All For Lightspeed! V

…

Lady Cybeles had dried his tears with a strangely spongey handkerchief, then dried his face with a motherly wave of her wand. It had only made Harry feel guiltier, but he had no more tears to cry. He sat quietly at the table for a while Lady Cybeles fetched the key to the Owlery. "Mind yourself," she said, passing the key tentatively to Amanda Soothe. The warning was intended for them all: watch each other, it suggested. Don't allow anyone to sneak a letter away.

Hercules gave him a friendly bump of the shoulder as Amanda took them to the Owlery, which was barred by a complex door not dissimilar, if smaller, than that belonging to the library. Harry smiled back tremulously. All his energy seemed to have disappeared.

He felt better by the time they had climbed the final set of well-worn steps, as the sensation of cool, fresh air began to fill his lungs. Blue sky filled his vision; and suddenly he was in the open, perched atop the turret opposite their own. Timber scaffolding made an overhang, whence three peering owls stared down unblinkingly. It was not a difficult place for an owl to reach. Hedwig would have no trouble.

But how Harry had got there, he could only faintly remember. The interior of the castle remained, for the most part, a mystery to him. Not that he'd have a reason to return; he thought the place would be windswept on a cold night, an open, precarious perch atop a battlement.

In the summer sun it was beautiful. Lush greenery stretched out as far as the eye could see, and all the dark things that lurked in the forest seemed banished by the sun, and that same sun shone in a blue and cloudless sky, casting joyous light unto the world.

Something sparkled in the corner of his vision. A lake glistened by the rear of Halt End. How had he not seen that before?

"Our mere* is big enough for most galleons," Amanda said proudly.

Harry nodded as though that meant something. Big enough for a coin? Bored with the edge of the lake, he turned to a rotting desk and the parchment Hercules was waving about. "Here you go Harold!"

The letter gave Harry a headache. He struggled to word it true, but worse was the process of writing itself. Why did wizards still use stupid quills? But a true-born wizard wouldn't struggle to write a letter, and Amanda was watching closely over his shoulder.

Dear Tom,

I'm sorry if I've worried you. I'm sure you're wondering where I am. Don't worry, I've taken up with some friends of my family, but I found them in such a hurry I forgot my own trunk! Would you mind if you kept it safe for a few days, and let my owl out? I'm sure she'll find me in good time. I'll collect the trunk before I leave for Hogwarts - I have all the books I need here!

Kind Regards,

Harry, of Room Ten

Amanda took the letter, stuck it in an envelope, and gave it to a waiting owl. "Go on then Albatross, off to the Leaky Cauldron."

Albatross looked like he'd seen better days, but flew off cleanly, his patchy brown and white feathers spreading wide as he glided away. Harry had made a show of watching Amanda's every move - not that he suspected she'd really do anything to the letter. Could she be the traitor? Harry couldn't tell. He didn't know anything about her.

Harry pursed his lips, then ventured; "What brought you here, Amanda?"

The older girl blinked owlishly. "What do you mean?"

"I heard you last night in your room, doing Albert's Arithmancy puzzles in the Daily Prophet." To Harry's uneducated ears, connected to an uneducated mind, it seemed that she'd been doing brilliantly. "You could be anything, so why-"

He waved his hand awkwardly at the surrounding area, suddenly realising he was slighting Hercules' own home in front of him.

So did Amanda. Reddening slightly at the praise, she glanced over to him.

"It's not really my home," Hercules offered, smiling awkwardly. There was something strange in his voice… "I've only been here once before."

"Twice," Amanda amended softly, "I saw you here once as a baby. Lord Quirinus took you in his arms."

She sighed, far-sighted. It was the sort of sigh an old woman might make, recalling fondly the heady days of youth. "I'm here," Amanda eventually explained, "for my cousin Lady Cybeles. The Rosiers have always been good to us, so we'll always be good to them." Then her eyes hardened - and that embarrassed blush was long gone. "Why are you here, Harold Skarsgard?"

"Er-" Harry shrugged. "Chance," he finished lamely. It was a suspicious answer, he knew. What were the chances that someone would turn up at their doorstep just as Caudicus was arrested, and for said someone to have nothing to do with said arrest? Amanda was watching him; Harry watched her back.

Then Hercules broke the moment with all the subtlety of his namesake. "Amanda, Amanda! Can we pick mushrooms like you said?"

Amanda turned to him, serving him a smile she reserved only for the younger boy. "Of course young master. Follow me to the foundations, and mind your step on the way down."

Hercules winked companionably behind her back, while Harry shook his head. Sometimes it was impossible to tell just how much he did, or didn't, understand. Thanks, Harry mouthed, falling into step behind Amanda as he was bade.

After that, Harry felt like he was in one of those illusionary paintings where all the stairs loop forever. They went down and down and down and down. First they descended the lofty turret, the wind whistling faintly through the rafters, and then down the dim-lit corridors of the vast curtain wall. Harry thought they would stop somewhere around the courtyard - or 'ward'*, as the castle's denizens seemed to call it - but they were instead led to a tight set of stairs by the gatehouse.

The steps disappeared into a tenebrous darkness. Harry swallowed heavily. They weren't going down there, were they? Amanda hefted a lantern, clicked it to burn, hiked the edges of her robes as though they were a dress, and strode forward, totally matter-of-fact.

Then she cried, almost squeaking in terror. Harry jumped himself, reaching for his wand. A coarse light flickered, then a face appeared in the darkness.

"Boo," Lyle dead-panned.

"E-ric Lyle!" Amanda screeched girlishly, pointed her finger. It was only then that Harry saw how young she really was. She couldn't have been more than a year out of Hogwarts. "By Morgana's name, what on earth are you doing down there!"

"Checking the foundations," he replied blithely, not in the least bit ashamed. "Enjoy the mushrooms - and mind Deacon, he's floating about too. Maybe you could natter to him about your hair, or the new Weird Sisters' record."

Cackling, Lyle strode off with purpose, leaving Amanda pouting angrily in his week. "Pixie-brain," Harry heard her mutter. She cleared her breath, and spoke more properly: "Now he's done scaring me, let's carry on shall we?"

That was a rhetorical question. Amanda led them down the stairs without further adieu. The lantern-light revealed an undercroft, something like Harry had seen in Aunt Petunia's period murder mysteries. Net rows of brick-work arches reached into a vaulted ceiling, in whose cobwebbed grooves the golden lantern-light did not reach.

"Roman," Amanda said, gesturing to the nearest vault. "From Emperor Hadrian's time."

They passed further into the undercroft, journeying deep into the darkness. Here the world smelled of earth, dirt and rain. He almost expected the scent of sulphur, but it never came. Harry watched the edges of the light distrustfully, and stuck close to the older girl's shoulder. Meanwhile Amanda began to explain, over the echoing of their footsteps, that valuable fungi grew by the leyline, where the vast well of the Deep Earth and the enchantments of the castle crossed.

She stopped abruptly. Harry almost bumped into her back. The lantern-light was glinting against something rectangular, something bright, bold against the darkness. Harry recognised it as a picture frame, but what was a painting doing down here?

"My Lord," Amanda said reverently. She approached with tender steps, slowly casting light upon the canvas within. A man in tasteful blue robes posed on a black background, his chin proud, his brows furrowed and focused. In one hand he held a sword, and in the other a wand. To Harry, he looked like a man of adventure; his eyes shone with the light of distant lands, his wind-blown hair of glory. Most importantly, the painting was still. No essence was imbued in it. He had died young.

"Lord Quirinus," Amanda said, taking a long, long look at Hercules. The boy was his spitting image. "The undercroft was his favourite place. He could sense magic, you know, at the age of fourteen."

That explained the location of his painting then. Harry studied it further, recalling all he'd heard about the man. It wasn't much, but his shadow seemed to loom over all the occupants of the castle. Lyle had implied that Amanda had loved him. Lady Cybeles certainly had. He knew her melancholy was sustained by grief no less than Caudicus' recent arrest.

He'd died twelve years ago in the Blood War, yet still she mourned. The scar of their parting pained her still… ever since… Ever since he'd been killed by Aurors. Had he and Harry's parents ever duelled? By affiliation, they were on opposite sides, but Harry just couldn't imagine that dashing figure as his foe.

Another, spine-trembling thought struck him then, when he considered all those families that were definitely his enemies. Terrible things had happened to Voldemort's enemies… had Quirinus partook in that? Frankly, Harry struggled to believe it.

For what most drew his eye were Lord Quirinus' dimpled cheeks. The man was smiling.

-HP -

-HP -

Harry's thoughts could not linger on Lord Quirinus, for soon they met another light, this one pulsing dimly with a strange kaleidoscopic glow. At first Harry thought he was imagining it but, as they drew closer, and the oncoming light grew stronger, he beheld a bizarre sight. Hundreds of mushrooms were clinging onto a wall of what looked like bedrock. Each was glowing softly, reminding Harry vaguely of those neon signs he saw on American television shows.

"Be careful," Amanda advised. From a nearby chest she took out three pairs of gloves and passed them out. "Do not touch them without the dragonhide on. Promise me."

After they'd each promised in turn, Amanda continued; "Don't cast too much magic Harold, and don't touch the rubellos* either - the red fungi. Tell me if you do. Otherwise-" Here, she held out two rough-sacks, "-bag everything you see. Oh, and be wary of any… strangeness. Odd things happen close to the Deep Earth."

Harry thought all of this was strange, but followed an excited Hercules anyway.

He lit a Lumos and began to work, following the bedrock right as Amanda veered left. The fungi were bizarre; sometimes cool to the touch, other times warm, and almost always rubbery. He swore one farted as he picked it up. Occasionally they would buzz to some ethereal beat, as though singing in a language he didn't understand. Both boys were very careful to avoid the rubellos. What were the uses of these things anyway?

Soon they were uncovering the sheer bedrock behind the fungal growths. Up close it was strange - black and shiny,strangely sticky, and clean of any blemish - with one exception. A large graffiti in bold white letters: Recimir will Rise Again!

Neither Harry nor Hercules knew who Recimir was, so that seemed unlikely.

At first, they worked in silence - but Hercules could only contain himself for so long. He began to ask questions - sometimes easy questions, and sometimes awkward questions. Harry did his best to answer… and to keep his story straight. After the third fake anecdote about his 'uncle' (this one based on, of all things, a story his real Uncle Vernon often told about his own uncle), Harry decided to go on the offensive. He started with a thought that'd been bothering him ever since he - they - had first set eyes on Halt End.

"Hercules," he began, "you said you'd been here twice? But you're the heir, aren't you?"

The boy laughed nervously. "Er-Uncle Caudicus always keeps me busy. He says I can learn more about the world in the shop than stuck in a castle. Never been in the undercroft though! Aren't these mushrooms weird?" He said frantically. "So squishy, and they bounce, and the little humming they make and a think I heard one giggling onc-"

He stopped abruptly at Harry's deadpan. He knew exactly what the younger boy was doing - exactly what he'd do himself.

In the silence of the undercroft, Hercules' gulp was like a gavel on a block. "Well, um- that's…"

Harry watched him steadily, while Hercules struggled to hold his gaze.

The younger boy sighed. "I wasn't… welcome," he eventually admitted. "I'm from a distaff line - like you, I'm… Lord Quirinus Rosier wasn't really my uncle, even. I'm just… what's left of this family - aside from those traitorous coffee-drinkers at Rossecourt."

Coffee-drinkers? Harry briefly wondered. He put the thought out of his mind. The heart of Hercules' explanation was more important. Hercules, it seemed, was an interloper in his own way, and Lady Cybeles had welcomed him kindly as an aunt - which she really wasn't…

"So… Lady Cybeles…"

"Lady Cybeles loves me," Hercules said firmly. It was both the most mature, and most tenderly childish thing Harry had ever heard him say. "She's just… she loved Lord Quirinus. Everyone did, I-"

Hercules stopped all at once, freezing, looking over Harry's shoulder. Suddenly, it was very cold. Harry turned, jumping backwards as he met the faded form of the Deacon just feet away. It seemed to be staring at him.

"What the- gah!" he heard himself cry out. His heart roared in his chest; his breath boomed in his ears. The thing scared the life out of him!

And it was still looking at him now.

"Who is it?" Harry asked Hercules. He did not dare look away from the ghost, harmless or not. Ribbons of white aether floated in an unearthly wind. It seemed more solid in the pitch black.

"They say it was the Deacon of Canterbury once," Hercules said. "He was an emissary between warring churches. People say he was called Steven. Something terrible happened here - to him. He appeared a few years after, and has stayed ever since."

"Was he always…" Harry gestured toward, well, diffuse nothingness. It was still faceless, limbless.

"No. He was strong once, almost a poltergeist. Now he's dying again."

They watched the ghost until the Deacon floated off. Was there anything worse, Harry thought, than dying twice?

A/N

*An archaic word for a lake.

*A mediaeval name for a courtyard, at least in the context of a quadrangular castle.

*The accusative plural of rubellus, meaning red.

Harry is beginning to unravel the mystery of Halt End. But this is only the start. What will he uncover next? What secrets await in the castle's ruined halls...?

Take care of yourselves out there,

Jousting Alchemy