As the week went by, more and more people approached Sean in classes, corridors, the great hall, and the common room to wish him good luck or else to ask what the task was. No one seemed to believe that he did not know. Everyone kept saying they were behind him, supporting him, but he couldn't help thinking a little sardonically that their support would do him a fat lot of good when he was facing whatever he was facing and they were all safe in the stands.
He began seeking out more and more secluded places in the castle, not keen on talking to anyone. He spent a few minutes in the library when he needed to replenish the supply of books he was still perusing, but never remained there. He found empty classrooms instead where he locked the door and did not emerge until it was nearly curfew.
Sometimes he let Evelyn accompany him because, although he did not believe the encouraging words she spoke, they calmed him somehow. Perhaps it was just the sound of her voice, comfortable and familiar, reminding him that even if, after Saturday night, he became the laughing stock of the entire school, there would still be Evelyn to come back to. Evelyn who had not wanted him to enter this stupid tournament at all, but who was doing her best to help him through it all the same. Evelyn who would not care what happened in the task, who would not care if he won the tournament or lost miserably, so long as Sean was still her friend.
But even Evelyn could not completely set him at ease. On the days when they did not share their final lesson, he escaped by himself, content to spend the evening alone, closeted up somewhere with his books and his thoughts. Alone, he thought, no one could see his fear.
On Friday afternoon, Marlowe left him as they walked back from Care of Magical Creatures to go and prepare for quidditch practice and Sean hurried back into the castle to find a new place to hide from everyone. Now, more than ever, he could not bear to sit there with Evelyn telling him everything would be alright. In just over twenty four hour's time, he would have to face whatever was coming and did not want to be told he was ready when he knew very well that he was not.
He found a little used classroom near the astronomy tower and set to work reviewing everything he had thought might be useful and practicing the few spells he had thought could come in handy. Sean stayed there all afternoon and late into the evening, never looking up long enough to notice the darkening skies out the tower window.
Only when his stomach began to growl so loudly he could no longer ignore it did he realize that dinner had ended two hours previously. It was nearly curfew. He would have to go back and hope that everyone had decided to turn in early.
He began to pack up his things, in no rush to get back to Ravenclaw tower. He was head boy after all. He could simply say he was patrolling if anyone asked. And with the task tomorrow tomorrow, he doubted any of the professors would be too upset with him.
Sean dragged his feet, hoping to slow the journey as much as possible. All the way back, the contents of his notes swam through his brain. He could only hope that he would recognize the traces of magic as easily as he could recite what they ought to be. He listed them to himself, head bowed and hands shoved into his pockets.
Warmth or cold, he thought. Changes in temperature. Movement, a rustling maybe, like a breeze. Light. Glimmers. Something in the air. All magic left traces.
Finally, he arrived outside the door of the common room, entering quietly in the hopes that he could slip upstairs, pull the hangings shut around his bed and continue reading by wandlight. But then he saw Evelyn, and though she was not facing the door and had not looked up when he entered, though he had no obligation to let her know he was there, he found himself approaching her anyway.
He sat down next to her on the old, blue sofa, sinking deep into the cushions. He felt heavier than usual, more aware of his own weight than ever. His existence, he realized for the first time in his life, was fragile, and worse, not guaranteed to persist.
Evelyn's hair was a little damp and stringy. He supposed she had just showered. She already wore her white and blue pajama bottoms and an old Kenmare Kestrals shirt which he had lent her at least three years ago. She had never given it back.
"Hey," said Evelyn, easily, as though she did not know what was coming in less than twenty four hours. Less than twenty four hours... he had to repeat it several times, turning it over in his mind, before the weight of that fact could settle in appropriately. Evelyn bent over and began rummaging through her bag on the floor by her feet. He wondered if she was mad at him for avoiding her.
"Hungry?" she asked, offering him a pumpkin pasty she had just produced from the bag. "There wasn't much I could take easily," she said.
Sean blinked at her, almost forgetting in his surprise that he was, in fact, very hungry.
"Yeah," he said finally, reaching out to take it. "Yeah, I am."
Then he added, too late, "Thanks."
Evelyn did not speak while he ate but once the pasty was gone she put away the parchment she had been writing on and asked, eyes on her lap, "How're you feeling?"
Sean almost said he felt fine. The lie was so ready; he had used it so many times this week. But instead, in a very quiet voice he said, "Not good."
Evelyn seemed to have expected this. She took his hand and squeezed it.
"Me too," she said weakly. "I'm scared."
"Yeah," said Sean. "That's putting it mildly." For some reason it did not bother him that she said she was scared. If anyone else had said so, he would have been infuriated. He was the one competing, after all, not her. Not anyone else.
"Want any more help?" she asked. And although he had been planning to continue reading as late as he could stay up, Sean shook his head.
"Come up with me," he told her. He stood, without letting go of her hand, and together they walked up the steps to the boys dormitory. Sean left her sitting cross-legged on his bed while he changed into his own pajamas and brushed his teeth, then he climbed into his bed and pulled the hangings shut. They were washed in a sudden darkness, but Sean could still see her clearly enough. He wondered if they would talk or not, not sure that it would do him any good to. But Evelyn answered for him without being asked..
"Let's just sleep," she whispered.
This was not the first time Sean had thought that Evelyn could read minds. Or maybe just his mind.
He nodded, pulling back the covers. Usually when they did this, Evelyn just lay beside him, maybe holding his hand if she was upset about something. He could remember occasions where they had lain over a foot apart on their backs, trying to keep their laughter quiet as they whispered to each other, joking about their professors and fellow students and each other.
But tonight was different. Tonight, Evelyn lay on her side, right next to him. She put her head on his chest so that he could smell her shampoo - coconut and something flowery - and feel her still barely damp hair on his shirt. Feeling that there were so many things he could say to her now, should perhaps say to her, but not knowing where to begin, Sean put his hand on her shoulder, let it slide down to rest on her waist, and shut his eyes.
Just before he fell asleep, he felt Evelyn's fingers tracing lightly over his collarbone. It raised goosebumps on his arms and he thought that she must still be wide awake. But sleep was pressing in on him and he welcomed it, letting it shut out the day's worries, tomorrow's problem.
---
Sean woke with the strangest mixture of sensations. He felt at once a kind of tenderness for Evelyn, who was still asleep in the exact position she had been when Sean had first drifted off, and an overwhelming nausea in the pit of his stomach when he realized that, at last, the day was here. There was no more putting it off. And all day he would have to wait, knowing what was coming, unable to stop it coming, wishing more than anything that he could.
Sean did not dare move. He felt that the longer Evelyn stayed asleep, the better. Lying here with her in his arms felt something like a distraction, albeit not a particularly effective one. While she lay there, breathing deeply, calm, he was left to patrol his own busy thoughts by himself. Still, he liked the feeling of waking up next to her. He was more glad than he ever remembered being that she was there.
Evelyn did not stay asleep long, though. Only a few minutes later, she stirred. Her spine arched a little as she began to stretch, and her face screwed up. Much to his chagrin, she rolled off him, onto her back. But her face was turned to him, blue eyes still a little droopy with sleep, but clear as ever.
"Good morning," she whispered. She barely smiled.
Sean could not quite find his voice to respond, but he managed a small, lukewarm smile back at her. He felt it stretch towards his eyes, but it did not quite reach.
They lay there for what felt like a very long time, Sean staring up at the midnight blue fabric above his bed. He could feel Evelyn's gaze, steady on his face. He listened to Marlowe stir in the bed next to him. The hangings slid back, the mattress gave a low groan, and the floorboards creaked under his feet. He heard Marlowe padding towards the bathroom. Not long after, the other seventh year boys began to rise, rummaging through their trunks and whispering to each other. Sean did not move until he had counted five pairs of feet leaving the room.
When he was sure, at last, that it was empty, he looked at Evelyn for the first time since she had woken up. He opened his mouth but realized at once that he did not know what he had planned to say.
"You'll be fine," said Evelyn aloud. "I know you will."
"Please tell me," he began, voice scratchy and low for lack of use, "that I'm an idiot."
"You are," she said, without a second's hesitation. "I told you not to enter the stupid thing. Told you it was more trouble than it was worth. But," she added, right over top of his mumbled defenses. "I knew you wouldn't listen and I knew you'd be chosen and I also know that you can win. You're perfectly capable of whatever they throw at you. And tonight, you're going to do so well."
"And what if I don't?" said Sean, swallowing hard. He did not want to look at her anymore, but he could not tear his eyes away from her steely gaze.
"Not possible," she smiled. "But whatever happens, I'm proud of you."
---
As she had done all week, Evelyn kept up a constant stream of encouragement all day. She was more nervous than she let on to him. She didn't really know that he'd do well. She knew he was talented, certainly, and intelligent and capable, but his nerves were putting her on edge as much as him. What if it was only his inability to cope under pressure, and not his ability to complete the task, that caused him to score low, or worse, to fail to finish at all?
But she was good at hiding her misgivings, as she was good at hiding everything. She was well versed in showing everyone a calm, collected, put together young lady. And she would never let Sean see her doubt him.
Marlowe, Caiti, and Evelyn accompanied Sean to dinner early that night, as the champions were due to arrive to the scene of the first task earlier than the rest of the school. All through dinner, Evelyn watched as he picked at his food, not once lifting his fork to his mouth.
"Sean," she said gently, placing one hand lightly on his arm. "You need to eat something."
"Can't," he mumbled. His mouth barely opened. His skin was chalky and he had his lips closed tightly into a fine line. He looked like he might be sick.
"I think it'll help," she said. She let her hand slide around to his back, smoothing it up and down a few times. "You'll need your strength, you know."
But Sean just set down his fork and shook his head.
Across from him, Marlowe made a valiant attempt to get Sean to think about something else. "Did you hear the Chudley Cannons actually won a game the other day?" he asked. "First time this season I think." He grinned, but Sean did not even acknowledge the comment.
The great hall started to fill as six o'clock approached and Sean, not particularly appreciating the attention stood to go. Evelyn rose with him. "I'll walk down with you," she said.
"No," said Sean. "I'll... see you after."
"Oh," said Evelyn quietly, and she sat back down slowly. He walked out of the great hall with his head down, ignoring the calls of "good luck" from their fellow students.
"God, I hope he does well," said Evelyn in a half whisper, her eyes still on the door he had just exited from. "I just wish he wasn't so nervous."
"Too bad he doesn't have some of that one potion you gave me Caiti. That one to calm you down," said Marlowe.
Next to him, Caiti's eyes became perfectly round. She smacked her palms down on the table making the silverware jump and clatter back onto the wood. A bit of soup sloshed out of her bowl. "Marlowe you are a genius!" she said. She threw her arms around him for an instant and then she was running out of the great hall calling, "Save me a seat! I'll meet you there!"
Evelyn looked at Marlowe, utterly bewildered. "She doesn't think she has time to brew a potion does she?"
Marlowe shook his head slowly, looking confused but rather pleased with himself. "No idea."
---
Caiti tore off to Ravenclaw tower. She knew exactly where her bottle of the calming draught she had made several weeks ago was inside her trunk and she was sure she had a smaller glass bottle lying around, enough for one serving.
Sure enough, she found an empty vial at the bottom of her trunk, underneath a pile of sweaters and her oldest robes, too small now. Quickly, she poured a bit of the potion into the vial, stoppered it, and took off running again, down the stairs to the common room, out the door, and down the hallway to the grand staircase. She had to jump to catch one of the moving staircases just before it detached from the landing she had arrived on.
Then she was flying down the marble staircase, ignoring the protests of one of the teachers who called "Really! There is no need to sprint through the corridors that way! Slow. Down." She shoved through the great oak front doors and set off across the grounds, panting, and clutching at a stitch in her side. It had already been fifteen minutes. She had never before appreciated just how far up in the castle Ravenclaw tower was.
She was forced to slow, but she managed to keep up a rapid walk, making it to the place where the task would take place just as the other students were beginning to arrive to watch. She saw a group of Durmstrang students walking over from their ship, still moored in the shallow part of the lake.
They had set up for the task on the grounds near the edge of the forest where the lawns were spacious and open. She approached a small canvas tent set up for the champions to gather inside to prepare and learn the details of the task. She could hear voices inside, but it sounded as though they were having their own private conversations. There was more than one person speaking. Caiti poked her head inside the flap. The Beauxbatons champion, Oscar was standing just inside the door. He jumped. "Did you 'ave something to tell us?" he asked, frowning at her.
Caiti ignored him. "Sean," she said. "A word?" She was still breathing heavily. Sean glanced at Professor Osset, who was busy talking with the two headmistresses from the other schools. Caiti noticed the other judges were also in the tent.
"Out here," she said quietly when he reached her, because Oscar was looking at them curiously.
She led him a few yards away from the tent and then pulled the little bottle of blue liquid out of her pocket. "Drink this," she said.
Sean blinked at her. She shoved it into his hand. "Trust me."
"It's not... cheating?" he asked. "It's not..." He trailed off.
"Lucky potion? No. Don't be stupid, that's gold. And it's not ready yet anyway," said Caiti. "This is for nerves. Just drink it, trust me," she repeated.
Sean hesitated. "It's not cheating," she assured him. "Think of it like medicine. People with bad anxiety take it before exams. I promise it'll help."
"I'll think about it," said Sean.
"No, Sean. Now. I'm sure it's not cheating, but still, you should drink it here just in case. Not in front of everyone else."
Sean gave her a look like this was against his better judgment but he took out the cork, tipped the potion into his mouth and swallowed. She saw the tension slip out of his shoulders instantly. They lowered a few centimeters. "Thanks," he said and thrust the empty bottle back at her.
Caiti took it, stuck it in her pocket again, and then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his stomach, head turned sideways into his chest. She barely reached his sternum. "You've got this," she said. "But don't you dare get yourself hurt. Mum will have a fit if I have to tell her anything happened to you." Then she let go and started to back away, nodding back towards the tent.
"Yeah," said Sean vaguely, after a pause, and he turned and walked back into the tent. Caiti ran off to catch up with Marlowe and Evelyn in the stands.
---
Back inside the tent, Professor Osset asked everyone to gather round. He put a hand on Sean's shoulder in a paternal manner and said, "Well it's nearly time. I'm sure you're all excited to get started with the task so if we could turn our attention to Mr. Catchlove who will tell you all you need to know before the task begins.
Mr. Catchlove stepped forward, rosy-faced. He was grinning like he could think of nothing better than watching as three barely qualified wizards took on an extremely difficult and dangerous unknown task that could potentially lead to their early demise. Sean decided he hated him temporarily.
"How quickly," he began, bouncing on his toes with his hands clasped in front of him, "we have arrived at this exciting day. The first task. The true start of the Triwizard tournament. We've got three spectacular champions gathered here." He paused, nodding to each of them. "And I know it's going to be quite a treat to watch you all work your way through what we've got in store. Now, if you'll remember our last conversation, I told you all this would be a task to challenge your intellect, your ability to reason.
"The three of you will compete at the same time. There are three glass rooms set up outside which you will enter on our signal. You will not be able to see outside but your many fans, as well as those gathered in this room, your judges, will be able to see inside and watch what you are doing. You will have one hour to break through a series of clues and obstacles in order to find a way to exit the room. Points will be awarded based on the speed at which you escape the room, the manner in which you activate your reason to determine a way out, and your ability to cope with setbacks and added challenges. Everything you need to know to escape is located somewhere in the room.
"And that, I think, is all I can tell you. I'm sure you're well-prepared for the task and anxious to get started." He glanced down at his watch. "We'll begin in just under ten minutes. If you need a drink... some time to think quietly... do what you need and we'll call you back together soon."
Sean did not move when they all broke apart. Oscar went to get water, Eline and her headmistress were speaking rapidly in a language Sean did not understand. His hands were shaking again. He thought it quite ludicrous of Mr. Catchlove to suggest that any of them were looking forward to the task. As though it would be a walk in the park, a pleasant evening stroll. What he was looking forward to was when the hour was up and he was done, free until February when the second task was set to occur. Free to attend to the pile of homework he had completely neglected the entire week.
But he found that he could not feel as nervous as he had all day, as he had at dinner, or walking down here by himself. He hadn't been able to bear another few minutes of Evelyn's assurances then. He felt bad now about the way he had brushed her off. He had not liked the look on her face. She had been there for him all week and he had barely shown his appreciation.
He still felt scared, but Caiti's potion had not done nothing. His head felt much clearer. He was able to process beyond his sheer terror now. He did not need to dwell on it any longer.
In fact, he felt sort of ready. The closest to ready he could be anyway.
Ten minutes passed too quickly. The judges shook hands with each of the contestants as they exited the tent, Professor Osset giving Sean a particularly firm shake and a piercing look that plainly said "win." But, like, no pressure, thought Sean, annoyed. Last in line was Mr. Fenwick. Sean noticed he was wearing the same tiny pin on his lapel as the last time he had seen him, no bigger than a knut. It was a dull gold with the letters R.W.W. carved into it and tiny stars in place of the periods. Sean thought for a brief moment that these must be his initials, but realized very quickly that, as his last name was Fenwick, this was impossible.
He pushed it out of his mind, more worried now about his sanity approaching a task like this than the meaning of the little badge. His initials. Honestly.
The champions were led out of the tent by Professor Munslow who had come to fetch them. They emerged behind the stands which had been erected for the occasion so they were not immediately greeted by applause. The second they rounded the corner however, the crowd erupted. Sean chanced a glance up at the sea of faces and was startled to see the amount of blue in the crowd. It seemed that the entire school, even a decent number of the Slytherins, had adopted Ravenclaw colors for the day. His stomach lurched. He could not decide if seeing all those faces cheering him on made him more nervous or bolstered him.
Professor Munslow positioned each of them in front of the door to their room, Sean at the far right.
A few words were said but Sean barely listened. He stared up into the stands , eyes darting around, wondering where Evelyn, Caiti, and Marlowe sat. He could not find them among the crowd, and Evelyn had put her hair up in a bun that morning, which he had always liked, but which also made her far less visible, even with her vibrantly colored hair.
The cannon sounded and Sean was shunted rudely back to what he was supposed to be focusing on. He and the other champions gripped the brass doorknob of the rooms they were meant to enter. He glanced to his left at Oscar, in the middle. They made eye contact, nodded, and then stepped into their respective rooms.
The room was not large, and was empty except for an old black and white clock on the wall with a gold rim, like the ones he had seen in railway stations before, and in the center of the room a large mahogany trunk with leather straps.
As soon as Sean shut the door, the sound and sight of the crowd outside was shut out. The door sealed itself, the hairline cracks melting into each other. His heart had started to beat more quickly. He had not realized that there would not be any way out. What if something happened? What if he could not finish the task? Would someone be able to get in to help him? He drew his wand out of his pocket, gripping it tightly, and took a step further into the room. As soon as he did so, a cool female voice spoke. It seemed to come from the walls themselves.
An hour you'll spend in these walls four
In which there is no window or door
You'll make it out with our wand and your head
If you listen close to what is said.
First find the place that's North and East
Then look to where you cannot reach.
Next, make me children of the moon,
And you will see what's hiding soon.
Sean frowned. North and East, he thought to himself. North and East. North East. Going with his gut, he placed his wand on his palm and murmured "Point Me." It felt funny to speak in here, the silence, once the voice had gone, seemed too deep to disrupt. He could not imagine that anyone could possibly be watching from outside.
The wand spun around in his hand until it pointed due North. It pointed straight forward at the clock. He turned and walked to the corner on the right of the clock. It only took a few steps to cover the ground.
The Northeast corner of the room. Yes, that must be what was meant by the riddle. But he could not remember what had come next. "Uh..." he said to the room at large. "Could you... repeat the riddle?" After a second he added, "Please?" feeling rather stupid. But to his surprise, the cool voice returned and repeated the riddle.
Look to where you cannot reach? That must have meant he should look up. The ceiling was not particularly high, but it was tall enough he would not be able to reach it. He peered up but there was nothing there.
The next part of the riddle was what really confused him, however. Children of the moon. What on earth was that supposed to mean? He continued to stare up at the Northeast corner for a minute, but no brilliant thoughts came to him so he began to pace around the room, one hand cupping his jaw, the other, clutching his wand, folded across his stomach.
He glanced at the clock. Seven minutes gone already. He would need to hurry. He stared down at the old trunk in front of him, willing it to provide some kind of insight. He was sure that he would need to open the trunk to get out.
Thinking to try something, anything, he tried to lift the top up, but, as he had expected, it was locked. He was almost sure it would not open by magic. Alohomora was a charm learned in the first year. But he pointed his wand at it anyway and said the incantation. Nothing happened except that a few gold sparks shot out of his wand, unable to connect with their goal.
Then it hit him.
Children of the moon. Stars. Sparks, perhaps?
Back in the Northeast corner, Sean shot gold sparks up towards the ceiling. At first, it seemed nothing had happened, but just before they extinguished, he saw something. A tiny glimmer, barely noticeable. But he knew where to look now. He shot up sparks a second time and this time he was sure of it. There was a key there, cleverly disillusioned so it was impossible to see until something crossed in front of it and made it stand out.
His heart began pounding again, but this time with excitement. "Accio," he said firmly, and the little key zoomed into his outstretched hand. He tapped it to lift the disillusionment charm and hurried to the trunk to try it in the lock. It clicked and the trunk popped open of it's own accord. But the trunk was not really open. Inside was a second, slightly smaller layer, identical to the first, with it's own lock.
Sean had barely a moment to register this before the cool voice spoke again.
At twenty past, you're doing well
The next keys lies from whence you fell
To sleep at last, the witching hour
Waiting and worrying in your tower
Wishing you could slow down time
Go back to the start of the rhyme.
Once again, Sean was utterly bewildered. This one had to do with the clock. That he knew for certain. But beyond that, he had been given next to nothing. He walked around the trunk to examine the clock, ignoring the fact that he could now hear the trunk behind him rattling. Something was inside, behind the next door perhaps, or deeper within.
The riddle had said the next "keys." Keys, plural. He peered up at the clock. It read fifteen past seven. But that was odd, the riddle had specifically said "at twenty past you're doing well." But it wasn't even twenty past yet.
Then he saw it, the little grooves circling the clock inside which the protrusions of the keys slid, concealed around the clock as time passed. The hands were not hands at all. They were thin, golden keys. If he tipped his head just so, he could see them clearly. But how to get them out? He conjured a stool from thin air, thankful that transfiguration was one of his better subjects, for her could not have reached the clock and he doubted it would be easily removed from the wall. Climbing up onto the stool he made to prise one of the hands out, but found he could not touch the clock. It was as though an invisible force had stopped him reaching further than two inches from the surface.
"Twenty past..." he said to himself. "Twenty past and... could you uh, repeat the riddle again?" he asked the room, speaking up now.
The cool voice repeated the words and Sean snapped his fingers when she reached the third line. The witching hour: midnight! Perhaps if he set the clock to 12:20... but he could not touch it.
He was incensed to see it flick over one minute, as if to spite him. He supposed he could just wait four minutes until he reached twenty past... but time was precious and he had already used a quarter of it. And besides, it would not solve the problem of the hour hand, which stood resolutely on seven.
Sean drummed his fingers on his wand, clutched in both hands. He shut his eyes tight, wishing he could "phone a friend" like in the muggle game shows Evelyn had told him about once.
He opened his eyes again, frustrated. There were dark spots in his vision. Another minute had passed. He would be stuck here for what remained of the hour if he did not find something soon to help. He stepped down from the stool and turned back to the trunk, but as soon as he reached the ground again he saw it. There was something there, something magic. Sean clambered back onto his stool and attempted to break through what he hoped was just a basic shield charm. The way he had been unable to touch the clock certainly backed up his theory.
Tentatively, he reached a hand through again and this time, with a surge of excitement that shot up through his body - first a tingling in his feet, then a somersault in his stomach, and then a shortness of breath - he was able to grasp the minute hand. He began to turn it, the key clunking clumsily over one minute at a time. As soon as they both hit 12:20, there was a loud click and they fell, both hanging loose over the six. Sean grabbed them, allowing himself a moment's regret that he would no longer know how long he had been in the room, and he hurried to unlock the next trunk.
The first key did not fit so he quickly tried the second, the former hour hand. It clicked and opened. Sean jumped backward immediately. His hand gripping his wand tightly in his right hand and the second key in the next. Inside the lip of the trunk he had just opened was none other than a Mackled Malaclaw. It looked almost like an ordinary lobster except that it was twice as long. It looked at Sean with a curious expression, and then began to move towards him. He backed up to the wall, panicked. He had a fleeting thought that he wished there were no one watching. They would not understand why he was so frightened by a creature so miniscule in size compared to himself and not particularly dangerous unless it got near enough to bite you.
But Sean had experience being bitten. When he was seven, the O'Connell's had taken a family vacation to a small seaside village. They had gone out in the evening to watch the sunset and Sean and Caiti had been searching for seaglass and shells in the shallow water near the shore when he had spotted the lobster scuttling along the pebbles and shells a few feet away. Sean had grabbed it and began chasing Caiti down the rocky coast, taunting her with what he thought was just an ordinary crustacean. The lobster, it turned out, was actually a Malaclaw, as he had found out soon after it bit him. He dropped it immediately and it scuttled back into the sea leaving Sean to nurse his hand.
He had had the worst luck of his life for the next week, as was prone to happen after suffering a Malaclaw bite. He had actually broken his leg twice in one day a few days after the initial injury. He had been terrified of them ever since, and now was not the time to have a repeat experience.
He did not know what to do. He held up his wand, staring at the thing and his first thought was that he did not want it to come any closer. "Impedimenta," he said. It slowed but the spell seemed to break too soon. He thought again. "Petrificus Totalus." And now he knew something was wrong, because the Malaclaw froze for a moment and then continued on it's way. As another shiver of fear coursed through him and glanced back at the trunk, wondering if he could somehow get the next key in without getting near enough to be bitten, he realized what was happening.
It was not a malaclaw at all. It was a boggart. It all made sense - it had been in the trunk after all, and boggarts loved small, dark places. Hadn't he heard it rattling around minutes before?
Sean concentrated on the lobster, willing it to become something funny, and said "Riddikulus!" Then CRACK. Suddenly, the malaclaw was dressed in a blue baby bonnet with a pacifier sticking out of it's offensive, biting mouth. Sean grinned and it disappeared with a loud pop. He ran to the trunk again and thrust in the next key.
A fourth, still smaller trunk was inside, but this time, in place of a keyhole was a combination lock. Sean had barely begun to examine it when the cool voice had come back again.
Just one case more beneath this next
If you decipher ancient texts.
First tell me the number whose letters five
Spelled alphabetically are ordered right
Now split this into digits two
And you have found the base and root.
The second number follows thus.
Your arms, your legs, your eyes, plus
Your ears and hands and feet therein
Each one a marriage and a twin
A separate part that pairs in bliss
Two whole halves added equal this.
And finally your digit three,
A capital O's parody
A newborn baby's birthday age
An empty circle on a page,
Defined as valued nothingness
Unquantified elusiveness.
His heart was pounding again, bouncing against his ribcage. He was nearly there, he had to be. Beneath this was one last trunk, if the riddle spoke true. And then he would find his way out - he was sure of it.
Sean took a closer look at the lock again. Four small dials were placed side by side, easy to turn. Now he saw that in place of letters or numbers were small pictures. He turned one of the dials, examining each picture in turn. A unicorn... a graphorn... of course. These were numbers after all, runes. Sean sent up a quick thank you that he had studied ancient runes. He was sure the room provided the information to translate them if need be, but he did not need to waste his time searching for additional clues. He knew what number each picture represented.
The challenge, however, was remembering all that the riddle had said. The first set of clues had been least clear - he would come back to that. The second had listed off body parts. Legs and arms and eyes... all sets. All pairs. Yes, that had to be it. What had the riddle said? Two whole halves? Which, he assumed, meant one and one: two. Without wasting any time he turned the second dial on the lock to two, a picture of a graphorn, it's two horns signifying the number it represented.
This time he did not hesitate to speak to the room again. "Repeat the riddle, please."
He repeated everything in his mind as she spoke again. A number with five letters. Two digits. He did not understand the rest of the first clue. But the last one had been easy enough. He turned the third dial to zero, the demiguise, whose invisibility represented nothingness.
"One more time," he said aloud, and this time he focused hard on the words in the first verse. There was something in it being alphabetical. He began spelling out numbers with five letters: t-h-r-e-e, and s-e-v-e-n. But these weren't two digits. He frowned. It couldn't be a teen, they were all too long. He began counting the letters in numbers divisible by ten, ticking them off on his fingers.
Twenty. Thirty. Forty. He felt his stomach do a somersault as he double checked the alphabet in his head. Yes, that was it. Forty. It's letters were in alphabetical order. He hurried to put the four in the first slot and the zero in the last but the box did not open. His heart sank. Something was wrong. But he was so sure he had interpreted the clues correctly.
Then another line from the poem slid through his mind once more. The base and root. He snapped his fingers as he realized what he had mistaken, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Backwards. Four, the first digit, was the base, meaning bottom - in this case, end. So then zero was the root or the start. Sure enough, when he switched the last dial to the fwooper and the first to the demiguise, it clicked open and one final box lay inside.
He thought the voice would return, but it did not and when no other clue revealed itself, he pulled out his wand and resorted to his very first attempt. "Alohomora," he said. The lock clicked open. This time, there was no box inside. Instead, he found himself staring down into something much deeper than he had expected.
He glanced at the clock, forgetting that it was no longer in operation, the hands having been salvaged as keys. He had a feeling he would need to go in, but he had no idea how deep the box was. Could he drop in safely? And what would he be landing in the middle of?
He lit the tip of his wand and shone it inside the box but could see little more than he had been privy to before. Still, no new information had been given to him. He was sure he was supposed to enter the trunk. He waved his wand and conjured a rope ladder which hung from around the open lid of the smallest box and then, climbing over top, he began to lower himself down. The ladder swung and wriggled as he climbed, but he did not dare get a better grip with his right hand for fear of dropping his wand. It was still emitting a thin strand of light which did little to cut through the thick blackness.
He wobbled his way down, nearly losing his footing twice, unable to see where the next rung of the ladder was beneath him, and finally, felt something solid beneath him. It was not smooth or flat like a floor would be though, which seemed odd. He knelt, running his hand over it. It was some kind of a plant.
At his touch, the vines began to snake their way up his skin, looping in knots around his wrist and ankles. Devil's snare. Sean began to panic, really panic, for the first time since Caiti had given him the calming draught before the task had begun. This would be why it was so dark in there. Devil's snare, he knew, existed most happily in the dark and dank. Light was supposed to kill it but his feeble wandlight did not seem to be doing the trick.
Sean could barely think straight. The plant had begun snaking around his torso, pulling him down. His only thought was to keep his wand arm held high, away from the plant. Think, he told himself. Think. If light isn't doing it, then what else does devil's snare not like? Light and... warmth. Yes, that must be it. Barely able to breathe now, Sean hissed the incantation for a flame charm and instantly, the devil's snare released him, edging away from the flickering orange light.
In its wake, he was able to see what he hadn't noticed before, a small round opening to a tunnel, just big enough to crawl through. As there was no other way out but back up, he steeled himself and headed inside, hoping that he was nearly through now. He had to be running out of time. The combination had taken him too long to work out and he had just wasted precious minutes panicking in the devil's snare when he had known what needed to be done all along.
The tunnel seemed to be sloping upwards which made it difficult to keep from sliding backwards on the slippery on surface. In a moment of brilliance, Sean remembered an obscure charm that made your fingers sticky like a tree frog's. He had thought it a bit of a joke when he'd first read about it, but in the current situation, it was exactly what he needed. With newly gripping fingers, Sean was able to climb up much faster. He was certain now that he was heading above ground again. Finally, he saw the edge of a floor and was able to pull himself up and out of the tunnel and into...
But this didn't make sense. He was back where he'd begun, in the glass room with the open trunk and the out-of-commission clock. Feeling a new sort of hopelessness set in, Sean thought he would head back for the trunk, down into the devil's snare again, and search for a different exit, something he wouldn't have recognized before.
Just as he approached the trunk, however, something else came out of it. A huge, hairy, black leg was poking through the open box. It was followed by two more legs which hooked over the edge of the trunk and squeezed a giant, round body, as big around as an exercise ball through the opening which was really too small for it. This setback gave Sean just enough time to move past his terror. The thing, he had realized, had eight red gleaming eyes, and more legs were emerging from the trunk now. An acromantula. He sprang into action.
"Stupefy," he shouted, but the spider was out of the trunk now and was apparently so large and powerful that the stunner only shot it backwards a few feet. It's legs pulled close to it's body and it rolled over, hitting the wall. Then it stood, clicking its pincers at him and moved towards him again.
Sean backed-up to the wall and bumped into something hard, poking into the middle of his back. He glanced behind him automatically, against his better judgment, but when he saw what he had hit, he was glad he did. A golden doorknob had appeared in the room.
He tried to turn it, but it was locked. The spider was getting too close.
"Arania exumai!" he shouted. This time when the spider rolled, Sean saw the key attached to one of its legs, difficult to see as it was tangled in the thick black hair.
"Stupefy," he yelled again while the spider was still down. Then, hoping against hope that this would work, he called "Accio, key!" And, amazingly, it zoomed towards him. The spider lunged, it's pincers catching his robes and pulling him to the ground. One huge hairy leg pinned him to the ground. He tried kicking it but found his legs were being held down, too. The pincers grazed his shoulder, but Sean managed to stun the spider once more. He heaved it off himself, barely able to feel the pain in his shoulder with adrenaline coursing through him, and scrambled up again. At last, he jammed the key in the lock, and he was out.