Work Text:
Here's who we were.
Here's what we thought about.
Here's how we lived.
Recording #01
[A somewhat grainy scene of the Ravenclaw common room. A boy with messy brown hair’s face fills the screen. His eyes are a bright blue color, shining with something akin to joy.]
“Hector! Move a few steps back, will you? Your face is filling the entire frame!” A girl’s voice calls out.
[The boy — Hector — glances up at someone off screen before moving back. He’s wearing robes, the Ravenclaw crest gleaming. He looks about 16, maybe a bit younger.]
“Sorry Sam,” he says sheepishly. “Better now?”
[The girl off-screen supposedly nods, or gestures something similar, because he continues a moment later.]
“Um… hi? I’m Hector, as you probably figured. So my friend Noel — Noel! Noel, pay attention, I’m talking about you!”
[The camera turns slightly to show a blonde boy wearing his uniform — admittedly without his robes, who looks up from the book on the table in front of him. He half-heartedly waves, grumbling something inaudible. The camera turns back to Hector.]
“Right, so Noel’s dad sent him this— What was it called again?”
“A camcorder!”
“Right, Noel’s dad sent him a camrader for Christmas—”
“A camcorder, Hector!”
Hector turns away from the camera. “That’s what I said!” He rolled his eyes, turning back to the camera. “Now that I can finally get on with what I was saying— Noel’s dad sent him this camcorder for Christmas, and he graciously let us use it for recording stuff happening around the common room.”
“Sam, give me the camera, I wanna give them a tour,” Hector says, reaching out for it.
[The visual shakes as Sam pulls the camera closer, out of Hector’s reach.]
“Hey! I can do that too!” Sam says.
“I know you can, but I want to.“
“Fine.” Sam sounds like she already has three arguments ready — and is trying extremely hard to swallow all of them.
[The visual distorts as the camera changes hands, momentarily showing nothing but the midnight-blue carpet. It shakes a bit, then suddenly shows a bright blue eye.]
“Hector!” Sam says. “You’re holding it the wrong way! You’re supposed to show the room, not your eye!”
Hector chuckled sheepishly. “Whoops.”
[The camera turns, landing on the view of a towering bookshelf, with a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw off to the side. Hector isn’t visible anymore, but there are two kids — second-years, by the looks of them — looking through the shelves.]
“Carlos! Carlos’s friend! Look here, will you? I’m recording you guys!”
The two boys turn. The taller, brown-haired one scowls. “I have a name, you know?”
“And I don’t know it,” Hector says.
“Don’t you give me that grin, Hector!”
“Now, now, Carlos’s friend; respect your elders, I'm three years older than you. Anyways, what are you two looking for?”
The other boy — Carlos, probably — waved his hands. “You know, just something that Sprout said in Herbology.”
“I don’t know,” Hector says, the cheer in his voice unmistakable. “But I’ll leave you to it.”
[The camera turns again, lingering over a grand, spiraling staircase before rotating further to show the entire room. The domed ceiling reflects the night sky, constellations and all. The room is furnished with blue tables, chairs, and a divan. Portraits hang on the walls. The camera turns to show Hector’s face in full frame.]
“So that’s our common room! Hope you liked it! Oh, and I almost forgot-”
[The camcorder moves to show a spectacular view of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts, the sun setting behind them. In addition, it also sports a splendid view of the school grounds, including the great lake and the forbidden forest. It turns back to Hector.]
“There! An actual full tour of our common room. I think. Well, not the people, but we Ravens could probably get talking for hours — some of us, at least. It depends on who you pull up for a conversation. And the topic—”
“HECTOR ALEXANDER WHITAKER IF I GET MY HANDS ON YOU—”
“Uh oh… Well, I better go— that’s that, and Hector out!”
[A ‘thud’ is heard as Hector places the camcorder on a nearby table.]
“Noel, how do I turn this thing off?”
[A ruffle of movement, and the video goes dark.]
Ethan couldn’t sleep.
OWLs were barely a month away. Maybe it was the essay for Binns he didn’t finish — due yesterday (but Binns hadn’t asked for it yet, thankfully). Or maybe it’s because of that sinking certainty he’s failing muggle studies anyways. Or perhaps — though he’d rather not think about that — it’s because of the argument he got into yesterday with his best friend Randolph on quidditch.
He doesn’t bother to change out of his pyjamas as he makes his way down the staircase of the boys’ dormitory, grabbing his half-finished essay on the Werewolf Code of Conduct and a quill and inkpot on his way down.
He’s hoping for the common room to be empty, but nearly five years of living in Ravenclaw tower have taught him that it probably isn’t. That, and the fact that he can hear voices.
The domed ceiling is painted with the night sky. It’s… comforting, in a way. He can see Orion — the hunter — and his two faithful dog companions. There are a lot more constellations, he just doesn’t recognize them.
He recognizes one of the people in the common room. She’s barefoot, looking out the window with a telescope. Her blonde hair is open, as he’s often seen it. A copy of The Quibbler lays open next to an astronomy journal on a nearby table. She’s two years below him, but he’s often seen her around the castle.
“Hey Luna,” he says softly as to not disturb her.
She turns, smiling brightly when she sees him. “Hello,” she says, voice as low as his. Her gaze is dreamy as it meets his. “Do you think stars have thoughts of their own, Ethan? The way you and I do? Or perhaps do they twinkle to tell stories in the sky?”
He squirms a little under her gaze, not quite used to her eccentricities. “Well… I’d say perhaps they do. Maybe the twinkling is morse code, secret messages being passed between stars. But that’s not a very conventional outlook, is it? Goes a bit past even the limits of magic.”
“Convention is in the eye of the beholder, much like beauty. Perhaps you simply need to change your perspective. You need to be open-minded enough to see the tales they weave…” she trails off, gaze going back towards her telescope.
He shuffles away slowly. “I’ll leave you to it then. Happy gazing.”
If she hears him, she doesn’t reply, humming softly to herself as she jots something down in her journal.
He turns to the other occupant in the room. He doesn’t know him, but he looks like a sixth year or someone. He’s sitting at one of the tables in front of the bookcase, dark hair disheveled as he pours over a book and a parchment. There are two neat rolls of parchment beside him, which suggests that he’s been here a while.
Ethan puts down his stationery on the same table in front of the other boy. He scans the shelves for any book that could help him with his essay. He finally finds the magical creatures section and looks over the titles. Grappling with Goblins, A beginners guide to Unicorn raising, Elfish Schemes from the Ministry of Magic, and finally something that looked useful — Whereabouts of Werewolves by Garet Donchuan.
The boy on the other end of the table looks up as Ethan drops his stuff on it a little too hard. His amber eyes are jarring; coppery like they’ve lost their shine, and wide against the stark hollowness of his face. Ethan meets his gaze for a second before the dark haired boy goes back to his work.
He debates saying something. Should he? Should he not.
“What’re you working on?” he blurts out, and immediately winces. That was not how he had wanted to start this conversation.
The boy’s hand twitches slightly over the parchment. Ethan waits. One second. Two.
“It’s a comparative analysis between the augurs and scryers of ancient Rome,” he says finally.
Ethan blinks. “I can’t decide whether you’re joking or not.”
Without looking up from his work, the boy replies, “I’m not.”
And the conversation dies out at that. Ethan faintly realizes he never asked for a name.
He opens Whereabouts of Werewolves with a little more force than he needs to, flipping through the pages for anything that might actually make sense.
Half an hour later, he’s written zero new words. His gaze keeps drifting to the neat parchment in front of him, the handwriting neat and precise — almost too precise. The scratch of the boy’s quill is the only sound other than Luna’s humming, and the common room’s quiet feels eerie for a second.
“You’re staring.”
That jerks Ethan out of his trance. Those dull amber eyes are fixated on him, and Ethan feels like the boy isn’t quite looking at him than looking through him.
“I- I wasn’t staring,” he says.
“You were,” is the simple reply. Ethan waits for the boy to elaborate, but he doesn’t say anything else, going back to his work.
“I’m Ethan,” he blurts out. “Ethan Vexley.”
“Okay, Ethan. It’s good to make the acquaintance.”
“You should really tell your own name too, you know? When someone asks?”
Amber eyes flick to his once more. Look him up and down.
“Vate,” he says finally.
Ethan grins. “Finally. Thought I’d have to keep calling you nameless-guy in my head.”
Vate doesn’t say anything, but his hand hovers by his quill a moment too long before he grabs it.
“You should really get to finishing that essay of yours,” Vate says. “Binns might ask for it tomorrow.”
Ethan isn’t sure, but in that moment, he could have sworn Vate’s eyes weren’t nearly as dull as they were before — in fact, they looked excessively bright. He didn’t remember mentioning what essay he was working on, or for whom either, but perhaps that was clear enough if anyone looked at his essay. He’d written the heading in huge bold letters in an attempt to make the essay longer.
Nevertheless, he tries to actually focus on the essay. In the corner of his eye, he notices Luna packing up her stuff, and shooting him a small wave before retreating to the girls’ dormitory.
He doesn’t remember finishing the essay. Or falling asleep on the table he was working at. But when he wakes up, it’s the early hours of morning. The common room isn’t quite empty, with a few early risers milling about.
He faintly registers that someone’s wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. It’s warm and soft. Comforting. He quickly rolls up his essay and stores it in his bag for safekeeping. Folding the blanket, he notices a note on the chair where Vate had been the night before. He recognizes his precise handwriting.
Keep the blanket. Also, don’t go to the black lake today.
He doesn’t quite understand it, but decides there couldn’t be much harm in avoiding the lake.
In the middle of the day, he’ll realize that Vate was right about Binns asking for the essay. And after classes, he’ll hear that a second year Gryffindor got pulled right into the lake by the giant squid.
Ethan can’t help but wonder if, after all, Vate had known everything long before it had happened.
Recording #06
[The scene shakes heavily as the Ravenclaw common room is little more than blurry colors before coming to a stop. For a few moments, Terry Boot’s face is visible before the camera moves again, landing with a thud on a nearby shelf, showing Terry and Hector talking.]
“Terry! Terry! Could you do me a favour?” Hector asks.
“Make it quick, Whitaker.”
“I’m interviewing members of the quidditch team and could you please record for me?”
Terry raises an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for— you know what? I’ll just ask someone else… I’m sure Anthony would be interested in a limited edition chocolate frog card of Circe,” Hector says slyly.
“Throw in a pack of chocolate cauldrons with it and I’ll film your stupid interviews.”
“Deal.”
[Hector tosses Terry the camcorder, who fumbles but manages to catch it.]
“Is… Hector, this thing’s been recording the entire time!”
“Whoops.”
[The scene cuts to black before starting again. The shot zooms in to Cho Chang sitting at one of the tables, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Hector approaches her, sitting down on one of the chairs next to her.]
“And here we have Cho Chang, fifth year Ravenclaw seeker. Ms Chang — or do you want me to call you Cho? Anyways—”
Cho doesn’t look up. “What do you want?”
“Well, Cho, I wanted to ask some… questions. An interview, of sorts. It will be brilliant!”
“I’m doing homework.”
“Well, what a lovely point to start our questions, then!” Hector grins. “What homework are you doing?”
“Potions. How long do you insist on annoying me, Hector?”
“Why, as long as needed, I’d say. So, potions. Do you think professor Snape would look good in green robes? Because Slytherin?”
Cho finally looks up from her parchment. “Is this what the ‘interview’ is going to be about?”
“It can be, if you make it. Now answer the question.”
“Well, if we’re having Snape wear colors that aren’t black, why not red and gold? He hates the Gryffindors enough for it to be enough of a laugh.”
Terry whistles from behind the camera, his whispered “she’s got nerve” loud and clear in the recording.
Hector claps his hands once. “Next question. Is it true that Susan Bones from Hufflepuff is actually a werewolf?”
“Why are you asking me? And I don’t think so,” Cho replies. “Also, how many more questions? You’re wasting time I don’t have.”
“Only a few more, I promise. Now, if you had to duel an ogre with a teaspoon and a teacup, without your wand, could you win, and why?”
Cho sighs. “What kind of a question is that? You want me to imagine fighting an ogre with a teaspoon and a teacup?”
“Yup! Is the mighty Cho Chang afraid of admitting she’d lose?”
Cho bristles. “I will have you know that I am perfectly capable of fighting an ogre. I’d break the teacup into pieces and hurl the sharp ends at the ogre’s eyes. Then I’d knock it out with my fist.”
Hector’s eyes widen. “Please don’t tell me you’ve actually knocked someone out before.”
“That third year good for nothing chaser had it coming for him.”
[The camera zooms in at Hector, who looks positively terrified.]
“Well, umm,” Hector squeaks out. “I’ll, well, leave you to your homework, yeah. Good luck!”
[Hector almost knocks over his chair in his haste to leave.]
“Come on, Terry! We’re looking for the next person to interview! I think I see Davies over there!”
[Hector starts towards one of the armchairs, where Roger Davies is sitting, reading a leaflet, one of many in a stack in front of him. The visual shakes as Terry hastens to catch up to him. Hector slips into the chair in front of Roger, who looks up, slightly startled.]
“Up next on interviewing the Ravenclaw team, we have Roger Davies, Captain and Chaser extraordinaire — but somehow still can’t shoot a decent goal against Gryffindor’s Wood.”
Roger, who’d just returned to the leaflet, looked up, eyes blazing slightly. “Excuse me? I’ll tell you perfectly well that I can in fact shoot goals even with Wood at the posts. How could you think so low of me? I will have you know—”
“Alright, alright, sorry man. It was a joke, I swear. Anyways, would you be willing to answer some questions?”
Roger grins. He put the leaflet back down, leaning back in the chair and crossing his leg over his knee. “‘Course I am. Job leaflets can wait. Interviews,” he ran a hand through his hair, “can’t.”
Hector beams. “Brilliant! So, tell me, if it came down to kicking either Cho Chang or Duncan Inglebee off the team, who would you pick?”
Roger’s eye twitches. “You can’t ask me questions like that! I can’t just kick someone off my team — you’re recording this thing! Chang’s a brilliant seeker, and Inglebee’s got a mean shot. And besides, I can’t go around answering that, my team will never listen to me again!”
Terry’s sigh is audible over the camera. “We are never going to be allowed to interview anyone again,” he muttered.
“Please? Answer it? For journalism?” Hector tries. Roger’s eyes give enough away. “Alright, alright. Which of the professors do you think secretly wants to be on their house’s quidditch team?”
“Now you’re asking the good questions!” Roger’s eyes are sparkling. “Definitely McGonagall. You ever seen her in the top box? She definitely wishes she could still play.”
Hector nods slightly. “You don’t say. Heard she went to the headmaster to get Potter a broom. Next question. If you were trapped in the forbidden forest for a night, who would you bring with you?”
“Dumbledore. That man will scare any creature off.”
“A student, Davies. And I mean for moral support.”
“Hand me anyone. We’ll have a blast playing I-spy in the forest. Who needs morale when you can bond with people?”
“Even if they talk a lot?”
“Especially if they talk a lot,” Roger answers without missing a beat.
“If you could change the eagle doorknocker’s riddle to any other challenge for a day, what would you make people do to get into the common room?”
Roger doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze goes to the common room door, before he looks around the common room. “Well… there’s a lot we could do. But I suppose it would be a lot easier for other houses to get in… but I think I’d make people reveal one lesser-known thing about themselves or reveal one secret. It needs to be genuine. Maybe the knocker can figure that out. I think it would be nice.”
Hector doesn’t say anything for a minute. He looked lost for words.
“Merlin’s beard,” Terry mutters. “He broke Hector.”
“Huh… okay. That’s… that’s a good one.”
Roger smiles softly, reaching for the leaflet he was looking over. “You know, Whitaker, I’ve heard some muggles have jobs that involve making jokes. You should go for one of those jobs. Maybe you can do magic tricks too. Heard those are getting popular with muggles too. Now, you done interrogating me?”
“For now,” Hector says.
He gets up, turning to Terry. “There’s no one else here, and I’ve been waiting to do this for ages.”
He grins. “Cut!”
[The recording cuts to black.]
Lisa has been at Hogwarts for three months now, and she still isn’t quite used to it yet.
Not the spiralling staircases, not the moving and talking paintings, not the classes and certainly not the door knocker.
Till now, she’s been going around with a small group of other Ravenclaws of her year. Between them, and some upperclassmen, she hasn’t needed to solve one of the bronze eagle knocker’s riddles herself.
Today, she’d been studying after classes at the library. Mostly she’d go to Ravenclaw Tower, even for research work — the common room’s library had an extensive collection of books.
But she’d wanted to… branch out a bit. Meet new people, maybe make friends. And she did talk to a few people from different houses.
Eventually, though, she packed up her stuff and made her way through Hogwarts’s halls. She climbed up the spiral staircase in tight circles. They made her dizzy in the beginning, but she was getting a hang of it.
Finally, she reached the door. There wasn’t any handle or keyhole; nothing but plain wood, and the bronze knocker shaped like an eagle.
She reached out a hand like she had seen plenty others do before, knocking once.
At once, the eagle’s beak opened, and the soft, musical voice said, “I can tell you where you’re going, but I cannot take you there. I can show you where you’ve been, but I cannot bring you back. What am I?”
Lisa steps back, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Her hands shake as her bag drops to the ground.
She’s watched this happen dozens of times. She’s come up here dozens of times. She’s heard countless riddles with countless people.
She’s seen them walk up to the door, knock, pause. Listen. She’s heard countless answers — some given after a few minutes of muttering, some almost instantly. She’s heard wrong answers and right ones, mentally keeping track for whenever, later, she’d have to answer her own riddles.
She just didn’t imagine later to look like this.
She goes over the riddle again. It can show her something. But it can’t bring her back there.
“Is- is it a memory?” Her voice is quiet, so soft she’s scarcely sure the knocker heard her.
The word sounds wrong in the room as soon as it left her lips, even before the knocker’s curt, “not quite.”
Lisa flinches, taking an instinctive step back as she looks around for people who aren’t there.
She looks down at the stone floor like it holds all the answers. Faintly, she hears someone come up the stairs.
“First time by yourself?” A voice asks.
Lisa pulls her gaze off the floor, turning. A tall girl stands a few steps below. Her dark hair is pulled back neatly, and Lisa can see a prefect badge gleaming.
“Yes,” she admits faintly. “I usually come with other people.”
The girl nods, coming up the remaining steps. “I’m Penelope. What’s your name?”
“Lisa. Lisa Turpin.”
“Okay, Lisa. It’s okay that you came with other people, everyone does that. I did too.” She glances at the eagle, then back at Lisa. “The first time I came up alone, I was so scared I went back down the entire staircase to wait for someone. And you know what he told me? He said the trick wasn’t being inherently smart or good at riddles. You’re a Ravenclaw. Think. Imagine. Tell me the riddle. We’ll go over it together.”
Lisa looks down, cheeks burning. “I- I don’t remember it.”
“That’s okay. Ask the knocker again. She’s pleasant enough, she’ll tell you if you ask nicely.”
She knocks again. “Can you repeat the riddle? Please?”
The knocker’s cool voice rings out again. “I can tell you where you’re going, but I cannot take you there. I can show you where you’ve been, but I cannot bring you back. What am I?”
Penelope laughs softly. “Long one this time, huh? Don’t worry. We’ll go through it together.”
Lisa shifts on her feet.
“Alright. So the riddle says it can tell you where you’re going. It says it can show where you’ve been. But notice how it mentions that it can’t actually take you there.”
“So it’s like… a guide?” Lisa asks tentatively.
“Yeah, like a guide. So it guides you to destinations, and it can show where you’ve been…” Penelope trails off.
A guide. Something that told. Taught, maybe? That led.
It hits Lisa like a lightning strike. Fast, sudden, and filling her with energy she didn’t realize she had. “It’s a map!”
“Precise,” the knocker says, amusement tinging its voice. The door swings open, showing the wide expanses of the Ravenclaw common room inside.
Something bubbles inside Lisa’s chest that made her grin wide. She’d solved her first riddle. She turned to Penelope, who was smiling at her.
“Go on,” she said. “You did it. You solved the riddle.”
Lisa picked up her bag, stepping inside quickly in case the door closed on her. Penelope came in close behind. She pulled something out of her pocket, offering it to Lisa.
She took it carefully, murmuring a small “thank you.” It was a candy, wrapped in bright pink paper.
“It’s one of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gums. Consider it a treat for solving the riddle. Next time though, don’t panic, okay? Just think it through.”
Lisa nods, still a little breathless. “I will. Thank you, again. For- for helping me with the riddle.”
Penelope shook her head. “I didn’t do anything. You solved it all by yourself. I just nudged you in the right direction.”
With a final pat of Lisa’s cheek, she was gone, leaving Lisa alone by the door, still grinning slightly.
She unwrapped the gum, chewing on it for a minute. Sweet.
Just like the sweetness of her victory of getting through the common room door.
Recording #08
[The scene opens to someone stepping back from the camera. It’s Anthony Goldstein. He’s holding a piece of parchment, squinting at it. He looked up at the camera.]
Anthony waved slightly. “Hiya, there. Hector’s sick, so I said I’d fill in for him. Didn’t realize that came with an entire… manual.”
He waved the parchment in the air. “Hector’s handwriting is terrible. It’s absolute gibberish. I think he wrote it this bad on purpose.”
He traced one line of the parchment. “So apparently, he wanted to cover… Academic Chaos. And for some reason today is the best day to do it?” He shrugged. “Well, I’m always up for some academic chaos. You can never get enough of it in here. Let’s see…”
He looks around the room, eyes lighting up. “There! I wonder what play they’re reading this time…”
[He walks back towards the camera, picking it up and flipping it around, before walking to one end of the room, where seven Ravenclaws — of more than one year — are huddled around three books. He whispers to the camera as he gets closer.]
“They’re all… chaotic, to say the least. And it doesn’t make sense until you’re actually reading the play. Some people like to call them the ‘play group’, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard one of them call the group ‘literature geeks united’. If you ask me, that’s a worse name. They’re awfully loud sometimes, like that time they were reading Macbeth— anyways, it’s usually a sight to see if you have the patience.”
“What can be avoided, whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions are to the world in general as to Caesar,” a blonde boy says, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he reads.
“When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes,” the girl across him reads out.
The boy is about to read again when he’s interrupted.
“If you’re playing Calpurnia, can you at least sound like you care about Caesar, I don’t know, not dying?”
The girl crosses her arms. “I do not find it within myself to sound like I care one knut about Lorcan, whatever role he might be playing; not after he beat me on Sinistra’s quiz.”
The blonde boy groans. “Come on, Olivia! One time. That was one time. Two months ago. You literally hit me with a jinx in charms last week—”
“Alright, alright, enough you two. If we’re going to argue, can we do it on something good? Like whether Brutus should have murdered Caesar—”
“Padma Patil, for the sake of Merlin, stop giving spoilers to everyone!”
“Didn’t everyone know Caesar dies?”
[Anthony turns the camera back towards himself.]
“As I said, they’re a… chaotic bunch. See, this is why no one trusts us to ask anything in class — they think we’ll send the professor down some insane line of questions. Anyways, I really didn’t care for English class when I went to muggle school, so I have no idea what all the hype about Shakespeare is. Like, really, what is with that metaphor — why would there be comets when people die? That bloke had no clarity skills.”
He looks around the common room again. “The sixth years are studying together again? Now that could go two ways—”
“CARMICHAEL! I SWEAR ON ALBUS DUMBLEDORE’S NAME, IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME MY ESSAY BACK THIS VERY MINUTE—”
“And that’s one way to go about it,” Anthony whispers to the camera.
[He turns the camcorder around to show the sixth-year’s study group. It’s got some nine or ten students. Most of them are sitting around two tables. Except two people, a boy with bright blue hair and another boy who is holding up a parchment just out of reach.]
“That’s Eddie Carmichael and Robert Hilliard. Eddie’s notorious for claiming he got nine Outstandings on his OWLs last year, but just about everyone in Ravenclaw knows he barely passed four subjects. Robert’s probably the reason he passed those in the first place. It’s not like Eddie isn’t smart, he’s a right whiz with creatures, but that chap’s got zero focus. Or at least, that’s what the rest of the sixth years say.”
“Robert, Eddie, if you’re done with your… hooliganing, can we please continue our debate?” A girl interrupts, effectively freezing the two in place.
Robert looks up. “Wait, what? What debate? I’m sorry, I was working on my essay so I didn’t hear.”
She sighs deeply, like she’s used to this. “Our debate on the effects of using different fertilizers for the Venomous Tentacula to positively affect its growth? The essay Sprout needs tomorrow?”
“...that’s due tomorrow?”
“Yes, you stupid genius.”
[The camera turns again, showing Anthony’s face.]
“Well, let’s hope Robert makes it alive out of that one. Also, what sense does ‘stupid genius’ make? Either he’s stupid, or he’s a genius.”
[A loud series of thuds are heard. Somewhere in the background, a pile of books has fallen to the ground. Anthony winces before turning. Almost immediately, three students start picking the books up.]
“I’m about to regret this, aren’t I?” Anthony mutters.
[He crouches slightly, camcorder shaking as he holds it with one hands and picks a book up to put back on the table. The floor hasn’t just got books on it. There’s a dark pool of liquid on the floor that looks suspiciously like ink, especially considering how it’s soaked part of a fallen quill. There’s also small pieces of parchment, scattered like someone tore it up in frustration.]
“Are you guys okay? Do you need anything? Help? Organizational clarity?”
A girl looks at him from the books she’s picking up. “No. We’ll be fine. Barbara here just got a bit… overexcited.”
Barbara barely looked up, but Anthony could see the fanatical gleam in her eyes. “Oh come on, Erica. You try being calm when you find out you’re friends with someone who can draw runes that can set fires.”
“I was also there when Lucas told us. Do you see me knocking books over?”
The boy, who had just gotten up from the floor, rolls his eyes. “For the last time, I can’t actually draw runes like that and make them work. I just know how to read it.”
“If you can read it, you know how to do it!”
“That’s not how it—” Lucas sighs, “never mind that. You told me to keep an eye on your transfiguration essay progress. It’s been two hours.”
“I’ve made progress!” Barbara protests immediately.
“You wrote three lines,” Erica says, folding up hers. “While I’m done.”
“Show off.”
[Anthony turns the camera back towards him.]
“That was… surprisingly civil. Almost nobody who wants it quiet can work here — I’m pretty sure someone set off a fire crab in here once. If you want peace, you go to the library. I suppose we do need a calm lot here after all. But they’re also very… messy. The house elves are going to have a hard time cleaning all that up.”
[He turns around, one side and then the other. There’s not a lot of people in the common room anymore. The camera lands hard in a chair, showing just the dark blue fabric. A rustling of parchment is heard.]
“Well, guess that’s it. Hector’s left a closing line, it seems. He and I are about to have a talk about his handwriting. Ravenclaw house is not responsible for any raellertial — no wait, that says collateral— damage sustained during the pursuit of knowledge. Well, that sounds mildly threatening. Exactly how I like my pursuit of knowledge, with a dash of danger on the side.”
[Anthony picks up the camcorder, fiddling with it in his hands.]
“How do I turn this thing off no—”
[The scene cuts to black.]
Looking around the common room, Declan can’t help but feel behind — especially when it came to the others in his year
Maria is bugging the others about their sleep schedules again. He still doesn’t know how she does it. She’s meticulous in her planning. She once successfully determined that hours spent sleeping would drop by seventeen percent two months before OWL season, and would go progressively down.
Everyone in his house seems to know what they want to do by third year. Their interest.
Except him.
He’s a fourth year now, and he’s still clueless.
He’s got nothing. He’s mediocre at herbology at best. His transfiguration lessons mostly end with McGonagall asking him if he would like an older student to tutor him. Professor Sinistra just looked at him with disappointment last night when he mixed up the Big Dipper and Pisces.
With a sigh, he packs up his books. Maybe he can ask one of the older years to help him with his essay. He really doesn’t know how to tackle the essay on the use of Belladonna.
He spots two girls at the table next to his. Well, one is at the table. The other is lying on the ground, looking straight up at the starry domed ceiling.
“Er… hi. I was wondering if you could help me… if you have the time, of course—”
Table-girl looks up from her book. “Sure, of course! Sit down, please. I’m Megan, but everyone calls me Incantor.”
He sits, dropping his satchel into the seat beside him. “I’m Declan. Everyone calls me that. But why do people call you incantor, if I may ask?”
The girl on the floor pipes up. “That’s because she’s obsessed with making her own spells.”
“Danica!”
“Oh come on,” Danica rolls her eyes. “He asked! If you don’t want people to ask, don’t tell them people call you Incator!”
Declan’s eyes widen. “You make your own spells? That’s so cool.” But his smile drops slightly as he realizes this is yet another person who’s found their calling. Another reminder that he hasn’t.
“She’s just exaggerating. They don’t work anyways. Now, you said you needed some help?” Megan says.
“Well… I was hoping if you could help me with my essay on Belladonna and its uses? Or if you could help me find a book? I looked a bit, but I couldn’t find any…”
“Yeah, of course, Declan. Honestly, I don’t remember much about Belladonna. I just remember it’s toxic. Very toxic. So you’ll probably only use it for brewing poisons, like Weedosoros. I think there’s a few books in the library about poisonous plants, you can ask Madam Pince about it. Or you could ask Ray — he’s the blonde guy by the window.”
“Don’t send him to Ray, Meg. You know the only reasons he works so hard in potions is because he needs them for his rituals.”
Declan splutters. “I’m sorry, what? Rituals?”
Danica nods absently. “Yeah. Summoning rituals. Necromancy. Ray’s this fifth year. Keeps trying to summon the ghost of Rowena Ravenclaw. If you go there, he’ll probably just pull you into one of his latest attempts.”
He really, really doesn’t know what to make of that. “Okay then… I’ll just check the books in the common room again. Otherwise I guess I’ll just go to the library. Thank you. Really.”
Declan doesn’t know what to do anymore. He really needs to finish this. He goes back to his table and puts his stuff back down. He’s skimming through the bookshelf when he spots one kid literally juggling. He’s got four colorful balls in his hands.
Declan’s heard it’s a muggle thing, tossing those balls like that, but he has to admit it looks very cool. Even more so, the juggler is even talking to two people.
He steps a bit closer, just enough to catch their voices and still seem like he was looking through the shelf.
“—called him to his office,” the juggler says .
The girl sitting in front of him looks up. “Wait, Conrad? The seventh year?”
“Yeah, the one who’s scary good at Arithmancy? Flitwick called him.”
Great. Another person who had their own niche carved out. Just great. It’s like the universe wanted to remind him at every turn.
“Well, he did look like he was in a right state till like, three days ago. Bloke looked practically awful,” the other boy — not the juggler — says.
“I’ve heard Flitwick’s dancing cupcakes are worth being in a state for.”
The girl smacked him, knocking the balls out of his hands. “It’s not funny, Jake.”
“Well, I even heard that some creepy sixth year told Conrad that he’d be seeing a ‘sugary delight’ some three hours before Flitwick actually called him—”
Declan wonders if he should go visit professor Flitwick too. Maybe as the head of their house, he’d be able to help.
He turns—
And nearly falls through the silvery-blue outline of the Grey Lady, their house ghost.
Something cold and electric makes him shiver as he steps back. “Sorry. I- I didn’t see you there.”
The tall ghost does not smile. Declan thinks it would be worse if she did. “Careful there, young Raven. Even if deep in thought or in pursuit of knowledge, one should not walk so carelessly. You might find yourself somewhere most inconvenient.”
“I- I’m sorry. I’ll just be going now.”
“None of that,” she admonishes him. “You seem troubled.”
“How can you tell?”
“I have lived long, even in death. You are not the first to walk these halls with such a sombre face. Now, tell me, what troubles you?”
He feels his face flush. “It’s nothing. Really. Just… stressed. About… homework.”
“If this were a simple matter about homework, it would not have consumed you so entirely. You feel this issue deeply. People forget that we Ravenclaws can be emotional too, not just logical.”
“It’s just— everyone seems to be so… brilliant. Something they’re amazing at. And everyone seems to have found theirs. And I’m just… here. Not failing, not being exceptional. I— maybe I don’t belong here.”
She nods, just slightly. “I see. So you think you do not belong because the others seem to be better than you.”
Put like that, it sounded worse. But Declan doesn’t say anything, just shrugs.
“You know, I remember another boy coming to me once. Years ago, now. He, too, wasn’t happy. The expectation of his family name was heavy on his shoulders. He was crying, you know. Over a simple piece of wood he couldn’t seem to carve straight.”
He isn’t sure if he’s talking to him anymore as she continues speaking.
“He asked me, like you, if he really belonged here. If he was good enough. And you know what I told him?”
“What?” His voice is soft. Enthralled, even.
“I told him that no great mind knew what they were going to do for their entire life. No one knew what they could achieve when they were just children. Many don’t know even late into their life. You fret, but for what? You have time. This house does not ask who you are. It asks who you can be. Asks who you are willing to be.”
He doesn’t realize she’s floating away until she’s well ahead of him.
“Wait!”
She turns.
“Who was the boy? The one you told all that?”
She studies him for a moment. “Garrick Ollivander.”
And then she was gone, floating out the wall.
Recording #22
[The scene opens to the Ravenclaw Common room. It’s oddly neat — the tables empty, the bookshelves in order. A Ravenclaw scarf that had once been draped over the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw is gone. There’s some people milling around, but that’s it. Hector appears in the frame, crouching in front of the camera.]
“Hello. Hi. I’m back. OWLs are finally over. I’m pretty sure I flunked History of Magic, but who hasn’t?” He looks around. “It’s the last day of term. Meaning, I haven’t packed yet. I’ll do it eventually. It also means that the seventh years aren’t coming back after this. Like, ever,” he pauses. “Which is weird, because I’m pretty sure one of these people was the one who gave me a chocolate frog when twelve year old me was crying his eyes out because professor McGonagall scolded me.”
[He claps once. Stands up and picks the camera up with him. The visual shakes as he turns it around and turns to the only people in the common room]
“Well, let’s go get some life-changing advice — or not, I guess.”
[He approaches the first group, four people sitting in a circle on the carpet.]
“Hiya guys. Tell me, do you guys plan on wreaking havoc outside of Hogwarts? I dunno, some huge firework displays of bronze and blue?”
A boy — tall, with blonde hair streaked with brown — rolls his eyes. “We’re Ravenclaws, Hector, not minions of Satan.”
“Speak for yourself, Conrad,” the girl in front of him says. “Some of us are definitely wreaking havoc out there.”
The other girl — her sister, probably, they have the same eyes — smacks her. “You’re literally joining the Ministry, Gwen. Do not go about letting nifflers loose in there.”
“What about a firecrab?”
“No!” three other people say together.
Hector turns to the last boy. “Any life-saving advice you have to give the camcorder?”
The seventh year doesn’t speak immediately. He just looks at Hector for a minute. ”Trust what you learn here. It’s what’s going to get you through everything else.”
“Lloyd, stop trying to remind us we’re never coming back again,” Conrad says.
“Sorry? But I mean it, Hector. Hogwarts will teach you things no one else will. Make good of your last two years.”
Hector doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Did you make good on your own advice?”
Lloyd smiles, a little sad, fingers tightening around his sleeve. “I didn’t. That’s why I’m telling you.”
“Alright!” a girl says, “enough. Go on, Hector. Lloyd’s just being sappy. We’ve already had to keep him from crying thrice today.”
[The visual moves again as Hector moves to two people sitting at the windowsill.]
“Rudi! Dylan!”
The two boys turn, the one on the left waving. “Hey there! Whitaker, right?”
“Yeah, Hector Whitaker. You guys got any plans after Hogwarts? Or, you know, just gonna wing it?”
“Well, Rudi here’s going to end up as a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron for sure—”
“Dylan! Stop making fun of me!” he turns to Hector, “between you and me, he’s going to fail the Auror exam every single time until he’s just an old coot spouting philosophy.”
“Now who’s the one making fun?” Dylan says in indignation.
“Alright, alright, ladies,” Hector says, “calm down.”
They both turn to him. “Ladies?”
“Sorry, sorry! But what are you actually doing? I was going over my options with Flitwick and he said I wasn’t ‘serious enough’ for journalism. Like—rude. Let a boy follow his dreams.”
“I’m going to try for the Auror office,” Dylan says. “It’s what the whole family did.”
Rudi shrugs. “I don’t actually know yet. Might become an alchemist — pity Flamel is dead now, I wanted to learn under him to be honest. Or maybe I’ll try for a position in the Wizengamot. But really, I’m just glad to be free of this place. I was tired of Filch breathing over my shoulder every other day — oh, stop rolling your eyes at me, Hector.”
“I’m sure Filch will find someone else to torment. Don’t miss us too much, ‘kay you two?”
They all laugh.
[The camera turns again to the last group. There’s three girls standing by the bookshelf.]
“Hello, ladies,” Hector greets, walking towards them. “I’m not sure I know any of your names, but…” he points to the one in the center, “weren’t you the one who smashed her inkpot after the final NEWT? Word around the halls is everyone’s going to do that from next year.”
She gets nudged by the one leaning against the wall. “Hear that, Cora? You’re famous now.”
Cora just huffs. “Exactly how I wanted to leave Hogwarts — with a bang. So, Hector, what’s up? What brings you and your camcorder to us?”
“Well, I figured you seventh years deserved a tribute. You guys are leaving, aren’t you?”
He turns to the girl who’s still looking at the bookshelf. “Got any last words for us?”
She whirls around to face him. She bites her lip and then shakes her head, turning back to the bookshelf.
The other girl just sighs. “It’s no use. She hasn’t said a word for two days. I mean, I get it. It’s weird. I don’t think I’ll miss the classes. Just… this.”
She lets out a shuddering breath. “I’ve lived here for seven years. I just— I can’t believe we’re leaving.”
Hector breathes in slowly. “Wow, uh— Don’t worry, I’ll write to you. If that helps?”
She nods softly. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
Hector nods, a little too quickly.
[He picks up the camera, putting it back where it had been when he’d started. He sits in front of it.]
“Well, that’s it, then. Last day. The seventh years are leaving for good. But that’s okay, I guess, we’ll be getting new little firsties in exchange. Now, another note. If they blow something up, Ravenclaw house is not responsible for it. We got that clear, right? Anyways, next time I’ll record, I’ll be a sixth year— Noel, you better not forget this thing, you hear me!”
Noel’s reply is little more than a garbled, “Yeah, yeah,” because of a loud, rapid beeping cutting through.
“Also, what is this thing doing?”
[Noel appears near the front, hands blocking half the camera.]
“It’s running out of bat—”
[The recording cuts out to black.]