Penwick

Devon was starving. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. Dinner had been ages ago. Then there had been the Sorting Ceremony, which ended around 11 pm, then a little bit of getting to know new housemates, showing them around, and by the time Devon had actually gotten into bed his stomach had decided that none of the food he had eaten earlier counted anymore.

He had tried ignoring it.

Five minutes.

Then ten.

He rolled over.

His stomach growled.

“Shut up,” he muttered into his pillow.

It did not shut up.

As a second year, Devon had learned a lot about life at Penwick. One: you actually could live on less sleep than the professors tell you. Two: the castle was much easier to navigate when there weren’t hundreds of students charging through it. Three: there were kitchens in the subterranean.

That third piece of information was currently the important one.

So, sometime after he was reasonably sure everyone else in the dorm had settled, Devon slipped out of bed, shoved his feet into trainers, and quietly left. He didn’t bother changing out of what he was sleeping in. Loose sweats, old shirt, hoodie thrown over top. Good enough. He wasn’t going anywhere important. He didn't even bother to put his coloured contacts back in.

He quickly navigated out of the common room, and opting to use the stairs to get down instead of the portiport, as he had learned Four: People don't like patrolling the stairs because they are a pain in the ass to climb up and down.

Devon stopped at the bottom of the stone staircase and stared down the corridor ahead. Alchemy classroom wasn't too far from here, and the Modron common room was... somewhere here, and the kitchens were... Somewhere else. No problem.

He looked left.

Then right.

Nope.

Absolutely no idea.

“Brilliant...” How big could this part of the castle be? He'd run into the kitchens eventually, he figured, deciding to just walk in a direction and stick to it.

It was kind of spooky downstairs, the same feeling he'd gotten in his grandma's basement when he was younger. Pipes gave the occasional hollow creak. His footsteps bounced back at him from the walls, sounding like someone was walking several paces behind him if he thought about it too much.

So he didn’t.

Eventually, Devon thought he smelled something... Wet rock. Herbs. And then, ever so faintly... Jam?

Devon stopped and sniffed again. Definitely jam.

His face lit up as he realized he was close to his midnight snack. He followed the corridor into the cellars, where barrels lined the walls in long rows, and the shelves had been packed with jars and tins of food as far as the eye could see. Devon briefly wondered why he had ever bothered trying to find the kitchens at all. This was much better.

He walked farther inside, reading labels as he went.

Preserves, beans, pickled onions, more preserves, something labelled flobberworm mucus.

Devon recoiled and moved away from that shelf immediately.

There were several large wheels of cheese farther down, but Devon couldn't exactly just take a bite out of those.

Eventually he found a small jar of something that looked like strawberry jam and, nearby, a baguette wrapped in cloth.

Wicked.

He pulled the bread closer, grateful that whoever had baked it had seemingly charmed it to never go stale, when his stomach dropped.

Something moved behind him.

Something had definitely moved.

His grip tightened around the baguette. For several seconds he stayed completely still. After a few moments of silence, he slowly turned his head toward the rows of barrels behind him. It was dark (duh, it's nighttime underground), and Devon narrowed his eyes to try and make out something in the shadows before he had a realization.

He was almost thirteen years old now. He had been at Penwick for an entire year. He had been in actual fights. He had been knocked flat by spells. He was not about to get scared because some barrel made a noise.

Another sound.

Devon shot upright. Never mind. He was terrified. He was going to die tonight.

He raised the baugette, clutched in both hands like an extremely ineffective weapon. Devon took one cautious step between the barrels. Then another. He leaned around the edge of the nearest shelf-

And nearly walked straight into someone.