It was just a bit of jewellery, after all. Like Tom said: it could have gotten into their dorm any number of ways! Everyone practically knew it was the boyfriend who did it, after all. It was definitely him. And Harry didn't want Orion to be a suspect…

Or himself.

There was also a hint of self-preservation involved. It was Harry who'd found the locket, after all. If they suspected him, they'd probably bring him into the Ministry. And then they'd find all the inconsistencies in his story… there was no way that it would hold up in court. And how could he get back home if he was stuck inside a jail cell, or being experimented on in the Department of Mysteries? He'd never know if Ron and Hermione were okay.

And who would he tell? Dumbledore, the apparent Grindelwald sympathiser, and all round mysterious figure of ambiguous intent, who had- for all intents and purposes- given him the silent treatment the entirety of his fifth year? Or Dippett, the man who arrested Hagrid over Tom Riddle? It would probably be safer for Harry to take care of it. At least he had a track record for getting shit done.

Best keep quiet- anyway, for all Harry knew, this could be a major point in time. If he changed this, who knew what could happen? Would solving Daisy's murder lead to even more death? Harry didn't know anything- his every step could be altering the future. Putting someone behind bars seemed like a pretty big step.

So he swallowed the guilt and hunched his shoulders. It was done now, anyway.

"So that's that, then. She's dead," Walburga said, shaking her head, and wiping away a tear. "What a shame."

"She must have been so scared," Orion said quietly.

To be honest, not much shock accompanied the news. They had all, Harry reflected, been acting like Daisy Meadowes was dead for a while now. Ever since they heard about her attack, really. It had just been a matter of time.

"Her poor family," Druella murmured.

"Do you think Lobelia will come back to school?" Harry asked.

"She has to," Walburga said. "The funeral will be soon anyway. They'll want to get it over and done with. It's been dragged on long enough."

There was a pause.

Orion looked down at his lap, and frowned. "I wonder what happens when you die. Where you go."

"Technically speaking, we cease to exist," Riddle said, obviously not feeling very philosophical. "Our consciousness is just electrical signals and pathways. Once we die, they stop. And there's nothing left of us."

"That's very… interesting," Walburga said slowly. "I can't say I've ever heard of… electricital signals."

"Muggle science," Druella assured her.

"Oh, how quaint!"

"I hope the dead go somewhere happy," Orion said feelingly. "Somewhere where all of your dreams are fulfilled. Surely we have to, to make up for all of… this." He gestured around at the teary-eyed, sombre hall.

"The afterlife would be an awful place," Riddle murmured. "So stagnant and… dull."

Walburga's eyes lit up, and she sat up suddenly. "I know what we should do! We should hold a Dead Man's Fire! Tonight! To usher dead Daisy's soul into the afterlife, and to reassure her that we're all thinking about her. Poor thing must be scared stiff, and I doubt her family are in any state to hold one."

"That's a wonderful idea, Walburga!" Orion said excitedly, looking more than a bit like a puppy. There were hearts in his eyes. "But… who will take part?"

"Well, Ella will- won't you, Ella?" Walburga asked expectantly, turning to her friend.

"Of course," Druella replied, smiling. "If this is what you want."

"And obviously, we'll also have Tom, Harrison, Orion- and I suppose Rupert will have to join in too, to make it divisible by three. It's a shame Atticus went home; he's really good with these sorts of things, but I suppose Rupert will have to do." Walburga frowned.

"Why don't we ask Cassie?" Druella said quickly. "He loves all this ritual stuff."

"Oh, Cassius!" Walburga clapped in delight. "Yes, he would do quite nicely. Where is the darling?"

"In the library, but I can go and fetch him easily enough."

Walburga beamed. "Perfect. Myself, Druella, Orion, Tom, Harrison, and Cassius! I daresay this might be the most successful Dead Man's Fire yet- Grandfather would be so proud." She got to her feet. "Orion, darling, why don't you fetch the sage? I have to go and prepare the site- oh, this is so exciting! I love Halloween!" Walburga called over her shoulder, prancing away with as much dignity as she could muster, and the whoosh of skirts on cobblestones.

The table without her was much quieter.

Orion scrambled to his feet. "Well, I should- I er, I shoulder probably go and get that sage. Don't want to keep her waiting!"

And he was gone.

"Whipped," Harry murmured, and ignored the odd look he got from Druella.

"Well, with all this excitement, it's almost like a girl hasn't just died," Tom said pleasantly.

The mood swiftly plummeted.

"Yes," Druella muttered. "Burga never was one for sensitivity in the face of excitement. Neither was Orion, actually. Perhaps it runs in the family."

Harry grabbed a handful of jellybeans, and shrugged. He was sure Sirius probably would have agreed.

"So, er, what's the sage for?" Harry asked, watching Walburga rub green leaves into the wooden floor of an empty classroom. She was going at it quite viciously, grinding the waxy epidermal layer against the wood grain.

"Cleansing," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Cleansing?"

"Yes. Stopping contamination of the ritual, magical incidents, unwanted spirits, etc. You may not have done it in your household, but we've always been quite thorough in mine. We should probably be smudging, but I don't want to burn anything yet- speaking of burning, Rupert, would you please take that Morgana-forsaken tobacco elsewhere?"

Rupert raised his hands defensively, and wandered over to the open window.

"You should know better than that! Honestly, I don't even know why you're here." Walburga frowned at Rupert, and then her best friend. "Ella, I thought Cassius was our sixth member."

Druella looked apologetic. "He was busy. But I blackmailed Rupert?"

"It'll have to do," Walburga tutted. "No, don't just stand at the window, Rupert, throw the awful thing out! And someone cover the clocks!"

Orion rushed to fulfil her wishes, conjuring a black clock to obscure the grandfather clock's face, and making sure no one was wearing a watch.

"Er, why do we do that?" Harry asked, feeling more than a little dim.

"Why, to be respectful to Daisy's spirit, of course! We don't want the poor girl to think we're working to a deadline! This should be her safe space. Honestly," Walburga huffed, pausing in her work and turning to look at him, "Haven't you ever performed a Dead Man's Fire before?"

Harry glanced nervously at Orion, who shrugged.

"Well, strictly speaking… not really. No," Harry said slowly, testing the waters.

"What!?" Walburga shrieked, jumping to her feet. "You poor boy! What were your parents thinking!?"

"Well, they weren't, er, very… traditional?"

"They never even did Halloween!" Orion piped up.

"Oh, how awful," Walburga held his face between the palms of her hands, and looked genuinely distraught. "Never mind." She steeled herself. "We shall just have to make sure your first Fire is a memorable one."

"You're in for it now," Druella said teasingly.

Walburga glanced out of the window. "The sun's going down. It's nearly time!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "Stand back!"

Walburga withdrew her wand and pointed it at the floorboards. As she muttered under her breath, a line was burnt into the floorboards, following the tip of her wand as she drew a large triangle, and then a circle within it. She crouched, and began etching smaller, delicate runes with barely a flick of her wrist, replicating them with ease. Before Harry could blink, the entire triangle was filled with complex, foreign, and admittedly beautiful shapes.

Harry wished for the first time that he'd paid more attention to Hermione's Rune revision. Maybe then he'd have a clue of what was going on. "What do they mean?"

Orion answered, squatting down and scanning the formation. "A few for balance, a few for death, a few for communication- you've misspelt Ansuz." He pointed.

"Oh, so I have," Walburga blinked, and added an extra line to what now looked like a slanted F.

"Thank Mordred I didn't take Ancient Runes," Rupert drawled. "I never understood any of this shit."

"Maybe if you had, you could have improved your spirituality," Walburga said primly.

Rupert snorted. "I think I'm doing just fine without."

"You mean 'just fine', as in flirting with fourteen year olds?" Druella sad cuttingly.

"Just because you're about as adventurous as a flobberworm-"

"No negativity in the ritual space!" Walburga squawked.

The two fell silent.

"Good," the Black witch beamed, and took a deep breath. "Now, I've prepared the fire source."

She clapped, and a large pile of ripped pages appeared in the centre of the centre, upon which rested an open book: complete with missing pages.

Druella burst out laughing. "Is-is that the OWLs Arithmancy t-textbook?" she giggled through tears, clutching her stomach.

"Yes."

Druella laughed even harder.

Walburga appeared taken aback. "What? It's not like I'll be needing it anymore. I hated that class."

"F-fair enough," Druella giggled, wiping her eyes. She tried to be more serious, although she couldn't quite contain her hiccoughs of amusement.

Harry sidled up to Riddle, nudging the taller boy to get his attention. Riddle glanced down at him with vague interest.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, "How come you seem to know what you're doing? I didn't figure you'd get much opportunity for rituals at the orphanage."

Riddle's eyelid barely twitched at the mention of his summer residence, and he gifted Harry a sharp smile. "The Malfoys let me attend theirs last year. It was quite… illuminating."

"You didn't believe a word," Harry said, unusually perceptive.

"No," Riddle agreed delicately. "I think magic has many reaches, but it is my opinion that the dead are beyond it. Once we die… we're gone. Nothing of us remaining." He seemed disturbed by the idea.

"That's morbid."

"Well, we are about to attempt to guide the spirit of a brutally murdered girl into the afterlife."

"…I'll take your point."

"So what about you?"

Harry startled at Riddle's curiosity. "What about me?"

"What do you believe happens to us once we shuffle off this mortal coil?"

"Oh. Huh." Harry considered. What did he believe? The Dursleys had never pushed much spirituality onto him- if there was one thing the Dursleys were not, it was spiritual- but he supposed he had always expected that, once he died, his parents would be on the other side. He supposed he stillbelieved that- although would it still work if he was back in time? His parents hadn't even been born yet! Or was the other side timeless?

"I think…" Harry murmured. "We go somewhere where we're reunited with our loved ones. Maybe it's not heaven, but just… somewhere where we're never lonely again." And against his will, he smiled.

Riddle was watching him with an expression Harry had never seen before. It could have meant anything from 'what an idiot' to 'I know your secret' or 'I want to slow roast you over a fire pit', but Harry was sure it meant something.

"Right!" Walburga declared, clapping her hands once more. "Positions please! I want the most experienced members on the outer corners; so that's myself, Orion, and Ella; and the other three find a place in between them."

Harry quickly found himself sat cross-legged between Orion and Druella, directly opposite Walburga. Orion's hand found his: elegant and long-fingered, with well-manicured fingernails resting lightly on Harry's skin. Druella's hand also slid into his, and Harry would have been hard-pressed to tell the two apart. He could only imagine what his own hand must feel like: nails splintered and fingertips calloused, and overall probably a bit sticky. He'd had a lot of jellybeans.

"And now, we begin."

At Walburga's whisper, the room plunging into absolute darkness. Harry doubted even a knife could have penetrated the thick pitch blackness of it all. A moment later, four candles flared to life; positioned at each corner of the room. Harry hadn't noticed them before. It was barely a second before Walburga: the only one with both hands left free, reached out her wand very gently, and threw a spark at the pile of shredded pages.

They ignited with a burst of flames, and all of a sudden the tip of Harry's nose grew very, very hot. It wasn't a natural flame; it burnt too bright and too quickly, and flickered too swiftly between cool tones and warm tones. Through the fire, Harry could just about make out the figure of Walburga, looking somehow more imposing and stately through the flames. She reached out, a blackened herb in her hand, and dropped it into the fire.

The flames burned bright green, and Harry found his eyes closing as something not quite there crawled up his spine.

"Basil," Walburga intoned softly.

On either side of Harry, he heard a murmured echo.

"Chervil."

The same again.

"Dandelion."

And again and again; Rose Hips, Caraway, Echinacea, Mint, and finally:

"Mullein."

There was silence, and Walburga took a deep breath. Harry wanted to open his eyes, to see what the hell was going on, but he couldn't. It was like someone was pressed down on each eyelid and murmuring not now, not yet.

Harry's head tilted back, and he breathed in, smoky, earthy scents burrowing into every parts of him. He shivered. Never before had a fire been so cold.

He could hear murmurings around him, and whilst he was sure it was just the others, it was still eerie. He heard 'Daisy' in Walburga's voice, and 'Grandfather' in Orion's. He didn't think Riddle was talking, and Druella was muttering so quickly and quietly that he didn't understand a word. He didn't bother trying to work out what Rupert was saying.

Harry mouthed the words, his lips forming around a 'mum' and then a 'dad', conjuring images of safety and warmth, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out and confirm what he was fairly certain of; that he was too far out of reach for even the dead to find him. So he mouthed their names, and exhaled.

In the distance, someone screamed, shrill and soft and barely a whisper on the wind.

Harry wasn't sure how much time passed- breathing in and out, tongue wrapped tightly around those two words- until he heard the fire dying away. It hissed and spat, and crumbled away; taking with it the blanket of herbs and smoke. As it faded, it left a sigh; heavy in the air like the release of something heavy.

It wasn't until the hands holding his broke the connection that Harry dared prise open his eyes.

The fire was indeed gone, having melted away, leaving only a pile of ash and a few unburnt scraps of paper. Harry squinted in the half-darkness, room now lit by just the four candles.

It was both anticlimactic, and somehow the perfect ending. If the flames had done something like… shoot all the way up to the ceiling, or vanish in a puff of smoke, or sing, it would have been dramatic, yes… but it would have been wrong.

Despite the underwhelming conclusion, the Dead Man's Fire was still one of the weirdest things Harry had ever experienced. He did wonder if the purebloods still did this in fifty years. Had they just gotten more secretive about it? He knew the Weasley's certainly didn't perform one, but that didn't count for much.

Harry rubbed the steam from his glasses; and then the grit from the corner of his eyes, feeling both sleepy and hyperaware. Orion offered a hand and Harry took it, letting his friend pull him to his feet. Everyone seemed a bit drained- even Riddle was paler than usual.

Walburga was the only one left on the floor. She was knelt, scooping the grey ashes into a jar and picking out the scraps of paper carefully.

What was she doing? Harry peered around for cues. Should he be doing that? No one other than Walburga was doing it.

Walburga looked up and, seeing Harry's general befuddlement, elaborated. "We take the ashes and sprinkle them on the grave of the contacted spirit, for safe keeping. And some say that the words that haven't been burnt away-" she gestured to the page scraps, "-are a message, but mostly I just like to keep a scrapbook."

"Walburga's very good at scrapbooking," Orion said bleary-eyed, but still adoringly.

"I am," Walburga said, tucking the jar away in her robes. She looked tired, but content. "Well, I declare this a resounding success! I had a lovely chat with Daisy, and I'm sure she feels better now. Was everyone else as satisfied?"

"Yeah, it was great," Rupert drew out sarcastically. "Can I go now? I have a hot date."

He didn't wait for an answer, heading quickly for the door.

Druella narrowed her eyes. "If I find out you're seeing Mariana-!"

But the door slammed shut before she could finish.

"Idiot," she muttered.

Orion grabbed Harry's arm with enthusiasm. "And now for the best bit! We get to go and have drinks! There's this great cocktail we're supposed to have. Basil, lime, firewhiskey-"

"And this is a requirement, is it?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Of course." Orion widened his eyes innocently, and Harry chuckled, pushing him towards the door.

"Alright then," Harry agreed.

Orion grinned. "I just need to grab the firewhiskey from our dorm. I'll be back in a jiffy." He hurried away towards the dungeons.

"Coming?" Harry asked the remaining three.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Riddle drawled.

"I hope you know I won't drink anything uncivilised," Walburga told him. "A lady must keep her decorum."

"I always like to have the strongest stuff there is," Druella shrugged.

"And you're terribly embarrassing to attend parties with."

"Excuse me, I'm the life of the party!"

Harry held the door open and everyone filed out; the sound of their footsteps and the girls' bickering fading away until he could hear it no more. He smiled, feeling oddly content.

Harry paused for a moment, glancing back into the dim classroom and wondering who would tidy away the still-burning candles, but decided that the House Elves could probably deal with it. He spared a moment to wince at what Hermione's response would be to that.

Harry stepped out of the classroom, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. As he turned to leave, he could swear he saw a shadowy figure dart away from the corner of his eyes. He shook it off, putting it down to the copious herb fumes he had just inhaled. But as he took a step and turned to leave, the back of his neck prickled and he spun around again. Nothing.

It was probably nothing.

He straightened his tie- green, Sirius would have a heart attack if he saw- and walked away, heels clacking against the stone slab flooring.

I know very little about Wicca or paganism. Please don't hurt me. This is all from google and my imagination XD

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