Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her paws patted against the rock, all quiet.

She stopped atop a half-wall and observed the house, tail swishing back and forth. The wind billowed as she waited. Minerva wished she could be happier at the moment, like everyone, but the tragedy was too great.

Silly fools were so ecstatic they forgot themselves; the entire day she spent watching these muggles and the occasional bumbling idiot wizard who stumbled across the area drunk on either happiness or liquor.

Her ear twitched when a light went out and she turned. Then another followed, then another, and on and on they went…

Albus… Minerva jumped off the wall as he approached, and shifted back, once again eye to eye with the elder.

“Are the rumours all true after all…? Albus? Did the boy–” She walked with him.

“Yes,” Albus said. “It’s happened exactly as you’ve heard.” He stopped in front of the house. “Hagrid is bringing him to us as we speak.”

Minerva wrung her hands, feeling anxious. “And are you sure it’s wise to trust Hagrid? I certainly trust him on most things, Albus, but a baby…”

Just as she said as much, the roaring of a motorbike sounded, and Minerva tried not to cringe at the noise, quickly casting a Silencio before hiding her wand just as quickly.

It stopped with a muffled screech; she knew that bike, actually… “Is that Black’s?” She wondered.

The motor quieted down and Hagrid stepped off, picking up a bundle from the attached passenger seat; he brought it over to them. “See, Black gave it to me when he bumped by the Potter’s…” Hagrid sniffed.

Albus took the child in his arms and Minerva leaned in to see. “Oh, this poor child…”

“Any problems on the way, Hagrid?” Albus asked.

“No, sir.” Hagrid wiped his face with his sleeve. “Little tyke fell asleep on the way, just over Bristol…”

“I see, thank you, Hagrid.” Albus turned towards the house.

Minerva followed, frowning. “Albus, wait. Are you sure we should leave the boy here? I’ve been watching this house all day, these muggles are just the worst sort imaginable…!”

Albus stopped. “They’re the only family he has. It is necessary…” He looked somewhere behind Minerva. “For his protection.”

“Is that so?”

Minerva nearly jumped out of her skin and turned to the new voice; Hagrid did as well.

A man sitting atop the wall, legs crossed, casual posture. Not just any man. Minerva stepped back. “Arthur… Kirkland…?” What in the world was such an entity doing here…?!

“Good evening, Arthur.” Albus greeted a little too calmly. Even Hagrid fidgeted with uncertainty. “To what do we owe the honour of your presence tonight?”

“Curiosity.” Kirkland said, raising an eyebrow at the baby boy. “I hear an infant took care of the problem.” There was a slight laugh to his words. There was no reason to think such a creature would turn hostile, and yet Minerva still felt the tremors of anxiety at the prospect.

“It was quite the miracle if I do say so myself.” Albus said. Amicable.

“Yes, I’m very glad you managed to take care of the pest by yourselves. I was getting tired of the noise…”

You was used so generally. That affable tone didn’t make it any less derisive.

Arthur Kirkland wasn’t as friendly as Allistor, but Minerva knew it was for a reason; he was much more powerful. Allistor was more often like a summer storm, but this one was a crueler hurricane…

One that even You-Know-Who dared not provoke…

Kirkland pushed off the wall, floating closer to the boy with a puzzled expression; and Minerva was concerned right away. His magic was raw and pure, a faintly green hue like the killing curse, and it easily levitated his body as if he were underwater and weightless.

So very few wizards and witches could fly, and yet Kirkland did it effortlessly.

Albus had nerves of steel and remained in place, letting this entity inspect the child.

Finally, Kirkland let out a quiet hum, hand hovering over the scar. “What is this…?” He seemed hesitant to touch it. Minerva couldn't tell why, and it was possibly for no good reason, and yet, she's glad.

“It seems like an after-effect of the curse Voldemort attempted to inflict on this child.” Albus explained. The cursed name still left a lingering dread in the air, and Kirkland showed no reaction to it whatsoever. “It backfired and destroyed the Dark Lord himself.”

Kirkland’s eyes narrowed, then he backed away, feet back on the ground, the glow fading, making his ethereal green eyes look almost human. “Backfired. I see.” He huffed. “I understand what happened. Just like I told you, you required no intervention from me after all… Do not bother me with your human conflicts again, Albus.” Kirkland raised a finger at him.

Albus nodded. “Please forgive this old human. It was a moment of weakness…”

“Humans always act like their measly lifetime conflicts are and will be the most important things in the world, and act like I have some kind of duty to act on their behalf. Annoying.” Kirkland said with arms crossed and turned, walking a few steps before jumping off the ground and flying some feet off the ground, long coat floating. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything else at this point, so you’re forgiven, again…”

The green light glowed brighter and the magical entity known as Arthur Kirkland disapparated out of their sight in a near-noiseless flash.

Only then, did Minerva let herself breathe fully, placing her hand over her heart. Albus resumed his previous path towards the house’s door. The boy was still somehow asleep… Hagrid was stayed deathly quiet the entire time, and was now fiddling with his gloves. Minerva understood the feeling of wanting to be invisible.

Minerva approached Albus. “By Merlin, I hope this won’t be a common issue anymore…” Arthur Kirkland had always given her the shivers…

“No, hopefully it won’t.” Albus said, leaving a letter with the boy. “We never should rely on creatures of the Ley to solve human problems, no matter how powerful they actually are, or how easily they could defeat our foes. I can’t imagine Arthur was happy that we pestered him for so long, only for a child to save us instead…”

Hagrid sniffed and turned away, cleaning up tears.

“This isn’t goodbye, Hagrid…”

“I-I know, sir… I just… Lily and James…”

“I know, Hagrid…”

Minerva looked down at the little boy. “A child who will be incredibly famous, there isn’t a witch or wizard who won’t know his name…”

“Indeed.” Albus sighed and rang the doorbell. “He’s better off away from all of this… Good luck, Harry.” He turned and walked away. There was a quick swish of his wand, likely casting a warming charm over the boy on the way. “We best be going now.”

He walked with Hagrid quietly sobbing.

Minerva gave the baby one last look — left alone with no parents, left to be raised by awful people… Truly, no child deserved this.

Minerva then left as well.

Chapter Text

As soon as snow began to fall, Harry noticed a shift in the atmosphere around Hogwarts.

He figured it was just because of Christmas, which was just around the corner in a few weeks.

It was the chatter in the air, like there was something a lot of the students and teachers were waiting for, especially the Gryffindor table. Every meal in the Great Hall, they looked around a little too often, so much so that Harry couldn’t help but take notice after a while.

Just a few days of this went by, however, before Harry decided to simply ask.

“Is there an event or something we’re waiting for?” Dumbledore was carrying a fancy wrapped box that fit in his hand every meal now. He never opened it, always left it sitting next to his plate.

Now during dinner, it still sat there, plainly visible.

Ron hummed in response and swallowed his food first. “Well, Fred and George said we get some kind of visitor every winter at Hogwarts, but they didn’t tell me who it was.”

Harry tilted his head, the corner of his lip taunt. He looked at Hermione instead, and her head didn’t lift, eyes still on the book in her hands. Too focused on finding out who Nicholas Flamel was…

“We just got to wait, I guess.” Ron shrugged. “But there are rumours that…”

Just as luck would have it, there was a crack of thunder from the enchanted ceiling. The teachers paid full attention to it, and the students’ chatter grew tenfold in volume. It was enough to distract even Hermione from her book. Everyone seemed fairly excited and optimistic, so this wasn’t anything to be anxious about, right?

The lightning that flashed amongst the candles was vibrant green, enough to make Harry shiver with a gulp that he wasn’t expecting. But it glowed fast and then something fell from it and crashed loudly atop the teachers’ table.

Snape seemed to be expecting it and lifted his plate and cup with a deadpan as the table trembled.

A man stood tall and proud almost in front of Dumbledore, stretching his arms above with a smile. “Aaah, it’s great to be home!” He wore a long coat typical of wizards, although the clothes under were a mishmash of wizard and muggle clothing…

Dumbledore stood behind with a gleaming smile. “Welcome back, Allistor.” He lifted the box. “Would you accept a humble gift?”

The man grinned. “Of course!” He took the box and jumped off the table.

But he was still a strange man who appeared… Harry looked around to see many confused first years, but many older students had wide eyes sparkling with excitement and lots of smiling whispers. Even Ron, who turned to Harry. “Oh, wicked…! That’s Allistor Roy…! An actual Leyan!”

Hermione gaped, closing her book. “Holy cricket… That’s really?”

“I had no idea he ever came to Hogwarts! You think he’s staying the entire winter?”

Harry frowned. “Sorry, what’s a Leyan…?” He turned to see the man eating candy from the gift box the headmaster gave, and also grinning and chatting with him and Professor McGonagall, who was standing and seemed very excited to talk to him. She offered him a different, fancy goblet of something, which the man accepted and drank the whole drink at once.

Naturally, Hermione knew the answer. “Well, if you had at least tried to read up on Wizarding culture, you’d know, Harry.” She began. “Leyans are mythical creatures, extremely revered in magical society. They’re like holy deities.”

“He just looks like a human being, though.” Harry felt the need to point out. “Kind of…” There was definitely something a bit off and different about him. He had a wild cowlick that stood out.

He was also tall and tough-looking in a way Harry had never seen with wizards.

“Sure, they only look human, but they’re not; they’re incredibly powerful.” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “They’re called Leyans because they’re born from the Ley Lines, which magically connect to every living being on the land; that’s where they draw their power from.”

Ron nodded. “I hear you could sell a lock of their hair for a thousand galleons…! And no wonder! Can you imagine wielding a wand with a Leyan hair core?” He grinned. “You’d be near-unbeatable!”

“Not just that,” Hermione again said. “a healing potion made with their blood can heal even the worst curses. They'd cost a fortune as well.”

“Yeah, but they only give some of it to humans they really like. They rarely ever do.” Ron shrugged. "You could probably count on one hand the times they did it."

“Why not?” Harry wondered. “Sounds like it could help a lot of people…”

“They’re very self-centred magical creatures, Harry.” Hermione said with some mild impatience. “They indulge their whims and sometimes help humans, but they don’t bother much with human affairs overall. In fact, they’re more likely to curse humans who ask for too much.”

“I actually heard Leyans kill people who don’t bugger off when told to.” Ron whispered to Harry, who blanched. “But don’t worry, they’re usually friendly if you’re local to their territory. I think.”

Think?

“That’d be here in Great Britain.” Hermione capped it off. “See–”

A loud noise and tremor of the table startled everyone, and Harry leaned away in shock at the sight of vivid green eyes right in front of him.

The Leyan, Allistor, crouched on the table, tilting his head hard, looking puzzled. “So ye’re the laddie-who-lived, ey?”

“Uhm…” Harry fiddled under the intense scrutiny that made all the fine hairs stand on end. Oh, no… Now everyone was staring at them…

Mr. Allistor said nothing, bright eyes wandered to his scar, then his hand hovered closer to it, lightly brushing his hair off. Harry shivered and his eyes darted to his shocked friends and then back to Mr. Allistor. “I hear ye got rid of a pest back then…” He could see the scar clearly, eyes narrowing — the smile on his face spoke of some amusement.

"Uhm, well–" Harry's eyes darted to find help, but he only ended up landing on Malfoy, whose sneer was more prominent that ever.

Then Mr. Allistor poked his scar. “That hurt?”

“Ouch!” Harry leaned away and covered his scar. “Y-Yes, actually…!” But his scar shouldn’t hurt from a poke! What was it about the touch that made it painful? He regretted almost yelling immediately, though.

Allistor didn’t look offended and only snickered. “I see. That’s too bad~” With that, he stood and stepped off the table without another word, stealing Harry's plate of food along the way too.

Harry understood none of that interaction, yet Mr. Allistor seemed to find something funny about it. “What was that about…?” Harry muttered, rubbing his scar. It no longer hurt, but something was still uncomfortable about it.

Ron shrugged until his shoulders touched his earlobes, wide-eyed.

They watched Mr. Allistor greet several of the ghosts on his way out of the Great Hall, talking like they were old friends, and the students watched and gossiped, but no one attempted to approach.

Ron and Hermione gave Harry concerned looks, and he turned to Dumbledore. He too had an eyebrow raised for a second before his eyes twinkled as normal again. Snape looked interested in that disdainful manner of his, and Professor McGonagall looked just as concerned as Harry's friends.

Mr. Allistor would be a common sight around the castle for the entire winter. He'd never stop being weird to Harry.

Chapter Text

‘History of Magic’ class with Binns was incredibly boring, that was a fact.

Harry stopped trying to understand the constant droning after a few weeks. He’d try to occupy himself with other things, like everyone else did during this class.

Except today, he started with something new. What a nice surprise. “Today,” He began, tone still a drone, still not paying the students any mind. “I was reminded of the standard yearly class all first-year students must undergo. It’s especially important that the children retain this…”

Harry sat with his best friends. Hermione was almost jumping, with a big smile and shiny eyes, clutching her notebook. "I heard from Professor McGonagall that this would be a special class…!"

“Today you’re learning a bit of important cultural history for wizards.” Hermione had opened her notebook and was scribbling everything at once.

Ron hadn't even touched his notebook yet, but his brows shot up. "Oh. I think maybe this is about Allistor Roy, now that he's in the castle."

Harry remembered then that the Professor had indeed said during a Transfiguration class, that they'd learn more about him and his brothers. The teachers just had to nudge Professor Binns into talking about it first.

Maybe this class would be interesting for once?

“As you may know, the school was founded by four great wizards and witches, each with the patronage and favour of a Leyan; each who, to this day, are associated with each house. Allistor the Bold with Godric Gryffindor, Dylan the Eerie with Rowena Ravenclaw, Martin the Rowdy with Helga Hufflepuff, and Arthur the Clever with Salazar Slytherin.”

New information! Nothing on Goblin Wars or disconnected dates. Although Hermione was muttering "This was in Hogwarts: A History." with a self-satisfied smile.

“The then four Leyans of the British Isles are the guardians of the Ley Lines, the magical veins of the land, and every living being on top is connected to them, be it animals or plants, muggles or wizards. It’s believed they’re the original source of magic in Britain, given to a few humans by ancient Celtic Leyans of the distant past, and it’s where your magic returns to once you pass.”

It hit Harry then that he needed to actually write all of this down, it wasn't the usual distant drone of a long, distant history that didn't seem to have an ounce of connection to him or his life.

He met Allistor the Bold just a few days ago, after all. Professor Binns continued on, floating back and forth.

Hogwarts was at the centre where all these Ley nodes intertwined. From time to time, these Leyans appeared around the castle; one, in particular, had the habit of living at Hogwarts throughout the winter. This brief class was to teach young pupils about basic conduct when in their presence.

Well. Beyond basic conduct, Harry wished he could understand what Mr. Allistor Roy found so funny about his scar…

But that was probably something he'd only know when he asked the Leyan personally. Maybe learning about them would help him understand how to approach that issue without getting himself killed.

Leyans were magical creatures of great power; they may appear human, but they are not, and every wizard and witch ought to show proper respect.

They do as their wish when they wish to.

They do not tolerate disrespect, insults, pranks, or 'bumbling, insistent behaviour' as Professor Binns explained, and they have no qualms with taking someone's life or cursing a wizard or witch for being a bit of a nuisance, even if they were children.

The school apparently had a policy of taking no responsibility for the Leyans' actions, beyond teaching the students to behave, and so, even at their age, they were very much responsible for their own safety when it came to this.

A cold chill befell many of the first years in the class. It was awkwardly silent throughout the lecture. Not that Professor Binns seemed to take notice.

As the current British Leyans were present amongst wizards since the late Celtic period (or, since the late Romans, according to Hermione), they've become known faces in the British wizarding world, whereas the culture was firmly centred around the Hogwarts houses and their magic patrons.

And it was no wonder the Slytherin Leyan was the Darkest of them, Ron had commented under his breath. "You hear a lot about the types of curses he's inflicted on people. Just the worst things imaginable…"

It was even rumoured that Arthur the Devious had tricked many a wizard into the Dark Arts in the past… Maybe even You-Know-Who.

“Now, you are to write down the rules and codes of conduct, and I expect you to study and follow these rules, as it’s prudent. These are to show proper respect to either Allistor or any other Leyan who visits the castle in the future.” Professor Binns spoke of the Leyan on a first-name basis; he likely knew him personally when alive, to be honest…

Although Mr. Roy visited reliably every winter, the others could also occasionally visit during other seasons.

Mr. Dylan Vaughn tended to visit during Spring every other year or so. He spent most of his time in the Forbidden Forest whenever he did.

Mr. Martin O’Connell would visit during Summer when no students were around. Whenever he did, he spent a lot of time taking food from the kitchens and meandering outdoors whenever there was sunlight.

And Mr. Arthur Kirkland, well… He visited alright. Just not on any predictable schedule, and never really stayed long enough for students to notice.

There was apparently a fifth Leyan born in Northern Ireland a few centuries after the other four. But that Leyan wasn't as involved in Hogwarts' history, and thus wasn't as known as the main four.

The Professor proceeded to list what kind of gifts were acceptable, how to refer and talk to a Leyan without causing offense, what they could ask for — never ever demand — and how much patience each of them had.

They were all different, the wizarding world was well acquainted with each one, and it seemed that Mr. Roy was the friendliest to children and the most willing to tolerate their mistakes, which was why he visited so often…

Professor Binns was particularly attentive to Arthur Kirkland however; the most impatient and dangerous one. Even if they weren't likely to meet him, it was still something they needed to know.

Something told Harry that Malfoy was particularly smug about his house's Leyan being so 'barking mad', as Ron put it.

On top of everything, the ghostly professor wanted a long essay on the subject… to make sure they’d remember everything.

Another afternoon spent in the library then, and Hermione was very excited to have them there again.

She’d sit in there with a large pile of books for her essay. “There’s a reason this lesson is mandatory to all first years.” She told them, not looking up from the thick tome on the spiritual history of Wizarding Britain. “It’s to instil respect from an early age, and it’s especially important for muggleborns to know. I’m sure most kids who grew up in the wizarding world heard plenty growing up.”

Ron wasn’t particularly attentive because she was right. He already knew plenty of things about Leyans, from the occasional Daily Prophet article, to things he heard from his parents, to bedtime stories he heard as a child. He just grew up in the right environment for it.

On that last note– “Bedtime stories?”

Ron rolled his eyes amicably, pushing back on the chair, almost tipping over. “Those were mostly about how Leyans take your magic away if you’re a bad kid, or something.”

Harry paled. “Do they?” Could they even do that?

“Nah, it’s just a scary story for kids.” Ron dismissed. “You eventually learn they care way too little to bother. They’re just very, very powerful, and the Prophet keeps track of the stuff they do because people like to read about them.”

Like the landscape they fancifully changed on a whim.

Or the terrifying fights they engaged in amongst themselves.

Or the kindness they very rarely displayed.

Or the curses they sometimes cast on wizards who bothered them too much.

Or…

“There was once this wizard who tried to steal blood from one in Spain. The Prophet had it front page, and I remember they said it couldn’t describe much of the bloke's remains because it was too… grisly for newspaper.” Ron grimaced.

They’re bloody terrifying when aggrieved, was what Harry learned. Maybe he shouldn't bother Mr. Roy at all. As curious as he was, it wasn't worth the risk.

Well, at least, the history class wasn't all that boring for once.

Chapter Text

They’d never find who Nicholas Flamel was, would they?

It’s been two weeks and no matter how many books they inspected, there was still no sign of the name. The hunt for information was getting tiring, even as they spent the little bit of free time they had before Christmas on research.

“You’ll keep looking while I’m gone, right?” Hermione was asking on their way out of the library after another failed search.

“Sure, of course.” Ron said but glanced at Harry with a suspicious look.

…He did not want to spend the holidays holed up in the library.

On their way through the courtyard, once green, now inundated by snow, it was now just a little different.

The fountain was frozen with artistic crystal-like icicles as if someone had sculpted the water flow by hand, and the snow on the grass was thin and easy to walk through.

There was a spacious bubble of cosy warmness around the fountain, and yet, the snow and ice retained a pleasant chill, not melting at all.

Atop the fountain, sitting back comfortably on an ice chair, was none other than Mr. Roy, reading an old book with yellow, crinkly pages.

Because Allistor Roy did indeed have the habit of lounging on random spots in the castle, and the students generally just made space.

Despite the approaching evening, there were small dots of warm light illuminating the pages from above, and he could read with no strain.

Harry and his friends hunched down a bit as they speed-walked through, not wanting to bother him.

But Hermione stopped. “…I wonder if he knows…”

“Are you mad? Let’s go already.” Ron urged with a hushed voice.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, we just have to be respectful.” Hermione tried.

“Uh, it could hurt, actually.” Ron gave her an incredulous look. “I’d rather spend another whole day in the library. This isn’t worth it.”

“Isn’t it?”

While they argued, Harry was uncertain. He did see Hermione’s point, it wasn’t as if the Leyan was even that prone to violence, he hadn’t hurt a single student this year.

Had he in the past? Harry didn’t actually know that one…

The book closed with a loud thud and the lights went out, shutting them up in an instant. Ron whimpered, sounding like a meek mouse.

Mr. Roy turned on his seat and snapped his fingers, lighting the fires around the courtyard again. He didn’t look angry, thankfully. “There a reason ye’re blathering over there? I can hear every bloody word.” Mr. Roy crossed his legs.

“We’re sorry!” Ron squeaked.

“Uhm,” Hermione clasped her hands, bowing slightly. “I’m sorry to bother, we were just wondering–”

“We…?!” Ron rasped.

“if you could possibly answer one question…” Her voice faded.

Well, she’s done it… Harry smiled but it was only out of fear, to be honest. Still, at most, Mr. Roy would shoo them away, probably…

Ron was thinking of worse scenarios, it seemed.

“A question?” Mr. Roy nudged his chin, humming in thought. “Depends.” Then he shrugged with a mild smile. “Ask away.”

That eased the tension and Hermione perked up with a smile of her own. “Do you know who Nicholas Flamel is?” She took one half-step forth.

The ease faded as Mr. Roy’s face closed off. “Nicholas?” The courtyard did feel colder suddenly. “Why?” He banished his book.

Oh. One rule that was strident in class about Leyans came to mind immediately.

Don’t lie. They can tell.

Hermione hesitated. “W-Well,” She looked back at Ron and Harry for help.

And Ron, pale-faded, looked at Harry for help.

Harry hesitated, but stepped forward to stand next to Hermione. “Well, see, we’re trying to find out what’s hidden in the school; we think it’s related to whoever Flamel is.” If lying wasn’t an option, then they might as well be honest, right?

Mr. Roy looked at each of them, raising an eyebrow, but then his eyes stayed on Harry for a few more seconds.

Harry gulped and tried to not look away. It was hard not to, his stare was pretty intense…

“There a reason I should tell ye?” Mr. Roy asked.

Was there? They glanced around each other. “Uhm,” Harry began. “We think someone might be trying to steal it…?”

Mr. Roy hummed, the corner of his mouth taut, he didn’t seem interested. “Nah. Not my problem.” He stood and jumped off the fountain, chair melting to nothing.

“D-Do you play chess?!” Ron suddenly squawked.

Harry and Hermione turned to him in shock, and Ron looked just as shocked.

Mr. Roy stopped mid-air. Then turned with a wide, roguish smile that was absolutely terrifying. “That an offer to play for my answer?”

Ron stared at him like a scared owl. “…Are you… going to curse me if I lose?”

“Of course not~” Mr. Roy waved. “That’d be cruel. If I win, ye get nothing. If ye win, I answer yer one question.” He raised a finger with a smirk.

“And I don’t get cursed?”

“Ye don’t.”

“Uhm,” Ron glanced at his friends. “O-Okay, chess with a Leyan… S-Sure.”

Mr. Roy grinned and fell back atop the fountain, with his palm pressed against it. Green, electric arcs of magic sparked, and right from beneath them, a chess board sprang, pieces made out of dark and clear ice.

A giant board that covered this half of the courtyard! They all gaped at the sight. He just sprang this out of nothing, no wand or incantation whatsoever.  

Mr. Roy grinned like a kid atop the fountain, hands on his waist. “It works exactly like normal wizard’s chess.”

Ron paled even more somehow and gulped, looking around.

Mr. Roy stood there and crossed his arms, leaning back with a boisterous laugh. “Off ye go! Stand behind there and let’s start!”

Ron ran back with a squeak, nearly tripping, and Harry exchanged a look with a frazzled Hermione before following in a hurry.

“Come on, lad! Don’t disappoint me now!” Mr. Roy shouted, pointing at the board with a grin. “PAWN TO E4!”

The piece moved exactly like on Ron’s small chess board.

Ron gulped again and looked at the board with a shuddering breath, then his brows furrowed and he climbed the courtyard’s stone railing under the arches to see the board better. “P-Pawn to E5!” He pointed at his pawn.

It did move, and it seemed to give Ron some confidence. Chess was something he was so good at, even against a Leyan, he could do this. Harry stood in the corridor behind him.  "You can do this, Ron!”

Hermione still looked wildly befuddled that things turned out like this, but she stuttered in agreement. “R-Right! You always beat everyone, so you can do it!”

Ron nodded with a wobbly smile.

Mr. Roy snickered from the other side. “Confident, ey? Knight to F3!”

“Knight to C6!”

“Bishop to C4!”

The courtyard had been relatively deserted, but every single rare student who passed by must have heard the commotion and seen the extra lights, and each one stopped to gape at the sight from the corridors.

Ron swallowed, noting the audience, but focused on the board. “Knight to F6!”

Mr. Roy didn’t even stop to think. “Pawn to D4!” His voice echoed across the entire courtyard, still grinning like he was just having a great time.

“Pawn to D4!” Ron shouted back, and his pawn moved, swinging its sabres and knocking the pawn in its way.

Ron looked wide-eyed at Mr. Roy, but the Leyan seemed none too bothered about his lost pawn, still smiling and vanishing the pieces. “Castles!” He called and his king and castle pieces switched places.

Harry tilted his head. “Huh?”

Ron paid him no mind, looking thoughtful. “…Bishop to E7!”

“Knight to E4!” Mr. Roy’s knight decimated Ron’s pawn in the way just as quickly.

Ron frowned at the move, hesitated, then called, “Knight to E4!” It attacked and took the other knight’s place.

Again, Mr. Roy grinned, as if expecting this. “Queen to D4!” Mr. Roy called louder than before. The queen slid forward with grace and stabbed the knight through.

Again Ron frowned, brow twitching. “…Pawn to D6!”

“Pawn to F4!”

Ron paused, looking less confident. “P-Pawn to B6!”

Again, Mr. Roy didn’t hesitate. “Pawn to E5!” He seemed so utterly in control, it was making Ron anxious.

“…Pawn to D5!”

“Bishop to B5!” Mr. Roy crossed his arms, only looking down at the board with one eye.

Ron thinks for several seconds, eyes narrowing at the board. “Bishop to… D7!”

“Pawn to F6!” Mr. Roy grinned, his pawn taking Ron’s knight, sabres breaking it to pieces.

“Bishop to C5!” Ron seemed to briefly regain some sureness. His bishop stood rather vulnerably next to the queen, as if certain Mr. Roy wouldn’t take it.

Mr. Roy stared at Ron coolly. “Castle to E1. Check.” It had an arrow path to Ron’s king.

“King to F8!” Ron moved his king out of harm’s way, naturally.

“Pawn to G7.” Mr. Roy called with a self-assured smirk, hands in his pockets. “Check.”

“K-King to G8!” Once again, Ron moved it out of the way, looking back and forth at the board.

Mr. Roy shrugged, hands raised. “Pawn to H8!" It tore appart Ron's castle in the corner and promptly took its spot. "Promote to Queen!” Mr. Roy waved a hand, and the piece morphed into a new queen piece right next to Ron’s king.

Ron flinched and opened his mouth to call a move, but stopped, hesitating. He looked at the board for several seconds.

Mr. Roy crouched atop the fountain, arms resting on his knees. “Check-Mate.” He smiled.

Harry couldn’t quite tell how from his spot, but Ron’s shoulders fell. “Wow…”

Mr. Roy jumped onto the board. “Can’t move the king here, my queen will get ye. Can't move it here, yer pawn's in the way. And can’t move the king there, my other queen will get ye.” He stood with hands on his waist, observing the final state of the game. Then he turned to approach Ron. “Good game anyhow. Smart wee lad, are ye?”

Ron went completely red at the compliment. “U-Uhm! Thank you! You’re amazing at this!” 

“Hm, I should be, I've been playing for centuries. That said, ye lost, so ye get nothing.” He snapped his fingers and the board and everything fell apart, back to snow.

“That’s okay…” Ron exhaled in relief. “Thank you, uhm, for giving us a chance.”

Mr. Roy laughed. “Yeah, yeah. It was just fun, lucky for ye…” He poked Ron on the forehead, startling him badly, then turned and walked away, crouching and jumping, shooting towards the sky like a green shooting star.

Ron sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, guys.”

“Are you kidding me? That was amazing, Ron!” Hermione said, then turned to watch the sky.

Ron stuttered a laugh, still as red as his hair. Only then Harry noticed the audience they had gathered. One being… Professor McGonagall, who watched Mr. Roy leave and was now approaching the three of them with a severe, righteous fury.

Oh, dear… Not only the entire school would hear about this, but they were also about to lose a bunch of points.

Brilliant…

Chapter Text

“A pity they let the old punishments die.” Filch was grumbling as he led the four of them out of the castle and towards Hagrid’s hut.

Harry ignored Draco’s constant glare.

They reached the hut to find Hagrid sitting by the fire, sniffling. Harry could see his eyes glimmer with tears and sympathy stung his heart.

Filch was scowling. “You’re still on about that bloody thing, aren’t you?” He spat.

Hagrid looked away and stood, but glanced at Harry and his friends. “Norbert’s gone…”

“Gone?!” Hermione asked.

Hagrid nodded. “Just gone, disappeared from the nest I made fer ‘im…”

Filch visibly rolled his eyes. “Bloody wonderful… You’ve let out another pest in this school…” He walked away, still grumbling under his breath.

“Norbert’s not a pest!” Hagrid cried. “He’s a baby! He’s lost out there, what if he’s cold an’ lonely?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, pull yourself together, mate.” Filch snapped. “You’re going into the Forbidden Forest. Got to have your wits about you…” He left them with an ominous, nasty snicker.

It turned out that would be their detention. Going into the Forest. For some bloody reason.

Although, Hagrid said it wasn’t so dangerous with a guide. “Ye just have to know where ye’re goin’, see?” So, Harry would trust him…

Malfoy strayed back, sneering nonstop. “I can’t believe this.” He hissed. “This is servant stuff. My father will hear about this, just you wait.”

Harry slowed down to give him a look of annoyance. “Will you quit it?”

“Shut it, Potter.”

“This is your fault to begin with…” Harry grumbled and resumed walking.

“My fault? You were the ones out at night–”

“So were you.”

“I saw you running off after the feast, I figured it was responsible to check and report you.” Malfoy sniffed with a shrug, his nose high in the air; Harry’s words rolled right off, no effect.

Like water off a bloody duck’s back.

“You’re insufferable…” Harry muttered. “How is it responsible to go out on your own at night?”

“Oh, please, like anything will happen to anyone at night, this is Hogwarts, the most well-warded place in Great Britain. The castle is safe and the rules are nonsensical.” Malfoy said with a snobbish tone. “Not out here, though.”

“Hagrid said we’re fine with a guide.” Harry rolled his eyes and looked at– He stopped. “Hagrid?”

Malfoy stopped as well, swinging the light from side to side. “Oh, bloody hell, that lout lost us!”

A canine whine made Harry turn. “At least we have Fang…”

Malfoy huffed. “Let’s just go back. This detention is downright idiotic.” He spat the word.

With no other choice, Harry followed with a sigh. He should have kept an eye on Hagrid instead of focusing on Malfoy’s stupid words…

They walked, and walked. And walked. “Where the bloody hell are we…?!” Malfoy almost shouted, spinning to see the entire area. “I swear, when my father hears about this…!”

Harry saw something white as they walked down a path and turned to it. There, in the dark clearing with no colour beyond the browns of dirt and bark… He gaped, freezing in place.

A downed unicorn… And… and…

Malfoy froze only for a moment, eyes wide in shock, before the cloaked figure looked at them, mouth dripping with unicorn blood—Malfoy screamed from the top of his lungs and turned to run–

Only for something big and heavy to fall right behind them—the ground shook and a roar nearly deafened them; Harry covered his ears and turned to see a gigantic creature in the dark; he could only see wings spreading clearly.

Malfoy tripped away from it too, still screeching as Fang whined nonstop and hid behind him. But the beast didn't attack them, or even look at them. Harry turned to the cloaked figure, seeing it fleeing.

The beast made to follow, but a loud whistle made it freeze. 

Another cloaked figure walked from behind the giant winged thing, towards them; Harry stepped back, breath stuttering. But the figure only walked past him.

Malfoy whimpered, his lower lip trembling, eyes following.

The figure knelt by the unicorn and patted it. They heard a sigh. “…Humans are such foul creatures sometimes…” The large beast’s growl drummed like a car engine.

The new cloaked stranger stood, pulling the hood off and revealing blond, soft hair. “…I have half a mind to chase whoever did this…”

Malfoy sucked in air in shock. “D-Dylan the Eerie…” He whispered, then exhaled in what sounded like relief.

Harry turned to him, surprised.

The Leyan turned to them, both tensing under the gaze. His face was much softer than Mr. Roy’s, yet the eyes were the same green that made Harry anxious on sight. Said eyes seemed to glaze over them, uninterested. “Come here, Gwen.” He called, and the creature jumped past them.

It trotted to its master and leaned down so he could pet its snout.

“Uhm,” Harry raised a hand. “T-Thanks, for saving us and all…”

Malfoy exhaled heavily, giving Harry a look of annoyance. "Why are you wasting your breath, you moron?" He muttered, still not standing as he took deep breaths. “A bloody dragon…” 

Oh, of course! That's what it was. It didn't quite look like Norbert, must be a different breed.

“Allistor is so fond of unicorns… I ought to bury it…” The Leyan paid them no mind. They might as well not be there, as he seemed to be talking to his dragon, Gwen.

Maybe he was called the Eerie for a reason, if he was raising dragons and meandering the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night. Even in the dark, there was a faint glow to him that was uncanny, it almost made him look ghostly, if not simply very visible.

Malfoy stood and tip-toed away, eyeing the Leyan with caution. He gave Harry a sneer that seemed to ask ‘what the bloody hell are you doing, standing there?! Let's go!’

Harry followed the Slytherin, shooting uncertain glances at the Leyan who stood and raised his hands. The green energy was much like Mr. Roy. The ground cracked open, things that moved glowed, and something solid and white formed. It looked like a tomb…

The poor unicorn levitated and was placed in the hole that opened. Gwen sat on her(?) rear like an obedient pet, watching her(?) master work.

Harry heard steps and turned to see Hagrid rushing to them. “There ye are!” He shouted, huffing. Hermione and Ron were right behind him, puffing slightly. “Wha–” That’s when they noted the situation.

Mr. Dylan had finished burying the unicorn and stood before the tomb with his hands clasped, as if praying.

“Ye kids stay right ther'…” Hagrid told them, and then approached the Leyan, no hesitation. He stood a respectful step behind him.

“Hello, Rubeus…” Mr. Dylan remained still. “…This is why I detest humans… It’s such an innocent creature, how could one slay it like this…?” His voice shook with grief.

“We’ll find who did it, Dylan…” Hagrid said quietly. “Not all humans're bad, remember?”

A soft scoff. “Right…”

“That a beautiful Welsh Green ye have ‘ere.” Hagrid turned to Gwen, who tilted her head, trilling in her throat.

“Thank you… She’s my favorite…”

“I had… I had a Norwegian Ridgeback, just born…” Hagrid sniffed, and promptly started to cry again. "Sorry to say I lost 'im…"

Mr. Dylan turned to him. “Oh… You mean this little guy?” He reached inside his cloak and pulled out Norbert, asleep and curled up on his arm, tail wrapped around.

Hagrid gasped. “Norbert!”

“That’s his name…? Sorry…” Mr. Dylan smiled softly, tapping Norbert. “I saw him in a hut and… couldn’t resist… He’s so cute.” Norbert woke up and yawned with a caw that definitely sounded graver than last time Harry heard it. They sure grew fast…

“Ooh…” Hagrid seemed to shrink somehow, moping. “It’s okay, Dumbledore wouldn’ let me keep ‘im anyway… I’m sure ye’ll raise little Norbert right…”

Mr. Dylan placed the dragon on his shoulder, letting it crawl there and wrap around his shoulders like a scarf. “You don’t have to worry… My other dragons liked him.”

“Oh? That’s so wonderful to hear…! I was so worried about sendin’ ‘im to a colony somewhere; I kept thinkin', what if he didn’t like it there, and what if the other dragons bullied him…?!”

Mr. Dylan giggled. “He’ll be fine with me, Rubeus.”

When he turned with Hagrid, he had a softer smile on his face, unlike the deadened look from before. “Here, Gwen, let me send you home.” He waved at her, and the dragoness leaned closer.

She disappeared in a brilliant flash of light, and as the light faded, Harry spotted strange shows in the forest… They looked like people for a moment, before he noted the bottom half. They looked like horses… But they disappeared pretty quickly after.

As the Leyan approached with Hagrid, Harry could see Malfoy mouthing a finally as he stood from the tree root he’d sat on. Harry's friends were watching the whole interaction curiously, though.

Mr. Dylan didn't look at them and spent the entire walk back floating next to Hagrid so they could talk eye-to-eye, chatting with him amicably about more pleasant things; he only touched the ground to pet Feng much like any person who loves dogs.

He still very much ignored everyone but Hagrid.

At least now, the mystery of the unicorns’ death was solved, at least to Harry.

He knew very well who that was now…

Chapter Text

Of all noises and magical forces in his office, the one Albus associated with the flickering of magic in the room was the least common.

When it did happen, it was generally not a good a sign.

It was a visit…

Three of them rarely had business with Albus, they seemed to abstain from human endeavours the most.

But not Arthur.

The Leyan apparated directly into his office, bypassing and ignoring all safety measures in the way, and floating menacingly before his desk, just enough to seem taller; he had his arms crossed like a peeved professor.

Arthur didn’t interfere. But he usually kept a close eye on them. He watched, patiently…

As if waiting for something.

Albus never knew what.

“To what do I owe the honour of your visit today, Arthur?” Albus greeted.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him first; his strong brows softened at the sight of Fawkes, then he approached the songbird. “I hear there’s a certain something you’ve been guarding here in this school.” Arthur said cordially, and floated up to the phoenix to pet him.

Albus could always trust Fawkes’ judgment, and he seemed to like Arthur, letting the Leyan pet him with a happy thrill.

Was it simply something natural to Leyans? Or was the phoenix truly judging Arthur’s character properly…? Could Arthur even be categorized as an individual that magic reacts to properly? Leyans were as one with the very essence of magic as Hogwarts itself.

Albus didn’t truly know their nature. No one did. “A certain something?”

“Don’t be an oaf now, Albus. You know what I meant.” Arthur warned with a glare. “The bloody stone. Where is it?”

Alright, this was a fairly dangerous situation, Albus had to be somewhat cautious. He sat still and gave the Leyan a calm look. “Ah, that you mean, I see. The stone was entrusted to me by its owner, to keep it safe.”

“Yes, that so.” Arthur snapped back to the front of his desk in an instant. “I want it.”

This was a problem… “I cannot betray Flamel’s trust and hand it to you, Arthur.”

“It doesn’t belong to him, now does it?” Arthur tilted his head. “It was Francis’ blood lent to make it. I merely wish to give it back to him. He’s been asking about it recently.” He crossed his arms.

This was a big problem… “I’m not entirely sure it’s safe at the moment.”

“On whose hands would it be safer? Yours? Truly?” Arthur smirked with derision, pointing lightly at Albus. “You’re but a human; it’d be much safer in our hands, surely.” Fawkes cawed, but it was a faint, blue sound, he didn’t want to be on Arthur’s disagreeable side. Neither did Albus.

“I still cannot give it to you. What am I to say to my old friend?” Albus appeased.

Arthur wasn’t as unreasonable as he sounded most of the time. He was just insistent, and good at making people think he’d react harshly without compliance… “Tell him you gave it back to its owner.” Arthur enunciated slowly.

“Now if I gave it to you, that wouldn’t be technically true, would it?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. Albus felt such a harsh attack against his mental shield, it was a struggle to stay still and keep his walls standing. Arthur gritted his teeth—the fires in the room went out in an instant, even the fireplace; only the faint light from the window and Leyan’s natural green glow were left—his hands hit and pressed against the desk with a bang; he looked bigger like a half-giant, towering over Albus. “Whatever you may be plotting, do you genuinely think it’s more important than what I want?” His sneer was downright condescending.

Lesser men would have cowered. “For us humans, yes.” Albus said without flinching, and again attempted to look at the deathly green eyes boring down on him. “You’ve always said you wouldn’t meddle in our problems. This is one of them.”

Arthur’s lip curled, fist raising with loud, raw magic—Albus refused to move a muscle. The Leyan stopped and took a deep breath, the magic faded. “How tenacious of you, Albus…” His size returned to normal, and the fires erupted back to life. “I hate to admit I respect it…”

“I mean nothing against you, Arthur, believe me.” And that was the truth.

Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance. “If you’ll not give it to me, that’s fine, Albus.” His tone dripped with passive-aggressive amity, he turned to the window, walking towards it with languid steps. “It’s not like I need your permission to have it.” With that, he glowed and transfigured the window into an opening, flying through and out of sight.

The window returned right after. Arthur didn't disapparate away, he was likely still in the castle, and would possibly stay until he found the stone.

Although, Albus felt confident in his defense, in the Mirror of Erised, an artifact older than Arthur himself; what a Leyan desired the most definitely wasn't something material or fleeting. The stone was but a whimsy. So, at the end of the day, he either would or wouldn't get the stone from the mirror, no matter what Albus did.

And then he turned to a mildly less stone-faced Severus who had just walked in, barely catching sight of the Leyan before he'd left.

Albus sighed and let himself relax a bit. He lifted the small pot from his desk to him with a smile. “Sherbet Lemon?”

“…No.”

When Draco walked out of his dormitory that morning, perfectly dressed and immaculate, he wasn’t expecting to bump into loitering housemates just outside.

The common room had too many students for some reason. “What is happening?” He asked.

But only got ‘shh’ sounds in return, which was rude. Blaise came out of nowhere and pulled Draco aside, towards the back of the room. He raised a hand to whisper. “Seems Sir Arthur Kirkland has deigned to take a nap in our humble common room.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “He’s here…?!” He turned back.

“Everyone wanted to see him up close, but no one wanted to wake him. Honestly, I don’t want to be here when they inevitably do…” Blaise muttered.

Still… Draco had never seen the Slytherin Leyan personally, only in books and newspapers. He walked closer, hearing Blaise hiss a swear word, finding a way around his housemates.

It’d be an amazing honour to gain the favour of such a powerful being, very few families could claim they did as much in history. Draco had no illusions that he could somehow do it… He may be a Malfoy, but also a child.

He still wanted to see. He wouldn’t be there to bother him, and he was confident the remaining Slytherins wouldn’t do anything stupid.

He ended up closer to the middle of the common room, and there, on the couch. Lain with the confident casualness of someone who lived there for years. With a book shielding his face from the light.

It was quite rare for their house’s Leyan to show up at all. It never happened for no reason, he heard. What brought this on…?

Draco looked around his classmates, trying to read their thoughts from their expressions. They looked curious and awed, even those like Nott, whose family certainly raised him to think Leyans ought to be servants and nothing beyond fancy house-elves.

Absolute heresy.

Then Sir Kirkland moved, and everyone backed off. But Sir Kirkland only lifted the well-worn ancient book from his face, banishing it away. He sighed and sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked annoyed, which wasn’t a good sign.

Maybe Draco really should have left… Instead, he just stepped back, unable to keep himself still.

But the Leyan leaned an elbow over the back of the couch, glancing at the older students. “Good, you kids are awake… Tell me, is there anything odd happening in the castle this year?”

Collectively, the Slytherins paused out of confusion. Briefly, the older boys the Leyan was staring at anxiously looked around at each other.

The Leyan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Anything strange you heard? Anything related to Albus?” His tone lowered at the name, eyes narrowing.

Finally, one of the prefects spoke up. “W-Well, Dumbledore actually mentioned some nonsense about the Third Floor Corridor?”

That caught Sir Kirkland’s attention. “Third Floor?”

“He- He told all of us students to stay away from the corridor, lest we wanted to be murdered.”

“Third Floor Corridor, huh? Hmm.” Sir Kirkland’s brows dipped, then he looked away, clicking his tongue. “Albus really thinks he can hide things from me like this…?” He muttered and stood, walking past everyone without another word, passing so close to Draco that the raw magic made the fine hairs stand. He left the Slytherin common room altogether.

Draco and everyone present watched, before exchanging glances. This smelled like some bad blood between Sir Kirkland and Dumbledore.

Naturally, the Slytherins would cheer for their Leyan to win whatever conflict was raging between the two. If anyone could beat the old coot, it'd most definitely be Arthur the Clever.

Chapter Text

The exams were over, and along with them, the spring weather was letting up slowly, bringing forth the feeling of summer on the horizon.

Things were still somewhat confusing to Harry and his friends.

They found out who Flamel was, they found out what Fluffy was likely hiding, what Snape was after, and for whom.

But with Dumbledore in the castle, Hermione had said, Harry shouldn’t have anything to worry about, right…? Voldemort wouldn’t dare even come near the castle or Harry while the headmaster was around.

It gave them some space to breathe at least.

But they still checked the corridor every day, to make sure they could still hear Fluffy guarding the trapdoor on the other side.

A while went by before it started to feel like a routine check the three of them did.

It just made it all the more startling to enter the third-floor corridor one day to see someone who probably shouldn’t be there–

The blond by Fluffy’s door looked up at the sound of their steps, not turning to them. They stopped, seeing a hand on the handle, and then the stranger turned.

Ron took a step back with a whimper.

It was the same deathly green eyes, but not lively like Mr. Roy’s, or soft like Mr. Dylan’s. Only colder.

The fires that already struggled to illuminate the corridor dimmed. “My, my… What are children doing here?” The simmering yet mild annoyance in his voice led Harry to know immediately—this was the Slytherin Leyan.

 “N-Nothing…!” Ron squeaked, pulling Harry and Hermione back by the arm.

Don’t lie! The Leyan stared with narrowed, unamused eyes. “This isn’t an appropriate place for you brats to play in. Didn’t your headmaster say so?”

Arthur Kirkland. In the third floor corridor. Where the stone was hidden.

He stayed still there, not moving away from the door, still holding the handle; his eyes stood out in the darkened room, not deviating from them, not even blinking.

“R-Right, thanks, sir…” Harry muttered and stepped back too. The green eyes were boring on him so intensely, he felt the strong urge to run.

Yet he could hardly move his legs. Everyone stayed still, air tense.

Kirkland didn’t move and still watched them like a snake watched prey, not moving an inch. “Well?” Finally, the Leyan snapped. “Leave.”

Suddenly, Harry found himself running, heart loud and limbs cold—he reckoned his friends felt exactly the same, and they ran like hell out of the third floor entirely.

They didn’t stop until they were back to the relative safety of the Gryffindors’ common room.

Harry breathed hard and looked back at the door. But as everyone left for breakfast and classes, the room was quiet.

“What,” Ron began. “in the world was he doing there? He’s terrifying!” His voice wheezed. “Did you see how he was looking at us?! It’s like we’re bugs to him! Wanted to smush us under his heel, didn’t he?!” He paced, hardly calm yet.

Harry gulped. “…Do you guys think he was there for the stone…?” He looked between his friends.

Hermione frowned and sat on the sofa. “What would a Leyan need the Sorcerer’s Stone for? They’re already immortal.”

“Right, it doesn’t make any sense.” Harry paced by the fire in front of her.

Ron shook his head with an angry glower. “He’s the Slytherin Leyan, remember? He’s as dark as the rest of them. He could want it for whatever dark reason!” He waved an arm, then paled and turned to them. “M-Maybe he wants it for You-Know-Who! Maybe Snape's working with him!”

The possibility sent a chill up Harry’s spine.

Again, Hermione frowned, puzzled. “Why would a Leyan care about You-Know-Who?”

Ron looked at Harry. “Remember that rumour? That Kirkland enticed wizards into becoming dark in the past? I bet you anything it’s not just a rumour…! He’s Salazar Slytherin’s patron spirit, who’s to say he didn’t offer the same deal to You-Know-Who?”

“So… You think Kirkland, and Snape, could be trying to bring Voldemort back…?” Harry wondered, voice meek.

His friends flinched at the name. Ron hesitated. “Could be…” He sat on the other end of the sofa.

Hermione wrung her hands. “What do we do then?”

Ron scoffed. “What can we do? Kirkland could just turn us to ash the moment we tried anything, he’s stronger than all the others. Not even Dumbledore could stop him, I don’t think. If he decided to work with You-Know-Who, we're doomed.”

Harry thought it over. “I think… we should still tell Dumbledore anyway.”

“You want to go out there again?!” Ron gave him a wild look. “No thank you!”

“If what you said is true, that means Kirkland is stealing the stone right now! We need to tell Dumbledore.”

His friends exchanged glances, but they knew Harry was right.

Ron sighed. “Alright… But if Kirkland is out there and I die, I’ll haunt you guys forever.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You speak as if we wouldn’t be dead with you in that scenario…”

“He won't be, he's probably down wherever the stone is hidden,” Harry said. “We’re just going to run to Dumbledore's office.”

They all agreed, so they followed Harry as he ran out of the tower.

…

That went well…

Harry woke up slowly. He couldn’t tell how long it’s been, it wasn’t like sleep at all… But he was on an infirmary bed. The lights from the window told him the afternoon was well underway, nearing evening hours.

Harry still… had no idea what actually happened down there.

Quirrel's crumbling form lingered in his mind. It was haunting.

“My, my.” Last Harry heard this voice, it was cold; now it had some amusement. He turned his head to see Kirkland holding the stone, admiring its glimmer. “What a wretched soul, wasn't he?” He scoffed, tossing the stone up and down.

“You…” Harry muttered, uncertain, fearful. He hadn't seen Kirkland at all near Quirrel down there.

“Although, I have to say, Albus is a very clever brat. That mirror is quite the tricky little thing.” The Leyan smirked before pocketing the stone inside his robe. “I can’t help but respect it.”

“You’re not with… Voldemort?”

“Me? With that miserable wraith?” Kirkland’s sneering disdain outclassed Malfoy’s unconditionally. “Please. I was there for my own reasons.”

“But the stone–”

“Isn’t for humans to keep. Not anymore.” Kirkland leaned closer, looming over Harry just for that last word. “It was made with the blood of a…” Kirkland seemed to stop to think, lip curling as if the image of a particularly foul slug had appeared in his mind. “an acquaintance… and I’m merely giving it back to him. To repay a favour…” Kirkland added at the end. “No human will touch this stone again, I can tell you that.” He huffed with a thin-lipped grin and walked past Harry's bed.

“B-But wait–” Harry still couldn’t believe it–

The doors opened wide, revealing Dumbledore, looking calm as a breeze. "Ah, Arthur, so kind of you to pay a visit." He gave a subtle nod to Harry as he walked in as well.

Kirkland crossed his arms. "Don't expect me to hand it over, Albus. Don't even ask."

Dumbledore let out a rather theatrical sigh, raising his hands in reluctant amity. "It goes to show I shouldn't underestimate you, Arthur."

"Bloody right you shouldn't." Kirkland hissed and walked past the headmaster, lifting a finger. "And don't you get cocky, you brat. I could have broken your little spell, but that risked breaking the mirror as well. Luckily for you, I'd rather not. But don't go trying this nonsense again." He left before the headmaster could properly answer.

"I suppose that's only natural." Dumbledore nodded. "Say hello to Francis for me, please?"

"I will not!" Kirkland shouted from the hall.

Dumbledore's brows wiggled in amusement as he approached Harry's bed again. "He's most definitely not a gentle soul, but he does have a few soft edges. Still, throwing ancient magical artifacts to stop him probably won't work again…"

Harry gripped his sheets. "I thought he was going to steal the stone for Voldemort…" He felt a bit embarrassed then.

The headmaster brushed his beard. "Ah, Ronald Weasley's idea, I presume? I understand how Slytherins are perceived, it's expected that their patron Leyan has the same reputation. But if there's one thing I trust in Arthur, is his commitment to neutrality on human matters. He and all the Leyans who visit this castle are neither friends nor foes. You can trust them to remain that way, Harry."

"I see…" Harry nodded. "I should apologize…"

Dumbledore waved it off. "No need, Arthur doesn't care much for that sort of formality." He approached the table where all the sweets were stacked. "But, I assume you have more questions, concerning what happened down there. Concerning Quirrel."

Harry did.

The answers given, overall, would leave him more optimistic and content than when he arrived. Despite everything, this school was his everything now.

And Harry couldn't wait for next year.

Chapter Text

The car lurched once again, sputtering like a coughing animal.

Harry glanced at Ron again. They'd been ignoring the steady decline of the flying car's strength since daylight still shone, hoping the car lasted until they at least got to the school. They did get to the school, but were still uncomfortably far from the ground.

Another hitch, and the engine went silent.

Ron's eyes widened as they began losing altitude, before promptly screaming—prompting Harry to do the same—and attempting to wake it up, pressing pedals and knocking his wand against the steering wheel all the way.

He did his best to steer it anyway, evading the castle's towers, passing by windows, and heading inevitably to the grassy field beyond it. Any semblance of control evaded them as the car plunged straight towards a large, wicked-looking tree.

They screamed as they hit it—it cushioned their fall, such luck! Ron whined at the sight of his broken wand, and Harry took a deep breath, only to nearly choke when seeing a face. Because they'd nearly crushed someone with their flying car, and that someone, looking at them shocked and wild-eyed, half under the car and pressed against the shuddering tree.

Harry actually recognized his face from class—the Hufflepuff Leyan, whose face twisted into an ugly scowl, hand gripping and denting the hood.

Ron took one look before he screeched in terror and the tree's branches twisted and wacked the car. "HEY, HEY, QUIT THAT!” The furious Leyan shouted above the racket, weaselling from under the car and promptly kicking it off the tree with enough force for them to lurch forth with the momentum and crash against the ground.

The whiplash hurt quite a bit. The car rolled back, as if exhausted, tires almost deflating with an audible sigh.

The tree still shook, with the Leyan flying up to it. "Calm down! Please! I'll heal ye, so don't be upset!” He shouted, sounding like Seamus except way louder and shrill. Harry saw him float closer, hugging a branch as if trying to comfort a pet.

Ron’s red hair was a natural orange hue, but the Leyan’s was a true, flaming red and bright, with eyes just as green as his brother’s.

The car's door opened and the seat beneath Harry tilted, launching him out, along with Ron. Their luggage was tossed out too, Hedwig's cage crashing open unceremoniously on the ground. She flew off, screeching with indignant discontent.

Harry ran to his things, watching the car backtrack, then turn and drive off. Ron was grabbing his luggage and watching the tree; he glanced at the car, grimacing, then turned to Harry in a hurry. "Grab your things, let's go, now, now…!” He hissed. He wasn't worried about the tree, or even the car, really—he was looking up at the entity.

The car rushed away and left them with a hissing Leyan and the thrashing tree throwing a tantrum behind. Said Leyan turned to them with a scowl, hand on the tree's trunk as it finally slowed down.

Harry could have sworn he heard the growling—he backed away with his things. "U-Uhm, we're really, really sorry, sir,” He cringed at Ron's cracking voice, whispering ‘we're going to die…!’

The Leyan with flaming red hair snapped before Harry could finish another word and raised a hand. "LEAVE THE WILLOW, YE WORMS!!" His voice echoed like a horn as his magic glowed deadly green into the shape of a greater, clawed hand that would have crushed them flat had they not ran immediately.

The very ground shook like a giant had stomped behind. They ran without looking back.

“IF I SEE YE NEAR MY WILLOW AGAIN, I WILL KILL YE!” The voice echoed behind.

They kept running until they were inside the castle, breathing ragged. "What the bloody hell is he doing at Hogwarts?! Summer’s over!” Ron half-shouted, looking back and trying to peek around a corner; as if expecting to find something following them.

Harry gulped, his whole body was buzzing like he was full of angry bees. Somehow, the Hufflepuff Leyan was the most terrifying of the four.

They swore they'd avoid that bloody tree forever, and headed to the Great Hall… What a hectic return home.

Chapter Text

The air around the Great Hall was tense. 

Colin Creevey was petrified. There were students even carrying talismans, and none of the younger students walked around the school alone. Poor Ginny was having nightmares. Neville was clutching protective crystals and jumping at shadows. 

As Harry noted, the winter light shone through the window. He found himself wondering when Mr. Roy would arrive this year. He remembered his confusion last time, and how the older students showed a passive eagerness. Now a second year, Harry felt the same, but… “I wonder if Mr. Roy would do anything, about whatever’s in the Chamber…”  

Ron didn’t reply, still chewing his breakfast, and only shook his head with a resigned look in his eyes.

Hermione didn’t look up from her essay, but spoke. “Unlikely.” 

Ron’s brows shot up. “Hm, well,” He began without swallowing. “not unless the Slytherin’s Monster shows right in front of him, I reckon. Then he probably would kill it.”  

“Wouldn’t that be lucky…” Harry muttered. Then they wouldn’t have to drink the possibly-painful Polyjuice. 

Although, judging by how the year’s been so far, Harry severely doubted luck would be on their side. 

Turned out, it was so rare for Martin the Rowdy to still be at school by the time the term started, that the odds of them running into him—literally, with their car—were downright ridiculous. 

It was mad, as he’d been told that they were painfully close to dying—the Leyan could have chased them, if only he were in a crankier mood… Harry felt like Snape was actually disappointed with the outcome. 

Not to mention, everything else that's gone wrong so far.

So, at this point, it was best not to gamble. 

“Ah, winter, is it?” A jovial, too loud voice echoed in the Great Hall, and they turned to Lockhart as he sat with the rest of the teachers—trying their best not to give the man ugly looks. 

Snape looked particularly aggravated, for Lockhart was right next to him.  

Lockhart continued. “I heard a certain Allistor Roy visits the castle reliably every year around this time~! How wonderful! I have to say, in all my adventures, I’ve ran into my fair share of Leyans—truly, majestic creatures! I have had the honour of facing a few in friendly sparring, a test of skill! Very powerful, not very willing to accept defeat, however~” He laughed and grinned with a self-important posture. “Awfully proud, they are!” It was grating how haughty he was.

Harry saw Snape’s brow twitch—for once, Harry wanted him to act on his irritation—and Professor McGonagall adjusted her glassed with a scandalized look at Lockhart. “Oh, Professor Lockhart, surely you’re not claiming to have beaten a Leyan in combat?” Her tone begged him to not stick to such a ludicrous lie. 

Ron watched with an unimpressed stare, still chewing chicken. “…He’ll be dead by the end of Christmas if he keeps that up…” 

“He’s not that delusional, is he…?” Harry wondered. He may not know exactly how powerful Leyans were in reality, but he was most certain that Lockhart wasn't anywhere close to them.

Hermione’s lips pressed and curled, displeased. “Not all Leyans are as dangerous as the ones we have here…” 

Ron rolled his eyes. “So? They’re all more powerful than any human. Lockhart’s a lying twat.” 

“You don’t know if he’s lying…” She muttered, not looking up. 

Ron stared long and hard at her, then gave Harry an incredulous look. Harry shrugged. 

… 

Just like last year, Mr. Roy arrived during dinner, just as the first snow fell. 

There was a spiteful sense of anticipation, as those who detested Lockhart’s antics watched like one watches a Quidditch accident in motion, impossible to look away from.

Just like last year, Mr. Roy was welcomed warmly like a revered guest. Professor Dumbledore offered him a gift, Professor McGonagall offered a drink—the fanciest sort, an offering, Harry heard it was expensive—and they chatted amicably. But, the two leaned to whisper something, which seemed to catch the Leyan’s attention and he stopped to listen.

Harry couldn’t see his face, but could see him tilt his head, then shrug. He wondered if they were telling him about what happened this year… and if that shrug just meant Mr. Roy didn’t care enough to do anything about it… Or if they were telling him to be careful, and Mr. Roy simply didn’t think it was necessary to worry…

Whatever they talked about was interrupted by Lockhart, however. Who strutted from behind the teacher’s table and approached the Leyan far too quickly. He wasn’t bold enough to invade his personal space like he’s done to Harry, but…

Although he was babbling his usual word salad, Mr. Roy's expression turned so bland and his eyes glazed as if bored. Harry didn’t think it was possible for the strident green to ever look dull, but somehow Lockhart did it.

The Defense teacher stopped talking, maybe sensing something wrong.

Utter silence in the Great Hall as everyone held their breath. A cough sounded…

Then Mr. Roy turned to Dumbledore, "Well, have a good night.'' With that, he walked away, not another look at Lockhart.

He even patted Ron on the head once on the way, which startled him so badly he nearly spilled his pumpkin juice, staring after the Leyan in shock.

Lockhart looked momentarily confused and slighted. Then smiled with a forced arrogance. “W-Well, unsocial as they say, aren’t they?” He laughed and returned to his seat. 

Harry and Ron exchanged amused looks, while Hermione’s eyes wandered aimlessly, her thinking face.

For the next few weeks, Mr. Roy ignored Lockhart so thoroughly, he might as well not have existed at all.

Chapter Text

A dueling club.

The notice board pinned had a small crowd gathered around it, and on their way to the Great Hall, Seamus beckoned them to see.

It had a time and a place, later that night. Harry was all for it, even if it wouldn’t be strictly useful against the Slytherin’s Monster. It could at least be useful against Malfoy, which was close enough.

So at 8 o’clock, they returned to the Great Hall.

The tables were gone, replaced by a great stage, illuminated by the many floating candles above.

“Who will be teaching us tonight, I wonder?” Hermione said. “Maybe Professor Flitwick? I heard he was a dueling champion!”

“As long as it’s not–” Harry began, before his shoulders drooped at the sight of Lockhart strutting on the stage, with robes more garish than normal for wizards, which clashed rather comically with Snape’s bat-like and monochrome visage.

“Let’s hope they blast each other to pieces…” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

“I wish…” Harry’s eyes glazed and wandered as the man began talking about himself again. There, perched atop the mantel of a large fireplace on the wall, was Mr. Roy, looking oddly interested in the processions.

He watched the very brief duel between the two professors, hiding his mouth behind a hand, his eyes narrowing at how easily Snape disarmed and downed Lockhart.

Much like his chess duel with Ron last year, Harry wondered if he was merely interested in competitions like this. Was he ever around to see their Quidditch games?

Mr. Roy moved his hand, briefly revealing a widening smile that looked maybe malicious, before once again looking at anyone else, his legs crossed, foot bobbing casually.

From hearing other students who noted the Leyan’s presence, it was clear no one had any illusions of impressing him. They're just students. But nevertheless, they wanted to do their best, if only to not be pathetic, at the very least.

In particular, the Gryffindors wanted to look good. It’s only natural, this was their House’s patron Ley Guardian.

It felt strangely—magically—empowering when Harry managed to knock Malfoy off his feet for a bit with a tickling charm, and Mr. Roy gave him such an indulging smile and a patient, very quiet clap, as if only answering to Harry’s glance at him. He wasn’t impressed but he was being nice about it, and that felt… very warm.

Harry had no idea he wanted to impress or gain praise from the Leyan like this, it was energizing.

And then Harry was caught by an embarrassing dancing jinx. So much for that. It looked like Hermione wasn’t doing much better, unfortunately, wrestled to the ground by that Bulstrode girl… And Ron was sulking, left out due to a broken wand… The whole room was chaos however, students attempting to duel with no real order.

Snape stepped between them and cancelled the spells, actually berating Lockhart with a simmering tone typical of him. Harry hated to admit the Potions Teacher was right. But before any other duels could be arranged, a voice called. “I have a question.”

Almost everyone stopped and turned to Mr. Roy, who looked far too chipper and innocent.

“Ah! Yes, what is it, Mr. Roy?” Lockhart responded with a brilliant, annoying smile. “Any tricks you wish to learn?”

Harry saw Ron grimacing. Many did too…

Mr. Roy’s smile widened. “Well… Ye claimed ye could keep up with me. I came here to see that, but so far…” His words faded with a disappointed sigh.

“O-Oh!” Lockhart stuttered, but recovered surprisingly quickly. “Of course, these are children, sir! I cannot possibly– a manticore wouldn’t hunt flobberworms with its total might, would it?” He smirked at his audience, the girls in particular.

“Ah, that’s brilliant, aye? Then ye wouldn’t mind indulging me a tad?” Mr. Roy asked. “I haven’t had a worthy match against a wizard since Godric~” His thin smile widened, so terrifying it reminded Harry of Kirkland in a strange way.

He’d never seen Kirkland smile like this, and yet, he felt it’d look the same.

Ron and many others even stepped back.

Lockhart stared, utterly frozen. His eyes darted away. “Uuh… Well…” Again, Lockhart tried to escape, but Snape was miraculously on the same wavelength.

"Please, professor. You must not deny Allistor Roy his request… It'd be… most disrespectful… Don't you think?" His voice had so much malice beneath the surface, one had to assume he wanted Lockhart to die.

Honestly, did Harry want to see that…? Was that where this was leading?

“W-Well, a simple duel with, uh, normal dueling rules, I suppose wouldn’t, uh…” Lockhart fiddled with his wand, looking around, trying to smile. 

Everyone was staring, expectant. For better or for worse. 

"Great!” Mr. Roy apparated onto the stage, looking as excited as he’d been against Ron in chess last year. “It’d be an honour…” Except it wasn’t as friendly, and there was something vividly mean and nasty about his smile.

Ron hesitated and leaned closer to Harry. “I’m actually starting to think he wants to kill Lockhart…” 

Hermione only paled in response.

“I thought he was ignoring him…” Harry whispered back. 

“Guess he figured the bloke was a fraud since day one and didn’t like it. Or was just testing him until now; who knows, really…?” Ron shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time a Leyan’s done it, but I never heard of Mr. Roy doing it…” 

Even Hermione looked uncertain, looking around the crowd for any dissenting faces.

“Alright then, uh, Mr. Allistor Roy? Draw your wand!” Lockhart called, standing stiff and hesitant on the other end of the stage. 

“Hm?” Mr. Roy tilted his head. “I don’t use a wand.”  

“No?” Lockhart questioned dumbly, puzzled.

“I don’t need it. Ye should know that if ye ever fought one like me.” Mr. Roy droned, tilting his head to the other side more slowly, eyes narrowed to slits. “Also, let’s have a barrier around the stage, so the lads and lasses don’t get hurt~” He raised a hand and snapped his finger, and everyone stepped back from the faint translucent green wall between them and the stage. 

"Wow…" Ron muttered, eyeing the barrier in awe.

He’s absolutely dead… Harry could hear whispered around him. Even Snape seemed to think so, and yet he stood there, doing nothing about it. 

“Alright, mate. Throw yer best shot!” Mr. Roy didn’t bow. 

Lockhart laughed awkwardly, then bowed and readied himself, without the fluster of arrogance he’s had the entire year so far.  

“Come on, lad.” Mr. Roy urged more quietly, standing still, hands folded loosely. 

There was a tense anticipation for Lockhart to either do something or yield. Honestly, Harry thought he’d—or should—have yielded already. 

Lockhart raised his wand, muttered something, and a thin strip of light that looked like a firework shot from his wand towards the Leyan—who batted it away with his bare hand without a flinch. It hit the barrier rather weakly. Mr. Roy looked none too bothered. 

Ron leaned in. “…Something tells me this was the only offensive spell he knows…” Harry nodded faintly. 

“Okay…” Mr. Roy muttered with a smile, then his feet parted. “Me turn now…” 

“U-Uhm,” Lockhart rubbed the back of his neck, as if struggling to think of an excuse. 

But Mr. Roy gave him no time, posture changing. His magic was different from wizards in that he didn’t seem to need spells, it was like he summoned what could only be described as raw magic, green and electric, bright and heatless, it made the air itself prickly, though — they formed into small, precise spheres and he winded his arm as if about to bat them towards his opponent. “Ye better get down.”  He threw his arm forth. 

Lockhart made a sharp ‘yiiip’ sound and threw himself to the stage — the spheres turned to bolt-like beams and flew with sharp speeds straight to the other end of the stage, past the teacher and hitting the barrier behind with enough force to make everyone in the room shake with shock as the sound echoed with a loud ‘gong’. 

The barrier stood, crackling and with a faint hairline cracks blossoming, before it all smoothed over and returned to normal, crystal-like glass. 

Harry stared, wide-eyed, then turned to Ron to see if this was normal, but Ron was gaping. “Oh, wicked…!” He breathed. “Terrifying, but wicked!” He whispered with a faint grin. 

Mr. Roy seemed like this was no strain on his part, and was ready to do it again, eyes narrowing. He sure wouldn't ‘miss’ this time. 

“YIELD!” Lockhart screamed from the floor. The teacher raised both hands with a lot of panic, “I yield! Please, your holiness!”  

A lot of students laughed. Snape looked disappointed. 

Mr. Roy looked quite disappointed too. The magic faded with his sigh. “Then stop saying ye can keep up, it got me all hopeful…” 

“O-Of course! Of course! Ahaha–” Mr. Roy narrowed his eyes and Lockhart stopped laughing. "I-I apologize, very deeply so." 

The barrier faded away and Mr. Roy returned to his spot atop the fireplace mantel as chatter resumed amongst the students again. Lockhart fumbled to recover his composure, and Snape stepped up to resume the duels between the students. Harry shared a laugh with Ron. 

Everything was looking great, until Harry went and talked to that snake. 

Chapter Text

Harry hoped that after the humiliating yet very expected defeat, Lockhart would lose the fluster and pompousness.

He was wrong to be hopeful.

Instead of being even slightly humbled by it, Lockhart made a million excuses and moved on as usual. “Ah, you see, children, after all the amazing feats I’ve achieved, maybe I got a little ahead of myself with Mr. Roy!”

Even Hermione accepted that nonsense.

Ron was particularly sullen throughout that lecture. “…He’s lucky Gryffindor’s Leyan is so nice most of the time…” He mumbled over his crossed arms on the table.

Any other, and Lockhart would be dead, or maybe permanently turned into a cursed weed in the ground, as Dylan the Eerie tended to do.

This was the least of Harry’s problems, though.

After the ‘Parseltongue Incident’, no one looked Harry in the eye anymore. They avoided him, whispered behind his back. Although sometimes he heard them…

And now during study hall, he couldn’t focus.

The whispers. He felt eyes on his back and it made his skin crawl, it was unpleasant.

Harry turned, seeing eyes boring on him, quickly averting. It happened whenever he looked.

He couldn’t stand this.

Harry stood, gathering his things and giving Ron and Hermione an uncomfortable look that screamed ‘I have to leave’. They seemed to understand, and Harry sped-walked out of the room, brows furrowing in frustration.

He wasn’t sure where he was going yet—the Common Room was sure to deliver the exact same experience—and so he walked rather aimlessly.

Maybe if Harry was caught by the monster and petrified, everyone would quit accusing him. He wasn't the heir. He wasn't.

He couldn't be…

The voices were just… He didn't know what they were. But… but… He had no answer or excuse that eased his concerns. At all.

As he walked down another hall, towards the library for some reason, he passed by the main courtyard of Hogwarts. It was windy and chilly even with the fires lighting the area; the moon was very bright too.

And Mr. Roy sat atop the wall, looking pensive and morose, much like Harry had done many times from his dormitory.

Harry hesitated, then walked closer, crossing the courtyard to the other side despite the chill.

The Leyan didn’t acknowledge him, and Harry wondered if he was lost in thought, or just ignoring him.

Harry stopped close enough, frowning. Should he call? Or wait? He knew he wasn’t supposed to bother him, but…

Sigh. “What do ye want?” Mr. Roy said suddenly, turning to Harry below. His brows were furrowed, so maybe his patience was thin at the moment.

Harry fidgeted. “I… just wanted to ask a question…”

If he was denied, he'd just leave immediately.

Mr. Roy seemed to consider it, eyes wandering, before he clicked his tongue with a rather theatrical sigh and eyeroll. He made a circular motion with his hand, and Harry froze, feeling colder.

But nothing happened, it was just an unmagical gesture, so… “Did you know I was a Parseltongue?” Harry asked. He remembered when it happened. The Leyan had only looked quizzical for a single moment back then.

Mr. Roy turned sharply to him, eyes narrowing. Harry was already regretting this.

The Leyan crossed his arms and jumped off the wall, reaching the ground as if the height was nothing on his legs. "I didn't know. I just figured I shouldn't 've been surprised.” He had approached and poked Harry's scar, eliciting a biting sting on his scar, making him step back with a hiss of pain, but Mr. Roy was already walking past him. "Ye should talk to Arthur. He's a snake-whisperer too."

Arthur. The Slytherin, evil Leyan.

Mr. Roy told Harry to go talk to him, as if it were only natural he did so instead of bothering the Gryffindor one.

Dumbledore had once told him that none of the Leyans were either good or evil, friend or foe, and yet, Harry remained still, wide-eyed in place, feeling utterly horrified.

Chapter Text

“I feel like Mr. Roy doesn’t think I’m a real Gryffindor anymore…” Harry admitted in the bathroom, standing outside the stall.

Inside said stall, Hermione was methodically stirring the caldron, with Ron grimacing at the smell—he turned to Harry. “Why’s that?”

“He told me to talk to Kirkland because he’s a Parseltongue too…”

Hermione was highly absorbed in the potion, but frowned at him. Ron stepped away to stand next to him, looking alarmed. “You’ve got to be kidding me, mate.” He said. “I mean, I’m not surprised Arthur the Devious is a Parseltongue! But you have to avoid him at all costs now! Who knows what he’ll do or say to recruit you to the Dark Side…!” He leaned closer to whisper.

Harry blanched, shoulders bunching with the thought.

Avoid Kirkland…

…

Easier said than done, though.

…

Harry glared at the sheet of paper in his hand, Ron leading the way down the hall to Potions.

The sheet was given to them, about third year subjects they were supposed to pick for next year. Hermione picked all of them, saying it was important for their future. Their whole future, what a decision to put on their little shoulders…

Their future.

Harry struggled with invasive thoughts, of his Parseltongue, and what kind of connection he has to Salazar Slytherin…

He couldn’t think at all about his own future with these thoughts swirling around his head all the time.

Suddenly, he heard it, “Come now, Bel, please talk to me; I know I left you alone, but please–"

Harry blinked and stopped, looking around. “Can you hear that, Ron?” He turned to the redhead again.

Ron was pale. “Uh… I can… It sounds like…”

Harry blinked. “Parseltongue.” He whispered and jogged past Ron, looking around the corner and seeing–

Kirkland, right down there, looking up at something near the ceiling. He sighed, seemingly ignoring them. “Come now, Bel…”

Ron followed Harry, stopping and pulling Harry by the arm.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “…Who’s Bel…?” He whispered to Ron.

Ron raised an eyebrow, as if wondering why in the world Harry decided to talk now.

But Kirkland suddenly turned to them. “I’m sorry?!” He called, brows furrowed.

Ron yipped in fear, and Harry shivered.

Kirkland apparated right to them. "You're a speaker?" He asked quietly, looming tall over Harry.

“U-Uh, well, no–” He didn't want to tell him, but it seemed he unconsciously spoke Parseltongue just then, because Kirkland actually smiled.

“Oh, you are! Brilliant!" It was terrifying. “You know not how long it's been since I met another English Parseltongue speaker, the last one turned out so wrong.” He was saying, cupping his own cheek with obvious disdain in his eyes.

Ron was pulling Harry back as he spoke. "I think we best be going…”

Kirkland turned to him with a sneer. “I'm not talking to you, red thing.”

Then Harry tried backing away, pulling Ron behind him. "I'm sorry, uh, we have class,” He tried turning and running with his friend, except his collar was grabbed, and the world twisted in a blur, disorienting him entirely. He adjusted himself and looked around.

The empty Astronomy Tower… Kirkland stood on the railing, balanced perfectly. At this point, Harry was shaking in fear.

This wasn't what he wanted! He didn't want to be recruited for the Dark Side…! Would Kirkland accept if Harry just said so? Kirkland turned and floated to sit down on the railing. "So. Have you been hearing any voice in the walls recently?”

"Huh?" That threw Harry off his thoughts.

Kirkland looked serious. “A voice. In Parselspeak. Have you heard her?"

“Her??” He blinked. "The Slytherin Monster is, a girl?"

Kirkland sneered. "Belinda isn’t supposed to be a monster.” He snapped loudly, making Harry step back. "She’s supposed to protect this castle. Yet she won't talk to me or tell me what's wrong; maybe I left her alone for too long…” He muttered the last few words, crossing his arms.

He seemed genuinely upset about this.

But quickly, Kirkland sighed and turned to Harry, back to seriousness. "Did you hear her?”

Harry gulped. “I-I think I did…” But wait. “…Are you going to stop her from attacking students?”

Kirkland raised an eyebrow. “I want to know why she's behaving like this. But she's avoiding me.”

“Isn't it– she in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I just said she's avoiding me, of course she won't be in the Chamber when I'm there!” Kirkland snapped, teeth gritting in obvious impatience.

Harry stepped back again. "B-But you know where the Chamber is.”

Kirkland stared at him for a moment—Harry couldn't see anything gracious running in his head. Then, "Why should I tell you its location?” He smiled, crossing his legs, and Harry had a clear view of Arthur the Devious, his smile spelled a deal with the devil right there.

And Harry remembered. "You don't care about anyone dying…”

"Humans live and die. A handful with a few decades missed is nothing too egregious.”

How could Harry forget? Kirkland wasn't Voldemort. He was an older entity. "So… what do you want now?"

"Well!” Kirkland puffed up with a sincerer smile—which was creepy. “It's been a little while since I met a fellow speaker! I wouldn't mind teaching you a thing or two."

Oh, no. Ron said Kirkland was rumoured to influence wizards to the Dark Side. "I– no thanks, sir… I don't– I like learning from Hogwarts' teachers.” He didn't want to be a Dark Wizard…!

And Kirkland tilted his head. "Dark?” He rolled his eyes as if he'd read his thoughts—he probably did. "This fear you humans have of natural magic befuddles me. There's nothing inherently wrong with it.” He said too casually.

Harry was sweating. “I don't want to be evil.” He squeaked, trying to look brave and steadfast.

Kirkland gave him a very bored look. "No magic is evil.” He droned. “It's merely… personal. Calling it 'Dark' denotes morality, but…” He shrugged.

Harry still shook his head rapidly.

Kirkland sighed like Harry was a hopeless case. "You're all so close-minded…” He turned away, nose in the air much like Malfoy. "Be gone with you, then.” He waved him off.

Harry skedaddled out of there. He ran all the way to the girl's bathroom where he hoped his friends were, their secret spot, the only place Harry could possibly say what happened without fear of other students hearing and knowing how close Harry was to his worst fears.

He found them whispering in panicked tones just inside, and Ron was ashen, turning to him. “Harry!”

Hermione too. "What happened, Harry?! Ron said Kirkland kidnapped you!”

Harry was breathing heavily. “Kirkland offered to teach me Dark Magic.” He muttered quickly, voice shaking.

Both of his friends gawked.

It terrified Harry to be a Parseltongue. It spoke so ill of him, he felt devastated, if not sickened.

At least now, they knew the Monster was a snake… and that Kirkland was seemingly worried about her.

But what could they do with this information? 

Chapter Text

They were strange… different. But beautiful in a way few would appreciate…

Luna stood by the woods, eyes wide and entranced by them. She wanted to approach, but wasn’t quite sure yet.

None of her classmates noticed them, like they couldn’t see… She wondered if wrackspurts made people go blind as well… How could they not see such creatures? She ought to ask her father next time she wrote home…

Hesitant but curious, Luna wriggled her bare feet, as the Nargles had stolen her shoes somehow, and she approached the strange winged-horse. Not too much. It looked at her, but didn’t seem angry.

She smiled, and tossed an apple near it.

It looked at it with what she could only imagine was idle disinterest, barely dipping its head to smell it, before looking at her and turning away.

Rejection… Luna pursed her lips. “So you don’t like apples… I’ll try something else then…” Maybe the little elves in the kitchen would know?

“…They like meat.” A soft voice spoke behind.

It startled her and she turned. Crystal green eyes, bright golden strands under the hood, soft features… Her lips parted in awe, then she bowed, still looking. Leyans were so beautiful, their aura so reverent, it was like the air and ground and the very magic noticed and kissed whenever they touched.

This one watched her, eyes narrowing, before he walked past her with a bag.

The winged-horses bowed as he approached, and he drew red meat pieces from the bag, offering to them. They ate from his hand, one by one. He even leaned down so the babies could reach him more easily.

She watched him pet them, and check their wings, as if looking for any damage. They simply let him, some even leaning to nuzzle, and he nuzzled back with his head.

He turned those endless green eyes to her. “What.”

Luna blinked. “Can I feed them?”

Now he blinked back. “So you can see them…”

Luna nodded.

“…” He stared for several seconds. “What do you think of them…?”

“…” Luna thought it over and looked at the winged-horses, eyes scanning their form. “…I think they’re different… and that maybe people misunderstand them… but they’re beautiful in their own way…”

The Leyan stared, lids lowering. He stepped back. “…Did you know they can smell a rotten soul…?” He smiled coldly.

“That must be helpful then… They can avoid bad people?”

The Leyan nodded, still smiling. “…Do you want to pet them?” He said, voice quiet.

“I can?” Luna smiled.

He nodded again.

She approached, wringing her hands. It looked even curiouser up close, yet beautiful nonetheless. She reached a hand, slowly to not startle it, but didn't touch. It was an offering. It lowered its snout to her palm, and sniffed.

The Leyan watched closely, eyes narrowing—did he seem taller? Hands sharper…? Darker…? The air itself was heavy, curling around her–

The winged-horse snuffled and leaned on her palm, touching. Luna smiled, petting it.

The darkness receded and disappeared—was it even there? The Leyan blinked, face and posture as soft as she’d thought. “…They like you…” He muttered.

“Can I bring them any kind of meat? Or do they have preference?”

“…Fresh and red. Any kind.” He said quietly, and leaned a bit closer to her.

Luna blinked at him. “The magic really likes you…”

He looked curious. “I know…” He tilted his head. She mirrored the move. “It likes you too…” He smiled, and it looked wonderful. “Will you keep them company when I’m not here?”

Luna nodded. “I’d love to.”

The Leyan’s aura was brighter and lighter then, and he patted her head. She wasn’t sure exactly why, she heard Leyans didn’t like people much…

Maybe he thought she was more like a stray little thing or something. Curiouser and curiouser…

Chapter Text

From then onward, Harry dreaded seeing Kirkland every time he left the Gryffindor Tower.

Every shadow made him jump.

Yet, he saw no sign of the Slytherin Leyan anywhere.

Even so, Harry couldn't think of anything beyond the dreadful, vicious little voice in his head, reminding him of the Sorting Hat in Dumbledore’s office, saying he'd have been good in Slytherin… Then of Kirkland, offering to teach him, something a Leyan shouldn't offer because they weren't supposed to care about humans.

Why did he even bother with Harry?

Did he see something Dark in him?

Something Harry himself couldn't see?

Was it all really just because of his Parseltongue…?

Harry tried to force these thoughts to be quiet, living every day, continuing their search. They figured the monster—she—was a snake. They just had to figure that out.

Yet, they couldn’t find what kind of snake petrified people.

Then…

Hermione herself was petrified.

Riddle showed him memories in the diary.

Everyone was on high-alert—but at least no one thought Harry was guilty anymore. 

And then...

“HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.”

The Chamber was dark. Its silence seemed to echo, water dripping, wet, unpleasant.

Riddle's spiteful smile laid before Harry, twirling his stolen wand.

While Harry held Ginny's pale, weak hand, she laid cold on the ground. "But… But Kirkland said the Basilisk was supposed to protect the school…!”

Riddle's smile melted off slowly. “Ah… Kirkland, yes… I doubted he’d bother himself with me or the Basilisk… Uncaring, distant creature, is he not…?” Riddle muttered, pacing, turning his back to Harry. "The basilisk told me plenty about her owner. He stayed by her side and taught her, until he became bored and left, not a look back…” He didn't turn to Harry. “It seems we have that in common.”

The bitterness was loud and clear. "You know Kirkland?” Harry's eyes widened; brows furrowed. Of course, everyone 'knew’ Kirkland, knew his face, knew of him, but Riddle spoke like…

"Yes…” Riddle said with a sigh. “We ‘bonded’ over a few things. He offered to teach me magic no one would teach. But in the end, I was nothing but a fleeting, mortal human. A temporary source of amusement in his eyes.” Riddle spat, sounding rather scorned, and despite the extra time, Harry was none closer to figuring out a way out of this situation.

The hat, and Fawkes on his shoulder, were still not…

Riddle turned back. “Only what stands on his plane of existence will be acknowledged, only one as immortal and powerful. Yes, that is my destiny, Potter.” He spat his name and scowled, reaching for the statue, hissed words leaving his mouth.

When it opened, Harry shivered at the sound—the Basilisk—Harry looked away, trembling.

For a moment, he wondered if it—she would answer to her name, yet in his panic, he couldn't remember it.

So he ran with the monster on his heels.

He needed a plan…!

Chapter Text

Harry was about to die.

"YOU!!” The fires roared in the fireplace like the candles, tall towers of green—Kirkland appeared bellowing in Dumbledore's Office, pointing at Harry, towering over him like a sudden, monstrous apparition. "You MURDERED her! MY Belinda, DID YOU?!"

He was livid, his voice echoed, hands close to reaching as if itching to wrap around his little neck and twist.

Harry was startled cold and couldn't help it, he cried out in a panic and stepped back, seeking safety behind the headmaster, who stood still despite the sudden chaos in the room.

"Arthur.” Dumbledore greeted, far too calm—the green fire coated the room in its light and it made Harry so anxious. "Please, let's talk."

Kirkland sneered. "There better be a good bloody reason!” He shouted—Harry realized he was floating, but also actually bigger in size, like a looming beast himself, huffing. It was a miracle he hadn't attacked Harry yet!

"There is, you have my word, Arthur." Dumbledore turned to glance at Harry, quickly, eyes darting between him and the furious Leyan, whose hands were twirling with nervous energy.

Harry gulped. "S-She attacked me! She was obeying Riddle! And she was trying to kill me and Ginny and– and–!"

Arthur's lip curled. "Well, you should have LET her, then!"

Dumbledore spoke up. "Well, be it as it may, the Basilisk attacked students. You can hardly blame us for doing our best to survive. Life, is something precious and fleeting, after all. I hope you’ll forgive us, Arthur.”

By the end of the headmaster's speech, the Leyan was far less vicious-looking. If anything, he seemed on the edge of 'demure', shrinking to a more natural size. The fires too seemed to calm a bit, even if they still remained green, simmering like Arthur himself—he muttered something incoherent, shaking his head and crossing his arms with a huff of deep annoyance.

His face remained dark…

Harry was hesitant, but he had to say it. "…Riddle said she was upset you left her…”

“I didn't.” Kirkland snapped, averting his eyes, but elaborated no further. "Riddle was a creature of envy. Clearly, that hasn't changed." His feet touched the ground.

Dumbledore sighed, but didn't respond. He seemed relieved, but his hand still kept Harry behind him by the shoulder. Harry wondered if he knew Kirkland had taught Riddle anything…

The door opened loudly, yet the Leyan didn't even flinch, still in a thoughtful, distant mood.

There stood Lucious Malfoy, whose eyes widened when Kirkland turned to him. "Wait your bloody turn.” He grumbled. Lucious gave slow nod, looked in disdain at Dumbledore and Harry only, but didn't leave the room.

And there behind him, Dobby hid, eyes wide at Harry, then wider at Arthur—there he promptly wept very quietly, a choked sound, and fell to his knees.

Kirkland leaned in and hissed like a snake himself at Harry, “You owe me a life, lad." in Parseltongue. His eyes were bright and vicious—his focused glare made Harry shiver so hard it nearly jolted his entire body.

Then he unceremoniously disapparated out of the room in a wisp of light. The fires shifted to their natural hue as soon as he did.

Lucious Malfoy had waited quieter than ever, bowing as Kirkland left, then sighing in some relief after. Whatever the older Malfoy would say, could not be any worse than what just happened. Even Dumbledore looked a bit off and rattled. Harry was still buzzing internally.

The man in front of them could not promise anything more ominous than Kirkland.

Chapter Text

Harry was furious.

He huffed, scowling at the dark pavement, carrying his suitcase behind, clutching his wand. He'd ran away. He should have done so a long time ago, honestly. This counted as an emergency, right? He could use some magic to survive, right? Conjure some water, maybe float a make-shift shelter…

He could do this, he could handle it, he thought as he looked around at the empty street. He felt a lingering dread settling, uncertain, unsafe, alone, but he was a wizard. He’d figure something out…

Harry walked until he realized he didn’t know where he was anymore. Until he couldn't see Aunt Marge's balloon body floating off into the horizon. He stopped, looked for a street sign, but couldn’t see anything. His legs were tired, he was lost… What now?

Harry sighed and propped his suitcase straight, sitting down on the curb. It’s so deadly quiet…

He couldn’t even hear a single cricket. Was the night always this… empty…? The street lights flickered, before fizzling down, like a last breath. Harry felt a familiar shiver on his back and froze.

“…Should I take the aunt's life?” A slithering voice purred behind.

Harry’s eyes widened and he stood to turn at once, gripping his wand. “What?”

Kirkland sat on a bench right there, casual, legs crossed. His smile was near mocking, and he raised an eyebrow. “I said you owe me a life, didn’t I?” He said quietly, then stood, disappearing like light and quickly appearing to pace around Harry. “However, I've decided to be benevolent and kind, so I'll allow you to have a say on which life I take from you. So how about that one?"

“I-I…” Harry stuttered in shock, looking behind, not finding Kirkland, before turning again and meeting his eyes. In the dark, the green irises were haunting.

“Hm… No, not that one… You don’t like her very much, do you…? It needs to be a life that’s precious, see…?” Kirkland murmured, shaking his head. “That’s the one I want from you…” He lazily floated away with a shrug.

"A life?" Harry muttered. "Y-You want to kill someone, who's precious to me?"

Kirkland circled him like a shark. "Why, yes… you took a life from me, after all…"

Harry turned to keep up, gritting his teeth. "If you cared so much about the Basilisk, why did you leave it alone?"

His snark awarded him a sharp slap to the back of his head, which honestly wasn't the worst that could've happened. Kirkland appeared before him at once, leaning closer with a dark glare. "Watch your tongue." He hissed in Parseltongue, before backing off and resuming his previous mid-air stride. 

Harry went cold. “Alright… What… if… I don’t decide at all?”

Kirkland stopped in front of him and stared in the dark, eyes narrowing. “I’m very patient… I can wait a long time…” He floated further off. “Eventually, I will collect on that debt, believe me…” His smile widened, eyes like a fox’s. “So you better choose, Harry Potter… Or I’ll choose for you.”

He faded in a wisp of light with that ominous promise lingering.

Harry stared at the empty spot in the dark. The streetlights flickered back on. He gripped his wand so hard, he could feel his nails digging into his skin.

Choose a precious life to give up on…

Harry never wanted so badly to toss a curse at someone.

Although, Kirkland would most likely bat it away like nothing, and then curse Harry back 10 times harder for having the nerve to be outraged at how utterly unfair all of this was. He didn't ask to get attacked by Kirkland bloody pet-snake…! Why was he being punished for defending himself?!

Dumbledore said Leyans were neither friend nor foe, yet Harry couldn't believe he wasn't being persecuted for refusing Kirkland's offer last year.

And that, in his mind, made Kirkland a foe, no doubt about it.

Harry's mood would remain foul for a long time, the weight of the debt heavy on his back the entire time, and the creepy black dog stalking him really didn’t help…

Chapter Text

“So, when he said I owe him a life, he meant it like that.” Harry explained in the train, rain pattering on the glass.

Ron and Hermione stared at him in plain, dulled shock, then exchanged glances.

“Well… No one ever accused them of being fair…” Ron muttered, tucking Scabbers back in his jacket — it was none too helpful and Harry couldn’t help but glare.

Ron grew up in the Wizarding World, the inherent unfairness in Kirkland’s debt didn’t seem to trigger outrage; it was more like helplessness.

Hermione certainly understood, her eyes were distant, mind whirling as she petted Crookshanks, looking around everything — the seats, the window, the sleeping stranger… “The only solution I could think of, would be… if you could incur a favour from him, something big enough so you could get the debt forgiven in return.”

“A favour.” Harry parroted. “What kind of favour?”

She looked at Ron, then back at Harry. “Well… if the debt is a life, then…”

Ron glanced between them. “Then, is there a life Kirkland cares about? That you could… save?” He sounded strangled, awfully uncertain.

The idea was ridiculous and they all knew it. A precious life, to a Slytherin creature like Kirkland? That would conveniently be in danger for Harry to save?

If only.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “How about you help a Slytherin with Defence homework?” He suggested.

Hermione frowned in disbelief. “How is homework the equivalent to a Basilisk?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he’s like you.”

She scoffed. “Take this seriously, Ron!”

Harry listened, but turned to the window. Ron was at a loss and probably didn’t think there was a solution to ‘Angry Leyan’, and Hermione was trying her best, but…

“So… Kirkland and Black, two raving lunatics trying to make my life miserable…”

“Honestly, mate, I’d rather you only had the serial killer who escaped Azkaban. At least then you’d have a chance…”

Hermione gasped. “Ron!”

Harry didn’t have the energy to even be annoyed. “Thanks, Ron.” He said with a deadpan and turned to the window.

What if there was no way out…?

Who in the world was Harry supposed to give up on…?! Of all the few precious people in his life… He glanced at his two best friends. No, there was absolutely no way he could ever make such a ludicrous choice…!

So what could he do…?

Maybe he should ask Dumbledore…

Or pretend that Snape was oh so precious to him and hope for the best…

Noise startled them, badly.

The train seemed to slow down and then stop, making them hold on to not fall off their seats. “Why are we stopping?” Hermione asked. They exchanged glances.

The lights flickered, much like they had done on the street that night — and Harry’s first thought was that Kirkland came to collect.

But no, there was no way — it was too soon, it hadn’t even been a month!

Looking outside, Harry could barely make out the dark lake far below; everything was darker and drearier than a minute ago. Then fog from his breath, and the glass was ice cold, freezing edges making him retract his hand.

Ron noticed it too. “It… It’s not him, is it?” He whispered, eyes wide.

Harry couldn’t say yet, but, “There’s no reason it should be…”

The train rattled again. Ron made a wobbly sound of distress, eyes on the window. He wiped his arm on the glass. “There’s something out there…!” He was squinting.

Something bright slithered down the tracks, like a lightning bolt, spreading down to the lake and illuminating whatever Ron saw. Cloaked figures, floating like obscure ghosts, approaching the train, quickly disappearing again once the light was gone.

“What the…” Ron wheezed.

Harry stared, feeling a dread coiling, slowly becoming heavy.

However, the greenness growing brighter beneath the waters caught his eyes — even the ice on their windows was whisked away, towards the waters below; they were moving, growing violent before something like thunder sounded and the waters rose.

The ghosts were gripped by the waters that crystalized into sharp spikes that pierced their cloaks, and carried them upwards. The entire train was encircled by rising towers of water.

“Merlin…” Ron whispered, Hermione stared in awe, and Harry felt the same, speechless.

High up in the sky, he could actually see — the green glow and the golden hair were impossible to miss in the pitch-black sky above the lake, his arms raised, his magic both majestic and yet frightening, lifting and freezing who knows how many gallons of water with nothing but his own hands.

Arcs of green magic splintered across the tall waters, the ghosts trapped– Harry couldn’t exactly explain what happened to them in the dark, nothing beyond them exploding into shards that glistened.

Harry stared, unable to look away. “They say they’re powerful… I didn’t know it was this much…” He mumbled. He could see Kirkland lowering his arms, and with it, the waters began crashing down. It hit and rattled the train so heavy and loud, Harry worried it was going to rip through the metal.

It was like hearing waves crashing in the ocean, yet much more deafening and nerve-racking.

For a moment longer, it looked like heavy rain on the window, before subsiding, the normal rain from before once again falling.

"What the bloody hell was he doing?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head, watching the window as well. "Maybe those things…" She muttered, but didn't speak her thoughts just yet, quieting down suddenly. 

Harry watched Kirkland, but his glow diminished considerably. Their lights returned after a few flickers, and the train jolted, slowly moving forward; Harry glanced around their compartment, only to see the sleeping stranger, who was watching the dark sky.

The three of them stared at him, awkward. The man’s brows quirked upwards and he sighed. “Well… Glad that was resolved without incident.” He muttered and readjusted his blanked. “If you kids could speak a little more quietly now, it’d be greatly appreciated.” He smiled at them, and went back to sleep.

Harry looked at his friends, and they all shifted in their seats, embarrassed.

How much did the man hear…? Harry had more things to say, but none he was comfortable sharing anymore. He turned to the window, at the sky, but saw nothing. Kirkland was gone.

Maybe this was why Ron sounded so helpless before.

When one had this much power, was there anything anyone could ever do besides pleading for mercy…?

Harry wished he only had to deal with the serial killer.

Chapter Text

It was unpleasant seeing Kirkland before his third year at Hogwarts even began.

Twice!

Harry chalked it up to the debt, even if it was odd to think the Leyan had nothing better to do besides stalking a human around, and that whole ordeal on the way to the school felt like it, somehow — until… he arrived by the carriages.

Because he spotted Mr. Roy, way up in the sky, the inner red of his robes still distinctly visible. Harry frowned. “What is he doing here in September?” As if sensing the stare, Mr. Roy glanced at them, smiled, and waved, before turning away again. "It almost like he's standing guard...” He stood up there with his arms crossed, like a sentinel.

"Why would he want to guard us?” Ron asked, puzzled.

Hermione gasped. "He's not guarding us.” She realized something. "He's guarding the Lines.”

"The Lines? You mean the Ley Lines?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Guarding them from what?” Harry wondered.

“Oh! I remember now!” Ron startled. "It was on the Prophet! It was Dementors!” He turned to them, whispering. “Cornelius Fudge begged the Leyans to let the Dementors near Hogwarts to look for Black…! But they hate Dementors near the Lines.”

“I see.” Hermione nodded and continued walking to the carriages. “That’s what Kirkland was attacking. Those were Dementors near the train. It had nothing to do with you, Harry.” She turned only to glance at him.

“That’s great, then.” Harry muttered. At least there was that… Small mercies, he supposed.

They rode the carriages in relative peace, although Harry kept peeking outside. He wondered if the other three were at Hogwarts too… and if so, he wondered if he'd be able to avoid Kirkland altogether this year.

He was bound to be wandering about, if Hermione’s theory was correct…

Mr. Roy was nice enough… and the only thing he knew of the Hufflepuff was that he was terrifying in a less subtle way compared to Kirkland; they should be fine so long as they steered clear of the evil tree… Then the Ravenclaw one… The only thing Harry knew was that he had pet dragons, and got along with Hagrid, which was a plus in Harry’s book — but that one was said to not like humans very much…

As soon as they reached the school grounds, and stepped out of the carriage, something slithery scurried around some students’ feet and climbed, startling whoever it touched — Harry watched in shock as it flew. “…Norbert?” He couldn’t help but question, incredulous.

Ron did the same. “There’s no way, Norbert should be huge by now.”

It was a small dragon, patting around people’s bags and clothes as if searching for something, flying off once the flaying students resisted too much.

Ron grimaced, stepping back as it reached them. Hermione squeaked in shock as it stole a hairpin from her hair and flew off with wings twice its size. “What the hell…?!”

They watched it fly back to another student, this time not attacking — a blond girl smaller than them. “Oh, Aeron, you shouldn’t steal from people.” She said, taking the pin from the dragon and looking around.

“That’s mine.” Hermione approached, but hesitated, brows furrowing.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks and followed.

The blonde turned to them with an airy look. “I’m sorry. Aeron likes to give gifts.” She handed the pin, and the dragon on her shoulder made a sound akin to a burp.

“He has no concept of propriety.” Ginny appeared suddenly behind, startling them; Ron stepped away with a wheeze and a “Ginny! Bloody hell…!” Ginny walked past them to stand next to the blonde. “He takes things to give Luna for some reason.”

Luna smiled.

Hermione was frowning. “How did you tame a dragon… baby?”

“Are you even allowed to keep it?” Ron asked.

Considering how much trouble Hagrid nearly got into over Norbert, it was a fair question.

“Aeron isn’t mine, he’s Mr. Dylan’s.” Luna shrugged. "He visits from time to time, especially when Mr. Dylan is in a bad mood."

“The Leyan.” Ginny clarified, hand lifting near the dragon, as if attempting to offer petting — except he reached to bite and she snatched her fingers away, turning to them with a deadpan. “The bloody little thing only likes Luna.” Luna nearly glowed in response.

“Okaaay…?” Hermione stepped back.

“Well, good night, Lions.” Luna said suddenly and left them, "You too, Little Green." She said and Aeron the dragon jumped off and flew away into the night, presumably to find his owner.

Ginny gave them a mixed look, half helpless half amused, stopping on Harry. “Bye, Harry.” She waved and left too.

They continued on their way to the castle at a more sedated pace, slow enough so they wouldn’t awkwardly catch up with the blonde. Ron was mumbling. “Say bye to you but not to her own brother…?”

“Stop it, Ron…”

The three were weirded out enough for the night.

Chapter Text

Professor Lupin was amazing.

Harry never thought he could possibly enjoy a Defence class, it was always boring — Lockhart and Quirrel being his only examples — not even the hindsight of unknowingly staring at Voldemort behind a turban for months made those classes any less dull.

But Professor Lupin seemed to know exactly what made a class fun, and bringing a Boggart and letting them challenge it was just it. Funny for everyone watching, encouraging to all the students who managed to beat it.

With the professor’s encouragement, everyone managed it. The line was moving, Harry’s turn was approaching, and he found himself looking forward to it.

Until the thought struck. While Padma Patil’s boggart turned into a giant snake, Harry tried to think of his greatest fear. What was it? Honestly, he couldn’t think of much. Voldemort? No… Harry wasn’t scared of him. What else ever made his blood run cold? Maybe giant black dogs? That omen in the cup was creepy… Or maybe Belinda… Oh, brilliant, when did he start referring to Kirkland’s killer pet-snake by her name? Oh, if it did turn into the snake, would the eyes still kill anyone? Or would it result in petrification since it wouldn't be a real basilisk?

That was a problem…

Padma’s snake boggart had turned into a giant clown toy, creepy but harmless, and then it was Harry’s turn and someone behind pushed him, he could hear laughter and the air was jovial.

But his fear. What if it petrified everyone in this room?

That part did scare him, but not Belinda herself, since Harry did stab her, his debt to Kirkland proved it…

So, could it be…

Professor Lupin watched him with a tenser smile, looking back and forth between the two as the toy moved on a spring back and forth — until it shifted, spun and spun into itself until a green light flickered for a second.

That was the first warning.

Just like he’d feared — the room darkened and in an instant, the music that Professor Lupin had put on wrapped and stopped. Arthur Kirkland towered over him with all the gravitas of a vicious apparition demanding he bow, looking down on him with mild amusement in his eyes and yet no smile. It was way too identical to the actual Leyan, the same vague disdain, the same oppressive aura; Harry heard gasps behind. “My, is there something you want from me?” His voice echoed much like it always did.

Harry dared not look away; he gulped and pointed a wand — what would make him ‘funny’, what would make his suffocating presence fade into lightness, it’s so much like he’s right in front of him demanding he hand over someone to die– “R-Riddikulus!”

Boggart Kirkland stared at his wand then at him with a deadpan, but didn’t react beyond raising an unimpressed eyebrow. Dead silence. “…Have you called me here for a reason?” His voice rose and his lip curled; his cloak billowed as he hovered just a bit closer and Harry stepped back, mouth opening to try again — could he even do this?! — before Professor Lupin stepped in the way.

“I’m so, so sorry, Sir Kirkland. I wasn’t expecting a student to be afraid of you like this.” He said. “We didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Harry frowned at him.

Boggart (?) Kirkland clicked his tongue, “I see.” He tossed what could’ve been a black maybe furry ball back and forth in his hands, before tossing it behind, and with the Professor’s wand wave, the wardrobe opened and closed once the black point flew inside. Kirkland sighed. “Bloody boggarts…”

“Yes, apologies.”

“…I forgive you.” Kirkland hissed at Professor Lupin, who stepped back, then glanced at Harry. “Be a little more careful with my image and name. You may just catch me on a foul mood one day, and I can't say I'll be so nice about it…” Kirkland said and disapparated.

In the same instant, the air lightened up, it was easier to breathe and stand straight. At least for Harry.

Their professor sighed in relief and glanced at Harry, askance, but didn't comment just yet. He turned to Harry's classmates, and they all stared back in equal shock.

“What the bloody hell…” Ron muttered, voicing just about everyone's thoughts.

Professor Lupin clapped once. “Well, I, uh… I suppose that’s a good lesson for you kids. Don’t ever attempt to replicate a Leyan’s image. Polyjuice, or a Boggart, paintings, anything.” He said with a thin smile. “You’ll summon them.”

It’s just unfortunate that Harry couldn’t practice the spell when his fear’s image was, itself, a magical taboo.

Chapter Text

The night was chilly, and it was late, perfect for wrapping under magically warmed blankets and dozing off — yet he couldn’t sleep.

He was bored, and angry, and he couldn’t turn his brain off, so instead, he watched the Marauders’ Map with eyes narrowed.

Eventually he spotted Kirkland. His name floated with a stranger, more erratic inscription — Fred and George mentioned the Map could notice their presence, but advised against watching them.

Arthur Kirkland — it had no feet following it — floated around in the courtyard as if the Leyan were pacing, or haunting the area. Somehow his greatest fear and yet he couldn’t help but glare at it.

Just when Harry was about to flip to another page, words appear around the name. 'If you keep watching me…' Harry’s eyes widened as the words appeared and disappeared, it reminded him of Riddle's Diary, which in itself, was already a bad omen. Could Kirkland tell the map was– no, that he was watching?

Harry left the bed, quietly tiptoeing to the common room.

He sat before the fire that lit up with his presence. His eyes narrowed and he sat still, then opened the map again, staring daggers at the name.

A dozen seconds passed, and it disappeared, ink sinking into the paper.

"My, my… you're full of hatred right now, aren't you?” A silky, devious voice sounded behind him, such a snake's voice. “Is there a reason you’re bothering me now?”

Everything considered, Harry almost felt like the Leyan’s been patient with him so far… Harry wondered if he was satisfied with something.

He didn't turn back, wondering what kind of face he was wearing. Maybe a wicked, victorious grin. "You said I owe you a life, right?”

“Aye, I did.”

He closed the map. "How about… my godfather? You can take him if you want.” Harry muttered. Ron and Hermione didn't want him to take a life, naturally… But maybe he didn't have to…

Although, honestly, he doubted it'd be this simple… This couldn’t possibly work.

He felt that Kirkland leaned on the back of the couch, and was far too close. This thing felt eviler than ever… yet Harry was still indulging him. “Is that so…” Kirkland said. “Is this… ‘godfather’ of yours special to you?”

"You could say that.”

Kirkland laughed. It was a creepy sound. "You're lying~” He sang with a mocking tone. “You hate this person more than anything in this world. Oh, Harry Potter, are you trying to use me for an assassination?”

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing, something cold ghosted over his head. Harry gulped, gripping the map, frozen.

The cold faded, and the fire turned bright and green just as Kirkland walked around the couch and approached it. Odd, he usually stayed off the ground… “I'll forgive it, only because you're possessed.” The Leyan said. "So naturally, you'll say stupid, foolish things.”

Harry blinked. “I'm… possessed?”

"Yes. Humans are possessed by emotions all too often. Hatred is easy to fall prey to.” He turned to Harry and snapped his fingers far too close to his face– it echoed like a bell, something seized his body, freezing for a moment, before Harry blinked.

Suddenly, he was… afraid, horrified. He felt it so hard in his body, it was turning into a downright nauseating feeling.

What in the world was he doing…?! Why was he making deals with this entity, and asking him to murder someone? For him?! His friends would be terrified of him…! And for him too.

Kirkland smirked. "I numbed that emotion a tad, the spell will fade in a bit. Let's talk while you're still of sound mind.” He sounded too amused.

"Talk…”

Kirkland stood and sat on air, as if on an invisible chair, crossing his legs. "Hatred isn't necessarily an evil emotion… It can be very useful.” He said, expression softening and voice almost… kind?

Had to be a trick of the light…

Harry stared, almost in horror. “I… tried asking you to murder someone…” Even if that someone was the man who betrayed his parents, something still felt… suddenly so wrong about it…

So wrong it was disgusting. What was wrong with him?!

Kirkland shrugged. "Some people deserve it.” He said.

"No, I–”

"The emotion itself is a driving force, but not evil. What you do with it is what counts.” His smirk turned malicious, eyes dark.

What… in the bloody hell was he talking about?! W-Was he– was he trying to teach him something?! Harry opened his mouth, struggling to put words out. “I-I'm sorry to bother you, sir, I shouldn't have. I–” He stood, and a force immediately pulled his clothes, gluing them to the couch, arms and all. He couldn't move, and the map floated to Kirkland's hand in a swift curve.

He looked over it, raising an eyebrow. “Ooh, ingenious spellwork… Isn’t yours, innit?” He muttered. “Well. I don't like being watched, however.” He traced a finger across the paper. It seemed to shudder, as if frightened, and he handed it back with a smile. Harry hoped it still worked fine… "So. What do you want?” Kirkland asked, his voice like a gentle breeze.

Harry stared. "…What…?”

“What was that hatred driving you to, hm? Revenge?” He asked the last word softly. Harry hesitated. Kirkland continued as if making casual conversation. “Revenge is a valid pursuit. I've taken my fair share of it. Very satisfying to write down once the day is over.”

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. "What… Why are you talking to me like this, exactly?” Suddenly, Harry could only think of Riddle, down in the Chamber, bitterly recounting Kirkland's interest and subsequent dismissal of him.

Kirkland tilted his head with a sigh. "Sometimes, mortals are interesting… enough.” He said. “Most are boring, mind you, especially the children; but not you.”

“Not me…?” Rather absurd. He's done nothing special, ever. He wasn’t the one who truly ended Voldemort’s reign, it was his mother. Harry himself was nothing to write home about.

“Well, see,” Kirkland’s eyes narrowed, smile widened in that distinctively malicious manner. “The Ley Lines connect to all,” He stood from his invisible perch, pacing around Harry again, his cape flowing after him. “all creatures, all roads, all emotions… past, present…” His voice floated around, low yet somehow soothing. “And future…”

What did Professor Trelawney say…? Tapping into the Lines is how one accesses the Sight… Who would’ve guessed she was correct?

“Sometimes, I see inklings when I try, and I must say, lad, you were, are, and will be interesting for a while longer.” Kirkland said, stopping in front of Harry, arms crossed. “So now I’ll ask,” He bent and leaned closer to him, eyes meeting. “Is that really the life you want to offer?”

“H-Huh?” Harry stuttered.

Kirkland didn’t respond, only raised an eyebrow.

He was still willing to take Black? Even if Harry hated him? Why? This made no sense… Unless he knew something Harry didn’t, but what? Then again, that was the traitor who got his parents killed… If Kirkland would take his life for whatever obscure reason, should Harry risk it with whatever information he lacked? If he refused, who should he hand over…? There was no one else he could, or would send to the gallows…! He couldn’t think of anyone else, not even the Dursleys! They were horrible, but they didn’t get Lily and James Potter killed!

This was the only life Kirkland accepted that he could possibly ever give, there was no other choice, was there?

At least he’s a traitor.

Harry looked up at the Leyan, who still waited for his answer — although his foot was tapping by now. Harry gulped. “Y-Yes…”

Kirkland stood at full height and smiled wide. The fire sizzled out, and his eyes seemed to shine brighter in the dark. “Thank you.” And he disappeared from sight, no further words.

Harry stared at the darkness, in silence and only hearing the sizzling logs that no longer burned, with regret creeping in the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

Something was off for a while now.

Harry didn’t see Kirkland again for what felt like far too long. Suspiciously long. It was making him uncomfortable the longer it went on.

He didn’t spot him again on the map — whether it was because he wasn't around at all, or because the Leyan did something to the map was beyond Harry’s judgment — however, he did see… Pettigrew…?

Things became stranger yet.

“Did you hear? Arthur Kirkland and Martin O'Connell had an argument overnight…”

“They fought? On the school grounds…?!”

“Maybe? Feels like we would have heard if so… No one’s seen either since.”

Harry had to endure these whispers during breakfast.

He would be more anxious, if it wasn’t for Malfoy. Seemed like the rumours of Harry’s Boggart were making the rounds around the Slytherin table, and Malfoy was having his fun with it. Bet he felt right with himself over Harry Potter being afraid of their patron Leyan…

It’s fine, they had their revenge when Hermione punched his stupid pointy face later.

Furthermore, with Dylan the Eerie having grown unexpectedly attached to Buckbeak, there really wasn’t much the Ministry could do to harm the beast, at least not until the Ravenclaw Ley lost interest and left. For a while, he’s been lounging on the hippogriff’s side, as if the beast were his pillow. Even the crows respected him and refrained from cawing all over the field while the Ley napped there.

Hagrid was hoping the Ministry would just leave and forget about Buckbeak. There was no point fighting with Dylan anyway, even Malfoy reluctantly accepted it. It’d just get the executioner killed, right?

And, better news yet, Hagrid found Ron’s rat. Harry hoped he and Hermione could stop biting each other with barbed remarks.

Naturally, things took a downturn right when Harry felt a sliver of optimism.

It happened too quickly… Scabbers ran when Crookshanks appeared, and Ron chased the thing. Seeing the Willow this close again was nerve-wracking, and Harry found himself looking around its branches, trying to spot the strong red of the Hufflepuff Ley — he found none.

The rumours from before — did Kirkland do something to get the other one away from this place? The thought made something cold sink into his stomach, a bad feeling that made him almost sick, he wanted to get Ron and leave this place now.

But to completely prove how thoroughly screwed his life was: The Grim appeared.

…

Sirius Black wasn’t dead yet. He was in front of Harry, deranged and screaming, and not dead — and Harry wondered briefly where in the world was Kirkland and why wasn’t he keeping his end of the bloody deal. Harry didn’t have much time to think about it, though, the chaos unfolded, Professor Lupin showed up, betrayed them — then Snape showed up, and amidst all this shouting, Harry only wanted answers.

And answers came. Pettigrew...!

It was with dawning horror that Harry realized, Sirius Black never betrayed his parents, Pettigrew did–

And–

“ Is that really the life you want to offer?”

 “ Well, see,” Kirkland’s eyes narrowed, smile widened in that distinctively malicious manner. “The Ley Lines connect to all… All creatures, all roads, all emotions… past, present… And future…”

He knew.

Kirkland knew Sirius was innocent, that’s why he took the bloody deal. Harry felt like a fool and was so ashamed he couldn’t open his mouth about it. He couldn’t even look at his godfather — who cared about him, who just offered him a place to live away from the Dursleys — in the so-earnest-yet-exhausted eyes.

He needed to find Kirkland, urgently. He needed to cancel that deal.

Harry ran after Sirius, his shoes scrapping and stressing his ankles against the uneven ground of the growing foliage as he entered the woods, ignoring Snape’s demands for him to return, hoping Lupin wouldn't return from whatever distracted him before he ran off, away from them. It was dark, the full-moon was the only light.

He found him downed by the lake in a wide clearing and ran to reach him. “Sirius!” Oh, he was breathing! Just hurt, Harry didn’t want to cause his godfather any more pain at this point. His wounds, they were fixable, magic could fix all of it, he just… he just had to…

It was so cold suddenly. The lake. It was freezing right before his eyes.

Harry looked up — those things again, Dementors, were they…? Harry stood, wand ready, but what kind of spell would drive them away…?! He had no idea…

It was the worst he ever felt, when they approached, one flying so close, it seemed to want to drain every warmth from his bones, every good memory, even every mildly positive thought he ever had — it was exhausting, and frigid, it made him so tired, he couldn’t even stand, and before long… before long…

He heard voices — a woman’s voice, panicked words, a strident scream that pierced his brain like nothing before–

He saw something green, almost flashing as his vision faded.

…

Harry awoke startled, eyes wide. “…I heard a woman screaming…” He muttered.

A gasp. “Harry!” Hermione appeared, face red — crying? “Harry, you’re awake…!” She heaved, looked away, rubbed her eyes.

Harry raised an eyebrow, still feeling dazed. He looked around. The Hogwarts infirmary… Ron was passed out on the bed next to his, leg lifted and on a cast. Harry blinked. “What happened…?” He sat up, his neck was stiff. Then– “Where’s Sirius?” He turned to her quickly, eyes wide in alarm. “Hermione?”

Hermione hesitated, lips parting. “He’s…” She looked in pain. “I’m so sorry, Harry…”

No.

That couldn’t… “What happened, Hermione?” He asked again.

She took a deep breath. “No one was there with you, but… Sirius, they said he’s been Kissed.”

His heart sank. “What?!”

“He’s…” Her head dipped, eyes downcast, just as the doors opened to reveal Dumbledore.

Harry tossed the sheets off and stood, approaching. “Where’s Sirius, Professor?” He almost begged; Hermione had to be wrong, for once!

Dumbledore sighed, a forlorn look on his face. No, no… “It seems the Dementors got what they came for, Harry.” He said softly, patting Harry on the shoulder, just a small tap, as if not wanting Harry to skitter away.

Harry shook his head. “Wh– But when?” The future he envisioned, somewhere far away, just them as a family… Gone.

“Just last night.” Dumbledore said, walking past him, Hermione was fiddling with her jacket’s hem. “You were found by Snape, and Sirius Black was… unfortunately emptied of his soul. The Dementors were all gone.” He turned back.

The Dementors… The Dementors did it…? But…

Harry felt dizzy, he leaned on the bed frame nearest to him.

Hermione spoke up. “This isn’t right, Professor!” She spoke with a hissed tone, like she could barely hold back from shouting at the headmaster. “They got the wrong man, Sirius was innocent!” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her, and she continued, words spilling out. “It was Scabbers!”

“Scabbers?”

Harry didn’t look from the tiles on the floor. “Peter Pettigrew… It was Pettigrew, he was an Animagus…”

“Please believe us, Professor…!” Hermione pleaded.

“I do, Ms. Granger.” Dumbledore said. “But, unfortunately, the deed is done… Sirius’ body remains alive, it was taken to Saint Mungo’s penitentiary wing, where it’ll likely remain until it passes…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. Once a soul is taken, there’s hardly a chance it could return. I could only think of one creature who could make it so, and I don’t think any of them ever will.” Dumbledore sighed, turning to leave.

Hermione followed a few steps, stopping next to Harry.

“Now, Ms. Granger, do remember,” Dumbledore said by the door. “Time is a dangerous thing. I honestly don’t recommend you go meddling with it.” He tilted his head and stepped outside, doors closing.

Harry barely heard, much less processed it. He turned and ambled to the window, looking outside. Suddenly, anger struck and he hit his clutched knuckle on the wall. It hurt… “I needed…”

“Harry…” Hermione approached.

“I need to know what happened.” Harry muttered. “I saw it, I think…”

“Harry?” Hermione hesitated, sounding more uncertain.

Harry turned to her, not focusing on anything as he thought back to what he remembered. “I heard a woman’s scream, but… I saw green light too…” That always accompanied Kirkland.

And he didn’t like Dementors.

Was he there?

“What if… he let this happen…? What if he drew them there…?” Harry whispered in horror.

“Who?” Hermione whispered back.

“I did something stupid, Hermione…” He admitted. “This could be my fault, all of it–”

“Harry, this isn’t your fault–” She began.

“No, the life I owed him– Kirkland!” Harry snapped. “I offered Sirius! I thought–!”

Like he predicted, Hermione looked appalled.

Harry began pacing. “I-I just needed to find Kirkland to cancel it! I just–” He was so close, he just needed another day!  

Hermione stayed still for several seconds, then pressed her lips thin, brows furrowing. She came up next to him with that look on her face, like her mind was running a mile a minute. Then she drew something from underneath her jacket, a necklace hanging from her neck. “Time is dangerous.” She muttered and dragged Harry to the centre of the room.

“What…?” Harry didn’t question her much as she threw the chain around his neck too. “Hermione, what–”

“Shh.” She hissed. “Just let me… We’ll just try to fix this… This horrible mistake. But please, we need to be careful, alright?”

“Huh?”

She spun the trinket.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong.

Harry felt no different than before, but something was wrong, lingering on his skin. “Do you feel that?” He asked as Hermione dragged him down the hall.

“Yes. It’s normal.” Hermione said without looking back, instead focusing around them. “It’s what happens when you’re in two places at once.”

“Huh? Hermione, what–”

Outside, Hermione dragged him out of sight, to the side of the hallway and showed him the strange necklace. “This is a Time-Turner. It’s how I’ve been going to my extra classes this year.”

“You’ve been– traveling back in time?” Harry whispered, eyes wide.

She put it underneath her blouse again. “It’s okay so long as you’re careful, Professor McGonagall trusted me with it. Now…” She turned away. “We were…visiting Hagrid, right?” She pulled him again, running down the field. “We have to find a place to hide and wait, I might have given it a turn too many…” She sighed.

Harry looked around, a little stunned, but quickly shaking it off. He had to save Sirius from Kirkland. They just had to find him before… “Is there a way to call him to us?”

“There is, probably, but we don’t have access to it now. Do you want to go looking for a Boggart?” Hermione asked, not quite in jest.

“Professor Lupin got rid of it once he was done with the lessons with it…” Harry said, remembering the times he’d visited the man, now tinted with even more bittersweetness.

They reached the bottom of the hill, nearing the many giant pumpkins. Harry spotted Buckbeak, and raised an eyebrow, unable to hold back the amusement at the sight of Dylan the Eerie snoozing soundly atop the beast like it was a pillow.

Buckbeak was most definitely safe — they walked further into the forest, cutting the quickest path to the Whomping Willow. There, they’d wait.

The only place they were sure to cross paths with Kirkland, was when he and Sirius were attacked, so there, Harry knelled with Hermione, watching as the clouds moved away.

More evident, was the fact that Martin the Rowdy was still on the branches of the tree, utterly at ease.

Until a pop of green light appeared right next to him — a long coat with vivid green inner side and bright blond hair — which then flew further up with the redhead Leyan, dragged by the ankle, followed by a howl of anger and him being tossed far into the Forbidden Forest with speed.

Harry and Hermione heard the splintering of wood from that distance, and saw the plum of dirt in its wake; Harry tried not to gawk too much as the Slytherin shot towards the other like a green spear, quickly disappearing in the woods.

The very ground seemed to quake, a vibration beneath their feet.

“I guess we know what happened, then…” Hermione muttered.

Martin was usually not far from the Forbidden Forest or the Whomping Willow. His fight with Kirkland was a mystery, but it sounded like this was why the redhead Leyan wasn’t around during their debacle by the tree’s roots.

“But why did Kirkland attack him…?”

Hermione seemed to think, then touched where the Time-Turner was underneath her clothes. “The feeling we get from time-travel, it’s the Lines connecting to both of us at once, it’s why we shouldn’t get close to ourselves, it could… merge, and…” She sighed. “Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time…” She muttered before turning to him. “If the Lines notice, then Kirkland may have noticed it too. He may be doing what he knows he’d have done anyway.” She frowned.

It didn’t make as much sense but Harry only had to remember Kirkland’s words to fill in the gaps. “He can see the future.” He turned to the Willow. “He knows where Sirius will be, and where we will be…” His brows furrowed. “He knew that Sirius was innocent, that’s why…”

“That’s why he accepted the offer.” Hermione completed his train of thought.

Harry nodded, wringing a hand around his wrist. “I’m such an idiot.” He hissed. “I feel right into his trap…”

Hermione didn’t respond, eyes cloudy on the muddy ground.

Why did he think he was ever outsmarting some millennium-old entity? He had to fix this…

The clouds moved, and the sky darkened; it was all silent, until everything started to happen at once.

Harry ran.

It was a stroke of luck they managed to miss Lupin’s Werewolf form prowling the woods somehow. But then again, at this point it wasn’t simply luck.

Maybe Kirkland wanted Harry to reach them.

Wanted him to witness.

It deepened that pit inside him, that this was all orchestrated and planned, that he was doing everything that evil creature knew he’d do, dancing to his exact tune.

But Harry couldn’t give him, he had to try, he’d do this somehow, even if he had to resort to force, to sacrifice, to something insane.

He reached the edge of the lake. The familiar feeling creeped in, cold and dreadful. He felt bad that Hermione was right behind and had to feel it too, but–

Harry tripped just as he reached past the shrubs and bushes on the verge of the forest. Those things circled the lake, and he could see himself, with Sirius, yet alive!

His eyes widened. Any moment now…

Just as predicted… Green light in the center of the space over the lake — the ice cracked.

Harry saw himself pass out, flat on the ground next to Sirius, whose soul floated over his mouth — Harry drew his wand, hand shaky and clammy with cold sweat.

Kirkland floated fearless amidst all the Dementors that seemed far too eager to approach and grab him — and looking straight at Harry’s eyes. Unlike the time in the train, the water didn’t rise, Kirkland moved his arm in a circle and drew a line of light that quickly expanded into crackling energy, then pointed at the nearest Dementor that reached for him.

It hit like a bolt of green lightning, paralyzing it in place, then followed to the next one, and the next one, all in succession like a chain reaction until the light was nearly blinding.

Harry squinted with a wince, feeling Hermione grabbing his other wrist — comfort or to pull him away before he tried to jump at the Leyan and got himself killed…

The Dementors sizzled and fell, slow like they were feathers — and Kirkland raised both hands and pushed down, the waters swallowed the whole lot of them before he swiped both hands and the chaotic surface froze still again, trapping the Dark creatures beneath. “I’ll take care of you lot later.” Kirkland spat.

Harry could breathe a little better, but even as he hesitantly approached the frozen lake, the effects of the Dementors were still felt, just number than before.

Just as he looked up, Kirkland had it in his hand, Sirius’ soul. Harry tensed. “I-I’m sorry! I changed my mind! I don’t want you to have his life!”

Kirkland turned to him, half-lidded eyes showed no indication of consideration for his words. “You can’t just change your mind on such deals.”

Harry scowled. “I didn’t know Sirius was innocent! You tricked me!” His grip tightened around his wand.

Kirkland scoffed, lifting Sirius’ soul over his eyes to peer closely at it. “I wanted a special soul, you offered me an enemy. When I accepted it, and told you point-blank that I could see the future, that was your last chance to stop this. You only have yourself to blame, stupid brat.”

“No, no, wait–!!” Harry screamed and lifted his wand despite Hermione’s hands holding his wrist back with a fearful gasp–

Kirkland opened his mouth and took the soul in — Harry gawked in horror, seeing in stark detail the motion of swallowing as if he’d taken a bitter pill.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Harry shouted, voice grinding with his excess, pointing his wand with willful force full of magic — his spell exploded with anger in a straight line.

Kirkland tilted his head without opening his eyes, lip curling, gritted teeth showing — the spell hit something invisible and bounced right off. Kirkland took a deep breath, a hand massaging his neck as he turned his head, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s been a while since I ate a whole soul…” He groused, posture sagging with his deep breaths, then straightened again, cold eyes boring down on Harry. “The debt is paid.”

With that, he disapparated in green light.

Harry was left in a state of shock, with Hermione trying and failing to snap him out of it for several seconds.

Sirius lay souless on the edge of the frozen lake.

Chapter Text

Albus could see young Harry by the lake from his window.

He set out once released from the hospital-wing, left his friends behind, didn't talk to anyone. Poppy seemed concerned. But Harry only sat by the lake and stayed there, for hours now.

It was the language of mourning.

Mourning the loss of a potential bond. Family.

And the loss of justice, when the rat escaped, when his favorite teacher packed his own bags.

Sirius’ body was taken to St Mungo’s, to be placed in a cell where he’d be placed on a bed, minimally taken care of, until his body passed.

And his soul…

Albus stepped back from the window and looked up at the ceiling. “Was it truly warranted, Arthur?”

Arthur’s hand hovered over the books on the tallest shelves, picking one at random and flipping the pages. “He started it.”

“Harry is but a child, Arthur.” Albus sighed and paced, shaking his head. He knew Arthur wouldn’t care. A child or an adult, humans were humans all the same.

Arthur scoffed and returned the book to its place, picking another and repeating the motion. “A child who willingly made a choice. He sold me that soul, Albus, so I took it. Although…” He turned in the air, face scrunching as if he’d noted a bad smell. “This reminds me why I quit eating souls…” He growled under his breath. “They weight on me like a stone…” He put the book back.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Could I ask, why did you eat Sirius’ soul…?” He could have just murdered him. Leyans often did — admittedly, some had a taste for souls. But Arthur never seemed like the type.

Arthur breathed in deep, floating down and sitting on the air, legs crossing. “Because I felt like it.” He crossed his arms as well, letting the book levitating. 

Albus knew better than to judge the Leyan’s harsh decision — or was it a whim? Either way, it was pointless to linger on it. On what happened to a soul eaten by the embodiment of local magic…

It was like fixating on what came after one’s death.

“Is Harry forgiven now?” Albus asked instead, sitting back against the desk.

He hoped so… The boy didn’t deserve to be persecuted just for getting into trouble, for being in the wrong place, dealing with misfortune he didn’t call upon himself in any way…

Arthur straightened himself on the air, nudging his chin. “Well, let me see… There’s for insulting my kindness, murdering Belinda, forgetting his manners, talking back like we were on even ground, wanting to curse me,” Arthur grinned at this, almost feral-like… “summoning me in the middle of the day with no intent, pointing a wand at me, attempting to use me, using a time-turned to get around me, attempted to weasel out of our deal, then attacking me when he didn’t get his way…” His voice faded.

Albus’ eyes darted to the window. Oh, Harry… What calamity befell you in such a short time…

“Honestly,” Arthur placed his hands on his hips. “The brat is lucky I didn’t rip out that man’s heart right in front of him.” He placed a hand over his chest next. "He's lucky I didn't kill him as well…"

That was a good point… Why did Arthur tolerate so much from Harry…? There had to be a reason.

Hm, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? “You’ve been… very patient with the boy, Arthur. Forgive me for asking another question, but is there a reason why?”

“Why…?” The Leyan had wandered to a window — he could see Harry — and observed for several seconds.

Several seconds of silent watching.

A hand to his chest again.

Albus found it odd. There was something there, but he couldn't hope to decipher it. Those green eyes, swirling with so much magic and presence… They were unreadable. 

“…No reason.” Arthur said, sounding somewhat nonchalant. He turned and flew with mild speed towards the ceiling, waving the book. “I’m taking this one today.” He stated and left his office like a ghost, no further words to spare a curious old human.

Albus watched the ceiling, then approached the window once more.

Harry still hadn’t moved. Albus wished things hadn't ended this way…

…

The wind was cold above the castle.

There were clouds coming with rain — it’d turn into snow a few hours before dawn, for just a brief moment, but it'd be the last sliver of snow until the next winter.

Down below, human young rested, worried, laughed, argued, cried, waited — perpetual.

Around the castle, the forest and the lake, teeming with life and magic — renewing.

On the outskirts, dirty Dementors lingered like leeches, icy tendrils infecting and sucking the magic around them — gone soon.

Further, in the village, more humans tended to shops, cleaned, and inebriated themselves, bitter and happy souls alike — frequent.

Further yet, men with shackled, oily magic, observed a shack before disapparating to a dark place far from there — trouble soon…

Arthur took a deep, calming breath, eyes closed, face aimed at the sky. He opened his eyes and his focus returned to himself and his own form.

And the weight in his chest.

It’s been more than a century since he last ate a human soul. It sat there, alone in his core, and he had to hear its sentiments. If he had more souls, it’d be drowned by others, it’d be easier to tune out and ignore…

Not quite when it was all on its own in him.

He glanced at the world around, and it responded with… a sense of freedom, it wanted to fly like a bird without fear, forever. When he looked down, his eyes lingered on the child — and again it responded, just like before.

Bittersweet, care, loss, regret, fondness, shame…

“You sure are noisy in there, aren’t you…?” Arthur muttered and sat on the roof facing away from the lake, opening the book the read.

He just had to wait a few measly little years… The soul would shut up and fade into nothingness.

Eventually.