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Mars was having a good day – a great day, even. He didn’t have any classes today, which meant more time for fun! He started his day with a yapping session with himself while getting ready. Thankfully, Sharp was absent from the Potions Classroom, which allowed him and Garreth to spend the morning there, experimenting with a new potion – and not even blowing it up! They even left the classroom in a “kinda” decent state, although it had been ages since Mars had last heard Sharp angry with him. The man’s temperament had certainly improved since Mars accidentally brewed a healing potion for him.
After lunch with Natty (whom Mars adored, even if her perpetual ramblings about becoming an Auror were starting to get a bit repetitive), he left the school grounds to check on the Highlands. He stopped by Mrs Bickle’s cottage, but she wasn’t home – nor was Archie. Mars scratched his head in thought before remembering that she had gone to America. The thick layer of dust on the furniture confirmed it. Cursing his distractible brain, he made his way to the next house.
Mars did his usual patrol, making sure everything was calm and nothing out of order had occurred. Thankfully, most of Rookwood’s gang were gone – either by his hand or willingly – so the Highlands were safe. He breathed in the fresh air. As much as he loved Hogwarts, he loved the closeness to nature in the Highlands even more. Maybe he could go out with Poppy next time.
Thankfully, Mrs Bugbrooke was home. She was asleep in her armchair, and Mars didn’t want to disturb her. He found a basket of baked goods with a short, warm-hearted note in her handwriting. Mrs Bugbrooke had taken quite a liking to Mars after he saved her unicorn friend, Hazel, and she reminded him a great deal of his own grandmother. They shared a passion for baking and often exchanged what they made. Mars gratefully took the basket and returned to the school.
His gang had collectively decided to skip dinner, and they were settled in the comfort of the Hufflepuff Common Room, perched on the sofa and the cosy armchairs with their slightly worn fabric. Natty, Garreth, Poppy and Amit – Mars’ closest friends and the dearest people in the whole world. He shared Mrs Bugbrooke’s baked goods with them. Amit enjoyed the scones, while Poppy was partial to the oatcakes. Natty, Garreth and Mars happily devoured everything, complimenting Mrs Bugbrooke’s skills. Mars promised to pass along the gratitude, as he always did. Even though her baking was a tiny bit too dry this time, it was still delicious.
Sitting there, in the Hufflepuff Common Room, filled Mars’ heart with happiness and gratitude. Amit started boasting about his newest telescope, which he always carried with him. Natty pulled out a worn Auror booklet from her robes, as if having it on her was a good-luck charm that might bring her dream closer to reality. Poppy excitedly told everyone about the recent happenings in the Vivariums (apparently, Gerald had found a girlfriend), shaking the small bag of beast feed she always kept with her. Garreth laughed, mimicking Sharp’s expression when he offered him a try of his Fizzing Whizzebee drink (a bottle of which Garreth always carried, just in case anyone got interested in it).
Mars could consider himself lucky. Despite his childhood, despite his father’s death – he had found a new family at Hogwarts. And, laughing at Poppy’s retelling of the Puffskein drama, he couldn’t have been happier.
If Aesop Sharp had thought his leg hurt while it was still attached to his body, it was nothing compared to the pain he felt after losing it. Phantom pains were common after limb loss – that much he knew. Yet the knowledge that they were phantom didn’t change a bloody thing about the fact that they still hurt like hell.
More often than not, Aesop caught himself wondering – why. Why had he survived, the only person left alive after the battle against Ranrok in the caverns beneath Hogwarts? Why had he been granted a glimpse of peace after Di Angelo healed him, only to lose the damned leg several weeks later? Why had he been found bleeding and half-dead, miles away from Hogwarts before the battle was even over – saved only because there had been witnesses able to stop the bleeding, if not to save his arm and leg?
And, most importantly, why the hell was he still alive? An old man who should have died in Scarborough instead of his partner – a better Auror and a better man – who had protected Aesop’s life at the cost of his own. Why had he survived the Battle of Hogwarts when so many didn’t? His former colleagues, his former students – all gone. The chaos that followed had been suffocating. Parents mad with grief, the remnants of Ranrok’s army, the Ministry desperately trying to stop the world from collapsing completely. It had been so bad that the Ministry accepted him back – because even a crippled ex-Auror was better than none at all.
He removed his prosthetic leg, then his arm. Aesop was grateful to be a wizard, at the very least. Wizarding prosthetics were far superior to whatever Muggles came up with, but still incomparable to feeling one’s own flesh and bone. And, worst of all, they did nothing against the pain.
The years since the Battle of Hogwarts had not been kind to him. Barely clinging to life, looking as old and battered as he felt, hair greying, beard unkempt – but he was alive. If only out of a sense of duty, if nothing else. And tomorrow would be a new day, with a new task.
Hogwarts had been almost destroyed in the explosion – that much Aesop knew once he was well enough to receive news. None of the students or staff had survived – save for him and the students who had been in Hogsmeade. Speaking of which, Hogsmeade had suffered terribly, as had most of the small Highland hamlets. The remaining survivors had left, if only to avoid being associated with the “Red Curse” – the wrong, corrupted magic Ranrok had unleashed, bleeding through the Highlands, contaminating everyone and everything, making people violent and unpredictable. The Ministry had declared the Highlands a quarantine zone, and hardly anyone dared step inside. Letters and parcels still found their way in and out, but admitting that one had family or friends still living there was a sure way to earn a stigma.
Aesop didn’t care much for rumours, but he pitied every single Highlander still refusing to leave their home. He had the Ministry’s permission to report on the state of things, but was due to return in two days. Otherwise, he would be subject to quarantine and a long observation period. He wondered how many Aurors had refused this assignment before the choice fell to him. But he hadn’t refused. If anything, it was fitting – he should be the one to go and risk whatever remained of his life. Not someone young with a future still ahead.
Aesop Apparated as close to Hogsmeade as possible (the Anti-Apparition restriction was lifted for a few minutes just for him) and made his way to what he once knew as the Three Broomsticks. It was empty, the building severely damaged, but something caught his eye. He cast a detection charm, and there it was – someone had been there, at least a few days ago. It shouldn’t have been all that surprising (some people still lived even in Hogsmeade), yet Aesop’s intuition told him otherwise.
He went to the house of Betty Bugbrooke – one of the registered survivors he vaguely remembered from old times. The door was open, and Betty Bugbrooke was home. Or, rather, her body was – at least a week dead, maybe longer. Aesop cursed under his breath. From what he knew, the deceased in the Highlands were buried by the survivors themselves – the Ministry and the rest of the country were afraid even of the dead from this region.
Aesop sighed, seeing the unpleasant work of giving the woman her last rest at the cemetery in Hogsmeade (filled with new, hastily made and clumsy graves). But he didn’t mind the work – Betty was a good woman with a kind heart, and she deserved at least that much.
He was just about to head to the cemetery to find a place for her grave when something made him pause. There were spots in the layer of dust on a table – ones that must have been made after Betty’s death. Someone had been in this house since she died. Marauders? Yet everything else was untouched, all drawers closed, not a sign of looting. Someone who had known Betty, perhaps, and had taken only something from the table – something rectangular. A basket?
Aesop shook his head and proceeded with the burial. He was grateful for magic, which made the task much easier than it would have been for a man missing two limbs. When he was done, he engraved Betty’s name and her date of death (sadly, he didn’t even know her birthdate) onto a gravestone.
“May you rest in peace, Betty,” Aesop muttered.
As he turned to leave the cemetery, his gaze drifted to Hogwarts against his will. Still magnificent and imposing, the castle radiated something different now. Dark even in daylight, mysterious and grim, its broken towers and shattered walls like open wounds. He shuddered.
The next day he sought out whatever survivors he could find and spoke with them. Some were clearly mad – driven by the curse or by isolation. Some were almost sane. Crispin Dunne from Aranshire was certainly not among the latter.
“And he’s still alive, the good lad,” he concluded his tale, which consisted mostly of nonsensical complaints about the Ministry doing nothing for his friend Mary (who had tried breeding Acromantulas and died of her own recklessness, back when Aesop was still a professor).
“Who is alive, Mr Dunne?” Aesop asked wearily.
“The Angel of the Highlands,” Crispin replied with such certainty that it made Aesop’s stomach drop. Surely he remembered Marsena Di Angelo – the boy who had healed his leg and kept the Highlands safe when the threat had been Rookwood and his lackeys, not a bloody curse.
“Are you sure?” Aesop managed, and Crispin looked at him as if he were the mad one. Perhaps he was, for still indulging in this conversation.
“Of course I’m sure, Mr Auror. The lad’s alive. Looks more like a demon than an angel now – red-eyed and thin, but we’ve all lost some weight lately,” he laughed, patting the belly that was almost gone. “The boy lives in Hogwarts, but still looks out for us. Old habits die hard, don’t they? Speaking of – do you think Mary will like those flowers?”
Aesop only nodded, hastily bidding farewell to Crispin. The man was insane, jumping between thinking of Mary as alive and blaming the Ministry for her death. Surely this was just another sign of his madness. There was no way anyone – least of all Mars – could have survived the Battle of Hogwarts.
But, on the other hand, Aesop was alive as well. Battered, bitter, missing an arm and a leg, but alive. Still an Auror, just as he had wished to be. He had a duty to fulfil, to return to Hogsmeade and Apparate back to the uncontaminated area on time.
But Aesop hadn’t always been an Auror. For several years, he had also been a professor. And being a professor meant looking after students – even if it meant indulging a delusional man and clinging to a flicker of hope that at least one of his students was still alive and needed him.
So Aesop made his way to Hogwarts.
Mars was almost done with the surprise party. It had taken him a lot of effort, but at last everything was ready. Poppy, Amit and Natty couldn’t stop giggling and he had to shush them (and it was not a good sign when Mars was the voice of reason!), but he could be sure that Garreth wouldn’t suspect a thing when he entered the Potions Classroom. The room was decorated for him: a new cauldron Mars had got from J. Pippin’s as a gift, sweets from Honeydukes and Butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks that he had collected a few days earlier. Mars could already picture the grin on Garreth’s face. He only hoped that Sharp wouldn’t get angry about the choice of birthday venue.
The party was a success! Everyone had so much fun. Mars’ stomach almost hurt from all the laughter they shared. But, as always with good things, of course Sharp had to interrupt them. His heavy, uneven steps sounded just outside the room, and everyone went quiet at once as the door opened.
Sharp didn’t look well – which surprised Mars. He was still limping, his face covered with an ungroomed beard, and there was more grey in his hair than before. Mars felt a pang of guilt at the sight. Had he and Garreth stressed the poor man that much?
“Mars…” Sharp’s voice broke, and Mars lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Professor Sharp, but it’s Garreth’s birthday, and we wanted to celebrate. I brought some food and drinks from Hogsmeade, but we didn’t touch anything from your office, I promise, and –”
“Mars,” Sharp said again, taking another step towards them, his mouth open and eyes wide in shock.
“Professor Sharp?” Amit asked in surprise.
“What happened to his leg?” Poppy whispered.
“He survived?” Garreth blurted, and Mars blinked. Of course Sharp had survived. Why wouldn’t he?
His gaze fell to the Professor’s leg. It was clearly a prosthetic, just like his arm.
“Merlin’s beard, Professor, what happened to you? Do you think we can brew a potion to help you? No offence, sir, but you look worse for wear! Here, sit with us – maybe a Butterbeer will cheer you up a bit. And I’m sorry about your leg and arm. You probably told me what happened and I forgot, and I’m sorry, but I’m still happy to see you. Believe it or not, I missed your gruff voice. Well, not the gruffness, just your voice. It feels like it’s been ages since we talked.”
“It’s been seven years, Mars,” Sharp managed, and, to Mars’ astonishment, there were tears in his eyes. Why was Sharp crying? And seven years – what did he mean?
Sharp even seemed shorter, probably due to his bad posture. It wasn’t possible that Mars had grown taller in a few days. They had spoken only last week, when Mars had healed him and given him some Horklump juice. Hadn’t they?
But then Mars’ face lit up with realisation.
“Oh, I see. You’re playing a prank! Nice one, Professor – for a second I almost believed you! That we haven’t talked for seven years – so brilliant! The face you made – you’re so good! Very funny one!” He laughed, but Sharp didn’t. He just continued staring at him, and then past him – at Natty, Garreth, Poppy and Amit. His friends seemed to be frozen in shock.
“Who were you speaking to?” Sharp asked quietly.
“Why, have you forgotten our names? It’s Natty, Garreth, Poppy and Amit. My friends.”
Sharp took a step back, his face twisting with pain. Mars felt sorry for him – the man was clearly suffering. But what had happened to him that Mars couldn’t remember?
“Are you all right, Professor Sharp? Do you want me to brew a Pain Potion?” Mars asked, but Sharp only shook his head.
“Mars, please… Look at them. Your friends are not there.”
That made Mars snort.
“Of course they are. They’re always with me. Well, except when I go outside – then I leave them behind, but otherwise we’re always together. During breakfast, and lunch, and classes…”
He stopped. Classes. It had been forever since he, or anyone else, had attended classes. Why?
“Please, Mars. Just look at them. Truly look,” Sharp pleaded, and Mars complied, slowly turning around.
Poppy wasn’t there. Only a small bag of beast food lay on the floor where she had been standing just a second ago.
Natty wasn’t there. Her Auror booklet rested on the chair she had sat on.
Amit wasn’t there. His telescope lay on the table he had leaned against.
Garreth wasn’t there. A bottle of Fizzing Whizzbee drink stood upright in the middle of the floor.
“Do you remember now, Mars?” Sharp whispered. Mars nodded faintly, for once in his life at a loss for words.
He had fought Ranrok, but the goblin had been too strong. The only way to defeat him had been to consume the Repository – the twisted, dark magic Isidora had harvested. He’d had no choice – otherwise Ranrok would have taken it all. He’d known that opening the Repository might kill him, perhaps even someone close by. Professor Sharp had been nearest, and Mars had tried to Apparate the man away from Hogwarts. He didn’t even know if he had succeeded, because the next moment the Repository exploded, burying him, Ranrok and every single fighter from both sides beneath the ruins.
Mars didn’t remember how many days he had spent entombed there. When he finally emerged, everything was back to normal. He had found his friends again – no, he’d found some trinkets that reminded him of them. He had looked after the Highlands – no, he just watched people move away or die. He had chatted with Betty Bugbrooke and Crispin Dunne sometimes – Betty even shared food with him, her eyes were full of pity whenever he spoke about his friends and their latest adventures. And all in all, he was having the time of his life. Until today.
“They’re gone, aren’t they?” he whispered, and Sharp nodded.
“I’m truly sorry, Mars,” he said softly, and Mars felt something suffocate him.
Tears – hot, burning tears – ran down his face as he sank to his knees, staring at the trinkets in front of him. He couldn’t see his friends anymore, couldn’t hear their voices. He could only cry, raw and painful, as gasps escaped his throat. He didn’t even notice Sharp lowering himself beside Mars with a pained sigh as he bent. Mars felt the Professor’s real arm wrap around him in a steady embrace.
“It’s all right. It’s all right, you are not alone,” Sharp murmured, although Mars felt his own tears fall into Mars’ hair.
“They are gone… gone…” Mars cried, and Sharp held him tighter.
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly a cold feeling settled in Mars’ stomach. A thought so horrible that it even stopped his tears for a while.
“Are you not real too? Are you just a cauldron in the room?” he asked hoarsely, looking at Sharp.
To his surprise, the man smiled faintly beneath his beard.
“I’m real, I promise.”
“Prove it,” Mars demanded in an almost childlike way. He wasn’t a child anymore, though – if Sharp was right, he was a man by now, twenty-two.
Sharp looked perplexed, then sighed.
“Your mind created your friends, but it can’t create anything what it doesn’t know. Occamy eggshells are an essential component of Felix Felicis. Their reaction with the squill bulb enhances the potion’s properties. Rue is a final ingredient, it neutralises, or at least lessens, the toxic effects. I’m real, Mars.”
Mars gave him a faint smile.
“No way could my mind come up with words like that. I don’t even know half of them.”
“Exactly. You called Occamy eggshells ‘shiny things’, squill bulb ‘dark onion’, and rue ‘bitter grass’.”
Mars nodded, staring at Sharp. Maybe he was a hallucination too, but at least he was a convincing one.
“Come on, Mars,” Sharp sighed. “It’s time to leave this place.”
“Can I take my friends with me?” Mars asked, looking back at the objects that had been his friends for the last seven years.
Sharp’s expression softened.
“Of course.”