Dementors and Other Such Nonsense
Marcus Flint and Theodore Nott had, unfortunately, sniffed out Jack like bloodhounds and joined him and Ginny in their compartment. Jack felt very miffed about it, especially because Flint would not stop talking—typically, Jack could tolerate Flint slightly more than the others who liked to flutter around him, but at the moment he just wanted to hit the boy over the head until he passed out. Jack was very primly nestled into his own corner of the compartment, legs and arms crossed as he stared rather moodily out of the window. Ginny seemed equally annoyed as Jack, but she’d resorted to resting her chin on her knees and picking at her nails, only to glare at Jack when he lightly kicked at her hands and told her to stop.
Flint was on and on about his summer, his family’s estate, how glad he was that Farley had graduated, and this or that about Sirius Black when the corridor lights began to flicker back to life. Jack lifted his head.
“Odd. I wouldn’t think we’re even close yet.” said Nott, taking out his wand with a Tempus. Jack leaned out of his seat slightly to look into the corridor. He could hear doors opening and saw the shadows of other students lingering in confusion in the doorways as the train continued to slow.
“Maybe they’re doing a maintenance check or something.” Ginny said, but she was putting her feet on the floor and sitting up straight.
“Well—” Flint started, when the train suddenly stopped with a forward jolt. Jack nearly fell out of his seat and onto Ginny’s legs, but he managed to catch himself just in time for Nott’s heavy case of luggage to go tumbling off of the overhead and thunk painfully against the back of Jack’s head.
“Fuck!” Jack hissed, lifting his hands protectively to the back of his neck even as the luggage rolled over and landed on the seat beside Nott, who flinched out of its way and shot a wide eyed look of alarm at Jack. Jack stared at Nott for a moment before rising to his feet, really intending to leap across the compartment and throttle the child, or maybe just punch him, when the lamps in the train suddenly dimmed, and they were plunged into darkness before Jack could earn himself an assault charge.
“Jack!” Ginny cried out, startled by the dark, and her hand was thrust outward, painful and directly into Jack’s shoulder.
“Watch it, brat,” he hissed, slowly straightening out, a hand rising to trace along the roof of the compartment.
“The train’s broke.” Marcus said, and Jack scoffed.
“I can’t find my wand,” Nott complained. “Marcus, where’s yours? Cast lumos.”
“Um.” Marcus said, and Ginny gasped out a high pitched “ow,” presumably as Marcus hit her flailing his big ape arms around to find his own wand.
“For fuck’s sake, are you all in a competition to see who can be the most useless?” Jack said, waving his hand. With the thought of ‘relight the lamps,’ a dim orange glow began to fill their compartment. Nott and Marcus gave him slightly wide eyed looks—he was sure they knew of his wandless magic use, but he wasn’t in either of their years and very rarely did he have an occasion to cast in front of either of them.
“I should check on Ron. I bet he’s worried—he still sleeps with a night light and all.” Ginny said.
“Really?” Jack said, smiling.
Ginny had just begun to shuffle around Marcus when the compartment's frosted glass door slid open with a slow, dry creak.
A shadow fell across the threshold—tall and dark, its edges seeming to blur in the dim light. The figure had to stoop to fit, its tattered cloak brushing against the doorframe. Its withered, spidery hand withdrew from the door and back into its cloak. A heavy hush fell over their compartment. Whatever this… thing was, was very, very ugly, and Jack was very, very concerned.
The cold crept in immediately. Jack felt it settle into his joints first, then deeper—past muscle and bone painfully, making his chest constrict. Jack coughed, startled, and slightly pained by the sudden cold.
Past the initial shock, he was able to gather his bearings enough to unfreeze himself, glancing around at the others in the compartment, who were sucking in breaths of shock and leaning back and away from the creature. Jack cleared his throat, and a puff of air was visible as he did it.
The creature was becoming slightly less menacing as it simply lingered there, perhaps staring at them, but it was difficult to tell with that tacky cloak holding its face in total shadow.
He felt Ginny’s clammy, cold hand suddenly grab his wrist, and he grimaced.
“Hello?” Jack said, impatient and voice slightly wobbly from the chill. He couldn’t tell if the creature turned its head towards him at the sound of his voice or if he was just imagining things. Jack lifted a hand to snap at the thing. “Yes, hello. You there.”
“Jack, that’s a…” Ginny murmured, her grip tightening. But the damned thing still wouldn’t respond. Emboldened by the fact that it had yet to attack or otherwise kill him, Jack let his lips curl into an annoyed sneer. Just because the thing is hideous and looks like some sort of great hulking grim reaper doesn’t mean it’s a villain, Jack thought, nobly.
“Well? If you’ve got nothing to say you might as well be off.” he said. To his surprise, the creature let out a very faint sound like a creaking rattle, and withdrew, pulling back from their doorway and, thank God, taking its fucking chill with it.
Jack huffed, tugging at his sleeves in discomfort.
“Ah. Well. Good.” he muttered, and sniffed impatiently when his shivering compartment mates just stared at him. Jack felt a bit shaken by… that, but he had no intention of letting anyone else know he was creeped out.
The lights all eventually came on and the train began to move at it’s normal pace, and the only thing that was really off was the lingering chill and the other students leaning out of their own compartments to chatter nervously with each other. Everyone in his own compartment seemed too shaken to really speak, and it was beginning to feel a bit awkward.
“Well,” said Jack, brushing a bit of frost off of his shoulder. “I’m going to go and put on my robes.”
The rest of the train ride was supremely uneventful, and Ginny had apparently both gotten over her outburst at her brother and his friends and was now embarrassed about it and had gone off to apologize and sit with them. Jack figured he would nap and pretend Flint and Nott did not exist for the rest of the ride.
When it came to the Welcoming Feast, there frankly was too much food in front of Jack for him to really process any of it—Jack had missed this last year given the fact that he had been trapped in a fucking diary for two months and had only emerged after siphoning magic off of a little girl, so he hadn’t been expecting enough food to feed all of Wales to pop up in front of him. Jack was in a rather unfortunate place at the Slytherin table, he quickly realized, as he stared at the massive 8 level platter of cupcakes and cookies in front of him and the various bowls and plates of pudding and cakes surrounding it. It seemed everything savory was just out of arm's reach.
“Did you really yell at the dementors on the train?” asked Astoria Greengrass, leaning close to Jack. When he turned his head to look at her, his mouth twisted into a grimace when he spotted several people sitting on the opposite side of her leaning over to listen in with sparkling eyes.
“No,” Jack said, sniffing. “I don’t yell. And get away from me—there’s too much space on this bench for our knees to be touching.”
Astoria deflated slightly, and the girl next to her snorted and elbowed her as Astoria shuffled a bit away from Jack.
A new batch of little children had been systematically sent off to their respective tables by a… hat, which Jack refused to think about any more than he needed to. All of the new ones, at every table really, seemed to be torn between staring open mouthed and terrified at Jack or staring open mouthed at Harry Potter and looking as if they wanted to leap at him and cry for protection. Jack’s gaze roamed over to Harry Potter, who was already looking at him. Potter’s massive glasses were crooked on his face, his hair truly sticking up and pointing every which way, and he narrowed his eyes at Jack once he realized he was being looked at in return. Jack raised a brow when Potter jabbed his fork rather violently into a piece of ham.
Jack pushed a piece of sweet bread into his mouth and looked away. Dumbledore had been droning on for a few minutes now—this and that about Dementors (those ugly things on the train, apparently) and Alakazam and this or that.
Jack was slightly aggrieved to hear about Lockhart’s replacement—he had liked Lockhart after all, and was even more aggrieved to see that the man wasn’t nearly as fun to look at. Lockhart had been handsome and self-obsessed and dressed like a tool so naturally Jack had related to the man and found him tolerable. This one looked and dressed like he was living through the onset of the Great Depression and had a family of 14 to feed.
Jack had scoffed when he heard Dumbledore introduce the man as Professor Lupin.
“With that name and scars like that, he might as well be a werewolf.” Jack muttered. It had been mostly to himself, and decidedly not funny, but a few of the people around him laughed.
“His full name is even worse,” said Blaise Zabini, who had begun looking very pointy and had gotten very tall over the summer. “Remus Lupin.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Jack said, laughing incredulously, and wondered about the creative decision to basically name a character Wolf Boy Wolf. There was some laughter at Jack’s bemusement, but as Jack squinted at Professor Lupin, he wondered if the man was actually a werewolf. Were werewolves even real in the Harry Potter books? Jack supposed if hideous ghasts and ghosts and little scrotum looking elves were, werewolves weren’t much of a stretch.
Jack would have wondered a bit more about this if he wasn’t distracted by Cecily Falwey leaning over the table to hand Jack a plate of meat and corn. Pleased at his new plate of non-sugary foods, Jack forgot to care about werewolves and Dementors and professors undergoing twink death.
✦
Severus had been prepared to vanish into his rooms immediately after the Welcoming Feast and pretend he was dead for at least the next twelve hours. It wasn’t enough that Black had decided to crawl out of Azkaban like a roach, now Lupin would burden him daily by sulking around Hogwarts while burdened with a particular brand of self loathing and misery that Severus rather wished he’d keep to himself.
Of course nothing in life was ever easy, so naturally Albus had beckoned him to follow when he had sharply stood up and prepared to vanish into Firewhisky for the next 12 or so hours, and so Severus had begrudgingly swept after the headmaster and followed him to his office.
The conversation was either going to be about Harry Potter, Sirius Black, or Jack Riddle. Severus knew this, and barely even had it in him to scowl in response when Albus attempted to slide that damn bowl of candies towards him.
“Which one is it?” he asked instead, nearly spitting. Albus only sat there watching him patiently, which only bothered him more. Severus lowered himself into the seat across from Albus, agitated.
“Many parents have expressed anxiety that Jack Riddle is involved in Sirius Black’s escape.” Albus said.
Ah. Riddle and Black. Wonderful.
“Idiotic,” Severus said. “Riddle is sixteen and utterly tactless.”
“Perhaps. But that does not assuage their worries. Given that he is both Voldemort’s—” Severus ground his teeth together, “--son and a rather powerful young wizard who has expressed interest in the dark arts, it is unsurprising that they may worry. It is not impossible.”
“Surely you do not think the boy actually has anything to do with Black’s escape.” Severus said, strained. Albus was quiet for a moment, and Severus very nearly yelled at him before Albus lifted a thin hand and waved it dismissively.
“It is unlikely, but not impossible. As most things are, really,” he said finally. “Have you heard anything from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?”
“Regarding Riddle and Black?”
“Mm.”
“Lucius seems to believe that Riddle at the very least knew that Sirius Black was going to escape. I am unsure why he may think that outside of wishful thinking on his part, as he said Riddle had not mentioned it at all until Narcissa brought it up to him.”
“What did he say to Narcissa?”
“He told her that he found it exciting. But he made no comment on it otherwise.”
Albus adjusted his glasses where they sat on his nose and then went to adjust the sleeves of his bright robes. Severus’s mouth twisted in impatience.
“Did Jack leave the manor often?” Albus asked.
“Not at all. He hardly left other than to visit Gringotts a few weeks into break. He did ask that Lucius arrange for him a Portkey to Egypt while the Weasley clan was there, but the return Portkey was for just two hours later.” Severus noticed that Albus’s eyes became more focused at that—something about that had interested him.
“All the way to Egypt for just two hours? No sightseeing?” Albus asked.
“I doubt Riddle is the type to care for sightseeing.” Severus said plainly.
“But he is the type to pop into Egypt to say hello. He could have written, or simply waited. Odd to go through all of the trouble.”
“Hm.” Severus wondered if Albus ever intended to say what exactly concerned him about this.
“Did Miss Weasley’s parents or brothers know?”
“Unlikely. I get the distinct impression that none of them are fond of Riddle and would not have been thrilled to know that he had gone as far as to visit her via Portkey during their family vacation.” Severus said, and Albus gestured for him to continue, apparently done with the matter of Egypt and fully intending not to tell Severus anything. As usual.
“Outside of that, Riddle had mentioned to Narcissa that he would be visiting Diagon Alley for supplies. That is the last time they mentioned him leaving the manor. It seemed that he spent the majority of the summer in their library, eating their food, or having the Weasley girl visit for tea.”
Albus was drumming his fingers against his desk, looking as if he had zoned out and was lost in thought. Severus felt his brow twitch.
“What, Albus?” he spat. Albus said nothing for a moment and Severus very well considered throwing something at him before the man decided to speak up.
“It is interesting that he told Narcissa he was going to Diagon Alley. Because Rita Skeeter told me that he was visiting bookshops in Nocturn. Why lie?” Albus said pleasantly.
Severus sat up straighter, alarm briefly flickering over his expression.
“He was in Knockturn? Why? And why is Skeeter telling you anything? I hope you are not having that hag spy on students.”
“Oh, be kind, Severus,” Albus said, and Severus considered killing the man. “I recommended she survey Knockturn—after all, if Sirius Black happened to show his face, she would certainly have a story. For the suggestion, I merely asked that she let me know of anything interesting she came across.”
“Why has she not made this front page news? I’d imagine she’d latch onto the drivel about Jack busting into Azkaban and breaking out Black.”
Albus hummed quietly. Severus was certain Albus had a plethora of opinions on… all of this that he was simply refusing to share.
“Give it a few days, my boy.”
✦
Jack wasn't entirely sure why everyone was staring at him today, but he was definitely sure it was starting to piss him off.
He'd been sitting on the edge of the fountain in the middle courtyard, actually behaving himself for once (a miracle that should've earned him sainthood, really), when the entire student body collectively decided that he was the most interesting thing in a 50 kilometer radius. Jack wasn't exactly shy about attention, but there was something particularly grating about not knowing why every single mouth-breathing teenager in the vicinity couldn't tear their eyes away from him for more than five goddamn seconds.
Getting increasingly irritated by the endless whispers and poorly concealed pointing, Jack scanned the courtyard for any familiar face at all and spotted Harry Potter. He was miraculously detached from his usual entourage and was too busy carrying his things with one arm and hopping on one foot and attempting to fix his shoelace with the other to notice that Jack was there at all. Jack jabbed his finger at him.
"You!" he said, loudly.
The Boy Who Lived very nearly became The Boy Who Ate Shit before he regained his balance with some rather ungraceful stumbling. He looked at Jack and the sun hit his ridiculous glasses at just the right angle to make him look like some sort of startled insect. Jack beckoned him over with the kind of gesture usually reserved for summoning small, nervous dogs.
Potter glanced left, then right, seeking escape. People had begun to watch, perhaps because Jack had yelled and perhaps because Potter was operating with all of the grace of a beached whale.
When it became clear that Potter had no intention of humoring him, Jack, being the absolute pinnacle of generosity and patience that he was, decided to take matters into his own hands. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way over. Potter looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously.
"What do you want, Riddle?" Potter's voice cracked spectacularly mid-sentence. Jack barely restrained himself from cackling in the boy’s face.
"Where are your friends?"
"In class. Where I should be right now."
"Why aren't you with them?"
"I had to go to the bathroom," Potter blurted, then immediately looked like he wanted to throw himself into the fountain. Jack could relate—he too would prefer drowning to having this conversation.
"Oh," Jack said, bored. He'd hoped for something funnier—a dramatic friendship implosion, perhaps, or at least a petty squabble. "Well, seeing as you've made quite the career out of watching my every move, I assume you know why everyone's been staring at me this morning.
Potter fidgeted, his hand drifting towards his pocket where his wand undoubtedly sat. Jack watched the movement with mild interest, wondering if the boy actually thought he was being subtle.
“... You don’t know?” Potter asked. Jack’s lip curled in agitation.
“Obviously, I do. That's why I asked you, of course.” he said. Potter was beginning to look equally annoyed. Potter huffed and dragged his bag to his front. He rummaged through it before tugging out a newspaper that had clearly been shoved to the bottom of his bag, being as torn and wrinkled as it was. Jack sniffed, thinking, fix this shit, and his magic quickly wriggled over the newspaper, straightening it out and making it look a bit less as if it had sat cooking in a drainage pipe for several days. Potter had begun to inch away, muttering something under his breath about Jack being a “stupid arsehole” with a “stupid arsehole face” and a “stupid arsehole jaw,” whatever that meant.
Jack ignored him, scanning the newspaper. The front page was bullshit he didn’t care about—Sirius Black and Dementors and Ministry budgeting and fuck-all-else—but Jack saw his own face on the second page, perusing books in Knockturn alley beneath a header that read: RIDDLE SPOTTED IN KNOCKTURN: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON?
“Ah,” said Jack, mildly amused. “That explains it.”