Chapter 1
Teddy Nott peered closer at the tapestry. Hidden among the alcoves of the Seventh Floor, some particularly imaginative artist had woven a scene of the famously mad Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach eight lumbering trolls ballet. The trolls spun around the figure of Barnabas, pink tutus secure on their hips, wooden clubs outstretched, hovering, just above the man’s head.
It was a patently ridiculous work of art, Teddy thought, but he’d been strangely drawn to it — lured in by the bright flashes of pink — almost like he had seen it before, as if in a dream.
Barnabas, surrounded by the towering figures, seemed strangely serene, waving his wand as a conductor might direct an orchestra as the trolls twirled around him. Not a hint of fear or uncertainty flashed across his face, even after Teddy spent long minutes staring intently at the tapestry.
The trolls moved around him in an endless cycle, one without clear beginning or end, circling Barnabas, but never stepping in quite the same spot as they had before. Teddy rubbed at his eyes, almost unsettled. The tapestry was in perpetual motion, always different, yet each player, man and troll alike, remained trapped in motion, unable to break free, unable to stop, unable even to rest.
The raised voices echoing harshly down the Seventh Floor Corridor jolted Teddy out of his contemplation — he could barely make out the words —
“Potter, don’t be ridiculous — of course Ravenclaw will beat out Gryffindor — I mean between Chang and Weasley, there’s really no contest.” Draco Malfoy’s practiced, particular enunciation was clear as day, even with the better part of a hallway between them.
Teddy breathed in, breathed out, trying to center himself. He always preferred to keep these kinds of run-ins as limited as possible — they were always more trouble than they were worth.
“You’re probably right,” Harry Potter admitted, finally coasting into view as they turned the far end of the corridor. “I just wish we could give them a little helping hand.”
“Now, now,” a third voice tutted, almost mockingly. “We do have rules about that kind of thing.”
Professor Black materialized behind Potter and Malfoy, sweeping high-necked robes coalescing into his tall, broad figure.
Teddy heaved a sigh — just his luck — the whole family here all at once.
The Seventh Floor Corridor was rather bare, stone walls decorated simply with torches and the occasional portrait or tapestry. Very few places that could help Teddy avoid them.
He closed his eyes briefly, hoping beyond hope that they might just turn around and wander back to the Dungeons.
The footsteps drew ever closer, torch flames wreathing the figures in shadows that melted into warm, orange light.
Potter looked as he always did — flyaway black hair, thin black glasses, and a sour expression spreading across his face as he registered Teddy’s presence. Malfoy, long-nosed and blond, wrinkled his nose.
“I thought I smelt something bird-like,” he said coldly, a smirk stealing across his face that mirrored Potter’s.
Professor Black paid no heed, stepping between the two and Teddy. The corner of his eyes tightened, and several moments passed, Black looming over Teddy as Potter’s face began to melt into a more uncertain expression.
“Mister Nott,” Black said at last, drawing out each syllable, almost contemplative. “I hardly expected to see you out of bed at this hour, particularly alone.”
Teddy tried his best to keep his face even and project confidence, but Malfoy snickered nonetheless.
“Professor,” he said respectfully, dipping his head. When Black made no move to continue speaking, Teddy met his eyes cautiously, uncertain.
With each passing moment the silence became tense, heavying the air, the crackle of nearby torches almost making Teddy jump.
“And what brought you out of the safety of Ravenclaw Tower tonight, Mister Nott?”
Black spoke at last, judgment — or at least its specter — weighing down his words. His dark eyes were piercing, as if daring Teddy to lie.
He swallowed nervously, desperately casting his mind about for an excuse that would satisfy the professor besides I got entranced by a tapestry of dancing trolls in tutus.
As Teddy opened his mouth, praying a believable story would tumble out of it, sharp, quick footfalls sounded behind him. Black’s face, already impassive, curdled into stoney.
Teddy whipped his head around, eyes falling on Professor Evans, her bright hair appearing almost golden in the firelight.
“Detention, Mister Nott, ten o’clock,” she said stiffly, barely sparing him a glance as she brought herself face-to-face with Black.
Teddy bit back an angry retort, knowing that all he really wanted was to get as far away from these four as possible. Mother, godfather, cousin, and son — now, the family set was truly complete. And, as Teddy and the rest of the school had learned the hard way, any, family disputes , had a tendency to end explosively.
Potter and Malfoy looked positively livid. High spots of color flared on Potter’s cheeks, fists tightening at the sight of Evans. The two professors continued to stare sharply at each other, plunging the entire corridor into a taut standoff.
“Dismissed, Mister Nott,” Black bit out, eyes not leaving Evans. Teddy, rather wisely in his opinion, took the opportunity to turn on the spot and hurriedly head down the corridor, hoping to get back to Ravenclaw Tower without any more unexpected surprise.
Evans held Black’s gaze for several more moments before her eyes skimmed over Potter and Malfoy.
“Perhaps it’s time for all students to return to their dormitories,” she said tartly, before turning smartly and stalking away.
Potter was practically vibrating with rage as he glared daggers at her retreating back. Malfoy looked outraged, but Black merely took a steadying breath before walking in the other direction, his tiny shadows scurrying after him.
All that was left in the stretch of corridor were the flickering torches and tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Silence blossomed quickly as the footsteps of professors and students drew farther away. An audible sigh bounced off the stonework as Professor Riddle slid into view. His body appeared to melt out of a wall, feet emerging first, followed by legs, hands, and the rest, solidifying into a tall, rather put-upon figure.
Shaking his head, Riddle drew a wand out of his pocket. Some days — maybe even most days — he truly couldn’t fathom why Albus had hired these people. Eminently underqualified at minimum. Riddle turned his wand sharply, a brief grey-gold flood of light running along the length of the corridor. He nodded once, satisfied, and approached the tapestry that had so entranced Teddy.
The trolls were still twirling in their tutus, clubs high in the air, no indication of any change. Barnabas, though, was no longer conducting the dance. The small human figure amidst the trolls had been bludgeoned and torn apart, one arm and hand bloody and separate from the rest of him. Clutched in the hand was his wand, bent obscenely, but still moving to the same rhythm as when Barnabas had been whole and unharmed.
Riddle’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, raising his wand as he reached the tapestry. While he didn’t know what had drawn Mister Nott to this rather peculiar piece of art, he was certain that a mystery lay within it, ready to be teased out by an industrious wizard. And Tom, who rather prided himself on both his intelligence and industriousness, began to cast.
Halfway up the spiralling trek to Ravenclaw Tower, Teddy Nott nearly walked directly into a tangle of thorns that almost certainly hadn’t been there that morning. Just a couple paces in front of Teddy, nestled around the corner the portrait of four beautiful women devouring some large beast, ivy and spread easily along the gap between the art and stone.
Stale air lingered, suspended around the painting, almost sweeping over Teddy as he stepped closer to the painting, shivering. The thorns skittering up the wall of the tower tangled over his head, spinning drips of shadow across the stonework as a nearby torch burned steadily.
Running his hand along the seam between the portrait and tower, Teddy inhaled sharply. The dark night air spreading in from a nearby window made it difficult to tell but, he was certain that the ivy and thorns were blooming directly out of the portrait, sprouting from the corner closest to the figures within.
The thin, almost invisible frame gave the illusion of a portrait imprinted onto the walls of the tower itself — Teddy doubted he’d even be able to tell the plants were emanating from the portrait without being so close he could rest his forehead against it.
But, Teddy took a slow step back, eyes narrowing, it was always important to remember that while many parts of Hogwarts were wondrous, not all were safe. Drawing his wand out of his robes, Teddy gently ran the tip around the edge of the portrait, whispering an ancient Sumerian charm originally meant for farming in the Fertile Crescent.
A gentle blue haze spilled out into the air, swirling toward the ivy and thorns as if caught in the center of a whirlpool. The fog settled slowly onto the vegetation, flaring bright and then sinking into the plants themselves, leaving Teddy in just the soft light of the torch.
He paused for one beat, two, then suddenly the sharp thorns and scattered ivy flickered, pulsing lowly once as if being illuminated by some dark inner light.
Teddy frowned, fingering his wand.
The charm was designed to seek out water within nearby plants, especially useful for early agricultural societies. Curious, Teddy thought, conjuring light from the tip of his wand and drawing close to the portrait once more. Neither the ivy nor the thorns contained any water — by all rights, they should be withered and dead.
Conjured then, Teddy thought, but by whom? And for what purpose?
Glancing absently over the portrait, Teddy stopped short, a current of fear curling through his chest as his eyes were drawn to the figures within. The women weren’t simply devouring a beast anymore, oblivious to his presence. All four had turned to face Teddy, staring into his eyes.
The women — hands full and bloody and weighted down with the raw flesh of a bull they had just gorged on — had frozen. Their mouths were shiny with spit and skin, drops of blood dripping down and caught, suspended in the air. The earth around them was stained dark with blood and viscera, and the bull, or what was left of it, was collapsed on the ground, whole chunks of flesh, bone, and organ missing.
Teddy clutched at his wand, breathed out, breathed in, pulse racing with some deep-seated, instinctive terror.
The women kept his gaze, unmoving, bloody, severe. But, Teddy swallowed heavily, perhaps not bloodthirsty. If anything the women looked almost — trapped, frozen still under his eyes, expressions carved with as much impatience as hunger. Their irises, barely visible in the dim light, appeared a deep, eclipsing purple, blending nearly seamlessly into dark pupils.
Still unsettled, Teddy began to drag his face away from the portrait, almost struggling, eyes still snared over the women. Sweat began to bead along Teddy’s forehead as pressure built behind his skin — still staring at the women, he could almost imagine one of their mouths opening, revealing endless, sharp teeth, and —
Lazy footsteps echoed slowly down the tower, and Teddy still couldn’t wrench his gaze from the portrait, from the thorns and ivy that cage it in, could barely even feel his wand in his hand.
The footsteps drew closer, louder, uneven and off-beat. Terror spun wildly in Teddy’s chest, bouncing along ribs and off of lungs as he struggled to breathe deeply.
In the portrait, the bull shattered the frozen landscape, drawing one rough, labored breath thick with blood before falling still. Strength and magic rushed into Teddy’s hand, his fingers, his wand, as he whipped toward the stairs, toward the stranger making their way down the tower, wand aimed at chest-height just for Dean Thomas to jump around the corner and smack directly into it.
“Oy,” Dean said, hands flying up, “put that away, will you, Teddy? God, you scared the life out of me, breathing so loud and just lurking in the stairwell.”
Teddy closed his eyes tightly, breathing deeply, desperately, centering himself as he lowered his wand.
“Dean,” he growled, rubbing at his forehead, “out of all the people to be wandering out of Ravenclaw Tower past midnight, how did it end up being you?”
Dean looked particularly offended, as if Gryffindors often traipsed around the Ravenclaw Common Room in the early hours of the morning.
“I’ll have you know my motivation was purely academic! Parvati mentioned that Padma was aces at non-verbal charms, so I pestered her until she agreed to help tutor me.”
Dean looked almost sheepish at this, and Teddy had to suppress a smile. Ever since Professor Riddle had thoroughly shamed Potter and Malfoy in Defence over their subpar non-verbal enchantment skills, Dean had frantically been attempting to, ahem, apply himself more intentionally.
“Little late for academics though, isn’t it?” Teddy asked, folding his arms over his chest.
Dean had the decent to look somewhat abashed.
“Okay, and I might’ve gotten trapped in your stupid Ravenclaw Library again — but this time was so not my fault! Michael tricked me, and–”
Teddy couldn't hold back his grin any longer, and Dean huffed, rolling his eyes before giving Teddy a shrewd look.
“Besides,” he said, looking very proud of himself, “it’s a little late for you too. Pot, meet kettle.”
Teddy’s cheeks flushed, particularly because he did not want to explain how he ended up in detention with Professor Evans of all people. Dean had been becoming more and more openly teasing lately, which Teddy secretly liked right up until he didn’t.
“Anyway,” Dean continued, looking Teddy up and down curiously, “what exactly were you doing on the stairs? It didn’t sound like you were walking when I found you.”
Teddy opened his mouth to answer before shutting it with a click of his jaw.
He had been . . . He was just . . . There was — water? Red water? Each thought was almost slippery, scuttling away from Teddy just as he drew close.
He looked down at the wand in his hand. Why had he needed it out? What had he been—?
Pain bloomed behind his Teddy’s eyes, hand reflexively coming up to his forehead.
“Teddy?”
Dean’s voice was much closer, almost coming from above.
Teddy looked up, eyes meeting Dean’s as the Gryffindor hovered worriedly. He’d grown taller and certainly had more than a handful of centimeters on Teddy now. His presence was the same as always though — steady, confident, and warm.
“You know,” Teddy said slowly, almost trying out the words to see if they really fit. “I can’t quite remember. I was . . .” He trailed off blankly, pressure suddenly deafening at his temples.
“Teddy,” Dean almost whispered, leaning in even closer and lifting a hand before thinking better of it, “you’re bleeding.”
“Oh.” Teddy felt as if the entire universe had shifted slightly off-balance — every speck of matter perhaps a little to the left of where it ought to have been. He could feel the warmth of Dean’s breath and almost smell him, they were so close.
“I-I think I should go to bed,” Teddy said slowly, as warm blood dripped from his nose.
Dean looked suspicious. He was becoming far too discerning as far as Teddy was concerned, but there really wasn’t much to be done in the early hours of the morning besides sleep.
“Well,” Dean began, doubtful, “let me know in the morning how you feel, then.”
Teddy nodded in what he hoped was an earnest manner as Dean slowly started moving down the stairs toward the main castle. Dean briefly clasped Teddy’s shoulder as he drew level with him, eyes burning into Teddy’s as if waiting for him to say more.
Teddy’s mind felt flat, all his thoughts pressed out and hidden by a great weight. Dean looked almost disappointed, before squeezing Teddy’s shoulder once and loping off down the stairs without a backwards glance.
Teddy’s gaze followed Dean’s back as he disappeared into the darkness, before catching on a bare patch of wall. A single ivy leaf lay on the floor beneath, completely inexplicable. Teddy heaved a sigh before resuming his climb to Ravenclaw Tower, hoping desperately that the riddle would be quick and simple. Had he stayed a moment longer, Teddy would have seen the veins on the ivy leaf bulge, redden, and begin to bleed, spreading a small, thin drip of blood down the tower’s stairs.