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hippogrifffeathers · 11 months

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(i can't) reign it in : part 1

In the immediate aftermath of battle, the professors race further into the foundations of Hogwarts. They daren't focus on the dangerous pickling of magic in the air, or how empty wiggenweld bottles crack underfoot- all that matters is getting to MC and Eleazar.

They find them, but in a worse state than anyone could have foreseen.

or, read it on ao3!

the hogwarts legacy hyperfixation is here and i am indulging it completely.

There had been no time to find relief in Fig and MC’s escape, to yell parting words of encouragement or support (for what, none of the professors were still entirely sure), Matilda’s attention drew quickly away from the back of Eleazar’s head, the flutter of MC’s cape as they rushed deeper into the foundations of Hogwarts- and onto the swinging axe of an oncoming goblin.

The battle could have raged on for minutes or hours, it all felt the same fighting under the grounds of Hogwarts, blasting at goblins and trolls indiscriminately.

She had greatly underestimated the threat of Ranrok and his loyalists, they all had.

All except Eleazar and MC, who were paying for the Wizarding World’s ignorance deeper below- out of reach of any further help.

‘Keep Hogwarts safe’ Eleazar has asked, but the entrance to Hogwarts was in one direction, and the broken bridge he and MC had crossed to greater depths was in another. Goblins were making a try for both, and five Hogwarts professors were all that stood in their way. They could keep both safe, and they would.

Torn between defending any further entry into Hogwarts, and pushing Goblins over the ledge they had been attempting to rebuild the bridge over, it was the resolve of faith in their colleagues’ abilities that kept them fighting. Hope they’d all make it through this battle. Any other awareness felt lost under the red and black glow of armour, decorating the every swing of a weapon raised against them, scattered throughout the battlefield.

Until it faded away.

Armour no longer glowing, glowing red eyes melting to leave room for confusion and shock, cries of outrage echo across the cavern. Rendered momentarily stunned by the loss of power had left their enemies vulnerable, and wands continued to fire upon them as the goblin’s tried to rally themselves for a second wave- there would be time yet for celebration.

Taking down the rest of their attackers was almost too easy by comparison, perhaps aided by the growing lightness that filled their chests, a mutual awareness had settled between them all, and palpable relief, an overwhelming pride.

As the last of the goblins fell, Matilda turned to her colleagues, all finally reunited and gratefully unscathed. She felt a grin grow on her features, sentiments mirrored on her colleague’s expressions.

“They did it.”

That impossible, elusive duo, who’d shared a bond closer than student and teacher. How could any of them have known that the new fifth-year would be pulled under Eleazar’s wing, the pair of them would spending the better part of this year keeping secrets and sneaking off of school grounds- Eleazar, who hadn’t smiled so brightly since Miriam was alive, and the hesitant new student who flourished in his company.

The same hesitant new student, so new to magic, who had just crushed a rebellion right in its tracks and, with hope, stopped Ranrok.

If their professors felt pride, they could only imagine the way Eleazar would be glowing right now, and suddenly it wasn’t enough to imagine that paternal glow for themselves. They needed to see it.

It wasn’t enough to revel in their student and friend’s victory from such a distance, they needed to be there with them- to see their safety and triumph for themselves.

With nary a scratch between them, Matilda turned her attention to the chasm before the group, the long drop below, blocking them from following Eleazar and MC deeper into the school foundations. “What do we suggest then? Even the strongest of summoning charms won’t cross such a deep chasm.”

Abraham drifted into her periphery, a thoughtful look on his face as he considered the rubble around them, “It will be rudimentary, but I believe I know a charm that will do the trick.”

With a flick of his wand, stones began to levitate from the battleground around them, making their way past the group of professors. Mudiwa and Matilda attempt to school the minor discomfort on their faces, as the bodies of goblins slide off from the top of summoned stones, landing back on the ground with an unforgiving thud of flesh and metal. Instead, their gazes fixed ahead, as the collection of rubble continued to gather, forming a bridge- uneven, and without rails, but sturdy.

“I cannot say how long it will hold, not when everything in the air feels so…unpredictable, but it will get us across. That’s all that matters.” As if to emphasise his point, Abraham took the lead, making the first steps across the bridge.

Without hesitation, the others followed, with nary a second thought given to the destruction they were leaving behind.

They paid little attention to the lack of echo their hurried footfalls caused, just as they were all willing to dismiss the unsettling aura in the air- too much had happened already tonight, and their answers were still so few. They were no longer in their element- a message that could not have been made clearer, than by the broken bridge now before them, the grand stone guards that stood on the opposite ledge, defending swirling architecture of grandeur, an empty space within its walls- spikes in magic that hissed at them to stay back. Come closer. Enticing. Threatening.

Abraham’s words from earlier creeped into their minds, unpredictable.

For a moment, the five lingered, eyes on the long fall before them, the edgings of dread curling at their mind.

MC and Eleazar had been here, stood in this spot- had they crossed the broken bridge? What of the statues, the empty space in the centre of the stonework?

Even now, after Eleazar had promised the truth, had confessed in his letter about Ancient Magic and Ranrok’s plans, so much felt unanswered. A mystery.

All this, they could be patient for, would wait to hear the full truth- what Eleazar had dared not condemn to written word- but it didn’t solve the most pressing concern on their minds, the unspoken fear between them all, and they searched the empty hall for any clues.

Where were they?

MC, Eleazar, Ranrok. They had all been here, and now all that remained was dust and rubble, a fall to unforgiving stone below. The crackle of magic in the air so powerful it threatened to drown out anything else- how could anyone have made it through such an atmosphere?

Grips tightened on their wands, the beginnings of fear in their hold. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to find Eleazar and MC here, and instead it was empty, with only the humming in the air to keep them company, an unsettling taunt of what if?

“Wait.” Head snapped around to look in the direction of the voice, pulling the other staff from their thoughts. Dinah stood to the side, away from the group, a sharp look of focus in her eye- the same that had reminded them she wasn’t always a Professor of Hogwarts, but was once an Unspeakable. She stepped aside, revealing a downward slope, an obscured pathway leading deeper into the foundations, “This way. They went this way.”

It was all they needed to hear. Following after Dinah, they treaded down the slope, and tried not to allow their gazes to settle on large, broken pieces of rubble, scorch marks that looked fresh. It became harder when the crunch of glass echoed between the group, attention focused on Abraham, who had frozen in his tracks.

Carefully, he lifted one foot, revealing a crushed bottle under his shoe, dregs of liquid still clinging to the bottom. Their stomachs dropped at the familiar warm green shade- none more than Aesop, who had seen that configuration of smashed glass one too many times in his classroom, from careless students.

A smashed potions tube.

And in it, the dregs of Wiggenweld.

Suddenly, the heat of battle that had been warm under their skin became a stinging heat of panic, a fresh wave of frantic worry passed between them. Unspoken questions gave way to horrifying images, scenes of injury played over and over again. Ranrok was defeated, of that they were confident- but then why didn’t they feel reassured?

“We must keep going.” Aesop’s tone broke through the cloud of worry, as he walked on, a gentle pressure on Abraham’s shoulder as he did so, “If there’s empty bottles of Wiggenweld here, we can only hope for the best.”

The staunch resolution was enough to bring the others to their senses, once again allowing Dinah to lead the way as they continued on, treading deeper still into the foundations.

Ignoring the rubble became no easier, not now that they were attuned to spot the shine of potions bottles, and worse still, the occasional streak of crimson decorating the ground. Wand threatening to snap under her grip, Matilda determinedly looked away, trying to focus instead on the layout around them, on trying to listen for her friend and her student.

Around them, the magic lingering in the air threatened to become suffocating as they progressed deeper, becoming more frantic, unbalanced. Only Dinah seemed unaffected by the spike, only increasingly curious as they pressed on, rounding a final corner they stopped abruptly in their steps.

The scene that greeted them is terrifying. Flat planes of rock as far as they could see, the same broken rubble scattered in the foreground. Hanging in the air was an orb, bright and pulsating its glow. None of it meant anything, and none of it caught their attention.

Not over the sound of broken sobbing, the kneeling figure of their new student, alive- gloriously, thankfully alive- but curled over a body, as if protecting it, blind to anything else. The professors’ hearts stop at the sight of familiar silver hair, blue robes-

Eleazar.

Dead.

No-

Eleazar, that enigmatic, bright soul- gone from them. Leaving behind a child, MC, someone they all knew had become something closer to him than his student, his mentee- his charge.

And now, someone who was alone in the rubble of battle, who had saved them all but at the cost of someone so close to them.

Another choked cry broke the professors from their horror, spurring them down the final slope and rushing across the broken planes of stone.

There would be time to mourn later, to lament all they had lost tonight. For now, there was a grieving child who needed their help.

It was impossible not to register the alarming strength of raw power that crackled in the air, even the smell of magic growing thicker still. As they stood just paces from MC, they almost felt foolish for ever having assumed this magic was just the after effect of battle, the magic in the Hogwarts foundations. The truth hadn’t hit them until they had gotten closer, it felt impossible, foolish to speak aloud, but made so much sense.

All this magic in the air, it was coming from MC.

It felt like a reminder, stronger than any other they’d seen on the way here, of just what they were dealing with. Confirmation of what this child had already done.

As they neared, MC gave no indication of hearing them. It was a contrast from the dutiful student they had become so accustomed to, the ever-attentive child who wouldn’t miss the slightest flick of a wand, now blind to the world outside of the Professor in their arms, their head bowed away from any sightline, sobs wracking their body.

Matilda took a deep breath before edging closer to MC’s side, to Eleazar’s body. They all knew what had to come first, but that wouldn’t make the process any easier.

“MC? MC, we’re here now,” Soft words fell on deaf ears, with not even a flinch as Matilda knelt in the stone next to MC, allowing her gaze to quickly sweep over as much of her student’s frame as she could see. “Do you think you can let go of El-Professor Fig?”

They were covered in blood and bruising, tears in their clothes remained the only indicator left of wounds covered up with vials of Wiggenweld. They looked less like the wide-eyed new fifth-year, with a world of magic and possibility at their fingertips, and more like a soldier, left alone on the battlefield.

Well, not alone.

Not anymore.

Carefully, arms wrapped around MC’s frame, mindful of any injuries hidden beneath robes and their hunched posture. Matilda’s heart breaks all over again as she feels the sharp shudder of their cries, the way they try to resist as she gently, but insistently, begins to pull them back.

The movement breaks them out of their stupor.

“No, no, nonono please, don’t- don’t,” MC’s strangled cry breaks through the tears, and none of them can feel entirely grateful MC is with them again, “He’s not, he can’t be-”

Her eyes sting, but Matilda won’t let the tears fall. Not now.

“He’s gone. He’s gone, MC, and I know-I know it hurts, but you need to move back, we’ve got him now-” MC shakes in her arms, nonsensical protests continue to fall from their lips. Matilda keeps her grip steady, “We’ve got you both, but you need to let go-”

“NO!” It’s not the sharp yell that alarms the professors, not the painful, desperate denial in MC’s voice that causes the group to momentarily recoil in shock. It’s the tremor in the ground, the way the glowing orb above their heads had suddenly begun to pulsate. The air around them prickled. A warning.

At the sharp spike in magic, three wands pointed instinctively up at the pulsing glow, protective over the group below. The absence of a wand drew their attention back, turning to face the fourth member of their group, confused at their lack of alarm.

Dinah wasn’t even looking at the unstable magic above them, her wand hand not so much as twitching to move. Even with the static in the air, she wasn’t concerned.

As if sensing her colleagues gazes on her, Dinah met their confused glance and shot the briefest look at the levitating object before meeting their gaze again, and shook her head. Then, once assured she had their attention, wordlessly looked away- her eyeline pointed, knowing.

And settling firmly on MC.

“He isn’t! He- No! Don’t- Don’t take him away!”

Only Matilda hadn’t wavered despite the tremours in the ground, the magic spiking in the air- her hold on MC just as steady as before. And suddenly, the others understood what Dinah had already pieced together, the slight glow to the student’s skin only making it clearer.

Wordlessly, Aesop came closer, joining Matilda on MC’s other side. With an understanding nod between them, Matilda made a gentle retreat, making room for him to reach forward and place his hands over MC’s, where they had been resting on Eleazar’s. They shook under his steady grip.

“I know it hurts right now, and you’ve been so strong when you shouldn’t have had to be. It’s over now.” A hitch of shaking breath, another rumble in the ground, Aesop pressed on, “Let us take it from here. No more threats are coming, you did it.” Another breath, the ground stopped shaking, the crackle in the air settled to a dim hum, “Hogwarts is safe, you’re safe.”

For a moment, he waits. Allows his words to break through the fugue of grief that wracked their body until slowly, MC nods.

Finally, finally, Aesop felt the hands under his grip relax, the accepting slump of MC’s shoulders as they allowed themselves to be pulled away from Eleazar’s body. Their magic calming (because that’s what this was, all around them, this magic- it was all MC, it had to be).

Aesop tried not to sigh too heavily with relief, to think too hard about what they had just witnessed. From the delicate way his colleagues approached himself and Matilda, it was obvious they felt the same way.

Proof, before them, of the magnitude of power this child held, of the ancient magic Eleazar had alluded to in his letter.

Not in a container, like they had originally assumed- but in a student.

They all exchanged a look of silent, mutual agreement- they would talk about this later, not now.

Mudiwa approaches Aesop’s side, a nod to the shaking student beside him, where his hands now rested on their shoulders, almost in a side hug. He takes a second longer to squeeze them closer, register the first glimpse of their face any of them have gotten, the blood drying atop their forehead, downcast eyes he was sure would be red-rimmed and wet with tears. Their body still shook with grief under his hold, but their magic had settled now, their skin back to its usual pallor.

Slowly, he lets go, allowing Mudiwa to take his place, knowing he will be more useful with what is to come next. Wordlessly, he and Matilda rise to stand opposite Abraham and Dinah, Eleazar’s body lying between them all.

Mudiwa wastes no time, her arms wrapping around MC as she tucked their face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, murmuring reassurances in their ear. She didn’t mind the spot of dampness on her robes as MC cries, the fists clutching her clothes in ways that would only leave wrinkles- she is a professor, a mother, and she would offer this comfort a thousand times over.

Assured MC’s face was turned away, a soft ‘levioso’ passed between the four professors, as Eleazar’s body now floated between them. He looked peaceful at least, with no visible injuries to be seen. Whatever had happened, they hoped it was quick.

In his arms lay a wand- it was familiar, pale in colour with elaborate twisted wood, but they couldn’t place it. The sturdiness of their charm held, Eleazar’s hold on the wand didn’t so much as wobble, not even as Abraham took control of the spell himself. Silently, he and Dinah stepped around Eleazar’s body, between them all partially obscuring the sight from the grieving child.

Wordlessly, they waited. Tried not to watch as MC’s cries settled and they slowly pulled out of Mudiwa’s embrace, rising to stand on their own, body turned away from their professors, from Eleazar, away from further scrutiny and up- up at the glowing orb hanging over them.

Allowing MC the time to collect themself, the professors take a moment to properly survey the expanse of land. The main battlefield, if they were to guess. Scratch marks entangled with charred stone, other areas looked as though they had been subject to intense blasts of lightning. It was easier to look at those, than the drying specs of blood, the empty vials of potions they would guess were more Wiggenweld. The mysterious orb that responded to MC’s magic floated above them all, promising destruction as the slightest wrong move.

It all felt like a jigsaw puzzle, but with so many key pieces missing, and no easy place to start.

They have so many questions, so many concerns, and no time for any of them.

It causes a ripple of unease between them all, the practised way MC collects themself, bringing their breath under control, fixing their composure to turn back around and face their professors, shoulders back and hands braced in front of them, any indiction of the pain they were in, cut off.

They shouldn’t be so good at it, closing themself off like this. How much hurt had they successfully been hiding from their professors, their friends, over the course of this year? How much had their teachers missed?

MC doesn’t look at Eleazar, keeps their gaze on their professors, even as they finally speak. Their voice is rougher than usual, scratchy from crying maybe, weary with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry about all…that.” Their gaze momentarily flickers down, hiding what almost looked like…shame? Just as quickly, MC’s gaze was back on them, any sign of their previous rumination, gone, “Thank you for coming, without you I don’t know what would have- if we would have gotten here on time.” Finally, their gaze turned away, looked out across the wake of destruction- but there was no fear or sadness there, not like one would normally expect from someone who had faced a long battle. Nor was there the curiosity extended their professors, no wonder for what had happened, for they had seen the worst of it it themselves. Been in it. They continued on, a hard edge to their voice. Unmerciful, detached. “He’s gone. Ranrok is dead.”

It was not surprising, but the professors still allowed the words to ring between them in a wave of relief, a confirmation of the news they had hoped for, had guessed was the case.

Only Aesop and Dinah responded differently, a look of unease between them. That had not been the voice of someone who had taken their first life.

MC pressed on, the cold tone gone from the voice as their attention returned to their professors, eyes sweeping them with unmasked concern, “Are you all okay? His loyalists can be quite nasty.”

It was almost laughable that MC would be asking them that, after all they had just endured, and perhaps it would be a trifle amusing- if it weren’t so thoroughly depressing.

“We are just fine, nothing we couldn’t handle.” Matilda, with all her patience and understanding, only smiled at her student, “I believe the more pressing question is are you okay?” MC opened their mouth, but Matilda continued on before they could brush any concerns off. MC had been doing enough of that this entire year, “We can get you seen once we’re back at the Castle. For now, we should all focus on getting back out of here.”

For a moment, nothing was said, a frown marred MC’s expression as they thought. A baffling sight, this was by far the easiest question MC would face from a professor over this incident, what was there to think about?

Unexpectedly, MC’s face fell as they shook their head, eyes flickering back at the glowing orb behind them as they spoke, “I’m afraid I can’t leave yet, professor. There’s still so much to do- that I need to do. I need to secure the repository-” Repository, the glowing orb as a name then, “And make sure the security functions still work. It may take some time, you should all go on without me.”

Aesop scowled, go on without them, as though any of them would ever agree to something so ludicrous, especially under these circumstances. A biting retort on the edge of his tongue, Dinah steps forward and responds before he can. Likely for the best.

Dinah’s tone is full of knowing, as she meets MC’s gaze with matching intensity, “The repository isn’t going anywhere. You are the only person who can control it, am I right?” MC hesitated, and for a moment Dinah feared they’d remain frustratingly tight-lipped, before giving a small nod. “Then it can wait, until you have more energy,” Or, control over whatever this magic is, “For now, return with us to the Castle, and you can finish this another time.”

MC’s hesitation was clearly written across their face, rebuff at the ready. Dinah put her final card down, “It’s that, or we’ll all wait here until you are ready to go.”

It was a harsh ultimatum, with Eleazar’s body still floating behind them all, and all eyes would be on MC as they go about the same ancient magic business they had fought so hard to keep a secret all year. Dinah waited patiently.

MC’s gaze wavered, flickering as they weighed their options.

It pained them to admit, but Professor Hecat was right, they were exhausted. Torn between feeling seconds from spontaneous combustion, or losing themself to a dead faint, they likely weren’t in the right space to be messing with any more ancient magic right now- especially not something as powerful as the final repository.

With a sigh, MC nodded their agreement, and Dinah tried not to let the relief show on her face. In truth, she wasn’t sure any of them could have stopped MC if they had insisted on persevering.

“Wonderful. Now, apparating within Hogwarts grounds isn’t usually permitted, but the lift on the charm should still be in effect, so if you stay with me we can use side-apparition. It’s quite nasty the first time, so fair warning.” Matilda offered an arm, palm facing upward, in MC’s direction.

Fingers brushed against the palm of her hand, before sharply pulling back, as if shocked. The professors watched the way MC’s eyes had widened, sudden realisation in their eyes.

Matilda’s stomach swirled with trepidation. Another bump in the road…

“I-I can’t come with you, Professor. I’d nearly forgotten- how could I nearly forget- I need to tell the K- someone.” A pausing breath, “I need to update someone about what’s happened here. That can’t wait.”

The obvious secret keeping wasn’t appreciated, but Matilda knew when to pick her fights with students, and this wasn’t one of those.

“Very well, if this is something that can’t wait then so be it. I trust you know the way out of here, then? El-” Matilda choked on the name, and hoped MC failed to notice, but by the flash of pain on their face, no such luck, “The letter only told us to come to the foundations, it never mentioned an entrance.”

MC’s shoulders slumped at her words, and all too late the professors realised it was with relief, “Actually Professor I…I need to go alone. Perhaps it’s best for you to apparate out of here.”

MC prepared themself for the counterarguments, knowing this is one their professors wouldn’t so easily relent on, but neither would MC. It was bad enough their professors knew the location of the final repository, they wouldn’t allow the secret of the map chamber to get out too.

“You cannot be serious, we aren’t allowing you to walk through these battlegrounds alone.” Aesop tried not to roll his eyes, not wanting to risk looking petulant.

“Professor I can’t, I- nobody can know the entrance to this repository, or anything to do with this magic. I’m not changing my mind.” MC’s tone of fierce independence was almost enough to make their professors’ convictions waver on their own, stubborn in their desire to stay tight-lipped, and hide so many truths from those around them. Solely burdened with this knowledge.

Secrets upon secrets, even now.

Familiar frustration prickled under the professors’ skin, memories of artful question evasion and mysterious disappearings from Eleazar. For the better part of the school year, he and MC had been hiding under secrets and dealing with that burden alone- and for what, the professors could not begin to understand, even now, with so many fractions of these secrets revealed to them.

But they were humble enough to know when they were in over their heads.

Whatever this magic was, it was powerful. MC stood before them, robes torn and bloodied, brimming with barely-controlled magic, after taking down Ranrok, defeating countless goblins and trolls on the way. To stand in front of them and try to tell them how to navigate this situation, to act like the authority figures they technically were, felt wrong.

And yet, MC was still a child. They should be spending their time bonding with friends within the safety of Hogwarts walls, nursing headaches during long study sessions and gossiping happily with their housemates at mealtimes. Their biggest worries should have been the next essay for class, or whether their house will win the cup- not whatever this is.

It was unfair. Cruel, to deal a child such a damning card, burdening them with the weight of secrecy and power.

This child, their student. The charge of a beloved, now lost, friend. Incredibly powerful or not, they needed help, support- something they seem to have gone without for far too long.

But MC was willing to leave the repository for now, they had conceded that much- so now, it was the professors’ turn to compromise. They had to pick their battles.

A warm hand settled on MC’s shoulder, firm but easy to shake off if they wanted to. They didn’t. Abraham offered them a smile, “Very well then, if you insist on returning to the Castle alone then we won’t stop you.”

“Thank you Professor, I-”

“Ah, ah ,ah- I wasn’t finished.” He didn’t drop the smile, even as MC’s gaze narrowed into nothing short of suspicion, “We won’t stop you, but some of us will walk back with you- only to where we came from, no further.” He cast a critical eye at their robes, pausing to think before adding, “After Professor Sharp checks you are healthy to travel, of course.”

It was a small addition to make to his terms, but an important one. They had to set a precedent.

MC’s brows furrowed as they considered his offer, relaxing slightly when they seemed to find no trap in his conditions, “That sounds fair.”

“I am glad you’re not completely resistant to reason.” Aesop cut through, “Then I suppose you’ll also find it fair that you meet us in the Hospital Wing afterwards. Straight afterwards. No detours.”

If their past actions were anything to go by, should MC be left to their own devices they would gladly retire to their dorm room and assume a simple Wiggenweld would be enough to take care of their injuries, bypassing any formal medical attention at all.

They may have gotten away with as much so far, but not tonight.

Clearly, MC had come to the same conclusion, exhausting any mental list of counterarguments with a heavy, and clearly reluctant, sigh. None of the professors could quite find it themself to feel bad about their student’s obvious reluctance, not when it was towards getting medical help.

Instead, Abraham gave a gentle squeeze of their shoulder in comfort, before clearing space for Aesop to come forward, wand poised as he let his gaze sweep down the torn and dirtied robes quickly, mentally preparing himself for any further action that might be necessary.

“You may feel a slight tingle, I’m afraid it’s been some years since I needed this spell. Try to be still, it’ll work quicker if you do. It’s not perfect, only useful for physical injuries, but it should be enough until Nurse Blainey can see to you.” MC nodded, but made no further movement as Aesop cast the spell, trying to ignore the painful familiarity of the wand movement, the murmured incantation he had cast so many times in his auror days.

He wasn’t there. He was here, deep in the foundations of Hogwarts, casting an auror-trained diagnostic spell on a child.

Magic fades from where the spell had wrapped around their frame, in their place Aesop is confronted with the damage that remains. He tries not to let the shock register on his face, not when he feels the heat of MC’s inquisitive eyes on him.

There’s so many red flags it sticks in his chest. Injuries that hadn’t healed completely, wounds that weren’t enough for even multiple Wiggenwelds to take care of- the idea of MC depending on so minor a healing potion when facing Ranrok didn’t sit well with him.

“There’s some lingering injuries, but nothing that should stop you from being able to see to whatever unfinished business you must attend to,” How tempting it would be, to lie and claim they were unfit to travel the rocky terrains back to the Castle, to ensure MC would leave with the staff, now. Regretfully, their student was as stubborn as they came, and no fool.

Aesop consoled himself by pulling out a vial from his robes, offering it to MC, grimly grateful that his auror instincts had never left him, “Drink this, to be certain. It’s a more potent version of Wiggenweld- it should take care of the worst of that ankle, at least.”

MC stared down at the deep gash in momentary confusion, as though they had forgotten it was there in the first place, before graciously accepting the offered potion, downing it in one with practised fluidity.

“Thank you, professor.” They nodded to Aesop, seemingly relieved as they tested their weight on the now gash-free foot, only to frown and let out a soft hiss of pain as their weight buckled.

Aesop wasn’t the only one to reach forward, acting on pure instinct, but it wasn’t needed. Just as quickly as they stumbled, MC righted themself, frowning down at the joint as though it was a particularly nasty exam question, before grabbing the ends of their torn cape, ripping a strip of fabric with little care.

The professors watched as MC brushed off the offer of help from Mudiwa, kneeling down to wrap their ankle in the fabric.

Tentatively, they rose and took a step forward. Then another. And another. Back and forth.

Pleased their binding worked, MC now faced their professors- who were trying their best not to make any further insistences about MC joining them right away in the hospital wing. They knew when not to push it.

“...Can we go now?” A sharp contrast to their earlier assured attitude, MC sounded almost insecure as they waited for someone to say something, to give them permission to carry on. Another painful reminder that this was still a child, one who seemed so much younger, more vulnerable, when they didn’t have the mask of ‘secret magic responsibilities’ to hide behind. Looking to their professors for help, for guidance in what came between now, and whoever it was they needed to speak with.

Matilda made an effort to keep her tone warm and reassuring, as she spoke up, “Of course we can,” Gesturing MC closer towards her and away from where Abraham and Mudiwa stood by Eleazar’s body, the smallest vein of relief running through her when his body was no longer in MC’s sightline, not unless they turned around, “We’ll trust you to lead the way. Professors Ronan and Onai will apparate and get a head start on us in the meantime.”

MC nodded, slipping easily into the role of group leader as they headed in the direction of the upward slope, towards the way out. They missed the exchanging nods of agreement behind their back before the professors parted ways, Abraham and Mudiwa watching after them even as the ‘pop’ of apparition took them away, along with the solemn figure of Eleazar’s body.

They had the head-start to take him to St Mungoes, where his body could be cared for appropriately. Hopefully, there would be enough time between that and when the Ministry officials started asking questions, that the professors could agree on what truths they would reveal, what they would keep for themselves, and what they would do about the many blank gaps they had- that only MC could fill, but likely wouldn’t.

Despite Matilda’s earlier offer for MC to lead the way, the arrangement becomes more of a reverse triangle formation, Matilda and Dinah on either side of their student, Aesop tailing in the back. They were all careful to hang back slightly, to keep MC in their sightlines- perhaps it was overkill, but they didn’t want to take any chances.

Their journey back continues in relative silence, the professors make no comment of the stone structure they had walked by earlier- not even as MC’s gaze fixes on the empty space within, watchful of the guarding statues as they turn the corner, proceeding further away.

Dinah spares a second glance at the structure, her gaze flickered between the void of space being guarded, and MC, then chancing a look below, where she knew that floating orb- the repository- would be found. She knew better than to ask- but the curiosity stabbed at her brain even as she turned away, wondering if she would be more content to forget what mystery they had just come across, than to live with the memories but never any answers.

No questions were asked about the bridge Abraham had earlier constructed, but MC had paused for a moment to test their own weight on the structure before deeming it safe enough to cross.

Aesop bit his tongue, there were certainly far less dangerous ways to test the stability of something than standing on it.

As they crossed the bridge, it was hard not to admire the easy confidence with which MC traversed the uneven terrain, especially faced with such a drop to either side. They even had the time to pause and look back to their professors, to check on them, but after the third glance, seemed confident they weren’t going anywhere and didn’t bother to look again as they all stepped down from the bridge, and continued through the rubble of the former battlegrounds.

Which was fortunate, because it was hard to hide the fact you were keeping an eye on someone, when they were keeping an eye on you.

There was still a small limp to MC’s step, but they seemed determined to press on despite any pain they were feeling, so the professors resolved not to give it any further attention, not yet anyway.

Instead, they tried to focus on the other details, the slight glow of magic lingering at MC’s fingertips, the way their torn cape fluttered in the non-existent breeze- but all of it faded away as the professors caught sight of their face. The way MC stared out over the empty battlefield.

Eyes surveying the litany of bodies scattered across the ground, lying amongst the rubble- there’s no remorse in MC’s gaze, no alarm for the volume of violence that had occurred tonight. No fear or concern at all in their eyes.

At least, until there is a twitch of movement to their left.

Before any of the professors can even blink, MC’s body is rigid, their wand raised in preparation as they watch for the twitch of movement, eyes calculating. A single body among the masses twitches again, rouses from unconsciousness. They see it at the same time MC does, a goblin still alive, and fast regaining awareness.

The professors would be proud of MC’s defensive skills, if it wasn’t so telling about what they had been through these past months, if it wasn’t for the glint of cold calculation in their eyes.

For a moment, everything is still- as though the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for whatever comes next.

MC’s grip tightens on their wand but still they remain still, analytical. The air crackles with magic once again, a momentary distraction from the rousing goblin ahead, from the tension in MC’s frame.

Only Aesop catches it, the faintest glow of jet green- a colour that was impossible for him to mistake, that haunted his nightmares, one he’d hoped he would never have to see again.

And yet he swears, for a moment, just a moment, MC’s wand glowed that familiar hue-

It’s over before he can get a better look.

Underfoot, the ground shakes with the rumble of thunder, and then the goblin is gone. In a bright flash of magic, so quick Aesop could almost swear it hadn’t happened, the goblin had disappeared.

No incantation, hardly any wand movement to speak of, and it was over.

He had seen it before, they all had. What now felt like days ago, but perhaps was mere hours ago or less, MC had battled their way across these foundations and summoned that same power to get themselves and Eleazar through. At the time, there had been no opportunity for their professors to stop and ponder on the incredible power- but now, having just witnessed it again, it was an effort not to ask anything further, to question just what MC was capable of.

Oblivious to their audience, or perhaps intentionally ignorant of it, MC lowered their wand and pocketed it with a smooth flourish, unperturbed by the magic they had just displayed, the life it had just ended. Not even casting a glance behind them, MC continued on.

Aesop exchanged an uneasy look with Matilda and Dinah, but neither of them said a word. So much had happened tonight, there was no telling just how much their young student had gone through, for the sake of one life perhaps it was not their place to judge. It certainly wasn’t Aesop’s.

The group continued on in silence, only the faint rush of running water and the crackle of stones underfoot to hold their focus, keep their thoughts from straying.

It was hard not to allow their thoughts, their worries, to derail as the professors watched MC push forward. Despite only having the lead by a few paces, it may as well have been miles. They had all spent far too much time teaching teenagers not to recognise the signs of a wandering mind when they saw one, stray thoughts running unattended.

Matilda urged to break MC’s ruminating, whatever negative cycle of thoughts they had descended to, but the space MC had maintained between themself and their professors was no mere coincidence or case of youthful stamina. She would respect this boundary. For now.

The professors recognise it before their student does, the path where they had all crossed paths with MC and Eleazar, with little idea the magnitude of what they were about to face, but ready to do so regardless.

They’d had no idea what shape they would find the pair in, no idea this would be the last time they would see Eleazar alive, side by side with MC and exchanging quips with them as they battled trolls and goblins, nodding at them in thanks for their timely arrival.

Despite the pain in their chests at the memory, the way they wished they could have said goodbye, had even a minute longer with their friend- they recalled the way Eleazar had guided MC through the battlefield, had fought alongside them in perfect tandem as Matilda and Aesop found the pair, eyes watchful over his charge even as they disappeared round that final corner, onward to the final fight.

They knew Eleazar wouldn’t have changed a thing about what happened tonight, if the outcome would stay the same.

They would honour that wish, with everything in their power.

Ahead, MC slows to a stop and turns on their heel to face their professors, hands interlaced in front of them- the picture of composure, vehemence.

There was definitely no chance of MC allowing their professors to accompany them any further, then.

They offer a firm nod, but their foot kicks at a loose pebble as they talk, voice betraying their exhaustion, “See you in the Hospital Wing, then?”, and they are once again reminded that it’s a child standing before them, not a soldier- no matter how desperate MC is to convince them otherwise.

“Yes, as soon as you're finished. Whatever responsibilities you must attend to, make it brief. You can return after Nurse Blainey has cleared you, that’s the agreement,” Technically, nobody had said anything about clearing MC for duty, but Aesop figured it didn’t hurt to add, “Okay?”

MC pauses for a moment, something that would be fractional to anybody aside from their professors, before nodding their agreement, signing their agreement with a quiet “As soon as I’m finished.”- it’s as good a promise as they’re going to get.

With a final sweeping glance around the room, as though committing it to memory, each of the professors disapparate in a ‘pop’, empty spaces where they had been standing just moments ago.

For a moment, MC does nothing, eyeing the ground where the professors had just stood- their watchful gaze no longer burning into MC’s back.

Content that they wouldn’t be coming back, MC pulled their wand out from its sheath, gripping the familiar handle with surety as they kept their back to the exit of the cavern, walking away from the Map Chamber, and back into the deep foundations of Hogwarts. What their professors didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Their eyes scanned the rubble, the scattered bodies, for any sign of consciousness- any survivors.

The Keepers could wait ten minutes more, if it meant the final repository remains a secret.

#hogwarts legacy #my fics #fun story! this was SUPPOSED to be a oneshot but then it ended up being 19k words #and that's pushing it on a oneshot even for me #so multichapter it is!#first time writing for hogwarts legacy oh The Fear #hogwarts legacy fic #main character #eleazar fig #matilda weasley #aesop sharp #i ADORE thinking about the nature of ancient magic is it obvious

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stiltonbasket · 3 months

Note

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan.

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun.

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem.

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong.

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier.

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu.

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand.

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son.

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead.

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem.

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils.

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it.

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying.

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing.

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth.

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle.

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there.

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within.

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two.

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty.

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy.

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight.

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave.

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward.

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin.

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes.

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him.

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded.

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve.

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand.

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him.

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled.

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

#svsss #bingyuan #binggeyuan #the scum villain's self saving system #my fic #i live to serve and i have delivered #this is my first foray into multichapter svsss fic so please reblog if you liked it/would like to see more!#shen yuan's name is still shen yuan btw #we will unravel the backstory behind the name he's using Later #as well as some other.....backstory #;)

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