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Unlike the rest of St Mungo’s, the Specularii offices were dark, small, private rooms. They were quite bare, except for a table at the center of the room and a chair on either side.
As you walked into your office, you placed your mirror, your candle and your phiale on the table but before you could begin tuning your mirror there was a knock against your door frame. “Yes?” you called out, turning to look back. You smiled when you saw your coworker peeking in.
“Hey!” he said, nodding at you.
“Hello Byron!” you greeted, “Excited for the new moon tonight?”
“Oh you bet, kid!” he chuckled, drumming his thick square shaped fingers against the door. “Hey so listen- I blew it. I went and double booked myself. Is there any way you could take one appointment?”
You raised your brow at Byron, who wiggled his bushy eyebrows back. “Alright.” you nodded, turning back to the table. “Just let me get my mirror tuned.”
Byron gave a hoot of victory, his long silver braid wagged as he shook his head. “I'll tell ya, you are the cream in my coffee! Thank you. I’ll shoot ‘em over to you when they arrive.”
You chuckled, rolling your eyes and sat down at the table. You always prefered to face the door so you could see if anyone was approaching your office. Centering the phaile on top of the table, you unlocked and extended your mirror, carefully propping it upright inside of the phaile so that you could see your reflection. With a flick of your wand, the phaile filled shallowly with water, just coming over the base of your mirror.
As you used your wand to light your candle, you felt excitement grip you. New moons were always very active in your line of work. You positioned the candle between the mirror and yourself so that its flame blurred your face in your reflection, forcing your eyes to focus on the darkness behind you. Light bounced up from the water filled phaile, casting ripples of candle light onto your ceiling.
You took several purposeful, deep breaths, allowing your mind to focus on the crackle of the candle, your office’s reflection in the mirror. All was still and soundless as your breaths continued deep and slow. The candle’s sounds echoed away in your mind. Within the mirror you watched your background’s reflection as it blackened, transforming into a wider, darker space. Tuning had come quickly, you supposed you had the new moon to thank for that.
Dark shapes passed behind you in the mirror. There were so many more than usual- you supposed you had the new moon to thank for that too. You forgot yourself as you watched the spirits wander, lulled by the quiet.
A knock on your office door startled you. You jumped in your chair, sitting bolt upright. “Yes?” you called out, blowing out the candle.
You watched as your door was pushed open with great effort by little, chubby hands. A young girl in her father’s arms. “Good job!” the father chuckled. He was roughly your age.
He smiled over to you. “Good evening!” he greeted as his daughter bounced enthusiastically in his arms.
“Hello, please take a seat.” You stood from your place, pulling out the chair for your first clients of the evening. “Would you like me to fetch another chair?”
“No Daddy is my chair!” the little girl insisted, pulling on her father’s earlobe. “Daddy-” she whispered loudly, “it so dark in here.”
The young man nodded to you gratefully as he took the seat you offered, placing his daughter in his lap. “Yea but you remember why right?” he asked his daughter, giving her a gentle hug.
She nodded, already trying her best to reach over the table and grab your mirror. “Why is your mirror in the water?”
“This is Tansy.” the man introduced his daughter, pulling her arms away. “And I’m Alder.”
“Hello Tansy.” you smiled at the little girl.
“We worked with Byron last time, so Tansy is already a pro.” Alder said, kissing the top of Tansy’s head.
“Perfect.” you said as you took your seat once again. “And who is it we’re reaching out to today?”
“His name was Rowan.” Alder answered, his hands locking around Tansy’s middle like a seatbelt.
Tansy’s fidgeting stopped as you pulled out your wand. You removed the candle you had been using from your candle stick and replaced it with one Alder handed you. You turned the candle in your hands and saw a familiar seal pushed into the bottom; Byron had made this candle for them the last time.
You held your wand out to your side at arm’s length, focused. With a short, sharp flick of your wrist, your wand sparked. The spark bounced and fizzed in midair, you focused all of your concentration on it, the rest of your world blurring over. The spark began to emit black smoke. With a huff you flicked your wrist again, creating a new spark. Black smoke again. Finally, on your third attempt the spark emitted white smoke.
Careful to not let it extinguish, you guided the spark to the candle, watching the flame take over the wick. Your reflection was taken up by the candlelight in your mirror once again, forcing your eyes away from the glaring bright to the periphery of the reflection, the mirrored image of your background, as the office once again faded away and the shadows widened.
“Rowan- '' you called. Within your mirror a shadowy figure behind you paused and turned to you, his teenage face softly coming into the light by the reflection of your candle.
Alder and Tansy both watched you, captivated.
“He is here.” you assured them, smiling.
“I GOT A FROG!” Tansy yelled.
“Tansy!” Alder laughed, putting his hand on the top of her head. “No yelling, this is a hospital remember?”
You watched Rowan’s eyes widen as he recognized Tansy’s voice, and laughed.
“Is there anything more you’d like to tell him? He is listening.” you asked.
Alder grinned at you, his eyes a little wet as he said, "Hey Ro! Just wanted to let you know that Tansy here is doing well. She misses you of course but she's still our happy girl. Aren't you, love?"
"CAN I NAME MY FROG ROWAN, THE SECOND?” Tansy called out, giggling.
You watched Rowan laugh into his hands. "Please tell her I say no-“ he joked. His and Tansy’s laugh were very similar.
“He is laughing a lot thanks to you, Tansy!” you said, “And then he pretended to say no to you, but he was definitely joking.”
“Why can’t we hear him?” Tansy asked.
“Maybe, when you’re older you’ll be a Seer, just like this nice Specularii.” Alder answered, running his hand over the top of Tansy’s head. “Special wizarding folk are really good at seeing and feeling things others can’t.”
“Oh.” Tansy said, reaching over to lazily slap the back of your mirror. She yawned loudly, which made Rowan yawn.
You glanced at the candle, it had burned down quickly. “I think our time is nearly finished, is there anything else any of you would like to say?”
You watched as Rowan’s face wrinkled in thought. "Can you tell them that I miss them? Wait- that might make dad sad- or worried. Tell them I'm alright. That I'm not in any pain. Tell them that I want them to go on and have fun and everything. Please."
You looked up into Alder’s eyes to see him nodding knowingly. You couldn’t repeat Rowan’s wishes before Alder began to speak. “Tell him we know. We miss him too, and we will continue to hold him in our hearts every day.”
Alder smiled at you, quickly wiping away a tear before he gathered Tansy up in his arms and stood. "Thank you." he said earnestly, "You've been a great help." Then he glanced down to his daughter. “What do we say to Rowan, Tansy?”
“Until next time, Rowan!” Tansy called.
Tansy waved at you from over her father's shoulder as the pair left. As the door opened up to the lobby, you could tell that it was already dark outside.
You stood up and stretched, blowing out what little remained of Alder and Tansy’s candle and then carefully picked it up and headed towards the lobby. You turned towards the receptionist desk that was faithfully occupied by the newest Specularri trainee, Aurelia.
“Good evening-” Aurelia greeted in her thick Sardinian accent.
“Evening Aurelia.” you handed her the candle Alder and Tansy used. Aurelia’s attention snapped to it, sitting up as she carefully accepted it from you and set it down gently on her desk. She then pulled a small paper tag out from the desk drawer and wet her quill.
“Session data?” she asked.
“June 18th, 1996 at 9 o’clock in the evening to a Mr. Alder and Miss Tansy Gadifer on behalf of Rowan Gadifer.”
Aurelia took down all that you said, carefully tied the tag around the candle, and then stood up to place it inside of a chest of drawers behind her desk. The chest took up the entire wall behind the reception desk. Aurelia had to use a library ladder to reach the topmost drawers.
“When is my next appointment?” you asked as Aurelia sat back down. She checked her appointment parchment.
“Since you took Byron’s extra appointment, Solonie took the appointment that you were supposed to have next.”
“Oh shoot-” you winced, “I'll have to thank them.”
Aurelia ran her finger down the parchment. “I do not think you had any other patients for the night.”
“In that case, I’ll take some more candles for personal use.”
Aurelia opened another desk drawer- this one quite deep and with many dividers that organized piles of tapered candles into groups. She rifled through them.
“Any kind?” she asked.
“No-” you replied, “Remember, Specularri candles are grouped like this because they are made with different ingredients, which you will need for different types of scrying.”
“Let’s see…” Aurelia hummed, her brow creasing in thought. “Personal use… night of the new moon… these candles are made with asphodel and powdered moonstone?”
“Excellent. Good job!” you praised as she handed you three candles.
You headed back to your office, closing the door behind you as you sat in your chair. You needed to be calm to scry well, meditative. But it was difficult to not feel excited when the new moon was high in the night sky and the world beyond your mirror that much more vast and clear. With a grounding breath you closed your eyes, centering yourself.
You thought of your many years of training. How, after graduating from Hogwarts, you made your way to Rome, where you studied on your own until you met Byron, and the two of you discovered Mount Parnassus and the sacred school within its caves.
It was the only place in the world where you could become a Specularri. The type of diviner that could connect living wizards and witches with their dead for the life span of a flame. It was hard work, the rigorous training deterred most, but once you’d accomplished the title of Specularri, there was always work to be found.
You picked up one of the three candles Aurelia had given you and rolled your eyes as you realized that it was not asphodel and powdered moonstone- but some other type of flower with small pink petals folded into the wax.
Sighing, you placed it onto your candlestick and lit it with your wand. Adjusting your mirror so that the candlelight’s reflection perfectly glowed over your own. You stared into the outside corners of the mirror, your breath slowed as you focused.
As the office behind your reflection disappeared into shadow you frowned, something felt odd. Normally there were many dark silhouettes that passed by behind you, but now there was only one. The figure moved around quite frantically, as if there was ground beneath them. Your heart fluttered with unese as the figure stood bolt upright. “H-Hello?” Their low, husky voice asked, incredulously.
Your breath caught in your throat. This voice didn’t seem like it was coming from your mirror, but actually from behind you. The hair on the back of your neck rose as you watched the dark silhouette’s form grow closer in the reflection, like they were approaching you. Your eyes widened as you swore you could hear footsteps, as if you were scrying into a place instead of a plane.
“Hello?” you finally replied, coughing a little.
“Hah, there is someone there!” The figure exclaimed, “Who are you?”
You sat back in your chair. “Who am I?” you repeated, bewildered. Never once in your time as a Specularri had you ever interacted with a presence that was this emotionally charged, demanding and active. It felt like they weren’t dead. “Um- I am a Specularri. Do you know what that is?”
The presence paused before replying, as if your voice took a long time to reach them. “My great aunt… I believe… was a Specularii. Dorea… Though you sound too young to know any of that lot.” They paused, looking around and then shrugged. “Does that mean you’re not really here?”
You tilted your head in confusion and fascination before forcing yourself to keep your composure. If this entity was so powerful to feel this alive you didn’t want to upset them by giving off the impression that this interaction was unorthodox. “I am not… there. Where is it that you are?”
“I-“ the presence paused again, their hand coming up to gently rub their chest as they stood in silence. “I don’t think I know. I am having some trouble remembering what happened- blimey.” The figure flinched as their hand swept over a certain spot in their chest.
“Are you-“ You leaned closer to the mirror in a useless attempt to see them better. “Are you in pain?”
The presence didn’t reply for what felt like minutes, you glanced down at your candle and your heart leapt to see that it was already burned down half way.
“Can you give me your name?” you asked, failing to mask the urgency in your voice. “So I’ll be able to find you again?”
“Um-“ the figure sighed, you watched as they ran their hands through their shaggy long hair. “Padfoot. That’s all that is coming to mind.”
“Can you not remember?”
“Not a lot, no. I certainly don’t recognize this dump.”
Your mind spun, what could have you possibly glimpsed into? You would have found it fascinating save for the sinking terror growing in you as you realized how very alive this presence felt. “What do you mean…” you sighed under your breath.
Their shoulders bristled when your question reached them. “What do you mean, what do I mean?” they snapped.
You felt the urge to push away from the table as their reflection grew, as if they were right behind you. They reached over and made a tapping gesture. Your stomach flipped as the water in your phaile rippled faintly.
“You're in a mirror? Like black glass?” they explained frustratedly.
The candle was down to about a third now. “Padfoot-“ you called out urgently. “I am at St. Mungos, do you know what that is?”
“Ah, I see.” Padfoot said, now somehow so close to the mirror that your candle light actually illuminated the outer corner of their dark eyes, the haughty slant of their arched, thick brow.
“You think I’m dead, you’re barking, and that’s why you’re at St. Mungos!”
Despite how entrenched in concern and confusion you were, you couldn’t help but burst into a laugh. “What a convenient explanation-“ you sighed, smiling. “Now tell me Padfoot, what do your surroundings look like?”
“Uhh… hmm…” You could hear anxiety creep into their tone as they thought of how to answer your question, you wondered if they hadn’t really acknowledged where they had been before that moment.
“I see… hmm.” Padfoot chuckled, though they did not sound pleased. “I’m not usually one without words but this almost has me beat. A… a temple, perhaps? Stone, with black glass against the walls and frightful black…drapes? Doesn't matter which room I go to, you always sound the same.There are whispers coming from some curtains.” Padfoot murmured, “but I cannot tell what they say.”
A long stretch of silence followed, your ears fizzed softly with the surrounding quiet. A bead of sweat ran down your spine as you listened to Padfoot pace and shivered as you realized you could faintly hear the whispering too. You wracked your memory for any spiritual realm, any divine myth that referenced a place that sounded like that, but could think of nothing.
“Familiar?” Padfoot asked, a bitterly triumphant tone in their voice.
“No…” you murmured, frowning. “Have you seen any…one else?”
After another long moment Padfoot replied, voice low. "Well... yes. But I try... I try to avoid them. I don't get a very good feeling. And I don't think they have seen me." They cleared their throat. "Anyways, you sound far more appealing than whatever lies in those Halls."
Your eyes widened as heat crept over your face. You had endured many unexpected encounters and requests in your service as a Specularii, but being flirted with by a presence, dead or not, was a first.
“Too easy-“ Padfoot laughed, and you saw the water in the phaile shiver again. “It’s a shame I can’t see you clearly.”
“What do I look like?” you asked, clearing your throat.
“You’re behind that dark glass, and all lit up like you’re holding a light.” Padfoot replied, his reflection in your mirror grew as he somehow approached once more.
“It’s that what you’re walking up to now?” you breathed, the hair on your neck rising once again.
“Yes.” Padfoot said, there was an ache in their tone.
The candle was more of a puddle at this point. You knew you only had seconds left.
“You sound tired, Specularri. Go rest… it’s not like I am going anywhere.”
“I’m going to find out what this is and I’m going to help you.” you insisted.
Padfoot chuckled, “Cheers to that!” they said with a little extra enthusiasm. If there was any more to what they wanted to say, you didn’t get to find out, as at that moment the candle’s flame finally extinguished. Light spots danced across your vision as your mirror paled and the office behind you slowly returned in the reflection.
You sighed, unable to bring yourself to move for a long moment. Your hands rested on the sides of the table as you felt the sensation that someone had been standing behind you fade away. You watched as the goosebumps that had covered your arms disappeared and listened to your slow breaths.
What had just happened?
You sat in your dark office for a long time, continuing to think back on all of your training, but nothing came to you. You felt your eyelids become heavy. Padfoot was right- you were exhausted. It was time to go home.
Reaching over, the water in the phiale vanished with a flick of your wand. You folded your mirror closed and locked it into place. Getting up, you tucked your mirror and your phiale beneath your arm and closed your office door behind you. As you walked into the reception area, you jumped as you heard people running down the hospital hall and several alarmed voices.
From the looks of the empty desk, it appeared Aurelia had already left for the day. Byron was leaning against Aurelia’s desk as you approached. His eyes were narrowed as he glanced at the door that separated the Specularri wing from the rest of the hospital.
“Do you know what happened?” you asked, glancing at him.
“Some sort of Ministry break in.” he murmured. “Bet you’ll get called in.” Byron teased wryly, you rolled your eyes. You’d come to learn that Specularri work for the Ministry was much more pressure than it was often worth.
“I’ll make you go in my stead, since you owe me one.” you returned, nudging him. Byron grinned down at you.
“How’d it go by the way? Alright?”
“Yea-” you nodded. “You know though Byron, I did have something strange happen after I was finished with your session.”
“What?” he asked, his grey eyes alight with interest.
“I’m not sure I know how to explain…” you looked up into Bryon’s wrinkled, smiling face and felt reassured despite yourself. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think I was interacting with someone who’s… passed away? They felt very alive, but the circumstance was strange too, it didn’t feel like the sort of plane we usually work within. It felt odd, but also real- or also alive.”
Byron’s bushy eyebrows raised high, he nodded slowly. “Really?”
“Have you ever-?” you started.
“No.” Byron wheezed, shaking his head. “No way, anything other than dead folks wigs me out.”
“I’ve never even heard of something like this, though…” you pouted, already feeling an ache deep in your chest to understand, to help.
“I’ve only ever heard of stuff like that- well-”
“You have?” you pivoted to him, eyes wide. Byron winced, clearly uncomfortable to explain further. “Byron please, I think this presence needs help.”
“Keep your robes on,” he whispered, teeth gritted as he looked over his shoulder to Solonie’s office. “I don’t want our boss to overhear me telling you to go to The Coffin House.”
“What’s The Coffin House?” you whispered back.
“It’s a hack shop in Knockturn Alley- they advertise our sort of service but-”
“Wait, isn’t that illegal to do without Ministry licensing?”
“Mate you’re in over your head if that’s where you’re held up. These people don’t care, they promise they’ll connect you to Merlin if you have the galleons.”
“Why do you know about it?”
“I didn’t start this path with the best of intentions.” Byron chuckled, sighing deeply, “But they aren’t all bad… There’s a bloke there named Asterius. He’s nice enough, he’ll help you.”
“Asterius?” you repeated, glancing at the exit again as more footsteps and shouting passed.
“We better go home and get some rest.” Byron groaned, nudging you over to the fireplace. The two of you walked over, dipping your hand into a bowl of complimentary floo powder mounted beside the fireplace. “And if you go see Asterius, please be careful.”
“Of course.” you assured, squeezing Byron’s elbow as you stood before the fire.
“Good night.” Byron yawned, winking at you.
-X-
Generally, you preferred to sleep in as late as possible since most people made appointments later in the day. This morning however, you were awoken by the multiple owls tapping at your bedroom window.
Grimacing in the faint glow of dawn, you pushed yourself unevenly out of bed and staggered towards your window, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “What’s all this?” you groaned, squinting at the owls. The two of them began hooting at you, tapping the window with their beaks.
“Bloody hell, alright alright alright- stop-” you carefully pulled the window up and watched through half opened eyes as the owls hopped inside your home. One of them you recognized as they usually brought you the Daily Prophet each morning. You untied the rolled newspaper from them and then turned to the other owl. The letter it held looked like an official Ministry letter.
You unfolded it to reveal a brochure. On the top center of the page the official Ministry of Magic seal decorated the title Defending Your Home from Death Eaters. You choked on your breath and sputtered, one hand coming to rest on your chest as your eyes skimmed the page.
Grabbing the Prophet, you unfurled the roll to reveal the title; HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you continued on.
In a brief statement Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named has returned to this country and is active once more. "It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord - well, you know who I mean - is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord - Thingy. We urge the magical population to remain vigilant."
The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more." Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening. Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power.
You closed the paper and set it down neatly beside you. So, Byron had been right last night. You looked around your bedroom and took long breaths as sunlight slowly brightened your room. You had been too young to fully glimpse the worst of the war the last time. Families were all too happy to get their children to Hogwarts, knowing it was far safer than your average wizarding home. The night Voldemort “died” you were only a 4th year, happily tucking into pumpkin juice and candied apples. That night, you and your friends snuck into the owlery to watch the fireworks coming from Hogsmeade, and danced.
-X-
Of all the days to go walking down Knockturn Alley, today was not an ideal choice. Even in Diagon Alley, everyone was tense and emotional. As you turned down the road in the direction of the Coffin House, you glanced over your shoulder in the hopes that you wouldn’t find anyone who noticed you.
The storefront was as uninviting and sunless as the rest of the street. Brooding, unkempt wizarding folk called out to you to hawk their wares as you passed. As you pushed open the front door, you were greeted by the acrid scent of herbs and tonics. You almost jumped out of fright by the sight of the young man behind the counter. At one point, he may have been quite beautiful but he looked deathly ill, his skin sunken into his features with lesions and bruises. His hands seemed weathered and wrinkled well beyond his age. “Welcome,” he greeted hoarsely, eyes watering from the light you brought in by opening the door. “You don’t seem… familiar.”
“My colleague recommended this place to me, in particular he suggested I speak to someone named Asterius?” you replied, forcing yourself to look into his eyes and not be rude by staring at his afflictions.
One of his eyebrows arched in interest. "That depends on who your colleague is?" he replied.
You opened your mouth to reply, but hesitated. Would Byron be comfortable with you giving his name? The shopkeeper watched you debate inwardly, clearly enjoying your discomfort.
“I work as a Specularri at St. Mungo’s.” you answered, running the pad of your thumb up and down your wand within your robes.
"Oh..." he said, the surprise in his eyes did not reach his sedated tone. "I see... that isn't where I thought this was leading. Well..." He leaned over the counter and looked up at you. His eyes were sickly, glassed over, but still the warmest brown, almost red. "What sort of problems could a professional like you be having? I guarantee we will have something to help."
Your stomach sank as he looked into your eyes and you forced yourself to turn and look around at the shop. You could see well stocked shelves full of various divining materials and utensils. Many of which, you noted from your own expertise, were either highly dangerous and illegal or completely ineffective.
“I take it then, that you are Asterius?” you glanced back at him. He nodded. You looked past him, to signage on the wall that listed the Coffin House’s services. Like your office, the price went by candle size but unlike your office, the Coffin House seemed to have discovered the ability to connect customers to the souls of great, historical dragons, gods of various pantheons, and most notably “fountains of ancient power to enhance your vitality”.
You looked back at Asterius, who was grinning up at you boyishly. You got the sense that, despite his appearance, he was younger than you.
“Did you scry last night?” You asked, surprised by the gentleness of your tone. It was hard to help, as dubious as this place was, Asterius seemed undeserving of the same scrutiny.
“Of course-” he replied, voice scratchy, “I’d have to be a fool to not scry on the night of the new moon- given my line of work.”
“And what exactly is your line of work?” you asked, squinting at him. Asterius’ smile sharpened at this question, he chuckled breathily.
“Listen, I might not have got the fancy training that you had.” he started, “but there is more than one way to skin a cat.”
You couldn’t help but smile, there was something charming about him. “Answer my question.” you chuckled.
“Are you familiar with the work of Ms. Dorea Black?” he asked, his eyes shining.
“Dorea?” You repeated, eyebrows raised in interest. If this was the same Dorea that Padfoot spoke of, that would make them a member of the Black Family. Your heart sank a little at the thought. “The Specularri?”
“Well she was until they discharged her, yea?” Asterius snarled as he spoke. “After everything she’d done for the art, but it didn’t matter. She had me, and others. We learned the Old Ways-” Asterius stopped quickly, a shiver running through him.
“Are you alright?” you asked.
“The- ancient wisdoms of-” Asterius quickly pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to his mouth. You waited for him to cough, or to pull the kerchief away from his lips, but he held it there. It seemed as if he was whispering something into his hand. When he did pull the napkin away, his eyes were freshly wet and bloodshot.
“You don’t have to explain further-” you assured him softly. It was unfortunate that groups like the one Asterius had described existed, but many did. Since getting trained as a Specularri was so rigorous and selective, there were unfortunately many people, like Dorea, who cut corners and taught a form of scrying that was either completely impotent or very dangerous. By the way Asterius looked, you feared Dorea’s methods may have been the latter.
“I scryed last night too.” you continued, “My services are more… selective than what you offer, and everything went fine for the customers I had. Of course, I felt the effects of the new moon- everything felt easier, faster, the presences within my mirror were more active, there were more of them-”
Asterius nodded along, listening intently as you spoke.
“-but while on my own I seemed to have glimpsed something unusual. I found a presence that… I am certain has not died. But, somehow we were communicating, and I could hear them move, hear the environment. It was unlike anything I’ve seen, anything I’ve learned about.”
"There is much that Ms. Black managed to discern with her Eye.” Asterius said, his voice a little stronger, his pattern of speech shifting into a chant-like cadence. “Much that Seers do not care to recognize, since it is magic so old it predates most of the spells we now use. It is an Ancient Wisdom, far more intuitive and powerful than what most now come to master-" He glanced over several shelves that were stocking themselves and then shook his head, returning his gaze to you. "It sounds like what you are talking about isn't where the dead rest at all, but another place entirely. Another place you are able to reach because you have the potential to become not just a Specularii, but a Teletai... an initiate of her practice."
“A Teletai.” You repeated with unease.
Asterius rose shakily to his feet and flicked his wand in the direction of a shelf full of candles. Two rose and glided soundlessly to rest before you on the counter. They smelled chemically sweet, it burned your nose as you watched them shimmer in the lamplight, as if made from sugar.
Your eyes passed over Asterius’ shaking fingertips as they rested on the counter, back to the candles, and finally to his eyes. “How does it work?”
“Use these instead of your normal stock-” Asterius answered, eyes widening with excitement that you were entertaining the idea. “-to breach the boundary you came to.”
“What do you mean?”
"Burn these until the next new moon and you should be able to feel the shift... From a Specularii who unites the dead with the living of an evening, and a Teletai... in command of the spectral world as well as this one." he cooed, his eyebrows arching upwards in some romance he felt towards his own words.
You stared at the candles. You knew it was an irresponsible idea, a very dangerous idea. You also knew that as a Specularri and as an employee of St. Mungos, you had sworn an oath to help and heal all who came to you. You did not know what Padfoot was, but you had extended them the same promise.
“You will be alright.” Asterius chided quietly, rolling the candles to your side of the counter. “You, who I am sure trained in those ancient tunnels, who’s footsteps have traced the path of Delphi, and earned the rights of a Pythia before being anointed as Specularri. Surely a Seer such as you could handle this.”
You couldn’t tell if Asterius was teasing you or if he was genuinely attempting to comfort. You reached your hand into your change purse, supposing it didn’t really matter what Asterius’ intention was. What mattered was your decision; What was what was stronger, you, or the fringe magic you were about to practice?
“How much?” you asked. Asterius’ eyes appraised you.
He held out his frail hand for your coin. "29 silver sickles for the 29 nights it will take you to be at the gates of that mysterious Temple.”
-X-
You got home late that night, even though there hadn’t been much work to do. St. Mungo’s had been busy and alive with gossip. Everyone wanted to ask everybody else what they thought of that day’s headlines and your heart sank as you recalled what you had read that morning. You had been so caught up recounting the conversation you’d had with Padfoot, and your time at the Coffin House that you’d successfully distracted yourself from reality.
Despite yourself, you couldn’t wait to get home and try Asterius’ candles. It felt like a challenge to your skill, your understanding. So while you stood in front of the kettle as Byron reiterated what he’d heard about the news to a friendly Welcome Witch, you nodded along absently and thought instead about what you would do when you got home. Before you had left St. Mungo’s for the night, Byron had given you two laurels of Gilead Tree. You knew they were used for protection and wondered if he was going to ask you about Knockturn Alley, but he didn’t and you were thankful.
It was nearly one in the morning by the time you stepped through your front door, but it didn’t matter. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep with how curious you were. You set the laurels down on your kitchen table and immediately went to work, pulling over your favorite armchair. You set up your phiale, mirror and candlestick just as you would have at your office. With a wave of your wand the lights in your home extinguished, leaving you only to see by the dull light of the sliver of moon and the stars outside. You could feel your heart race as you carefully took one of Asterius’ candles and mounted it onto your candlestick. The sweet scent of it burned your nose as you filled your phiale with water.
You hesitated, and then pulled the laurels around your mirror. Hopefully, they would help with whatever you were getting yourself into.
You closed your eyes, focusing all of your concentration to yourself, the mirror before you, and the water beneath it, still and cold.
“Padfoot.” you called aloud to your empty, dark home. With a sharp flick of your wand you conjured a spark. White smoke. Fighting the urge to rush, you guided it to the glittering candle, watching the spark take flame to the wick.
The candle hissed like dynamite as the flame slowly began to melt the wax. The sweetness that filled your lungs stung your chest, overwhelming you with an immediate headache. As you breathed a pressure grew in your chest, you could feel your heart flutter faintly as beads of sweat welled up on your temple and ran down your spine. You felt cold wash over you, the hissing dynamite sound of the candle transformed to a strange echo in your ears, footsteps going down a long corridor. You shut your eyes.
Your skin tightened as the ghost of a wind fell over you, sending a shiver over your hands. It felt as if your skin was lifting off of your muscles. It was too much, you wanted it to be done, to be over. A flutter of panic whipped through you before you bore down, gritted your teeth and forced your eyes open.
Your home was still dark, but it looked hazier than it had. You blinked, waiting for your eyes to adjust before you realized that your vision was doubled, and in that haze you saw dark archways superimposed within your room. Faint, indiscernible whispers came from nowhere in particular, and as you shifted your head to look around, black glass caught in an unknown, low light.
It had worked.