Making Merry
“No that symbol is definitely for Galleon, look at the thickness of the downstroke.”
“There wasn’t even a symbol for Galleon in the fifteen hundreds! It’s obviously talking about a general metal, it’s too similar to the symbol for silver for it to be anything else.”
“You are a bloody idiot! Look at the modern symbol for Galleon, look how the three intersecting lines in the middle are nearly identical in band width to the two intersecting lines on that symbol.”
“Just admit defeat.” He threw a bonbon at her and it bounced off her forehead. She plucked the treat off the floor and popped it into her mouth.
“Never.” She mumbled around a mouthful of chocolatey goodness.
He rolled his eyes, shoving a bonbon into his own mouth with a snort.
The last three days had passed in similar fashion, the two of them huddled around a small desk throwing food and translating the seemingly endless entries in the tome. It had become routine— both of them holed up in the Undercroft during any free moments of their day.
Sleep eluded Ash, slipping through her fingers like sand. The mere thought of returning to the Room, where the aftermath of her unleashed magic lingered in charred walls, paralyzed her. Instead she sought fleeting comfort in the maroon and gold walls of Gryffindor Tower. In the stillness of the night, while her dorm mates slept, she found herself falling into that darkness inside of her. The chasm beckoned, like a siren song, as she drew closer to the tempest slumbering. Each dream was the same, her hand would reach for the magic and it would strike like a viper in waiting— last night the tendrils of power had wrapped around her throat as she tried to scream. The nightmares were so vivid that she awoke with her nerves feeling flayed. She would awake, hands gripping the sheets, but no burn marks under her palms.
If Sebastian had noticed her exhaustion, he didn’t show it. She thought back to his confession that night he took her to his childhood home— that he dreamed often of the Scriptorium and of her screams. Exhaustion seemed a permanent state of being for the both of them.
The silence from Harlow’s end had become concerning. He had yet to show face, and every passing day Ash felt the anxiety build. Her magic however, had not simmered under her skin, no itch or burn building inside. It had been gloriously depleted, as if she had emptied the entire chasm inside of her when she became a living inferno.
That also meant Sebastian hadn’t touched her. Not in the ways she wanted at least. There had been fleeting grazes against her skin, their fingers brushing when passing their journals back and forth— his thumb brushing chocolate from her lip when she had messily eaten a treacle tart. No, there were no tongues clashing or fingers in all the right places.
She tried not to think about it too much.
Instead she threw herself into translating the leather bound journal. Their pace was abysmal, though Sebastian assured her that they were already working faster together than he had alone.
Goblin language, it turned out, was what reduced their pace to a crawl. While the ancient runes mixed into the coded book left her brain aching, their complex swirls and jagged lines overwhelming at times— Sebastian was fluent. At least, he was proficient in Renaissance to Modern symbology. He admitted that the Medieval runes were like translating Portuguese when you spoke Spanish. A frustrating comparison when she understood neither.
However, neither her or Sebastian were even remotely familiar with the goblin language, though she had caught the brown-haired boy at meal times with rolls of parchment filled with what she assumed were swaths of the complex speech. She had hidden a smile when she glimpsed him across the great hall at breakfast the past three days, head bent over the scrolls. It had reminded her so much of how she usually found him in fifth year.
He thrived with a mission, and seemed lost without one.
Ash had considered bringing lists of the difficult words to Amit, who had helped her tremendously with translating the goblin in Bragbor’s journals fifth year. But if she were keeping Poppy and Natty in the dark, Amit was safer not knowing as well.
This was her burden to bear, though Sebastian insisted on sharing the load.
Ash was in the midst of popping another bonbon into her mouth as the gate to the Undercroft groaned. She paused mid bite, throwing a look to Sebastian who didn’t bother glancing up from his journal.
The familiar clacking of shoes sounded across the stone floor as Ominis’ tensed body came into view.
“Hello Ominis, care for a sweet?” Sebastian said, his eyes still focused on his scribbling.
Ominis huffed a breath as he crossed the room, the red tip of his wand illuminating the shadowy alcoves along his path. “If it is chocolate, I’ll pass thanks.”
“Your distaste for chocolate is irregular.” Ash said, her words barely intelligible through her chewing.
Ominis raised a brow but didn’t comment. He dropped into the empty seat beside Sebastian and she noticed then how unkempt he looked.
Ominis was many things, but messy had never been one of them.
His emerald tie was uneven, and his silver cuff links mismatched. Dark circles bloomed under the delicate skin beneath his pale eyes. In all senses of the word, Ominis looked horrible. It was almost gratifying to see him look as worn out and throughly spent as both her and Sebastian did on a daily basis.
Almost.
She stared at him, and watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists on the table top. Only at the extended silence did Sebastian finally drag his attention from his translating.
She watched as Sebastian’s eyes darted across Ominis features as if reaching the same conclusions.
“You went home for the weekend.”
It wasn’t a question that slipped from Sebastian’s mouth but an assessment. Her stomach dropped as Ominis’ jaw clenched.
“Indeed. I decided that if anyone knew of ‘blips’ across England it would be my father.”
If anyone understood pain and brutality as she did it was Ominis. His family was notoriously cruel, and she could still hear the tremble in Sebastian’s voice when he had told her about the details of the Gaunt’s cruelty towards their own son. She didn’t know if his skin was a woven tapestry of pain as hers was, but she knew his soul was marred all the same.
Ominis had done as Sebastian asked, even though it meant going home.
If Sebastian held guilt over his role, he didn’t let it show. He simply shut his journal, turning his full attention to Ominis. “What did your father say?”
Ominis scoffed, his featured pinched, “If you think my father would tell me anything directly, you have forgotten my lack of standing in his life.” He sighed, schooling his features into something that would be akin to neutrality if it wasn’t for his nails digging into the wooden table. “I dropped a few hints about the topic at dinner the first night and overheard Marvolo discussing it with father that next day.”
Ominis seemed lost in memory for a moment, as if reliving whatever horrors he endured for the sake of information. “The blips are disappearances—“ Ominis stopped himself and the muscle in the his cheek feathered as he ground his teeth, “Of muggleborn and half-blood witches and wizards across England.”
Ash and Sebastian exchanged glances, the weight of Ominis' revelation settling like a heavy fog in the air. The gravity of the blips being disappearances across England struck her like a thunderbolt.
Shock etched across their features, but it was accompanied by a profound confusion. The puzzle pieces of their understanding seemed to scatter. It was as if they were two steps behind, grasping at shadows, and the information they continued to find felt disappointingly inadequate.
She leaned back in her chair, appetite lost.
“That could be anything. Harlow didn’t seemed inclined to kidnapping the first time around. Not saying he wouldn’t, but what would be the reason?” Ash voiced, her brows furrowed.
Sebastian sighed and shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face, “It doesn’t fit. It’s just a coincidence of timing.” Sebastian dropped his hand onto the table, staring at Ominis, “I’m sorry Ominis.”
Ash knew what Sebastian was apologizing for—could see the remorse breaking through his well-crafted armor. If the information had been helpful, then Ominis’ sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain.
Ominis sagged in his chair, “My family thought it was hilarious,” he whispered, “That those missing deserved it for attempting to infiltrate pureblood society. That it signified what they had thought for generations— that only purebloods deserved magic.”
Silence enveloped them, the weight of his words baring down on the atmosphere. Neither Ash nor Sebastian could find the right response to the darkness that lingered in Ominis's family history.
Ash reached for her bag beside her chair, the rustling seemingly thunderous amidst the heavy silence. Her fingers closed around the prize she sought before she sat it on the table top and slowly slid it in front of Ominis.
His eyebrows furrowed as the scent of vanilla tinged the air, and he reached forward with his wand, illuminating the singular macaron placed in front of him.
His face softened imperceptibly and he released a breath, the tension in his shoulders dropping ever so slightly. He reached out a lithe hand and plucked the treat from the table. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he was repressing a smile, “How long has this particular pastry sat in the bottom of your school bag?”
“If I tell you, you wouldn’t eat it.” She said, watching as Sebastian covered his growing smile with a hand as he looked upon their interaction.
Ominis’ nose wrinkled, “Fair enough.” He popped the entire pastry into his mouth and chewed with the least dignified manners she’d ever seen from the boy. Her eyebrows rose and Sebastian snorted from his place beside Ominis.
“If I knew that a vanilla macaron was all it took to rid you of your posh manners I’d have tried that trick years ago.” Sebastian said, smirking.
Ominis pressed his lips together, bristling, and Ash suppressed a laugh.
She tried not to acknowledge the warmth she felt at that moment, as if peering too long at the normalcy of the trios interaction would shatter whatever fragile truce seemed to have been brokered.
Ash stood from the table, sliding her journal across the table to Sebastian who laid a hand on the emerald green cover. He raised an eyebrow at the suddenness of her departure.
“I’ll bring back dinner. Ominis you can work on convincing Sebastian that I am right about the symbol being Galleon.” Ash said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she headed towards the iron gate.
“What symbol—“
“Doesn’t matter, you owe me for the macaron,” Ash tossed the words over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she strolled away.
Ominis muttered something under his breath that didn’t quite reach her from across the room though she caught the words, “debt,” and “simple macaron.”
Sebastian let out a laugh, a rich and resonant melody that accompanied Ash as she left.
___•___
The castle was beguiling to say the least.
As Ash walked through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, the atmosphere shimmered with the enchantment of autumn, and even more so the upcoming All Hallows Eve—though the delightful day was well over a fortnight away.
Elaborate decorations adorned every available space, transforming the school into a cacophony of color— bathing every inch in amber, maroon, and mahogany.
Wrought-iron sconces flickered with the warm glow of floating candles, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Intricately carved pumpkins, their faces twisted into mischievous grins, lined the corridors, their flickering candlelight adding an eerie ambiance.
The rich tapestries that usually graced the walls were now replaced with bewitched banners that fluttered in a phantom breeze, depicting scenes of ghosts and ghouls engaged in a whimsical never-ending dance.
Statues and suits of armor were draped in deep purple and orange velvet, transforming them into regal guardians of October. Ghosts, with their transparent forms, floated gracefully through the air, lost in conversations with each other, and completely unaware as they sometimes passed through a student— usually resulting in a shudder or giggle from the latter.
The air carried the scent of cinnamon and spiced apples, a comforting aroma that mingled with the occasional waft of magic-infused treats being prepared in the castle kitchens.
She continued her their journey through this enchanted scene, each step resonating with the magic of the season, as Hogwarts embraced the spirit of All Hallows Eve in all its whimsical grandeur.
Ash loved Autumn.
Autumn cradled her fondest memories, woven into the tapestry of russet and gold. The air, crisp and fragrant with the earthy perfume of fallen leaves
The kaleidoscope of red, orange, and amber painted a living canvas. The leaves, cascading in graceful descent—a shedding of the old, a prelude to rebirth.
As daylight waned and shadows danced, there was an enchantment in the air that beckoned her—a kindred spirit to the arcane and the unknown.
And it reminded her of Sebastian.
A smile pulled at her lips at the echo of his laugh bouncing around the Undercroft which lived freely in her mind.
There existed no boundary she wouldn't cross, nor a realm she wouldn't traverse to summon that symphony once more.
The halls around her were bustling with life—students rushing from classrooms, racing with animated fervor to dinner. First years, wands in hand, engaged in the delicate dance of spellcasting, their incantations whispered with a mix of trepidation and eagerness. Second years, chests puffed out with their single year of schooling behind their belt, offering corrections to ensure the proper flick and swish of the wand.
Further down the corridor, a group of Ravenclaw students huddled together, exchanging animated stories, their laughter echoing against the stone walls like a cheerful charm. Gryffindor's bravado reverberated as a pair of fourth years playfully dueled, casting harmless sparks that illuminated the air with a dazzling display.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ash didn't feel like a ghost haunting the periphery of Hogwarts life. The lively currents of camaraderie seemed to weave around her, enveloping her in a warmth that banished the fear always tugging at the back of her mind. The chasm inside of her, the beast inside, was dormant for the time being and she could breathe.
Harlow could wait, for a moment at least.
As Ash drug her fingers along the stone wall, her mind sank deep into her memory.
She could picture herself, eleven years old, a baby tooth missing though at that age she had refused to refer to it as such. Autumn had wrapped around the orphanage, the cool breeze soothing away the suffocating heat from that blazing summer. The sun had begun to set, All Hallows Eve in full swing. Her and Alex had snuck from the orphanage intent on making merry with the outside world. They had fashioned masks for themselves from string and two pages of their personal bibles which neither her nor Alex considered much of a sacrifice. Once the masks were donned, and with considerable imagination, they were no longer orphans, but Dr. Frankenstein and his monster.
Alex had petitioned to be the great doctor and she relented on the condition that she would receive an extra portion of pontefract cakes and Turkish delight. It was a bargain Alex had struck with a wide toothy grin.
They had swam through a sea of other children, along the banks of the Thames, weaving their way through the lively streets. The gas lamps cast flickering shadows, creating an enchanting dance of light and dark. Ash, her eyes wide with excitement, clutched a makeshift bag, her pillowcase, for the evening's treasures.
She remembered that they had somehow found themselves among a crowd of mostly adults, a small bonfire at the middle of the forming circle. A man dressed as the devil himself threw salt and alcohol on the flames and her and Alex were in awe as the inferno raged higher. It had felt like magic.
Laughter had filled the air as people had begun jumping over the flames and she and Alex had been utterly transfixed by the scene.
Hand in hand, giggling and grinning, they themselves had leapt over the flames and basked in the cheers at their victory.
They had laughed the entire way back to the orphanage, shoving treats into their mouths between breaths. They had gorged themselves on the sweet delights, until their bellies had poked out uncomfortably swollen.
The beating they had received when they arrived back at St. Mary’s had not been enough to break their spirits.
She pulled herself from her memories just as she pushed on the door to the Great Hall.
The space was dripped in an extravagance that she guessed rivaled that of Buckingham Palace itself. The ceiling, charmed to reflect the outside sky, showcased a velvety black expanse studded with stars, and occasionally, a swooping bat or a playful ghost.
She had come to simply snatch a handful of mince pies and abscond back to the safe harbor of the Undercroft.
Her eyes snagged on the hushed conversation at the Hufflepuff table as she passed, eyes instinctively seeking out the short brunette always settled between Charolette Morrison and Lenore Everleigh.
The brunette in question was deep in conversation with said bench mates, a worry line between her brows.
Ash’s stomach flipped. Whatever the cause of the furrow on Poppy’s face, it was enough to have the entirety of the yellow-clad student section murmuring quietly.
She dropped her eyes as she reached her destination, not wanting to draw any fellow house mates attention. Her fingers halted as she hovered them over a bread roll, a sigh pushing past her lips. She should try harder, should make an effort for those who so regularly tried for her. She had scantly seen Poppy since the Gryffindor party, when she had once again whisked herself away mid revelry, a boy in tow— or rather towing her.
Her eyes lifted from the burgundy table runner and she bit her lip. She quickly shoved the dinner rolls into her bag, swiping a few mince pies before she strode over to Poppy.
Arthur Plummly noticed her first, pushing his red framed glasses up his nose as he tapped Poppy on the shoulder, gesturing to Ash.
Poppy spun around on the bench, the tension around her hazel eyes softening as she caught Ash’s own.
“What’s going on?” Ash inquired, her gaze flickering between Poppy's troubled expression and the others seated at the table.
“Adelaide Oakes withdrew from Hogwarts.” Poppy revealed, her voice carrying a note of concern.
Lenore leaned closer, her mouth laden with food as she chimed in, “She must be with child, you know her uncle would not put up with that—“
“That is an unfounded rumor that we will not give any credit to.” Poppy snapped, interrupting Lenore. Poppy let out a breath, turning her head back to Ash, “Adelaide loved Hogwarts, it makes no sense for her family to pull her from school.”
Ash's thoughts swirled as she absorbed the news about Adelaide's withdrawal. It was a small drop in the bucket of problems on her list, but the worry on Poppy’s face wouldn’t allow her to simply shrug off the news.
Memories of the Gryffindor party resurfaced, the lively atmosphere now starkly contrasting the unsettling revelation. She recalled Poppy's musings from that evening, the speculation about Adelaide's absence, and the assumptions that had circled the dorm that night.
Adelaide had a lover in Appleby, and she frequently stayed with her uncle. It was a real possibility that she was with child then. Perhaps she was preparing to be wed.
Ash tried to settle her mind with the conclusion, but another thought whispered in the back of her mind as she saw Professor Weasley striding across the raised platform at the front of the hall, exhaustion evident on her face even from the great distance. Professor Weasley was back—
Back from her mission investigating—
Dread coiled low in Ash’s gut, and she yanked her attention from the harrowed professor back to Poppy’s inquisitive eyes.
Her voice felt entirely too unsteady as she whispered, "What is Adelaide's blood status?" The question hung in the air, and as Poppy’s eyebrows furrowed, Lenore responded, "She is a half-blood, I think.”
A chill crept up Ash's spine. The surrounding noise of the hall faded to a muffle, as that angry magic began to open its sleepy eye once more.
Poppy was speaking to her, but couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in her ears. She tried to quell the panic building in her veins— this had nothing to do with her. Even if Adelaide was missing, it had nothing to do with Harlow or the repository.
Her eyes darted back to the dais, watching as professors ate and laughed and reveled in the festive atmosphere. Yet, the professors' merriment, once a comforting backdrop, now soured Ash's tongue.
Even if Adelaide's disappearance had nothing to do with her, the tendrils of unease snaked their way into her thoughts. Harlow, her ancient magic, and the missing witches—threads of a tapestry that seemed to converge, threatening to entangle her in a web she couldn't escape.
It didn’t have anything to do with her.
She repeated the words like a mantra in her mind, even as she strode from the Great Hall, ignoring the protests from Poppy at her sudden departure.
It didn’t have to be her.
And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it did.