#fhwc8

As more and more jobs came in from Mister Martin of the Ministry of Magic, Milo grew ever more curious about what he was translating.  When he had the time to sit down and think about it, he recalled how some stories and characters seemed to be reflected in many of his students.  Some of these documents were also simply fairy tales, from what Milo gathered, and as any good story goes, people should be able to relate to the characters.  But it was odd how close some of the similarities were, especially when it came to names.

Right now was a surprisingly light time for grading. Of course, with final exams coming up for most of the students, that wasn’t really surprising. Right after their most intense experience was the most intense time for all the teachers as they tried to finish grading in time to submit all of the grades and figure out who was passing, who would get to sign up for the class next year, and who wouldn’t. Jock had told him to take advantage of his last remaining bit of freedom before he would be staring at horrible student hand writing for hours on end. He hadn’t felt like arguing.

He was doing…ok right now. Maybe it wasn’t as good as he would like to be, and certainly nowhere near where Daisy wanted him to be. He smiled softly to himself as he thought about her most recent letter. Yet again, she was ranting about the lack of inventing she was hearing about, and how he needed to get over his problem and ask for help if he was going to be so stubborn and self sacrificing. If he didn’t do something soon, she would.

He didn’t really see it as self sacrificing. It was just a phase, and it hardly effected other people if it never went anywhere. But he had no doubt at all that Daisy would take it upon herself to try something if he didn’t do something to please her. So, instead, he compromised.

Sitting in the library, he stared at notebook after notebook after notebook. Every page was full of ideas, designs, notes, and tests. Some inventions had dozens of versions with different modifications, others only had one or two before he had deemed them good enough to test. The date and time of each test, each minor change, were listed out neatly, and through it he could follow the growth of his thought process. It was the one aspect of his life that was scrupulously organized. Looking at it was…satisfying. Satisfying was the best word for it.  

Just looking through the notebook had rusted wheels in Flik’s brain beginning to turn. This year, he had done a lot of reading, and despite his best efforts, he kept drifting to books about mechanics. First to help Jock with his projects, and then out of his own quietly desperate interest. But all of that meant that he had a full year’s worth of very specific knowledge more than he’d had before, and he found himself reaching for his pencil. Of course he could see those issues now – it was so clear. All he’d needed was new knowledge.

Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try again. Maybe all he’d needed was a break to learn a little more, and then he would be able to do his inventions right. If he could get even one of them right and get it patented, he might be able to start making an independent living. He didn’t necessarily need one for financial reasons, not with his family being what they were. But he did for his pride. Perhaps he could do it through his inventions after all.

Smiling to himself, brain working faster and faster as if the thought alone had unlocked an oil blowout of ideas, he scrambled to make his hand keep up. Maybe he could test one of these in his old workroom, it was bound to still be there, and it would be safe enough to test it there before he went home –

BOOM!

The bookshelf next to Flik exploded, tossing him sideways. Dimly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard several other explosions going off. People screaming. Heavy wood crashing to the ground. More screaming. So many screams.

Flik knelt on the ground, staring at the torn remains of his notebooks. He was unhurt. Other than the ringing in his hears, he could tell that he was completely fine. But he could still hear the screaming.

Of course, wasn’t it always this way? The only time Flik was the one hurt was when he was by himself. Otherwise, it was always someone else. Someone who had just happened to be there. Who Flik had hurt because he was stupid and careless and for some reason thought that he could create something useful for people without it going all wrong. He tried to satisfy his own pride, and other people always paid the price.

It didn’t occur to Flik that it might not actually be his fault. He couldn’t make the mental connection between all of the other events that had happened this year, and this newest shocking tragedy. It didn’t even occur to him that this explosion was on a scale far grander than the ones that had ever happened around him, so for once it might not have anything to do with him. All he knew was that there was an explosion, there were people screaming, and every other time this had happened near him, it had been somehow his fault.

Part of Flik was crying out to help. He was a TA, but more than that, who he was at his core was someone who wanted to be useful. But if he had truly been the cause of this, the worst thing he could do would be to go near any of those people now.

No. He needed to leave. Not just the library – the castle. He needed to leave it all behind. And go somewhere where nobody could be hurt by him ever again.

Filled with frantic purpose, Flik turned and bolted towards the library exit, stepping on the destroyed remnants of his notebooks and grinding them to dust accidentally as he did so. Holding his breath, he raced around broken bookshelves and through the dusty air until he made it to the entrance. A few other students had already stumbled out there, coughing hard and clutching each other as they stared around in confusion. When they saw the way he was moving, they moved out of the way. They probably thought he was running to get the professors for help. They had no idea he was doing something much more important.

Flik raced back to his small room and immediately started shoving clothes into a bag, mostly at random. His books, empty notebooks, camera, and the toolset Daisy had given him for his 14th birthday followed them into the bag. At the last minute, he reached for his photo box and paused. He wouldn’t really need all of these in the forest. And he had mostly been taking them for Daisy. It would be better to leave them here so someone could get the letters to her. Then they could all have something to remember him by.

In the confusion that was bound to result from all of this, no one would miss her for awhile. He could afford a moment longer. He scribbled out a note to Jock – he could drop it off under his door as he was leaving – so the man wouldn’t worry about Flik. He had been an incredible mentor, and was something almost like a friend. It felt a little wrong to be leaving him so close to the end of the year without really finishing his commitments, but Flik knew he couldn’t stay any longer. It was better for him too if Flik left. But maybe he could send the pictures to Daisy for Flik. That would be good.

There were some other people he wanted to write to, but he wouldn’t send those until he was safely away from the castle. He couldn’t risk anyone stopping him. So that meant he had to go now.

The one regret he really had was Scarlett. Whatever was between them, his heart wanted to stay and explore it. He wanted to tell her that around her, he felt more alive than he had since he’d stopped inventing. She made him think, she made him laugh, she made him pay attention. She made him better. And maybe it was wrong, and it was all going to end badly as she so often said, but he hadn’t cared. He’d wanted to build something with her for as long as he could. The fact that this was for her benefit too was cold comfort. But it would have to do.

Since she’d started as a TA, Jenny had taken to reading any and all of the books that interested her in the Hogwarts library; specifically those she hadn’t gotten to as a student. Having tried her best to just focus on her studies, and get the hell out of there, reading for fun wasn’t something she’d done much in her final year as a student. However, by the time she’d graduated, she’d unwittingly become comfortable in the castle, and hadn’t wanted to leave it upon graduating. So now she worked there, while she tried to figure out what to do with her life after the year was over, and attempting to face the crippling fear that came with the thoughts of returning to New York all alone. Heck, work had even managed to keep the fears at bay for awhile, until the pranks started. Perhaps they’d only been meant as practical jokes, but after the war at Beauxbatons, nothing that outright caused trouble for the masses was harmless in Jenny’s eyes. As a result, she’d been understandably on edge, which lead to her spending most of her free time huddled in the library, where she felt safe and content; that is until the explosion.

The second she heard it, Jenny was transported back almost two years, to a time when she’d feared for her life almost constantly. Everywhere she looked, the castle was falling apart, people were fighting, and people were dying. To be clear, she hadn’t had high hopes that she’d make it out alive once the uprising started, but that didn’t mean she was prepared when it happened. An explosion, much like the one happening now, had happened nearby, causing things to collapse, and crush people, herself included, and she was struggling to breathe. Not daring to call out, for fear that the people who heard may not be willing to help someone like her, Jenny had tried to get herself loose, and even succeeded for the most part. Except she was too shell shocked to notice that her injuries weren’t something she could survive without help, which didn’t come for quite some time. She couldn’t tell you how long it took her to pass out, or who had finally come to her aid, but according to everyone she’d spoken to after waking up, she had in fact died for a brief time.

To say that Layla had stormed out of her house fuming was an understatement. She hadn’t remembered when she had been this mad at one of her mother’s rules. In reality, this one was just a small issue, but it wasn’t just about this rule. It was about all the rules that she was supposed to follow so she would be a lady. But for what? What was being a lady really getting her? This was one of the few times she was questioning why she was even following all these rules. She also wanted to know how many of these rules were legitimate and which ones were designed to control her.

So maybe Layla had been spending a lot more time outside doing whatever she pleased and a lot less time inside reading. It wasn’t like she had soiled anyone’s reputation or name. She didn’t see why her mother insisted on keeping Layla home all the time. She sincerely wanted to know exactly who cared enough to gossip about how much time anyone, including Layla, spent outside their home, alone. Right now, the rules were feeling less like helpful advice and more like bars turning her bedroom into a jail cell. She was feeling too constrained by the rules and too trapped by her parents. She needed out.

Then again going out to drink probably wasn’t the best idea she had ever had. She planned on showing up to the carnival, just a little, or a lot, late. Did she really want her fellow classmates see her drunk? That was how reputation ruining gossip started in the first place. But who would talk about Layla to their parents? Maybe having people see her be less than a lady was a good thing. This way she’d be able to find out who it was safe to not worry so much around. With a nod, she walked into the usual bar she went to for a good sulk after being scolded and ordered a drink. The problem this time? This new objection to going out too much might have been the last straw. She chose not to stop at her usual two drinks. Tonight, she was going to see how much trouble she would really get in if she broke a few extra rules.

She had planned to leave the bar just when the carnival started so she would only be slightly late but then she noticed a guy looking over at her from across the bar. Although it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford her own drinks, it was always fun to get someone else to pay for them. Newly determined to get this guy to buy her at least one drink, she started her little game. It began with a little flutter of her eyes, a couple more looks, and then a hair flip. Usually that got them to come over or at least order her a drink. Sure enough, after her hair flip she had the guy walking over. 

3 Weeks Before the Incident

Cale had been wandering aimlessly around town, passing the time as usually did, going wherever his feet decided they wanted to go. There were so many eclectic little shops in this town, and browsing stores was one of those few activities one could do for free. Besides, watching mysterious magical items was even more entertaining after a few tokes. Smiling dreamily, Cale opened the door to a shop he’d never been in before. A heavy smell of incense wrapped around him like a welcoming hug, and he was grateful as it masked the lingering scent of weed on his clothing. Gazing around, he took in the high, completely cluttered shelves. Every surface was taken up by strange objects; pointed gemstones hanging from silver strands, a wall of various kinds of tea and accompanying elaborate tea sets, hand-painted tarot cards, Ouija boards of fine hardwood, and so much more. Cale’s mouth came open a little as he stared, a hand coming up to scratch his chest absently. This place seemed very delicate and refined, two things he definitely was not, but he wasn’t unused to the atmosphere. After all, his parents were quite rich and esteemed people. Besides, Cale’s feet had taken him here. He’d gone with the flow; time to see where the flow had taken him. Walking further into the store lazily, he browsed the wares. Happening on a shelf of crystal balls, he grinned, making faces in the rounded glass, watching his reflection warp. Distracted by this, he almost didn’t see the other movement, deep within the glass, as if it were hovering in the centre of the globe. Squinting, he peered closer. It was… A turtle. Two turtles, actually. Swimming in the ocean, and talking apparently, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He blinked, widened his eyes, shook his head. But every time he looked back at the ball, the image materialized again. And what was even weirder was that the turtles…they seemed vaguely familiar somehow. But that was as ridiculous as talking turtles. He puffed out his cheeks. “Man, what was in that weed?” he grumbled to himself, turning away from that ball and facing another. This one was nicer. A fair scene, all bright lights and colours lighting up the night. And in the background a huge Ferris wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning and…and getting closer? He frowned, his eyes widening with terror as the wheel crashed through the booths. People ran, screaming past him, bodies flew from the wheel as people tried desperately to jump from their otherwise sure deaths. The wheel spun past him, missing by a few hundred metres. His line of sight turned, watching the wheel pass, when he locked eyes with someone packing up their booth for the night, looking at the screaming people with confusion and concern. Someone who hadn’t noticed the wheel’s detachment. Someone who was right in its direct path. Cale gave a terrified shout has the wheel demolished the booth and continued on its way. The scene panned in slowly, closer to the crushed booth. An arm stuck out of the wreckage, twitching with the last energy of the nearly dead, a rapidly spreading stain in the fabric of the tent as it soaked up so much blood… Cale’s hands clamped around his mouth, his whole body shaking as the image faded. What the hell had that been? Was this what wizards decorated their houses with? What kind of sick and twisted person had made this thing? A hand found his shoulder, and he yelped at the sudden touch. Turning, he took in the grumpy-looking shopkeeper. “Are you buying anything? Or just here to loiter and scream?” Cale’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The shop keep sighed. “I have the finest anti-burglary spells on the block. Take your dirty, sticky fingers someplace else.” Grumbling, he hobbled away, leaving Cale to make a break for it. Moving as fast as his legs would carry him in his inebriated state, he made a mental note never to buy weed from that particular dealer ever again.

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The Day of the Incident

She pushed herself up in the bed...bed? What was she doing in bed? That explained it, the fair, the devastation, it had all been a bad dream, the fair, that night in London, the war, they were all just a horrible dream...except the scent of the sheets was unfamiliar, the creak of the mattress strange to her ears. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around, this wasn’t her room at Hogwarts or Gothel’s...it wasn’t even her room at her castle. Her bright green eyes widened, she had no idea where she was, she tried thinking back as far as she could, but all she could remember was passing out next to two boys she had met at the carnival...

She felt her heart drop to her stomach and she looked down immediately, relief flooding into her when she noted that she was still wearing her clothes from last night. Wasting no time she swung aching limbs over the side of the bed, tripping over a suitcase she grabbed onto the door handle and turned it, swinging the door open.

She had to find Ulf. Ulf had gone with her to the carnival, she needed to find him or a familiar face at least. She didn’t know whether she could trust the place and taking into consideration the attempts made on her life she couldn’t waste time mulling it over. The Hallways were nearly barren and this made her nervous. Ulf would take care of her though, he would take her back to Montsolei and she could start putting everything behind her.

She crept as quietly as she could down the stairs, she recognized the place now, it was the three broomsticks. She was in Hogsmeade, that was good right? It meant she could just open the door and find her way home...

FLASH!

Rozalie staggered back as she was blinded momentarily, her vision was filled with dark spotchy spots and someone was talking to her, “Princess Rampion Corona,” he said, “what happened to you the night of the carnival? What explanation do you have to give the worried people of Corona for your absence? Have you heard about the death of one of your beloved guardians, a mime by the name of Ulf?”

That last one got her, “Ulf? No...” she shook her head, backing away from the reporter, “no, you’re lying!” Her body began to shake, it was too much, too much at once.

“Yes, what a bitter tragedy, can you explain to us why you’re leaving an inn with ripped up clothes, messy hair and no shoes? The public will be very curious considering the picture?”

When he heard what happened he rushed to the scene of the fair but was brushed to the side. His help wasn’t wanted, he was a squib, what could he do? He insisted he could do a lot, he knew he could do a lot, he knew some first aid, he knew a thing or two about simple machines and ways to help people escape from wreckage. Despite all these things he knew, he wasn’t welcome there, not to help, not to do anything. No one wanted him around because it was clear he didn’t belong there or anywhere for that matter.

He stumbled away into the streets clutching his head, “AAAAAAh,” he howled out in gutteral frustration. Why had he been born this way? Why had he been stuck between to worlds, two realities and why couldn’t he fully engage with either of them? He had no friends, no real friends because they had all either chosen sides or had grown distant from his refusal to choose one. WHy did he have to choose one? What made those damned magic eople think that he was so damned useless? What made them think they were so special? What?!

Tears were streaming down his cheeks but he wiped them away and got to his feet. They had just been lucky enough to born to belong, that was the only reason they acted that way, so superior, plain, dumb luck. Christopher had just been born unlucky and although certain people said they believed in him they were still protective as if he needed the protecting, the shielding.

He made his way to his house, seething with rage, he didn’t know why he felt so entitled to help, maybe it was because he had never been given a chance...mostly, he was sure it was because this was his town as much as anyone else’s. It was his town, it had pretty well always been but no one else seemed to feel that way.

And he was done with it.

Crashing through the door to his house, he didn’t bother trying to be quiet. His family was all gone helping anyway, it didn’t matter if he was loud enough to wake the dead. He stomped up his stairs and went straight for his room. They thought they were so superior because of their magic did they? Well fine, Christopher would just have to level the playing field then.

He opened the door to his closet and went straight for the back, digging under a pile of clothes until he found it. The potion. All he had to do was take it and then they would have to take him seriously, the would have to. In frantic, frustrated desperation he yanked the cork out of the bottle, stuck the rim to his lip and tilted the bottle back.

It tasted like shit. He had expected it would.

Nothing happened and for a moment he was...relieved? But that moment was short lived as soon after he found himself convulsing on the floor, his body felt like fire and there was a terrible taste in his mouth, like bile. Was his body rejecting the potion? Was he allergic to something in it? Was he dying? Maybe it was all three.

He tried to breath...

Finally, the convulsions stopped and he rushed into the bathroom, knowing he was going to hurl. With shaking hands clutching the sides of the toilet bowl, he heaved, but nothing came out. There must have been fox glove in the potion, he had an intolerance to the stuff and there must not have been much because he was still alive.

She wished she could say that the news came as a shock to her but by now it simply didn’t. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, she had been in her home so infrequently since she started her job. The place was beginning to feel like someone else’s room, it was beginning to take on that smell. She sat up and studied her hands as if she would find any answers to the questions that plagued her mind on the lines and creases of her palms.

Sally had unusually smooth palms, the lines there were very clear but there weren’t many extra creases, during divination class it had made them very tricky to read. She crossed her legs, if she hadn’t pursued being an auror, she would have pursued divination. Sally was never one to form opinion based on assumptions, she had always built her view of the universe based on tried and tested fact. What she had found in her experience was that a person’s gut instinct had a tendency to be dead on almost always...at least hers had. It was frustrating in that it felt as though she were, on occasion, twisting facts to suit theories but then again she had never been wrong.

Still, she kept that part of herself quiet lest she become a Cassandra, proclaiming the truth of tomorrow only for no one to listen to her. She wondered how Clark was doing in that moment, her heart was filled with worry over him,a carnival seemed like it would be the closest thing to a natural habitat for the man. Her heart worried but her gut told her he was fine...or alive and uninjured at least. There was just something in the wind...and it told her that he might need time for reflection.

If he was going to reflect, she would as well but not on the events of the carnival, no, her mind was stuck on something she feared was bigger than a single incident. The mysterious person named O. What did this O stand for? What was his game here in Hogsmeade, what did he stand to gain....did he have anything to do with the Ferris wheel? She was unsure. All she really knew about it was that Hogsmeade was an accursed place, nothing good ever seemed to happen there...