10:43 A.M.



With one last confident smirk of approval at her reflection, Esther had made her way out of the Slytherin dorms and towards the kitchens, the slight heels of her boots a soft patter against the stone tiles. Dressed in pale, satiny pink and airy cream, with a cute little bag swinging by her waist, she was, of course, a vision of perfection, if somewhat ill-prepared looking for any trek through the forest, but considering her current destination, it was just as well. And with every step she took, all thoughts of her appearance slowly, gently floated away—never completely dissipating, but they took a backseat as, not for the first time, the young witch went over today's agenda and, with any luck, what would be its turnout.

Every month, all students taking Care of Magical Creatures were to track down an infestation or bevy of creatures somewhere within the castle or on castle grounds—competently, diligently, and most importantly, humanely, and then make a record of it in their tracking/hunting logs, which were to be handed in at the end of every month. Doxys, gnomes, horklumps, imps and glumbumbles—those fell under ‘disposal’, in which case they were to be incapacitated and brought back to Shona, who would then deal with them for good herself. Everything else– bats in the Astronomy tower, gnolls in the castle compost heap, bowtruckles –were to be tracked down for the sole purpose of study and observation.

Everyone, Shona had stressed to every year, had to do it, or at least try. Every term they had to complete a chore at least once, or suffer a much heftier mark down than what completing it earned. So, naturally, the most proactive had their pick.

And as much as Esther had wrinkled her nose at the standing assignment (it all sounded a bit too menial for her tastes)... The fastidious Slytherin had been unable to suppress a flare of excitement at the challenge—that flare of competitiveness for which she was well known for (among other things). While prim and princessy in appearance– and, yes, in manner, too –in reality she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Whether it was staying on top of the social scene, the latest gossip, or her classes, she put as much effort into it as she did into her appearance, which was a lot. A. Lot.

Which was why she was in the kitchens now, the pear’s giggles audible until the ingress clicked shut behind her—herself studiously armed with a sleek black notebook and a quill. When a new name cropped up on the chart pinned to the Hideaway’s front door, one different from the others, the witch had positively leapt at the chance to take a look at it– them– for herself. Unlike the others, there would be no tedious or thrilling flinging of spells (except perhaps an even likelier possibility of getting one's clothes dirtied), but...

Unlike her classmates, she was sure, she was familiar with these creatures, the ones she tracked now. To be fair, they weren’t easily found outside of Japan, and even less so in climates such as the ones most common of the UK, that when they were found, they usually weren’t recognized for what they were. But still.

Idly watching the elves present bustle about (there weren't many, for lunch was still at least an hour away), Esther ran her thumb along the lavender-colored fabric of the small pouch she kept in her pocket. She would need what was inside of it, but before she had to she would need an elf, first. And right now there weren’t many.

Picking the nearest one that didn’t seem too busy, Esther went over to her, clutching the little black book to her chest. “Excuse me?” she ventured, and suppressed a smile when the elf jumped, turning twitchily. Like most elves, this one was small, with bulging eyes and large, bat-like ears, and looked with an attentiveness that would be disconcerting if it weren’t for the earnest servility its kind was known for.

But Esther was Esther, and, well. House elves were naturally servile; she was not. It was an ideal match.


Directed to the kitchen hearth (and given a rather large sugar cookie as a measure of assistance), Esther crouched by the gate—pulling on a pair of standard issue dragonhide gloves as she did. (Though it was clear, at the moment, of conscientious elves, a fire was still going, and she was not interested in getting singed.) Tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear, she then craned her head as closely as she dared… eyes peeled for any fuliginous trails, anything that seemed out of the ordinary. It would be very easy to mistake them for something else – even their name alone could be something of a misdirection – but so long as she was watchful, hopefully it wouldn’t be something she’d have to worry about–

there

Eyes lighting upon a set of tracks almost too small, too wispy to be missed, Esther brightened, and swiped a finger against them. When they failed to rub out, she bit her lip—the steady thrum of excitement humming beneath her skin, growing. In a few days they’d fade away, until it looked as if they’d never been, but until then…

Gently clamping the cookie between her teeth, Esther took out her book and quill and turned to a new page. Tracks found, she briskly wrote, about the kitchen fire, maybe– She glanced at the grate. 4”, 5”? Dotty & faint, but discrnbl.; Appears as a pair of distinct black dots; Heading towards...

The cellars.

She clapped her book shut and straightened. Shooting the elves a look to see if any of them would stop her – and seeing that they weren’t – she went to the pantry door and pulled it open, revealing a small but doable stairwell lit by flickering torches.

Small, Esther thought to herself, but wide—at least enough so that Hufflepuff herself could come and go, she imagined, if the founder so wished. And it was with that thought that the young witch took a breath and began climbing down the stairs, one hand lightly braced against the wall.

The stairs went far. Deep. But before long, Esther found herself in a cavernous room full of shelves, sacks, and barrels. The ceiling, vaulted with wooden beams, was so high that it was all darkness up there, even with the chandeliers hanging overhead.

Or... was it? Snapping off a piece of the cookie, Esther nibbled on it as she stared up into the darkness, squinting thoughtfully. It looked real, but considering the creatures she was looking for…

As she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, Esther drew her wand, pointing it at the palm of her other hand. “Tangillumin,” she murmured quietly, and a small globe of light formed, no larger than a handball and smooth like glass. It tingled faintly at the touch.

It was also very, very bright.

With a smirk that was only slightly mischievous, Esther slanted the darkness above her a furtive glance – tossed the ball upwards as high as she could – and watched as the darkness swiftly receded, withdrawing into the very crevices of the room.

Susuwatari.

Catching the ball of light at its descent, Esther cupped it close to her face, features positively luminous in her delight. Susuwatari – soot sprites – were tiny creatures, small, sooty, harmless things that lived in old houses—or as more informed discoveries had found, old places with a high concentration of magic where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Being old, magical, and (mostly) abandoned by extension, Hogwarts’ cellars, it seemed, filled all three requirements. And with every individual sprite being a tiny, fuzzy, hovering thing capable of great speed (and surprising strength, able to lift objects many times their weight, which was nothing), there had to be thousands of them, maybe even hundreds of thousands of them—impossible to count.

“I’m sorry,” said Esther softly, trying for contrite. She absolutely could not laugh; it was imperative that she didn’t. Quickly dispelling the light, she withdrew the pouch from her pocket. It wasn’t very large, barely filling the size of her palm, and made of a soft, lilac cloth, cinched by a thin golden ribbon. “That wasn’t very nice–”

She tugged the ribbon loose. Tipping it into her hand, small, colorful bits of candy tumbled out. She looked up to the ceiling – the corners and the walls and any shadow that might be anything but – and despite herself, found herself staring wide-eyed and… hopeful.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the room at large. “Please come out?” She scattered a little of the konpeitō, holding her breath.

At first, nothing. And then…

True to form, small, fuzzy bodies emerged—tentatively, of course, but curiously, and they stared at the candy first – shooting her a glance before inching closer almost reluctantly.

Watching them, Esther clutched at the strap of her bag, wanting to coax them on but afraid of achieving the opposite. She could only watch as they neared, circling and inspecting the candy she’d scattered on the floor until one of them picked up a piece. After that– after that, it was as though the floodgates had been opened. More and more sprites poured out of the shadows, snatching up their own bit of candy for themselves and filling the room with squeaky murmuring with all the excitement of any crowd, but at very low volume.

Reluctant to put a damper on that, Esther gave out more candy, scattering it gently by the handful, and smiled almost helplessly as the murmuring grew louder, although not by much. There was something just amazing about them, in watching them; they were cute and simple and just darling, absolutely darling, but honestly there was something wondrous about—wondrous, but strange, the way many creatures weren’t. Unlike with dragons, who one could easily imagine how their earliest predecessors might have looked with the discovery of dinosaur fossils and the like – or unicorns, who shared a certain similarity with a species or two – or even the run-of-the-mill elfin fey, soot sprites didn’t look as though they had come from anywhere or anybody, except maybe something whimsical, fanciful. Like the stray thought of a dreamer, or a baby’s laugh.

When it could be reasonably ascertained that they wouldn’t scatter at the slightest approach, Esther fell into a neat crouch, knees clamped together and elbows tucked into her lap. Carefully she tugged out her book again, this time with a pencil, and began to sketch as quickly as she can. She wasn’t a particularly skilled artist, not the way some were, but she drew in swift, graceful strokes.

Anyway, they were a little piece of home, in their own way. She couldn’t not.

Something tugged at her skirt, faint but pointed. Esther glanced down and… very nearly cooed. It was a sprite, one without a sweet of its own.

Suppressing a laugh (for just the softest one might scare them away), she poured out the rest and settled down, content to simply watch for now.