Chapter 3: The Outcasts
The Hogwarts courtyard glowed under an autumn sun, its warmth a deceptive veil over the tension thick as fog, the air sharp with the scent of fading roses and damp cobblestones, their cracks holding flecks of moss. Enid strolled alone, her pink scarf fluttering, its frayed ends catching the breeze, her fingers clutching a chipped pendant hanging from her neck, its surface worn smooth. Draco's voice cut through, sharp as a blade.
"Look, it's the little half-breed. Lost your freak friends?"
Enid flinched, her smile crumbling, her eyes darting to the ground. Leo's rage flared, cold and precise, a blade in his gut. Not her. Not today. He raised his hand, beast-speaking surging like a tide, his pulse hammering, the air buzzing with his focus. Ravens swarmed from the sky, their wings a chaotic drumbeat, cawing as they dove at Draco and his lackeys, who stumbled back, arms flailing, robes tangling.
[BIRDS OF A FEATHER FLOCK TO… OH WAIT, THAT'S JUST CHAOS.]
Leo smirked, the System's quip a spark in his anger.
"Chaos my specialty."
He muttered, the cobblestones' grit underfoot grounding his fury, their edges catching his boots.
The birds scattered, leaving Draco spitting feathers, his robes askew, his face a furious red, his wand clattering to the ground. Enid grabbed Leo's arm, her touch warm, her eyes wide with awe, her pendant clinking softly against her collarbone.
"That was… amazing."
Her flush matched the courtyard's rose petals, littering the ground like fallen stars. She's safe. That's what matters.
"Just another day at the office."
Leo quipped, his heart racing, a loose cobblestone's edge catching his boot, its surface slick with dew. This is our fight. The shared moment, amid raven cries and Draco's outraged shouts, forged a bond, fragile but fierce, as students whispered from the sidelines, their murmurs a low buzz like distant bees. A chipped fountain nearby gurgled, its water rippling, a mundane anchor to the triumph, its stone basin cracked from years of weathering. We're not alone anymore. Leo's thoughts drifted to his old life, to standing up for a friend in a schoolyard, the same fire in his chest now as then.
In Iago Tower's common room, the protective barrier hummed, its magic a low buzz against the gothic vines curling over oak beams, their faint glow casting shadows like whispered secrets on the stone walls. The Outcasts gathered—Wednesday's mask unreadable, Agnes twirling her wand like a baton, Lila's gaze softer but sharp, her satchel's strap frayed, its leather scuffed. Leo spread a Restricted Section map on the table, its parchment brittle, inked with secrets, its edges curling like old skin, the ink's faint musty scent rising.
"The ruins… they call to me."
Wednesday said, her voice a dark prophecy, her fingers tracing a cracked ring on her hand, its metal dull.
"I see a shadow… Thorne."
She's seeing it too. Leo's pulse quickened, the map's ink smudging under his fingers, the fireplace's crackle a warm counterpoint, its logs snapping softly.
"So, we have a map to a hidden chamber, a sketchy Ministry conspiracy, and a stalker who haunts ruins. What's our move?"
Agnes snapped her fingers, a vial illusion popping into view, its glow flickering like a dying star.
"Truth potion for Draco? Priceless."
The group chuckled, the tension easing, the vines overhead swaying as if amused, their tips brushing the ceiling's beams. We're stronger together. Leo's resolve hardened.
"We need to be bigger than this. We need to be a force for change. Hermione's smart. Let's get her on our side. Library meet?"
Enid nudged him, playful, her scarf brushing his arm, its fabric soft but frayed.
"Good idea, crush."
Crush. Okay, that's official. The group nodded, a chipped candelabra on the table casting jagged shadows, a reminder of their fragile sanctuary. Thorne's out there, but we're building something. Leo thought of his old gaming crew, late nights planning strategies, and this felt the same—teammates, a mission, a fight worth having.
The library alcove was a fortress of books, their leather bindings smelling of dust and time, a frayed bookmark tucked in Hermione's notes, its tassel worn thin. Hermione sat, quill scratching, her eyes sparking with ideas.
"Hashtag Outcast Pride? What's a hashtag?"
Leo explained, patient, the fireplace's heat warming his back, the wood's grain rough under his fingers.
"It's a Muggle thing. A symbol of unity. Like a rallying cry."
Hermione's mind raced, her quill pausing.
"Intriguing… a Muggle concept… we can adapt it. We could have a rally. Show them we're not afraid."
She's all in. [PLEASE DON'T BRING MUGGLE SLANG INTO MAGIC. IT'S BAD ENOUGH HERE.] Leo smirked, muttering.
"Slang revolution."
The System's jab a familiar sting. We're starting something big. Their research uncovered a Beast Echo sketch, its hydra-like form chillingly familiar, its scales matching the tunnel's remnants, and a cure reference, tantalizingly close. We're onto something. Enid squeezed his hand, sensing his doubt, her pendant's clink a soft anchor.
"We got this."
She whispered, her eyes fierce with determination. She believes in me.
[RALLIES ARE CUTE. RIOTS? LESS SO. GOOD LUCK, KID.]
The System's warning sobered him, the alcove's shadows deepening as sunset bled through the windows, staining the books red. This is bigger than us. The group's plans took shape, a rally to unite Outcasts, but the hydra's shadow loomed, its scales a cold weight in Leo's pocket, urging him toward a truth that could change everything. A stray ink blot on the table, missed by a hurried scribe, grounded him in the moment's quiet urgency.