Black Cats

Max woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in… well, in a while.

She sat up, and stretched - her hands arcing casually over her head. Her loose white t-shirt rode up her taut stomach, a little, and she relished the feeling of the cold air against her skin.

“Ahem.”

She startled - and glanced in front of her.

Brooke was sitting on the ground next to her bed.

“Jesus-!” she bit, stumbling back a bit. If she’d been on her bed at home, she almost certainly would’ve stumbled off. “Brooke? What’re you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up,” she said, offering her an eyebrow raise. “We have an arithmancy class to get to, and you slept right through most of breakfast. I decided to let you sleep in. Nice stomach, by the way.”

Max flushed red to her collar, and flung her legs off the side of the bed.

“How long until class?” she muttered - and paused. “Plus, how did you know I have that class with you?”

“I looked at your schedule. To see what other classes you’d taken extra blocks for,” Brooke said - apparently not noticing how Max stiffened. “I think you’ve made a mistake or two, though, drawing this out - the copies the teacher gave you made sense, but… you’ve got a few overlapping blocks here.”

Max had to frantically search for the subtleties in Brooke’s voice without turning around. To see if she’d been caught.

Brooke sounded genuine. And her first guess certainly shouldn’t have been time travel.

But she was suspicious.

Max would have to be more careful. Much more careful. She might get the turner taken away if she broke Hoida’s rules - one of which was that her friends sure as hell couldn’t know about it.

“I messed some stuff up,” Max muttered, walking to the bathroom door. “I’ll get it re-drawn soon. I’ve got a free block tomorrow - I’ll do it then. How much time do we have until class?”

“About ten minutes. So make that shower quick,” Brooke said, standing. “I’ll wait for you, but I’d rather not be late. I saved you some sausage, by the way - it’s on your nightstand.”

Max couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Brooke.”

“Don’t mention it,” Brooke said, keeping her eyes firmly above Max’s jawline. Mainly because Max wasn’t currently wearing pants, and her t-shirt was slipping off one of her shoulders.

Max walked into the bathroom. The second the door closed, the blank mask slipped off Brooke’s face.

“...I didn’t know you wore jewelry,” she muttered under her breath, the image of a glint of gold on Max’s neck flashing in her mind.

“...You’re hiding something.”

Arithmancy was… interesting.

And hard. It was very hard.

This was mainly because it was… well, exactly what it said on the tin. Arithmetic sorcery. Math magic.

And it was around seventy percent math, thirty percent magic. And one hundred percent frustration.

The fact that Brooke had actually managed to make a spell practically made her the best authority on the subject to Max. Arithmancy was a massive part of making a spell - the numbers involved were honestly sickeningly complex. Even though Brooke had just made a fairly simple area-of-effect charm - Muffliato, which caused an odd buzzing in the ears of nearby people that would obscure the sound of two people talking, and thus prevent eavesdropping - and an easy hex - Langlock, which stuck someone’s tongue to the roof of their mouth and made them unable to speak - it was still incredibly impressive. And Brooke said she was in the middle of making another spell which she might take a year or two to finish - a full-on combat spell.

This made her the best Arithmancy student in the class. And it made her a wonderful study partner, even if she often had trouble enunciating exactly how to do certain math problems. She made it sound like Egyptian at times - but it seemed to come as easily as English to her.

It was the second Arithmancy class Max had had. The first had been with the Slytherins, who were - of course - wonderful at Arithmancy.

The teacher gave them all an assignment to do, by the next class they had - which was the day after tomorrow. Some simple worksheets to do, some tables of equations to fill out.

It looked like Latin to Max.

Leaving the classroom was like a weight off her chest.

She had to use her time turner, to get to her next class.

Only problem being - Brooke was clung firmly to her side.

“Uh - crap - I think I left my textbook,” Max said, taking a step back. “I should probabl-”

“I’ll get it,” Brooke fired back in a moment. “You need to catch up with Kate to go to potions anyway, right? You shouldn’t need it for a while. I’ll get it for you and give it to you at lunch.”

Max felt a small shard of panic dig into her ribs.

“No, that’s alright,” Max said instantly, taking another step back. “It was my bad - I should go-”

“I’ll get it. You go to your next class,” Brooke said, already walking off to the Arithmancy classroom.

She vanished into the crowd.

“...Fuck,” Max muttered.

...Well. Whatever. She’d just say that it had been at the bottom of her bag.

Next time, she should actually leave something in the classroom, if that was going to be her excuse.

She ducked into an alcove, and spun the turner once.

The world shifted.

This time, she saw it all clearly. Heard the sounds. It was like a great, shrill scream - her ears popped with the pressure of the sudden shift. Students reversed, vanished, and returned in a split-second. Blinding amounts of movement and light.

It was like being in the eye of a storm.

By the end - it was like nothing had changed. There was the same amount of class-switching traffic. The same amount of noise.

Like it had all just been one big, passing storm. That had crashed in, and vanished the next moment.

She racked her brain for what was happening an hour prior.

...She should be just past this alcove, considering she was in the classroom before the teacher came in.

She slipped into the crowd, and headed in the direction of her first Study of Ancient Runes class.

She had Runes with the Hufflepuffs, luckily, so Kate was there to offer moral support - and assure her that the teacher was competent.

“Mr. Keaton is… weird, but competent,” Kate said. “He… um… well, you’ll see.”

And, indeed - Max saw.

“Welcome back to the classroom, faithful proteges!” he called upon his entrance, a stack of books in his hands, a chalk stain on his cheek and a quill taking notes on a notepad floating behind him. “I do hope thou art ready to saunter forth into the forest of all knowledge, and come out with stings filled to bursting with the venom of curiosity!”

“Just pray there isn’t a pop quiz,” Kate muttered into her ear. “He really likes pop quizzes.”

For the lesson, Keaton demanded that they all draw a fire rune capable of producing blue flames before the class was out. This was a task easier said than done, since blue flame has to burn at about 2600 degrees fahrenheit, or 1400 degrees celsius, meaning you either had to draw a singular rune accurate and strong enough to hold that much magic, and then be able to channel that much magic into it - via incantation or wand - or you had to draw accurate enough strengthening runes to do that for you.

Or, of course, you could go for Max’s unique method of instead creating a rune circle unstable enough to produce such a powerful flame. And since they were all using protective bubbles, it wouldn’t torch the classroom.

When Kate glanced over and saw what she was doing, she turned an alarming shade of white.

“...Max, you aren’t going to-”

“Yep,” Max said, barely repressing the urge to grin widely. “I’m not good enough to do anything else, so…”

Kate didn’t try to say anything about it again for the rest of the lesson - though she did send Max a concerned glance every now and again.

“Ms. Caulfield, I dost believe thou-”

Keaton stopped suddenly when he saw her run circle.

“...Art new to this class,” he muttered, peering at her circle.

She tapped the outside of her protective bubble - and muttered her chosen activation phrase.

“Cool guys don’t look at explosions.”

And her circle burst into a blue fireball.

It flared up for a moment - nearly blinding in its brightness - and Max took a moment to thank God for making the protective bubble muffle sound.

Keaton stared for a long moment.

And then laughed.

“Wonderous try, Ms. Caulfield!” he crowed happily, and made a mark on his sheet. “I pass thou only once. Next time, I expect thou to finish the assignment as requested.”

Max smiled. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

And with that, Keaton moved on.

Most people failed the lesson. Kate managed to pass - though her flame only managed to stay blue for about two seconds before sputtering out. And a girl named Alyssa, who was apparently the best runes student in the class, managed to make a completely stable blue flame with a complicated circle. A few other students managed to get a flame to flare blue, if only for a moment, with either sheer force of magic or a clever circle layout.

Next came a double potions block.

Potions was taught by Frank Bowers, who was… one of the more interesting teachers in Hogwarts. He was head of Slytherin house, though many Slytherins viewed him, not as a mentor, but rather as a missort. He seemed to be pretty much constantly angry or irritated, and failing to do an assignment correctly often meant that a lecture on what your mistake was wasn’t very far away. And it would be told to the whole class - thus meaning the lesson would be brought to a screeching halt, and often you would be the subject of ridicule from your classmates and friends as a result.

Despite this, though, he was a remarkably decent teacher. His lectures, despite being irritated and overly-passionate, often elaborated on the theory behind potions in ways that Max couldn’t help but find, at times, genuinely interesting, and usually assured that nobody would make the same mistake again. A full-class rant on why a mistake was incredibly stupid and could possibly end in casualties was, after all, a very memorable event. It also meant that people had tons of motivation to follow the instructions to the tee, rather than risking experimentation or rushing.

“Alright, you little turds,” he said upon their entrance, voice hoarse and scratchy. “We’ve got something pretty damn easy today. You shouldn’t manage to mess it up too bad, especially with all the extra time. Get your cauldrons on the fire, and we’ll start with a base heat of 260 degrees fahrenheit.”

One student was stupid enough not to tie up their hair, which lead to a small disruption in which Bowers lectured them all on the proper safety - “which you all should’ve learned in first year, do you need me to hold your hands when you’re dropped off too?” - but, outside of that, the lesson went by remarkably smoothly. Bowers was in a pretty stable mood, despite the bags under his eyes.

“Oh, right, and Caulfield, stay after class,” he threw out in the middle of the lesson. Max nearly dropped the handful of fluxweed she’d been holding over the potion while Kate stirred.

The second people began muttering, Bowers glanced up.

“Oh, shut up,” he growled - the class went silent immediately. “Can’t any of you mind your own damn business for once? She hasn’t killed a dog or anything.” He peered at her. “Yet.”

Max had never been sure when Bowers was making a joke. It was better to just not risk laughing.

“You all should be ready to drop in your fluxweed by now,” he added. People rushed to toss handfuls of the weed into their potion.

The only other disruption to the lesson was when someone accidentally let their flame die down, which led to a useless pile of sludge instead of an effective burn-soothing potion. Bowers, for a moment, looked on the verge of shouting at the pair of Hufflepuffs - but then, he simply sighed.

“Trash it.”

When the Hufflepuffs paused - hesitant to trash the last hour of work - he bit out a harsh, "now,”  which instantly evaporated any doubt as to how lenient he was being.

“T.” he said, rubbing one of his temples. “You get a T for this lesson. This could’ve cost a man two more hours of agony. Or a limb. Or his life. Maybe if your grade plummets, you won’t make such a stupid mistake next time.

“Dismissed,” he spit out. “And a full essay on the dangers of incorrect temperature regulation, due by next class. Friday. Now get out.”

Everyone rushed to gather their things and leave. Well, everyone except Max - who knew better than to think Bowers had forgotten her.

Kate gave her a reassuring glance and a hand on her shoulder before leaving.

The second the door closed, some of the tension unravelled from Bowers’s shoulders.

He sighed as he sat down behind his desk.

“...Well? Sit down,” he said, flicking his wand at the opposite side of his desk - where a rickety-looking stool appeared for Max.

She hesitantly walked up and took the seat.

“...Sorry,” he muttered eventually. “That thing’s probably not very comfortable. Never was good at that chair-conjuring trick.”

Max blinked. “It’s… fine, sir.”

A moment of silence.

“Cau-”

Bowers was cut off by the soft sound of scratching.

He glanced up - and sighed again.

He flicked his wand at the door.

The moment it was open, a brown, strongly-built dog padded into the classroom, and bounded across the room to sit down at Bowers’s feet.

Bowers smiled softly.

“Hey, boy,” he muttered, leaning down to scratch between the dog’s ears.

Max blinked. “You… have a dog, sir?”

“Pompidou,” he said shortly, still scratching the dog’s - Pompidou’s - ears. “Had him for a year or so now. He’s a little bastard.”

Bowers’s voice was softer and kinder than Max had ever heard it.

After a moment, Bowers leaned up again, and crossed his arms on the table. His eyes - a shade of black that seemed to cave into his skull - peered right through her.

“I heard they’ve given you a time turner.”

Max blinked once - and nodded.

Bowers sighed.

“Stupid move, if you ask me. But nobody did, so.” He scowled slightly. “I trust Hoida gave you a breakdown of the rules.”

Max nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He peered at her.

She shifted awkwardly.

“Listen, kid,” he said eventually - his voice came out a little less bitter than usual. “I know you’re young. And I know you don’t know much about consequences. But if you fuck with that thing, you’re risking lives.”

Max blinked at the swear - but nodded.

“I know, si-”

“Don’t pull that shit on me,” he growled - she pulled back a little. Suddenly, all the relaxation and age had vanished from Bowers’s face - replaced with that dog-like fierceness that she knew so well. “You don’t know crap. You don’t know consequences. You don’t know what risking lives means.”

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked, pulled back as far as possible.

Bowers glared at her for a moment.

And sighed, pulling back again.

“...And there’s no way I could teach you,” he muttered. “Nothing but age teaches you that.”

Max blinked. Again.

“Just never forget what that thing is, kid,” he said, pointing at where the turner rested below her shirt with alarming accuracy. “It isn’t a toy. It isn’t a tool. It’s a weapon. and if you treat it like anything else - if you forget what it can do - then you’ll start putting lives on the line.”

Max nodded meekly.

“...Get out of my sight, kid,” he growled, putting his head in his hands.

Max scrambled to leave.

Halfway to the door, though, she skidded to a halt - because Pompidou had just padded in front of her.

He looked up at her - panting - and grinned his wide, doggy grin.

She moved to step past him - but he blocked her path.

“...He wants a scratch.”

Max glanced back at Bowers - who was staring silently at the interaction. His eyes were alarmingly blank.

“Behind his ear,” he said, staring right through her with those pit-like eyes. “Give him a scratch. He’s a spoiled little shit, he won’t let you pass until he gets it.”

Max blinked.

And leaned down, to gently scratch behind Pompidou’s ear.

Pompidou leaned into the scratch - and his leg jack-rabbited against the ground.

“Good boy,” she muttered. “Now can I get past?”

Pompidou didn’t respond.

Max stopped scratching, and walked around him.

The second the door was closed, a weight left her chest. She sighed heavily, pressing a hand against her heart.

And against the time turner.

She paused, for a moment.

And started walking towards the Great Hall.