March 10th, 1890 — Castle Grounds

Clue was trapped in a large firewood box in the sprawling Castle Grounds. The afternoon was frosty and bleak, and it was no warmer in here; ice had crawled in beneath the wooden lid and settled among the nooks and crannies of the chopped wood within. It was pitch black, but for a tiny sliver of light beneath the lid.

But Clue couldn't get the lid open from in here. Partly because the boys who'd forced him into the box had placed three very heavy logs on top, and partly because he was feeling increasingly weak and shaky, devoid of energy and courage, chills and tremors grasping at his chest. He felt seven years old again, tiny and trapped. Just as helpless, just as alone.

Meserimus Valenduris

  

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A walk through the grounds counted as Meserimus afternoon constitutional - it was about as much exercise as someone at 125 needed on an average day. Archimedes followed him on silent wings and as they passed the ground keepers hut the owly Valenduris brother glided down to sit on the wood box. ’Can’t we turn around Meserimus, that’s far enough for the day’ He complained and preened a long tail feather with no small amount of pride.

’I don’t know why you are complaining’ the oldest Valenduris retorted, and cracked his back with a twist. ’You sat on my shoulder most of the way and flew less than a hundred yards’ Archimedes looked like he was about to retort when he stopped, hopping on one foot and peering into a crack in the wood slats that formed the top of the wood box. ’By Merlin Meserimus, I think there is a student in here, either that or it’s a very large mouse.’

Meserimus shooed his brother with a flick of his long bony fingers, indicating he should move and rather than trying to heft the logs and lid himself he wandlessly levitated the logs from the top and the lid to reveal a student crumpled inside

’Good grief!’ Meserimus exclaimed, and Archimedes swore violently behind him. ’Are you all right my boy?’ Meserimus asked, recognising a member of his own house and extending a hand to help the boy up.

  

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Bee is amazing

Seven years old. Clue had been staying in Sloane Square with a butcher who'd had him scrub the grime from the cold stone floor. One day the butcher walked past the floor-bound scrubbing boy and accidentally trod on his hand. Clue had yelped. And as punishment for crunching inconveniently underfoot, the butcher had picked him up by his mop of white-blond hair and locked him in the meat fridge. It had been so, so dark. Clutching his hurt hand, the little boy had crawled into a corner and began the process of slowly freezing to death.

Now fifteen years old and traumatised anew, Clue squinted as the lid opened and daylight streamed in. He clutched vaguely at his rescuer's robed arm to pull himself free, and then crumpled on the cold ground, holding his own hand as if it were injured.

Not recognising his Head of House, Clue murmured, "I'm sorry Mr Hatchet", seeing nothing but the vast cruel butcher.

  

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’Mr Leverett?’ he asked, his brow furrowed in concern for the young man from his own house who seemed to be a thousand miles away from this time and place. Despite his age and height Meserimus had strength in his old body and he allowed the young man to cling to him like a life line. ’Breath my boy, please stake a deep breath’. With a wave of his hand he cast a quick spell to check if the boy was bewitched or confounded in some way. He wasn’t- this appeared to be some sort of flashback or nightmare, although he doubted that the student had locked himself in the wood box.

Replacing the lid with a casual wave of his hand, Meserimus guided the boy to sit on the low wooden box, and then seated himself beside him, encouraging him to lean forward do he could breath easier. He patted the boy on the back – his teachery demeanor was gone and in his place was the father and grandfather to many children, a man who could spot the distress of a child at a hundred paces, ’Come on Clue, take a deep breath for me now.’ he encouraged and rubbed a hand on his upper back. ’It’s alright now.’

  

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Bee is amazing

Crumpled on the frosty ground, sitting like a child with his skinny arms wrapped around himself, Clue dimly recognised a spell wash over him — something to faintly remind him that, no, he was not in muggle London, and this wasn't a muggle at all, let alone an abusive one.

On the contrary, the large hand on his upper back was comforting and blessedly warm. It reminded him of leaning against a tree. Compelled to obey, Clue took a deep breath. Then a shiver. He was cold, and lost.

But the haze of confusion was beginning to fade, and he finally looked up to see the looming, concerned form of his Head of House. "You're... not him", he finally concluded... though there was something of a desperate question in his tone.

  

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’No my boy,’ he soothed, ’I am not him’ at least Meserimus didn’t think he was him, and he had certainly no idea who the him might be. The boy was so slight of build and looked so frail Meserimus took his own large heavy white cloak and draped it over the boys shoulders. He was able to then cast a warming charm on himself to keep the chill out of his old bones. The cloaks weight would add warmth but also hopefully provide the central nervous system suppression that seemed to work so well when some of his children had suffered night terrors – a hug but a VE acceptable one.

He gave Clue a few moments to recover himself, to shake off some of the dread that clearly still hung over him. ’Who is him’ Meserimus asked pointedly fixing the student with a steady gaze

  

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Bee is amazing

The stark cold air combined with the warm, heavy cloak began to part the haze in Clue's mind, and he mentally dragged himself from the trauma he'd been forced to revisit in the firewood box. But the boy remained seated on the ground, partly because he didn't trust himself to stand, and partly because he felt so weak that the heavy cloak seemed to gently suggest that he remain stationary. For now, he wouldn't be able to rise under its weight.

He looked up into the sky blue eyes of the Potions Master, too exhausted to be ashamed by whatever had happened. Clue took a steady breath, and explained. "Mr Hatchet. He was one of the people who took me in when I was little. A butcher. Used to lock me in the meat fridge." The wretched memory sent another shiver through him.

  

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'How cruel' Meserimus couldn't help but mutter. Meserimus life had been long, he had seen a great deal - he had seen the ways in which children were dealt with change so dramatically that he could scarecly recognise it. He had seldome seen his own father but for once a week on a sunday, his first set of children had seen him only once a day in the evening, now his children sat at table with every meal, he read to them. Paternal affection was a new invention it seemed. When he had been a young man there had been a theory that children did not feel pain - either physical or emotional. Now they knew better, but it seemed like there was no accounting for the general cruelties of men.

'He is far from here young man,' Meserimus comforted, 'He cannot harm you further.' reaching into the billowing sleeve of his robe he brought forth a square of very dark, very bitter chocolate - it was the sort he favoured, not the sweet milky sort general preferred by children, but it might help his mood a little. 'Where do you stay Mister Leverett? when school is over, do you go back to him?'

  

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Bee is amazing

Cruel was not a word Clue associated with his young life; for while it was apt, it was also uncannily simple. He did not identify himself by his traumas, but sometimes that cruelty insisted. Hence Professor Valenduris regarding him now, and likely seeing nothing but a lost, broken victim of cruelty.

He shook his head right away, not willing to imagine even for a second that Mr Hatchet could still be in his life. "No, I was passed from home to home for a while. Now I live in a house with other orphans", he explained dully.

Briefly surprised but grateful, Clue took the chocolate and nibbled at a corner. "Thanks..." he murmured, as the bitter flavour filled him and grounded him. He felt the professor's cloak and the cool ground clearer than ever, and a breeze ruffled his hair. He wasn't at Mr Hatchet's, he wasn't at Mrs Spragg's... yes, there were cruel boys at Hogwarts who'd forced him into a log bin, but he was still safer here than he'd ever been.

  

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'This summer at least I might offer you another option?' Meserimus said thoughtfully outloud. 'I'm doing some work, a research project that will require some students help.' he explained a little gently. He had noted Mister Leveretts skill, but the quiet boy had never expressed the sort of up front ambition or interest that he had found in the likes of Miss Lestrange. 'I'll be offering several students the chance to work on this project under my supervision'.

He picked at a stray splinter of wood from the lid of the wood box and flicked it through the air where his old eyes immediatly lost sight of it. 'Might this be something that would interst you?' Meserimus stated cooly, trying not to place too much pressure on the response. 'It would mean you likely wouldn't go back to your regular accomodations, it would take all of the summer.' he explained, 'and would pay a reasonably amount for the inconvienance of losing your summer holidays'

  

Clue had always got the impression that Professor Valenduris operated on another level. After all, old age had not disrupted his life, he brewed potions as if the recipes were tattooed on the inside of his skull, and he'd barely batted an eyelid at Clue's state. Certainly he'd seemed concerned, sure enough, but he had evidently seen children like this before and knew exactly how to lead them back to the light.

The boys who'd forced him into the log box were forgotten, for they were simply not the point. There was a new point: a different life was feasible.

Clue looked up at the towering professor, silent for a good ten seconds as he forced himself to believe that this was happening. The young skeptic was tempted to be suspicious, but there was a casual earnestness in man's eyes that was impossible to miss.

"I... would be interested, yes." An understatement.

  

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Meserimus nodded thoughtfully and resolved to write to the boy’s guardian such as they were. While he was sure to receive no objection, if what he understood of Mister Leverett’s circumstances to be true. But the paid apprenticeship would offer Mister Leverett some stability, an income, and perhaps a chance to improve his lot in life. Meserimus had been born into wealth, he had always known comfort but he wasn’t blind, he had seen real hardship up close and personal.

There were some students in his house Meserimus had taken an interest in, he had paid the school fees of more than one child, both at Hogwarts and at Durmstrang in his long long life. It was not philanthropy – well not entirely, but rather the view that a talent left untutored was a waste to all of wizard kind. Despite his appearances, he was a believer that a rising tide lifts all boats* and being known as the person who had recognised the talent and skill of a particularly adept young man or woman he thought of as rather the feather in his cap. But in Mister Leveretts case there was something else, he felt like an exceptional talent – more perhaps than even the likes of Miss Lestrange, who was excellent by virtue of her hard work and the access she had to every resource on gods green earth to help her advance – she succeeded because of her station, Mister Leverett seemed likely to succeed in spite of it, and if there was some small thing Meserimus could do it was a small price to be paid.

’Then it is settled then Mister Leverett’ he said cheerily, clapping a hand on his back ,and offering him another piece of the chocolate, ’presuming your guardian is amenable, when the school closes for summer you will acompnay me to my home in Hogsmeade.’ he explained. Katerina wouldn’t mind he was sure, and his children would be sure to enjoy the additional company. ’I’ll be posting the request invitation to all students next week, if you wouldn’t mind sending me your ‘application’ but consider yourself already accepted’ he noted with a twitch of his moustache.

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(*I’m not sure if this idiom is as universal as I think it is Here
’’

  

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Bee is amazing

Clue nodded, showing he understood — though the truth was, the fog from today's trauma and subsequent surprises would not fully lift for a while. Only when he later saw Professor Valenduris's invitation on the Slytherin notice board would he be sure that this really had happened. He was about to experience the only good summer of his life, and the start of what really could be an actual, productive, well-suited career.

In Clue's experience, Mrs Spragg was anything but amenable, but he had every confidence she'd be keen to get rid of her strangest foster child as quickly as possible.

Finally, Clue got to his feet — a little shakily, but he was okay now. Thanks to Professor Valenduris. He accepted a further piece of chocolate, and finished it before taking off the heavy cloak and returning it to his elder. "Thank you..." he said, incapable of expressing quite how much gratitude he felt.

  

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As the lad stood, clearly still shakey, the Slytherin head of house wanted to make sure his student got back to the school in one piece. ’Alright then young man’ he said, pushing himself up to standing. ’Come help an old man get back to the school eh?’ he asked. Meserimus had a knack for pretending to be frailer when he needed to be when it was a useful way for him to keep tabs on a student without seeming to be overly worrisome or condescending.

As they set off up the path to the main part of the school, he placed a large hand on the boys folder, ’Mister Leverett’ his tone was serious, if full of the that feigned strain of old age, ’I am your head of house young man, if you need anything, you know that that is what I am here to provide?’ He knew better than to push too hard at this time, but he needed to reassure the young man that if he needed to talk that Meserimus was only at the other end of the dining hall.

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Bee is amazing

As they headed back into the castle, the professor leaning very lightly on Clue despite likely being twice as strong as the fey lad, Clue felt a new sensation — the sensation of having a rolemodel. Not simply someone he admired (like Narcissus Laurent), or liked (Calla Potts) or envied (like Germander Macnair), but someone he hoped he could be when he was aged a thousand.

(Or however old Professor Valenduris was.)

"I know. I understand", he replied with a nod. He did understand. He'd never purposefully gone to anyone with his problems before, but... he lived in a time of change.

  

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Meserimus stroked his long white beard, feeling, for once, his considerable age. He would have Archimedes keep an eye on Clue for the next few days, to make sure there were no repeat incidents like today, and have the portraits in the slytherin common room do the same. He nodded to himself once more.

'Good lad, good' he acknowledged , the large hand on the stravling shoulder squeezed reflexively. There was much that could not be said, not while at school, but he hoped the gesture spoke loudly enough. He would have to speak to Katerina - he had much to think about, and letters to write.

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Bee is amazing