#just going to drag myself around decaying until i die (naturally) or until i hit a rock bottom of sme sort where i have the chance to chang

[a-nywherebut-here]

having a gender moment but i think i also have worse things going on

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One Hundred: Calix and Enzo

Dittany. Asphodel. Wormwood. Violetto. And on and on.

Huffing heavily, Calix massaged his aching temples with coarse fingertips. Like an addict, he kept slinking back towards the obsessive files spread across the wooden desk, searching for something that explained the niggling feeling he had about the normality of the reports. He had found nothing. So, he forcefully pushed the case files away with his wand for the fourth time and sunk onto the workstation.

“Go home.”

The sound cut through Calix’s defeat and he slowly dragged his head from the cold wood of the workstation. He looked over his shoulder to see Doctor Evans towering over him, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat and her sharp eyes reviewing the crumpled papers sprawled across the desk.

“I’ll just finish up here and then I’ll go.”

“No,” Doctor Evans insisted, “Go home now. You’ve done enough work this week and you deserve a break. Perhaps spend some time with Beatrice. I may have frightened her a little the last time she was here.”

“A little?” Calix childishly chuffed, his sour laughter plainly and painfully forced. The mention of Beatrice’s name sent a lonesome shudder through Calix’s spine. He hadn’t spoken with her since she’d left him in the Grotto alone. Although he had tried to find her, nothing had worked. He had simply decided to give her time, despite the heartache that lingered in his chest. “It’s fine, I’ll stay and lend a hand.”

Evans cocked her head to the side. His brittle laugh was worryingly ill-matched to his usual humour and she could tell: “Now what more could you possibly do, my boy? Go spend time with her. I can manage on my own.”

Shaking his head, he ashamedly leaned back in the chair: “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to leave. Beatrice and I had a little fight and it’s killing me. And these fucking files are killing me all over again!”

“Is it the toxicology results?”

Calix’s ear piqued, surprised Evan’s hadn’t chided his bad language: “Yeah, it is. Did you think something's amiss too?”

“Perhaps,” Evans said, pointing at the list of potion components, “I personally have no recollection of ever administering asphodel nor wormwood, do you? Though, I assume it is an artefact - there were four different healers tending to the fallen with four different approaches. Crix and Vincent may have administered perfusion potions or nutritional tinctures while they were caring for the students, which could explain some of the ingredients on the list. Everything is harmless in isolation...”

“In isolation?”

“Yes, on their own. None of them would kill you. Why?””

The gears began to turn frantically inside Calix’s mind and he quickly gathered the papers together. In isolation, harmless; but what about in combination? The gears offered him little solace, his knowledge of potion-making not sufficient to fit the jumbled pieces together in a rational manner. But, he knew someone who could.

“I might actually take that break. I have to see someone.”

Evans stepped away perplexed, nodding her head slowly, “Alright. Take some time to yourself, Calix, understand? And, I’m sure everything will work out just fine. Fights and arguments are inherent to relationships. But, if she ever hurts you purposefully, my boy, you let me know.”

“She wouldn’t. It was just a stupid disagreement.”

“Regardless, Calix, I do not want to see you hurt,” Evans sighed, “Now, get out of my infirmary. I see too much of you.

Calix smiled softly, relieved that Evans’ concerns had reaffirmed his belief that she was not the person pulling Chantal’s strings. Grabbing his wand from the table, he waved goodbye and ran out the infirmary doors.

Now, where the hell do I find Enzo Bellerose?

Enzo stretched his back, yawning as he fawned over notes for Charms in the Den, resting on one of the beds. Now that the Den was a shared space, he would have to find somewhere else quiet to work, the fear of someone walking in always looming overhead. He also did not know if he trusted the others enough to keep their mouths shut about it. He didn’t know them well enough to. He read of a few other places in the small book on the nightstand, but none felt as safe as here.   

The Den was the last place Calix could think of. He had searched the entire castle for elusive Enzo to no avail and their shared secret was the final place he could try. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the corridor behind him was empty and that his silencing charm muffled his speech.

“Blóð.”

The painted lady responded to his reluctant command, the silvery dagger disappearing beneath her pale flesh. As a healer, he hated watching the blade sink deep into her chest. The warm blood dripped down the canvas as the entrance opened and Calix stepped inside, his eyes shut tight.

“Whoever designed that was twisted, fucking twisted,” Calix spat, a sickening shiver running from his head to his toes.

Enzo’s eyes peered up as the portrait sung open, and he reached for his wand, but dropped it when he saw a familiar face step through. He even talks too much when talking to himself. Why do people do that? He shook his head, shaking away the thought as Calix shut the portrait behind him.

“Calix,” he simply said from the bed, setting his notes to the side.

‘Finally,’ Calix thought, taking his rucksack from his shuddering shoulders. He crossed the Den and plopped down onto one of the armchairs, dropping his small bag by his feet.

“Enzo,” Calix smiled, nodding his head towards the evasive Aquilen, who he hadn’t seen since the night in the Gladur, “You’re a hard man to track down, you know that.”

“I thought so, too, until the last couple of days,” Enzo replied, watching Calix make himself at home. In three days Enzo had met with Melanie, Beatrice, and now Calix since the night in the forest. He didn’t know if it was fate’s sick joke on him or if it was luck. Either way, there was no running from it now.

“Did you want something?” he asked, knowing well what the answer would be.

Why else would he be tracking me down?

Calix ignored Enzo’s vague comment and focused more on his abrupt nature. He was reminded again of how little things change, how little people change. Enzo was still Enzo, free of Chantal’s influence. Calix, lost in his own thoughts, reached for his rucksack and pulled on the rough drawstring: “Yeah, I need to pick your brain. If you’re willing.”

Peering into his backpack, he rummaged around inside. His fist clenched one of the case files, scrunching the paper into a compact ball which he tossed across the room towards Enzo.

“Think fast!”

Enzo didn’t have a hard time stopping the wad of paper before it hit his face, levitating it wandlessly. He was no expert at wandless magic, but he knew enough to perform simple tasks.

He furrowed his eyebrows as the parchment hovered an inch from his nose. “Erm, alright,” he said, grabbing the paper and unwadding it, reading the messy handwriting. “What is this all about?”  

“That,” Calix started, putting one leg over the other, “Is a list of all the potion components we found in the blood of the fallen once they woke up. I don’t remember half of them being administered by Doctor Evans nor me, which is worrying in itself. But, it could’ve been Crix, dishing out potions liberally like he always does, or even Professor Vincent.

“But, we’ve had four students asleep for two months and other than that list of weird ingredients, there’s fuck all to explain it. So, I was wondering if you could help me figure out if any of those ingredients, if given in combination, could result in some sort of sedative effect. I simply don’t know enough about potion-making to make the call myself.”

Enzo read through the document, tilting his head when he arrived at the list of ingredients: Dittany. Asphodel. Wormwood. Violetto. Poison Ivy. Nux Mystiria. Those are what stood out to Enzo the most.

He sat for a moment, reeling through his brain for answers on how these ingredients could come into play. “Tell me, do you have any Potions majors working at the infirmary?”

Calix watched Enzo intently from the comfort of the armchair, running his fingers through his matted hair. He had no idea whether or not Enzo would be able to offer any help, but observing how Enzo tackled the list of ingredients, like Calix tackling a medical event, solidified a knowingness that he had come to the right person.

“Yeah, we do,” Calix sighed, “His name is Teddy Crix, thinks potions are the answer to everything, and I mean everything. Why do you ask?”

Enzo nodding, recognizing the name. “Well then, it looks like I have competition in Potions,” he said, taking a deep breath before continuing.  

“Asphodel is a common ingredient used in potions that have to do with death or decay; ancient Greeks often believed that it was what the dead in the Underworld fed on. But it could not be very strong in this potion or the students would die.”

His eyes scanned the paper again, and he ran his thumb along the edges of it, as he so often did when reading. It was then that the Poison Ivy and Nux Mystiria caught his attention. “Poison Ivy can be easily altered with magic to give an effect similar to an allergic reaction to a witch or wizard - one that could even leave them comatose. However, that would also have happened almost immediately… Unless… there was something to Nox it.” He was nearly talking to himself now, only half paying attention to the fact that Calix was in the room. “Nux Mystiria is kind of an anomaly. It’s used in both the Muggle and Wizarding World. For Muggles, it’s hardly more than a spice known as nutmeg. For us, it can be used as a numbing cream, of sorts. Once in your system, it acts as a strong adhesive, sticking to your immune system as a sort of barrier. It would be a good way to ensure that the potion didn’t take effect until much later…”

He looked up to Calix. “And then Dittany, simply to heal wounds so they would not remain permanent. Whoever administered this did not want them to die.”

“Competition?”

Before Calix could ask any more, Enzo suddenly began to share more knowledge than he expected, his long soliloquy throwing Calix for a loop. Maybe things did change. Enzo had never spoken at such lengths.

Calix desperately floundered for a pen in his rucksack and started to furiously write down as much of what Enzo was saying as he possibly could on the back of a case file. His neat script warped into a messy scrawl that littered the page, running along the edges and the margins with additional scribbles from Calix’s gears as little medical implications and contraindications sprung forth.

“You sound almost in awe of whoever did this, if this was deliberate,” Calix pondered out loud, looking up from his flurry of notes, “We use medicinal essence of dittany regularly, that would’ve slipped right under the radar and realistically only have healing properties. We probably even gave them dittany when they first arrived, but it should’ve metabolised long ago. Which means it was being re-introduced, which means it needed to be there to stop something else. So, looking at poison ivy and asphodel - tell me, do they need to be given simultaneously or can two separate potions co-interact?”

“Simultaneously,” Enzo simply responded, wadding up the paper and throwing it back to Calix. “You would notice effects of the Poison Ivy if it was given first. Rashes. Swelling. It all would have had to been compacted into one brew.”  

The crumpled ball of paper struck Calix’s face without response, falling softly into his lap. He stared down at the sheet of paper, momentarily stunned by the realisation and speaking quietly to himself: “One brew. Someone administered a potion that triggered delayed anaphylaxis, immunocompromisation and coma in four helpless students, using ingredients we wouldn’t detect as harmful. They used nutmeg for Christ sake! How the fuck did Chantal do that?”

“Why don’t you ask your Potions expert?” Enzo said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Crix?” Calix asked, “If it could be done by accident, maybe. But, what you’re suggesting is he broke his Hippocratic oath.”

Enzo packed away his things as Calix spoke, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He walked over, looking down to where Calix stood, folding his arms over his chest. “There are more than a few people in this school breaking oaths,” he said dimly. “Watch him. We’ll talk about this Sunday.”

“If he did do this,” Calix spat, bilious anger bristling in the back of his throat at the notion of a mediwizard having malice of forethought and intent to grievously harm other, and reacting with the heartache that still gripped his chest, “I’m going to kill him.”

Ripping the sheet in his lap into a million fragments, Calix stood quickly and threw the paper into the immortal fire, his mind blurred by anger: “You’re coming Sunday, then?”

Enzo nodded in response, finally deciding that he would. He would need to face Natasha sooner or later, and now that he knew not everyone wanted him dead, he felt better about it.

“Then, welcome back, Mr. Bellerose,” Calix hurled viciously, snatching his rucksack from the floor and storming out of the Den in a fit of rage. Between his indefinite relationship with Beatrice, his war of words and threats with Natasha and potentially murderous opinion of Theodore Crix, Calix was fit to burst and he absolutely no place to go.

Nowhere to go and no one to talk to.

He felt completely lost.

His world shattered.