From the Ashes

Who: Pete and William
When: Wednesday, midday
Where: That is an excellent question.
What: ...the hell happened?

There had been an alarming number of staff disappearances over the past day. Not deaths, not that anyone knew, but it was enough to make even the most optimistic of Hufflepuffs look solemn over their morning porridge. The headmaster had assigned substitutes to hastily rescheduled classes and declared that every spare minute be spent in finding out exactly what was going on.

William had been buried in books for most of the morning, but so far the only plausible explanation he had come up with was 'Portkey', and both Headmaster Schechter and the Defence experts had sworn the possibly-Cursed painting currently locked away behind wards in an unused classroom wasn't a Portkey. Presumably everyone had also been careful not to touch it, which was further evidence against the Portkey hypothesis, but William hadn't been able to come up with a better suggestion.

There was a spell called a 'compleat bauble' listed in one of the Elizabethan-era texts which seemed to detail the containment of a person or persons within a small glass sphere, but the foundation of the spell seemed far-fetched to begin with, and William hadn't heard mention of anything resembling a glass ornament being discovered in the castle. Surely something would have had to set such a spell in motion, and ostensibly they would have heard about the event.

( William was on his way to investigate the suspected instigator of the disappearances now. )

Who: Gryffindor versus Slytherin (as represented herein primarily by Pete and Gabe; weigh in at your own risk *G*)
When: Dinnertime, Saturday (14/11)
Where: Unfortunately, publicly, just outside the Great Hall
What: Dun tole joo - Gryffindor versus Slytherin, round two: fight!

Unfair advantages were beautiful things to have, and this week Gabe had had a couple: 1) he'd started out on the older side of the staff in the first place, and 2) even if he hadn't been actually in the basement at the moment of age-fuckery, he'd still been a fair way away from Schechter's office.

On the other hand, various acquaintances and family members could have told you, if you'd gone to Spain to track them down, that Gabe as a teenager had been an enthusiastic, unfocused, but generally harmless kid. Gabe in his early twenties had been a bitch. (And any student who'd had Potions on Friday would back this one up.)

Case in point: for the past five minutes, following Pete down to dinner, he'd been ragging on Gryffindor's quidditch team, their win, their supporters, their inferiority to Slytherin, their coach, Pete's obvious bias, and the fact of, "I don't know, dude, are you blind or just too short to see your team fucking cheating?"

And yes, Gabe had sought Pete out specifically to do this.

Who: Spencer and Pete
Where: The Great Hall
When: Thursday evening
What: Dinner & Duels

Thursday night was Sticky Date Pudding night, and aversion to eating in the Great Hall or not, there was no way Spencer was going to miss that particular occasion. It had been a reasonably peaceful day, the general attention of his classes moved on from his and William's epic and -- somehow, apparently -- tragic romance to the latest Gryffindor-Slytherin relationship that had gone ka-boom. Aside from stopping the two students in question from killing each other in class, Spencer had had a refreshingly calm day.

Possibly it was a warning for ominous things to come, but Spencer had never been very good at Divination.

William had sent him the first issue of Plants In Peril that afternoon, and Spencer was running through some of the latest theory in it in his head. He was not really prepared, so when someone next to him made a surprised, choking sound, he barely glanced up, and it wasn't until his glass of pumpkin juice was upturned with a certain dramatic air that he really noticed what was going on. Noticed, but didn't understand.

"Um?" Spencer said, plaintively.

Who: Pete & William
What: Bowling and more whimisicle fuckery
When: Wednesday evening
Where: the lawn

Pete was worried about William. First, the rumor mill had him whoring around again, and Merlin knew William was generally too self-controlled to get his grind on with other people in relative public. Secondly, Pete had seen William kill house elves with his own two eyes, and William was a librarian. Pete would put a weighty stack of galleons on William having some coping difficulties.

Thus, he had fetched William from the relative safety of his post, replaced him with a suitable substitute, and dragged him out to the lawn.

"You," he said firmly, pushing William down onto the lawn firmly with both hands on William's shoulders. Reaching up for William's shoulders. "Sit here. I'll take care of everything."

He fetched a small book out of his back pocket and his wand from its convenient sleeve within his sleeve, and raised the wand like a conductor's baton, clearing his throat importantly. First matter of business was to levitate the small group of children studying about five yards ahead of him and float them gently out of the way; it was the only flat ground the eye could see, and unless he wanted to carve up the hillside, he needed flat. Flattish.

Who: Everyone
When: Saturday night, Hallowe’en
Where: The armoury
What:

To all staff,

After curfew and following the Hallowe’en Feast, you are cordially invited to attend a holiday gathering in the armoury. Costumes are not optional, so if you find yourself somehow accidentally lacking one upon arrival, there will be plenty available you can borrow from the suits of armour, as they will be dressed for the occasion. Drinks, desserts, and every possible permutation of pumpkin dish will be served, and there will be a festive soundtrack of popular dance music from both wizarding and Muggle cultures to enjoy. Masquerade glamours are permitted in the spirit of the holiday, but please try not to unnecessarily alarm your colleagues. Castle ghosts are also invited to attend the festivities.

Sincerely,
Headmaster Schechter

Who: Gerard and Pete
When: first free moment in a house-elfless Hogwarts, some time in the distant future
Where: huddled in the courtyard with a bottle of vodka or three
What: Pour one out and light a pyre for our fallen comrades in cosies

The last feverish Ravenclaw was stable and sleeping in the infirmary. Patrick was out on patrol, roaming the corridors and checking the grounds for any signs of trouble -- knock on wormwood, but Hogwarts actually seemed relatively quiet for the night. And Mikey was off doing something mysterious and hopefully cathartic-- he wasn't in his room, but Gerard's new and improved pocketwatch had his brother's hour and minute hands pointing to 'ALIVE' and 'NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS' respectively. Obviously fine, wherever he was.

Gerard was left with fuck-all to do, so he'd settled down with his stash of liquor and smokes with the intent of getting thoroughly shit-faced. Fucking werewolf metabolism made it a bit difficult, but he was determinedly plowing through his bottle of pumpkin vodka -- the first go-round had been wretched, but the taste had grown on him after he'd cast a refilling charm or two. 

He huddled into the shadow of the stone column and stared gloomily out at the moonlit landscape. They'd all taken turns with the cleanup, and though the grounds were still a bit battered, the more gristly reminders were gone. Fuck, all of the house elves, every single one -- gone, just like that. Gerard's eyes watered -- they'd have hated going out like that, was the worst thing. The Hogwarts elves had loved their jobs, loved the children and the castle, and to have been turned into shambling monsters -- it was Gerard's job to stop things like that from happening, and he'd failed them. And now they were all dead and in little pieces. He'd never even learned the Owlery elf's name. Or which of them had kept rearranging his action figures into mock-battles each morning, or whether Poggy had managed to figure out the perfect charm to create a carbonated Muggle soda.

Fuck, his bottle was empty again. Gerard squinted at it and prodded it with his wand, but he must have incanted a bit wrong because instead of refilling with delicious, terrible pumpkin vodka, it just exploded in a rain of stinging glass.

"Bollocks," Gerard said morosely, and shook shards from his hair. He wasn't nearly drunk enough and now the vodka was gone.

Who: Pete & Travis
When: the wee hours of Saturday
Where: Various locations; a scenic tour of the grounds, really
What: a brief stroll, an even briefer adoption of some delightful children, and a rather unpleasant discovery

The first trip to Gryffindor from his last period class had been almost completely uneventful. The trip back down had been a bit less so, the trip to Ravenclaw downright tense; an unexpected trip up to the owlery had been harrowing, and the trip back down from there had given Pete a certain blood-splattered glow. He was pretty sure there were a few gummy chunks of brains in his hair. He could be more pleased about that, probably.

He could be more pleased about a lot of things, if he was being honest; it really sucked to have to kill the house elves. And he was still refusing to kill the ones he knew by name. Those he left petrified and bound for good measure. Someone else would come along and do the necessary finalities. It just didn't have to be him.

If he had a broom, he thought, this would be even easier. He could just fly along by the ceiling and swoop down for mass beheadings as the opportunities presented themselves. He didn't have a broom, though. Not a decent one, anyway, and he wasn't sure he wanted to accio one, just in case throngs of house elves followed its entrance and swarmed him before he could mount and evade.

Instead, he had his wand poised to stun and a sword he'd swiped from one of the suits of armor and sharpened until it passed through leathery skin and narrow spinal columns without a problem. He'd been doing it from behind whenever possible - a turn of phrase he would giggle about under other circumstances - which wasn't much, but it was probably going to help him sleep sometime in the next few months.

If they survived this, they were going to need a shit load of therapy.

There were a handful of house elves loitering loosely just above the steps down to the entrance hall; they were staring at each other, communicating their longing for flesh in some weird grunty staring language. He managed to stun four of them from around the corner, and petrify the other two once they'd stepped around their still companions, a good ten or so feet before they could get their creepy little paws on him. He swung his sword five times (one of them was named Kipki; he'd always liked that the little wrap she wore was fuchsia) and held his arm out to the side, shaking long drips of blood off his blade and onto the floor. He cast fast, careful glances both directions down the hall and bound Kipki tightly in magical rope before trotting down the stairs, wand raised and sword at the ready.

who: Pete & William
where: Ravenclaw
what: momentary lack of zombizzles
when: friday night

Ravenclaw was Pete's first stop—well, his first stop after he ran into a group of terrified kids about halfway down the stairs in Gryffindor tower, escorted them back up, made eyes at Ryland, implored the fat lady to be extra careful, and then took off again—because he hadn't forgotten that they didn't have a Head of House, and he also hadn't forgotten that they were generally very skilled and even more aware of it. He had nightmare visions of little Ravenclaw third years with chunks of flesh missing; when he got there, however, he mostly found them huddled in their common room making wary (yet worryingly inquisitive) eyes at the door.

He'd handed over a copy of the list that his little honorary Gryffindor had made before he'd left, and let them set to making a copy and adding their names to it. He had rooms to check and provisions to evaluate. There was no way to know how long this would last, and if it would transfer from house elf to human, but he did know that what had been scattered clusters of zombies on his way to Gryffindor tower in the first place had turned into thicker throngs, and he imagined it was only a matter of time before the castle halls were crowded with them.

All of the dorms were cleared (he'd only had to take a few fortifying breaths to convince himself to get on his knees and check under the bed; zombie bites were one thing, but if someone took a chunk out of his face he would never get over it), and he had verified that all of the first and second floor bathrooms were zombie-free. He was checking the first of the bathrooms on the uppermost floor (pushing open stall doors and warily checking behind linen closet doors) when he heard a sliding sort of scuffle noise from outside. He whipped around, wand-hand at the ready, heart-racing and mouth suddenly dry; even with all that, his wrist was twitching eagerly and he pushed up on his toes, more ready to hex than was strictly dignified.

It was dark out, and he couldn't see outside details for the light flooding the bathroom, so when he saw the shape surging through the narrow window, he figured he would cast first and ask questions later. The windows were tiny, anyway. No reasonably sized human would think to use it as an entrance. "Petrificus Totalus," he shouted, jabbing his wand sharply at the totally creepy, murderous, zombified house elf coming through the window.

William,
Perhaps once we've dealt with the undead house elf infestation, you would like to join me for a cup of tea and a bit of polishing up our CVs?

Sincerely,
Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III

PS. And it might be of interest to you to know that Ryland and I are currently in Gryffindor, securing the children we brought with us (quite a few of your lot, if you were looking to gather them together) and prioritizing locations to canvas for more children. I'm assuming this will find you in the library. I'm also hoping you will tell me you've sussed out that it's perfectly alright to fatally wound the house elves.

PPS. This is Ryland's personal owl. She's a murderous beast, but as you're not romantically inclined towards Ryland, your eyes and vital bits should be safe while you compose your reply.

PPPS. Please respond.

who: Pete, Ryland, & Adam
where: in the shared hallway outside their classrooms
when: Friday, shortly before last period officially lets out
what: zombie hoardes gaggle?

Pete was in the habit of wandering out into the hall with his little group of Seventh Year NEWTS a few minutes before class officially ended; it was a more casual type of conversation, so they could feel free to probe him (metaphorically) for information about his Year As A Muggle. The kinds of questions they couldn't ask in class. How shaggable were muggle girls, for example. Or how did muggles keep from pregnancy and disease? That sort of thing.

Thus, he was in the middle of a somewhat spirited discussion of the American muggle political system when something wandered up to one of his Ravenclaws and bit her on the leg.

"Ow," she said. "What the bloody hell?"

At first, Pete thought it was one of Adam's second years - they'd just started filing out, and you never could tell with second years - but when she jerked and he got a good look, he saw it was...a house elf. A weirdly stumbly, glazed-eyed, ashy looking house elf that was reaching out with its grasping little hands and trying to pull his student's arm down.

That was...weird. "Hey now," he said, frowning, and wrapped his hand around his student's wrist, jerking her firmly away from the house elf and to his other side. The house elf (Pete was pretty sure this one was named Sana) moaned creepily and stumbled towards him.

He stunned it, instinct kicking in, and then winced guiltily. "Shit," he said, taking a hasty step forward. "Shit, sorry."

"Um," one of his other kids said. "Professor Wentz."

Behind Sana there was a small group of house elves, all with the same creepy affectation. Worse, a few of them had blood smeared down their chins, and they were looking...decidedly zombie like. Pete blinked, and said, with as much sincerity as he had ever said anything in his life, "Shit.."

Item	Quantity	Price
Unicorn Tail Hair	5	12g
Goblin Toenail Shavings	1oz	4g
Clabbert Webs	4 sheets	20g
Giant's Tears	8oz	16g
Bottled Patronal Mist	2 vials	10g
Atlantean Dust	1oz	2g
Fine Italian Chocolates	1 box	25s*
Fountain of Youth Vodka	1 bottle	5g, 7s*
Amorous Caramel Truffles	1 box	1g, 17s*
Sugar Biscuits	1 tin	10s, 3k*
	Total	72g, 8s, 3k**

* will accept sharing of portions in lieu of financial reimbursement
** items I would have bought you while actually in my right mind have not been included on this invoice

who: pete and ryland
when: saturday afternoon
where: infirmary
what: love potion finally over!

Ryland had been sitting in an uncomfortable, too small chair for what felt like many more hours than it actually had been. His ass was sore and his legs were awkwardly sprawled, but he was dealing. He didn't know what Gabe had done to Pete, exactly, but he knew Pete had been unconscious for hours. Ryland was determined to be there when he woke up.

The nurse hustled by him unexpectedly, startling him out of a rather extensive daydream sequence, and he sat up sharply. "Is he awake?"

At her absent nod, he heaved himself out of his chair and followed her through the curtain that had been drawn around Pete's bed. He was, in fact, awake. Which meant Ryland would only need to yell at Gabe a *little* for all of this.

Of course, what he was really nervous about was what Pete would say when he realized Ryland was there and Gabe was not. Ryland drew the curtain closed behind him and pushed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels anxiously and waiting while the nurse checked Pete over and handed him a potion to swallow.

Professor Wentz,

With the first scheduled Quidditch match coming up in two weeks, I thought it would be wise for you to decide which teams would be most prepared to play a match. Obviously the best teams might inspire the most healthy competition and school spirit at a time when we could certainly use it, but I'd also prefer it not be a rout, so if there's one team far ahead of the others, perhaps they should wait in the stands for now. You know best, so I leave it to your judgment.

I trust you are feeling much more refreshed this week than last. If you find yourself needing to talk, I hope you will take it upon yourself to darken my doorstep. In the meantime, we are taking every precaution to assure that this incident is not repeated. I doubt that's a comfort to you, but I hope you can at least take heart that you prevented someone else from experiencing the same fate.

Sincerely,
Headmaster Schechter

who: Pete & Gabe & anyone else
when: Saturday, lunch
where: Great Hall
what: Lunch! (and experimental cure potioning!)

Breakfast had been a tense, somber affair; Pete had spent most of it sulking in the closest chair he could get to Gabe, pondering the many and varied ways in which is tiny emo heart was breaking.

Lunch wasn't a whole lot better. Gabe still didn't love him and Ryland was still upset and avoiding him. He was starting to think about painting his nails black. And maybe throwing himself off the Astronomy tower.

He picked listlessly at his plate. There was food on it, but he wasn't particularly interested in it. Gabe hadn't been there when he'd shown up, and Pete had spent so long standing there in front of the staff table trying to predict which seat Gabe would pick that people started staring. Then he realized that Gabe would probably pick the chair farthest away from Pete, and almost cried. In public. In front of students.

Who: Gabe & Pete
Where: Gabe's room
When: Late Friday night
What: OMG WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?! Ahem Pete is very confused and troubled and needs comforting? Oh god.

Gabe was having a very serious conversation with Napoleon, a rhinocerous in a tutu, and this guy he'd met in a bazaar in Tripoli when a chandalier fell on his head, and then Napoleon turned to him and said, "Heads up, bucko," and Gabe woke up with his head half under the pillow and the realisation that someone was knocking on his door. In the middle of the goddamn night? Oh fuck, the sixth years had finally actually managed to do... whatever the hell it was they were trying to do. At this hour, Gabe's imagination was virulent but non-specific, and he barely paused to drag his blanket around his shoulders before staggering across to drag the door open.

Because he'd been thinking sixth-years, his gaze was actually at the right height to, when he blinked the dazzle of the corridor torches out of his eyes, recognise... "Pete?"

[large gift basket containing various expensive (and often disgusting) (and sometimes rare) (and a few illegal) potions ingredients side by side with bottles of alcohol and tins of biscuits and chocolates. Also included: a book of love poems in Spanish]

Who: Pete and William
Where: The pool ballroom
When: Friday night
What: Not running. Please, Merlin.

William showed up to the pool room with a stack of books so tall it threatened more than once to topple when rounding corners. Most if not all of them would prove useless, he was almost certain, but it was better than nothing. The room was empty when he arrived, but he wasn't terribly worried about it. He had faith that his current method of Pete-wrangling would be a success.

The plan, such as it was, involved reading by the pool while Pete swam enough laps to exhaust him, so that he would fall right asleep and not go chasing after Gabe while he was trying to work. It wasn't the most evolved plan ever invented, but William thought it ought to suffice. He could make listening noises when appropriate, send any useful information on potions along to Gabe, and tuck Pete into bed at a relatively early hour without his chaperon duties extending to physical restraint.

He hoped they wouldn't extend to physical restraint. If necessary, though, he was fully prepared to confiscate Pete's wand and tackle him.

Who: Pete & Ryland
When: Friday Afternoon
Where: Pete's classroom
What: Postponement

Pete had tried to figure out some way to get his class to help him woo Gabe. Sadly, he'd been lacking in enough imagination to come up with it, and just because he was in love didn't mean he was stupid enough to think getting his class to proofread his very romantic and adoring love poetry was a good idea.

But luckily he had free period, so he had all the time in the world to sit on his desk and turn roses into rose petals. By hand. Hundreds of them.

"Come in," he called absently, carefully plucking the petals off the rose in his hand.

[insert four page love poem here]

who: Gabe & Pete
when: thursdayish, post-patronuses
what: uh oh
where: staffroom

So everything was basically back to normal; Pete's Patronus was back...wherever Patroni usually chill, his magic was back, and he was so proud of one of Gabe's Slytherins for pulling off a seriously complex Quidditch move that he could basically burst.

Also, he'd heard a rumor that there was fresh coffee. Well, it was less a rumor and more hopeful anticipation that someone had made fresh coffee. His hopes were dashed, of course, by the crusty-smelling and empty pot, but it was a simple wave of his wand to set a new pot fixing. He flopped on one of the squashy chairs across from Gabe and pulled a face at him.

"I miss my lion," he lamented. "One roar and every student would shut it immediately. It was brilliant."