Old Bones
"There is a very fine line between loving life and being greedy for it."
- Maya Angelou.
The halls outside of the Ravenclaw Common Room would have been silent were it not for the sound of Ixchel’s steps echoing across the flagstone. She walked the length of the corridor, then back again before leaning against the wall with a sigh, letting the coolness of the stones leach through her robes.
A painting of Oswald Beamish gazed up at her from his book and Ixchel smiled politely.
“Rotten luck, dear.”
She shrugged benignly, but gave the eagle knocker of the door beside her an unpleasant glare as she waited for someone to come along.
Fortunately, it didn’t take terribly long for her fellow first year- Husna Shafiq, to come into view on her way back to the common room. She had just returned from studying for their astronomy exam if constellation names she was muttering under her breath was anything to go by. A quill was holding her rich, curly hair out of her face, and even distracted by the looming exam, she walked with an easy confidence that would develop into elegance with womanhood.
She spotted Ixchel standing by the door and she gave an exasperated roll of her eyes.
“Again?”
Ixchel smiled sheepishly before stepping out of the way to give the other girl space to approach the door.
The knocker questioned, “What can be broken without being touched?”
“A promise.” Husna drawled, and the door gently opened.
Ixchel huffed as she stepped through the entryway, making sure to stay close behind before the door closed. “I said silence.” She turned back to the knocker scowling, “That’s not wrong!”
Husna sighed, “Your answers are never wrong…”
“Yes, just not always right.” She laughed.
The door shut behind them as they stepped into the airy common room. Socorro had described the warm cosiness of Gryffindor’s room, but Ixchel thought Ravenclaw must have the other Houses beat. The room was circular and spacious, its domed ceiling high above them and painted with stars charmed to twinkle delicately, mirroring the midnight carpet. The most magnificent feature was the array of arched windows that provided the most beautiful view of the Scottish Highlands. It was so deliciously elegant.
Some of Husna and Ixchel’s other roommates were sitting at a nearby table and greeted the two girls with a wave.
“Again?” Juliet Peakes winced.
“Yes, again!” Husna answered for her with a laugh, sliding into a chair.
“Sorry, we didn’t know you were out there! We would have come and fetched you.”
“One day, I’m going to create a spell to shut up that eagle.” Ixchel sniffed primly.
Taking a seat, Ixchel shouldered off her bag, just then taking note of the cornucopias of harvest foods on the table, pumpkins, and other autumn decorations scattered across the room.
“Professor Babbling put out some decorations for us. Getting us in the holiday spirit before the Hallowe’en feast, I suppose.” Olethea supplied, noting her curiosity.
Elis Diggory - a fellow first year with light brown hair and a fair complexion, lounging on a divan nearby, wrinkled his nose. “Hallowe’en? When did we start calling Samhain that? Isn’t that the muggle celebration?”
“Yes, muggles celebrate it.” Juliet leant forward with Ravenclaw eagerness to discuss a topic she knew. “It’s a remnant from before the Statute of Secrecy. They dress in costume, and in the Americas there’s a ritual of going to people’s homes begging for sweets. They knock on their doors and demand treats or they’ll trick them in some way.”
“Sounds like robbery! Is it for the poor?” Olethea questioned, “Why aren’t they asking for real food rather than sweets?”
Juliet shrugged, unsure. “I think it’s just for fun, I’d have to look it up to be sure.”
“I think I’ll stick with Samhain.” Husna mused, and Elis nodded in agreement. “It’s traditional. I can’t imagine letting the night go by without walking between the bonfires. It would feel like bad luck not to. It’s a bit more meaningful than just going about getting sweets and dressing up.”
Olethea nodded. “My Da always wades into the sea and pours Felix Felicis to the old gods to bestow blessings for the winter. Most of the Wizarding families nearby get together and we’ll all drink butterbeer, jump the fire, and do divinations; it’s a gas.”
Ixchel suppressed an unexpected wave of sadness listening to her Housemates discuss their Samhain traditions. A product of the Statute of Secrecy, the Wizarding world had become so insular, even amongst itself. These traditions, passed through families or small communities were only being shared because they were being spoken of between a few children, and would rarely be discussed outside of families or Hogwarts Houses. She felt a pang of longing for her mother’s salons where information was freely shared and exchanged regardless of past or affiliation.
“Oh, well I’m sure the Hallowe’en feast will still be fun, it’s always nice to have a party!” Husna said, cutting off Ixchel’s musings.
“What about you, Ixchel? Do you celebrate Samhain? I know you’re not…”
From here.
Ixchel sighed, knowing Diggory didn’t mean anything by it, but she was tired all the same. She had been born in Kent.
“My mum loves to throw parties, so she always has people over for it. We toss old bones in the fire to burn away the shadows.” She picked up an apple from one of the harvest baskets. “We put a bit more effort into Day of the Dead, though. We build altars to honour our dead.”
“That sounds terribly sad.” Juliet murmured in a sympathetic tone.
Ixchel smiled gently. “Not at all, it’s a celebration. Death is a part of life after all. My sister and I were planning on getting together to celebrate.”
“Can we come along?” asked Olethea, and the others voiced agreement, “Your sister can bring her friends too. Oh, we could make a big do of it out by the lake!”
Juliet perked up at that. “Do you think your sister would invite her teammates?”
Olethea snorted, “You just want to know if you’ll see Caradoc Dearborn. You think he’s a real pip!” The other girls laughed at the teasing whilst Juliet turned a deep scarlet, and Elis rolled his eyes.
“That would be nice,” Ixchel hummed, pleased with the idea. “I’ll bring it up to Socorro, but I’m sure she’ll say yes. She’s always up for an event.” She stood up from her seat. “Would you mind taking my bag into the room with you?”
Husna nodded. “Of course. Off to talk to your sister?”
“Amongst others.”
Ixchel stepped out of the common room with much more ease than it took to enter and set about her tasks. As expected, Socorro was tickled by the idea of a little party and assured Ixchel she would write to their mum, asking if she could contribute a few supplies. Meandering back from the quidditch pitch, Ixchel took her time, trailing her hand along the wall, feeling the stone grow colder as she descended into the dungeons. The Slytherins liked to boast that no outsiders had been in their common room for centuries, so Ixchel was resigned to wandering the halls until someone was kind enough to tell Tom she was looking for him.
She felt a prickle of hesitation in asking him to come along. Was it too friendly? Too social for the fairly taciturn boy? Perhaps she wasn’t being fair to him. Whilst his relationship was still cool with his fellow Slytherins, it was no longer outright antagonistic, and he had taken her words those months ago regarding his attitude to heart. At least outwardly, as she knew he was still the same grasping boy at his core. Professors were absolutely charmed by him and those outside of Slytherin had remarked how clever Tom was, constantly getting his House points, and wouldn’t it be great if he was in their House?
She sighed, feeling torn in different directions. It wasn’t that she wanted him to be vicious. Not necessarily at least. She wanted him to be him. She hadn’t lied to Tom those months ago; she already knew who he was and disliked the plastic persona he wore as both shield and disguise even if she understood its merits. As for the book she had stolen for her mother’s shelves, well... neither she nor Tom were the type to take harassment sitting down. If a few hexes that could easily be remedied in the Hospital Wing helped, well then so be it.
“What are you doing down here, Eztli?” It was Walburga Black and a few of her friends. Her nose wrinkled like she had stepped in something particularly unpleasant.
Ixchel’s spine straightened, and she was glad she appeared polished and her hair was neat. It made her feel stronger, like she had on armour against the older girl.
“Hello, Black. I trust you and your family are well.”
Walburga seemed stuck between the pureblood etiquette requiring an equally bland response to another old family and fury at the veiled barb. It gave her a rather unflattering appearance, Ixchel thought unkindly.
Mercifully, Ixchel was able to sidestep any further conversation as Tom turned into the corridor, his steps slowing as he saw the cluster of witches. She hoped Tom wouldn’t note her stiff posture or that the look of animosity on Black’s face wasn’t just for him.
“Ah, just who I was looking for.”
Tom raised a brow, but she could see his triumph under his neutral facade.
“My sister and I are celebrating Day of the Dead with a few others on the 2nd. I wanted to invite you, Tom.”
“Day of the Dead?”
“A Mexican holiday to commemorate those who’ve passed.” She continued for the benefit of the Slytherin girls listening in, “It’s very old. Originated with the Wizarding world.”
“Why celebrate the dead? They’re dead.”
Ixchel gave a fond smile, “‘To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.’” She could see he didn’t agree and laughed. “It’s not bad, you may even enjoy it. Think about coming?”
As she had yet to steer him wrong, he nodded.
She turned to the girls still in the corridor. “You’re all more than welcome to come too of course.” Ixchel said demurely, and with an elegant wave, walked back up the steps leading out of the dungeons off to do battle with the riddle master again.
The Hallowe’en Feast had been light hearted, superficial, and great fun.
There were cauldrons brimming with sweets, apple bobbing, and carved pumpkins who’s tops would open on command to reveal either tasty treats or transfigured bats that would playfully swoop at students’ heads before joining the others that flew across the Great Hall.
Headmaster Dippet had the House tables moved to the corners of the halls, and had hired The Sugar Quill Band; Big Band musicians who played on a magically raised stage dressed in matching sequined orange robes. Many of the students foxtrotted to the music, and Ixchel grinned widely as she watched Elis spin Husna around in a pantomimed tango. She had hoped for a moment that Tom might ask her to dance, but he never did. She wanted to tell him he reminded her of a cat - insistently staying near, but never wishing to be touched or pursued. She knew better than to voice the thought even if did make her smile.
They had all gone to bed late into the night with sore feet and full stomachs.
The 2nd quickly followed, and Ixchel and Socorro set out for the lake early to set up the ofrendas, food for the living and the dead, a bonfire to ward against the chill, and the magicked gramophone, bickering when they disagreed on placement. When they finally agreed on their small set up, the sisters knelt in front of the crackling fire and painted each other’s La Catrina makeup. Socorro beamed at her sister behind her painted skeleton grin and transfigured blades of grass into aztec marigolds, crowning Ixchel and herself with the heavy blooms.
“Looks grand to me.” Socorro said, surveying the scene.
“Brilliant!” They turned and saw Ixchel’s teammates and other Gryffindor friends amble their way over, taking in the warm light of the fire and candles, the music, offerings, and calaveras.
They laughed and chatted and the older Gryffindors flirted as music echoed over the lake and the sun began to set, the wind gentle, but enough to make the fire spit embers high into the deepening sky. Ixchel made a note to cast a notice-me-not charm before curfew.
“I see the firsties have arrived!” Crowed Caradoc Dearborn, eyeing Ixchel’s friends jogging over.
“Excuse me, I believe you are this first year's guest.” Ixchel frowned playfully.
He laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, I’ll mind my manners.” And walked over near his teammates to grab a butterbeer, toasting cheerfully, “To Uncle Bedivere Dearborn: not forgotten!”
Her Ravenclaw friends greeted Ixchel with big smiles before they said their hellos to the older students in a falsely composed way. They dropped their put upon coolness quickly to take plates of food and sweets they had never heard of before; Pan de Muertos, tamales, mazapán and warm cups of rich atole. Ixchel watched Juliet stare too long at Caradoc before being poked in the ribs by her Housemates, and chuckled when Elis loudly asked her sister if the cheerily painted skulls were edible.
“I could get used to two holidays in a row!” He proclaimed between bites of candied pumpkin.
“You just like to stuff your gob!” Husna groaned, handing him a serviette.
“Oh, look, your Slytherin is here, Ixchel.” Olethea cocked her head. “Looks like some others have tagged along.”
She didn’t correct her housemate because she supposed in a way he was, and felt pleased at the thought. She turned to the direction of the castle, and Ixchel wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that the other Slytherins - Walburga excluded- had accepted her invitation or Tom had accompanied them.
Tom walked over to her, fair skinned and dark haired. His fine face - still rounded with puppy fat - was shadowed in the flickering firelight. His dark eyes examined her own and she was reminded of just why she plucked him from the muggle world with such confidence.
“I’m glad you came.”
He nodded, his eyes still on her.
She broke their gaze and regarded the other Slytherins loitering around the edges of the party. They stood stiffly, but they eyed the gathering with interest.
“The more the merrier.” Ixchel said warmly, and handed one of the boys nearest her an unopened butterbeer.
“So this is a Wizarding holiday, correct?” He sniffed.
It was Socorro who answered, sauntering over whilst plucking a marigold from her hair to place it behind his ear. “Yes, yes. Now honour your dead and celebrate life! I promise we won’t bite.”
Tom surveyed her, swallowing thickly. He felt shy around her today, which was wholly frustrating. It was ridiculous. There was no reason why, as he knew she liked his company and conversation, she wouldn’t seek him out or make faces at him in the classes they shared if she didn’t. As Tom saw it, she knew he was meant for more than the others and he believed the same of her. He had felt shy around her since the Halloween feast if he was honest with himself, and he was the only person he was ever fully honest with.
He had seen the curving of her lips and the anticipatory glance she had sent him when the band began to play and students partnered up to dance. He stood near her mutely, gripping his glass of pumpkin juice too tightly before walking away. It was embarrassing that he didn’t know how to dance. He watched the others, so fluid in their movements and so confident, and bristled at the idea of humiliating himself in front of the entire school. It was not as if dance lessons were high on the list of priorities at the orphanage.
He had watched on from the other side of the Great Hall as she danced and laughed with the others in her House. Tom had resigned himself to another task he had to master in order to fit in and become the finest wizard ever seen.
He hadn’t spoken to Ixchel outside of class since then and Tom debated not going, both out of discomfort and not understanding the point of celebrating a foreign holiday. However, walking into the common room he saw a handful of his Housemates speaking of the festivities and wrapping scarves around their throats to pay a visit. He decided to go. He couldn’t abide the others going without him. After all, he was the only one she sought out for the event.
He donned his own scarf and joined the others. After Tom had put Ixchel’s book to good use, his Housemates still didn’t like him, but seemed to respect him for not taking the abuse lying down. They didn’t wait for him, but didn’t comment on him joining them either.
His Housemates had relaxed after speaking to the sisters, reassured again that the festivities were Wizarding in origin even if they were unfamiliar, and eased into the cheery atmosphere. They sat around the fire, warm and content.
As the others toasted deceased loved ones and shared old memories, Tom’s thoughts turned to his mother despite his efforts. He wouldn’t toast her; wouldn’t remember her with any fondness. She had left him, too weak to stay, not even for him.
Why hadn’t he been enough?
Someone questioned the Eztli sisters about their painted faces, drawing Tom from his sullen thoughts.
“It’s La Catrina, she’s become a bit of a symbol of the holiday.” Ixchel said breezily. “Though in the old days it was the goddess of the dead who watched over our bodies.”
One of Tom’s Housemates snorted. “It’s like Samhain.” She said, “It’s become sanitised. Things are slowly changing, enough that eventually there won’t be any meaning at all. They don’t even make sacrifices anymore.”
“You Eztlis must be upset about that!” An older Gryffindor boy laughed.
“You ought to consider yourself lucky, Figg.” Socorro crooned, batting her lashes whilst dragging a finger across her throat in jest.
Ixchel stayed quiet, looking at the boy with assessing eyes and a flat expression.
They ate, drank, and laughed into the night, warmed by the fire and glowing in candlelight; and if Tom sat close to Ixchel, she simply smiled. He was relieved she didn’t say anything.
The hour grew late and the moon hung high in the sky, casting pale blue shadows when they all decided to head off back to their beds and avoid any further risk of being caught outside after curfew. Disillusionment charms were cast, and they shushed each other between laughs.
They were nearly ready to part ways and separate into houses to head back to their common rooms, the night a success, when a heavy door opened to their right and the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Alright, alright!” Grumbled Pringle, “I heard you rule breakers! Come on out.”
Despite being unable to see each other, Tom knew everyone had frozen at the caretaker’s words. It was best to avoid Pringle whenever possible. He reminded Tom of the more blood-thirsty nuns; his use of the cane was quite liberal.
“Tom,” Ixchel breathed in his ear. “Undo the disillusion with me.”
He would have scoffed if staying silent wasn’t such a priority.
“I won’t be playin’ no games!” Pringles’ steps came closer.
“Trust me, we have to before one of the Gryffindors tries to martyr themselves.” He could picture her rolling her eyes and then like the shimmer of the road on a hot day, her painted face came into view.
Tom weighed his options. Pringle already knew there was more than one student wandering the castle past curfew and he would be punished just the same. Ixchel must have a good reason. And if she didn’t, well...he’d deal with that later.
He undid the spell.
“Caught you two, didn’t I?” Pringle huffed and reached to grab them by the backs of their collars.
“Sorry sir, I’m sure if you just let the two of us explain…” Ixchel said, eyes focused just over Pringle’s shoulder. Her voice was firm, loud enough to cover the scurrying footsteps behind them. As they were marched to his office, Tom kept his eyes on Ixchel, round face painted under an intricate skeleton guise, and chin held high, carrying herself with pride despite the demeaning way they were being carted off. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone look so dignified.
She murmured under her breath that she’d explain later, but there was no need. The next day at breakfast, tired from the late night and sore from the caning- though it was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to, his Housemates were noticeably warmer.
“Well done, mate.” A third year clapped his shoulder. “You really saved our hides.”
Her plan had worked; though Tom would have preferred a less painful and less brash approach.
“Sorry,” She said sheepishly later the next day at their usual table in the library. He noted her posture was stiff and she kept herself away from the back of the chair, “It’s all I could think of at the time that could help with your Housemates. The stick, now the carrot.”
“Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you do that for me?” He said uneasily, but he tried to hide it.
Tom should have known her answer would just bring forth more questions. “I have my reasons, Tom.”
He cocked his head, “You ought to have been sorted into Slytherin, you know.”
Ixchel laughed. “Merlin, no! I just want to learn in peace. Maybe become a Charms Mistress one day and write obscure articles on theory no one ever reads.” She gave him a sly look and Tom felt his own lips tug. “Though I think you’re ruining any chance of that.”