Ink and Venom

by UnfortunatelyFruity

Summary:

Looking forward to a hopefully exciting 5th year at Hogwarts, Haven, the creative smarty pants was vaguely optimistic. Naive to the series of events that would eventually befall him, and his loved ones. In the first month something horrible go awry, and the staff isn't doing their jobs right. So It's up to Haven, and his friends to solve the many mysteries involving the school and its inhabitants.

Chapter 1: After a Mundane Summer

The day had been chaotic. Diagon Alley was never built to handle the full weight of the Fairbourne family at once—too many voices, too many little hands tugging at robes, too much noise swallowing anything quiet. They had scattered almost instantly upon arrival: his parents swept away with the younger children in a current of shouts and shopping lists, leaving Haven to fend for himself.

He told himself he did not mind. Solitude was easier. Cleaner. Yet as the sun bled lower over the cobbles and the steam of the Hogwarts Express curled into the cooling air, that familiar ache crept in—something between loneliness and relief.

Fifth year. A strange milestone. The year of O.W.L.s and sleepless nights, of professors speaking in tones weighted with importance. He should have been dreading it, but instead he felt… ready. Or maybe just desperate for something different. Something real.

“Goodbye, Mum. Dad,” he called as he stepped toward Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, his voice half-swallowed by the crowd. They did not answer.

He paused mid-step, catching sight of them at the edge of the platform—hands and smiles for the younger boys, straightening cloaks, fixing hats, whispering last-minute encouragement to children still wide-eyed with wonder. Not even a glance for him.

A simple Take care, Haven—we love you. Would that have been so difficult?

The thought followed him into the train. The compartment he found was blessedly quiet. He slid his trunk into the rack and glanced down at Lana’s cage tucked between the rest of his more personal luggage. With a soft click, he opened it, and the sleek Siamese stepped into his lap without hesitation.

Her warmth seeped into him, her purr smoothing the frayed edges of his nerves.

His mind drifted—back to last night’s frantic packing, to the orchestrated family photos that morning, to threading through Diagon Alley without a parent to steady him when the shopkeeper muttered, “Um… do we have that in stock?” No reassuring hand on his shoulder.

It had been a long day. A long summer.

Haven turned to the window, letting the rhythm of steam and chatter fade into the background. Hogwarts made sense to him—a strange thing to say about a school balanced on the impossible—but in Ravenclaw Tower, high above the rest of the castle with its open windows and shelves heavy with books, he could breathe. Think. Be something more than just another voice in a crowded house.

A soft knock pulled him back. He frowned—until the door slid open to reveal Flint, his roommate, wearing that familiar, patient expression.

“Want some time to yourself?” Flint asked.

“You can sit. I’m just tired. Today was… rough.”

“Yeah. That’ll do it,” Flint said, settling across from him with a sketchbook in hand. “I’ll keep quiet.”

“I know you will,” Haven murmured. Lana shifted in his lap, curling tighter. “Let’s just hope this year’s not boring.”

Flint smirked faintly. “Don’t jinx us now.”

Chapter 2: Brewing in the Background

Notes:

Before I released this chapter I had a friend of mine try and write their own version of the story and made it a straight relationship. I can't make ts up

Haven slid onto the steel stool, the familiar din of the potions dungeon wrapping around him like a well-worn coat—shuffling pages, the screech of stools dragged across stone, the clink and clatter of glassware in restless hands. The air smelled of crushed herbs and damp chalk, sharp enough to wake him up. This was his kind of chaos—subtle enough to not overwhelm, messy enough to feel alive.
He leaned his chin into his palm, idly scanning the stream of students—until they arrived. Loud. Brash. Vulgar. The “jocks” of several houses, which for some god-forsaken reason included Ravenclaws, because apparently nerds need varsity letters.
“Umm, some of us are trying to concentrate in class...” a wiry Ravenclaw muttered.
A Ravenclaw in the group grinned. “...just like how your girlfriend has to concentrate to see your dick!”
Dork-on-dork crime… Tragic. Haven thought, A tuft of ebony black hair fell into his vision—then a hand brushed it aside without asking. Mari smirked down at him. A transfer student from Mahoutokoro. Her platinum-blonde hair usually tied up and draped around her shoulders in thick, wavy strands, but today it looked... lived in.
“Sleep in?” Haven asked dryly.
Mari dropped onto the stool beside him with a groan. “Yeah. The one day Bella decides not to be a goody two-shoes, she does it while I’m around...”
“Oh?”
“Apparently she’s got this new Gryffindor boyfriend, so she snuck out last night to see him and ‘forgot’ to wake me up.”
“If this becomes a regular thing, you’ll need to fix your sleep schedule.” Before she could protest, he added, “Yes, I’ll do the work while you do your hair and makeup.”
“Thanks, I owe you.”
“You always owe me,” he snickered.
Mrs. Foxglove—kind-eyed, steady-voiced—ushered the class into a potions review.
Haven sank into the work. Heat, stir, grind, stir again. He measured red wine for an Aging Potion—too much and you’d wrinkle into oblivion, too little and nothing. He counted clockwise stirs for a Wit-Sharpening Potion, biting back a laugh at the irony. Steam from a Pepperup Potion curled into ghostly shapes, smelling faintly of cinnamon. His quill scratched quick notes between each step, his mind hopping between directions and the small, odd details no one else noticed.
He could’ve done this in his sleep—actually, he had, or at least over the summer. Hogwarts wanted students on neat, pre-set tracks. Haven didn’t. He traded favors with upperclassmen for advanced textbooks, always hunting for something harder.
“Perfect color, right texture...” Mrs. Foxglove murmured over their cauldron. “Perfect! You two must’ve been hard at work.”
“Thank you. Oh—do you have any extra sixth-year potion textbooks?”
“Stay after class,” she whispered.
Mari packed up, thanking him again before slipping out to meet her boyfriend. Haven caught sight of them in the corridor—arms wrapped around his neck, feet leaving the floor, laughter spilling out like they had nothing to worry about.
Before the knot in his chest could tighten, a navy book appeared in his line of sight.
“Here you go, Haven~” Mrs. Foxglove chimed.
“Oh. Thanks...” Behind her stood one of the broad-shouldered loudmouth jocks, shuffling from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact. Haven narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
The day wound on—friends, the grounds, new library books.
By dusk, he found himself in the library, glowing with gold light. Haven sat near the fireplace, charred wood crackling, absorbed in a contraband volume: Unknown Transfiguration. Smuggled in by some student long ago, it had escaped staff notice for years and has a multitude of spells that Haven knew would be banned by the ministry if they caught wind of its magic.
Forgia... point your wand to earth material, recite the words, and flick in the opposite direction to raise a pillar. Useful for maneuvering. Or defense. Haven grinned. I wonder how long it’ll take to master this. He looked down at his wand.
His wand—blackthorn, phoenix feather, unyielding—had never quite matched him. Mallory, a twitchy future wandmaker, once called it “powerful, versatile, best in a warrior’s hands... but it needs hardship and deep trust.” Haven could cast fine, but the magic felt lukewarm. Not sluggish like Mallory’s wand (ironically), not blazing like Mari’s. Just... average. He’d stopped chasing that “bond” years ago. Magic was still magic—and he’d take that over being a muggle any day.
After countless hours of page turning, he flipped to the Midas Spell—
—and froze.
It was as if someone had pressed a glass dome over the entire library. All sound dulled, even the fire’s soft crackle. The warm air thinned, replaced by something colder, heavier. Shadows inched along the floor, stretching just past their natural reach. The faint sway of candle flames slowed to an unnatural stillness, each wick bent toward him as if listening.
A tingling pressure worked up his neck, across his shoulders.
He wasn’t alone.
Haven’s eyes skimmed the room—shelves, balconies, open study nooks—but nothing moved. Nothing breathed.
He shut the book. I need to go.
Climbing the spiral stair to the highest towers, he reached the bronze eagle knocker.
“A sea with no waters, hills with no earth, roads never stepped on. What am I?”
“You are a map,” he answered without pause.
The door opened to the Ravenclaw lobby—white stone traced with bronze constellations, open windows spilling sky into the room, tall shelves whispering for attention.
Through the lobby, up to his room. Flint lay sprawled on his bed, sketching.
“You okay? You look nervous.”
“I’m fine. Just... felt something weird in the library.”
“Well,” Flint said, pencil still moving, “in a world with invisibility spells, your eyes can lie to you. Trust your gut.”
The words stuck—sour and certain. Accepting them meant accepting something unknown, and dangerous, had stepped into his world.
Climbing to his bunk, Haven heard Flint’s voice again.
“Take care, alright?”
“I will. Goodnight, Flint.”
“Goodnight.”

Chapter 3: The Tower

Summary:

You either twink long enough to become a twunk, or you start eating the estrogen syringe.

TO PREFACE- No comments made about drag or wigs are made with bad intentions, I love drag queens and am interesting in preforming drag myself. We love Sticka Mayass in this household

Still groggy from a night of poor sleep, Haven dragged himself into Divination, rubbing his eyes against the assault of light prisms and suffocating shades of purple. Professor Poppy’s voice rang out from the front of the room, as obnoxiously bright as the décor.
“Greetings and salutations, students! Please come to the front desk and I’ll tell you who you’re paired with for the rest of the year!”
Dread crawled up Haven’s spine. He mentally tallied who he did and did not want to get stuck with until his name was called.
“Ah, Haven! I’m sure you’ll do great in this class—you’re paired with… Caspian!”
The Brunet Slytherin boy from yesterday stepped out of line, shoulders squared, gaze sharp. Poppy beamed.
“I’m sure you two will make a great pair. Table Four.”
They sat. Poppy launched into a bubbly sermon on the “sacred art of divination,” but Haven’s head slumped against his hand, fighting to keep himself awake.
A throaty whisper nudged him awake.
“I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be on top of it.”
Haven blinked, slow. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Ravenclaw has other virtues, you know.”
“Well, yeah, but they all involve being annoying little know-it-alls.”
“Just like how all of Slytherin’s virtues involve being a dick?”
Before Caspian could retort, Poppy clapped sharply.
“Shuffle the tarot cards! Draw three, these represent your past, present and future, and document your findings.”
Caspian shuffled, the deck whispering between his fingers. Haven didn’t believe in fortune-telling, but ever since the library incident, a knot of unease twisted in his gut.
Caspian set the deck out in front of Haven, the two sat in silence broken only by the card-shuffling of other students.
“You gonna start?” Caspian muttered.
“Oh—sure. I just thought since you were shuffling, you wanted to go first.”
“No, you start.”
Haven arched an eyebrow, picked up the deck. To spite him, he drew three for himself and three for Caspian, sliding the rest of the deck across the table. Caspian shot him a heavy side-eye.
“Alright,” Haven jeered, “you flip yours first.”
Caspian smirked. “Ladies first.”
Haven rolled his eyes and turned over his first card.
“My past: the High Priestess…” He skimmed the meaning. Lack of center, lost inner voice, repressed feelings.
Caspian snorted.
“Shut up. Your turn.”
Caspian flipped his own past card.
“The Devil,” he read, lips twitching. Addiction, materialism, playfulness.
“Well then that’s sorted,” Haven said. “I’m repressed, and you’re a materialistic addict.”
Caspian let out a sharp breath through his nose. “If you’re so small and innocent, let’s see what happened.” He snatched Haven’s second card.
“The Moon. Uncertainty, confusion, complexity, unconsciousness.” His evil smile cut sharp. “Did you bribe the Sorting Hat to let you into Ravenclaw so you wouldn’t feel like a dumbass?”
Haven’s fingers twitched toward his quill—he wanted to snap back, but instead flipped all the remaining cards in irritation.
Caspian’s present: Seven of Swords, deception and trickery.
Their weirdly shared future: The Tower. Disaster, destruction, trauma, chaos.
The painted tower seemed taller than the card itself, fire licking its edges. The two stared at it until their throats went dry. They gazed at each other again, more silence weighing them down.
Professor Poppy’s voice broke the tension. “Oh dear… that’s quite troubling…”
The grandfather clock boomed a sudden, jarring melody, signaling class was over.
“GYAH! Dammit!” Poppy flailed. “Someone remind me to change that blasted clock!”
The class erupted. Haven shoved his things into his bag, glad to escape.
Transfiguration meant familiar faces: Flint, Mari, and her new boyfriend Caleb.
Caleb had the softest look Haven had ever seen—freckles scattered across his cheeks, hair a wild halo of curls, eyes shining like he hadn’t yet been disappointed by life. He glanced at Haven, worry creasing his brow.
“Woah, you okay?”
“Oh my god, how’d you get even whiter?” Mari cackled.
Haven collapsed beside Flint with a sigh. “It’s nothing. Just came from Divination.”
“Bad reading?” Flint asked gently.
“Wait—you actually believe that crap?” Mari teased.
“Well, no, but if someone told you you’re in extreme danger, you’d be at least a little anxious.”
“Silence!” roared Professor Hydrangea, his shrill voice somehow both booming and nasal. His beard swallowed half his face, making him look like a dwarf whose vocal cords had been hexed.
Hydrangea produced a trunk of wigs. “Today we’ll practice Crinus Muto!” He plopped a neon-pink bob on a stand, waved his wand, and the wig transformed into a forty-inch black blowout.
A ripple of laughter tried to escape the class. Haven bit his tongue until Mari leaned forward and whispered, “What does Hydrangea know about a forty-inch blowout?” Students snorted. Caleb added, “Bet he does drag in Hogsmeade.”
Mari grinned. “Drag name’s gotta be something like Sticka Mayass.”
Haven’s chest hurt from holding back laughter—until Mari muttered the death blow:
“…I just know he makes a mean Snookie impression.”
The room detonated. Students doubled over; Haven bent against the desk, wheezing—but out of the corner of his eye, Flint smiled faintly, watching the flowing black hair shimmer under the classroom light. He didn’t laugh with the rest. He just looked thoughtful, almost wistful, before snapping his gaze away. Haven didn’t think much of it.
Hydrangea’s glare slammed the class back into silence.

As soon as they were dismissed, Haven groaned, “Dude, I can’t handle another divination lesson, my partner single handedly destroyed any interest in that subject.”
Mari cocked her head. “Ohhh, who’d you get paired with?”
“Caspian.” Haven spat the name like poison.
Mari blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh, that guy. Trust me, you drew the short straw.”
“You know him?”
“Unfortunately. Slytherin dorm, remember? Last year he dared one of his idiot friends to put glue in my shampoo bottle.”
Caleb winced. Flint muttered, “That’s cruel.”
Mari’s grin sharpened. “Cruel, but not clever. If you’re gonna prank, at least do it with style.” She nudged Haven. “Come on. Help me come up with something better for his friend. If Caspian wants chaos, we’ll give him chaos.”
Haven’s exhaustion didn’t stand a chance against the spark in her eyes. “Fine. But we need ideas.”
“Library,” Mari said, already marching. “There’s a whole section on mischief. If you know where to look, meet me there at night, the librarian Mrs.Hazel is supposed to be at a teacher conference.”
They snuck into the Pranks and Trickery shelves, dust motes glittering in the lamplight. Mari pulled a book half her size off the shelf and dropped it on the table with a grin. “Let’s find this loser something to cry about.”
But Haven hesitated, tugging another book from his satchel. Its cover was darker, heavier, etched with faint silver lettering.
Unknown Transfiguration.
Mari frowned. “Uh… Haven? That doesn’t look like prank material.”
“It isn’t. But it’s important.” His voice lowered. “There’s a whole series—Unknown Charms, Jinxes, Potions, and more. Forbidden spells. No one’s supposed to know these exist.”
Mari blinked. “And you just… have one?”
“I found it last year. Hidden section, back of the library. I never told anyone.”
She thumbed through, eyes widening. “These aren’t tricks. These are dangerous.”
“That’s why they’re hidden. And why I need to know them.”
Before Mari could argue, a sharp thud sounded upstairs. Both froze.
Mari’s hand clamped his arm. “We’re not alone… Follow me, and watch your step, I don’t want any ‘I stepped on a twig’ shit.”
They crept toward the sound, nerves tight. A shadow flickered overhead. Haven’s focus sharpened on the stairwell. They made their way upstairs, Mari gripping on Haven's sleeve. Another crash, closer this time, drew them deeper between the rows.
But when they circled back down, Haven’s stomach dropped.
The book was gone.
“Shit.”
Mari spun on him. “Tell me you didn’t leave it lying out—”
“I thought— I didn’t—” His voice faltered.
A shadow flickered at the very back of the library. Then the faintest shift of books being pulled off shelves. Haven’s heart lurched.
He sprinted, Mari on his heels, but when they reached the far alcove, the shelves were noticeably bare, He glanced up, realizing too late what had happened.
“The whole series,” he whispered. His own words from earlier felt like a curse. “He didn’t just take one. He took all of them.”
Mari’s jaw tightened. Trying to rationalize, she started rambling, “I mean It’s one pillar spell, how bad could—”
“There’s hex that can incapacitate someone by defining them. Permanently.”
Her jaw dropped. “And you didn’t report this?”
“I just wanted to know everything there was to know about magic, alright?”
“Forbidden dark magic, in the hands of—whoever that was. Maybe next time, let’s just hand them a fucking knife and say kill me please!”
“How was I supposed to—”
“I do not want to hear it Haven, if we go to Azkaban or worse, get killed because ‘you just had to know everything about magic’, I’ll kill you before anything else gets the chance.”
Before Haven could answer, a lantern’s glow cut across the room.
Mrs. Hazel, the librarian, appeared at the end of the aisle—tall, ageless, with a gaze sharp as owl-eyes despite the softness of her smile. Her thin frame was bent under a bag stuffed with scrolls and books that looked far too heavy for her, and her normally impeccable robes were slightly rumpled. She let out a soft sigh, clearly frazzled.
“Library’s closing, children,” she said mildly. “Best head back before the prefects do their rounds.”
Her eyes lingered on Haven, knowing, as if she’d read the panic in his face. But she said nothing more, only drifted off into the stacks like she’d been part of them all along. Haven and Mari exchanged a glance, tension knotting in their chests.
Mari sighed, “We’ll figure this out later. Right now, we should go before she locks us in.”

As Haven crept back toward the dormitory, his stomach still twisted, he froze when he passed the Divination room. Through a half-open window, soft, choking sobs reached him.
“Dark… dark energy…” a muffled voice whispered, accompanied by the clink of glass.
Haven crouched behind a stone ledge. Through the window he saw the unmistakable figure of Professor Poppy—alone, a half-empty bottle at his side, head in his hands. “It’s… it’s all… chaos…” the professor muttered. Haven’s mind raced. Is he involved?
Before he could dwell, a sharp hiss behind him made him jump. A tall prefect, robe fluttering, eyes narrowed, appeared out of the shadows.
“Out this late, Mr. Haven?” the prefect demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Haven’s arm and marched him back toward the Ravenclaw Tower.
Haven’s pulse pounded in his ears, a little embarrassed, he wasn’t a hulking man, but he wasn’t a child? Still he said nothing as the Prefect guided Haven to the Ravenclaw towers.
By the time Haven stumbled into the dorm, his body felt hollowed out. Flint was still awake, sketchbook balanced on his knees.
“You’re late,” Flint said, voice low but not reproachful. “Library?”
Haven just dropped onto his bunk with a groan. “You could say that.”
Lana padded across the quilt, curling into the crook of his arm. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Flint closed his sketchbook, watching him. “I don’t know what’s going on in your life, Haven. But right now…” His voice softened, almost weightless. “…you need to live in the present. Do what you can today, so you have something left for tomorrow.”
Haven stared at the ceiling. The words slid into him like cool water. Rest wasn’t defeat. Rest was survival. “Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re right.”
For a moment, the room was peace itself. Soft scratching quills and the quiet rustle of pages from outside the room. The moon spilling silver across the floorboards. Haven’s eyelids sagged, heavy, his body sinking deeper into the mattress.
And then—
BOOM.
The floor jolted beneath them. Cries erupted as students scrambled to the windows. Haven staggered to his feet, Flint steadying him as they leaned out into the night air.
Out on the grounds below, a colossal stone pillar had ripped its way from the earth, stabbing skyward until it nearly brushed the stars.
Gasps, shrieks, bodies shoving forward. The common room swelled with frantic energy—wild, consuming, like fire leaping from beam to beam. The prefect from before barged through the door and rushed to the window.
Haven’s eyes widened, the image searing into him. The chaos in the Tower wasn’t just panic—it was the Tarot card made flesh. The Tower aflame. People tumbling from its broken windows. Collapse and ruin, scrawled across their lives.
The pillar itself loomed like a warning. Too deliberate. Too powerful. A dark promise rising from the soil of Hogwarts itself.