The darkness within the interlayer was absolute, a thick, heavy velvet that seemed to swallow the light. Allen gripped his wand, his knuckles white. "Lumos," he whispered.
A small, pearlescent bead of light ignited at the tip of his wand, pushing back the shadows just enough to reveal the true state of the passage. The walls were weeping—slick with a film of condensation that smelled of minerals and decay.
"Allen, wait," Daisy said, her voice barely a breath. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the damp, rough-hewn stone of the doorframe. "Are we actually doing this? This isn't some school prank. This is Aunt Josephine's house. If she finds us poking around in her... secret crawlspaces, she's going to have a fit. Maybe we should just wait until she gets back from the shops and ask her about it?"
Allen didn't even turn around. He was staring into the throat of the tunnel, his eyes tracking the way the light glinted off the moisture. "Look at those hinges, Daisy. Look at the rust. If Josephine knew this was here, she hasn't used it in decades. Besides, if we ask, she'll just give us some polite excuse and lock the door for good. We have a window of opportunity while the house is empty. Don't you want to know why a Victorian manor has a hidden vertical artery?"
Daisy bit her lip, her Ravenclaw curiosity warring with her sense of propriety. "Where could it even go? The manor isn't that big on the outside. Maybe it's a servant's passage to the cellar? Or a way to sneak into the neighbor's estate?"
"There is no neighbor's estate on this side, Daisy," Allen reminded her, his voice echoing flatly. "It's a sheer drop into the ravine. This tunnel goes deep, not wide."
"Well, it has to go somewhere," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "A hole in the wall this elaborate isn't just for storing dust."
"Astute observation," Allen replied, his tone leaning toward a dry sarcasm that made Daisy narrow her eyes. Before she could retort, he stepped over the threshold.
The air hit them like a physical blow. It wasn't just cold; it was stagnant, lacking the life of the wind outside. As they moved further in, the stone floor transitioned from smooth masonry to uneven, jagged rock. Puddles of dark, oily water sat in the hollows, reflecting the glow of Allen's wand like fractured black mirrors.
"It's like a tomb in here," Daisy whispered, her breath blooming in a silver mist. She shivered, pulling her cardigan tighter. "It feels like the temperature dropped twenty degrees the second we stepped inside."
"Magic," Allen murmured, his eyes scanning the walls. "Space-folding charms. The interior volume of this passage shouldn't exist within the physical footprint of the house. We're walking through a pocket of distorted reality."
He raised his wand, casting the light further ahead. The tunnel seemed to stretch into infinity, a black throat that showed no sign of ending.
"Hello?" Daisy called out suddenly.
"Hello... hello... lo..." the tunnel threw back at her, the echoes layered and distorted, sounding less like her own voice and more like a chorus of whispers.
"Keep it down!" Allen hissed, wincing at the noise. "We have no idea what's sensitive to sound in here."
"Oh, don't lecture me on volume, little brother," Daisy snapped, though she lowered her voice. She reached out and gave his ear a sharp, sisterly pinch. "Are you forgetting who the Prefect is? I'm the one who's supposed to be in charge of 'Ravenclaw conduct.'"
"Ow! Watch it," Allen grumbled, rubbing his ear as they continued.
They walked for what felt like an eternity, though Allen's internal clock suggested it had only been a few minutes. The entrance behind them had shrunk into a tiny, distant pinprick of light, a golden rectangle that looked like a toy. Then, the tunnel took a sharp, ninety-degree turn to the left.
The stone walls seemed to lean in, the ceiling lowering until it felt like the house was trying to swallow them whole.
"I don't like this," Daisy said, her hand gripping Allen's shoulder so hard he could feel her nails through his coat. "Allen, let's turn back. This isn't fun anymore. It feels... heavy."
"It's just the atmospheric pressure from the charms," Allen lied smoothly. He didn't want to admit that he felt it too—a psychic weight, like a scream held under water. "We're almost at the bend. Let's just see what's around the corner."
They rounded the turn, and both of them stopped dead.
There, standing in the center of the passage, was the girl in red. Miss Clark.
Her face was a mask of porcelain indifference, her dark eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind them. She didn't flicker like a normal ghost; she looked solid, a vivid splash of crimson against the grey, weeping stone.
Daisy let out a strangled yelp, stumbling back, but Allen was already moving. He had been preparing for this encounter since the moment they arrived.
"Halt Undead!"
Allen's wand moved in a sharp, jagged arc. A burst of grey-blue energy erupted, hitting the ghost square in the chest. This wasn't a destructive spell; it was a specialized Ravenclaw binding, designed for the containment of spectral entities without causing them metaphysical trauma.
Clark's expression, previously frozen in a vacant stare, suddenly cracked. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as the magic locked her ectoplasmic form in place. She was paralyzed, suspended in the air like a fly in amber.
"Who are you?" Daisy demanded, her voice shaking but her courage returning now that the "thing" was caught. She stepped out from behind Allen, her own wand raised. "Why are you haunting this house? What do you want from us?"
"I am... Clark," the girl whispered, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering across a floor. It was ethereal, lacking the resonance of a living throat.
"Why are you following us? Why are you trying to scare us?" Daisy pressed, her curiosity finally overriding her fear.
"I heard you... your voices are so loud," Clark murmured, her head tilting at an unnatural angle despite the binding. "I want you out. This is my domain. The quiet is mine."
"Your domain?" Daisy frowned. "You're a ghost, sweetie. This is a house. Why do you want to be alone in a damp tunnel?"
"Because I like the wandering," Clark said, a faint, chilling laugh echoing through the corridor. "In the dark, I don't have to remember the red. I don't have to remember the cold."
"One thing," Allen interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. "Last night, you had us cornered. You could have done something, but you didn't. Why? Why didn't you hurt us then?"
"Josephine... she was very clear," Clark said, her form flickering with a sudden, jagged anxiety. "She said you were 'guests of the blood.' You were not to be broken. Not yet."
Allen and Daisy exchanged a dark look. Guests of the blood.
"Then why try to drive us out now?" Allen asked. "If Josephine wants us here, why are you defying her?"
"Because the Duke is stirring," Clark whispered, a look of genuine terror finally breaking through her porcelain facade. "He wakes. He is hungry. Josephine thinks she can control it... she thinks she can use your presence to balance the scales. I am trying to save you! I am trying to drive you away before the basement opens!"
"The Duke? Who is that?" Daisy asked urgently, stepping forward. "And how does driving us away help Aunt Josephine?"
"I cannot... I am bound..." Clark's form began to vibrate violently against Allen's spell. "The words are locked. The secrets are in the marrow."
"She's blocked," Allen muttered. "Someone has placed a mental seal on her spirit. She can't tell us even if she wants to."
"Poor thing," Daisy said softly, her anger melting into pity. "She's just a child, Allen. Look at her."
Allen didn't feel pity. He felt the need for answers. "Step back, Daisy. I'm going to use a variation I found in the Restricted Section. Legilimency Animis—the Soul's Reach."
"Legilimency on a ghost?" Daisy looked horrified. "Allen, that's incredibly dangerous. You could get lost in her memories."
"I've studied the theory," Allen said firmly. He pointed his wand directly at the girl's forehead. Thin, shimmering silver threads began to weep from the wood, swirling in the air like predatory cobwebs. "This isn't like reading a living mind. It's about untangling the 'static' of her death."
The silver threads wrapped around Clark's head, glowing with an intense, blinding light. Allen's eyes rolled back as the connection formed.
He saw flashes—a bright summer day in a garden that no longer existed. He saw a girl with incredible magical potential, a prodigy who could make flowers bloom with a thought. And then, he saw the shadow. A tall, regal figure with eyes like dying stars. He felt the cold sting of teeth, the drain of life, and the horrific realization that her own magic was being used to fuel her killer's longevity.
Allen slumped back, the silver threads snapping. He gasped for air, his face pale.
"Allen! What did you see?" Daisy grabbed his arm, her face full of dread.
Allen looked at the frozen girl in red, his expression shifting from clinical curiosity to a deep, simmering rage. "She was a student, Daisy. A brilliant witch with a future. She didn't just die. She was harvested. She was killed by a Vampire who wanted her spark... and Josephine knows exactly who did it."