October was an uneventful month with the biggest climax coming on the 31st, the day of Samhain. Turns out that Hogwarts doesn't actually celebrate the traditional day but instead the watered-down candy knock-off called Halloween, to say Tom was annoyed about it was an understatement. Thankfully the students of Slytherin have for many years now not actually participated in Hogwarts festivities and instead opt out by celebrating their own traditions. Since it's not technically illegal to rejoice in the day of the dead and thinning of the curtain between worlds the students are by right allowed to perform their passed down rituals. Special rooms and areas are warded off to prevent more malicious things entering Hogwarts on this day.
The whole week was spent in carefully monitored fasts and periodic meditations, food was limited to bland crackers and toast and the only liquids consumed were water and teas in its most unaltered state. Meats were forbidden and sweets had noses turned up at them. The first few days were hard and many struggled to keep up their energy levels but as Samhain came closer the clearer their heads became and the more potent their magic brewed. Physical magic was kept to a minimum during this week to prevent any accidents from happening in class, theory replaced this. Any student caught doing magic in the hall was strictly punished with the threat of having to sit out on the festivities of Samhain.
Anyone wishing to participate in the celebration of traditional Samhain had to bathe in moon water at night, and rise with the sun come morning. On the 31st many students skipped classes and dressed in their muted colour clothes and veils hiding their faces, a thing used to keep malicious spirits from recognising them as humans and not fellow spirits. Students usually skipped classes this day because on one hand it was tradition to not care about anything during this time but bond with your grief but also because they didn't want to hear the uncultured and ignorant remarks muggleborn would make about their style of dress.
Tom adores the preparations that he had to go through and every day that crept closer he felt more like a wizard, like a real magical being connecting to the world and earth he was given to. He felt calmer and in tune with life and his surroundings. Ailill felt very similar and had a far more warm attitude as the days went by, he did not shy from physical contact and in fact sought it out a bit more for his magic seemed to like being mingled with another's, of course, there were very limited people he actually did such a thing with.
On the day of Samhain Tom dressed in hues of green and black, blending together and forming mesmerising patterns. Ailill went for a more navy tone fitting shades of blue together and whispering in tandem. Hair was left loose for you to be in your most natural state of being when welcoming these celebrations.
Ailill knocked Tom breath from his lungs when he saw him sitting on the bench by the window where the moonlight streamed in, offering an ethereal glow. Ailill looked like starlight was stitched into his skin and galaxies weaved into his hair. His eyes shone a soft golden like the lost coins of olde, the ones hidden from those not worthy to see their brilliance. He was a blessed sight to behold but he was one Tom didn't want to share, he wanted to lock away his beloved and keep them for himself but he also wanted them to be seen by all. For those who envy to froth at the mouth knowing they could never hold him the way Tom does, that they could never be so close to seeing silver specks in golden irises, that they could never breathe in the air exhaled from pink lips they embrace each other in an act of love because that's what they have. Love.
Ailill thought Tom looked far too pretty to be considered human when he looked free. His usually tamed curls were sprawled out across his forehead giving him a much more boyish look. His baby fat face was soft with a natural pout that came about when he was concentrating. His eyes are icy blue illuminated in the night light to show the hidden strength beneath the one that takes and takes and takes and takes and takes and takes. But that's okay, it's Tom after all.
When the evening set in and the other houses went down to the great hall for dinner the Slytherins started to round up and split into groups. It was mainly by gender and age. Two sets for each year, each set must have one person that is educated and experienced in the calls of Samhain. For the first year boys, it was Avery who stepped up to the plate. His family has been for centuries always more interested in the festivities of Samhain compared to the Malfoy's Yule and the Black's Bealtaine. He led the first years down a series of hallways and passages to their drawn-out rune circle in one of the many spare ritual rooms that have been constructed within the Slytherin catacombs.
Some would think the catacombs would be damp and musty considering their location but they were actually quite warm and cozy if not a bit stale with a lack of air circulation. Avery quickly ushered everyone to take their places, those born closest to Samhain going first in a counterclockwise direction. That made Ailill first having been born in November and after him, Alphard followed by Tom then Malfoy, Lestrange, and Avery.
The cobbled walls shadowed with the unseen mysteries of the world, the runes shone brightly, tones of crimson coming to life under the influence of magic. The six boys stretched out palms to join hands and be one in this time of connection of loss and afterlife. Their magic entwined together different people joined as one to strengthen and offer comfort when words are not needed. A breeze of unnatural origins lifted their hair and fluttered their robes as it called upon those they've lost. The candles illuminating the room snuffed out until one could not see even their own hand in front of their face. All that offered the shiest bit of clearance was the runes powdered with chalk.
Avery led the chant of request, those who wish to speak to lost ones must ask the deity of the dead for their permission, sometimes it works other times not so much. No one would be able to listen to another living communicate, this offered privacy and intimacy.
"We call you lord to ask for mercy," Avery began. "To see the ones who left this world behind. We call their souls and beg for guidance, to see loved ones again who had once shined. Their souls are yours now and we stand before you, hearts on display for you to see. That we wish to reunite with those of the dead and be whole again merging our family tree.
Our life may be short or it may be long depending on lady life's wishes, but we fall with you in our last breath. There will be a time where we meet without a body to follow, a time where we join in death. So grant us this time to meet those we lost to make any journey more at peace, to hold and behold the afterlife beyond the seas. Hold our hand and guide our way, love us to life and make us stay."
A breeze of icy chilled the room as frost grew spidering up the walls and shivers ran down children's spines. Startled gasps gave the impression that the call worked and so Ailill stood there idly not having anyone to call upon for his loved are in another life. He did not know if death span across dimensions or if they were all separate.
"You are different," an unpleasant voice rattled. It was gritty and hollow like the bones of a long since degraded corpse. It was everywhere and nowhere consuming and too far away. "You are not from here."
"I get that a lot," Ailill muttered, far too fed up with the repeated words. He should probably feel more cautious of this being but what has he got to fear?
The voice left out a startling laugh, one to chase frost over your fingers and anxiety down your throat. "I'm sure you do, then again this land does not get many travellers of another. Finding one so eager to join death in the afterlife is practically unheard of. Everyone fears death."
Those words gave pause to Ailill, "Death? As in the deity of the dead?"
"No, that is where humans go wrong, death is not a deity it is a concept. I am a concept. I am unenviable and forever stretching. I am constant and fleeting. People of the living try to personify death to make it less terrifying for them for they do not know the unknown. But you run to death with open arms and no regrets. You are," a strange sensation ran along Ailill's cheek, it was bitingly cold and soft. The freeze was painful to a degree he had not known and it took effort to not cry out as tears filled the corners of his eyes. "Special."
"Special is not always looked upon with kind eyes," Ailill whimpered trying to keep his voice steady from the pain coming from the touch of this unseen being.
"No it is not, look at me for I am the one that holds the precious soul after life has discarded you and they look at me with scorn and fear trying everything to cheat me." the voice was exasperated like they were speaking of a naughty child. One they loved but cause far too much effort than necessary. "But you're not like that, no you love me, don't you?" the hand trailed over Ailill's jaw and barely touched his neck before retreating. "You crave my hold and devour my reverence. You long to embrace me even though some keep you tied to life, you favour me over life and that is not something I see too often. Many times the people that look to me for salvation are really just people wishing for the pain to stop but you truly wish to be among the dead." the voice sighed in whimsical adoration. "It's getting late, I hope to see you again next Samhain. My most devoted."
With a powerful gust of wind, the lights of the candles reignited, and the cloaks of the children were visible once again. Their hoods were up just like the start of the night and they never removed them just like instructed by Avery. The hood showcased you were only for the after life's eyes, you were hidden from life. Seeing as everyone was present and conscious they shuffled out of the catacombs and back to the common room. All the other groups were there with their hoods down and flushed to their cheeks, happiness being the sparkle in their eyes shadowing grief.
They greeted the first years with pride and encouraged the boys to remove their hoods and take part in the celebration. They did as told and youthful faces were revealed to the cheery room. Tom turned to his loved in high spirits only to cry out in alarm.
"Ailill! What's on your face?!"
The call got everyone's attention as they turned to the oldest of the first-year boys. Ailill's face, once beautiful and clear, was marred by a black handprint large in size that spanned from his high cheekbones to the dip of his throat. Frost licked at the edges of the print. Illus Grey, a seventh-year, quickly hurried over to Ailill and took his face in his hands to inspect the marking.
"What happened to him?" Tom demanded an answer.
"I've only heard about black marking showing up on people who perform a call on Samhain." The atmosphere of the whole room was morose and tinged with awe. "They say when death comes to visit a person and they hold his interest he marks them. A handprint as a sign of ownership."
Tom was enraged, Ailill being owned by death? Absolutely fucking not. Ailill will never be claimed by death and Tom will make sure of it one way or another.
"This mark cannot be seen!" A sixth-year girl hissed. "If the headmaster or one of the teachers finds out they'll declare dark magic and ban the rituals from school."
"The mark should fade soon," Illus assured her. "It's just supposed to remind the person after the ritual is done that they did not make up the encounter. Death is possessive and does not like to be forgotten." he turned to Ailill and looked into the young boy's eyes with undiluted curiosity. "It seems that you Ailill Peverell hold the deity of death's interest and for that, I wonder why."
"You and me both," Ailill breathed in a breathy whisper before yawning so wide an audible jaw crack was heard.
"Head to bed all of you," Illus orders. "It's been a long night to which some have had a far more interesting time than others."
The common room was departing of students who have never had such a tension-filled Samhain, they rushed to their room to construct letters to their parents to tell them of the boy they witnessed tonight: Ailill Peverell marked by death.