1830 hours


He is in a forest, first, heaviness in the pit of his chest. There are voices that he does not recognise and this is how he knows he is in someone else's mind, spiralling downwards through flashes of naked bodies intertwining or soaring night skies, imagines that have no place in his own - Slant's grandfather is a behemoth towering ofter the pointy tops of gaunt trees, reaching down.

Virgil watches this as if though he is apart from it but he cannot seem to move, cannot seem to stop himself from sinking upwards into the grey clouds of dreamscapes, losing ground and clarity. Everything blurs all at once, he is rising too quickly, coming up for air from beneath an ocean surface and he can't quite breathe he can't quite brea---

---

Lips, dried and cracked parted urgently as Virgil woke up with a start, sitting up straight on the glossy black floor. Gasping loudly: pains shooting sharply through his body. Urgent, desperate shivers shook his entire frame and he grabbed his chest, struggling to breathe.

Where was he? What was this? He touched the floor surface and recoiled sensitively. It was wet.[1] Moist. His dark reflection blinked back sleepily.

The Slytherin tried to move but it was painful and he knew this feeling, the stiffness of having not moved for a very very long time. He turned around, wincing, noted behind him several of his schoolmates propped up against the dark walls - himself, for some reason, had been left on his back in the middle.

Something had woken him. A scent he couldn't quite catch - perfume. He knew it, thought of their school counselor's office, soft jasmine and deep vanilla. But it was gone now. Only the sensation of her presence lingered, like he'd just missed her calling his name. Virgil rubbed his eyes and tried tentatively to reach out with his Leglimency.

Thoughts burbling away incoherently somewhere. Nothing of Biladeau-Yukawa. And...

He brought his knees up, hugging them abruptly, eyes shut tightly. Screaming. Somewhere, somewhere in this dark place, someone's brain was screaming because their mouth was not doing good enough a job and it echoed right past Virgil's brittle blonde head.

"Shut up!" he hissed, voice barely a croak, and then suddenly shrill. "Shut up!!"

The screaming in his head dropped all at once - it was replaced by the sounds of his classmates rousing themselves.

1.	This is blood. FEEL FREE TO REALISE, Virgil hasn't.

"Shut up!!"

"What the fu—," Nicholas said as he came to at the shout.  He'd been flying.  No.  He'd been in Hogsmeade.  Where the hell was he?  He'd must have been sleeping against the wall; there was a crick in his neck and his legs were asleep.  He wished he was still asleep too.

He rolled his neck a few times and moved his legs as much as he could so feeling would come back to them.   He finally looked around, and saw Virgil in the middle of the room.   He put his hand down on the floor, trying to move away from the wall, only to find the floor was slick and wet.

"Oi!  Virgil, what in Merlin's name is going on?"  Nicholas asked his friend, who seemed to be the only one fully awake and not against the wall.

He wiped his hand on his trousers.  Not that is did much good since he realized he could feel the dampness on back of his legs where his trousers were wet.  He looked down at his legs to try to move them again, and saw that where he'd wiped his hand was a dark red.  The kind of red that blood got after it'd been on something for a while but was still wet.

Then it clicked.  It didn't look like blood.  "It's blood!"  He said in a panic.

He started pushing himself off the floor, trying to stand with legs that wouldn't cooperate.  Trying to get off the floor as fast as he could, his hands covered in blood were leaving bloody smears on the wall as he used it to help him get his legs under him.

His legs were just starting to tingle, and it felt like he was standing on nothing and something all at the same time.  But the feeling was coming back at least.  So the blood probably wasn't his.  Small victory there.  Not that he wasn't to think about what that mean't though.

She woke up with a start. For a moment, she thought she hadn’t – all she saw was black, black, and more black – and then her eyesight adjusted and yeah, no, it was just fucking dark.

Brows furrowed muzzily in confusion.

Gracie pushed up onto her elbows… and gently pitched to the side, curling up against the urge to vomit. What happened? She remembered—Hogsmeade, Virgil’s arm around her waist, the fifth years appearing. The lollipop. But anything more, anything after—nothing.

Gingerly she sat up, bringing a hand to her forehead with the intent to rub, and froze. Blood.

Eyes darted down her arm. Blood. Her lap. Blood. Her front. Blood. All around them, in pools large and small, splashed against brick walls like dark mirrors—blood. Blood, blood, blood.

Gracie went still. Was it… was it theirs?

Shaking, her hands curled into fists.


     “Esther!”


A quick glance found Bastian bowed over his best friend, hair disheveled, face dangerously white. Unconscious – lace dress rumpled and bloody – the other girl looked unspeakably fragile. Gracie forced herself to look away, swallowing thickly. Who else was here? Bevans, she saw. Virgil–

Virgil.  Without thinking she scrambled towards him, as fast as she could before her legs could give.

He, like Esther – like all of them – was deathly, horribly pale. Up close, he looked even worse.

Gracie shut her eyes. Drawing a slow, steadying breath, she opened them. Black tiled walls, columns, no windows… “The Department of Mysteries,” she breathed. So they were in the Ministry. That was… good. Yeah.

Except for the fact that they were on the one floor that was, for all intents and purposes, essentially the weird shut-in cousin that brought home roadkill and lived in the attic. Covered in blood. Whatever the hell was going on, one thing was for sure: they had to get out.

Gracie staggered to her feet. As she wet her lips, she reached behind for her wand.

Nothing.

She twisted around, craning her head this way and that. A new kind of unease set in, worse than before. “Have you guys seen my wand?”

He couldn't think clearly, his thoughts throwing up thick walls to the panic it sensed from nearby minds. Virgil didn't want to think. Blood, it's blood, said Bevans' voice in the dim room - and then his name from lips that frequently called it in the Slytherin common room. Merlin he was cold. So cold and so hungry. Someone had done this to them.

His eyes were unwittingly shut.

Virgil forced them open and rubbed his face weakly, grimacing belatedly at the blood that smeared over tearstained cheeks. He was in no shape to stand but he felt Gracie close at hand and reached out to grasp her wrist. That was when he noticed, through the dark, the long scratches that disappeared down his forearm.

Bruises. Black and blue against his white skin, worse than any tumble he has taken. He licked his lips.

"No..." the boy croaked in response just as his other hand reached for his own wand. "Yes," he corrected himself and tried to pull out the two wands in his back pocket. It took two tries before he could hand Gracie hers.

He squinted across the room to focus on Nicholas and then dropped his gaze to the floor, to other shifting figures. Esther was not doing well, Bastian irregularly quiet with her. Even without trying Virgil could sense her panic. He moved to get up, stopped, sat back down to catch his breath.

"Ho-- how many of us?" he asked while looking at two of their peers, still asleep. One of the 4th year Rosiers and a friend.   "Light. Lumos, please, somebody. I can't." The admission was earnest, there was nothing listless or lazy about it. Virgil didn't have the energy to cast that much. He continued to stare at the two in the corner.

They weren't thinking. They weren't even dreaming. His stomach hadn't a thing to throw up.

Virgil swallowed, blinking several times as his mind shied away from the hollow sensations of death. "I don't think they're alive," he whispered to Gracie so that not all of them could hear[1]  It didn't matter if they were in the Ministry. They had to get out.

"We have to leave," he echoed the thought breathlessly.  There wasn't time to panic. "Before they... if they come back."

1.	He is muddled and might have said this louder, feel free to have heard it.

Nicholas tried to get himself under control.  He took slow deliberate breaths.  And counted to ten.  Several times.  More than several times.  Weren't Gryffindor's supposed to excel in crazy ass situations like this? Or at least not panic?  Then again maybe the hat didn't take into account an eleven year old's future reaction to waking up in a room covered in blood.

At the mention of wands, he checked for his own.  It wasn't in his pocket.  He looked around on the floor.  Trying not to see the blood.  Feeling his heart rate start to climb again before he finally saw it.  In his haste to get off the floor, he'd nearly stepped on it. It was laying right next to his foot.  Covered in blood.  Because of course it was covered in blood.  With a grimace he picked it up and tried to wipe the blood off with the front his shirt.  The only part that was clean enough to do any good.  And all it managed to do was shoot out a few sparks and streak the blood.

"Lumos"  He said, despite misgivings about seeing anymore than they already could.  He panned the light across the room.  If he'd heard Virgil, he'd have stopped before getting to the dead bodies of their classmates.  But, he hadn't heard, and instead stopped on the bodies.  Illuminating the dead fourth years for them all to see.  He was shocked to see Henry[1] lying there.  Lifeless.  He couldn't name the other student.  Just knew that she was a fourth year.  But he'd liked Henry.  They were both muggle-born, and much like Nicholas had, Henry loved watching overt displays of magic.  And now, now he'd never....  Nicholas lowered his wand, the light reflecting off the blood at his feet.

"We have to leave.  Before they... if they come back."

"We got here by portkey right?" Nicholas asked the room.  Panic and just about every other emotion gone.  Maybe they'd hit him later but at the moment he was just numb.  And this time not because his limbs were asleep.  "Then a portkey can get us out.  I've seen one made.  Its just one word and then poof we are out of here."

1.	Henry Beatty

It took too long for Esther to respond to her name – too long for her to open her eyes, and if he’d thought that he would cry when he’d woken up, it had nothing on the relief that he felt when he realised that Esther was alive. “Esther,” he said again, managing a smile of reassurance for a moment before it disappeared. Esther might be alive (thank god), but she was pale – he hadn’t realised just how pale until Bevans had lit up the room. “You’re not injured? Not bleeding?” Her answer was a no, but it came hesitantly, and she was clearly on the verge of tears. He reached out to take her hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance because anything he said would almost certainly be a lie.

“Do you need a hand?” he murmured, biting his lip when she just nodded. She seemed heavier than usual, but now that he had been awake for more than a few moments, he could tell that his limbs were weak. He kept an arm around Esther anyway, pulling her closer. If he were a better person (a braver person) he would say that it was for her, but he was afraid too, and Esther being close was reassuring.

Bevans’ suggestion sparked hope for a brief moment before Bastian shook his head. Most magic just needed a word or two and the tap of a wand, but that didn’t mean that a spell would work. And moving people about was a risky business. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t do it, if he had no other choice – and in this situation, it didn’t seem like he could afford to be picky – but they had to be able to do something.

“Can anyone apparate?” he spoke abruptly, looking up from Esther to stare at the seventh years. Virgil couldn’t even fucking stand, but surely Gracie could. “They left us somehow. There has to be a – a door, or something.”

Growing up with magic, however, had taught him that there didn’t have to be a door, that it was perfectly possible to apparate out and then cast a spell to prevent anyone else following, and that they had to get out right now before he went completely insane.

They had to be able to.

Virgil, through sheer force of how frightened he was beginning to feel, pushed himself off the floor to stand. He partly leaned against Gracie as he looked around the room - even with Bevans' lumos there was little to see. The blood reflected much of the light, an eerie scintillation of red and ethereal blue against glossy surfaces.

He reached a hand under his dark sweater, unconsciously rubbing warmth into his chest.

The only way to warm himself - besides huddling in a cowardly throng - was to move. Virgil squeezed Gracie's hand before he staggered to the closest wall and pressed his shoulder against it.

"No -" he shot back at Nick's suggestion, not even bothering to point out the obvious issue with a group of inexperienced students trying to create a portkey. "And no apparation. Not.. not splinching anyone." Merlin knew what they would do with the body parts that didn't come along. Or if they would appear anywhere better.

Something wasn't right. Bastian had mentioned doors, and just like that Virgil couldn't help but feel like there was a door, just in the corner of his eye. But it wasn't there. He looked away from the furthermost wall, where Bevans was stood, and again that sneaking suspicion.

That had better not be the delirium. Rather, he hoped, it was what Seer skill he had. Virgil made a motion for the Gryffindor to move and then pointed his wand at the wall.

"There. We shou-," he hesitated and caught his breath, mind racing to think of a charm they could use in weakened states. "We should all do this at once. On my count, aparecium[1]. Three. Two."

Virgil swallowed, tasting blood. "One."

1.	Revealing charm

"Fine.  No portkey."  Nicholas agreed despite the overwhelming desire to get out of the room.  A desire that very much left him willing to risk life and limb.  Anything was better than where they were.

He waved his wand at the walls looking for a door.  Though he doubted he'd missed one.  Or that any of them had missed one.  He moved aside when Virgil gestured for him too.

"You'd better be right."  Nicholas said has he raised his wand and cast the charm on Virgil's count.  And damn if the Slytherin wasn't right.  "Yes! Virgil I could kiss you."  If they weren't stuck in a dark bloody room.  But now there was a way out.  And being closest to the door, he quickly and heedlessly opened it and stepped through.

Only to move from a dark bloody room to a dark cold corridor.  But he'd take the cold over the blood.  Even if the situation was starting to seem even more hopeless than before.

     “I don’t think they’re alive.”


The reappearance of her wand was a small relief, and one that was short-lived. In the abyssal darkness of their surroundings, Virgil’s whisper carried like lead—made all the more heavier by the truth it bore. Jerkily – belatedly – Gracie nodded; she had seen too many dead things not to know when something was. As soon as she laid eyes on the fourth years, she just—knew.

This was nothing like a hunt, though, and any comparison just made her sick. They just… laid there, nothing but empty husks now. Her stomach churned. The precious moments the boys discussed what to do, she spent simply trying not to be sick.

Movement; Esther was up, at least. She looked ready to cry, but  alive  awake. The realization that there might be—was a door (albeit a hidden one), was even better. Now, they didn’t just have to get out; they were going to.

“Aparecium!”

The door appeared. A brief bout of dizziness struck, but mingled easily with relief. As Nicholas went to open it, Gracie turned to Virgil, kissing him firmly and quickly.

“You’re brilliant,” she told him, and pulled him away from the wall, to her side, before following Nicholas out.

The corridor was cold, but not so cold that it made Gracie want to find a corner to curl up in; if anything, it helped, like a splash of cold water or a slap to the face. Embracing that feeling, she used it now to ignore exhaustion and focus on the darkness ahead. No matter how they were feeling, they needed a clear head for this. No one was going to come save them; they had to do that on their own.

“Right,” she said, giving Virgil’s hip a squeeze. Cold determination entered her features—the kind that reminded people why she was captain, club president, and had been one of the champions for their school. The kind that said when they got out – because they were – she was going to fuck. shit. up. “Let’s go.”

He could have collapsed in relief when the door made itself obvious to them.

Rather, Virgil found himself threatened by a kiss from Bevans and receiving a genuine one from Gracie - her strong grip and warm, chapped lips brought him down from the spirituous high of an empty stomach. None of them were nourished but the possibility of escape and fear of containment was sustenance enough.

He let himself be led by his housemate as the five of them scrambled out into a cool, dark corridor that seemed to lead endlessly into shadow whichever way they chose. For a crisp and grounding instant, he froze.

There was no way true out of here. Whoever put them inside that room surely never intended for them to leave this place. Esther, Bastian, Nick. Gracie. They'd be buried together or left to rot.

Virgil felt pressure against his side. “Let’s go.”

The determination in Gracie's voice pulled him out from his stupor again and this time he was wary not to fall back into it, convincing himself that it was a part of this prison's enchantment. Part of what was keeping them here and so if he could overcome the fear then perhaps they might make it out alive.

He nodded once, not enough energy to speak, and strained his ears in an attempt to hear anything else down the passageways besides themselves. Virgil's head turned - footsteps? Were they real? He indicated the right corridor quietly, and allowed Gracie to pull him along while she marshalled the group at a steady pace.

Doors. Similar to the one in their prison, doors began to line the passage. The two fifth years and Nick - unhindered by Virgil's weight - carried on ahead trying each one frantically.

Many were locked and succumbed not to charms. For some, door handles disappeared beneath their touch, followed by the entire archway.

Virgil was about to suggest they take a break - he was out of breath - when Bastian yelled unexpectedly from further down. Their heads turned in time to see the Slytherin fall through a door he obviously hadn't expected to yield.

---


"What is this place?" Esther came in behind the rest of them and remained on the threshold lest the doors came close right away.

There was no immediate answer. The room was unlike the one they'd slept in - it looked old, dry and unused. An immense redbrick fireplace took up most of its space: crumbling and decrepit but still large enough for a small company. Virgil unattached himself from Gracie to approach it.

Sheets of parchment littered the dusty floor all over. UNSTABLE they read, snatches of words like PROTOTYPE and FLOO. Gracie kicked at one of the papers.

"Either someone gave up, or left in a hurry..." she remarked, though Bastian was already a step ahead and ducking into the hearth of the fireplace. In spite of their plight Virgil thought he would have liked to have stayed here a bit longer to understand the nature of the labyrinth.

He leaned against the decaying mantlepiece and stared at a wooden pail by it. Barely a handful of powder. This was dangerous. Experimental, abandoned magic. Possibly not as dangerous as apparating but--

-- "We should try it at least, shouldn’t we?" Bastian beat them to the hard fact of the situation. They were running out of choices. Virgil winced as he leaned down to gather as much powder in his hands.  He threw it lamely into the fireplace - an emerald flame, as tall as the smallest of them, rose up against a bed of indigo sparks.

"Get in," he pleaded to the group and reached for Gracie's hand so that she could pull him up, towards the huddle in the hearth and heatless fires.

Virgil pressed himself against their bodily warmth and shut his eyes tightly, heart hammering in his narrow chest like it knew something of the future that they did not.

"THE LEAKY CAULDRON!" he cried, elbows drawn in amongst the others, forgetting in his extreme fatigue that The Leaky Cauldron no longer stood in Diagon Alley.

---

Permission granted from Sly and Hazel for their characters!