CHAPTER 28

27 March 1994 - Unplottable Clearing - Forbidden Forest, 3:09AM

The sickly sweet smell of rotted pine, oak, and sycamore rose to meet the nose of Mr. Arachne, causing the appendage to twitch in delight at the myriad of earthen scents in the abandoned clearing.

Granted, it was perfectly normal to incur rotten wood in a forest, especially one as massive and never-ending as the Forbidden Forest.

The original Forest was centuries old, serving as a sanctuary for innumerable magical flora and fauna native to the Scottish Highlands. The Druidic mystagogues of olde had venerated and protected the wooded lands, swearing to protect the ancient secrets that lay within the weald. The arrival of the invading Roman families had made that objective more urgent, knowing that if the invaders succeeded in either claiming or destroying the forest, all of Britannia would crumble to ashes.

The arrival of four powerful battle mages seeking to establish their own stronghold marked an unexpected miracle for the mystagogues. In exchange for swearing Unbreakable Secrecy Oaths to protect the sanctity of the forest, the druidic mage-protectors taught the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin the secrets to mastering the arcane terra-magicks of the new land, successfully binding themselves to the ley lines in order to establish Hogwarts Castle.

Already noted for her prodigious skill with Herbology and communicating with magical non-human entities, Helga Hufflepuff was entrusted as the Primary Guardian of the weald, working as equal partners with the centaur herd leaders to keep the necessary vigil. With the help of Rowena Ravenclaw Helga expanded on the Forest's protective magicks, taking extra steps to create enhanced wizard-space enclaves - spaces within spaces - that would host specific habitats tailored to their respective vegetation and magical creatures. The secret to accessing these areas lay buried with Helga's bones and those of the few descendants she'd chosen to share with.

For instance, one enclave in the northeastern corner of the forest housed several pegasus herds under the protection of centaur clan leaders Pherope and Artanie. Its ubiquitous magicks rendered it invisible and inaccessible save the one or two nights when the Pegasus constellation was most visible in the sky. Adjacent to it was a unicorn sanctuary that was also under centaur protection, though due to the magicks marking their respective boundaries, the two intra-realms didn't interact with each other. Neighboring that was a fairy woodland, home to the last remaining dryads in Wizarding Britain. Bordering these wooded havens was an expansive boundary that resembled a paradisiacal oasis, so much so that a religiously devout muggle observer would have likened it to the Garden of Eden.

Of course, the antithetical opposites of these havens existed.

A blood pond thrice the size of that in the Forest of Dean lay to the west, hidden under a Fidelius whose Secret was known to Control, Number 5, and Number 13. A swarm of bloodsucking bugbears haunted the southwest boundary, only kept at bay by the nearby thestral herds. Encircling the troll caves in the southeast were the scores of bones of the Inferi army once commanded by Raczidian the Reprobate, desperately yearning for their freedom to once more feast on the flesh of the innocent.

At the heart of the Forest lay the expansive acromantula colony, which, in a feat of unparalleled irony, served as a nigh impenetrable layer of protection against the very thing the Druidic mystagogues of eras past had bargained with the Founders to conceal.

And as such, served as the perfect means to ensure absolute privacy for a Wild Spider Animagus.

Already free of his clothing, Arachne walked to stand in the middle of his clearing, resisting the urge to shudder as the softest of breezes ruffled the trichobothria that now covered the entirety of his body. In addition to his regular eyes - which were now pitch black and almost four times their normal size on a head twice as large - a row of four black eyes opened of their accord, with two matching eyes opening some inches above where his eyebrows should have been.

With feet planted firmly on the ground Arachne stretched out his arms, allowing his additional set of arms to emerge. A sigh of contentment erupted from his lips at the sensation, flexing the additional appendages as one would stretch out sore and cramped limbs.

In a way, it had been a while since he'd accessed this aspect of his animagery - a half-transformed hulking leviathan of a spider-man. His standard animagic form - an average wolf spider - typically came out to play for simple reconnaissance purposes or when he needed to make a quick escape.

This was not one of those moments.

Now was the time to reconnect.

Gently lifting his hornbeam wand with his second left arm, Arachne deftly used Diffindo to mark his bare flesh with the necessary symbols, taking extra care to carve around the Dark Mark tattoo meticulously etched onto his chest right over his heart. Many believed that the kill count symbol on the wand arms of the exposed Death Eaters - resembling raised lupine claw marks - was the true Dark Mark, but alas, they were foolishly mistaken.

Setting the wand aside, Arachne allowed the symbols to bleed into the ground below, only beginning his benedictions when he felt the squelch of blood and decayed earth beneath his toes.

"Taif ati, olov oge tucis,

Taif ati, olov oge tucis,

Taif ati, olov oge tucis."

The Verbis Diablo flowed from his lips, the sound of incongruous consonants and vowels disturbing the air like a physical thing.

"Sov ocovni oem eniugnas muc,

Oem utirips muc et ocov,

Etatnulov aem et ocov oge.

Maem mamina ediv,

Eacigam ihim ediv,

Muem roc ediv,

Aem oitacov ednopser!"

Arachne's gurgling voice had descended to a rash and grating rasp as he readied himself to call upon the Forbidden Name of his Wyld Patron. The blood from his ritualistic scars had pebbled into cobweb-like patterns against the fine hairs covering his skin, vibrating in tandem to the reedy blasphemous whine that started to rise in the space around him. He could hear him at the periphery of his consciousness - the Spinner of Darkness that lay in the hellish cavern of Voormithadreth nestled in the Fathomless Bosom of the Dark Wild.

"Orcesbo Atlach-Nacha."

Time stopped.

Gritting his teeth against the pain roiling against his flesh and mind, Arachne fought against the urge to scream at the needle-sharp pincer sensations poking through his carved flesh, his eyes, and his mind. He steadfastly ignored the thump-thump-thump of his pulsing Dark Mark, as though the blood-red wolf tattoo intended to rip out of his chest.

A beat stretched perilously taut…

Before he felt Wyld Patron accept his sacrifice.

Two Hours Later…

With a pained grunt, a bloodsoaked Arachne dropped to the ground, limbs shaking in exertion. His heart raced with renewed energy bestowed upon him by He-Who-Spins-Within-The-Darkness.

Stretching out his arms, he flexed his fingers like a spider flicking and winding across a web. It took a few seconds but then he felt them; the ephemeral Threads of Connection that linked all magical things together. Primed for building upon, or unraveling altogether.

These threads would be the key to finding the long-lost link to his Master and completing the Great Contingency.

Reaching for his wand, he deftly healed his cuts and once more rendered his visage impeccable. With a deep Occludic breath, he reverted back to his fully human form, flicking his wand to redress. Noting the lack of Auror presence the Potter Seneschal smiled in the direction of the wilting and decaying trees, pleased to see the obscuring and repelling ward spells he'd borrowed from Magick Moste Evile had held as promised.

(In fact, they'd held exceptionally well given that Chimes 13 and 39 in the Early Warning Office had spent the past few hours shivering but never properly sounding, enough to leave Number 14 simultaneously confused and horrified as he oscillated between staring at the apparatuses and arguing with Control, Number 7, and Number 65 on a four-way call.)

Whistling a jaunty tune, Obediah picked up his modified rucksack and ventured his way into the heart of the Acromantula horde, needing to stock up on a few hundred eggs.

While he knew Aragog loathed to comply, it wasn't really in the Maledictus' nature to refuse a superior's command.

The Room of Requirement, 6:43AM

"You've got to be bloody joking!"

Cher Ami snorted. "I'm serious. This Marcellus Frump is bad news." Her expression turned grave as she swallowed down her tea in a large gulp. As attentive as ever, the Room refilled her cup and even went as far as preparing it just as she liked. The witchling was up much earlier than she would like, but alas, duty called.

"C'mon," Lady W. made a come-come motion with her hand as she settled into the cushy rug. "Tell me everything you found out about our new Caretaker."

Lightly clearing her throat, Cher Ami straightened out the notes she'd painstakingly gathered from her Cousin Josette's letters. The older witch currently worked as an Associate Editor for Le Cri de la Gargouille, specifically for the Investigative News team. After overhearing Frump chatting in flawless Champenois with Madam Pince (making the notoriously stringent librarian titter like a schoolgirl!), to then catching him vociferously debating with the portrait of William de Cognac in Berrichon of all things, the witch's curiosity (and pre-existing suspicions regarding the 'surprise' Caretaker) had been more than suitably piqued.

"Well, like I just said, Marcellus Frump is not only a member of the French magical mafia, he comes from an entire family that's been involved with them for generations. Now Le Milieu - i.e. The Middle - have existed in France since the days of the French Revolution, typically composed of working class and non-noble magicals who desired the material comforts of the Ancien Régime but lacked the socioeconomic means to acquire them. It's no small amount of irony that the nobility came to utilize Le Milieu as a means to their own end." She paused to take a sip of her tea, smiling at the snort Lady Witherington gave.

"Anywho, the Frumps were the beaux voyous - notably called Les Fripones - who handled an entire smuggling enterprise that spanned France, England, Belgium, Germany, and even parts of Spain and Norway. They utilized a diverse and highly organized team consisting of associès, spécialistes, and soldates who all worked to run a most efficiently tight ship. They sometimes clashed with the Black Hand and La Garduña, but never to the point of any mass bloodshed."

Her conspirator's eyes widened but she otherwise didn't respond.

"While they are a criminal enterprise, the whole point of Le Milieu is that they exist in the middle - just as is. They are the boundary between the top of the social echelon and the bottommost dregs, and as such, they do not choose sides between one or the other. They serve as the perpetual balance, lending aid to both sides and never more to one than the other. They may, for instance, sell ill-gained Erumpent horn and tail ingredients to a burgeoning insurrectionist to make explosives, while in the same breath, sell similarly ill-gained salamander blood to the hospital to make Burn-Healing Paste for said explosives' survivors."

"So…fair play basically. No one side is given an advantage over the other."

"Exactly. It's been their long-standing raison d'être, even through major wizarding conflicts."

Lady W. frowned. "I can't imagine Grindelwald and You-Know-Who being all too pleased about that."

Cher Ami tightly nodded. "No, they were not. According to Josette's intel, Grindelwald wanted Le Milieu to redirect all of their efforts and resources to him, tilting the scale to support his violent campaign to victory. The Caïd refused and went as far as to make a bold denouncement of Grindelwald's overtures, vowing that Le Milieu would not lower itself to become 'un pantin bête' of the Dark Lord's circus. As I am sure you can imagine they suffered a fair few casualties, including Conseiller Frump - the would-be leader of the Frump smuggling crew - getting blown up in one of Grindelwald's rune bombs. Reports all claimed it was a civilian casualty, but…"

The younger witch winced, recalling Scrimgeour's lecture on the Falmouth Fracas and its intended assassination coverup.

"So, how does a criminally enterprising smuggler end up as the Caretaker of a magical school?"

"Well," replied Cher Ami, "that answer isn't as complex as you'd think. As smugglers it makes sense that the Frumps would have stash-houses in the locations they smuggle. Naturally, they would also have perfectly mundane residences in these locations, which the Frumps did. They'd purchased the abandoned Cloke Mansion In Upper Flagley, making that their primary English residence. No funny business went on there as far as their business was concerned, so nothing to tip off the Aurors. They even donated regularly to the St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards, paid for the upkeep of the staff and residents alike. They were quite well-liked, criminal schemes aside."

Lady W. snorted before her expression wrinkled curiously. "Hang on a mo', Upper Flagley?" Cher Ami nodded.

"Scrimgeour talked about that a few lessons ago, there was a major battle there between the Ghosts of Silesia and the Knights of Walpurgis right around Christmas of 1974." The witchling shuddered. "The Toymaker released those heinous Nutcracker toys and Mr. Justinian, by some horrific miracle, succeeded in weaponizing Alihotsy and Befuddlement Draughts to further incapacitate the civilians. How the Knights managed to overcome all that only Circe knows."

Her time-traveling conspirator nodded sagely. "Indeed. Turns out, all six Frumps - Marcellus included - ended up trapped in their home during that siege. All of them save our Frump are believed to have perished in the grand terrible guignol. According to Josette, surviving something that traumatic seemed to have inspired a change in the man. She presumably believes that he called in a one-time faveur with the Caïd, allowing him to tie up any loose ends with his employer and move onwards to his new path."

She shuffled some of her notes around. "I did some digging of my own, inspired by Frump's rather odd choice in becoming a caretaker of all things, a position historically held by a squib. In 1975 he served as a caretaker at muggle St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, leaving behind a lovely monetary grant that allowed the esteemed institution to expand their in-house hospital services. 1976-1977 saw him at Wool's Orphanage, a once dilapidated edifice that's now one of the premier boarding homes for the least fortunate children of society. That was followed by almost a year at St. Jerome's Church in Godric's Hollow, though I can't imagine Frump strutting and or slinking about in a cassock of any designation." Lady Witherington giggled.

The older witch continued on. "Frump then spent the bulk of 1979 working at the Spleen Clinic in Hogsmeade, which is now known as the Tonks Clinic since its deed transfer sale to Edward and Andromeda Tonks in 1980. Our esteemed Caretaker fell off the radar when the Dark Lord was vanquished by the Boy-Who-Lived in 1981, with no news to be found of him anywhere. Until last year that is when he became our Caretaker. Quite frankly, I don't think it a coincidence that Filch suddenly came into a plush inheritance that allowed him to resign and for Frump to take his place." Cher paused to take a much-needed sip of tea. "And of course, this also coincides with an unprecedented breakout of five of the most dangerous criminals in recorded history."

Witherington's eyes widened. "You don't think he's involved with that?!"

"...Potentially? I've mentioned Frump's numerous idiosyncrasies several times over, one of them being his tendency to the cerebral. Scratch that - the hyper-cerebral. This past February I overheard him engaged in a spirited debate with Professor McGonagall over time-delayed amortal conjurations and their potential as a viable oppositional challenge to the Third Principal Exception of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration!"

Lady W. could only blink rapidly in complete confusion.

"Not only that, I also overheard him four weeks ago arguing with Professor Vector about the magimathematical potential of pi in overcoming the Uncertainty Principle pertaining to the indeterminate configuration of gold particles during the tertiary brewing stage of Elixir of Life! That's infinitely beyond an advanced-level project that few Master Arithmancers and Alchemists could comfortably discuss!"

The younger witch gawked in utter bewilderment at the older girl's excited and utterly unintelligible exclamations.

"Now," continued Cher less excitedly. "It's entirely possible I'm completely wrong and that the Death Eaters' escape was orchestrated by their fellow Death Eaters making use of rare Glamour Charms or some form of altered Polyjuice Potion to mimic Ministry personnel. It would be the most logical conclusion…" she fidgeted uncomfortably. "However, given the completely illogical and nigh fantastical means you and I came to be here, I'm inclined to lean towards the irrational." Her expression wrinkled curiously. "Though that begs the question as to why he'd want the Death Eaters to begin with."

"Revenge." Witherington's statement was grave as the cogs of her mind spun. "Somehow, Frump devises a means to abscond with five of the most notorious Death Eaters in existence but doing so in a manner to have full plausible deniability. He's probably keeping them in some dank hole in the middle of nowhere, torturing them into insanity and more than likely getting intel on the location of other Death Eaters. Or worse, using his captives as a ruse to lure the Death Eaters he wants to the castle to abscond with them. And given the madness we've endured this year, it's entirely possible we may end up with a Death Eater siege."

Both witches groaned whilst shuddering at the terrifying possibility.

Some moments passed in somewhat comfortable silence as the two co-conspirators drank their tea and nibbled their way through a platter of croissants and fruit.

"Do you reckon the Headmaster did a background check?" asked Witherington mid-chew.

Cher Ami couldn't stop the derisive snort. "Knowing him and his proclivity for 'second chances'? He probably hand-picked Frump out of the bunch!"

Great Hall, 7:54AM

"Aww Hermione, he's absolutely precious!"

Amy cooed at the animated photo of Hermione's baby brother, who gurgled happily in response. Lavender and Parvati were not too far behind, gushing over the images of the bouncing baby boy.

The newest addition to the Granger family had arrived on 11 January, surprising Dan and Emma Granger in the middle of the night. A dizzying and scream-filled eight hours later marked the arrival of Camillo Jameson Granger, keeping in line with Dan and Emma's love for Shakespeare Twelfth Night and paying homage to Dan's father.

"You reckon he's magical?" asked Dennis innocently as he made faces at the baby's picture.

Hermione giggled before shrugging. "Not sure, I didn't manifest accidental magic until I was around 3, so that's the only benchmark we have to work with. He may show signs earlier or later, it really depends." Her expression turned curious. "It's entirely possible that he may not be magical at all, which makes no matter to my parents or I." Hermione smiled lovingly at the sweet photos. "We'll love him all the same."

From his position a few seats away pretending that he wasn't listening to the conversation, Neville grimaced past the uncomfortable sensation that bubbled in his gut at the witch's statement.

A small part of him resentfully wished that he had a sibling as understanding as Hermione during his difficult formative years when he'd falsely believed in his so-called inferiority and looming squibhood, a consequence of his granduncle's wicked schemes. An even bigger part of him lamented that he wasn't speaking to Hermione at all, missing her presence and interaction.

His eyes cut over to the Slytherin table on instinct, narrowing viciously when they landed on the Outcast who was solely focused on eating his oatmeal. Almost on cue Hermione's angry voice calling him a "stone-headed prat!" sounded throughout his mind, forcing him to look away with a grit of his teeth. He made brief eye contact with his five co-conspirators, all of whom seemed somewhat ready to orchestrate their little scheme during a small period of the day's Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch match. Hermione's angry voice once more sounded in his mind - accompanied by Harry's more disappointed gravitas - but he brutally crushed them both into nonexistence.

Sighing, Heir Longbottom turned his attention to the current conversation going on between Obediah Prewett, Jim, Ron, Seamus, and Dean, listening to the older wizard regale the younger with tales of Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff games of seasons past. Potter's godfather was attending the match for moral support, an attempt to lift the boy's spirits after the previous spectacular defeat at the hands of Draco Malfoy - the Slytherin star Seeker.

Neville snorted in spite of himself.

12:38PM

Hidden underneath his godson's Invisibility Cloak (and how easy it'd been to con the idiot boy out of it), Obediah stood in the middle of the Potions' classroom, nose twitching as Mr. Arachne's superior magisensory faculties flared as he assessed the environment that would hold his would-be trap. While he was generally indifferent to Severus Snape's existence, his loyalty to Lily Evans and Harry Potter constituted a potential clog in his plans, and the Potter Seneschal could not abide by that.

Not now.

Almost on instinct the sleeping form of Scabbers gave a small twitch from his position in the wizard's right pocket. Obediah would have never guessed that his Master had been right under his nose the entire time, but the Reconnection Ritual he'd performed during the witching hour some hours earlier had allowed him to create the Thread of Connection to sense his Master, shocked and pleased to discover the truth of Rex Novergicus' existence.

His expression wrinkled at the indignity his Lord had suffered as a pet of the filthy Weasleys.

Shaking off his rising indignation Obediah deeply inhaled, nose registering several aromas rising out of the demonstration cauldron simmering on the Professor's desk; the herbaceous bitterness of wormwood infusion, the pungently sweet earthiness of shrivelfig, the slightly lactonic scent of sopophorous beans, and the nose-tickling zinginess of peppermint sprigs.

"Elixir to Induce Euphoria…Oh Severus, you really shouldn't have."

Then, Obediah smiled.

"ARANEASEMPRA." A fountain of crab and wolf spiders poured from the hornbeam wand, camouflaged to blend in with the tables and chairs of the room as well as the wood of the darkened oak desk upon which the cauldron sat. The potion was some hours away from its final step and thus was perfectly ripe for sabotage.

Specifically of the permanent cackling insanity-induced sort when incited at its most volatile stage.

With a disturbingly perky smile Obediah swiftly made his exit, resisting the urge to whistle a jaunty tune. Lily Evans' private quarters were a few corridors away, the location of which had also been freely given to him by his completely unsuspecting godson.

12:52PM

"So tell me why we're doing this to our food and not SPAAM's?"

"Because Smith," answered Cho with noticeable asperity, "we want it to look like the Outcast had it out for PAC. If we tamper with SPAAM's food, the Outcast may end up gaining sympathy points and that is the last thing we want."

"And it has to be all the food?" Pansy stared forlornly at the strawberry pasties as she sprinkled Puking Pastille powder over her favorite dessert.

Said contraband from the Seriously Skiving Snackboxes collection had been purchased by Cedric from the Twin Terrors, out of his genuine curiosity regarding their product potential after enjoying a few goodies from their standard Skiving Snackboxes. As any boyfriend was apt to do, he'd naively purchased a few boxes for his girlfriend who'd also expressed curiosity regarding the products' efficacy.

"Yes. We'll all need to make sure we eat enough to get sick, as to not arouse any suspicions." Cho leveled a gimlet eye at her five co-conspirators.

"You're certain that this will be linked back to the Outcast?" asked Neville with notable tension.

"Certain," replied Cho firmly. She gestured to the direction of a rucksack, specifically Theo No-Name's rucksack that he used for his daily classes. The boy - unknowingly - was currently in the possession of a Gemino'ed copy that Cho had cleverly switched. She imagined upon Dumbledore's further investigation, he would discover that the original had been abandoned in a broom closet adjacent to the Old Slug Club Room. It was more than suggestive enough to implicate the Outcast and finally get rid of him for good.

'Circe willing, SPAAM will get cooked and end up disbanded!' That thought filled the Fifth Year Ravenclaw with much joy as she imagined Hermione Granger's outraged expression.

"Can we please hurry this all up? I'd actually like to make it back to the match!"

"Please Marietta, it's not as if Gryffindor is going to defeat us!" Druscilla rolled her eyes as she artfully arranged the Fever Fudge with the regular fudge squares.

It took a few more minutes of finagling but the six soon completed their task and went their separate ways, making sure to take divergent paths back to the Quidditch match as to not incur any suspicion.

1:33PM

A panting Obediah took a few moments to catch his breath, barely resisting the urge to snarl in the direction of the door to Lily's private quarters. He was standing some feet away, around the halfway point of the corridor leading to her rooms.

His initial assessment of the witch's security measures had been infuriatingly accurate; he would have no means of breaching her sanctum sanctorum without setting off a myriad of alarms and traps. Luckily for him, the hallway leading to her rooms was fair game.

"And of course the bloody walls in this castle are impervious to Transfiguration." He snorted indignantly. It'd taken quite a few Araneasempras and Sticking Charms to lay his time-stamped trap, but he'd finally succeeded. Just to be sure, he spoke to his would-be saboteurs in a series of buzz-click-purr sounds, which one could liken to the proverbial speech patterns of a spider.

Receiving a spine-chilling chorus of click-purr-buzz sounds in response, Obediah tightened his borrowed cloak around his person and made his way back to the Quidditch match.

Auror Office - Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 4:51PM

James Potter was in a surprisingly chipper mood as he tidied up his desk and prepared to leave, one of the few he could distinctly remember having since October of 1981 when his life had been officially shot to complete hell.

While he'd missed his Heir's quidditch game on account of being on desk duty, he was scheduled to have the night off to visit the boy at Hogwarts. Obediah has suggested a nice little supper for the three to catch up and unwind, which James had readily agreed was a fantastic idea. While he and Jim's relationship wasn't up to its First Year-levels, it was considerably less frigid than it had been at the start of his Third Year.

'Baby steps and all.'

The paintings of his ancestors in his Lord's Study were also pleased with the progress. Nicknamed 'The Wall of Potters', it bore the portraits of all the Potter Lords dating back to the 9th Century. It'd always struck James as incredibly odd that all the Potter Lords since the 1700s - save Hardwin Potter - looked identical to Nathaniel, as though the man were being reborn in different iterations through time. James merely chalked it up to a consequence of familial magic and the Merlin-forsaken Potter Prophecy.

James would be half-right, as he was completely ignorant of the Soulbound Curse instituted by Nathaniel and Cassandra in an attempt to stave off said Prophecy.

He would have Charlus and Dorea to thank for that.

Henry's portrait - the chattiest of patties - had been the most insistent of the bunch that the two "reconcile as quickly as possible!". He'd been the most vocal of the bunch expressing his upset at the fracturing of the Potter family. James wasn't too surprised, given the erstwhile Lord had been the Head of the Department of Magical Co-Operation and a Hufflepuff.

Henry's father Benjamin had been infinitely less acquiescing, having thoroughly berated his descendant for "pushing his wife divorce him in the first place!" He'd been furious when he'd learned of James' use of the Scarlet Letter Curse against Lily, leaving James inordinately relieved that the man was mere paint and not flesh. Though no more than a facsimile of the real Benjamin Potter's memories, the magic of the Homunculus Charm used to create his likeness included the capacity for to emote and feel as the subject would in real life.

An ex-Senior Auror and brief DADA Professor, Benjamin - nicknamed 'El Jefe' due to his fondness for Western American muggle attire - was as gruff as he was intimidating, strongly reminding James of Mad-Eye. Fitting, considering Alastor's great-great-grandaunt Romilda had been Benjamin's mother, thus making the current Lord Potter and Mad-Eye distant cousins. Given the latter's moods, it was a fact James made sure to keep to himself.

Josiah's portrait tried to be encouraging, but it was oft in the manner of a disappointed parent condescending to a wayward child. Fleamont was more or less the same, though he would wonder out loud at James' complete diplomatic ineptitude in dealing with his own family. As the former Chief British Delegate for the ICW, it was quite fitting that he would lean towards discretion and finesse when dealing with sensitive topics. His painted familiar Argos - a shaggy black crup that disturbingly reminded James of Padfoot - would merely stare at James whilst his master would attempt to offer words of wisdom.

Hardwin - who reminded James of Lucius Malfoy of all people - was aloof and snooty, spending significantly less time in his study frame than the other Potter Lords. The erstwhile Ravenclaw preferred his frame in the Grand Music Room, surrounded by his beloved instruments both painted and real.

Nathaniel rarely spoke and only did so in regards to the Potter Prophecy, much like Charlus. James had been initially excited to discover a portrait of his deceased father when he'd assumed the lordship, but Charlus had been significantly more taciturn and withdrawn with his son than he'd ever been in real life.

Shaking off those thoughts, Auror Potter slung his rucksack over his shoulder before making exit, waving a quick goodbye to Varens and Proudfoot and deftly ignoring Sirius' peripheral sneer.

It was excellent timing too; the moment James stepped into the Floo and disappeared to Potter Manor, the Auror Wireless Station flared in a frenzy as a flurry of reports rushed in.

"Multiple reports of lethal spellfire exchange with civilians in Ilkley near Citadel Rowle, including Unforgivables! Messrs. Tyrfing and Justinian have been spotted, attacking with intent to take hostages!"

Office 2 - The Unreachable Chamber - Department of Mysteries, 5:18PM

A scowling Number 2 glared at the final reports given to him by Number 3 and Number 6. The final unfurling of the Cryptohedron was complete, signaling that the Omega-level artifact was ready for use by the two would-be Time Agents.

And naturally, as with all primeval and occultish things, it would have to be activated exactly at the next witching hour, which meant both he and Three - Director of the Time Division under whose purview the Cryptohedron fell - would be venturing their way into Hogwarts before the near crack of dawn.

"Juist whit a bloody needit oan a Monday!"

The Voice couldn't resist groaning outrage, pleased for the impenetrable privacy charms that soundproofed his office and that of the other senior-most Unspeakables within the Unreachable Chamber.

Much like the Early Warning Office, the Unreachable Chamber predated the construction of the Department, assumed to have housed the very first Unspeakables. Seamlessly carved out of living rock by ancient forgotten magics, it comprised a singular hallway that housed thirteen identical alcoves that had been fashioned into offices. Offices 2 - 13 all faced each other, with the odd-numbered on the left, and the even-numbered on the right.

Office 1 - Control's Office - was on one end of the hallway, with the opposite end bearing the Annex Chamber, a tiny room that allowed entry into the department. It also bore the unique feature of granting access to every other sub-department within the Department of Mysteries, a feature only accessible by 001 - 013. Any other Unspeakable desiring access required a temporary ward-key that had to be administered by a willing official.

An unwilling official (and the one who forced him/her to try to access this place) would face immediate lethal reprise.

Just as he was about to summon Tanner for a spot of tea and biscuits, he felt a buzz-buzz-buzz alerting him to an incoming call on his charmed mirror locket. He flipped it open to find the visage of Control.

"We've received a distress call from our allies at Kamar-Taj. Code Level 6, breach in the Third Entryway." Saul's eyes widened a fraction at the implications of that. "Number 18, 42, and 78 have been dispatched to provide the relevant assistance. Please convene with Number 22 in the Vault of Records as is protocol."

Saul nodded. "It will be done."

Lily Evans' Private Quarters, 6:21PM

"There there dear, let it all."

Theo's shoulders heaved in response as the boy wept in the crook of Lily Evans' shoulder. The witch made cooing and tutting noises as she tenderly rubbed the crying boy's back.

She'd suggested the two of them have a private early dinner, maternal instincts sensing that the erstwhile Nott was nearing the cusp of a breakdown. Theo had been grief-stricken and guilty since the horrifying events of the Christmas holidays past, feeling personally responsible for Mia's demise. Though Harry had repeatedly assured him that he was not to blame for the dutiful elf's brave self-sacrifice, Theo hadn't believed him. It didn't help that Skeeter had published all the lurid details of the muggles' violence - death toll included.

It took great effort for Lily not to grit her teeth at the wretched little insect's actions.

Theo's guilt had started to manifest in other more noticeable ways. While he was generally stoic and indifferent in the face of the other students due to his Outcast-status, he's started to become stoic and indifferent with his friends. Luna Lovegood had commented that his nargles were becoming "listless and ever so blue", indicative of his growing depression.

She'd also mentioned that there were two disturbingly fat wrackspurts - one in his chest and another in his stomach - that were being gorged with all sorts of fury-flies he'd been dropping down his own gullet. It was alarmingly similar to Jim's own mental and emotional decline of Second Year, and that was before falling under the thrall of Rookwood's corrupted Occlumency text.

Suitably alarmed, Harry had enlisted his mother's assistance in "helping sort Theo out." The younger Potter was perceptive enough to realize that this particular situation would require 'a mother's touch' from an infinitely more seasoned Slytherin.

"M'sorry," sniffled Theo as he pitifully rubbed at his nose.

"Nothing to be sorry about dear." A deft flick of her wand summoned charmed tissues, which the boy gratefully accepted. "I…I know you've been struggling as of late. And while I can never say it enough, you are not to blame for any of it. Tiberius' cruelty and that of whichever demented Death Eater bewitching those muggles is to blame. You, like all of them, were a victim. Another unwitting cog in some degenerate's schemes." Theo started to look away guiltily but froze at the gentle hand on his cheek, compelling him to gaze into Lily's eldritch green eyes.

"I am serious. I know that you have been struggling since all of this happened. We've all been worried about you Theo, and though I sound like a broken clock, you are not at fault."

"...You…you really don't blame me for any of it?"

"Never darling." Lily's voice was like silk.

"...You…you won't send me away?" His voice was so small, voicing his biggest fear since being saddled with the Ultimate Sanction. The Keep had been his unexpected sanctuary, the first time in his mostly miserable life wherein he'd felt safe and wanted.

The witch's expression widened in horror. "Absolutely not! You will always have a home with Harry and I!" She deftly maneuvered him into her arms, cradling him protectively. "'Theo's Room' will always be 'Theo's Room', nothing and no one is ever going to change that. Understood?" Her tone - while gentle - brokered no argument, and after a few tense moments, Theo nodded gratefully.

At the back of his mind, he could hear the warm rasp of Christina Nott whispering "I told you so."

7:05PM

After one of the most cathartic dinners he could ever recall, the duo of Lily and Theo exited her private quarters, with the former insisting on walking the latter to the Great Hall. While he'd already eaten, it would give his friends a chance to see that the boy's mood was on the up and up.

The chatting pair made it to the halfway point of the corridor before Lily suddenly stiffened as her wand slipped into her hand. Her cuff thrummed as the krait symbol flashed in SOS at the imminent danger.

"Um, what's going on?" asked Theo worriedly.

His question was soon answered as a cacophonous wave of click-purr-buzz sounded all around them. That unnerving sound was accompanied by the even more inconceivable and terrifying sight of several hundred very poisonous-looking spiders shedding their respective camouflage and swarming down ravenously on their intended prey.

"GAAAAAH!"

THUMP.

Flick.

WHOOSH!

"CERASsSTESsS!"

A screaming Theo was sharply buffeted down the path they'd come and summarily yanked back into Lily's private quarters at the sharply hissed password. Said password activated additional security measures that would prevent anyone who wasn't Lily from entering unless Theo chose to open the door.

With her quarry safely hidden away Lily hissed "INCcCENDIO AEGISsS!", causing a roiling shield of fire to erupt in front of her and render the attacking creatures to ash.

Unfortunately, she failed to incorporate an Orbis modifier and thus left her back unprotected. She immediately realized her error upon feeling the sharp pinches and subsequent stings of multiple spider bites, forcing her to her knees with a pained grunt.

She sharply turned and brandished her flaming wand to disperse the creatures, but the effects of paresthesia immediately began setting in as she felt her limbs leaden and her consciousness wane. Her wand tumbled from nerveless fingers as thick cobweb-ropes bound around her now-flailing body as the temporary poison coursed through her system.

The last thing she saw was a pair of highly polished ochre-colored dragonhide brogues leisurely walking towards her. Even odder, was the sight of the arachnids parting like the red sea as her would-be captor closed in.

In a beat, Lily's world turned to black.

Slytherin Boys Dorm, 7:22PM

Grumbling about how late he was for dinner, Harry quickly freshened up before making his way downstairs. He'd spent the past hour chatting with the portrait of Driscoll, a glossy black kingsnake whose chattiness (and keen eye for detail) was on par with Egbert's. Thanks to a helpful tip courtesy of Kyna, Harry had liberated this particular frame from an abandoned stack in the Trophy Room. Driscoll was unique in the sense that his frame was magically linked with several other frames that spanned the two ubiquitous pathways that led to Common Rooms of Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

Perfect for gathering all sorts of delightful intel that students were prone to drop in their most unguarded moments.

He'd almost made it out of the Common Room entrance before running smack dab into Miranda.

"Oh! Didn't see you there, I was on my way to supper." Then, Harry frowned as he assessed the Sixth Year who looked keenly disturbed, so much so that it bled through her Occlumency shields. Harry's legilimency flared in alarm.

"What's going on? What's happened?"

"It's the Carrows." She looked around furtively upon whispering their name, almost as if she feared them erupting from the shadows at the mention of their name.

"What about them?! C'mon Miranda, spit it out!"

"I saw them acting…weird. They were rushing off to the Shrieking Shack carrying a sack with someone struggling inside." Harry's eyes widened in horror. "I heard Flora reply 'Be quiet Jim!' before-"

"Bloody hell!" Without hesitation Harry raced off to the Entrance Hall with Miranda hot on his heels. They made it out of the castle and reached the Whomping Willow in record time. To Harry's surprise the mercurial tree was still, remembering Sirius' telling him of a way to immobilize the tree in order to gain unfettered access to the hidden passageway. Harry took off towards the tree, but it began to thrash around when he drew close.

"Okay, there's a way to calm the tree down to access its passageway. But I can't for the life of me remem-"

"There's a knot at the bottom you have to either press or hit with a Stunner," said Miranda quietly.

Harry's brow furrowed, before turning towards the older witch. "How did you know th-?" He suddenly realized that under the light of the full moon, Miranda's umber brown eyes held a very subtle glaze that one could easily miss in a blink. Especially in a highly stressful situation.

The Imperius.

THU-

"STUPEFY."

Before Harry could finish his dilation and unholster his wand he fell on the ground completely unconscious. With a whispered "GRAVITAS PENNAS CORPUS", Miranda rendered Harry's weight negligible before nimbly tossing him over her shoulder, heading towards the Willow to complete her mission.

Shrieking Shack, 8:29PM

A sharp gasp of air signaled Harry's return to consciousness, groaning at the stiffness in his bound limbs. He realized that his bonds were tied in with three others who were slowly coming to. A cursory glance showed that his twin and his parents had also been kidnapped, bodies bound in the surprisingly tensile cobweb robes.

Retreating behind his Occlumency Harry took some time to assess his situation. He was wandless, presumably stripped of it when an Imperiused Miranda had attacked him. Said witch was nowhere to be found, and Harry sincerely hoped that she hadn't been magically compelled to grievously injure herself.

All four captives were currently propped up against the southernmost wall of the large center room, directly facing the entrance. The room was rickety and drafty, but possessed a keen staleness that made the air feel particularly heavy. Cool white light filtered in through the only window, unencumbered by the tatters of the moth-eaten curtains.

Of course, it was the light of a full moon.

Said light illuminated a strange and silvery coffin-shaped box that sat smack dab in the middle, which Harry realized was orichalcum. Squinting to activate the zoom feature of his glasses, the Slytherin Potter noted the various iterations of Algiz, Uruz, Raido, and Isa, and a bevy of other runes that he could confirm were certainly not Futhark - Elder or Younger.

They were altogether containment runes, meant to house very powerful and very dangerous cargo.

There was also an odd scuttling noise that seemed to run across the walls, though whatever critters were causing that sound were magically obscured in shadow and thus couldn't be seen.

"Are you alright Harry?" Lily's voice was cold and methodical, with absolutely no emotional inflection. Harry's legilimency immediately picked up that this was Bradamante speaking.

"I'm fine, no injuries. You?"

"Same."

She asked the same of Jim and James, further asking them how they came to be there. Both indicated that they'd suddenly blacked out en route to an old classroom to meet with Obediah for supper.

"Ah, looks like the gang's all here!"

And with that, the Potter Invisibility Cloak fell away to reveal the gloating form of Obediah Prewett, eyes alight with madness and some other unnamed emotion that made his expression infinitely more frightful. Perched on his left shoulder was a massive spider almost eclipsed the man's head, which Harry thought suspiciously looked like a baby Acromantula.

He couldn't resist the slight shudder that went through his body, suddenly appreciating Ron Weasley's arachnophobia.

"Uncle Obi?!" "Obediah?!" The twin exclamations of Lord and Heir Potter sounded out in confusion, before both demanded to know what the hell was going on! Harry could just make out the tops of their wands peeping out of the man's left pants pocket, spurring Harry into devising some sort of plan that could get him in close enough proximity to get him and his mother out of this mess.

"Seriously Obediah, what the hell is going on here?!" James sounded genuinely outraged and confused, truly at a loss as to what could have inspired this change in a man he considered a friend and confidante. Besides him, Jim fought to repress his growing panic and indignation at his godfather's admittedly strange behavior.

The Potter Seneschal clapped his hands in a gratingly Lockhart-esque manner.

"Isn't it obvious?!" he gestured exuberantly. "It's time for our long overdue Potter Family Reunion!"

AN 1: I now know more about spiders that I have ever cared to, Lovecraftian ones included. And I can further confirm that Ron Weasley's fears are entirely justified. The Wyld/Wild Spider Patron will make more cameos in Books 4 & 5.

AN 2: The activation of the Cryptohedron will finally mark the reveal of Lady Witherington and Cher Ami. All of the latter's intel of Marcellus Frump is completely accurate, well, save the whole theorizing about Azkabal, as I'm sure you all know. More on our new favorite Caretaker will be revealed...soon enough.