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To say Grim had done a number on Night Raven College would be an understatement. The mirror chamber was a complete loss, and much of what remained of the rest of the building was in disarray at best, rooms repurposed and magically reinforced for safety and sanctuary until a full evacuation could occur at some point in the near future. Its students didn't fare much better, but at least there were no casualties.
It had taken Trey two days before he was able to stand up unassisted, his exhaustion so absolute. Was this what it was like to experience magical burnout, the body’s reserves depleted down to the last drop? Probably not; he was sore, but he could still move, and breathe, and with enough concentration he could feel a current running beneath his fingertips, as much as it hurt to do so.
And, most damningly of all, Riddle was in much worse shape.
In order to protect his students, to the point that his nose had bled and the blood vessels in his eyes had burst, to the point that another overblot would’ve been all but guaranteed had things not ended swiftly soon after, the Housewarden of Heartslabyul brought the full force of his magic to bear against Grim. He’d barely made it to the infirmary before his body gave up. It was a miracle his circuits weren’t shattered entirely. The medical mage in charge of his care said his magic would recover, but it would be slow, and every breath he took looked as though its cost was a steep one.
His hair wasn’t white, but the strain was clear. Again, Riddle had been hurt. Again, Trey had failed to stop it, incapacitated too early in the chaos to be of any use.
Trey couldn’t take it anymore.
Just once, if it meant Riddle would be spared from suffering, he wanted to shoulder the burden. And so, despite the urging from both the nurse and his peers, he pushed himself out of bed.
The potionology lab had certainly seen better days. Due to the dangerous chemicals and magical catalysts that had been released from their vials, the entire wing had been sectioned off for safety reasons until cleaning and sanitation efforts wrapped up. As a member of the Science Club, however, Trey was used to immersing himself in noxious environments whenever Rook decided to act upon some wild urge to cause explosions. His standard equipment would more than suffice.
It was a reckless idea, he knew that full well. Crewel almost had his hide when he first asked permission. Honestly, Trey wasn’t entirely sure he’d find anything worthwhile in the tomes stored there, but he had to start somewhere, and while the library was probably the better choice he didn’t know if his exhausted legs could handle all those stairs right now. Better to kill two birds with one stone. Respirator and goggles firmly in place, for Riddle’s sake, he dragged his sore body down the hallway and pushed the door open.
Nothing happened when he flicked the light switch, the candles plucked from their bases, and he glanced up to find the overhead light had been removed entirely as well. Likely a precaution to prevent sparks, should anything flammable linger in the air. Fortunately, potionology-related blackouts were a common enough occurrence that the lab was stocked with artifacts that produced light, no electricity or flame needed. Unfortunately, it meant he had to dig around shelves of potentially damaged, potentially volatile goods in the dark, until his gloved hand closed upon one of the smooth, spherical surfaces and he breathed a rattling breath of relief. A single tap roused a dim light, a second one made it marginally brighter. He felt an ache run through his hands in response, his magic throbbing like a bruised muscle.
Trey flexed his fingers to shake off the sensation, then held up the orb by its hook as one would a standard camping lantern, trying to get a better look at the situation he threw himself into. The light it emitted was poor, but enough that he could make out smaller objects if he squinted. Some of the tomes and papers kept in the room hadn’t been damaged by all the shaking and chemical fallout, and as he brought the artifact close to check their titles, a distant memory played again in the back of his brain; a paper one of his clubmates had presented in his second year. Something about magic connecting two people together, the exchange of power, et-cetera. It was the catalyst that ultimately drove him to act on his harebrained hope in the first place.
That clubmate probably took his research with him when he left for his internship, and the whole search was nothing more than a wild goose chase. Might as well happen, with how his luck had been. The haunting image of Riddle laying in the infirmary bed though, burnt out and weak beyond belief, banished the creeping doubt and made Trey redouble his efforts.
Luckily, he didn’t actually have to search for very long. A binder still tucked on the shelf caught his attention, a repository of student-conducted studies and research, one of many, and he pulled it up onto the counter top to flip through. M…M…aha!
Magical Transference!
“Here we go,” Trey muttered to himself in triumph, his voice tinny through the filter. Holding the light as close as he could to the paper, finger flying across the page, he scanned the contents for its most important details. He wasn’t anywhere near as efficient as Riddle, going back to reread more than one passage he'd failed to absorb on the first skim, but he’d done his fair share of speed-reading over the previous year. He more or less knew what to look for.
The process itself seemed simple, almost such that it felt too good to be true. A lot of focusing and “opening magic channels,” if that meant what he thought it did. He figured Riddle already knew the steps by now, studied as he was, but decided to commit the details to memory just in case, reciting each bullet point under his breath three times for good measure before moving on to the requirements.
Strong thread tying two mages together, no mention of whether it had to be literal or not, okay, fine. Recipient must be willing, he could probably convince Riddle to accept the proposal if he explained it. Maybe. And then the passage that almost made him groan out loud, The healthier the host, the more strength the recipient will gain. Yeah, that figured. Not much he could do about that, not after what had happened to them all. He’d just have to hope that a big meal would give his body enough strength to make things efficient and play it by ear.
Another idea struck him as he closed and shelved the binder, unwilling to let his clubmates’ hard work get sullied any further: There was another option to speed up replenishing his magic reserves. The potion itself was of a more advanced variety, requiring experience to really ensure its efficiency, but they’d dabbled with it before in class. A quick check of what remained of the stock told him that the necessary ingredients had not, in fact, been entirely lost like so many others, the only real issue being that not a lot remained. Enough for at least a small vial, if he didn't screw it up.
Better than nothing.
All at once, gazing around the evening-cast darkness of the room, Trey realized the enormity of the risk he was taking; with his magic already strained, he couldn’t efficiently test for any magically-flammable components loose in the room. Due to falling debris, access to the dorms was cut off outside of the emergency channels, so he also couldn’t ask to borrow Pomfiore’s resources, nor Octavinelle’s. The kitchen was already occupied with the chef ghosts preparing meals and supplies for those injured, so taking up their space would be rude at best, an active liability at worst. Rationally, he should've waited for confirmation from Crewel or someone else with authority that the room was safe to use.
But the thought of leaving Riddle to stew in agony for another day, another week, turned his stomach. And so, with the streak of single-minded stubbornness that surfaced whenever he was truly set on an idea rearing its head, and nobody around to shake some better sense into him, only one option remained. Trey knelt down and fished out the hand torch they’d kept for students who had trouble controlling fire magic, set the nozzle, then crept over to the cauldron.
Well, moment of truth. Leaning as far away as he could, bracing for impact, he clicked the trigger.
The wood under the cauldron lit up like a stove-top burner, without sputtering up a room-consuming fireball. Trey released a long, deep breath, then laughed over the quiet hiss of the flame, “Hoo. That would’ve been bad.” He grunted loudly as he pushed himself to a stand, setting aside the torch, and gazed into the mess of old potion he’d have to clean out and refill with fresh water. Rolling his shoulder was probably a bad idea from how it throbbed angrily, but he did it anyway to limber up.
No use standing around moaning about it. Time to get to work.
By the time his preparations were complete, night had long since fallen. Once he'd returned to his assigned room and polished off a very late dinner, Trey popped the cork on his tiny test tube flask of green-blue potion. The scent wafting out from the top was subtle and wholly unpleasant, like sweaty old socks left out to ferment, which meant he'd brewed it properly. With only mild hesitancy that was swiftly smothered by thoughts of Riddle, Trey plugged his nose as he knocked it back in one shot. A sharp, short-lived shudder ran through him like an electrical jolt. Then he set about brushing his teeth to get the taste out as soon as he humanly could manage.
Part of him, weary and worn from a very long day, wanted to simply curl up in one of the cots and pass out, but his resolve kept him going, right up until he finally returned to Riddle’s bedside, peeking past the curtain to check if he was awake. Disappointingly, unsurprisingly, he was not, eyes still shut so lightly and tucked up right to his chin. No difference from when Trey last visited that morning.
Or, so he’d thought.
Sighing, Trey pulled out the bedside chair and sank down into it. Before he could contemplate whether he really should just go to bed after all, the softest shifting of fabric broke the otherwise eerie silence of the infirmary. He almost jumped right back out of his seat, leaning forward, hands on the bed as he whispered, “Riddle?”
A small, exhausted voice answered, “Trey?”
“Hey.” The greeting felt too simple for all the words that wanted to spill from him, but he held them back, instead carding one hand through Riddle’s hair, catching on a knot. “Good to see you awake.”
Riddle breathed deep through a grimace of pain, and shifted under the blanket like he was trying to sit up. Trey’s free hand flew to his chest to stop him, but it didn’t really matter, as Riddle only managed to pull his arms out before he deemed the action to be not worth the strain. Blinking blearily, he turned and fixed those bloodshot grey eyes on him.
“What time is it?” he asked, the effort in his voice obvious.
“A little past eleven.”
Then his eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you…?”
Trey smiled, taking one of those thin, magic-drained hands up to hold in his own. “I was busy working on something.”
“...on what?” What could possibly be so important that you’d forgo rest when you sorely need it? went the full unspoken question hanging in the air, too lengthy to warrant the energy.
“It’s…something that’ll help ease your burden.” The smile faltered, then fell into something more serious. “You’ve pushed yourself to the brink so many times in the past few months. It’s not fair that you keep getting placed in that position.”
“It’s my duty…” Riddle started, but the hand running another pass through his bangs hushed him.
“I know. And I’m proud of you for taking it so seriously. But it’s about time I really start taking my role seriously too.” Abandoning his hair, Trey sandwiched Riddle’s fingers between both of his, pressing a kiss to the tips poking out. “You won’t have much magic of your own for a while. So I want you to have mine.”
Riddle’s eyes widened.
“You know what I’m saying, right?” He leaned in and brought the frail hand lower until it sat palm-flat to his own chest. His heart hammered against it. “Let me be the one to bear the consequences for once.”
“Trey…” So many questions, admonishments, fears packed into that one, small name.
“It’s okay. I want to do this.” He smiled again reassuringly. “You won’t hurt me. I’ve already handled all the preparations, so take as much as you need.”
Riddle opened his mouth, but no further response came. Instead, his eyes lidded, then fell shut.
At first Trey wasn’t sure if Riddle comprehended what he said before losing consciousness again. That was fine; not ideal, but fine. He could wait. But then he felt a tug at his chest even though Riddle’s fingers hadn’t budged, hand still limp against Trey’s shirt. It was a strange sensation, like the blood was rushing towards one part of his body and pooling there, stuttering his breath ever so slightly, blinking once, twice, and then everything was gone.
His first experience upon waking up was the singular sensation that he’d been hit by a train and was therefore little more than a tangle of limbs. Subsequently, his first thought was to wonder if he was dead, and if the light piercing his eyelids was the result of that. But that couldn’t be the case, as he could feel all his limbs right where they should be, even if the feeling was from every single nerve tingling with a dull, painful buzz. Groaning, he tried to squeeze his eyes shut tighter to block out the light before that became unbearable too.
“Ah…!”
The gasp was soft, but it was enough for Trey to immediately give up on his endeavor and crack open his eyes instead. Pain stabbed his retinas, until a shadow loomed over the source of the light and shielded him from its glare. Something touched his face, something warm, something gentle, the buzz subsiding at the point of contact and radiating out ever so slightly, and a tug had him turning his head until his opposing cheek pressed into a soft surface. Then something else, cold and hard, and it took a moment until his vision began to clear, that he realized he was being given his glasses.
There, sitting before him, wearing a smile of relief and exhaustion both, was Riddle. Another moment passed before Trey understood why the sight made his chest feel so light, despite the physical drag of his body.
“Good morning,” Riddle greeted softly, thumb stroking the high of Trey’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”
There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he needed to say. “...bad,” was all that croaked out of him instead, the breath literally pulling itself from his lungs, and he winced at the sound of his own voice.
“It’s not very fun, is it?” Riddle tutted. “My goodness, Trey, a magic transfer? What were you thinking? Mm, but I suppose I should be thanking you rather than chiding.”
“So then…”
Nodding, Riddle lifted his free hand, still pale and bandaged but with a newfound vitality making the joints move fluidly. With a flick of the wrist, the tiniest of flames caught on the tip of Riddle’s index finger, a shining beacon of warmth and strength even against the stark light of the infirmary. It was snuffed out just as quick. “I’m not going to waste my vice-housewarden’s efforts carelessly.”
It worked. His idea had worked!
If he wasn’t so wholly spent, Trey might’ve cried. He did not dare try to test his own magic reserves out of curiosity.
Something must’ve shown in his face, because Riddle’s brow pinched, concern and, if Trey wasn’t too delirious to be mistaken, a little bit of guilt creeping into his expression. “I hope you aren’t having regrets. It’d be much too dangerous for me to try and return your reserves so soon.”
“I’m not…” I could never regret helping you, he wanted to add, but even the act of speaking more than a couple words was draining. Thinking back, his assumption about suffering from magical burnout seemed laughable in the face of the real deal. Instead, he simply tried so, so hard to smile.
Thankfully, Riddle seemed to pick up on the sentiment regardless, as his expression softened further into one of pure fondness. His lips pressed against Trey’s forehead, hair tickling his face, and a warmth flooded him so wholly that he couldn’t even begin to worry about how clammy his skin must’ve been.
“Go back to sleep,” Riddle urged, voice low and soft and soothing. “Speaking from experience, the more you rest, the sooner you’ll recover.”
Order, request, it didn’t matter which it was; Trey obeyed without hesitation, letting the burnout of his body and the satisfaction from Riddle’s safety pull him back into the welcoming darkness of sleep.