The world returned in pulses—slow, rhythmic throbs behind Arthur's eyelids. His body was heavy, like stone. The first thing he registered was a low humming, like an old kettle just before it boiled.
Then the voice.
"Awake at last, Mr. Reeves?"
Arthur blinked blearily.
White sheets. The sterile scent of potions. Hospital Wing.
And sitting across from him, like some smug grandfather who knew all your secrets?
Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Hidden Nightmares.
Arthur's lip curled instinctively. Of course he's here. Waiting like a bloody guardian angel with a beard.
Arthur groaned and rolled to one side.
"I'm fine," he muttered. "You can go now."
"I rather think I'll stay." Dumbledore's tone was cheerful. "You had quite the episode last night. Do you remember what happened?"
Arthur's mouth twitched. "Vaguely. Something about blood, a cat, a ridiculous slogan, and the ever-present annoyance that is Harry bloody Potter."
Dumbledore's smile didn't falter. "A sharp tongue is a sign of recovery."
"Or a sign that I don't like being watched when I sleep," Arthur snapped.
"Ah. Easy now," Dumbledore said, raising a hand. "You hit your head during last night's... episode."
"Episode?" Arthur grunted. "I wasn't possessed by a bloody spirit. I just fainted."
"Yes. Students rarely collapse in the middle of the corridor muttering in Parseltongue unless it's fashionable. Is it, now? Fashionable?"
Arthur groaned and laid back. "If this is your way of checking if I'm okay, it's terrible. Try flowers next time."
Dumbledore smiled mildly. "I'll make a note of that. Roses or thorns?"
Arthur turned his head toward the window. "So what are you doing here, really?"
"I came to ensure you were well. And to ask if you remember what you saw."
That made Arthur pause.
"Nope," he said, stretching. "Just my usual dreams of murdering you with a cauldron."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, but there was something else in his gaze. Something... watchful.
"Arthur... you have a gift. Rare. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Invaluable in the right ones."
Arthur raised a brow. "Is that your polite way of saying I should shut up about talking to squirrels?"
"Not squirrels. A lynx, if I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore said lightly, folding his hands. "Or something very close to one."
Arthur's breath caught. "What are you—?"
"Hogwarts listens, Arthur. Even when you think no one else does. Some walls whisper. But only certain ears hear them."
Arthur looked at him sharply.
"Then maybe the walls should shut up."
Dumbledore stood with a soft sigh, brushing invisible dust from his robes.
"Perhaps. But walls have long memories. Especially in schools built on secrets."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Be careful in the forest today. The moonshade flowers are not the only things that bloom in darkness."
And with that, he walked away.
Arthur stared after him for a long moment.
Then muttered, "I still want to punch that smile off your face
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
The dungeons of Hogwarts had a permanent chill about them—one that clung to skin and soul alike. Stone walls, iron sconces, and rows of softly bubbling cauldrons formed the moody backdrop for a Potions lesson that seemed like it was reserved for Slytherins and Gryffindors.
Professor Snape's robes swept silently as he strode between the benches. On the blackboard, a list of ingredients for Restorative Draft 2.2 had been etched in flawless, spidery writing. Every student was halfway through chopping, slicing, or grinding something into pulp.
The door creaked open. Every head turned.
Arthur Reeves stepped in, dry, disheveled, and not even pretending to rush. He gave a nonchalant nod to the room and slipped in like he owned the place—half a smirk on his lips, shirt untucked just slightly, green tie slung over his neck but not tightened.
Snape looked up, very slowly.
"Mr. Reeves." His voice dropped like mercury. "You're late."
Arthur shrugged with both hands. "Time flies when you're unconscious in the hospital wing, sir."
Snape blinked once. "Then I suppose you'll enjoy losing it again in detention."
Arthur muttered, "I was told to rest."
"I was told to teach. Yet here we both are—suffering through it."
Arthur quietly joined his friends—Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo Nott—without looking up. A few of them gave him sidelong glances; even Draco raised an eyebrow as if to ask, What did you do this time?
Snape turned back to the class.
"As I was saying before our wayward serpent arrived... today's lesson concerns the preparation of advanced restorative draughts. Most ingredients you will recognize. One you will not."
He gestured to a jar containing what looked like silver-veined petals suspended in thick blue syrup.
"Moonshade bloom. Elusive. Delicate. Potent."
He paused just long enough to scan the room.
"We are currently out of stock."
That got their attention. The brewing assignment had been part of their end-of-week practical.
"So," Snape continued, barely glancing in Arthur's direction, "a collection group will retrieve it this evening."
Eyes turned to Arthur like clockwork.
He blinked. "Why do I feel like that group is me?"
Snape's mouth didn't twitch, but something about his stillness betrayed mild amusement.
"Because you're observant. A rare trait."
Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Can't you just send one of the house-elves?"
A few Slytherins stifled their snorts. Even Blaise coughed into his elbow.
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Five points from Slytherin for your imagination. Sit properly before I change my mind and ask you to brew something fatal."
Arthur straightened up beside Draco, who arched a brow but said nothing.
Snape turned back to the board. "We're covering high-grade restorative brews. These will not work without the rare Moonshade Bloom—unfortunately for you all."
A faint ripple of murmurs passed through the room.
"I require it harvested fresh. Tonight."
There was a pause. Then Snape turned back toward the class, scanning slowly until his gaze stopped—of course—on Arthur.
"You'll be retrieving it, Mr. Reeves."
Arthur blinked. "Alone, sir?"
Snape nodded. "With your usual group, of course. Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Greengrass, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini…"
Draco frowned. "We're going to the Forbidden Forest?"
Snape gave a short nod. "The flower only grows near the southern edge, beyond the willow grove."
Arthur leaned back, arms folded. "You just said it's rare. And nocturnal. Doesn't that mean it only blooms under moonlight?"
"Yes," Snape replied smoothly, "hence the nighttime retrieval."
Arthur glanced sideways. "And this doesn't seem just a bit sketchy to anyone else?"
Harry, working with the Gryffindors at the other side of the room as part of a split class, laughed before he could stop himself.
Snape's head turned like it was on a hinge.
"Mr. Potter," he said coldly, "I wasn't aware we were entertaining comedy in this class."
Harry straightened. "Sorry, sir—"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for encouraging foolishness. Perhaps that will teach you restraint."
Arthur threw Harry a sheepish look. "Oops."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Say another word, Reeves, and I'll deduct points from houses you don't even belong to."
The room went quiet after that. The simmering of potions once again took center stage.
But Arthur didn't return to his ingredients right away. His fingers tapped the table softly.
Dumbledore had been in the hospital wing earlier. The way he'd sat, smiling like he always knew things he shouldn't. The way he'd casually said:
"Be careful in the forest today. The moonshade flowers are not the only things that bloom in darkness."
Arthur frowned slightly, staring down at his potion.
He hadn't told Dumbledore anything about the whispers.
And he definitely hadn't known anything about a moonshade flower.
So how had the old man known?
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
The sun had bled out over the horizon, and the moon rose like a pale coin—half-full, half-forbidding.
Arthur stood just outside the gates of the school, pulling his cloak tighter as the wind curled around his ankles. The Forbidden Forest loomed ahead, all shadows and silhouettes, its trees like black ribs pushing against the sky.
He was not in the mood for heroics.
Behind him, the others arrived one by one. Draco, impeccable as ever, though his boots were already scuffed from the wet grass. Daphne Greengrass moved like a shadow beside him, wand in hand, eyes sharp. Pansy muttered something about "madness," while Theo and Blaise exchanged looks that could only be described as deeply unenthusiastic.
"This," Blaise said, looking up at the trees, "is how horror stories start."
"No," Arthur muttered. "This is how group projects start. The horror comes later."
Draco snorted. "Do you even know what these moonshade flowers look like?"
Arthur shrugged. "Silver petals. Glow faintly under moonlight. Hide behind every creature that wants to murder you. How hard can it be?"
Pansy crossed her arms. "You forgot the part where they attract nocturnal predators."
"Excellent," Theo deadpanned. "Maybe one will eat you first."
Arthur gave him a lazy smirk. "If I die, I'm haunting your cauldron."
As they stepped past the boundary enchantments and into the thicket, the sounds of Hogwarts fell away. No footsteps. No chatter. Just the rustle of leaves and the hum of insects. The air grew cooler, denser, as if laced with breath.
Daphne walked beside Arthur, quiet for a long moment.
"Do you feel it?" she asked finally.
Arthur tilted his head. "The creeping dread? Or the unshakable suspicion that we're being manipulated by the world's most cheerful manipulator?"
"Both."
He smiled faintly. "Good. I thought it was just me."
A shriek—far off—echoed through the trees. Probably a bird. Probably.
No one said anything for a moment.
Arthur ran his fingers along the bark of a tree as they passed it. His skin tingled.
At some point during their search, Arthur wandered.
He hadn't meant to. One moment he'd been trailing the group, the next—curiosity or the voices of so many animals had pulled him in a different direction. The forest had a way of swallowing sound, and somehow, the soft chatter of the others fell away like mist.
Then he heard it.
A voice, guttural and low, like gravel grinding beneath teeth.
"Mmm... a nighttime snack..."
His head snapped around just as a distant scream pierced the air.
He ran. Branches lashed at his arms and face, but he didn't stop. His wand was clenched tightly in one hand, but oddly, fear didn't grip him. Just urgency.
He broke into a small clearing—and stopped cold.
The others were there. They'd found the moonshade flowers, their soft silver glow unmistakable among the roots. But something else had found them.
It was massive—like a lynx but bigger, leaner, hungrier. Its fur shimmered with runic patterns only visible when it moved, eyes glowing like twin coals.
It growled, the sound more like speech than sound.
"No one shall take this again. For years your kind has come to steal the bloom. No more."
Arthur heard it. Understood it.
He stepped forward without thinking.
"Hey!" he shouted.
But what the others heard was a deep roar. The creature halted, mid-pounce, and slowly turned its head toward him.
Its eyes narrowed.
"Hmm. A worthy opponent... Let's do this, then."
It charged—so fast it was nearly a blur. The ground shook beneath its paws.
But Arthur didn't move.
A strange calm overtook him. He wasn't afraid. If anything, he was… curious. His lips even quirked up slightly.
The creature stopped just short of slamming into him, its breath stirring up a swirl of dust and leaves between them.
"You have exactly five minutes to explain yourself," it growled.
Arthur blinked. "Why?"
"Because you're weird. And you can understand me. So, five minutes. What are you humans doing here?"
"…Detention," Arthur replied simply
——————
A few feet away
"What in Merlin's saggy socks is he doing?" Daphne whispered.
"Is he... growling at it?" Theo squinted.
Draco muttered, "I think he's talking to it."
"No," Pansy said, eyes wide. "He's barking. Or… is that a purr?"
"Are we sure he's not possessed?" Blaise deadpanned. "Should we… throw something at him?"
"Like what? A stick? That thing would eat you before the stick hit the ground," Daphne replied.
----------
The creature circled him now, slow and deliberate.
"So, you're here because you were forced to be," it mused, unimpressed.
Arthur gave a half-shrug. "Pretty much."
The creature huffed. "Sorry about earlier. We've been on edge since the beast awakened. Say... you don't happen to hear voices in the walls? Something about… killing?"
Arthur tilted his head. "I actually do."
The creature froze. Its expression was hard to read—but not surprised.
"…Yeah, that guy's a mess." It sniffed the air. "Ever since he went to sleep about fifty years ago, things have been peaceful. But now... it's leaking again. Through the stones, the wind, the trees."
It paused.
Then its ears twitched.
"You need to leave. Now. If you can hear what I hear… then you're not safe here. Not yet. Take the flowers. I'll escort you to the edge."
Arthur didn't argue. He turned back, gave a quick signal—and the others, still gawking, scrambled to gather the moonshade.
The walk back was silent. Uncomfortable. The lynx-creature—towering, sleek, and silent—strode beside them like a spectral guardian. No one dared breathe too loudly.
Draco muttered at some point, "I've seen less tense hostage negotiations."
When they reached the forest edge, the creature stopped.
"I bid you farewell, human," it said to Arthur. "A piece of advice: don't go looking for the Beast. You might die if you do."
Arthur met its gaze. "Noted."
He hesitated. "What's your name?"
The creature blinked once.
"Gerald."
Then it turned and disappeared into the trees.
Arthur watched until the trees swallowed it.
"Gerald," he repeated aloud, in human tongue, almost in disbelief.
He turned—and found five very confused faces staring back at him.
He blinked.
"Oh right," he muttered. "You guys exist."
Then came the flood of questions.
"What the hell was that?"
"Did it name itself?"
"Why did it talk to you?"
"Arthur, are you a beast whisperer?"
"ARE YOU CURSED?!"
Arthur exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want the short answer or the one that involves dead monsters and whispers in the walls?"
Pansy raised her hand. "Neither. I want to go back to school and pretend this never happened."
"Seconded," Blaise added.
"Thirded," said Theo.
And as they walked back toward the castle, the moon hung high above them.
They were walking in awkward silence when Draco finally broke it.
He side-eyed Arthur. "So… can you talk to animals now? Is that your thing?"
Arthur glanced at him. "Yeah. Its name was Gerald."
"That's worse," Theo muttered. "He named it."
"I didn't name it," Arthur shot back. "He introduced himself. Like a civilized… um… lynx-thing."
Pansy groaned. "That's it. I'm done. This forest trip was already traumatic enough without finding out Arthur speaks beast."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Right. And next week you'll be holding therapy sessions for trolls?"
"If they ask nicely," Arthur said with a smirk.
Blaise chuckled. "At this point, I wouldn't even be surprised."
"So," Draco began again, narrowing his eyes. "Let's go back to the part where you were growling and it growled back and now you're apparently best friends."
Arthur sighed. "He was… communicating. And I could understand him."
Theo squinted. "Wait, so you can talk to all animals?"
Arthur paused, then nodded slowly. "As far as I can tell."
Theo blinked. "Okay. But—can you use it for cheating?"
"No!" Pansy and Daphne yelled in unison, smacking his shoulder from either side.
Theo winced. "What? It was just a question!"
Blaise smirked. "It's not that bad of a thought. I mean, imagine talking to a fly during an exam. Just buzz over to someone else's desk and report back."
Arthur frowned. "You want me to weaponize flies?"
"Only the intelligent ones," Blaise said with a wink.
"I think that defeats the point of detention," Daphne muttered, still glaring at Theo.
"On the bright side," Pansy added dryly, "if we ever get attacked by a talking squirrel, we've got Arthur."
Arthur grinned. "Hey, you laugh now. But you haven't seen the political structure of raccoons. They run deep."
"Gods help us," Draco muttered, rubbing his temples. "We've got a druid."