CH88 - The Jaws of Death

As he boarded the second last carriage of the Hogwarts Express, Edmund took one final look behind him into the crowd. Just as he expected, Albert and Cynthia's eyes were glued to his and Jeremy's figures; their lips curled up into a faint smile. Noticing his gaze, their hands shot up in farewell, Cynthia trying vainly to prevent her mascara from running down her cheeks.

Jeremy lightly yanked on the strap of his backpack, tugging him into the train. "C'mon," he murmured firmly, though not unkindly. "Let's try to find the others."

"Hmm," Edmund affirmed.

On a base level, he knew that Jeremy was aware of how lucky he was to have parents like Albert and Cynthia. Perhaps even more so after becoming friends with Edmund and understanding his plight.

He sighed. 'But I guess it's hard to truly appreciate something you've taken for granted your entire life.'

Dimly, the sound of familiar voices began to grow louder as they lugged their trunks down the aisle. Jeremy pried open the compartment they were emanating from quietly, catching the other two members of their group in the middle of an animated discussion.

"After last year ended so peacefully, I was sure that the curse had finally broken," Cecilia lamented.

Ben, ever the skeptic, rolled his eyes. "There is no curse to be broken in the first place."

"Really? Well, how do you explain Professor Lupin leaving his position for no reason?" she argued, preempting Ben's retort with a quieter hiss. "And don't tell me he found a better offer somewhere else! There's no way... especially for someone with his... condition..."

Jeremy snorted, startling the unsuspecting pair. "I'm pretty sure you don't have to keep it so hush-hush anymore. Word is going to spread anyway on the grapeseed—"

"—Grapevine," Edmund, Ben, and Cecilia corrected simultaneously.

Jeremy groaned irritatedly, inducing a wave of laughter.

Despite the lack of the wolfsbane potion debacle at the end of the school year, many had still cottoned on to the fact that Remus Lupin was a werewolf. The scarring on his face and his unfailing bouts of sickness around the time of the full moon were suspicious enough.

...Professor Snape's newfound obsession with werewolves during his tenure as a substitute was the nail in the coffin.

However, due to the absence of concrete proof, that alone was not enough to call for Lupin's dismissal.

'No,' Edmund contemplated. 'I doubt Dumbledore even thought of finding a different DADA professor until Marvolo appeared at the Wizengamot. After all, with Lord Voldemort "back," Lupin is more useful scouting the werewolf packs on the continent than as a Hogwarts Professor.'

As Ben and Jeremy started to bicker, Edmund stowed his belongings into the overhead storage while retrieving an old tome to read. Subtly, he waved his wand over the cover, causing its outward form to change, masking its ancient appearance. Unbeknownst to him, his actions did not go as unnoticed as he would have liked.

The sunlight streaming in through the window briefly shone down on the book, revealing its title to an onlooking Cecilia.

"The Bridge Betwixt Lyf and Death"

Her eyebrows pinched together in confusion, smoothing out once more before Edmund could notice as he took his seat.

'Interesting...'

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- (Scene Break) -

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The clamour of the Great Hall died down immediately as the colossal double doors at its entrance swung open in unison. Professor McGonagall confidently strode down the path between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, followed by a much meeker group of new students behind her.

"So short," Cecilia muttered, making Jeremy snicker from opposite her.

"Ninety percent of them are still taller than you."

Without the other girl having to say a word, Ben smacked his friend on the head, causing Cecilia's growing anger to subside abruptly.

Jeremy gave him a look of betrayal, to which Ben responded with an unrepentant shrug. "Would you rather take a hit from me or risk revenge from her?"

Looking into Cecilia's predatory eyes, Jeremy's teeth clicked shut. "I'm alright, thanks."

Throughout the conversation, Edmund's attention remained focused on the front of the room. His eyes might have followed the procession of firsties entering the hall, but his mind was on one man only.

His face seemed as though it was carved from wood—calloused, rough, and littered with gashes. Tens of scars, both small and large, covered his visage, impossible to hide due to their severity. Part of his nose was missing, as was one of his feet and one of his eyes. Instead, they were replaced with a clawed wooden stump and a vivid, electric blue orb spinning erratically without pause. There was no mistaking his identity.

Mad-Eye Moody.

The real one, this time.

Without the attack on his home a week prior, the Auror seemed more relaxed than Edmund had anticipated.

He still drank from a flask. He still cast charms on his food to detect the presence of potions and poisons. He still scanned his surroundings endlessly with his magical eye.

However, he also interacted with the other professors amiably. His stare would occasionally land on Elspeth's frame, who he would wink at conspiratorially. His tone, although gruff, was assured and confident rather than manic and deranged.

Edmund was under no false delusions. The man was a living legend for a reason. He was a danger—someone to look out for.

"And with that!" Dumbledore clapped twice. "Let the feast begin!"

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- (Scene Break) -

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The night of September first was always a long one. Reunited after months of separation, the students were rowdier than ever. Friends gathered in their dorms, chattering into the night. Older students passed around bottles of cheap Firewhisky they had smuggled into the castle, uncaring of the late hour. Couples took advantage of the empty rooms and lack of adult supervision, sneaking away for privacy. And so, it was well past 4:00 A.M. when the castle finally went to sleep.

...All except for one student sneaking out of the common room under the cover of an invisibility cloak.

By the cellars, winding between twisting corridors, beyond the kitchens, up the grand staircase, past the Great Hall, through the Transfiguration courtyard... Edmund finally came to a halt outside a classroom he was well acquainted with. Giving the Marauder's Map one last glance, he ducked into it soundlessly.

Muffled snores greeted him, but for now, he blocked them out.

With deft flicks and sweeps of his wand, he erected ward after ward around the confines of the room. Silencing charms to prevent any noise from attracting notice to the area. Perimeter charms to alert him if any other presence drew near. Locking charms to give him more time to escape if anyone tried to gain access to the space forcibly. Finally, and most importantly, a spiritual barrier, barring the entry and exit of all intangible beings such as ghouls and poltergeists.

Turning back around, Edmund marched to the front of the lecture hall, up to the teacher's desk. Oddly, despite the time, the seat behind it was occupied by a translucent, silvery apparition. Wrinkled and shrivelled like an old tortoise, the stubby ghost of a man sitting there wore equally small yet thick-framed glasses.

"Hello, Professor Binns," Edmund exhaled. "Sorry, not sorry? That's the best I can say, really."

"Somnus Spiritus," he whispered, rendering the ghost immobile.

Placing his satchel onto the desk, he waved his wand over it. "Accio!"

A small pouch shot upwards, filled with the same magical blood and ash combination Edmund had grown accustomed to. Humming to himself softly, he began the tedious work of drawing a runic circle around the stationary Binns, referencing the same book he had been reading on the train every once in a while.

Painting a final Uruz and Sowilo rune on the ground, he stood up. Without hesitation, a pulse of his magic shot into the array.

"It's a lot less terrifying on the opposite side of the circle," he huffed amusedly.

Cuthbert's eyes shot open instantly, his bewilderment giving way to panic. His hands clawed at the edge of the ritual circle uselessly, trying to find a way to escape. From the feet upwards, his ghostly body started to vanish, disappearing into wisps of light. Even when only his head remained, he continued to beg for mercy.

Mercy that would not come.

The 'death' was meant to be painless, but Edmund knew first-hand how terrifying it was to feel life slipping from his grasp.

"Sorry," he said again, more genuinely this time, as he donned his demiguise cloak. 'I hope the afterlife treats you better than it did me.'