Spectre: The Dark Riddles #1

33: Hidebehind*

[Chapter warning: mention of death]

***

"Although [the Hidebehind] had the power of invisibility, those who had seen it described it as tall with silver-hair, akin to a skinner bear. It could also contort its body to have a somewhat different shape and as such could better lurk behind any object. Its prey of choice was humans, which Magizoologists speculated was the result of the cruelty shown by Phineas Fletcher to the creatures in his care."

--from the textbook Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Newt Scamander, 1927

"Don't believe all forms of magical beasts and monsters to exist. And who ever said Spectres were real, anyway?"

--Elastra N. Malfoy, 1995, on the subject of ghost stories

***

This is not the nauseous, twisting transportation of Apparition, or the windy, riotous movement of broomstick travel, or even the unpleasant hooking sensation of the efficient Portkey conveyance. It is like all of those things, and none of them. This is the simplicity of closing your eyes to drift off into a deep sleep, if that deep sleep thrusted horror upon horror onto your soul, ripping your mind to pieces in the process, making you scream until you were hoarse.

This is the monstrosity of a horcrux.

When it ends, Tom and I are both disoriented, gasping for breath, trying to remember which way is up. We arrive in a long, stone hallway, the ceiling high above us and painted to mimic the winter constellations. It's already nighttime, crystalline starlight bursting through the narrow windows on either side of us.

"Where are we?" I ask, struggling to get a sense of our surroundings. There's not a soul in sight. "We must have traveled to the southern hemisphere; it was still morning when we left London..."

"No," says Tom, shaking his head and looking flushed, "we're still in England. We lost time."

I turn back to him. "You mean we were traveling through... whatever that horror was... for hours?"

He shakes his head again. "Spectre demands a price from everyone."

I'd begun walking down the hall but stop in my tracks. "Spectre magic?" He's never let me anywhere near it, never even entertained the idea as a topic of conversation since we left Lethe Manor behind.

Why does he trust me with it now?

He catches up to me until we turn around the hall and start down a new one, looking for any sign of life in this spacious building. It reminds me of Hogwarts in its ancient otherworldliness, but something about its countless trinkets makes me think it's a large family home.

Tom explains, as if rambling nervously, "The magic of our horcruxes is tied to Spectre. That's where it sprouted from. Both of them are dark and deadly if not properly handled, and more often than not, tampering with either gets you killed. That's why I don't show anyone how to use it anymore. Too many people have considered themselves trained well enough, and they never survive their first attempt."

"Wait." I slow my steps. "You don't show anyone how to use it? You mean..."

He doesn't stop walking, not giving me much time to process the fact that he's just admitted to not only understanding the foundation of Spectre magic but being skilled enough in it to teach others.

I rush to keep up with him, trying to remember why we're here. "Where did Spectre come from? I mean, who invented it?" I ask, but already I have an idea as to the answer, and one look at his face confirms it.