Chapter 69: It's Been a Long Day's Night
"Wait here, and don't touch anything," the older wizard said, stern. "I will fetch the headmaster, and he will be here shortly."
Sans just nodded. He didn't need to mess around with the office, having already ticked off all the items from his to-do list (and then some) during his earlier visit. The chaperone who'd led him up here—and who hadn't bothered to introduce himself—didn't look entirely convinced, but still hurried away regardless.
That wizard was one of the group brought in to manage the tournament, obviously. The fact that he'd left him here alone was proof enough of that: any Hogwarts staff worth their salt would've had a student wait outside the headmaster's office, not inside and definitely not unsupervised.
The door thunked shut, and Sans looked around the headmaster's office for the second time in one day.
"i can't believe that guy just left me here by myself," he remarked.
An affronted squawk.
"okay, not completely by myself, but still."
Fawkes looked him up and down, plainly wondering why he was back so soon—dragged in by some random wizard, no less!
"well, basically, i've failed two stealth missions today." Sans sighed, shuffling over to the phoenix with a shrug. "not that you snitched for the first one or anything, but it still counts."
The bird trilled, a teasing lilt to go with the smug tilt of his head.
"i got in and delivered the letter just fine, actually, so—"
Another chirrup cut him off.
"i already acknowledged that you caught me—" He paused, and his grin went sly. "ya know what?—it's not your office. guess i only failed one stealth mission then."
Feathers fluffed, the bird's beak made a jagged little up-down movement—the avian equivalent to an eye roll.
"any idea how long it'll take to get ol' dumbles here?"
The answer was decidedly non-specific: basically just 'some time'.
"welp, if i'm gonna be here for a while, i should probably inform some people of my predicament." The phoenix watched curiously as Sans reached out, and gave a surprised squawk when his empty hands were suddenly holding pen and paper. He grinned. "it's a neat trick, right?"
As the disguised skeleton wrote out a quick note, the bird watched quietly over his shoulder—maybe he was reading along, but, from the curious nips at the back of the pen, he was probably just wondering about the 'weird featherless quill'.
Regardless of bird interference-pecks, his handwriting remained as legible as ever and he finished the first message in short order. Very short: only a few sentences. No need to get into all the details, seeing as Harry and company had been in the room for at least some of this plan-derailment. The note was mostly just an estimate for how long it'd take Sans to return to his role as magical transportation.
"given the outcome, i really shoulda just written them a note from the get-go," Sans remarked, with a heavy sigh. "they probably would have found it just fine, and this whole thing," he gestured vaguely, "wouldn't have happened."
He folded up the paper, then pulled in another from elsewhere. It took a bit longer to write out the next message. Sirius, having not been present for the inciting incident, needed to be filled in on a lot more.
Fawkes looked between the folded note and the one he was still writing, head cocked with interest. He gave an inquisitive chirrup.
"eh, just an ol' dog who shouldn't need to wait up for me."
A nod, then a beak-point to the shorter note.
"and that's for the dog's godson." He grinned. "the dog-son, if you will."
Once he had all the main points written down, two shortcuts made quick work of finishing the delivery. Although he'd been leery of doing so earlier, now he went ahead and dropped his note right in front of Harry—it was a risk, but at this point trying to be stealthy was a bit of a lost cause. So what if the other people at the table saw it pop in, this is a magical school. And that means 'because magic' is a perfectly reasonable excuse.
And anyway, people would have to figure out it was sent by him before any suspicion could fall his way.
(Curse his highly recognizable handwriting, it was the only flaw in this scheme.)
Honestly, Sans was kind of lost on how he'd ended up here. He been caught in the Great Hall, of course, but events had gotten a bit confusing after the professor had her weird stand-up poetry fit. A lot of people started talking over each other, which certainly didn't help, but the main thing bothering Sans now was the thoughtful look he'd gotten from Dumbledore.
And the next thing he knew, some other wizard guy was hurrying him up to the headmaster's office.
Getting it all on paper to send to Sirius, even if it wasn't anything more than a scattered summary, did help him sort it out in his skull. He used to take a lot of notes—filled journals, scribbled sticky-note reminders, that sort of stuff—but he'd lost the habit for obvious reasons. Hard to justify writing things down when it'd all end up un-written.
He'd had to get really good at just… remembering.
"hey, fawkes?" Sans sent away the pen he'd been writing with, looking thoughtful. "if somebody experiencing a temporal fit told you to go find something, what would you do?"
The bird stared, processing that, then clacked his beak.
"but i can't exactly fly off on a wild goose chase, hmm?"
That earned him an affirmative sort of hum, close enough to the noise he'd made that it was definitely a mimicry. He chuckled, amused, and the bird flutter-hopped over to land on his shoulder.
A lyrical whistle.
"okay, i didn't quite catch that but i feel like you're making fun o' me—"
The door opened, Headmaster Dumbledore stepped into his office, paused, and Sans abruptly realized that maybe it was a little incriminating to have the phoenix perched on his shoulder happily messing around with his hood.
Incriminating for what, he wasn't sure. But probably something.
"…'sup?"
Fawkes looked up too, then poofed. Unlike the angry fluffed feathers Sans had seen earlier, this time it was definitely embarrassment. With an almost hilarious amount of very graceful care—trying to brush it off—the bird preened back his feathers and imperiously straightened.
And, of course, Dumbledore knew his familiar well enough to pick up on that. His smile took a turn from default-grandfatherly to something more genuinely amused. "Ah, Mr. Skelton, I am glad to see you were not left completely unsupervised."
The reply was a beautiful (sassy) lilt of birdsong, and the phoenix attempted a nonchalant return to his proper perch. At which point Fawkes tucked his beak under one wing, quite pointedly turned away, and pretended to go to sleep.
(Sans managed to resist making a snarky comeback, but only just.)
Then he caught sight of one of the two other people standing in the headmaster's wake, and could't help but blink in surprise. "what're you doing here?"
"I saw what happened, and asked to come along," replied Cedric Diggory, shrugging, his confident smile touched with just a hint of bashfulness. "Both as a prefect and as a friend of a friend, I wanted to make sure you were okay."
Well, alright then. Hopefully his presence here was a good sign. The Hufflepuff probably wouldn't have been allowed to tag along if the subject was going to get too heavy or secretive or anything like that.
Admittedly, being sent straight to the headmaster's office had been a tad alarming. Having some house points taken away or ending up slapped with a detention: that's more the level he'd been expecting. So this felt like an overreaction.
Which made Sans think that… maybe he was missing something.
He'd assumed that he was in trouble for the whole sneaking-in-to-the-party thing, not whatever temporal-confusion had gone on with the professor down there. But perhaps it was some combination of both.
"First things first," said Flitwick, with a disappointed sigh. "I'm afraid I'll have to take fifty points, for disobeying the rules set for the Yule Ball."
"understandable."
The professor just shook his head—fully aware that the point deduction definitely hurt him more than it did his indifferent pupil, but that it had to be done regardless. Other students did still care about house points, after all, and they would certainly notice if the numbers remained unchanged even after such obvious rule-breaking. Alas.
"And detention with me, two weeks starting tomorrow—held just after lunch for now, and then after classes once the semester begins."
"different than the usual tutoring, or…?"
Another sigh. "We'll have to see, Mr. Skelton," he said. "We'll have to see."
That probably would have sounded more threatening—or at least more worrying—if the professor hadn't sounded so darn tired about it all.
"look, in my defense, i was only there to drop off a message." Sans caught a very quiet churr from the not-asleep phoenix, but he elected to ignore it: he had been making a lot of deliveries today, but that didn't make him an owl. "in and out. i wasn't actually interested in the party."
Taking a seat at his desk, Dumbledore raised a brow. "A message?"
"yeah, just thought of something i needed to tell harry."
Professor Flitwick drew his wand and conjured himself a short chair. He sat with a slump to his shoulders, clearly still mourning the lost points. "And you couldn't have waited until he left for the night?"
Technically—yes, Sans probably could have just waited around until the kids took their leave of the ball all on their own. Another excellent alternative to walking in there or even leaving a note.
Stars above, but he'd really missed the obvious solution: just wait longer.
(He's so good at waiting, at doing nothing, and he still messed it up.)
"too lazy," he said instead, keeping the disparaging comments about his sub-optimal choice firmly behind his teeth. "i have sleep to get to, man, it's already late enough."
The not-really-a-lie seemed to go over as planned, earning a slight chuckle and yet another heavy sigh from, respectively, the headmaster and the professor.
"And what was this message?"
"…would you believe me if i told you it was a good knock-knock joke?"
Which, for the record, was only half-deflection: he had thought that it could be an amusing way to pass on the secret of number twelve. Not particularly efficient though, and, as the hour got later and later, he had been leaning towards the straight-forward approach instead.
Cedric snorted, amused—which Sans hadn't expected, partially because he'd forgotten he was there and partially because he hadn't thought he'd left that much of an impression the few times they'd met. "Likely story," he said, "but I don't think that'd be urgent enough for you to bother breaking the rules."
"it was a really good knock-knock joke."
"Well, regardless, I suppose that why you were there is less important than the fact that you were there," Cedric continued, and his expression shifted to something a bit more like disbelief. "I know she teaches Divinations, but… I've never seen Professor Trelawney act like that before."
Internally, Sans thanked the upperclassman for the tidy topic change.
"Indeed, it was quite unexpected." Dumbledore was watching him closely now, over his half-moon spectacles.
Sans shrugged, and didn't even need to feign his confusion on the matter. "i have no idea what she was doing, frankly. did somebody spike her drink or slip her a potion or something?"
The headmaster didn't reply for a long moment, the slightest frown pulling at his brow even as he continued to stare. Finally: "Occasionally, Professor Trelawney has visions of what is to come."
"so that was a prophecy?" he asked, just to be sure he was interpreting this right. "like, an actual prediction of something that'll happen?"
Dumbledore nodded, threading his fingers together on his desk—the letter Sans had dropped off during his earlier visit was nowhere to be seen, so presumably the headmaster had found it easily enough.
Now, Sans didn't have much experience with prophecies, having only ever encountered two: one from back in the Underground, and one Sirius had told him about without mentioning too many specifics. And while those two were rather major, all things considered, that's not exactly a big sample size.
Basically, it was hard to say if that whole thing down in the Great Hall had actually been an important, rare event. Could a prophecy even be about something innocuous or mundane, like the contents of next week's grocery run, or were they always important? He wasn't sure. There had been a weight behind her words, but…
He could—should—probably just ask.
"is that a big deal or something?"
"We have reason to believe that this prophecy, at least, is speaking of a considerably consequential event," said Dumbledore.
Professor Flitwick, in line with stereotypical Ravenclaw behavior, had an answer for the natural follow up question. "Divination has never been a focus of mine, but I have read that a prediction's scope can be inferred by the impact of its delivery."
And, given that the prophecy Trelawney had given in the Great Hall had been audible even over the music—and had subsequently made the whole ball grind to a halt—it was probably a big deal.
Just his luck, really.
The headmaster nodded, in agreement. "I myself have been privy to a number of prophecies over the years, very few of which had an effect anywhere close to what we heard today." He looked… troubled.
"so what am i supposed to do about it?" Sans asked drily. "i'm just a first year, ya know."
"Indeed, Mr. Skelton, but I would still like to hear your interpretation of Professor Trelawney's words." Dumbledore had that look in his eyes again, the one Sans couldn't quite break down: consideration, wary interest, concern. "It certainly appeared that she was addressing you directly, especially at the end."
"the whole 'seek the veil' bit?" Sans stuffed his hands in his pockets, thinking. He was certain that he'd heard of a capital-V type Veil at some point, but, as it had been a one-off remark, he couldn't quite recall where. "i wonder if it's an actual veil somewhere, or if it's more… uh, an idea or something."
He'd wanted to say 'metaphorical' or 'allegorical', but frankly he wasn't sure those were words an actual eleven-year-old could be expected to know. Either way, he didn't want to push it with his very-observant headmaster right there.
"anyway, is there, like, a big book somewhere in the ministry with all the prophecies written down?" Thinking back to the two ones he knew of, they seemed vague enough that they wouldn't really be useful anyway. "though i dunno if there'd even be a reason to keep track," he added, "unless they need to be known to even happen at all—like they're self-fulfilling prophecies."
There was something there when Sans mentioned keeping records: something that Dumbledore wasn't saying, but he could glimpse in the old wizard's eyes. A sharpening of interest, a tighter control of his expression, that suggested a change of some kind for whatever records did exist.
Although he was curious, Sans was also, unfortunately, not in any position to ask. For now, at least. Assuming that something had happened, and assuming that the prophecies were copied down somewhere in the ministry, there might be rumors floating around between the officials.
He added it to the mental list of questions to ask Perkins.
As he mused, apparently Flitwick had managed to drag the headmaster into a debate on the nature of prophecies and the idea of free will. It would seem that, despite his claim that the subject was not a speciality of his, the Charms professor nonetheless had a lot to say about fate and predestination.
"I took Divinations back in my third year, and it all seemed a bit fake to me," Cedric confessed, just quiet enough that Sans was the only one to hear.
"more like pro-faux-cies, amiright?"
"Ah, but I'm afraid we've gone a tad off topic, Filius." The headmaster returned his focus to the group as a whole, looking from professor to prefect to student and back. "It is getting rather late."
Cedric stepped up then, hands politely folded behind his back. "Shall I take Sans back to his common room, sir?"
"Thank you, Mr. Diggory," he said, and the grandfather-smile was back. "I am glad that young Mr. Skelton has such a fine friend."
The Hufflepuff prefect grinned, pleased.
Sans just blinked.
And so his official friend count increases by one, without his say-so. Not that he would have disagreed, per se: though they hadn't spoken all that much, Cedric had been a staunch defender against the Hogwarts ghosts ever since that encounter in the Hospital Wing. Always appreciated. Still, he wouldn't have classified them as 'friends' so much as 'friendly acquaintances'.
"However, before we send you two off to bed," Dumbledore continued, once again turning to Sans, "we haven't yet covered the rest of the prophecy."
The wordier part, right.
Sans wasn't convinced that his opinion would contribute that much—especially since a lot of it would need to be censored for an audience not privy to his extra-dimensional origins. Not that he really thought this prophecy could involve that world, but personal experiences shaped interpretations.
(…And some of the wording did make him wonder.)
The mention of a barrier was suspicious, but it was pluralized: there was only one barrier in the Underground, so the fact that it alluded to more than one made it seem less likely. Maybe. Words could get tricky, and though there was only one physical (or magical, rather) barrier, the others could be mental or social or something.
He genuinely wasn't sure what secret would be brought to an end, or what scale would need weighing, or, again, what veil it was talking about. And though he had his suspicions about the judge, it could be any number of judgment-givers. It's not like he had a monopoly on the role.
So. He just had to figure out what bits of that he could share aloud.
"okay, part by part?"
At the nod, he picked up his carefully arranged thoughts.
"first," he began, "something immovable, dunno what, being moved by some numbers, probably a group of people." Sans shrugged, not sure what he—or anyone, really—was expected to glean from that part.
"It sounded to me as though there were, or will be, two different groups," Flitwick remarked. "Working together, perhaps?"
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, and a slight change in the lines around his eyes gave him the look of a man tallying up numbers in his head.
"then there was something about a barrier—" Which he was absolutely not going to touch on at all, so he just pressed on. "unity and a secret and a judge… i guess the judge could be for the tournament," he said, withholding the various other options, "but if this thing is about some big deal, is that a big enough deal?"
"The Triwizard Tournament draws together the three largest wizarding schools in Europe, which is, itself, no small influence." The headmaster looked thoughtful, no doubt considering potential knock-on effects. He nodded to himself. "Is there anything else you would like to add, Mr. Skelton?"
"nope," he answered, perfectly honest.
Dumbledore smiled. "Then it is with great pleasure, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Skelton, that I can let you two be on your way to a good night's rest."
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."
"yeah, and uh… sorry for the whole sneaking in thing."
The still-not-actually-asleep phoenix chittered, quietly amused, but the headmaster just waved them off. They turned to leave.
"Don't forget, Mr. Skelton!" called Professor Flitwick, waving from his conjured seat. "I'll be seeing you for detention after lunch this next week!"
"got it, boss."
After riding the twisting staircase down from the office tower, the two of them began the long journey to bed.
(Well. The disguised skeleton still had other things to do, but he wished.)
During their walk through the castle, Sans attempted to surreptitiously listen in on the conversation they'd left behind. It wasn't easy: he wasn't alone, and volume control on shortcuts could be kind of spotty at best. Eavesdropping through an open connection was generally pretty quiet, unless he opened the shortcut wide… but sounds were still coming through. And those sounds could be overheard, same as any other.
Given his poor record on stealth so far today, he didn't want to risk it too much.
Sans caught a partial remark: 'sending for' something or someone, but he couldn't quite make out the rest of it. Then, when the staircase they were on abruptly switched directions, he promptly tripped over himself and accidentally closed the shortcut.
Cedric caught his upper arm—padded and filled out by his clothes, thankfully—and steadied him before he could fall.
Not for the first time, Sans wondered why the castle had been designed to be so twisty.
Still, in the interest of not missing a step and careening all the way down to the ground floor, he didn't bother reopening the connection.
For now.
It was easy enough to just talk with Cedric. Or be talked at, anyway: the guy was pretty likable, and definitely an extrovert. He carried most of the conversation, so Sans just had to contribute a pun or joke every once in a while. And soon enough—after far too many stairs that Sans was usually able to skip—they were climbing the final steps up Ravenclaw tower.
Sans walked up to the bronze knocker on the center of the door, lifted it up, but paused without letting it thud back down. "wait," he said, somewhat jokingly, "am i even allowed to do this with a non-ravenclaw in earshot?"
"I'm a prefect, I already know where all the common rooms are." But Cedric gamely took a step back and shrugged. "Still, I don't actually know the passwords."
"it's not even a password, really."
All the other houses seemed to take a fairly tight approach to security, with Gryffindor and Slytherin guarding their common rooms behind changing passwords and Hufflepuff having some kind of secret knock to get in. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw just has a non-hidden door only locked by riddles that technically anyone could figure out.
So it probably didn't matter.
He let the knocker fall, and the sculpted eagle spoke.
"With my base at the top, my point hangs in frigid air. So walk underneath me, only if you dare." The small metal beak closed for a moment, then opened again. "What am I?"
Sans stared for a moment, bemused. "an icicle," he answered. "another new wording, but, just like the last few times i've come through, it's still 'an icicle'."
The knocker was suspiciously quiet, and then door swung open.
"Have a good night, Sans."
"you too," he replied, with a sigh. "for what's left of it, anyway."
Author's Note:
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.
Sans would really rather be sleeping.
Unfortunately, [gestures at everything], so he cannot.
It's August! That means another year has gone by since this story was first posted!
(How? What? How?!)
I'm still going with my new writing scheme, switching what I'm writing on month-to-month. This one was just so close, I kept working on it for longer than I probably should have for the schedule! Still, it means you get a new chapter, so I don't mind.
I'll be writing on The Undesired Second Chance for the next month, then switch back to Under the Veil again!
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Stay safe, and see ya on the flipside, everyone!