The Committal

Part One: He Had Always Seen It Coming

A/N: Hi! Sorry if this is a bit weird, but there aren't enough Septimus fics out there to begin with, and most of the ones about Sep himself either involve some sort of shipping, or his tragic past in the Young Army. I thought this might be kind of fun to explore who might have been pulling the strings around the Castle, and what might happen if Septimus took his obsession with Magyk even further than Marcia is comfortable with...and yes, the OC has lots of character development and he doesn't just exist to be in this story...sorry if you don't like OC inserts, but I promise it's not just some tacky self-insert(I hope).

I should have known someone was watching me. In truth, I had known long before that day. The infamous day when he gave me the full spell for the Committal. A brush against me in the anteroom, a person cloaked in a dark green cloak trimmed with silver flames that no one else noticed. He was the one who told me to do it; that the full spell had long since been lost, that it would be more effective if someone Magykal did it. I believed him, and he wasn't wrong.
But aiding our plight wasn't the only reason he said it. It was a test, a trial- the last one intended for me, before he decided if I was worthy or not. He had been behind so many of my problems from day one. Of course, he had no way of knowing I would end up in the Young Army-so he tells me. But he was the puppetmaster behind our washing up on the isles of Syren, behind even the loosing of Queen Etheldredda. All to test me to see if I was worthy of leaning the ancient Magyk from the Beyond Times.

The first time I met him-per se-was when I was eight, trapped in a wolverine pit. There was no one around to save me; even if there had been they likely would have left me to my own devices. We were Expendables and no one really cared. I lay in the pit, expecting the worst, when there was a flash of green Fyre through the trees. It struck one of the wolverines, and there was an acrid smell of burning flesh. I pushed myself further against the trunk of a tree, fearing the worst. Then we were trained to hate anything to do with Magyk, and I wasn't taking any chances with this explosive kind. More flashes surrounded the clearing, and next thing I knew, six wolverines lay dead around me, singed beyond repair. Through a gap in the trees there was a shadowy figure, slowly moving towards me. I tensed, getting ready to run in case he started flinging Fyre again. He didn't, however, as he continued his walk. Soon he was right in front of me, in a cloak that appeared dark green with some shiny trim in a pattern undistinguishable in the long failed light, with a large hood pulled over his face so that I couldn't see it at all. What's more, he was holding out his hand. To me, almost as if he was trying to help me up. The hand was gloved, and thin with spidery fingers. They appeared black in the gloom punctuated with white embroidery of some pattern that resembled waves. I hesitated, worrying he'd relinquish his hand and lob a ball of Fyre at me. However, out of nowhere I felt a reassuring feeling that couldn't have come from my hyperactive mind, almost as if something-or someone-was telling me that it was okay, that this person was trying to help me. I reached for his hand, and had almost taken it when the sound of a patrol of other Expendables broke through the trees, their lanterns bobbing towards me. In that short span of time, the person had vanished without a trace.

I wouldn't see him again for two years.

I was lost in the haar at Aunt Zelda's cottage. I hardly knew the place and was hopelessly lost. I was about to sit down and wait for the haar to pass when a cloaked figure came up to me in the mist. I recognized the cloak, and now I could see the silver embroidery was of flames. He didn't hold out his hand this time; instead, he moved over to a small wooden board in the ground. He set a silver-capped black leather toe on it and tapped it. The meaning was clear-he wanted me to open it. I moved over to it, lifted the board. When I fell inside a hole moments later, he was nowhere to be seen. Again. Though it would be a time before we interacted in this manner again, I saw the corner of his cloak twice on the Vengeance, and I could have sworn his reflection was in the duck pond at least once while Aunt Zelda was scrying.

I saw him in the Ice Tunnels the following year. Several times. Little did I know he had helped Simon in his plot; little did I know he was intending to have me prove my mettle, Magykal and otherwise. And I most certainly did not know he was behind the opening of the door in the Queen's Room. He managed to gloss over this part for many years.

I sat on the beach. I remember it vividly. The night was cold, and I was alone, watching Spit Fyre. Or at least I thought I was alone.

I stared at the stars in the sky, with a soft longing. The cold wind rustled through my hair, and made me shiver slightly. I was too occupied with my dreamings of stars to notice the soft sigh of a cloak behind me.

The cloaked person brushed up next to me, and sat cross-legged in the soft sand. My stomach lurched, and tension gathered in my legs, ready to spring up, run away. But once again I felt that feeling in my mind, a feeling of comfort. It was a gentle calming feeling that I had all but forgot about in my desire to forget about that night in the wolverine pit.

"I thought you were a hallucination,'' I said quietly to the figure. The figure snorted, but didn't say anything. He pulled out a gloved hand and ruffled my hair, scrubbed it. I tried to get a peek inside the cloak, but it was black.

The sand crunched in the distance and two figures worked their way towards me. Jenna and Beetle. I looked back at the figure, but he had vanished again.

A/N: And that's the introduction! Hope you like it, there'll be more pieces posted soon!