History Lesson
“Miss Devons,” Snape drawls, though softly while everyone else is finishing the pop quiz I’d finished flawlessly in two minutes to give myself more brainstorming (napping with my eyes open) time, “after class.”
I nod wordlessly and keep quiet, but honestly, I'm hoping this is a final end to our collective avoidance. (It got old after the first week.) So I sit, lost in my half-awake, dazed thoughts until someone’s leaning into my arm and I blink back to reality to find Lupin there, frowning at me from an inch away and the classroom empty but for he and Snape. When the hell had that happened? And Lupin likely just here to gripe in person, so...
“Whatever she's trying now," I sigh exhaustedly at Lupin, "I'm not responsible, alright? Haven't even seen her in--"
"No, that's--" Lupin interrupts, wincing almost apologetically and shaking his head, eyes ticking to Snape and back, then frowning more as he scrutinizes me up close and wow, that's uncomfortable. Annnd, his lips are moving, so he's still talking?
"Sorry, what?” I mumble, sitting straighter. Maybe tonight I should make a vat or two of sleep in a bottle. I’d definitely get more done than—
“—orried about you,” Lupin chuffs, his wolf grumbling that worry just beneath the surface while Lupin himself squints unhappily at me and frowns even more. “When is the last time you ate?” He demands quietly.
“Or slept?” Snape adds, shoulders a bit hunched and arms crossed and again doing his ‘grumpy human bat’ impersonation. “You don’t look well,” he says bluntly.
“I’m f—“
“You’re not fine,” Lupin cuts me off, bumping my shoulder again and this time, I can hear his wolf whining its concern.
“Really,” I sigh, rubbing my face in an effort to bring energy back to my brain before huffing out a lame sort of half smile. “I’m—“
“Not fine,” Snape half-snaps impatiently and this time, it’s an actual effort not to snap back. “When Remus and I actually agree on something," he adds, "you can be sure it’s an obvious fact.”
And that— is probably true, actually. If they’re not careful, they’ll be the most reluctant of frenemies before either realizes it. But… I think I’ll keep that observation to myself.
“Sorry. Been a weird week,” I huff, forcing myself back to wakefulness with a magical jolt of adrenaline, then cringe when my stomach churns in response. “My brain’s... not connecting well.”
Lupin raises a wry eyebrow. “Yes,” he agrees gently while Snape mutter-corrects 'Weeks, plural'. “We can tell.” But there’s an understanding smile there too. “Rumor has it, food and sleep actually help with that.”
I open my mouth to agree and end up wince-flinching with a choked-off groan when that frustrating, brain-stabbing buzz in my head begins to swell again just before the castle creaks its own half-resigned annoyance. I sigh wearily and reach for the pillar behind me, then frown more.
“The Minister again?” Snape grates out, sounding ten kinds of pissed off. (I sympathize.)(Heartily.)
“Not this time. Just Umbridge. Again. And two others I don’t recognize...” Only, I think I do? The one on the left, I think, used to be in charge of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Barty Crouch? Fate takes pity on my aching head and offers a thumbs up while I dig another mini bottle of pain reliever out of my bag and guzzle it down, then let Snape snatch the empty bottle to sniff it suspiciously.
Lupin also gives the pillar a gentle rub, then sits straighter. “Barty Crouch,” he murmurs, frowning too. “Not sure about the other one.”
Snape rolls his eyes like conferring with the castle is a chore, but he, too, reaches out to rub the pillar, scowls, and pins me with a look. “You can’t hide from them forever,” he says flatly, then holds up the bottle. "And this is....?"
I fake gasp exhaustedly. "You mean you don't know??" I demand, smirking, then smirk more (it's only fair, after all) when he scowls to hide a mild pout.
“Why would Crouch be here?” Lupin wonders, but the Castle doesn’t offer any clue, this time, sending me the mental equivalent of a shrug that Lupin and Snape pick up on. “Did it just shrug at us?” He asks, sounding a bit unnerved.
“It's a sizable chunk of magnificent, sentient magic,” I intone, standing cautiously but still need to grip onto the lab table until the world stops swimming around me. “It’s bound to pick up some human mannerisms over time.”
Lupin just stares at me like that’s the weirdest thing he’s ever heard. I do one better.
“Once upon a time, when it was feeling playful, it used to poke its tongue out when people chastised it,” I supply, stretching a little to get my blood flowing again.
“You’re joking.” Snape and Lupin are sharing the same expression, which only proves the world might actually be ending to my over-tired brain. I answer with my own shrug, mouth opening to explain further when there’s a soft knock and the classroom door opens— to Dumbledore’s office, the man himself looking almost surprised to see us there.
“Amazing,” he murmurs fondly, giving the door a pat, then spears me with a look. “You can’t avoid them forever, Miss Devons," he declares, now scrutinizing me as critically as Snape and Lupin had. "And by the looks of it, the stress of trying to do so is catching up with you.”
“It’s not Fudge I’m avoiding,” I sigh, shifting uncomfortably under his judging gaze.
“And it’s not even the Minister this time,” Snape offers with a knowing look to Dumbledore. “It’s Umbridge, Crouch Sr. And the other, I’m fairly certain, was dismissed as an Auror five years ago... for use of excessive magical force... on a nine year old."
This has Dumbledore straightening with angry concern and nodding slowly while the shades in his office all grumble unhappily to each other. Dumbledore finally raises an eyebrow to me, lips pursing. “Would it help if we set the terms? Time and place?”
“Yes,” I blurt, relieved, because that’s actually a good idea I should've had weeks ago, then I think on it. It's Wednesday now-- no, Thursday? No, no... Wednesday, or I wouldn't be in potions, so... “Monday afternoon or evening?” I suggest. That should give me plenty of time to ready myself for an all-out assault of pink toadiness. Hopefully.
“I’ll let them know,” he says agreeably and I nod a relieved thanks. The door’s almost completely shut before Dumbledore catches it and leans back in, an odd look on his face. “And the sorting hat insists you both eat and sleep,” he sighs patiently, fixing me with a look.
“Or I’ll set the castle on you!” The hat hollers from beyond Dumbledore’s shoulder, making the man flinch slightly. “And you know that I can!” It huffs and yes... I do know.
“Yes, I know,” I choke out, trying not to laugh at Dumbledore’s suddenly wary expression. “Thank you, Professor. I will definitely see them on Monday… if only to keep them from coming back,” I add quietly, but Dumbledore just smirks mildly with a twinkle in his eye as he shuts the door.
“The Sorting Hat can do that?” Lupin demands.
“Technically, it’s part of the castle,” I snort. “And it’s been a jewel of sarcasm and snark since it’s first day.”
“It’s strange,” Snape murmurs, leaning against the lab table, “to think you were here— then.”
“It really is,” Lupin agrees, staring at nothing like he can imagine it. I shrug at them both because whether they know it or not, it’s even stranger for me. In the pocket of my robes, I can feel the weight of that little marble shard like a reminder.
“Want to see a tiny slice of history while I hide from the toad until she’s gone?” I ask, smiling a little hopefully. “After that— foooood.”
***
I’m pretty sure it’s the promise of future food that has them joining me outside, creeping through the frozen weeds until the castle helpfully snips them, then shimmies the forgotten cobbles of the original path back up and level to help ease the way for our short walk.
“Is that you doing that... or the castle?” Snape asks as he leads the way, following the actively rebuilding path.
“Castle,” I murmur, sliding my fingers over the lowest stones of the wall and remember the same sensations of pebbled granite as I had as a child. “It doesn’t like that so much of it’s history’s been tampered with, even accidentally. And it can’t actively do much without someone here to offer permission, which should be all the staff, to some degree. It’s... I don’t know... upsetting to think so much of what the castle is has been forgotten or suppressed over the centuries like it has.”
“You think it was deliberate?” Lupin asks from behind me.
I huff, shaking my head. “I don’t know, honestly. The house elves think so, but the castle either can’t or won’t say and I haven’t had a chance to ask the hat.”
My skin tingles the closer we get until Snape slows, eyes now set on the obviously darker stone set low by his knee.
“A cornerstone?” He asks, confused, and runs his hand down the edge, skimming over the chipped piece, clearly confused— until I pull the missing bit from my pocket and nudge his shoulder until he takes it.
Had I known it would steal a bit of my own magic when I’m already feeling unwell, I’d have eaten before we came out, but as it is, the second he lines that little shard up to the larger stone, the world swims dizzily, then warms and brightens.
“Merlin’s beard,” Lupin rasps behind me and I turn, a bit too fast, stumbling into him until he rights me, but he’s not paying much attention to me, which is fair, because wow. It’s suddenly summer again.
It’s not until Snape stands slowly, backing up and looking baffled at the two small children, no more than four or five by appearance, seeming as flesh and blood as we are, hushing each other and keeping low to half-hide in the tall weeds.
When my vision swims again, it’s the blur of tears in my eyes because there they are— we. There we are again, tiny Syn and tiny Wyn in our tiny robes, both soon pressing our tiny hands to the stone.
“Sure we won’t get in trouble?” Syn asks quietly and looking uncertain. But Wyn, cocky even then, grins and winks and they both smother giggles behind their hands. “Gran Sal doesn’t like it when we change the castle,” she reminds him, still smiling.
Wyn rolls his eyes. “And Gran Ric does. But... it’s ours too, right? We helped build threeee towers last week! And I got to charm the ceiling! And you made the guardian gargoyles! Our names should be on the stone too, shouldn’t they?”
“Fine,” Syn huffs, tossing her long braid of black hair over her shoulder, but clearly still pleased by the idea. “Together?”
“Um...” Wyn mumbles, frowning and leaning around the corner, his blond hair brushing into his eyes in the breeze and he shakes his whole head to settle it back away from his face, then gives Syn an awkward half-frown. “I’ve only got lion claws,” he points out, wiggling his armored little kitty claws at her. “Share your hot hands?”
And we did, clapping our palms to each other's and rubbing until my dragon heat spread red hot to his hands too and we’d pressed our marks right there between the elegantly scripted names of the founders, magically scarring the stone with our collective four handprints and me with my tiny dragon claws and he with his tiny lion cub claws scratched our names in—
“Synastrethia Slytherin,” Lupin murmurs, leaning in close to see, likely not noticing how his foot is settled right where her little right calf is, but he peers back at me, looking a bit awed, then worried. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” I shake my head to brush off his concern, but return my attention to the children we’re accidentally spying on.
Behind Wyn, Snape’s leaning in with a similarly awed look as Lupin had, mouthing the name as Wyn finishes carving it in: Gawyn Gryffindor.
I smile back at Lupin when he continues looking worried, then head nod to the two children who tried to sneak attack each other at the same time, failed, but ended up rolling half-down the little embankment giggling and growling as every other roll showed either two children or a tiny purple, silver and green dragon and a tiny gold-steeled lion cub grappling for victory. I smirk fondly when little me lands on top, as I usually did.
“It’s allllways going to be like this, you know,” Syn smirks down at the boy. “I don’t know why you bother trying.”
“‘Cause I’m a boy,” Wyn huffs darting in cat-quick and tickles her ribs until she rolls off with a giggle. “Someday, I’ll be bigger.”
“Doesn’t matter, cranky kittttyyyyy. I’ll still be olllllderrrr,” Syn sings-songs back, poking her tongue out and grinning fondly when she gets one in return.
“By one minute, lizard breath,” he snarks back, also grinning.
"He's your brother," Snape blurts, eyebrows high with surprise and I nod, smiling a bit as I wipe a tear from my cheek.
Wyn’s grin slips away and he plucks at the grass between his toes. “You know this is only ‘a’ home, right?” He says softly, shaking his hair from his face again. “We can find another one if we want to.”
Syn rolls to his side where their feet can knock against each other and stares up at the patchy clouds, frowning. “But we can learn here.”
Wyn huffs, then falls back into the grass at her side, still twirling a bit of the tall grass until it thickens, splits, twists and weaves this way and that until it’s a tiny grass dragon he blows into the air, sending it flapping upward and making Syn giggle and reach a hand up to give it a place to land.
“We can learn anywhere, Syn,” he says seriously, squinting up at the clouds, eyes almost glowing soft gold in the brightness of the day. “Lots of places we could go.”
“You don’t like it here? You act like you do,” she points out, but she’s frowning like she knows where this talk is going.
“I know she tried to hurt you,” Wyn mutters, darting a look over and then away. “Liking it here or not won't matter; if she does it again, I’ll take us both away.”
Syn’s little face shuts down for a few seconds, though I remember hiding my panic. “She won’t,” Syn huffs. “She can't really hurt me anyway and you know it... Besides, I’m not sure where we can go that they won’t find us.”
“Mother hid really well,” Wyn argues. “For a long time. And she said Father did too."
"It’s not like she had time to teach us how," Syn murmurs as the dragon begins climbing up her fingers. "And if Father died only a month after they left here, he didn't hide very well."
“It's not them who found him, though,” Wyn points out, poking at the grass dragon now wrapped around Syn’s pinkie finger.
“We can go if you want to,” Syn huffs, like it doesn’t matter. “My home is wherever you are, cranky kitty. But... I think we should stay. At least for now.”
Wyn frowns, but tries to hide it. “Lizard breath,” he mutters back, but shifts closer to rest his head against hers. “I suppose I can tolerate you for a few more—
“Children!!” Is a soft echo of sound and in unison, they both sigh and roll their eyes, sitting up just in time for a large raven to sweep in, blur and then stand imposingly over them both, hands on the skinny hips of her robes. “Lunch and then studies!” She huffs, frowning her annoyance. “Come on, now, both of you!”
“Yes, Rowena,” they chorus quietly, brushing their robes off and begin the trek back to the east stairs and upward, Syn letting the tiny grass dragon go, blowing it off her fingers to send it gliding back down to the field. The second she’s turned around, skipping up the steps in a race with Wyn, Rowena turns back, scowling at the tiny creation and whips her gnarled wand at it, viciously exploding it into little flickers of ember grass. Her smirk is nearly cruel, but the envy in her eyes is almost tangible when she begins following them back up to the castle.
My world swims yet again when the tiny shard of marble drops into the frozen grass, leaving the three of us again in winter, with the sun nearly set and Snape steadying me on my feet, looking Rowena-levels of annoyed, but also shoving another handkerchief into my hand and then to my nose that’s dripping steadily.
“Ugh,” I mutter, swiping away the mess while Lupin strides back over to retrieve the small chip of marble, running his fingers over Wyn’s little handprints like he’s memorizing them.
Lupin’s face is awed and morose and serious when he rejoins us, a slow stroll back around the castle to the steps. “The stories of the Founders... they’re not all quite right, then?” He doesn’t look like he doubts it, nor does he look especially surprised.
I smirk exhaustedly, still half leaning against Snape, who thankfully doesn’t seem to mind, so long as I’m still standing and not swooning. “Funny how time changes things... even stories. The lamest of them are frequently oversold... and the truth is sometimes... untold,” I huff at my accidental poetry. “I kinda thought we’d just see the castle back there, is all. In it’s early days. I didn’t expect them to be there. Gods, we were so cute,” I add, smiling fondly.
Lupin puffs out a silent laugh, then sobers again, still turning that bit of marble over in his fingers. “That... seemed like a lot of wandless magic for children that small,” he admits, a hint of a question in the statement.
I’m quiet while I think on how to word an answer so it doesn’t get tripped up in the spell. “There’s a crazy high percentage of realities that once had a lot more magic than they do now,” I murmur. “For one reason or another, they lose chunks of it; some to inexplicable events that seem to come out of nowhere and some by deliberate design. Sometimes, though, it’s just due to a handful of idiots who over reached and fate bitch slapped them for their hubris.” I wait for that to sink in and know it has for Snape when he pauses, likely remembering those scraps of conversation in the hospital wing. “And not all children are born the same. Some are just sort of… disastrously unique from the start.”
Nothing more is said then as we head back in to find the ex-auror banned from the grounds and Umbridge firmly scolded for having brought him here at all. Needless to say, the toad and her cronies hadn’t been welcome to stay, nor welcome to return until Dumbledore has personally spoken with Fudge. Umbridge had gotten a bit shifty then and tried faking outrage, but Crouch had offered his apologies, not having been told they were showing up uninvited, but still urged Dumbledore to produce the fatemaker soon. “There’s a growing number who think she’s a fake, Albus. At the very least, I can check her claim of speaking every language.” Dumbledore only nodded seriously and shooed them off and away.
Dinner is already underway and Lupin kindly tips me onto the Hufflepuff bench beside an already-worried Annie who promises him she’ll hand feed me if she has to. After Lupin joins the staff table, she also mutters that she knows I haven’t been sleeping enough and swears she’ll sit on me if she has to if it means I get a full night while two of my roommates loyally swear they’ll guard the door to keep me in.
I blush (at least half, in truth) at their concern, but I do eat, then drink the chamomile tea Annie forces on me, hands on her hips looking like a nagging nanny until it’s gone and I fall into bed fully clothed, but sleep I do. Being the first one up, I make sure the elves have at least a few of my dorm-mates favorites waiting for them at their own breakfast.
It’s a wonderful day after that.