Hogwarts Mystery: hide-and-seek

Extra: I meant bad shivers (p. 1)

"—Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Lupin.

"So would you if your fool of a mother had called you 'Nymphadora,' " muttered Tonks.

― J.K. Rowling, "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix"

"If I were a magical creature, able to fly and change size, just escaped from a biome, where would I go?"

Deep in thought, Barnaby scratched his head, which had loudly collided with the divination table just moments ago. As the magical orb wobbled unsteadily from the impact, I rummaged through vials, bottles, and flasks of ingredients. But Squawk, of course, was nowhere to be found.

Our search in other areas fared no better: we scoured the entire Hippogriff Club — plant biomes, the divination nook, and the potion storeroom — but all in vain. Occamy disappeared, and with it went my confidence as an expert in magical creatures. After all, it was the two of us, Liz Tuttle and me, whom Professor Kettleburn left responsible for Squawk.

I still couldn't quite understand how it all happened: I was returning from practice, weary and drowsy, and then...

Crackle! Growing louder by the second. Before I could even blink, a claw grasped my shoulder. A thought flashed through my mind: someone, again, had released a Fire Crab from the Magical Creatures Reserve! What was to come next? Another scorched robe? Instinctively, I turned around, brandishing my wand, ready to defend myself.

"Miss Gelider, it's impolite to point your wand at professors."

That's how we ended up with Squawk — a sleek, greenish serpent settled in a nest that Professor Kettleburn had undoubtedly crafted on his own. With knots suspiciously loose and twigs jutting out haphazardly, the nest bore a striking resemblance to Kettleburn himself.

"I have urgent matters, pressing matters with a wild Manticore," he declared, surveying me with his lone surviving eye. "And I wish to ask a small favor from the Hippogriff Club..."

Argh! Out of frustration, I pounded my fist against the wall. The favor was anything but small. After Occamy vanished, the entire club spiraled into a frenzy: Penny, Talbott, Barnaby, even Ismelda, and especially Liz and me. Even the seniors aided in the search, in the midst of classes and exam preparations.

"Only a lunatic would entrust something so important to Gelider and Tuttle," grumbled Ismelda; then, as if remembering something, she shrugged. "But it's Kettleburn. He's really off his rocker."

I was about to reply, but just in time, Penny appeared. The hem of her cloak was damp, and long green seaweed got caught between the clasps on her shoes. Haywood wiped her face with her sleeve, flashing a weary smile. Even in her tired, disheveled state, there was an undeniable beauty about her.

"I didn't find anything," sighed Penny, squeezing the water out of her robes. "But our Kelpie doesn't seem like he recently feasted on Occamy."

"Do you know what a Kelpie looks like after enjoying a hearty meal?"

"Oh, Ismelda, no," she replied, face scrunching up, creating tiny rays of sunshine around her eyes. "But I've seen Barnaby after dinner, and there isn't much of a difference, I reckon."

At the sound of his name, Barnaby emerged from under the divination table. Two mysteries lingered: Squawk's whereabouts and what exactly Barnaby hoped to find by crawling into the darkness under the table, hidden beneath a thick red tablecloth. Yet, to our great surprise, he swiftly rose to his feet, wearing a triumphant grin and clutching something tightly in his fist.

"A clue!" he declared matter-of-factly, unveiling an old crumpled piece of paper. Our initial excitement waned. A mere piece of paper? "Mia, this is supposed to help. Take it..."

Barnaby gingerly handed me the paper as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. Then, as if a thought struck him, he furrowed his brow, casting a stormy cloud over his face. His features sharpened, and his voice grew stern.

"...take it, Gelider, and finally... finally... fix what could damage the Club's reputation."

I could barely hold back a giggle — Barnaby's acting skills were mediocre at best — but Ismelda seemed oblivious to it. We had become friends, he and I; how could we not after a duel and a few rounds of Butterbeer? Other Slytherins didn't need to know that, at least until we found the next Cursed Vault. Barnaby had served as our eyes and ears, right under Merula's nose.

I meticulously examined the torn page, carefully piecing together the fragments. What initially appeared to be ordinary bits of paper turned out to be...

"It's a page from a book. The text isn't entirely clear, but we can make out some of the ingredients... Penny, did you by any chance–"

She shot me a disapproving look. Penny — tear a book? To tear a book on Potions was even worse. The scraps had taken a little journey through our hands: they passed through Penny's delicate palms, grazed Ismelda's slender fingers, and then settled in Liz's hand. She sifted through the pieces, attempting to decipher the words.

"These are Squawk's talons," Liz stated with certainty. "The markings match the ones on my arm."

She rolled up her sleeve, and we all (except Ismelda) held our breath. Liz's arm, from the wrist to the elbow, bore deep, evenly spaced scars, as if etched by a blade. She gently traced the wounds, treating Squawk's imprints as though they were intricate works of art. I wondered what excuse she had concocted for Madam Pomfrey. A botched Diffindo practice, perhaps?

Penny was about to open her mouth in horror when an unexpected whirlwind swept in from behind — a petite figure with disheveled bubblegum-colored hair and a wide, cheerful grin. Tonks enveloped Penny with her arm as if planning to scoop her up and carry her away like a doll.

"Wotcher! What's all the fuss about?"

She quickly scanned our sour expressions, trying each one on for size. I marveled at how Penny's features morphed into Ismelda's indistinct face, only to transform into Barnaby's broad jawline and bushy eyebrows. Tonks and I locked eyes, and my own face — white eyes, boring features, and jet-black hair — stared back at me like a mirror. Looking at myself was dull, there was nothing particularly attractive.

"Quit playing chameleon, Tonks," Ismelda snarled, rolling her eyes, "and better help us find an Occamy... which, by the way, Gelider lost. Not surprising, really. First, she loses her brother, now Squawk. Who's next?"

Penny glanced at me with concern. There must have been something on my face that prompted her to shoot Ismelda a stern glare. The latter, however, simply reveled in it.

"Remind me to get you a compass, Gelider," she smirked, and a serpent-like smile slid across her lips, "so you won't lose yourself, at the very least."

Tonks' hand unexpectedly stretched out, wrapping around Murk's neck in a friendly squeeze, but for some reason, Ismelda let out a hoarse sound. She was as thin and fragile as a dry reed. Ismelda was about to protest but swallowed her words when noticed that instead of Tonks' hand, it was an octopus tentacle coiling around her.

"Lost Occamy, eh? Maybe it got spooked by what was in the package?"

We tore our gazes away from the tentacle and focused on Tonks. Package?

"It was right outside. Someone opened it?"

Liz silently handed me the remnants of the torn page. I waved them theatrically in front of Tonks' face, fluttering them like a fan.

"Ah, yes, we sort of... opened it. But who was it from?"

Tonks finally released Ismelda, whose pallor faded, replaced by crimson patches. She buried her hand in her wild pink hair, scratching her scalp as if performing a magical ritual to recall the sender of the package. But the ritual proved unsuccessful — evident from the way Tonks pursed her lips and averted her gaze, suddenly becoming fascinated with the Hippogriff Club's plaque.

"By Merlin's beard, Mia, I would remember if I hadn't spent the entire day racking my brain for the Forgetfulness Potion ingredients. Ismelda can vouch for it."

Ismelda shot daggers at Tonks. She was furious, as often was the case, and I couldn't shake the impression that instead of saliva, she would spit venom.

"And she still couldn't remember," Ismelda condescended, before taking a few steps back and adding, "truly astounding dimwit."

"Huh? Come again?"

Tonks' arm elongated, her smile widened, and together with Ismelda, they hastily dashed out of the Hippogriff Club. It'd be a wild chase! Barnaby, waiting until Ismelda disappeared behind the door, burst into laughter.

"Do you think Tonks' arm can transform into... an endless chain of sausages?"

An endless chain of sausages? What labyrinthine thoughts resided in Barnaby's mind? I looked at him, his merriment unruly and uncontrollable, and joined in the laughter. Even Squawk's escape no longer seemed so dire.

We had agreed to meet here, in the Hippogriff Club, to discuss our search findings. Penny took charge of the courtyard, Barnaby was assigned to inspect the dungeons, and Liz focused on the Magical Reserve. Despite my uncertain expertise in Hogwarts grounds, I had taken on the challenging task of exploring every classroom in the castle. Perhaps in one of those corridors, I would not only stumble upon Squawk but also find Ismelda defeated and entangled in sausage chains.

Tonks' arms as chains of sausages? Holy Hippogriffs, how did Barnaby come up with that?

Chuckling to myself, I entered each classroom one by one, only to find them empty, empty, and empty again. Squawk was nowhere to be found, but I did stumble upon a few torn pages that I carefully tucked into my pocket. Judging by the writings and recipes, it appeared that Squawk had attacked a Potions textbook by someone named Libatius Borage.

The name rang a bell somewhere in the depths of my memory. Perhaps Rowan had read his book out loud? Maybe it was Snape who mentioned him during a lecture? I was too exhausted to recall.

But the mystery remained: who had sent this package to the Hippogriff Club? After all, no one, not even the seniors, ordered books directly to the club room.

"You there, Gelider?"

I blinked, emerging from my thoughts, and turned to the voice. It was a rare occurrence to hear Talbott speak, even in the common room where we often spent hours listening to the seniors or observing them casting spells. Talbott was a man of few words, but each one carried a sharpness, much like Squawk's claws.

I mumbled a response, but Talbott wasn't listening anymore. He fumbled with his bag and handed me a bunch of papers — old, yellowed, torn into uneven thin strips.

"Nymphadora was looking for you. She found the book cover. It's 'Have Yourself a Fiesta in a Bottle!' by Libatius Borage."

"Who?"

He frowned. "I'm saying, it's 'Have Yourself..."

"No," I interrupted, shaking my head, "who was looking for me? Nymphadora?"

He didn't get a chance to answer — Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, followed by Tonks zooming in. Her arms, flailing from side to side, were... two long chains of sausages. I rubbed my forehead, attempting to suppress a laughter, first covering my eyes and then my entire face.

"Ahem? How may I assist you?" McGonagall gave us a stern gaze, not overly pleased with our presence. "As far as I recall, Mr. Winger, our meeting is scheduled for tomorrow."

Talbott nudged me towards the exit, signaling that our business here was done.

"We're leaving, Professor McGonagall," he slightly bowed his head in a nod. Addressing Tonks, he added, "And we'll be waiting for you at the Hippogriff Club, Nymphadora."

Tonks' face involuntarily twitched, her hair taking on a shade of red — flames, ripe strawberries, and unimaginable rage. Her eyes widened, and her pupils narrowed, resembling those of a snake. I felt uneasy, especially when she leaned in close to us, hissing:

"Don't. Call me. Nymphadora."

We burst out of Professor McGonagall's office like Snitches, our steps unintentionally quickening until we broke into a full run. Past classrooms, dodging other students, enchanted suits of armor, and tapestries, we ran without stopping. When Talbott surged ahead, I — for some inexplicable reason — found myself staring at how his cloak billowed and how his arms moved.

"I almost swallowed a Mandrake leaf when she leaned over," I panted as we finally came to a halt near the entrance to the Club. Talbott was breathing heavily, taking deep breaths, and then suddenly burst into laughter. It was the first time I had seen him laugh, and it suited him.

Winger pushed the door open, and we tumbled inside, where the others were already waiting. In the far corner, closer to the hopping mushroom garden, gathered the seniors. Barnaby lounged nearby, dipping his feet in the lake and waiting for the Club's Kelpie. Penny was also there — sitting on a large tree stump, flipping through a book. When she noticed Talbott and me, she let out a surprised squeak, then smiled mischievously. She was definitely plotting something.

I was about to greet them when Tonks suddenly flew into the Club. Barnaby jumped to his feet as soon as he spotted the vibrant shock of her pink hair.

"Sausage arms! I won, and you owe me three packs of Bertie Bott's, Lee," she snickered smugly. "And a Dungbomb, for the emotional trauma and another detention from McGonagall. Looks like I'll be helping Filch clean his office."

"Cleaning up Filch's office?"

"Yeah, you bet! Apparently, something wreaked havoc in there."

Liz, who had been pacing nervously, perked up. "It must be Squawk! We need to catch him right away!"

"But first, let's fix this poor book — this fiesta in a bottle. And you know what? McGonagall said it was written by a chap from Castelobruxo — that's the same school mentioned on the package."

Without a word, we cast dark, unblinking glances at Tonks. Very timely!

"Well, look at those glares, brr! Cut us some slack, since Ismelda and I found the cover."

Miss Don't-Call-Me-Nymphadora pulled out an emerald cover adorned with a colorful illustration of a piñata. Penny quickly collected the rest of the papers and mixed them with mine. Have we found all the pages?

Haywood looked at me, followed by Liz, Tonks, Barnaby, and even Talbott. Their gazes seemed to invite me to something.

"What?"

Talbott skeptically raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "What 'what'? The whole school heard about you destroying the Ravenclaw statue and expertly putting it back together."

I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

"Since when are you interested in gossip, Talbott?" And when Penny blushed deeply, I added, "Well, no need to answer that."

Papyrus Reparo soared from my wand — a variation of the usual Mending Charm, more powerful than ever. The pages swiftly flew upwards, swirling in a chaotic dance before fitting together like perfectly matched puzzle pieces.

The cover settled on top, and the stack of papers finally transformed into a book — a worn, incredibly old tome authored by Libatius Borage. Warm greetings from Castelobruxo and their Hippogriff Club were carved on the flyleaf.

Penny's hand immediately rested on the cover, asserting her authority. "We must respond to their gift. I'll brew something for them, something straight from the pages of this book."

Her words left no room for argument. As the cauldrons and ingredients were prepared, Liz and I stepped aside, concern etched on her face and her lips nervously chewed.

"Mia, we still haven't found the Occamy. How do we find it if Squawk can change its size at will? Catching such a creature bare-handed is impossible."

A hand gently settled on my shoulder — it was Charlie, in his outworn coat, with his trusty bag on his back. He had just returned from the Reserve — it was evident from the smell of grass, smoke, and magical creature food clinging to him. Charlie looked past us, at the tiny flame beneath Penny's cauldron, and a gradual brightness spread across his face.

"Yes, it's impossible... But I have an idea. By the way, do you know Jae Kim?"

I shrugged, a slight unease prickling at the mention of the name. It felt like trouble.