Baubles

inspired by this prompt
13 July 1979; The Laurels, Bargeddie, City of Glasgow, Scotland, UK
The air in the attic's stupid hot and close—hot enough to make even /him sweat—as he shifts the latest crate from the stack and lifts the lid.
Glass baubles, the entire score and five of 'em suspiciously dust-free, gleam up at him.
He sits back on his heels, wipes his forehead on his sleeve.
"What'ye got there?" asks Donal, peering over his shoulder. "Christmas ornaments?"
"Looks like. 'cept there's girls' names and years on each."
"Wha?" Donal leans closer, squints. 
"Think they're for Lithgow's daughters?"
"Don't think he had any, but fuck knows." Donal shrugs. "S'pose we could ask Booth what they're about."
He hefts the box. "Or we could just pitch 'em." Pushes to his feet.
'Sorcha 1790' rolls over the edge, smashes against the floor.
The seventeen fragments emit a long, steady /hiss, like Ma's pressure cooker on canning day.
He and Donal eyeball the mess.
/sssssshhhhhh
"That's likely a bad sign," he says.
/sssssshhhhhh
"Yea, should probably take a couple steps back," agrees Donal.
/sssssshhhhhh
"Aye."
/sssssshhhhhh
They do, retreating to the top of the ladder.
/pop!
A girl, black-haired, naked as the day she's born, and young—/maybe sixteen—blinks up at them.
He looks away, face heating wickedly.
Donal lunges, flings a dusty sheet over her.
She squeaks, clutches it to her chest, demands in a shaking voice, "Who're you?" Flicks her eyes around the space. "Where'm I?"
He bobs his chin. "'m Jamie." Tilts his head. "He's Donal and we're in Bargeddie."
"Bar—what've you done to me?!"
"See that glass around ye? He dropped it and you appeared. Just—" Donal gestures vaguely. "—/poof!"
"I—what?" She looks up, eyes wide.
"We're just as confused as you," assures Donal.
"Aye." He settles the box carefully on the floor, straightens, ruffling his hair. "You're Sorcha, yea?"
"Aye," she whispers.
"What's the last thing ye remember?"
"I ... I—" Sorcha clears her throat. "I was taking tea with my parents, Laird Lithgow, and his friend in a cafe on George Street." She looks down at herself. "I had clothes."
He side-eyes Donal. "When was that?"
"Fifth October."
"What year?"
"Seventeen-ninety."
"/Jesus," breathes Donal.
He swallows, still croaks, "Right. Donal'll help ye find some proper kit. I've got to talk to someone."
"Let's get you downstairs, lassie." Donal offers a hand up.
Sorcha looks dubious.
Donal aims for 'harmless gentleman' and nearly pulls it off.
Sorcha, though, buys it well enough to accept the hand, wobble to her feet.
He leads the march down the ladder, stomps all the way to the first floor office.
Booth turns from the file cabinet, eyebrow up.
"Girls under glass in the attic: /explain." 
Booth cringes.
"You knew," he growls, crowding Booth against the wall.
"So did Dame Kearney."
"An' ye din't see fit t'tell /me?"
Booth swallows.
"Explain. /Now."
Booth, eyes firmly on the floor, swallows again, rasps, "Wh-when Laird Lithgow found an exceptional girl, he'd call a wi-wizard friend. They'd take her to tea, then bring her here, unconscious. Next thing, there'd be another ball in that crate. You found th—"
"/And?"
"A-and Every few years or-or on special occasions, the laird'd break one and drink up the girl."
"He Turn any of 'em?"
"No, sir."
"Let one live?"
Booth shakes his head.
He steps aside, points. "Get outta my sight. Go work in the kitchen." 
"Y-yes, sir." Booth slinks out.
He takes three deep, deep breaths, then seizes the phone handset, spins through the number.
The thing rings twice and—
""Gowdie~!""
"Isobel, it's Jamie Lennon in Glasgow. I've got—" He takes a deep breath. "I've some /really dark magic in this house I'm emptying. I need yer help."
""What makes you think it's dark magic?""
"I broke some coloured glass and got a naked girl thinks it's still the eighteenth century. There's twenty-four of 'em still bottled in the attic."
""Oh dear. Where're you?""
He gives the address.
""I'll be there in three shakes.""
"Thanks, Isobel. Front door's unlocked."
""You're welcome, love~!""
He tracks Donal and Sorcha to a second floor bedroom.
Donal leans next to the closed door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "What'd he say?"
"We found Lithgow's 'wine cellar'."
"You called Gowdie?"
"Yea. If anyone can deal with this, it's her."
Donal grunts agreement.
"What've you told the girl?"
"She's welcome to whatever she wants, we're not gonna touch her, and a woman's coming to help."
He rubs the back of his neck, huffs.
Donal raises an eyebrow.
"I've revised my regrets 'bout killing Lithgow. All those girls ...." 
"Ye figure they're all same age as this one?"
"Seems likely. Bloody /children." He shudders.
"Same, mate." Donal shakes his head. "Ye may've done Glasgow a favour."
"Hate to admit it, but, aye."
The door twitches open.
Sorcha peeks through the gap.
"C'mon out. We'll wait for my lady-friend in the lounge, yea?"
The door swings wider and she sidles into the hall, wearing what must be half of the ladies' clothes in the house.
Donal leads the way; Sorcha follows, slippered feet quiet on the stairs and rugs to the front reception.
He and Donal plop side-by-side on the sofa.
Sorcha perches on an armchair.
No one knows quite where to look.
""Anyone home~?""
Sorcha jumps.
"We're in the reception, Isobel!" he hollers. To Sorcha, quieter, "That's the lady-friend I mentioned."
Sorcha nods, slowly.
Isobel sashays in, sings, "Hello, my dear Misters Kennedy and Lennon~!"
He bobs his head.
"'ello, Miz Gowdie."
"And you, young lady, what shall I call you?"
"Sorcha Hall, ma'am."
"Most charmed." Isobel bows. "Now, what seems to be the upset, Miss Hall?"
"I woke up in their—" Sorcha points an accusatory finger. "—attic, stark naked with no memory of how I came be there! And they were /staring!"
"Well, that's /quite the rude reception."
"We didn't—"
"Hush, dear."
Donal sulks back.
"Now, I'm going to do a simple little test to figure out what's happened to you, alright?"
Sorcha nods.
Isobel smiles, waves a wand over Sorcha's head.
Something like a trail of steam gathers, gets sucked into Isobel's stick.
Isobel steps away with a sharp 'oh'.
He tenses. "What?"
"Traces of a spell I haven't seen in /yonks. Very old, very powerful, this particular Aspic."
"Yer kidding 'bout that name."
Isobel shakes her head. "It serves the same purpose, so."
"Feck—"
He punches Donal's arm. "/Language."
"This must've been Cormag Yaxley's work; only one with the strength and stomach for this sort of thing," mutters Isobel.
"/What sort of thing? What're you /talking about?" demands Sorcha.
Isobel crouches in front of her. "Miss Hall, sweetheart, Laird Lithgow and his friend kidnapped you—"
Sorcha makes a frightened sound.
"Don't ye worry. Lithgow's dead thirteen years now and Miz Gowdie'll keep ye safe from everything else."
—that's not helping, Jamie-dear. Where was—yes! You were kidnapped and held prisoner in Laird Lithgow's attic for a long, long time with magic."
Sorcha blinks rapidly. "Yer mad as a bloody hatter."
"That may be, but what I've said is God's truth."
"You know all this because ...?"
"I use magic, too, and my magic told me so."
Sorcha blinks more.
Isobel offers a hopeful smile.
"So ... you're a witch?"
"I am."
"Are they—" Sorcha points to them. "—witches, too?"
"They're vampires."
Sorcha squeaks, curls up tight.
"Don't worry, Miss Hall. I'm a /good witch and they're /good vampires." Isobel leans closer, stage whispers, "I've also got enough power in my little finger to knock 'em silly if they so much as look at you cross-eyed."
"She absolutely can."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mister Kennedy."
"'welcome, Miz Gowdie."
"But—I—well—I'm not staying here with /them!"
"Of /course you're not. That wouldn't be at /all proper. You'll come home with me."
"But, my family—"
"We'll take care of that after we have you more settled; don't you worry."
"A-alright," whispers Sorcha.
"That's a brave girl. Let me talk to my friends a moment in the hall and we'll start our trip." Isobel straightens as Sorcha nods.
He and Donal scuttle from the room and most of the way to the front door, hopefully out of earshot.
Isobel strolls up, says, "You did the right thing calling me."
"Good."
"Where're the rest of them?"
"Crate at the top of the attic ladder." He laughs weakly. "'m honestly afraid to touch it again."
"I'll be back to collect it after the poor dear's asleep."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"What'll you do?" He rubs the back of his neck. "With her? With all of them?"
"Take them someplace quiet and safe and acclimate them to the twentieth century." Isobel smiles. "Then we'll figure out what they want out of life and help them get it."
He swallows, nods. "Lemme know if I can—"
"Thomas and I'll have it covered, lad. You concentrate on your cleaning." Isobel pats his shoulder. "Call me if you find anything else suspicious."
"Will do."
Isobel gives his arm a gentle squeeze, bobs her head to Donal, heads back into the reception.
Six heartbeats and—
/pop!
"That's done, then," says Donal.
He sags against the foyer wall, lets his head fall back, mumbles, "What've I gotten myself inte?"
"A position of responsibility?"
He snorts a laugh.
"Didn't think this one all the way through, aye?"
"'parently not." He sighs. "Didn't see that coming, at least."
"I've been around a lot longer'n you and I'd never caught a whisper of it, either."
"Not much comfort."
"Better'n nothing."
He concedes.
Donal scratches his nose.
"Ye still want this house?"
"Unless we find a vampire-eating dragon in the basement, yes."
"That's where ye draw the line?"
"Always wanted a country house, so." Donal shrugs. "Changing your mind 'bout letting me have it?"
He grins. "Kinda."
"What do I need t'do to convince ye?"
"Promise me, if I /ever start even /talking about something like what Lithgow did, I want ye to end me right then. No questions asked: put a stick in my heart." 
"Any particular reason?"
"'sides the obvious?"
"Enlighten me."
He growls, "Ye /don't kidnap girls. /Ever."
"This the father in ye talking?"
"That and the bloke who grew up with four sisters and aunties and girl-cousins beyond count."
Donal eyes him up and down.
"What?"
"You're awful human for a vampire king."
He shrugs. "Just kill me if I start trappin' girls under glass, aye? That's an Order."
"Aye, Boss."
Category:Hogwarts!AU