There's art for this chapter! Check my blog's "concept art" tag or the Ao3 version of this if you want to see a high-effort illustration of what the mask at the end of this chapter looks like.

Content warning for a brief brush with death.

"You call yourself a professor, and yet you dare take that tone with a young student?" the giant standing on one side of the table snarled, his saw-edged triangular teeth flashing. "If you ever addressed my children that way, I'd have you thrown to the Skullfish! How have you not been sacked?"

"Why must you constantly insert yourself into conversations that haven't anything to do with you? You're nothing but a hindrance!" the irate Potions-master standing opposite him snapped. "One might almost think you take joy in prolonging this train wreck of a collaboration!"

Malfoy, Harry, and Professor Babbling sat quietly at the back of the room, watching the verbal battle mount on either side of the language barrier. The five of them—Snape, Malfoy, the Ancient Runes professor, Tiamus, and Harry—had been shuffled off to an unused classroom by Dumbledore that morning with instructions to conduct a language-planning session. Harry was to serve as a translator, Tiamus was their linguistic source, Malfoy was there to work with Tiamus (for some reason), Snape was there to work with Malfoy (again, for some reason), and Professor Babbling was the resident linguistics expert.

The Ancient Runes teacher was a grandmotherly woman who both spoke and moved quietly. If not directly stared at, she seemed to vanish from the room. Had she not been a plump woman in her 60s who looked like she gave nice hugs, Harry would have described her as a ninja. She got on well with Tiamus despite them not being able to understand each other, though, so that was nice.

Unfortunately, throwing Snape into the mix had ruined any chances at cooperation. Professor Babbling had immediately gotten talked over by the Potions professor and retreated from the conversation to avoid causing conflict. Then Snape had started snipping and sneering at Harry, as to be expected. Malfoy had stepped in to offer a very diplomatically-worded defense to make Snape back off without injuring the man's pride, which had been a pleasant surprise, but then Snape had gotten up in arms about Harry being a bad influence on his star pupil and confusing his morals. Harry would have found the bizarre accusation funny if Snape hadn't looked and sounded like he was a hair's breadth away from strangling him. Then Tiamus had gotten mad because not only did he see Harry as a little hatchling (like all Zoras seemed to), but he also had parental instincts to add fuel to the fire.

"How is the boy to understand the meaning of 'syntax' if you refuse to elaborate upon its meaning beyond simply 'the order of a sentence'? That definition means nothing to a non-linguist!" Prince Tiamus shouted. "Not only did you confuse the boy with your stubborn incompetence, but you then berated him for not understanding your poor wording! You're a disgrace to your profession!"

Snape got up in the Zora's face—as much as he could with the significant height difference. If Harry could say anything positive about the man, it was that he certainly had guts. "If you would just stop your mindless bellowing, we could get on with our work!"

Malfoy, who sat on the floor next to Harry in the mostly bare room, snapped his make-up compact shut with a sigh. "Why am I here? Why must I suffer?" he muttered as he put his sunglasses back on.

"I honestly don't know," Harry said. "I think Dumbledore's convinced that Tiamus won't work with us if you aren't in the room, and then that you won't work with us if Snape isn't in the room."

"If you ask me, the old coot has Zoras confused for merpeople and assumes they're just as paranoid about humans. His assumptions concerning my blind loyalty to my Head of House are equally misplaced."

"Yeah, I just don't get it." Dumbledore had to be smarter than to make blind judgments like that, right?

"It's called having the wrong idea and refusing to change it despite evidence to the contrary. The elderly are quite prone to it."

Harry sent him a sideways look. "Just the elderly?"

A blush showed faintly under the fresh dusting of powder on Malfoy's cheeks. "Shut up, Potter."

Snape turned away from the bickering match. Harry shrank back when the man set his sights on the other occupants of the room. Thankfully, he wasn't the target of focus this time. "Draco, get this lummox under control!" Snape barked at Malfoy.

The Slytherin pushed up his sunglasses. He did that every time Snape looked at him. "Me? Professor, I only know a few words of Hylian. It's not nearly enough to make me of any use here," Malfoy protested. His tone of innocent confusion sounded a little too put-on to be convincing. "In fact, I'd probably be more useful elsewhere."

"The headmaster is convinced this thing trusts you. As senile as his ideas often seem, I must assume there's some level of truth to what he told me."

Malfoy scowled. "Well, that rambling old fogey was wrong. Arranging for you and me to be here was just a waste of everyone's time," he said coolly. "Ask Potter to talk to the prince. That's what Tiamus is going on about, anyway—he doesn't like the tone you keep taking with Potter."

Snape turned a mutinous glare on the Zora, who bristled in an impressive display of tightening muscle. "He's been wasting my time because he doesn't like my tone?" he hissed. "Two hours of dragging his feet, babbling about every decision I make, and having tantrums like a child, because of my tone?!"

And so the arguing resumed.

"To be honest, I don't think the merman is the childish one here," a low voice muttered.

Harry jolted, his heart stumbling over a beat and then thumping harder to make up for it. "Jesus Christ—sorry, Professor, I forgot you were there," he said, giving the graying woman beside him a strained smile. She was a ninja in floral blue and pink robes!

Professor Babbling waved off his apology. "That's quite alright, dear. It happens," she told him. "Do you think you might be able to do something about all this quarrelling, though? I would make an attempt myself, but I'm sorry to say that Professor Snape has always taken a certain dislike to me. I made the mistake of filing a complaint to the Headmaster about his teaching methods some years ago, and, well…" She winced.

"You should have submitted your complaint through an intermediary to keep Dumbledore from knowing you were the source. He would have told Professor Snape who filed it," Malfoy said. "He tells Professor Snape everything."

The woman sighed. "Yes, I've since learned that."

Harry rubbed the back of his dully aching head and gazed across the room at the men now shouting about very different topics, his eyes lingering sourly on Snape. He doubted any progress would be made as long as the greasy bastard was there to be nasty to everyone but Malfoy, but he'd make an effort to move things along. The Headmaster was counting on him to do this, after all; even if Harry would have preferred to deal with the volcano currently raining ash over the Lost Woods, he didn't want to totally betray Dumbledore's trust in him. Besides, making sure everyone could communicate with the locals would mean less translation work for him later. As he mentally composed some soothing words to calm Tiamus down (because Snape certainly wasn't going to listen to him), Harry wished Yellow were there. Or any of his brothers—preferably all of them. Those lucky ducks had definitely gotten the easy assignment.

"You've handed me music." Blue flapped the piece of parchment he'd been given. "I thought we were learning chants." It was a foot long, covered on both sides by musical notes marching along a single bar.

"Yes, and those chants are always set to a specific rhythm, if not also to a certain melody," Hermione said. "Did you think reciting a long stream of Hylian words was all there was to it?"

"Yes," the Harrys chorused.

She sighed. "Of course you did."

Blue frowned at the page, sliding a finger along it as he counted under his breath. Eight, sixteen, twenty-four, thirty-two… "Hermione, this is a hundred and twenty measures long!" he exclaimed. "This is the shortest chant that Zelda knows?!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "One hundred and twenty measures at one hundred beats per minute isn't even five minutes long. And the only thing it does is lay a weak sound-dampening charm on a piece of jewelry."

"How on earth did you do a four-hour chant to make that staff on your first try?!"

She tilted her head to one side. "I followed the music. It's just another form of reading."

Blue made a wordless sound of exasperation and flopped back on his bed. Yellow, who sat curled up by the headboard, reached out and plucked the parchment from his hands. Upon inspecting it, he let out a whistle. "This looks like it took a lot of work to write out," he remarked. "You did all this by hand, Hermione? That's really impressive!"

Hermione blushed at the compliment. "Well…I only transcribed what Zelda wrote onto a normal piece of parchment. It's not something I came up with myself."

"Are you gonna transcribe four hours of music for the staff-making thing, whenever we get around to it?" Red asked from where he was sprawled across his mattress. "Although you might as well, I guess. There's nothing else to do." He rolled over and draped himself over the side of his bed. "I'm so bored I miss Potions classes."

"Well, prepare to get even more bored, because you're one of the guinea pigs for our lesson plan," Blue said. He took a few pieces of parchment out of his trunk and used a Copying Charm to duplicate the music. He kept one for himself and then handed copies to Red and Hermione. Then, after pausing to consider, he made a copy for Ron and ran downstairs to give it to him.

Ron leaned back against the couch as he perused what he'd been handed. He raised an eyebrow at Blue. "Are you just assuming I can read music, mate?" he asked. "Haven't you seen where I live?"

Blue spent a moment to ponder why on earth Ron would bring that up. The Burrow was kind of big, albeit a magically-maintained structural nightmare. Was the house supposed to sing, maybe, and the enchantment had broken? "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?"

Ron twisted around on the couch to frown at him. "Wait, you seriously think it's that common to be able to read music? Do you think most people at Hogwarts can?"

Oh no. Blue's wavering confidence in this whole enchantment-teaching endeavor crumbled completely. He hadn't once considered that people in the magical world didn't learn the same subjects in primary school. Stupid! He kept forgetting that, although the magical side of the British Isles might have shared a land with him, that didn't mean they shared the same culture and upbringing. "They don't require music lessons in magic schools?" he asked weakly.

His friend gave him a pitying look. "Hogwarts is the magic school. Anything we learn before we go here is from private tutors, our parents, or the nice lady from down the road who gives lessons in the village square," Ron explained. "Only rich brats like Malfoy have the money to take fancy music lessons. The rest of us are lucky if we can read before we get here."

Blue used the couch for support as he sagged, now recalling Green's summary of his conversation with the Master Craftsman. The old crone had been surprised and amused by the idea of a school that taught enchanting magic. Blue hadn't understood that reaction when Harry had told him. Now he got it. "If you hadn't let me know, we would have made real fools of ourselves on the first day, huh?" he said, his voice cracking. "I'm just gonna go…and scream…"

"Sorry about that!" Ron called after him.

Blue thundered up the stairs and burst back into his dorm. "Hermione, we need to teach people how to read music before we can teach them how to enchant!" he screeched.

Her eyes bugged out. "What?!"

Red folded his arms and sympathetically sucked a breath through his teeth. "You have to show people how to read music, then bully them into practicing long enough to do a perfect chant for literal hours? Wow, that sucks for you! I'm glad I'm not smart."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I'm now realizing how long four hours is," she groaned into her fingers.

Blue had never been under the impression that even a single hour of chanting would feel anything less than eternal, but he, too, was now feeling the monumental weight of their endeavor. Teaching a singular person, maybe up to three, would have been doable. Personal study would have been best—just handing the people who wanted to learn a scroll of instructions and music, then relying on their motivation to learn to handle the rest. He could imagine that tactic working with some of the upper-years, especially Fred and George. Also a fair few of the Ravenclaws currently choking on volcanic ash on the other side of the country. Teaching multiple classes of students like he was a proper member of the school staff would be impossible, though. Enchanting was a kind of magic that required absolute focus and dedication. Guess what kind of environment didn't lend itself to that? A loud classroom packed full of bored teenagers and preteens!

"This is madness! Dumbledore can't honestly expect us to drag hundreds of people through learning the most tedious form of magic ever invented!" Blue ranted, shaking his rolled-up parchment. "If people can't pay attention to the board in Potions, how on earth are we supposed to teach them to recite hundreds of lines of chanting in another language without any mistakes?!" He flung his hands in the direction of the enchanted bag lying on his bed. "No wonder magical items are so bloody expensive here!"

Hermione fetched the Hylian Bestiary from her pillow and spilled it open across her bed. "Please tell me there's an easy way to teach Hylian enchanting," she begged. "I don't think Professor Dumbledore realizes what he's asked me to do."

The room waited in despairing silence.

Hermione's eyes sparkled with tears. "You're kidding."

"What did Zelda say?" Blue asked in a dull monotone.

"She said the Headmaster must be mad if he honestly expects me to organize an enchanting class and she's only been humoring my enthusiasm so far."

"Ah."

"She's not wrong," Red said. "I think all of us getting dropped here might have finally driven Dumbledore batty for real. Why else would he have you and Green teaching classes? Maybe you guys know things he doesn't, but that doesn't make you teachers."

Blue dropped down on his bed. His cautious hope that they might succeed had been shattered by the realization that they would have to start below the ground floor for this impossible project. They'd have to teach everyone how to bloody read before they could do anything else.

Perhaps Dumbledore really had lost his sense of reason from all the stress.

Yellow's piping voice broke through his building headache. "Does everyone really need to know how to do this?" he asked. "If we get a few smart people able to enchant things, that means they can make staffs and other magic stuff for the people who want to do stuff outside. It'll be slower than having everyone make their own wand, but teaching the ones who actually want to learn will be a lot easier than forcing hundreds of people through lessons in a really hard style of magic. Not everyone has to know how to do it, and I don't think Dumbledore expects you to pass it on to the whole school. If he does, he can, er…learn to set better expectations?"

"He can shove it up his wrinkly arse!" Red helpfully proclaimed.

"Maybe don't shout that," Yellow said with a blush. "But yeah, his plans kind of don't make sense? I don't think he gets that not all the students need to know how to do everything. That's how schools work. This isn't a school anymore, now that we have to survive here; it's turned into a village, and people in villages do different things. We could have some people be translators, others make enchanted items, and another group that makes potions. And to support those people, there would have to be fighters keeping monsters out of the castle and hunters and gatherers who find food and potions ingredients." He paused and then amended, "Planting gardens and keeping animals would work way better than hunting, actually, but we'd have to do that stuff way far away from the castle, up on the lake cliffs, so I don't know how that would work."

"Maybe you should tell all that to Dumbledore," Neville said from across the room, where he'd been idly listening in.

"He'd just blow it off like he does everything else," Red called back. "Did you know there's a giant volcano erupting over by where the Ravenclaws are and yet Dumbledore told us to stay here? I mean, here the four of us are, with evil-slaying swords on our backs, and we can't go slay the evil!"

"There's a volcano?" Neville squeaked.

"Yeah, it's called Death Mountain. Me and my bros are going to kill the big monster in it once we get a chance," Red said. "We'll have to shoot a dragon in the face for her teeth before we can make it up there."

"Harry, what the hell have you been up to all year?!"

Red settled himself cross-legged on his bed, grinning from ear to ear. "Well—"

"May I remind you that this is supposed to be a productive planning session?" Blue cut in. "Read your music. You can brag about killing things later."

"But Bluuue!"

"If you don't want to learn how to enchant, you can try figuring out some personnel allocation with Yellow. He has good ideas and it would be a useful exercise, even if the teachers would never listen to it in a million years."

Red cocked his head to the side. "I can work with Yellow on what?"

Yellow poked his tongue out as he puzzled through the words. "Putting people…in locations?"

Blue rolled his eyes and flapped his roll of parchment at them. "Just get started on memorizing this chant. Be glad you're on the learning side of things."

"Well, aren't you interesting?"

Remus rolled the words over in his feverish, foggy brain. That wasn't Madam Pomfrey's voice. Unless it was, and he was hearing it wrong. Or maybe the voice had been in his head?

"I've never seen a curse like that before. What a clever thing it is! It's so well-integrated I couldn't see it until the magic of the Light World started trying to burn it out of you."

That didn't sound like something Madam Pomfrey would say, nor something Remus would think. Someone he didn't know was standing over him.

He tried to open his eyes. They were gummed shut. He went to rub at them, but his arms were strapped down. All of him was strapped down. Why?

"A virulent monster-transformation curse triggered by the full moon. Absolutely wicked. Too wicked, if you ask me. That mage could have done without turning it into a contagion."

Something rubbed at his right eye. It was like the air had taken on the shape and texture of fingers.

Then his eye was propped open by the same unreal sensation and, in the dimming glow of twilight, he saw who was commentating over him.

"Harry?" he croaked in surprise.

The voice had been commenting on his curse. His werewolf curse. Harry knew about his lycanthropy?! How had he found out? Remus had hardly been at the school long enough for anyone to track his monthly disappearances.

"No, not quite Harry," the boy said, confusing him further.

He didn't quite look like Harry, Remus noticed upon studying him for a while longer. He was totally monochrome but for his eyes. One was grayish yellow, while the other, glowing vivid scarlet, glistened wetly in a gold-lined socket that bulged from his face. The red eye swiveled independently of the yellow. It seemed transfixed on something out the window; Remus was incredibly glad it wasn't interested in applying that same level of focus to him.

Remus gagged. "Your eye."

The boy shook his head, making his smoky hair swirl. "Yeah, I know. My boss is keeping a literal eye on me to make sure I don't sneak off to the volcano. He isn't paying much attention right now, though. Most of what I've been doing lately is pretty boring and he's got all those big plans of his."

"There's a volcano? Where?" Remus thought he would have remembered hearing about such an exotic landmark suddenly appearing in Scotland.

The shadow smirked. "That fever's really done you in, hasn't it? You don't know what country you're in. I bet you haven't been watching the moon, either."

"Moon?" A dim sense of urgency knocked at the back of his mind. Last time he'd checked the moon, it had been a waxing crescent. That had been maybe a week ago. He'd lost track since the castle had shaken and the sudden fever had set in, but surely Madam Pomfrey would have given him his potion if it was time?

He couldn't remember whether he'd taken his potion. His memories were all rather slippery, actually. The fever kept making him dip in and out of consciousness, and whenever he managed to stay awake for more than a few minutes, he was unlikely to remember it later. Madam Pomfrey kept mentioning things he'd supposedly said that he didn't recall saying.

"What phase is it?" Remus asked, trying to follow the red eye's line of sight. Whatever was keeping him from moving held him back from getting a look, unfortunately. Why couldn't he sit up, again?

Remus experimentally pushed all his limbs up. There was a sound of clinking metal and a sensation of pressure on his clammy wrists. Ah, he'd been restrained. With proper chains, too, it sounded like. Also, the window had bars on it; a striped shadow was being cast over the monochrome boy beside him. The room was cold, with nothing but bare stone in sight. He'd been moved to a more durable location while he'd been asleep and then locked up to boot. He was puzzled by that. Even if he was mysteriously ill, Madam Pomfrey should have given him his potion. Why would she still restrain him?

"Did my potion go bad?" he wondered aloud.

"Potion?" the shadow repeated. "What kind? Red? Blue?"

"Wolfsbane. It does, erm…" Remus's tongue was dry and clumsy in his mouth. It felt like a lump of clay knocking against his teeth. To his shame as a teacher, he couldn't do much explaining right now. "It makes the wolf quiet," he said simply.

"Oh, it's a Dark World potion. Yeah, those probably wouldn't work so well after crossing dimensions. No matter which way you're going, the magic tends to get a bit scrambled, especially on the first trip," the shadow said with a shrug. "I wouldn't be surprised if that fussy old nurse noticed something was off about the potion and poured it out. If the magic broke during transit, the resulting drink might have just poisoned you instead of dimming your curse."

Remus felt sick. Had nausea been one of the symptoms of his mysterious fever, he would have been sick. "Oh no," he said in a small voice. His boiling brain grappled with the idea of him breaking free and running wild through the castle. Bounding through the walls with his infectious jaws itching to be buried in flesh…Hunting his own students like a wolf after helpless sheep…being put down like the monster he was by Albus, whose blue eyes shone with regret in the light of the last act of magic Remus would ever see…

Not-Harry's yellow eye narrowed. The red one remained fixed on the window. "If you barf on me, I'm going to turn you into a shadow as soon as I get what I want," he said sharply. "Keep it together, Professor."

"But…my potion! The students!" Remus cried, pulling against his restraints. The safest thing was for him to be let loose in the Forbidden Forest; in the event these chains snapped here, somewhere inside the castle, there was a chance the wolf would be able to break out into the corridors. "Get me away from the school!"

"Calm down. I'm here to help you," the boy soothed. Then he smirked nastily, showing a hint of crooked teeth. "Kind of. It's more like I'm here to help me. You'll be better off, too, though, assuming you live."

A violent shiver wracked Lupin's body. "Wh-What does that m-mean?" He was suddenly aware of how helpless he was. Tied down like this, there was nothing he could do to defend himself. "What do you want?"

"I want your curse."

"Why?!"

"Because I can come up with a better use for it, obviously. Besides, would you want that kind of magic getting loose in a place where it shouldn't exist?" the shadow asked, tilting his head to one side. "Maybe I thrive on chaos, but not the kind caused by incurable magical diseases. It wouldn't be the first time I've put my foot down on this sort of thing. One of my bosses a millennium or so back tried to let loose a ReDead plague." He winked slyly at Remus. "You should have seen the look on Link's face when he found the creepy bastard laid open on his own autopsy table!" He cackled, slapping his knee. Had he been floating cross-legged in the air this whole time?

Remus didn't understand what the boy had meant by "a place where it shouldn't exist". Lycanthropy didn't have a right to exist anywhere, as far as Remus was concerned. It was a curse that struck the innocent, was spread unwillingly by the innocent, and condemned its sufferers to lives of being distrusted and hated by anyone who learned of their sickness. This creature wearing Harry's face had spoken like lycanthropy was new, though—as if it hadn't broken out eons ago. The curse was nearly as ancient as magic itself and had found its way across the globe in a time before recorded history. How could there be a land it hadn't yet reached?

The light coming through the window shifted. It went bright and cold, sending a sickening jolt through Remus's body. Hot pain bloomed in his heart and clawed its way through his blood. He twisted involuntarily in his restraints, whose fever-heated metal bit mercilessly into his ankles and wrists. Then the agony plunged itself into his bones, drawing the first scream of the evening from his throat. There was no bracing himself for it, even after all these years. He could only hope, in some distant part of his mind not being overcome by pain, that Madam Pomfrey had hidden him in a place where no one would hear the agonized wails of his monthly trial.

Before his bones could begin the torturous process of cracking apart and reforming, the shadowy boy reached out and clamped his hand on his forehead. Sharp black nails bit into Remus's skin. "Oh, no you don't," Not-Harry growled. His lips peeled back in a feral display of gray fangs. "You're mine."

Remus took a shuddering gasp as an entirely different pain overcame him. The fire in his blood was torn away, replaced by ice that coiled around his chest and stole his ability to breathe. His eyes rolled back into his head as wintry numbness spread within him. There was no wolf—none of the wild, fiery malice he was accustomed to. This was pure, lifeless nothing. Remus could feel his heart pattering in his chest as its will to keep going threatened to gutter out. He saw a candle flame in his mind, slowly vanishing under a tide of encroaching black wax.

His breath went still in his lungs. The black tide crept ever closer.

Did he still have a heartbeat? He couldn't feel anything anymore.

He wasn't even cold.

It was just dark.

…dark…

…

"Alright, that's enough of that. Up with you."

Something smashed into Remus's ribs and he was shocked back awake. He sucked in a desperate breath before lapsing into hacking coughs.

"You mortals, with your stupid, fragile organs," the boy hovering beside him sneered. The shadowy limb he'd used to hammer Remus back to life retracted into his swirling robes. "You'd live much longer if you found a way to go without."

"What…did you do?" Remus wheezed. His body ached like…Merlin, there were no words for it! If it was possible for pain to go farther than bone-deep, that was what it felt like. His blood screamed at him. Loss and freedom pulled at his pounding heart, threatening to tear it apart between them.

"I sent my shadows through your veins to clean all this gunk out. Nasty, isn't it?" The boy raised up a fist-sized black stone roiling with impressions of teeth and claws. A battle raged within its obsidian depths, shown in flashes of blood red and all the colors of flame. The shimmering air around it held a stink of animal musk, fetid breath, and spoiled meat.

Remus looked away from the lump of evil the creature cradled so easily in his palm. "I-It's horrible," he whispered. "That was inside me?"

"Mmhm. Man, I'd love to sink my claws into whoever thought this up. Rip them apart and feed them to some real wolves, maybe." He sighed and dropped his chin into his hand. His red eye stared intently at the rock he held in the other. "Oh well, I'll just have to content myself with putting their malice to a better use."

"But what possible use—"

"Don't worry about it!" the boy said with a jaunty smile. He broke a sliver off of the stone of solidified magic before stowing the rest of it in his robes. Then he conjured a blank gray mask. Jamming the black splinter into the mask's forehead created a wave of hot, dark power reeking of iron and rot. The porcelain object glowed deep red, brightening to orange as its shape twisted. When the molten heat faded, the result was a stylized image of a snarling wolf pained in simmering flames on jet black porcelain. The shadow snatched the mask out of the air and held it up in front of Remus, who recoiled as far as his chains would allow. He didn't know what that beastly thing was, but he certainly didn't want it near him!

"Here, have a treat for being such a good patient. I've got a fun new toy to experiment with, thanks to you!" The shadow declared, either not noticing or not caring about Remus's reaction. He pitched the mask at Remus's face, where it flipped around to land back-first.

The creature's laughter swirled in Remus's ears as a storm of fire and shadow overtook him. His body burned with a muted echo of a deeply familiar agony, breaking and warping—

Madam Pomfrey's terrified shriek woke him the next morning.

Notes:

-Professor Babbling's tendency to vanish is a reference to the Ancient Runes professor only barely existing in the HP books.

-That "sound-dampening charm" would translate to +1 (out of a possible 3) Stealth boost in BOTW terms.

-Yes, Hermione did a whole four-hour chant just like that. She's not a musical prodigy in this fic, but she is excellent at sight-reading. Sight-reading, for those who don't know, is briefly looking over and then playing through an unfamiliar piece of music. This is in contrast to the intense practice and memorization that usually comes before a musical performance. Also, musical notes running along a single bar is how music for non-melodic percussion is written—like snare drums, for example.

-Ron has been hanging around the common room more than he used to because of the lingering effects of his cave-diving adventure. His dorm is usually too quiet and doesn't have enough faces around to reassure him. Hermione, similarly, has been hanging around the boys' dorm and toting Zelda's book everywhere to keep from feeling alone. Harry has been stubbornly ignoring the existence of any trauma at all, which will bite him in the butt later.

-I'm not sure where I'm going here with Lupin, but I noticed a plot hole (unmedicated werewolf trapped in a castle full of children, uh-oh) and came up with an unorthodox idea to solve it. I figure I'll write what feels right and fix stuff in edits if need be. Just go with the flow, y'know? As for what Shadow Harry did in this chapter, I was inspired by aspects of Twilight Princess and Majora's Mask.