It was dark in the kitchens, the House Elves long since having gone to bed or about their duties cleaning the common rooms. Ginny winced and cast a quick tempus; it was a lot later than she realised, they must have taken quite a while getting downstairs. Grateful that it was a Friday and they could all sleep off the consequences of their late night wandering, rather than suffering through classes the next day, Ginny settled in for a night of gossiping and ranting about her boyfriend. She lit the torches with a quick flick of her wand and started rifling through cupboards with the ease that only a daughter of Molly Weasley could have in the kitchen (even if she, herself, couldn't actually cook anything in there). Colin joined her immediately and between them they found a leftover chocolate cake, a dozen jam tarts and a jug of pumpkin juice. Dumping the lot on the table, Ginny grabbed one of the tarts and immediately launched into a tirade about Dean and the latest stage of their 'football is better than Quidditch' argument. She saw Dennis quickly lose interest and wander off to explore the kitchens and resisted the urge to lob a tart at the back of his head.
"Wait, so let me get this straight," Colin said slowly, when she finally paused for air and took a large bite of the raspberry tart in her hand. "We're down here … in the kitchens … in the middle of the night … having one of our sacred bitching sessions, because you think that the West Ham four-one loss against Middlesbrough the other week was nowhere near as bad as the Harpies three hundred point loss to the Tornadoes last season." Colin did not look anywhere near as sympathetic as Ginny had been anticipating. She declined to point out that he'd brought his little brother to their so-called bitching session and so really couldn't talk.
"Well yeah," she replied quickly, sensing that she was losing her friend on this one already. "Dean plays Quidditch, alright, he gets it. So why he thinks one measly loss is anywhere near as cataclysmic as the game that cost us the entire fucking season is beyond me." Colin raised an eyebrow and summoned a glass from one of the shelves. "His stupid football team have the whole league thingy ahead of them." Colin raised the other eyebrow and stared her down. "Ron would understand." She sighed bitterly, refusing to repent for dragging her friend from the common room in the dead of night over Quidditch. Some things were just that important. Her brother would get it, even if he was being a prick at the moment.
"Well we aren't talking to Ron at the moment because he's a sexist arse," Colin reminded her glibly, pouring them both a glass of juice. "Besides, I think you're all crazy anyway. The only game worth worrying about is Rugby, and the Five Nations doesn't start until the New Year. So until then, there's no point getting worked up - isn't that right Dennis?" He looked around for support from his brother and noticed, for the first time, that he was not sat at the table with them and was instead staring into the fireplace in the corner of the room. Ginny followed his gaze and quirked her eyebrow up in confusion. Creevey the younger had a tendency to do slightly odd things - even by Hogwarts standards - but standing stock still in the corner of a practically empty room was particularly bizarre.
"Dennis?" Ginny called, proud that her tone conveyed more a sense of 'are you alright?' than 'what the fuck?' (for once) and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner when he twisted his head to look at them. She was feeling a little more benevolent to the tag-along now that she'd got her rant out of her system. Colin stood up, seeming to sense something in his brother's expression that she didn't.
"Um, guys," Creevey minor squeaked, turning around with a weird look on his face, "there's someone in the fireplace."
"Like in the floo?" Ginny asked as she got to her feet, she couldn't see a fire, or smell a fire from where she stood, so maybe that was a stupid question. But then again, Fred and George had once spent a morning at the Burrow spying on their mum and making random ghostly wails from the dying embers of the living room fire. They drove her spare for hours before she realised how they were doing it. She spared a moment to frown at Colin's disbelieving look (he did not grow up with the twins) before grabbing his shoulder and walking towards the fireplace.
"No," Dennis's voice wavered and somehow became even higher as he answered her, "like a… person." Ginny sighed in relief, even as Colin shook his arm free of her grasp and practically sprinted over to join his little brother.
"That's just a house elf, Dennis," she commented, walking idly the rest of the way over to the brothers, "they live in the kitchens and make the food and clean and stuff. Just don't get Hermione started on…" She trailed off as she stopped next to Colin and looked into the ancient stone fireplace herself. There, huddled in the corner, was not, as she had expected, a sleeping pointy-eared member of the Hogwarts staff. Instead, sat completely still and staring with wide, terrified eyes was a teenager - a teenager with dark brown hair and eerily green eyes.
"That's not a house elf," Colin commented unnecessarily.
It would have been easy, however, to mistake the boy in front of them for one of the Hogwarts kitchen staff. He was wearing a bizarre combination of tunic and trousers, which looked as though they might have once been off-white and beige respectively, but were now so stained and torn that it was quite difficult to say for certain. He was also painfully thin and covered in dirt and dust so that it was hard to tell how old he was; although Ginny guessed he wasn't that much older than her and Colin. He had a stripe of soot up the side of his face from where he'd clearly been lying in the fireplace. Before that moment, Ginny hadn't seen anyone look worse than Harry had after he'd rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets, or as thin as he had when he'd stayed with them the summer before her first year, but the boy in front of her gave the Boy-Who-Lived a run for his money on both counts and came out miles ahead.
"Oh Merlin," Ginny swore softly. She had absolutely no idea what to do in situations like this. This was the domain of Bill- the-eldest, Percy-the-prefect, or even Charlie- and-Ron-the-sometimes-surprisingly-astute. She did brooms. Brooms and hexes and nifty clever little charms, not terrified teenagers in fireplaces. She was midway through fending off a panic attack when Dennis stepped forward with a look of concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked the boy, reaching out. The stranger flinched back, clearly confused and scared, as he stared up at them all. Bile climbed at the back of her throat and Ginny thought for a moment that she might be sick. He looked dreadful and she was pretty sure that the bruises on his arms and neck that made his reaction unhappily understandable. She stared at his arms for a moment or two before, suddenly, instincts of two summers spent in the company of the Order of the Phoenix rose up and she flung an arm in front of Dennis, pushing him back and raising her wand.
"Are you a Death Eater?" she hissed slightly frantically as Dennis and Colin snapped their heads around to look at her in alarm. They both seemed to realise the potential danger at the same time and threw their wands up in response. She tried to calm the herd of hippogriffs that had unceremoniously taken up residence in her chest and forced herself to listen to the logic that told her that a Death Eater was hardly likely to confess just because she'd asked. And not even that nicely.
"A…what?" the boy in front of them stuttered, confusion momentarily replacing fear as he glanced away from Ginny's wand point to look at her.
"A Death Eater," she demanded again, poking her wand at him. "Show us your arms!"
The boy snapped his eyes back to the wand now pointed inches away from his forehead and slowly rose his arms up in the air.
Sal was unimpressed, but he also had a strong sense of when to shut up, which, considering he was being held at wand point by a truly terrifying young witch, was probably the reason his mouth had yet to run away with him and say something stupid and antagonistic.
"I was…" he began haltingly, nearly going cross-eyed as the wand advanced towards the bridge of his nose. "I was told to come here … I did not mean to intrude on your…meal? I am sorry." There, he'd been polite and hadn't reacted to the dangerous weapon pointed between his eyes. It wasn't unusual for him to be accosted for something he had not done and had no idea about, but it was usually by someone he knew, in his own home and during the day, not by complete strangers in someone else's kitchen and when he had been trying to nap.
He had no idea who these people were, but they were clearly not Lords and Ladies of the castle, or they wouldn't have felt so comfortable wandering around the kitchens in the early hours of the morning. This much he knew. He was intimately familiar with all varieties of kitchen and at all hours of the day. He had no real idea beyond that of who they were, or even where he was for that matter. He had been ordered down to the kitchens minutes after the traveling party had landed in the castle's entrance hall (apparently in the room next door to a feast) and his master had been greeted by an old man with a very long beard. He hadn't been told where they were going before they'd left either, only instructed to collect the Lord's pack and then ushered (with a few unnecessary kicks) to hold onto a large, carved piece of wood, along with the rest of the travelling party. He'd been able to identify his master, the Lord, and his Lord's son, along with the two Ladies and a variety of assorted servants in the group. He hadn't been able to get a good look at the wood carvings before he heard one of the Ladies announce something unintelligible in Latin and he was suddenly ripped off his feet by the most horrendous tug in his navel. He was knocked about by swirling magic for a bit until he and the rest of the party were spat out of the vortex at the feet of the old man (who he assumed was an acquaintance of his master). The Lady Ravenclaw had been experimenting with instantaneous transportation for some time, so he could only assume she'd finally succeeded. It was fascinating; her work could be the most exciting magical discovery since the druids found out how to shapeshift into animals. Not that he was meant to know anything about it, of course. He was meant to fetch and carry and only use his magic as his master commanded - which was mainly to fetch and carry.
He tried edging back a little further and was nearly poked in the eye by the wand of one of the boys. The tall one, he assumed, although it was difficult to tell through the water pooling in his eye.
"Stay where you are!" the elder boy commanded and he froze in fear. He was not naturally good at following orders and the instinct to obey any command had long since been beaten into him.
The girl turned to look at her friend with respect; she seemed to be in charge of the group, which was odd for a woman. Perhaps she was on the cook's staff; few men would dare challenge a member of the kitchen staff in her own domain, woman or not. He peered up at them carefully, dropping his gaze back to the ground when they noticed and glared at him. Again, some things he had learnt to do the hard way. He could see that they all seemed to be wearing the same clothing- a livery of sorts, perhaps? He daren't look at them long enough to properly identify the crest on their robes, but he assumed that they were servants of some form in the castle that his master had brought him along to. Technically, by rule of social graces and aside from any difference in social standing between them, this would place them in a position of authority over him. Even so, he didn't appreciate being held at the end of a wand for following his master's damn orders.
He held his arms up, turning them slightly so that the group could get a good look at them. He wasn't sure what they were looking for. Most brands were placed on the breast or back, at least where he had grown up and where he was currently living. Although, thinking about it, he had no idea of knowing if he were even in the same part of the world anymore. His own brand, the hideous 'S' that marked him as a slave and a slave who had attempted to run away at that, lay just over his heart. They weren't going to find anything other than dirt and bruising on his arms.
They apparently seemed to realise this, as he heard one of them sigh in apparent relief. Maybe they were searching for a particular mark, a sign of clan allegiance, perhaps?
"Colin, he doesn't have a Dark Mark," the girl pointed out, lowering her wand and waiting for the other two to follow suit.
He refused to relax at all; he had no idea if they were done with him and absolutely no desire to incur their ire by moving before he was told to. He was crouching in the corner of the fireplace, arms still stretched out in front of him and eyes submissively lowered to the ground, waiting for them to make a move or to tell him what to do. It wasn't perhaps the most dignified of positions, but he had long since resigned himself to a wide variety of humiliations and indignities.
"What's your name?" the girl sighed "What are you doing here?"
She clearly had no idea what was going on. He knew he did not look like a respectable member of anyone's staff, so he thought it must be rather obvious what he was doing sleeping in the kitchens. It wasn't as if anyone was going to roll out a sleeping mat for him, was it? He sighed and started to lower his arms, very slowly, before realising they were seemingly done with their investigation and dropping them back to his sides.
"Sal," he replied quietly. He hoped she wasn't expecting anymore, that was all he had to give her. His eyes flickered up to glance over the other three, before returning to the ground. "I was told to come down here." There, nice and simple, they could hopefully infer the rest and decide he wasn't worth their time. He didn't offer anything else.
"What House are you in?" the older boy asked. He sounded genuinely curious. Sal noticed from the corner of his eye that the tall one had reached over to grab the younger one's shoulder. He suspected some kind of familial relation then, or at least a close bond- only brothers in the shield wall or close kin would stand with such casual familiarity. Sal looked up properly then and eyed the group warily as he inched slightly away from them, into the confines of the fireplace.
"I belong to Gryffindor," he stated quietly. He nodded at the crest on their robes, finally having chance to identify the coat of arms. "As, I see, do you."
"Yeah, we're Gryffindors," the younger boy agreed with a sigh of relief. The older boy shook his shoulder slightly and shushed him.
This was confusing and unexpected. Unless his master had suddenly hired three new servants in the time between exiting the magical transportation vortex and retiring to bed, then Sal was not entirely certain these people should be bearing his master's family crest so casually. Also, thinking about it, their long black robes were not any servants' livery that he was familiar with. In short then, he had no idea who these people were, or why they were claiming allegiance to his master's house. Perhaps they had been gifted from their host's staff? They must be in the home of a very great lord if he were able to spare three young members of his retinue to serve his guests and to dress them in a brand new livery, just for the occasion. If it wasn't that he'd heard and felt his Lord's anger at the King's unification endeavours (so-called 'messing round and trying to steal everyone's damn land') and understood how greatly his master hated his ruler, Sal would have suspected that he was in the King's own home. Sal concluded that he was suitably impressed and decided that if he were allowed to leave the kitchens for one moment during their visit, he would seek out the castle's Lord and be the most well-behaved, efficient, kindly little slave under the skies, in the hope that said Lord might take a fancy and purchase him from his master. He would be free one day and it would not be when he was an old man too worn down with age, illness, and toil to live any of his life. It would be soon, in a matter of years. But until then, he'd prefer to live in a bit of luxury, serving in a fancy castle that had a plethora of well-dressed staff available to share the workload.
Having determined that the boy was not a Death Eater and was, apparently, a member of their own house, Colin decided to tackle the next issues head on.
"So, why are you in the kitchens and not up in the Tower then?" he asked the boy, ignoring the blatant hypocrisy of his own question. Sal looked confused and went to speak, but was cut off by Colin's next question, which seemed to barrel on from the first before he could stop it. "Also, why aren't you in uniform?" The boy frowned and went to speak again, but this time it was Dennis that cut him off.
"Why are you sat in the fireplace?" his younger brother burst out, far too loudly for being out of bounds after curfew. Colin glared and shushed him immediately.
"If you'd let me speak, I'd answer you," the boy, 'Sal', bit out waspishly, before going completely pale and snapping his eyes back to the floor. There was a moment of silence where Ginny and Colin stared at each other in confusion. The boy was clearly expecting someone to say or do something and it was only after a full minute or so of silence that he continued. "Sorry, I… Sorry," he continued in a much more subdued tone, "I was told to come down here, no one said anything about the Tower and I am afraid that no one told me we were meant to be wearing a uniform or livery." He then glanced at Dennis in what could have been sympathy or amusement, but the emotion faded from his face before Colin had the chance to read it properly. "The fireplace is the warmest spot in the kitchen, after it's been lit all day," he stated simply.
Well, that was just plain odd. Colin did not quite know what to do with that remark and was beginning to think this whole thing was another Hogwarts mystery that he most definitely did not want to get involved with. They needed to get a teacher, or a prefect, but then they would be in loads of trouble for being out past curfew. They needed to find someone in authority who could handle strange teenagers lurking in the kitchens without shoving the whole lot of them in detention until Christmas. Of course, it was then that the boy, Sal, or whatever he'd called himself decided to put the cat among the pigeons with one simple sentence.
"If Lord Gryffindor sends anyone down here for me, I'd appreciate it if you woke me up, I'm not sure I'm meant to be sleeping and I'm in no mood for a flogging," Sal spoke quietly and slumped against the stone of the fireplace and closed his eyes. He had apparently decided that he was done with them, regardless of whether or not they were done with him.
Colin felt his jaw fall open, unsure that he'd actually just heard that. The boy had just mentioned being flogged which was disturbing in and of itself and brought back memories of Umbridge and her threats that he'd much rather forget all about. Besides, he'd mentioned Lord Gryffindor, which even a muggleborn like Colin knew was ridiculous. There hadn't been a Lord Gryffindor kicking about since the time of the Founders. The boy must have been knocked round the head, or perhaps hit with a solid confundus. Colin shared a long look with Ginny. Regardless of whether or not this stranger was under some kind of curse or potion, or if there were some wacky Hogwarts hijinks at play that he very much did not want to deal with, this was something he knew that none of them had the capacity to handle. He'd seen bruises on the boy's arms, when they'd been looking for the Dark Mark. This was so far above his pay grade, Colin was sure he'd be moving up a whole tax bracket.
"We need to get a teacher," he whispered, feeling a bit sick. He ushered Dennis and Ginny away from the corner, back towards the table and the long since abandoned spoils. He shoved a tart in his brother's hands and ran his fingers through his hair in distraction. "We're gonna be in so much trouble," he hissed into the silence of the kitchen.
Ginny crossed her arms and leant against the table. They stared at each other for a long moment, trying to use the power of two brains to come up with a solution that wouldn't lead to their expulsion and consequential wand-snapping. Or at least Colin was; he had no idea what Ginny was thinking. He was panicking slightly. Who would be the best to go to? Professor Sprout was closest, of course and then there'd be Professor Snape, or was Professor Slughorn living in the dungeons, now that he was teaching Potions? He had no idea. Professor McGonagall would certainly know what to do and the boy had said he was a Gryffindor. But the thought of going to their Head of House and confessing that they found a random teenager - who was spouting nonsense about dead wizards - whilst on a late night jolly to the kitchens, was sapping more than a little of his supposed Gryffindor courage. Besides, last year's activities had left him more than a little wary of authority figures. He wasn't certain he felt comfortable going to any of the teachers: at all. This left prefects. This was not a pleasant thought.
"He doesn't look very well," Dennis noted quietly, picking at the tart in his hands and bringing Colin back to reality, "He looks…like someone's been hurting him." Colin swallowed thickly; although that was a legitimate point, it was something he had been trying very hard to push to the back of his mind, because he was very much not equipped to deal with things like that. That was more Ginny's territory, or rather her brother's. Ron was good at handling people who were hurt; he didn't have a thief's chance in Gringotts with romance, but he handled people in pain very well. Or at least, he handled Harry well through most of last year's hideousness. Colin eyed the boy curled up in the corner of the room and tried very hard not to make any further comparisons with the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
"He looks like Harry," Ginny noted quietly, leading his thoughts straight back to places he did not want them to be. She noticed his consternation and quickly explained herself. "I mean, well not really, but the hair and you must have noticed the eyes?" she glanced over at Sal and Colin wearily nodded her understanding. Dennis frowned up at the two of them as if they were crazy, although he didn't struggle as Colin pulled him into his side for a quick hug. He glanced at the boy in the fireplace and then nodded back at his older brother in agreement. That did it, if the others thought so too…
"We need Ron," Ginny decided firmly. Colin blinked; apparently they had not been thinking the same things about Harry Potter's gorgeous eyes at all.
"What?" Colin almost shouted, before remembering that they were out after curfew and quickly lowered his voice to a whisper, "I thought we weren't speaking to Ron?"
"Well," Ginny said as the beginnings of an evil grin spread over her lips, "He's a prefect; he should probably act like it occasionally." This, Colin could accept. He might not like prefects but Ron Weasley was so notoriously lax in his duties as to be considered neglectful. Colin had been forced to drag his little brother away from Fred and George's product experiments a few times last year, whilst their younger brother sat around until Hermione Granger came into the room. A little midnight reminder of his responsibilities might not hurt him and he might forget to give them detention in the process. Besides, hadn't he just been thinking about Ron Weasley's amazing capacity to wrangle an irate Harry Potter?
"Right," Colin sighed, mind made up. "Who's braving the gauntlet back to Gryffindor Tower then?"
A quick whispered debate sent Colin back up to the dormitory to fetch Ron; it'd nearly come down to a knut toss, before she'd reminded Coin that she and Ron weren't on speaking terms and anyway, it would be a bit weird if she went sneaking into her older brother's dorm in the middle of the night. So Colin had gathered up his Gryffindor courage and bolted out of the portrait hole like he had a dragon on his tail. In the meantime, she and Dennis stood about in awkward silence. She busied herself poking at the ganache coating on the remains of the chocolate cake and exchanged casual comments with Dennis about the upcoming Slytherin match to pass the time. It seemed like Colin had been gone for hours - she had nearly run out of ways to agree with the younger Gryffindor that, yes, Harry Potter could indeed fly very well - when Colin finally came through the portrait again, bringing Ron in tow. Only he wasn't alone. Following after Ron in a way that shouldn't have surprised anyone who'd been at Hogwarts for the past few years came a sheepish looking Harry Potter and a pissed off Hermione Granger.
"Hi guys," Ginny smiled, shooting a look at a very apologetic Colin Creevey, "fancy seeing you here."
"They were all sat in the common room when I got back," Colin whispered as he cringed away from Hermione's disapproving glare. "I had to explain to your brother and then they all insisted on coming." Knowing Harry and Hermione, this made an unfortunate amount of sense.
She gave Colin a quick once over; he actually seemed a lot calmer than before, which was unexpected after braving the open corridors all the way to Gryffindor Tower and back. DA lessons aside, she had not expected her friend to be handling this so well, he had a tendency to get a bit over-excited when he was nervous. She herself had one horrendously traumatic experience with a possessed diary, a summer or two of proximity to battle hardened veterans, and a terrifying fight in the Ministry that she had no idea how she survived under her belt and she was really freaked out. She could not imagine how the two brothers were feeling at finding some random teenager alone in the middle of the kitchens in the middle of the night. She decided to cut Colin a little slack for the unintended entourage.
"It's not a problem," Ginny insisted, blatantly ignoring the glare from Hermione that said that it was, in fact, a problem and instead ushered them all over to the corner. "I'm hoping Colin's filled you in on the details because I don't know how else to tell you that we found some randomer having a kip in the kitchens."
"Huh," Ron said, crouching down to look at the boy huddled against the stonework, "I though Colin was having us on."
"We should get a teacher," Hermione insisted and Ron and Harry rolled their eyes in unison. If Ginny knew her friends at all - which after a summer of close confinement at the Burrow, she very much did - they had been hearing the same sentence all the way down from Gryffindor Tower.
Harry moved forwards to stand next to Ron and stared down at the boy in front of them. They both had odd expressions on their faces. Ginny knew her brother well enough to read the anger starting to simmer behind his eyes. Harry, well Harry was always difficult to read unless he was absolutely furious. But Ginny thought he almost looked…sympathetic? Ginny also knew enough about her brother's friend, who was practically a Weasley after all, to know that some things in his past were Very Bad and were Not Spoken About. She knew enough to know it involved his relatives and her mum's mass baking sessions towards the end of July every year, but anything beyond that and everyone, adults and siblings alike, would become tight-lipped. Plus, Harry himself would never talk about it. But looking at him looking at the boy in front of them made a large and very cold stone sink into her stomach and take up residence there for the foreseeable future.
"Hey mate," Ron began quietly, reaching out to shake the boy in the fireplace awake. As soon as his hand touched Sal's shoulder, his eyes sapped open and he jerked away as far back as possible into the fireplace, hissing like an angry cat. Ron fell back on his arse in surprise, looking like a stunned Errol after he forgot the window was closed again.
"Well that was a bit rude, mate" Harry said, crossing his arms and looking both amused and slightly insulted. "We didn't mean to scare you or anything, just wanted to check you're alright." He looked at the others, as if seeking reassurance and they all nodded frantically.
The boy inched further back and Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth looking close to tears.
"He's clearly terrified, Harry. We need to get a teacher," she whispered from behind her hands. Ron shot her a quick glance and shook his head. Harry however, quirked a wry grin at her.
"Pretty sure he's just pissed off at being woken up, Hermione," Ginny stepped forwards, "He only just went to sleep." She looked over at Colin and Dennis to confirm her story and found them staring at their feet; they both seemed to have gone completely silent in the presence of the older students, or at least in the presence of Hermione … whilst out of bounds in the middle of the night.
She was just about to laugh at their fright (because, come on, it was only Hermione) when the portrait hole slammed open and made them all jump like they'd taken a stinging hex.
"A sentiment, I'm sure I can sympathise with, Miss Weasley." The voice sliced through the room like a well-cast curse and Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin. Ron, Hermione, and Harry all tensed, whilst she was pretty sure Colin let out a small squeak. They all turned with a sense of impending doom to see Professor Snape stood in the portrait hole with a smug looking Draco Malfoy by his side.
"Oh Merlin," Colin swore, looking a little faint. They were going to be in so much trouble.
