You’re my Candle

There was nothing forcing her back into the Great Hall after Dumbledore left her—and she knew Filch would still be making his way out of the dungeons. In a second, she'd vanished from the door to the hall and was halfway up the staircase to Filch's office.

If she could get the map, then they could hunt Peter down when he wasn't safely hidden away in Gryffindor tower.

The door was locked, as she expected, but that rarely mattered—after looking up and down the corridor a few times, she pulled her wand from her trouser pocked down the side of her thigh and held it up to the keyhole.

"Alohomora." She whispered, the click of the lock undoing was louder than she'd expected and she hurriedly pulled the door ajar and squeezed inside the small room, pulling the door closed behind her.

It was too dark to even see inside the room once the door was closed—she lit up the room with the tip of her wand, until she found it was just inconvenient that she had to hold it between her teeth when she used her hands to rummage though the several boxes stacked in the room—she stuffed her wand back into her pocket and her eyes ignited the second she looked back up.

The glow produced was enough to dimly light up the whole room, but the fire itself allowed her to see in the dark like a mole or owl would.

"C'mon, where'd you put the blasted thing, Prongs?" She muttered to herself, pushing the hanging chains out of her way so she could get to more boxes.

She checked drawers and cupboards, under the desk, under boxes and strange torture devices that Filch wasn't allowed to use anymore. The entire room was practically turned upside down—yet there was no sign of the map.

"Some'ne took it." The meow that followed the gravelly voice only further confirmed that it was Filch who'd opened the door silently. "That nasty parchment—it's that you're lookin' for, innit?"

She cursed herself, her focus being on the boxes made her miss the nose of his arrival. Kayda turned slowly to face the dirty man—the light in the corridor flooded into the room from behind his head. Her eyes dimmed and fizzled out slowly as she thought of her answer.

"Yes. I wanted to show my friends the insults it came up with—figured you'd have it."

He laughed loudly, which lead into a guttural cough. "Kid, I'm only believin' that when I'm dead."

"Soon then?" She quipped.

His face contorted with anger. "It be real hate I feel for you, you and them other kids you hung out with back in old times."

"Well, luckily for you, Filch—half of them are dead now—" she shook her head, "or will be."

"Of'er two is in the castle, ain't they?"

She ignored him. "Who took it?"

"Don' know." He shrugged. "Come back one night—was missin'."

She listened closely, his heart didn't seem to beat any faster than it already was—she watched his face for a moment too. Unfortunately, he was telling the truth.

"I'll get out your hair then." Kayda took a step forward—Filch took one back and allowed her to leave his office without another word said. His cat hissed at her ankles, but Filch was silent  watching her.

It was only when she reached the end of the corridor that she turned around and saw Filch still watching her—curiosity got the better of her.

"You feeling alright?" She called back to him.

He nodded, "knew you 'hought I'm idiot enough to argue with a dragon, aye."

─ « ⋅ » ─

Sirius Black was the only thing people seemed to be capable of talking about for the first two weeks into November. Along with his 'accomplice' daughter—who'd been frequently sneaking out of the, now very heavily guarded, castle to speak with him.

Kayda sat in McGonagall's dark classroom for the third time that week—she had several detentions for attacking many of the students who'd dared to continue making sarky comments when she walked past them. Since the fifth incident, she'd not heard another remark.

"I don't give a shit, Minnie—" she reasoned, pushing her chair against the floor loudly and wandering around the room as she spoke, "they're all so stupid! I can turn into a fifty-foot dragon, for Merlin's sake."

McGonagall only breathed deeper in response.

"Thanks for your undying support, Professor." Kayda mumbled under her breath—the woman heard, of course.

"Miss Black," her tone was stern—it made Kayda stop playing with the candle flames that lit up the room and sit down immediately, "you have physically attacked more students this week than you did the entirety of last year. There have to be consequences."

"What do you expect me to do? Lie down and what—take it?" Kayda felt her forearms heating up—she inhaled and exhaled several times until they cooled. "Sorry."

McGonagall took her glasses off and tilted her head at the girl at the opposite side of the room.

"I do understand, dear," she spoke softly, "it can be frustrating, being accused of something you didn't do—but you must look at it from their perspective."

Kayda couldn't bring herself to lift her eyes off her own fingers picking at the chipped pieces of wood on the desk in front of her.

"Why don't they have to do that for me?" Kayda sunk further into her chair. "None of them have any idea about what's going on in my head."

"It's a stressful time, dear—with a killer on the loose, break-ins and outs of the most guarded places in the world—and that same man's daughter in the very school. They're going to be afraid of you, Miss Black." McGonagall rose from her desk gently and began making her way across the room. "All they see when they look at you is," she paused, "the enemy, I suppose."

She scoffed. "But that's not fair—besides, they don't seem like they're afraid of me, if they were, I wouldn't be sat here."

"I know for a fact that the younger years are, they often ask about you in class—very frustrating." The woman was trying to help, Kayda guessed but whatever it was; it wasn't .

"Doesn't count—they're scared of everything."

McGonagall chuckled, she'd reached the desk Kayda was picking away at now—and Kayda found she could do nothing but look up at the woman.

"I just," it was barely a whisper when she spoke again, "I guess, I don't know what to do, Minnie."

McGonagall placed her hand gently on top of Kayda's to stop her nails chipping further away at the table. She lowered her own voice to the same level that Kayda had spoken with.

"What would Mr. Potter tell you to do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry barely talks to me—"

"I mean James."

There was never a time that Kayda didn't freeze at the mention of his name—it was like ice that was somehow so stuck in her skin that not even the sun itself could melt it.

The question rattled in her head over and over again—she had no idea what James would do.

"Probably not what I've done." Her voice cracked.

"I disagree." McGonagall said confidently. "I suspect he'd be sat right alongside you; having helped in a few, if not all, of the incidents this week—I suspect they all would've been."

Kayda could feel her eyes stinging—at least some of the ice was melting. The world would have to end to allow her to cry over the people she'd lost again, but that's what she told herself the last time.

"I saw him." She admitted quietly her eyes unfocused.

"Saw who?" McGonagall's brows furrowed, revealing the wrinkles on her forehead from the amount of times she'd done it.

"Dad." She sniffed. "In the woods on Halloween. We didn't talk, just...stared at each-other for a moment."

McGonagall was the one lost for words now. She looked as if she was about to start scratching at her neck to somehow get them out of her throat. Kayda could tell the woman was fighting the lecture—there was that look in her eyes.

"You can tell the Minister, that I didn't report it before he—broke in," Kayda mumbled, "in my defence, I didn't think he was that stupid."

McGonagall was clutching her chest, "he is dangerous, dear." The fear was so clear in her voice it was almost enough to make Kayda feel it too. "He’s not the same—you are aware of that? He—"

"I know, Minnie." Kayda rested her chin on top of her folded hands on the desk. "I know."

─ « ⋅ » ─

It was the day before the long awaited Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff—previously Slytherin, but Marcus called for their own match to be postponed due to Draco's 'injury'. After speaking to both Flint and Oliver, Kayda knew it was because of the weather that week.

After Halloween, the weather suddenly turned—there were storms at least three days a week and no sign of the sun on the other four. Kayda, against the advice of her friends, went out with the flashing lightning and cracking thunder.

She enjoyed flying during storms, it was easier to put her wings out straight and let the sky take her where it wanted than to beat them herself.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was that morning and Kayda was feeling especially guilty that she wasn't able to be with Remus during the last full moon—Remus kept telling her it wasn't possible anymore so she needed to stop apologising.

In the 70s, she'd use her animagus form to spend the night in the Shrieking Shack with the others but her body had stayed as it was before she time-travelled and so the only other form she could take was the Fabel.

As she walked down the corridor to the dim classroom, a little later than she should have been—she spotted Oliver speaking with Harry Potter, who looked as though he was attempting to do the same.

"Black!" He called out when he saw her, his eyes wide and desperate.

Oliver turned around immediately with a wide smile and put his hand out to Kayda as she approached the pair.

"Hi Potter," she smiled, only glancing at the smaller boy and focusing on Oliver, who'd wrapped his arm around her waist, "Oli, I think you're holding Potter up for class."

"Oh, am I?" He gasped, Harry nodded as he took a step back. "Why didn't you tell me? You idiot." Oliver laughed, leaving forward and hitting the side of Harry's head gently.

"My love, you also have a lesson." Kayda laughed, leaning into him as Harry sprinted off.

Oliver's gaze switched between the two of them before he shouted something about Quidditch after the running boy.

"You're in the same class as him, right?" Oliver's hand lifted as he spoke to put Kayda's hair behind her ear.

She nodded, "it's Moony though, I'm good." Oliver shook his head softly.

"I saw you flying the other day," he took ahold of her hand again and began walking in the direction Harry had run off in, "you looked beautiful."

Kayda rolled her eyes—attempting to hide how her cheeks reddened and her lips curved, "Fabel did, you mean?"

"She's you. I mean you." He said firmly.

His kissed her gently, like she was made of glass and might break with the kindest touch, when they reached the heavy door to the Dark Arts room.

When she walked inside, Harry was rushing to his seat and Professor Snape was stood at the top of the classroom.

"Shit." She muttered to herself.

"Ah," Snape was almost grinning, "are there any other students who desperately need a reminder of when lessons start?"

"No, Professor—just me and Potter it seems."

He shook his head, then gestured to her seat to sit down—Slytherin couldn't afford to lose anymore house points, no matter how much Snape hated her.

Pansy began talking to her before she was even in arms reach of her chair. "Where the hell is your Uncle?" She demanded. "Snape only said he’s unwell."

"He is." Kayda replied simply, sitting down beside Freya and pulling her book out of her bag.

"Snape's in a good mood today," Theo whispered, leaning back on his chair on the other side of the space between the rows, "and somehow it's worse."

Kayda held back her laugh.

"Now," Snape's voice rang out, "where was I?"

Hermione's hand shot up in the air. "Please, Sir. We've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, Fabeldyrs and Grindylows."

Snape seemed to be resisting the urge to curse the girl—that was what his face was screaming.

"I was not asking for information, Miss Granger. I am simply commenting on Mr. Lupin's lack of organisation." He sighed, and opened his mouth to talk again before Dean Thomas interrupted him.

"Lupin is the best Defence teacher we've ever had!" He announced boldly—losing a few more points for Gryffindor—there were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the class.

Snape moved straight on, deciding what they would be discussing within the lesson with great difficulty—it was when he announced his final decision that Kayda instantly knew that he'd planned it from the second Dumbledore told him to cover the damned class.

"Werewolves would be an excellent subject for today's class, I think." He turned his back to the class to write the title on the board but they all knew he was only doing it to hide the massive, smug grin on his face.

Hermione fought the idea for a moment, before yet more points were taken from Gryffindor house.

"Shame that." Draco laughed, seeing all of the other house groan.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" Snape asked, crossing his arms.

"Prick." Kayda muttered beneath her breath—Freya was the only one who heard her.

Hermione's hand had shot straight up, as it usually did.

"Anyone?" Snape repeated his question after a few seconds of silence. "Are you really telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction—"

"We told you," a Gryffindor girl said suddenly, "we haven't gotten to werewolves yet, we're still on—"

"Silence!" He snarled, the grin whipped off his pale face. "You are very behind, Dumbledore shall have to be informed of this. Perhaps, the situation could be remedied by appointing..."

Hermione's hand was still in the air, and she was still determined to answer the question. "Please, sir," she sat up a little straighter when he glared at her, "the werewolf differs—"

"Miss Granger, that is the second time you have spoken out of turn," Snape's voice was oddly calm, "five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione went bright red—her hand finally sat firmly on the desk in front of her. Her round eyes were locked on the floor, filling with tears.

Kayda heard Snape swallow harder than he had done since she entered the room—every pair of eyes was locked on his face, despite every mouth having called Hermione a know-it-all themselves at-least once in the past.

It was Ron who spoke next—and loudly, "you asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

Snape took several slow steps towards Ron's table and the boy held his breath.

"Detention, Weasley." His voice was laced with silk, his face close to Ron's the further he leant down. "If you ever criticise the way that I teach again—"

"A werewolf's hind legs are stronger, its body is much longer and skinner than a true wolf." Kayda spoke over him. "Their snout is also significantly longer and their claws sharper. A true wolf is larger in weight and has fuller fur due to better nutrition compared to what a werewolf has access to in that form. A werewolf looks like a mixture of a man and dog, the true wolf doesn't."

Snape was physically seething as he stared at her.

"Anything to add," she leant back, "sir?"

The older man didn't lose eye contact with her as he stood up straight again, the bridge of his nose and several other parts of his face twitching.

"Correct, Miss Black. Ten points to Slytherin." Snape spoke through closed teeth—it was getting harder for him to prioritise his house over the resentment he held for one of the students within it.

Still, Kayda thought she must've truly broken him that time—she and the others looked at one another with furrowed brows and wide eyes.

Nobody in the class said another word for the rest of the lesson.