Alastor was curious about human holidays and celebrations. Prosper and Nell had told him about Christmas, Halloween (which he already knew well about, but the excited look on the childrens faces as they enthusiastically told Alastor about it was too much to say no to), Hanukkah. But Alastor wanted to see some for himself. So, when Founder's Day came about, Alastor decided he wanted to pay Prosper a visit.
He had a hard time finding Prosper amongst the groups of people. No matter, Alastor would find him eventually. In the meantime, he decided to explore. He didn't exactly get the chance to observe Redhood when the Fiends came charging in. The buildings had more color to them, the there was more food for everyone, there was enough homes for everyone to live in, there was just *more*.
There was a gazebo in the town square, where a group of men were singing in harmony. The singing and music that came along with it was unlike anything he had heard in Downstairs. It was unlike anything he had heard ever. He liked it.
While taking in the sights and sounds that Redhood had to offer him and also trying to find Prosper, the sun had settled into the horizon, tossing blankets of pink and orange into the sky. The sound of crackling had began, making Alastors ears perk. A very large group of people were huddled around a small fire, throwing slips of paper into the flames. It was rather cold out, so Alastor decided to get closer to the fire.
A large burly man trudged up to the group of people, a short and thick log, that he possibly retrieved from his own fireplace at home, on his shoulder. The man dropped the log into the flames, sending sparks up into the air. The sudden growth of the fire made Alastor jump. The fire became larger as more people approached it and threw sticks, logs, and paper into it.
What was once a tiny and humble fire was now tall and large, reaching high into the night sky, as if reaching for the stars. The flames twirled, sending tall shadows dancing across the walls of buildings and stands. The shadows seemed to close in on Alastor, like a pack of wolves closing in on game. The fire clawed at him, desperate to burn something more than just wood, like a child who had grown tired of the same food.
Alastor could feel the heat on his skin, singeing his fur, even though he was nowhere near close enough for the fire to burn him. He felt himself shrink, literally. Fear began to creep up on him like predator. Memories resurfaced in his mind. Unpleasant memories.
He was bound. Bound to a wooden stake, standing atop a mess of hay and wood. The Reddings and the town of South Port surrounded him, chanting and yelling and shouting and urging Honor to hurry up and burn it.
Honor stood before him, a smaller wooden stake in his hand, a small flame lit on top. The look in Honors eye was one of pure hatred. Hatred and anger and greed. A look Alastor never wanted anyone to make at him ever again.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and beg and plead. He wanted Honor to untie him and free him from the servant girls body. He wanted to lay on the raggedy old rug in Honors shack. He wanted to tell him stories of Downstairs, of his brothers, of his kind. He wanted Honor to tell him stories of his wife, his children. He wanted Honor to curse and rant about the Bellegraves. He just wanted his friend. His only friend.
Without warning, Honor dropped the stake into the hay, sending sparks flying into the air. The servant girl he was trapped inside let out a shreik and began thrashing and crying and screaming to be untied. Alastor had just enough sense to consume the fear and panic the girl was feeling. He could barely taste the flavor of the emotions over the smell and taste of smoke on his tongue
Pain. It started at the girls quivering feet and quickly began to climb up the fabric of her dress. The girls screams mixed with Alastors, a cacophony of bloodcurdling agony. Any love or respect that Alastor felt towards Honor burned along with the girl, being replace by hate and a strong desire for revenge. With one last burst of magic, Alastor swore to any being he could think of that he would take back everything he gave Honor Redding and more.
The crowd cheered when the fire died down to reveal the blackened and charred corpse of what had once been an innocent servant girl. But by then, Alastor was long gone.
Snapping out of his trance, Alastor spun around and took off, fully intending to find the nearest reflective surface and high tail it back Downstairs. By then, he had shrank in size dramatically, now being just as small, if not smaller, than a kit.
His only focus was getting back home, which is why he didn't notice the pair of legs rapidly approaching until he had slammed right into them. Prosper let out a shout of surprise, he had been too caught up in his thoughts to notice any of his surroundings. He looked down at his feet, not knowing what to expect. Despite not expecting anything in particular, Prosper was surprised to find a small white ball of fur, shaking and whimpering and heaving like a dog who had been kicked by its owner. Prosper would have mistaken the animal for a common kitten if it hadn't been for the impossible to not notice eyes of the creature. One blue, one black.
Prosper was scared to find out what could have possibly frightened Alastor enough to turn into such a wreck, until he realized where Alastor had ran from. The bonfire.
He could never for forget the true nature behind the tradition, and he could *never* forget that his friend had played a crucial role in the creation of that tradition.
Without a word, Prosper scooped up the tiny ball of white in his hands and dutifully turned around and marched right back home. He didn't care that he would miss the bonfire. He could never enjoy it after learning of its sick origins, anyway.
Carefully sitting down on his bed and setting Alastor on his lap, he did the only thing he could think to do. He stroked up and down Alastors fluffy white fur, calming him down so he could return to his natural size, thank him, and fall asleep.
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