Chapter 22: Meet and Greet

Hermione was confused.

Or, perhaps more accurately, Hermione was flabbergasted and… maybe a little concerned?

Maybe.

Because it turns out that Rattles was just a kid. Rattles, who cheerily smiled and introduced himself as Sans: the mysterious individual that had just turned up to help Sirius escape from Hogwarts. Who had been able to, somehow.

He couldn't be any older than a first year.

Sans was shorter than she was, for Merlin's sake!

Short and with a build that could generously be described as being delicate; from what she could see, he looked to be barely more than bones. The large blue hoodie and black shorts he was wearing looked absolutely gigantic on him, adorably enough.

"You're wearing slippers," said Ron, unsure what else to talk about. "Pink slippers."

"Fuzzy pink slippers," Harry amended.

Hermione glanced down at everyone's feet. Sure enough, as if making up for the lack of color in his skin and hair, Sans was wearing bright pink slippers. And, of course, she'd already noted his very blue hoodie.

The color stood out quite a bit, given both his skin and flyaway hair were startlingly white, as if there was no color there in the first place. Even his eyes were colorless, both irises as black as night.

Regardless of his peculiar appearance—being a wizard could explain away a lot of that—he was still a kid.

But here he was, as inexplicably as when he had just been there in that locked-down classroom. As inexplicably as how Sirius had gotten out of that locked-down classroom.

"i know." Sans kicked out one foot, showing off the odd footwear. "i'm a fashion pioneer."

"I suppose that's one way to put it," sighed Sirius.

Mr. Weasley, who was quite confused by all this, waved for everybody to stop. And, rather surprisingly, everyone did. Going with what he hoped to be the simplest question, he asked, "Do you kids know this fellow?"

Seeing their shared glances, Mr. Weasley likely realized that it wasn't so simple after all.

"Er, yes?" Harry didn't sound very sure.

Hermione nodded and, much more firmly, repeated, "Yes."

Ron just shrugged. "We met last year, and Harry's apparently talked with 'em more over summer."

"and once patrick pawdy—" The name was said with emphasis, and Hermione noted it as the chosen pseudonym for Sirius's disguise, "—gets it in his head that you're gonna be friends, well… you're gonna be friends."

"Patrick—" Harry had to swallow his laughter, masking it with an unconvincing cough. "Yeah, yes, definitely."

Still looking a little lost, Mr. Weasley just vaguely nodded. Then—and Hermione thought it might just be in an attempt to stall for time to gather his thoughts—Mr. Weasley invited everybody into the tent.

To be honest, Hermione could sympathize with the feeling.

=X=X=X=

Arthur had invited them in, but that tent looked very small. Not large enough for six people, certainly.

Sans eyed the small tent skeptically, until his magic brushed against the canvas and he felt peculiarity; it was warped, like the inside surface of the fabric was somehow larger than the outside. Actually, now that he'd noticed it, a lot of the tents seemed to feel that way.

Catching how the expression on his friend's disguised face went from disbelief to interested curiosity, Sirius smirked. He could guess that Sans knew something was up with the tent—just from his own personal experiences, getting something past Sans was harder than wresting gold from a goblin—but that didn't mean he couldn't be surprised.

Wouldn't be surprised, probably. But was the attempt to surprise that mattered.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had already vanished into the tent, but Arthur was still waiting for a reply.

"I'd love to come in!" Sirius exclaimed, channeling the personality he figured somebody named 'Patrick Pawdy' (who also wears a frankly uncomfortable number of colors) would have.

It was a remarkable performance, to be sure, but probably very much how Sirius would have behaved anyway.

Sans followed after everybody else as they all trooped into the tent that, based on appearances only, he was convinced would be too small. And if it should be too small but kept fitting more people, then there had to be really interesting magic afoot.

He lifted the entrance flap aside, and saw that he was right.

"okay," he admitted. "that's pretty neato."

The tent was larger on the inside than the outside, and significantly more comfortable than a tent had any right to be. There was a stove, sink, table and chairs, beds, rugs, maybe even a bathroom: it might as well be a canvas house. It was a bit old fashioned looking and smelled slightly of cats, but that was easily overlooked given he had been expecting a tent and walked into what was, for all in-tent-s and purposes, a three-room flat.

"What, that's it?" Sirius sounded a bit disappointed. "It only ranks as 'neato'?"

Sans shrugged, still taking in the view. "i said 'pretty neato', actually."

After filling an old kettle with water and setting it on the stove to heat up, Arthur gestured to the table and, more to the point, the seats around it. "Feel free to make yourselves at home."

Then he sighed to himself, sounding rather disappointed.

"Something wrong, Arthur?" Sirius asked.

"It's just…" The redheaded wizard frowned slightly. "I had hoped to use the fire outside to prepare the afternoon tea. But it went out ages ago and I can't seem to restart the darn thing."

"you can't light it again?"

He shook his head. "Not by muggle means." Another sigh. "Which would be the whole point."

Sans glanced back toward the flap, wondering just what the point really was, then over to Sirius. Before his friend had a chance to explain (or attempt to explain) Mr. Weasley's infatuation with all things muggle, they were rejoined by Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The three of them gestured for Sans and Sirius to come over to the marginally more private end of the tent, waving in what might loosely be called a secretive manner.

It really wasn't very secretive.

"Looks like the kids want you two," Arthur noticed. "I'll just bring the tea over once it's ready, alright?"

Of course, while Sans wasn't too keen on the idea of willingly offering them time to pelt them with questions, Sirius jumped at the chance to spend time with his godson. Pelted questions or no. He all but dragged Sans over to the kids' chosen corner of the tent and, once there, summoned up five chairs so that everyone could sit down.

That conjuration was just a cover, Sans felt, noticing an odd dampening sort of quiet fall over the group. The sounds around them were almost muffled, and if he focused his magic further he could tell there was some element of mimicry to whatever Sirius had just done.

"some sort of privacy spell?" he asked in cautiously quiet undertones.

Sirius nodded, openly explaining, "Nobody else can hear what we're saying; if they try to eavesdrop, then they just get some perfectly inane, non-incriminating conversation."

"Wicked," Ron whispered in appreciation.

The group settled in for what would be, Sans expected, a bit of an interrogation. Luckily for him, the bulk of the questions were aimed at Sirius: how he had escaped Azkaban was in there somewhere, along with how he had stayed escaped. But, of course, following that line of inquiry led then to the end of the school year and, therefore, to Sans.

Who was temporarily saved from answering anything when Mr. Weasley brought over the tea, though that didn't take long. As soon as the redheaded wizard had left, Hermione asked her first question.

It… wasn't what Sans had expected.

"Are you from America?"

He wasn't sure why she asked that, and he wasn't really sure how to answer. Sure, in his dimension the country the monster's lived under might have been called 'America', but that wasn't really the same country she was asking about. The two versions of the same country could be completely different, for all he knew. After a moment of consideration, Sans replied, "…i'm not from here, that's for darn sure."

Catching on to that very non-answer, Harry narrowed his eyes over his steaming cup of tea. "So is that a 'no', or…?"

Sans shrugged. "kinda maybe. depends."

"On what?" asked Ron. "You're either from somewhere or you're not, right?"

Interjecting before Sans could deflect again, Hermione pulled the line of questioning back the direction she had originally been aiming for. "Either way, you said you aren't from here. Not to be rude, but… why Hogwarts?"

"He's a wizard, isn't he?" Somewhat confused, Harry gave his friend a quizzical look. "Of course he'd come to Hogwarts."

Hermione looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but, admirably, she restrained herself. "If he's from America, he could have gone to a magic school in America."

This was apparently news to Harry, who looked at Ron for confirmation and got a slightly confused nod. "Like that liver-something place."

"Ilvermorny," Hermione instinctively corrected. "But that's beside the point right now. Why Hogwarts?"

Eyeing his own cup of tea speculatively, Sans shrugged again. "eh, i sorta found myself here on accident. nowhere else to go, so why not?"

"On accident?"

"I helped him out of a…" Sirius paused, grasping for words that wouldn't send the conversation spiraling away into the unbelievable truth. He settled with: "An unforeseen situation."

At Hermione's relentlessly curious expression and its promise of more questions, Sans offered, "my arrival was pretty… uh, sudden. you think that's the right word to use there, paddy?"

Sirius considered this. Thinking back to dying, falling into the void, meeting a talking skeleton, escaping the void and traveling back in time with said skeleton, being imprisoned in his old school, another escape, and not to forget the whole infiltration of the Ministry: it might be hard to say how long the void bit lasted, but to Sirius 'sudden' felt like an understatement. The rest of the summer was a relaxing intermission in comparison, Horcrux and suspicious Remus notwithstanding.

With the air of a man agreeing to something inherently obvious, Sirius nodded. "'Suddenly', 'abruptly', 'unexpectedly': any of those would work, too."

Hermione looked to be positively intrigued. "How did you two meet?"

"how does anyone meet?" Sans asked, before answering himself. "we happened to be in the same place and ran into each other."

There was odd emphasis on the word 'place', as if that word didn't quite fit there but he had no better substitute; since Hermione didn't know what to make of that, she decided to just ignore it. After all, she reasoned, it's not as though there is somewhere out there that can't qualify as a place. Probably.

Sirius nodded ruefully. "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone, so it was pretty surreal. Like I was caught in some weird prank across space and time."

Sans nearly choked on his first sip of tea, and a complicated expression ran across his face: fond and sad all at once. He quickly schooled his features into his usual grin, but he stared into his cup and didn't look back up.

But of course Sirius noticed his abrupt discomfort. Concern for his friend overriding any need to act natural, he asked, "Sans, are you all right?"

"yeah, great." For another long moment, the disguised skeleton still didn't look up from his cup. Then, with a smile that looked somewhat strained but deeply fond, he said, "you just… reminded me of someone."

"Who?" The question was out before Hermione could censor herself; she immediately scrabbled to apologize, realizing as soon as the word left her mouth just how insensitive she was being.

Sans just shook his head slowly, and actually provided an answer. "my brother. but he's…" There was a brief hesitation, then he finished, "he's gone." His voice fell into a whisper. "or, well, i'm gone."

Silence. Nobody really knew what to say after that.

Desperate for a new topic, Ron latched on to the one thing he knew would be capable of distracting Hermione from their mysterious new friend: school. He couldn't believe he was actually about to say what he was going to say, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "Harry, do you remember if Professor Flitwick assigned us anything this summer?"

The plan worked like a charm. Hermione rounded on her redheaded friend, chastising him for forgetting their homework, and was, thus, thoroughly distracted.

Sans appreciated the gesture, recognizing Ron's strategy for what it was; he'd used it himself to distract Papyrus, after all. Still, the tent was feeling much to small now and the air felt thick in his ribcage. Bittersweet memories crowded him, and, like a weight, they were pulling him down.

It was time to make yet another escape.

=X=X=X=

Sans wasn't quite sure how, but he had managed to get away while Hermione pestered Harry and Ron about homework. Now, after ducking out of the magically spacious tent with a sigh of relief, he had to figure out something to do to stay escaped. After glancing around the busily excited camp grounds, Sans decided that disappearing into the crowds could only help further his odds of avoiding Hermione—er, avoiding her questions.

She seemed nice enough, but he could tell that she was (horror of horrors) a hard-worker.

Really, that had to be why he had been so… uneasy. Honestly. No other reason.

Certainly not that her nagging reminded him of his own brother, pestering him to recalibrate his puzzles or to stop lazying around at his post. That the boiling water had been in a kettle, not a pot. Even that the tea he had been offered hadn't smelled like golden flowers, the flavor the king had always brewed for him whenever he visited.

Or that seeing them all joke and laugh together, as friends and family, made his smile feel suddenly brittle.

Not that it really mattered why he had slipped away, only that he had. He just needed some time to think, so, not sure what else to do, Sans turned away from the tent and started walking.

He had walked along nearly half the perimeter of the campsite, not wanting to walk through the densely crowded tents: it was enough to take in the crazy magic chaos from the edge. More than enough, Sans reaffirmed to himself as he watched a small magical child throw a tantrum as their older sister got to play with a miniature broom and they did not. It had taken a while, but Sans was finally feeling a bit more in order. At least, he was pretty sure a cup of tea and friendly conversations weren't going to send his mind careening into bittersweet memories again.

A little farther down the loosely defined camp border, nearing the opposite end from where he had started, Sans noticed that the path he had been following split. Farther off, leading away from the swarm of magicals, the path became a proper dirt road.

And there, far enough away that details would be lost to distance, was a quaint two-story stone cottage.

Sans found himself turning and walking that direction without even really meaning to. Staring up at the house, there was a twinge in his chest where, had be been human, he would have had a heart: apparently recollections of his past couldn't be left behind at the pace of a leisurely stroll. He couldn't say why the house brought up treasured memories of his own home in Snowdin—they really looked nothing alike—but it did all the same. Perhaps it was something familiar in the shape of the front door, or the small doghouse he spotted just off to the side, or maybe simply the lived-in feeling of a place well-loved.

Home was so very far away.

He had accepted that when he first realized what his solution to the resets would entail, and he still accepted that. But his acceptance wouldn't make that distance hurt any less.

Abruptly, Sans was pulled from his musing when he was almost steamrolled by a pair of children booking it at top speed. He managed to dodge, obviously, and stood back to watch as the two brothers—they looked far too similar to be anything but—chased each other around the yard.

"You'll never catch me," taunted the boy in the lead as he leapt over a rock. "I'm the greatest escaper-er to ever escape!"

"This isn't—" Clearly out of breath, the chaser paused to find his voice before finishing his sentence: "This is not how you're supposed to play hide-and-seek, Miles!"

Miles, who was probably the older brother, laughed. "This is the 'seek' part!"

Sans smiled a sad sort of smile, watching the brothers bringing up painfully happy memories from so, so long ago.

"Hey!"

Wait. That had been directed at him. Probably. Glancing around briefly to make sure there were no other people that could have been addressed to, Sans pointed to himself for further confirmation.

"Yeah, you in the blue hoodie." The still panting chaser pointed to his older brother and, with a blunt tone that was almost a request, said, "Help me catch him."

Sans blinked, surprised. "uh, i've always been better at the 'hide' part, but…"

Butting in before he could finish his sentence, Miles gasped and said, "Will, you can't just— just get help from some new kid!"

The one named Will just quirked an eyebrow. "Just like you can't run after I find you?"

"Ye… Wait, I mean, no!"

"Hah!" The tired chaser pounced on that slip-up with renewed energy. "You just admitted it: no running away!"

Miles held up both hands. "But consider this," he began, before immediately turning tail and running at top speed back toward their house.

Making to resume the chase, Will only made it a few steps before pausing. He glanced back at Sans, maybe a little embarrassed at asking. But still: "So, you coming?"

Hesitating briefly—he would never describe himself as 'athletic' by any stretch of the imagination—Sans found himself nodding, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of his illusionary lips. "let's get 'im."

=X=X=X=

John Roberts couldn't help but smile as he watched his two boys (somewhat uncharacteristically) drag a third into their games. The new kid was unusually pale—the pure white of his hair stood out even at a distance—but he was no weirder than some of the other people he had let through to the campsite over the past day or so.

Take, for example, the admittedly elegant man and woman who had walked up just a few hours earlier dressed as if this was to be the location of some grand party, rather than a campsite in a field. The tidy suit and sleek evening gown they had worn did look fantastic on them, but obviously that wardrobe choice made no sense for a trip to the outdoors. It was a little surreal, to be perfectly honest; as if they were something straight from a storybook, a feeling only strengthened when they, like a few others he had met, had tried to pay with foreign gold coins.

He had shrugged it off at the time, but after they had left he went directly to tell his wife about that particular peculiar pair.

But enough getting sidetracked, John had come outside for one reason and one reason only.

"Boys, it's time for tea!" he called, waving for their attention. "Feel free to invite your new friend as well!"

Miles looked between his father and the pale boy, cheeks pink from exertion or embarrassment or a combination thereof. Still, he shouted back an affirmative before conferring with the other two about something: the game they had been playing or the offer of food, John wasn't sure. Either way, all three trotted in his direction, so he called it all good.

Once the kids were close enough that shouting wasn't necessary, John asked, "So then, who's this?"

Will stepped up to introduce everyone. "Dad, this is Sans. Sans, this is Dad."

With a broad and cheeky (though slightly lopsided) grin, the boy said, "hello, dad."

"Come off it," Miles grumbled, though his dad could clearly see that it was mostly teasing. "You know what he meant."

"well i don't have anything else to call 'im, do i?"

Chuckling, John decided he'd be better off handling his own introduction. "You can call me Mr. Roberts."

"my name's sans," the boy said. He hesitated for a moment, looking down at his own hands. After focusing on them with peculiar intensity—for a brief moment, somehow, there was a faint flicker of blue light—Sans offered his hand, and John shook it with a firm but carefully gentle grip. "though of course you've literally just been told that, so oops."

In his own larger hand, Sans's felt small and delicate. Almost insubstantial, as if it were nothing more than bones, but still strong enough for a confident handshake. "Aye, but there's no problem double checking that I haven't forgotten."

The front door behind them suddenly opened, and Nancy Roberts looked at the four of them—sons, husband, and stranger—with a curious smile. She made a show of counting them all up, then simply said, "I suppose I should set out another cup."

"oh, uhm…" Sans seemed a bit embarrassed, or maybe unnecessarily apologetic. "i've already had some tea, so i'd rather just have water. if that's alright with you."

"Of course that's alright!" In fact, his wife looked a tad miffed at the unintended suggestion that her hospitality might not extend to getting him a glass of water. She gestured for everyone to come in, holding the door open invitingly.

Miles, however, seemed to have a different idea. "Oh, come on, Mum! It's so nice out, can't we have a picnic or something?"

"Can we?" Will sounded just as excited by that idea as his older brother.

Nancy shared a look with her husband, then nodded. "Alright, but you two are in charge of clean-up."

Both of his kids ran into the house with happy shouts, presumably to find the old picnic blanket: a worn quilt that did the job perfectly. Of course this left their new friend, Sans, looking after them with a bemused sort of smile.

"abandon me to deal with the parents, will ya?" Sans said in mock despair. "i'm doomed, i say. doomed!"

"So you're doomed now?" John knew it was the oldest joke in the book, but he couldn't resist: he was a dad, after all. "And here I thought you were Sans."

The boy's grin broadened. "can't i be both?"

"I don't know, who's Both?"

"me, clearly," Sans replied with a laugh. "i keep setting myself up, giving you perfect o-pun-tunities for jokes!"

His wife just shook her head with a smile and a long-suffering sigh. "Oh dear, another jokester."

"i prefer 'punster', actually."

Before she could reply, both of their boys came tearing back out into the yard with the tattered quilt flapping behind them like a glorious navy blue banner.

Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation, but John could tell that his wife was smiling. She waved Sans and him off toward where the blanket was being spread out, saying, "I'll get the tea and biscuits. Oh, yes—and a water for you, dear."

"thanks," Sans said, smiling confidently. But John was pretty sure he could see the faintest blush of embarrassment coloring the pale boy's cheeks.

Since he could see his sons struggling with setting out the large quilt, John led the way off in their direction. Sans joined him, and as they got closer they noticed that Will had sprawled himself out over the picnic blanket, arms and legs spread wide to cover as much as possible, while Miles searched the ground nearby.

"What are you two getting up to now?" John asked, trying not to laugh.

"i can't bed-cover all the possibilities," Sans said, "but, from what i can sew together of the stich-uation, my blanket guess would be they're trying to pin down the fabric."

He gave a low whistle, impressed. "That could, quite possibly, be the most puns I've ever heard in a single sentence."

The boy sketched an exaggerated bow, looking quite please with himself, then went to actually help out with the blanket; it had caught a particularly strong breeze and flipped up over Will. Tugging it back flat, Sans waggled a finger, reprimanding, and told the blanket firmly, "stay put."

"I doubt that will help," groused Will, slightly peeved that he'd been all tangled up.

"you'd be surprised."

Sure enough, though it didn't seem to get any less breezy, the blanket didn't fold over itself again so his boys were able to find enough sizable rocks to hold it down with no further difficulty. By the time his wife rejoined them—bringing over the kettle, a tray with teacups and saucers (the cheapest set, just in case), one glass of water, and biscuits—John could proudly say that they had set up a truly superb picnic spot.

"What do you think of this?" he asked, sweeping a hand to indicate both the blanket and the view of their two boys running around with a new friend.

"It's lovely, dear." Nancy smiled and she delicately sat down. Her eyes followed Sans and Will as they laughed, clearly enjoying their attempt to chase Miles down. "I don't know why I was ever worried."

John joined her on the blanket, nodding in agreement; both of his sons tended to stick together, despite the usual sibling bickering, and they hadn't tried to make any friends beyond each other. Miles was already thirteen, with Will only two years younger, so it was natural for their parents to worry.

He heard Sans shout something about a secret technique before flopping lamely into the tall grass of the field and vanishing from sight. Miles tripped over himself at that—startled or amused, it was hard to tell—and Will pounced on the chance. Sans sat up at the sounds of a playful scuffle, though he was rather far away from where he had disappeared.

"Boys!" Nancy called out, waving for them to stop. "Let's wrap this up, I have tea and biscuits waiting for you!"

Miles and Will immediately scrambled to their feet, but Sans just let himself fall sideways into the grass again. Then, inexplicably, the pale boy popped back up again: somehow he was now only a few meters away. It would seem that children could be quite speedy when they want to be.

John spared a moment to count up the biscuits and ran some mental math. "Looks like we have enough here for everyone to take three," he said, divvying out the teatime snacks. "Dear, are you spoiling these boys?"

Seeing the opportunity for what it was, his two sons snatched up their allotted sweets before either parent could have a chance to rescind the offer. Sans, however, just took one.

"i take it three's a luxury?"

Leaning close to his new friend, Miles whispered, "Usually we just get one. Two if we're lucky."

"Mum must really like you, Sans."

"well, what can i say?" The pale boy shrugged, then took an almost theatrical bite from his biscuit. "i'm just that sweet."

As a father, John felt somewhat compelled to reply with a pun of his own, but before he could he was interrupted by a sharp noise from the direction of the camp. Somebody had apparently set off a firework far too early, and they could see the streaming sparks of color over the tents. It must have been an expensive firework too, given the twinkling green and gold lights were spiraling about as if they had minds of their own.

"Did you see that!?" Will demanded, once the last sparks vanished. "That was totally wicked!"

Nancy ruffled her son's hair with a quiet chuckle. "Yes, I saw. I am sitting right next to you, you know."

"I wonder if they'll be setting off more fireworks this evening," mused John, since it was quite obvious to him that there must be some sort of major event going on to attract so many strange folk. "You know, after whatever it is they're up to is finished. I'm sure it would be spectacular."

Miles pantomimed the launch and explosion, wiggling his fingers and making appropriate sound effects. "Like magic."

Suddenly, with a loud snapping sound, there was an unfamiliar lady standing on their picnic blanket. John had absolutely no idea how she'd got there.

And, for some reason, she held a stick pointed directly between his eyes.

"Obliviate!"

The world around him went dark.

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

And so I, the author, once again pull in characters that were only mentioned in passing in the book.
Hope you don't mind.

I've always taken issue with the nonchalant, nearly abusive attitude wizards have toward muggles. Especially with regards to obliviation. I mean, in the book Mr. Roberts gets his memory wiped for musing that all the peculiar people in the camp might know each other. He doesn't mention magic. He doesn't mention anything that's really unusual or unexplainable, and they just wipe his memories! Apparently, and I quote, he "needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy" (from chapter 7). Ten times a day! I just— that seems really messed up to me. An overreaction, at the very least.
Not to mention that later, when the attack has begun, there's… well, I'll talk more about that after the next chapter. Suffice to say that, reading between the lines, something cruel and morally repugnant is just written off as nothing important.

Updates on the first of every month.
I still can't thank you all enough for all the reviews and favorites and follows and just, thank you all so much! I hope you continue to enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it!

Neutral Zone: Oh my word(play), that's a good one! Since you have given me permission to steal— I mean, use that pun, I definitely will do so. How could I have missed "bone-afide"?! It's perfect!

See ya on the flipside, everyone!