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thecrystalquill · 8 months

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A/N: Chapter Ten! I hope you liked the Trick or Treat game for our Halloween Special. Now let’s see if you were right…

Please do your part and leave a like/reblog if you read it :)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series intro Your First Year Hogwarts Letter

Chapter Ten ~ The Winds Of Change

Slowly, (Y/N) was starting to settle in at Hogwarts. Her classes were going well, she consumed information like a starved man sat before a buffet, and the only person whom she’d consider a friends was Saoirse. Her roommates coming close, but she only really interacted with them in their dorm. Her next goal was to make a decent fiend. After all, what is a protagonist without an arch-nemesis or two?

There was one thing, however, that unsettled her deeply; that shook the caverns of her soul and twisted her innards in pleasant discomfort. (Y/N) had always been quite intuitive, she had a knack for sensing when something was coming, and as of late she felt that same twinge in her subconscious that whispered of a storm. ‘The winds of change’, her grandmama would tell her.

After receiving a reply from her family (and having to plough through a whole long paragraph of Wednesday’s complaints on losing money because of her), she now would only write to them once a week, usually on the weekends. A steady schedule soon developed: on weekdays she would complete her homeworks when assigned, on Fridays she’d write a letter, send it on Saturday after lunch, and receive a reply by Monday – Mortis was glad for the five days of unbothered rest.

October had quickly come and (Y/N) was glad to see the season change; nature was always so beautiful when it was on the brink of death. There was a cold chill to the air that made its way all through the halls of Hogwarts, everywhere where there were no fires to keep the cold at bay. That was the lovely thing about old stone castles: they were always cold. Soon there would be a Hallowe’en feast, and even though she couldn’t spend the important celebration with her family, (Y/N) was looking forward to it. Though, the idea of not spending such a treasured and traditional night with her family greatly saddened her, she was simply too far away. Perhaps next year they could figure something out.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, classes had finished for the day, and (Y/N) and Soairse had come to the library to complete their homework. Two months had quickly flown by at Hogwarts and soon classes would be getting more practical; that being said, there was a lot more theory to magic than (Y/N) had initially thought. Transfiguration was proving to be rather complicated. At some point, (Y/N) had to consider for herself if humans really had any business manipulating the particle structure of anything at all.

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute,” Saoirse spoke up from deep in her Herbology studies, “I thought the mandrake was the one that grew in a bush.”

(Y/N) shook her head and rolled up the sleeves of her black shirt. “Mandrakes are the ones that look a bit like turnips – they can kill you with their scream.”

A look of recognition quickly crossed the brunette’s face. “Oh yeah… well now I’ve got a new name to call my brother.”

Soairse was proving to be a valuable study partner; so far she’d been quick to memorise her charms, sneaked snacks past Madame Pince, and even insisted on making acronyms to remember ingredients for Potions (which (Y/N) would absolutely not admit she used herself).

“It’s no wonder she’s a Slytherin…” (Y/N) heard from a few tables away, glancing to a group of students huddled together, whispering to each other animatedly, “I heard they’re related to vampires.”

“Well I heard they live in a graveyard – dead bodies everywhere!” A boy spoke up, cupping a hand at the side of his face as if it would quieten the accusation.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and went back to her homework, dipping her quill back into her ink and ignoring the boring school gossip, offering Soairse a better word to describe a mandrake’s scream.

“Fraser Nittle told me they keep a monster in the belfry,” a girl’s voice whispered, “and the last one that came here went mad, a real psycho apparently.”

Soairse had started packing up, something about changing her socks for better ones before lunch, and (Y/N) began to do the same, leaving the last paragraph of her essay for later. She ignored the silly gossip, uninterested in the news going about the castle, but unfortunately that didn’t stop her from hearing it. “They’re all freaks, those Addamses.”

Now that caught her attention.

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) quickly felt a wave of cool anger come over her, and her face hardened like it had turned to cold stone. Light on her steps, she turned to the table of gossipers, and crept up behind them. They were all hunched over their books, not even working on anything, she didn’t even recognise any of their faces – not that she cared.

“His name is Lurch.”

The group jumped at her sudden presence at their backs, startled and almost frightened when they saw who it was that lurked over them. Barely stuttering out any words.

She sent them the dead-eyed look her mother often used, the one reserved for special circumstances, when someone had crossed a line. “And he isn’t a monster. He’s a butler.” She said sternly. “Not that it makes him any less dangerous.” (Y/N) took great satisfaction in the fear in their eyes. She didn’t move, she barely even blinked, just stood there like a headstone, waiting for their discomfort to spill over, before walking away without another look, as silent as she came.

This place was full of gossip and rumours, hardly any of which held any truth. But she wouldn’t let it bother her; there were always rumours about her family, it was simply something she was used to. People didn’t like it when someone was too different – apparently that extended into the wizarding world as well.

“Is that true?” Saoirse asked as they exited the library, and (Y/N) frowned in disappointment at the inevitable next sentence. “D’you really have a butler? Can I meet him?”

(Y/N) fought back a small smile. Yes, she definitely liked this one.

Hallowe’en was (Y/N)’s favourite time of year; the spookiness, the ghost stories, the darkness. It was all so wonderful. All of the Addams clan took the holiday very seriously, after all it was a very important day in their peculiar culture. It was like New Year’s and Christmas and birthdays all in one, and they stretched the whole thing out over three days and three nights. There would be a feast bigger than the whole family could eat, séances every night, and then readings from Poe before bed. A hundred activities to partake in: pumpkin carving, pumpkin smashing, Wake The Dead, fancy dress, haunted walks, death masks… endless freaky fun. Even if she couldn’t be there with them, she’d promised to at least read the Raven before bed and try to contact Grandfather Humphrey and Grandmother Hester from the Other Side.

There was a strange warm ambiance about Hogwarts, a certain atmosphere filled with joy and… happiness. The castle wasn’t at all dark and creepy like the Addams home would be; the decorations were all vibrant colours and bright patterns, banners hung on the stone walls, and Peeves the Poltergeist was having the time of his life (or rather, death) scaring dozens of students by the hour. The infamous Weasley Twins had doubled or perhaps even tripled their pranks and so far no one was safe. Especially on Hallowe’en day.

That morning, after a rather eventful breakfast (curtsey of the Weasley twins), the first years had Charms class. The professor had even troubled himself to decorate the classroom for the season, all floating pumpkins and orange streamers. Nothing too exciting. If (Y/N) had been in his place, she would have charmed a giant spider to walk on the ceiling, or stuffed some skeletons in a closet, but not everyone could be as creative, she supposed. Perhaps if she was lucky a Jack-O-lantern would bite off someone’s hand.

This would be their first practical charms lesson, and everyone was very excited. To control this excitement, Flitwick decided it would be best to choose everyone’s partners – and unfortunately, (Y/N) found herself yet again stuck next to none other than Draco Malfoy. And this time she couldn’t simply ignore him and let him fly off on a broom.

The professor, atop his desk, was lecturing everyone on the importance of pronunciation, and reminding the class of a student who misspoke and suffered for it… something about a buffalo?

A fluffy white feather lay still on the desk between them, an ugly thing that probably felt as soft as a cloud. Everyone was quick to try, with few succeeding to make their feathers do more than flutter, one student accidentally made their table jump. It seemed magic was much harder than waving a wand and saying a little phrase in a dead language.

“Ladies first.” Malfoy said to her, giving a taunting look as he glanced about at the other students.

“Well then by all means, I’m happy to wait.” She replied with a gesture towards the feather, pleased with the glare he sent back. She could feel the ‘how very dare you’ on the tip of his tongue. “Unless, of course, you don’t think you can.”

He took the bait. “Fine.” Sitting up a little straighter, Malfoy cleared his throat and gripped his wand tight. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered as he moved his wand to the right and down. The feather moved a millimetre or two, but it was hard to tell whether it was by magic or simply the air moving with his gesture. A deep frown set over his face, pale cheeks flushing and mouth pursing as he gritted his teeth and tried again. Only to receive a similar outcome. “It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.” He quipped, hiding his embarrassment with frustration.

“I know.” She replied. (Y/N) moved some hair out of her eyes and looked across the room to where Saoirse sat, gesturing with her wand and talking to her partner – (Y/N) had quickly come to learn that her friend was very talented in this class; the two had spent all of the day before in the library reading about it, and Saoirse was sure she knew exactly what she was doing by the time she’d checked out three different books, two of which were far above their skill level. “You’re too rough with it.” She said monotonously, though he didn’t seem to like being given advice.

The boy scrunched up his nose. “Excuse me?” He demanded accusatorily.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) pointed to his balled up fist. “Your gesture. Think of it this way: you’re trying to make something float, make it light as a feather. So you have to reflect that in your movements.” At least that’s what Saoirse’s book had said – neither of them had actually practiced.

“Look here, everyone! Miss Granger’s done it!” Professor Flitwick cried from across the room, gaining that class’ attention. A Gryffindor girl with bushy brunette hair smiled proudly at the praise, wand still raised daintily in the direction of her white feather suspended four feet in the air; next to her sat Ron Weasley, looking bitterly on with his arms folded.

(Y/N) turned back to tell her temporary partner to try again, when she caught sight of his own bitter expression. “Perfect little mudblood, always showing off.” He spat under his breath.

Mudblood. She knew that word, had heard it plenty of times, she knew it had even been used to insult her family – it seemed blood purity (no matter how pure or powerful) was still tainted when it came to squibs. And she didn’t like the word coming from his mouth one bit. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she pronounced with a swish and flick of her wrist, but rather than direct it up, she flicked it right to the boy’s face. Honestly, she hadn’t even expected it to work on her first try, but the sight of Malfoy getting a mouth full of flying feather was perfect all the same. “Oops.”

“You did that on purpose!” Malfoy shouted, still spitting little bits of white off of his tongue.

“Did I?” She questioned innocently, watching as he glared with a new fury. “Why would I do that?”

“Of course you did!” He fired back. “You think you’re better than me, do you? Just because you and that Granger girl got beginner’s luck. Well you’re not--”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Flitwick scolded, suddenly stood on some steps near their shared desk. “I’d expect you to speak to your peers much more respectfully in my classroom.” The short man said, pointing a finger at the misbehaving boy. “That’s ten points from Slytherin – and not another word, or it will be twenty.”

Malfoy crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat, watching as their professor made his way back to another student who needed attention. (Y/N) was glad that he was put in his place for it, but certainly not happy that he’d lost them house points. “Well done, genius.” She said sarcastically as she put her black wand in her robe pocket, getting up to chat with Saoirse before he could say anything more.

Celebratory feasts at Hogwarts were like no other – at least, that’s what (Y/N) had heard. Her roommates had all already left to get some good seats, Saoirse included, while (Y/N) stayed behind to change. She’d just finished reading another letter sent from her family and unpacking a box of gifts for the holiday. Tonight they were all dressing up and holding a séance with her mother’s dead parents, then moulding and painting death masks to add to their collection. Tying her hair back in two plaits, (Y/N) checked herself over in the tall mirror that stood by their door; black trousers, black boots, and a black half-turtleneck jumper, the only colour on her at all was an emerald encased in silver, a snake-shaped ring she’d been sent – a symbol of her house and a reminder to always be proud of it.

Jinx made a noise from his place on her windowsill, clicking his claws into the soft cushion she’d sat there and glaring at Mouse for shedding on it. “I’ll be back later, Jinx.” She said, checking the guard was in front of their dorm fireplace before she left with promises to bring him back some scraps.

The halls of the Dungeon were cold and dead, all students and staff far away in the Great Hall making the most of the celebration. (Y/N) knew she was late to dinner, but the Dungeons were just such a lovely place to be that she couldn’t help but wander slower than usual. The Dungeons reminded her a little of home, the chill in the air and the stone walls were much akin to the Vaults beneath their house, and the creaky doors and shadowy corners shrouded in mystery just felt so home-like that she couldn’t help but dawdle. Especially today, when she was feeling more homesick than she had since she arrived.

There was a commotion suddenly, (Y/N) heard the sound coming from a dark corridor to her left, some muttering followed by a loud clatter and the sound of something hard knocking on the floor. Her gut told her to ignore it, but another, much more persuasive side of her told her to investigate – curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

There were no torches lit down the hall, only the faint glow of one around a corner. She couldn’t be sure if she’d ever been down this way before, there weren’t any classrooms down the steps at the end – none that she knew of – all just storage cupboards or something, she’d been told. But now she wondered if there were more to the Dungeons than she’d been led to believe. There was another sound, further away, or maybe not – it was so hard to tell with the way it travelled around the stone tunnels – but (Y/N) was sure she’d heard a grunt or growl of some kind. Slowly, she reached into her boot for the dagger she carried (something every Addams should have on their person at all times). A wand would have been of no use, anyway, not if the only spell she knew was the floating charm. Her heart leapt in her chest with every step she took, following the light from the torch, going ever deeper into the mysterious corridor. It had been far too long since she’d felt such delightful fear, her heart almost ached from missing the erratic pounding of the effects.

All was silent. No more bangs, or grunts, or panicked muttering. When she finally made it to the end, coming to face no more than an old locked door and a flight of stairs going back up, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed as she tucked the dagger back in its hiding spot. It was probably just Peeves, anyway. Having wasted enough time and feeling the pang of hunger in her empty stomach, (Y/N) hurried up the stairs and found herself just another hallway away from the Dungeon exit and back to the main floors.

The Great Hall was, admittedly, looking splendid. Candles floated under the image of the cloudy black sky, carved pumpkins grinning down on them, and live bats screeching and flitting about. She would definitely be telling this to her family in her next letter tomorrow.

“(Y/N)!” Saoirse shouted from the Slytherin table, shouting loudly over the crowds far away towards the staff table, right at the end of the row.

As she walked between the tables and passed students laughing and talking, (Y/N) ignored how some people gave her strange looks, or waited for her to pass before continuing their conversations. Another rumour was developing about the monster she had for a butler, only this time people couldn’t decide what sort of monster he was.

Sitting herself next to Saoirse, who was mixing together apple sauce and cranberry sauce on her plate, (Y/N) straightened her sleeves and greeted her other roommates, who were talking to a boy she recognised from Herbology. He seemed pleasant enough, introducing himself with only a second hesitance, he even shook her hand. What did he say his name was? Blade? She couldn’t hear him all that well over the crowd, but Saoirse would surely inform her later.

She wasn’t planning on staying for too long, not when she had to make time for a séance, she would simply eat until she was full and engage in the usual amount of conversation. But she’d barely had time to reach for dessert when the giant doors of the entrance slammed open and a scrawny, pasty man in a turban came running in faster than he looked capable of.

“TROLL!” Quirrell screamed in the stunned silence. “TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!” He’d almost reached Dumbledor’s chair when he seemed to suddenly run out of adrenaline. “Thought you ought to know.” He managed, before collapsing in his exhaustion.

There was a brief pause as everyone processed what had just happened, then suddenly an uproar. Screams and shouts of terror, panic and chaos that reminded (Y/N) of so many family events, when a thought soon dawned on her: that was what she heard in the Dungeon. That was what she’d almost encountered. Not Peeves, not the Twins, and certainly not her imagination – a troll.

What happened to Hogwarts being the safest place on Earth?

“SILENCE!”

Startled by Dumbledor’s voice, the entire student body froze where they were. All teachers were stood from their seats with similar looks on their faces, Quirrell still laid face-down on the floor. “Prefects, lead your houses back to their dorms immediately.”

It was a sensible instruction, at least for the first three seconds – but anyone who thought at all longer would consider that it wasn’t actually very good advice to give to one fourth of the school. Wouldn’t it be safer to keep everyone in one place, where they already where, than have everyone go through the castle in smaller groups, a quarter of whom who were instructed to go the scene of the danger? Everyone knew Slytherin House was set up in the Dungeons, and Hufflepuff not far behind.

Realising this, many of the Slytherins went into a whole new panic, even (Y/N) could see it. Saoirse was covering her ears, Bridget was trying to protest, and even Draco Malfoy could be heard shrieking like a banshee. But all other prefects were already set in motion out the doors, and Slytherin was being made to follow behind. Oh great.

After the excitement of the night’s dinner, the Slytherin common room was crowded by students putting off going to bed; over half an hour of attendance checks to confirm everyone was accounted for wasn’t enough to ease their nerves, most staying up to avoid sleep, a few hiding away in their rooms. It was one thing (Y/N) was thankful for – now she had the dorm all to herself while her roommates kept to the common area, not that they were all that eager to be in the same room as she performed her ritual.

The only light in the room came from the crackling fireplace and the circle of candles in which she sat. A bowl of dried sage and herbs smoked to her side, some crystals dotted here and there, some photos of various passed family members, and (most importantly) an old ouija board and a crystal ball sat before her crossed legs. Taking a deep breath and clearing her mind, (Y/N) pictured her grandparents in her minds eye and began to recite the Summoning, one she’d heard hundreds of times.

“Sing, O spirits. Harken, all souls. I offer clarion to Humphrey and Hester Frump.” She recited, imitating the commanding voice her mother used every year. “Let me ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, O Death, let me be your plague.” The crystal ball started to cloud in a divine mist, opening a door between the worlds of the living and the dead, inviting the spirit of a relative through.

She could feel a presence, vague and distant but there. She carefully placed her fingers on the planchett, opening her mind to feel the pull. The candles flickered as she felt it in the room, awaiting her command. It felt different to every other time she’d been present for a séance; each spirit had a unique feeling. Where she would usually smell expensive soap and chloroform, this time she smelt sugar and burning calligraphy paper. Frowning slightly, (Y/N) reached out with her mind to greet them. “Grandmother? Is that you?” She asked, waiting for the presence to move the planchett tab.

She felt it pull to answer, fingers following it up the board. No.

“Grandfather?”

Again it answered – no.

She froze, every muscle in her body stopping still, sucking in a breath as she stared at the planchette beneath her fingers in alarm.

If this wasn’t her grandparents… then who did she make Contact with?

Heart hammering in her chest as the crystal ball clouded in a swirling mist, (Y/N) racked her brain for who it could be if not a grandparent she called to her. Did she do the ritual wrong? Did she call on the wrong spirit? (Y/N) had partaken in countless seances before, but rarely on her own – it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she’d made a mistake.

Another pull tugged at her – not at her fingers this time, but at something deep in her spirit, dragging her in, pushing her mind and soul aside to make room for another. Her senses were overcome with something so other. There was no smell of burning sage and wormwood, no crackling fire, no velvet green dormitory; only whatever this other was. It was dark, and cold, and empty. There was no sound at all. And then, slowly, she saw. A room, dark and unlit. A figure shifted through, cloaked and unrecognisable, and reached forward to a wall – no, a shelf. But before she could make out what they were doing, it all changed again. A tower, standing tall and proud in the rain of a storm, snow and sleet coating the turret roof. A door. A clock. A crow. A murky window. A tunnel. A statue. A fire. All things that seemed so unrelated. She felt the grip this spirit had on her begin to slip, as if they clutched her with watery hands, digging their nails into the flesh of her soul just to stay a little longer. Addams, it called in a voice roughened with deep rest, far away like they spoke from a flooded grave. She wanted to answer, to ask or say anything, but her voice was stolen from her. I’ve been waiting. It said again, slowly fading away back into the beyond. Find…

Suddenly she felt the spirit tear out of her body, ripping away from its clutch on her soul as it was dragged back beyond the veil, trying to reach out again but it was no use. She could feel their desperation, their pain, their anger. (Y/N) didn’t understand.

Sweat gathered on her brow, her skin clammy and her breath was short and shallow. Slowly, (Y/N) felt her senses come back to her. She brought a shaky hand up to her head, feeling a headache coming on.

What was that?

Who was that?

Thoughts spun around in her head as the dizziness and fatigue that follows such a ritual performed by the inexperience settled heavily over her, making her feel weak in every muscle of her body. Staring vacantly at her surroundings, (Y/N) held in a shaky breath and started to blow out the few remaining candle flames and carefully place her things in a chest to slide under her bed. Already in her pyjamas, (Y/N) sat up in her bed, exhausted from the effort but unable to sleep, those words from that disturbing undead voice filling her anxious mind as Jinx remained asleep on the pillow beside her.

This was by far the strangest Hallowe’en she’d ever had. So far.

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