Wannabe (a Hogwarts Hero)

So, yeah, feeling pretty damn good, all in all.

Since I’m already down here, I wander over to Wyn’s room and flop down on his obscenely large bed with a happy sigh.

“Good day then?” Wyn asks.  “Find the basilisk?”

“Ohhhh yeah, did we ever,” I sigh, then wriggle around to let my head flop off the edge to watch him work upside down.  “Blinded, de-fanged and currently unconscious in the chamber.  Not all we found though,” I mumble, my heart re-breaking again for those small, doomed remains.

I tell him everything, even the terrible parts but counter it with Moody’s badassery which has him snorting and looking vaguely proud, like it’s his win by proxy via descendant.  He crowds in close to the frame when I speak of those bodies and shells and then he looks as heartbroken as I still feel.  His interest is well and truly piqued when I get to the spectral echo.

“He sounds like a giant child,” Wyn says flatly.

“Because he was a giant child,” I huff, then chew on my lip for a second.  “I think I freaked out Dumbledore a little, though.  When I drained it of most of its magic.”

“Slippery slope down that road,” he sighs, side-eyeing me from where he’s leaning into the frame and scraping paint from under his nails with his boot dagger.

“I know,” I groan.  “It’s not something I do very often; gods know I’ve got enough magic glued to me already.”

"You can say that again," he mutters under his breath, but rolls straight into: "How's your head?"

"Right now?  Fantastic, actually," I admit.  "Being back in my scales seems to have helped, oddly enough."

"Or...." Wyn suggests, "it's maybe using your dragon fire?"  The funny eyebrow he lifts at me has me really thinking about it.

"Oh.... wow, I feel dumb now," I huff.  "Elemental fire would've used the excess runoff... cleared my recycler, temporarily," I murmur.

Wyn rolls his eyes, still dabbing paint onto his canvas.  "And?" He asks, rolling his free hand in a 'keep going' gesture.

"And... oh.  Fuck.  Likely raised the cap on my limit, too," I groan, pulling one of Wyn's pillows over to smash my face into and scream-swear-gripe my frustration into.

“Have you figured out how to release it all safely?” He asks, frowning at me when I pull the pillow off to frown back up at him.

“Safely?” I repeat warily.  Wyn doesn’t facepalm, but his deadpan expression tells me he wants to.

“Yes,” he sighs, frowning harder now. “Safely.  As in, little bits at a time so half of Europe doesn’t vaporize.  That kind of safe.”

My lips part while I think, and the more I think, the more my stomach twists and sinks.  “Oh… shit.”

“And here I thought you were meant to be the smarter one?” He smirks, but there’s genuine worry in his eyes.

“Ha. Ha,” I huff flatly, then go back to chewing on my lip.  “We’re equals, cranky cat,” I murmur, but there’s no heart in it because it’s a terrifyingly good point that I haven’t thought of even once.  “Shit,” I say again, softer.  “I don’t suppose I can just dump the bulk of it into some sacred objects and give them back to their respective sources?”

The lame look he gives me says enough.  “No,” he adds anyway and I go back to smothering myself with the pillow while he talks.  “But until you work out a way to disperse it, you’re something of a…” he trails off, like he’s searching for words, but ends with a slightly frowny-sounding, “a continual source of magical rainbows and mystical sunshine, wouldn’t you say Professor?”

Professor?  I haul my head back up and peek from under the pillow to find Snape leaning into the doorframe and looking almost bored while hiding a not-so-small amount of dread at the implications of what he'd just overheard.  Figures.

“Hi,” I huff, then let my head flop back again to scowl at Wyn for not warning me, but he’s scowling right back because I should’ve known way before he did; I’m the one with a pulse, after all.

“That sounds… very dangerous,” Snape says quietly.

“Yeah… it’s a bit of a problem,” I admit to the upside down world, then roll-wriggle my way back upright to give him my full attention. “So… if you’ve got any ideas? Feel free to throw them my way,” I sigh with a micro-shrug.

“Should we be telling the Headmaster about this?” He asks next, a little quieter, like he’s trying not to accidentally summon him.

“Would he tell the Ministry?” Wyn asks practically.  “Because that would be hazardous to everyone,” he adds bluntly.

“Why would he—“ Snape starts and I just shake my head, shrugging, then drag my hands through my hair, even knowing it’s a Wyn mannerism rather than mine.

“What wouldn’t they do to get their greedy, political hands on what’s essentially a magical, nuclear power plant?” I ask.  “The castle still doesn’t trust them and right now, I’m not sure I can afford to either.”

Snape’s face closes off for a second and it’s that tiny micro-expression that has me narrowing eyes at him and I don’t doubt Wyn is too.

“Please just tell me,” I sigh.  “You don’t get that look unless it has the potential to bite someone’s hand off.  Or head.  Or both,” I add.

Snape’s whole face twists and his cheeks go a little pink. “I’m supposed to be spying on you,” he says bluntly, then adds, “I was instructed to.  By the Headmaster.”

I blink, eyebrows popping up and behind me, Wyn snickers and Snape stands frozen in the door, like he’s waiting to get roasted alive.

“That’s… it?” I ask, just to clarify and then Snape’s face does something I can’t even describe like ten different emotions and reactions are trying to elbow past all the others to get to the front of the line.

“Yes?” He finally asks after ‘baffled’ finally wins.

“Okay,” I chirp with a half smirk and a half-shrug, then bite my cheek to keep from snickering at his continued facial war until my cheek just plain hurts and I finally let my smile spread.  “I know that already,” I admit, knowing for sure no amount of blame or accusation or anger comes anywhere near this odd friendship we’ve built.

“You know,” Snape repeats, openly confused.

“Dumbledore would have to be genuinely stupid not to have someone watching me,” I sigh, shrugging again.  “And he trusts your judgement when it comes to things he’ll need to know.  And honestly, if there’s something so dangerously high on the ‘need to know’ list that you’d want to tell him?  Then yes, you probably should,” I finish with a serious nod. “I promise I won’t roast you for it.”

“She’s absurdly practical that way,” Wyn sighs, like he’s despairing over that fact and I roll my eyes while Snape just sort of… gawps at us.  Mostly at me, but Wyn too.

His face is still at war, apparently, so I wait it out with a patient little half smile until nearly all the tension in his shoulders finally drains out.

“You’ve really been worrying about this,” I muse quietly, genuinely touched.  “Please don’t, really.  I swear it’s fine because it actually, seriously is fine.  He’s not the only one who trusts your judgement, you know.”

And now Snape’s face does something brand new, though it’s just under the surface and looks a little soft and squishy to my eye which might be between ‘thankful’ and ‘fond’.  Or that he’s about to start humoring me because he thinks I’m crazy.

Which… is totally possible, actually.

“You okay there, Professor?” Wyn asks, smirking around the side of his canvas.  “I think you broke him, Syn,” Wyn stage-whispers and again, I bite my lips to keep from smiling.

But it’s Wyn’s last comment that does it and now Snape’s right back to scowling, though thankfully not at me.  “Fine,” he snaps, then eyes me again.  “You need food,” he declares and isn’t wrong, so I shuffle-bounce my way off the bed, finger waving to Wyn behind me.

Neither of us brings up Dumbledore’s orders again.

***

I spend my evening in my dorm for a change, catching up with the others, getting dragged into a quiet corner by an embarrassed fourth year who’s desperate to understand his current arithmancy assignment and it’s all blissfully normal.  I wonder if anyone else in the castle who knows about the human basilisk in the basement also thinks everything is blissfully normal based largely on the fact that we blissfully can’t ‘see’ the abnormal because we locked it in the basement.

It’s these bizarre, roundabout thoughts that finally wriggle their way into my dreams and then twist half of what’s there into abominations I’ve kept in my deepest, darkest, sickest mental basement and I wake gasping and sweaty and shaking and unsettled by the images of magical nukes and soaring through the clouds with a painting clutched carefully between my teeth, seeking safe harbor elsewhere.

After tossing and turning for another hour, I give up, get up, and grab a shower while debating finding the night elf on kitchen duty for some company and conversation, but instead end up ghosting my way through the silent halls, peering up into the paintings peppered here and there, desperate to take my mind off unsettled thoughts.

When that fails too, I turn and make my silent way to the library, almost squawking aloud when I distractedly run into a wall of fabric over muscle and it’s only the gentle finger pressed to my lips that keeps me silent while Lupin’s eyes flare briefly and I relax.

“Why on earth are you up?” He breathes out, frowning.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I sigh, tipping my head down the hall toward the library.  “Was going to peruse for something to read.  You?”

“Weird dreams,” he shrugs.  “Was going to the kitchen for a snack.”

“Then you’re about five hallways lost,” Snape comments from the shadows and Lupin and I both startle, then scowl at Snape’s proud smirk.  “And terrible werewolves if you couldn’t hear me coming,” he adds.

I half-playfully bare my teeth and Lupin grumbles muttered insults until Snape rolls his eyes and approaches.

“So why are you up?” I demand, because this doesn’t feel like coincidence.

“Also unsettling dreams,” he murmurs and I’m pretty sure he’s flushing pink but I’m kind enough not to call him on it, and side-kick Lupin in the ankle when I’m pretty sure he means to.  Lupin grumbles a little more with a bit of amusement, but his lips stay closed.

“Ugh.  Fine,” I sigh.  “Okay fate, where to?” I ask the ceiling.  Both Snape and Lupin eye me speculatively.  “What?” I huff at them.  “Does this feel like a totally normal situation to you?”

They both twitch shrugs and sigh, looking anywhere but at me.  Whatever, it’s fate getting us where we need to be and a muffled thump from down the hall all but proves it.  Lupin’s wolf eyes flare bright, then narrow and he leads the way into the shadows, Snape and I on his heels.

It’s the library, of course, but it’s just Peeves, bored and making a mess where he hasn’t just swapped all the books out backwards and in the wrong sections entirely.  I flash my dragon teeth at him and he flees without a sound.

“You could’ve told him to clean all this up first,” Lupin grouses, sighing at the mess.

I smirk and wave a lazy hand at it all and ten seconds of flapping, migrating books later, it’s done.

“I won’t deny it,” Lupin sighs. “I’m a little jealous.  You make it look so… easy.”

“Just because you can’t see the downsides doesn’t mean they’re not there,” I mumble, shrugging, then peering into the corners and spinning a slow circle in an effort to see what led us here.

Snape makes a low, disgruntled noise, then sucks in a breath.  “Like being a potential danger if it’s not leeched off?” He asks, so softly even I barely hear it and I freeze, eyes shutting.  

To be fair, I may have just subconsciously walked right into that one.

“What?” Lupin demands lowly and I get hit with a scented spike of his fear.  “What kind of a danger?”

“You trust my judgment,” Snape reminds me, and it sounds more insecure than anything, but he still leans closer to my side, but not touching until I lean back, nodding. “And he needs to know.”

“I do trust your judgment,” I agree just as quietly, because he should never doubt that.  Not ever.

“Please explain,” Lupin huffs from a foot away, eyes shining with worry.

“Phenomenal cosmic power, itty bitty living space,” I sigh, then realize they won't get that reference for a year or more.  “I need to find a way to safely peel a huge chunk of raw magic off of me… or eventually pull off Hiroshima, Japan part two.”

“Raw?” Lupin repeats, clueless.

“He wasn’t here for that conversation,” Snape supplies, nudging me with his elbow and really, fate? Woke me up just to freak my friends out?  Harsh.

“Yeah,” I shrug.  “Everyone’s got their own… I dunno.  Well of magic.  Even muggles have a microscopic amount.  But for mages, most people’s wells are shallow when they're born, but can deepen as they grow, learn, practice and all that.  But for some... disastrously unique people, they're born with a deep well.  Mine was freakishly deep to begin with and then I… inherited a lake, pretty much, of raw, undiluted, elemental magic.  Over my many, many years, it's fused itself to me, more or less, and is now overloading my systems, hence the never ending headaches," I sigh, gesturing lamely to my head. "Combine all that with it being super fueled just by being back in its origin reality, then compounded with two hundred millennia's worth of good karma annnnd..." I let the thought complete itself because whatever conclusion tickles their imagination has to be better than 'now I'm practically a ticking time bomb with a screwy timer that could potentially vaporize half of Europe'.

“And just using copious amounts of it won’t do it?” Lupin asks, head tipping to the side and I bite my cheek to keep from 'awww'-ing because Lupin puppy is too cute a mental image.

“I wish, but no.  It’s not my magic to use and for all that I’ve been babysitting it since my origin, I’ve never actually tapped it.  It’s way more raw and potent than the shiny, filtered magic we use every day.”

Lupin blinks at me.  “Oh.”

“Yeah, that’s about where I am on the scale of all things worrisome,” I admit with a wry half-nod.

Snape scoffs, closed mouthed, but I can almost hear him in my head.  ‘Worrisome, she says. Ha!’  Out loud, he adds "Not to mention your magical recycling system that absorbs negative magic and negative energy..."

I wince, then nod.  "The raw is clogging it up some, yeah.  And the overflow is leaking out a little more every day."

“You don’t look nearly as worried as I’m pretty sure you should be,” Lupin points out, now looking worried enough for the both of us.

“On this?  My dedicated worry only started this afternoon when some clever kitty in a painting pointed it all out.  No worries now, though, because there's more immediate issues to deal with.  I’ll freak out later,” I assure him.

Of course, now that I’ve said that out loud, they both look ten times more worried.  We need a distraction.

“This discussion could be discussed in the daytime,” I point out.  “I don’t think it’s why we’re here.”  I let them trade their concerned guy-looks and stroll slowly forward, mind blanking a little because we’re heeeerrrrreee forrrrrr……. Something?  “Come on, fate… I miss my pillow already.  Pretty please throw me a bone?” I whisper, stepping forward again and jerk to a stop when the spiral metal corner of the library’s most uncomfortable iron chair snags my pocket.

And it’s absurd.

Because it won’t let go.

“Really?” I sigh, slumping and might even pout a little because Lupin appears, snickering in silence and helps untangle it— and a bit of wood falls out and clatters to the floor.

Huh.

“Is that the bone you were looking for?” Snape asks dryly.  I snort, then shrug and stoop to pick it up.

“Actually… I think it might be another history lesson in the form of wood flooring.” I turn the chip over and over until Lupin tugs it away to squint at it, wolf eyes alighting.

“Two-toned... like the border edge,” he agrees, nodding, then heads for the nearest wall and begins a slow walk and I turn for another, and Snape heads back towards the door, his lit wand pointed low.  It actually takes a full ten minutes to find because it’s not along the wall but the continued border of the librarian counter.

“Yay,” I cheer flatly when Lupin kneels to slide it back into it’s boring-looking spot.  “Lets see what school teaches us today.”

***

“Never let me say those words again,” I growl quietly, my dragon eyes glowering at the scene before us. I can taste a hint of sulfur aaaand that’s not good. That’s step one of three to DIY: how to breathe fire.

Much less helpful than one would think.

“This… isn’t Hogwarts,” Snape points out, but his eyes are huge as he skirts around the rickety table holding a single candle in what looks like a barely-functional hut to see that, yup.  Under the ratty-looking hoods of their cloaks, these are the Founders.  All four of them.  And I’m suddenly, desperately aching for a barbecue.

"Not Hogwarts," I agree because it's that one other country that's also a food frequently eaten during an American holiday in November. "Turkey," I mumble.

And the last person seated— yikes.  He’s kind of a mess of open sores, gangrenous pustules and filth, dressed in rags.  His eyes seem to be bleeding from beneath the padded blindfold tied around his head, blood like tears leaking out from beneath the fabric and his lips, dry and cracked and blistered are mouthing soundless words.

“Speak man,” Salazar, barely more than twenty, orders in Turkish while glaring uselessly over the table.  “We paid, now speak.”

“Calm down,” Helga murmurs in english.  “Mystics always take time; we’re lucky we found him at all.  Just… give him time.”

Salazar sneers over the table at her but a firm grip on his wrist has him stilling, then sneering over at Rowena just next to him, but huffs, jerking his hand away.  But he’s silent, glaring back at Godric over the table while Godric stares back and looks deeply unimpressed.

“I recognize that expression,” Lupin murmurs, lip twitching up on one side and Snape jerks a nod, smiling without smiling.  I feel a little left out of the joke (because they wouldn’t dare compare me to Godric, I’m sure, because they value their lives), but I don’t ask because nevermind their ages— these four, memory in the flesh, ruined countless lives.

Countless is an easy word that means nothing to human dragons who hoard memories and can’t forget.

I counted every one.

The school, as far as I’m concerned, was the only good thing they ever did.  I flinch when I get twin flashes of both Wyn and Moody and drop my eyes to the floor, suddenly shamed.  Okay… yeah.  Not the only, but— this is the prophecy.  I stuff my fisted hands into my robe pockets and study my feet.

“Four lines,” the blind man rasps, a dark, bloody tongue licking out and back, snake-quick. “Four bloods.”

As one, all four founders hiss in sudden breaths, jerking in place and begin pulling their sleeves up to see those four simple words carving themselves into their forearms.

“Never,” the man gasps.  “Nevernevernevernevernever shall flesh meet.”

“Bit late for that,” Rowena snarls quietly when the new words begin digging in, a bit deeper.

Lupin curses colorfully as he studies their faces as they watch those terrible words become flesh.  “This is Olde Prophecie,” he murmurs, frowning.  “Dark Mysticks-- why would they seek one out?”

“Fame? Fortune? Power?” I suggest a bit bitterly, my eyes still set low near my toes.  “Pure, unadulterated stupidity?”

“Or all four,” Snape murmurs, looking tense as he watches on.

“Yup,” I agree softly, almost flinching when the man speaks again.

“A flesh in flame, a flesh untamed,” the man continues, then swallows over and over and I suspect he’s swallowing more blood than any saliva he might have left.

“Bit of a riddle, isn’t it?” Helga rasps, wincing when the new marks cut deeper still, dribbling down to her long brown robe.

“A lame one,” Rowena sneers. “And useless, so far.”

“Patience,” Godric murmurs genially, looking largely unmoved by his blood mixing with the hard-packed dirt of the hut’s floor.

I close my eyes and wish I could afford to close my ears because their voices— I swallow back bile and wonder if waiting outside the non-existent hut would help.  It’s not like any of it’s really here.

“One of soul, two untold,” the man whispers, nearly silent and there’s another streak of blood on his cheeks, dribbling faster still. “Split in twain, land a flain, gathered power, treasure… flow'd.”

Helga is biting her lip at the increasing pain and trembling with nerves but manages a baffled: “One of soul?”

Salazar eyes Helga over the table, then Godric, who’s staring right back. But there’s a shared passion there.  A destiny both would rather seek without the other.

They sit for another minute, silent and waiting, but the blind man seems to be done.

As one, they rise from the table, Godric shoving more coins into the dying man’s hand before strolling off and out the rickety doorway, Rowena close behind him.  As Helga steps past, the blind man’s hand snaps out to the side to grip her arm and she sucks in a breath, almost jerking away until the man’s head stiffly, almost mechanically turns as if on it’s own.

“Never… in……… twain.”  It’s a cracked whisper so soft, none other would hear.  No one but Salazar.

Helga looks disturbed, then stubborn.  She yanks her arm free and goes, but she looks shaken.

Salazar stands silent by the door, staring at the back of the man’s head like he’s reading right into it, which… he might be doing.  Ligilimency, in one form or another, was as easy for him as it once was for me.   “Tell me truth.  Will it bring me what I want?”

This time when the man’s head turns to the side, it just keeps going with a sickening series of pops and crackles until it’s somehow set completely backward and he stares blindly through the cloth, mouth opened grotesquely to show that rotting tongue within and broken teeth set in gums as diseased as the rest of him.

“Brrrinnng powwwwwer…. N’vvvvvvvver ssssssssseeeeeennn,” he breathes out, then stills, lifeless.  Salazar and I watch the man’s soul float off before Salazar turns, careless and unfeeling and stalks out, eyes flashing weakly with dragon amber.

When the library flickers into view again, I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling ill.

Lupin stares at me, a little brokenly.  “And they separated you,” he says quietly.

“Did I mention the unadulterated stupidity part?”  

Snape curses, head low, then looks to me.  I’m glad there’s no pity in either of their expressions, but the kind compassion is almost worse because there’s a lot more they still don’t know.  A lot more I’m not sure I could say, even if I were allowed to.  A history lesson in the making: half of all prophecies are cruelty in the making while people like the Founders still walk the earth.

I drop my eyes again, shifting on my feet.  “So… that happened,” I huff.  “And now we’ve got all new material for our next round of unsettling dreams.”

“They were warned,” Snape huffs, anger seeping into his eyes.  “And ignored it.”

They did worse than that, but I'm not sure how to say: They used it like an instruction book to bring the most powerful being ever known into being just for the chance to harness it and discover a way to take that power for themselves.

“Further proof of self-fulfilling prophecies,” I offer, shrugging and studying the floor again.  “Fate is a big fan of free will, ironically enough.”

“Then the painter is right,” Snape breathes out, suddenly at my side.  “Not your fault.  Theirs.”

I swallow and shift, not ready to meet his eyes and then his warm, steady hand is on my shoulder.

“Jacklyn,” he murmurs, almost as sympathetic as Lupin’s kind eyes watching us both and I just shake my head, suddenly exhausted again.

“You don’t know,” I whisper around the chunk of rock in my throat and they don't because they can't and now it’s all too much and too soon and everything’s too close and I don’t question the urge.  I flick my eyes over just enough to see the cloudless night sky and shadow blink away, free falling until feathered wings sweep me into the soundless glide of my not-so-inner owl.

I coast for hours until the barest hint of dawn lightens the horizon.  By the time I sneak back into the castle and down to my apartment to collapse on Wyn’s bed, face buried in his pillow, I’m too tired to think, let alone dream.

***

Hiding in a castle this size is easy.  Or, it should be.  Likely is for most, but there’s clever people who know other clever people and the collective cleverness is probably why Tonks is sneaking into the Room of Requirement now from what looks like Lupin's classroom to watch me thrash my way through a dozen newly-designed, quicker-than-average dummies that automatically mesh themselves together again the second I throw them from the regulation ring.

“Can I assume you learned this terrifying skill for spy duties in a world without magic?  Or learned more for boy-avoiding stress relief?” Tonks finally asks, edging around the mat while I polish the next off with ease.

I pause my training, sweat dripping from my temples and flash an attempted smile at her that’s too lame for even her to respond to.

“Not boy-avoiding,” I sigh, stretching before conjuring a cup of water to guzzle down. “Stress relieving,” I correct when the water’s gone.

She hikes her eyebrows up but nods.  “So… you’ve got skills,” she says with a smirk.  You don’t use any magic at all for this, do you?”

“Where’s the challenge in that?” I demand, breath finally slowing. “Muggle collegiate academic studies have shown exercise to be among the top best ways to relieve stress and being a girl for ninety-nine out of a hundred of my past lives has shown me that smacking the hell out of people is amazingly cathartic.”

She barks a laugh, nodding, then freezes.  “Ninety-nine of a hundred?” She repeats, eyes twinkling with curiosity, then she plops down sideways onto the lap of one of the sitting dummies and pats the leg of the dummy beside her.  “Come now, sit and tell Auntie Tonks everything,” she demands, smirking cheerfully like all of this is totally normal. (The dummy she's sitting on turns its head to her as if to say 'for real?' while the dummy who's leg she's still patting stares at her patting hand with more of a 'girl, that ain't right' sort of non-expression.)

Yup.  Totally normal.

***

Turns out, girl time is just what I needed, at least in part and I confessed that yes, peeing while standing is amazingly convenient and blue balls are just as bad as most men make it out to be.  By the time my mental alarm is going off for dinner, we’re both cackling and screeching like we’re sugar-high-riding thirteen year olds at a boy band concert while bouncing around the whole of the room after I asked for an extra large trampoline.  The castle responded with an amused smirk and just did the entire floor. (And the room is massive, seriously.)

So she and I are both mid-triple flipping when ‘the boys’ finally find us and because the castle does have a sense of humor, pretty much shoves them in by tilting the floor outside the door (that leads to the potions classroom). Snape and Lupin get caught in a ripple bounce wave that sends them both bouncing too and Tonks cackles so hard seeing Lupin’s wide-eyed shock at suddenly being launched fifteen feet up, I worry she’ll give herself a fit.

Snape, the spoiled sport, manages to catch himself on the second bounce and makes himself a small shelf on the wall where he can judge us all (because of course Lupin joined in) and call us children.

“This is absurd,” Snape mutters to me on my next bounce by, but I’m pretty sure he’s fronting.  I've seen the proof that he remembers what healthy fun is.

“Absurd is just another word for fun,” I argue, slow-cartwheel-flipping past him with a wide grin.  “So what brings you two by?” I ask, springing off the wall and landing cannon-ball style next to Lupin to shoot him toward the ceiling with a startled yelp and now Tonks is laughing so hard her hair is full-on rainbow-colored with pure joy and Lupin damn-near has hearts in his eyes by the time she finds her breath. (To be fair, her laugh is positively contagious.)

“Ensuring that meals are being remembered,” Snape sighs, like watching us act our respective shoe sizes is a chore rather than hilarious ammo he’ll get to use on us in the future.  (Being seven again would be awesome, in most of my past lives.)

“I saw her eat an appleeeeee!” Tonks sing-songs, triple-flipping over Lupin’s head.

“That’s it?” Snape sighs when I bounce neatly onto the shelf beside him with no magic help at all.

“It…was a big apple?” I try, still grinning and catching my breath, then giggle when Lupin launches Tonks with a well-timed cannon ball and sends her cackling all over again and I belly laugh so hard, only Snape’s quick grip on my gi top keeps me on the shelf.

“Not nearly enough,” he gripes, eyes ticking up and down my outfit and raising an eyebrow.  “What are you wearing?”

“It’s a giiiiiiii,” Tonks supplies, bouncing by with Lupin on her bouncy heels.

“Yes, it’s a gi,” I sigh, breath finally returning.  “Formal training and sometimes fight uniform for mixed martial arts, my non-magical go-to de-stressor.”

“Fifteen on one is still insane without magic,” Tonks huffs, spin-flipping to a stop to stand sideways on the wall beside me.  Just seeing her standing upright from this angle bends my brain and I have to tilt to the left just to answer. Snape snatches the back of my top again to keep me from tipping off. (Somehow, I can feel his eyes rolling.)

“Fifteen on one is excellent practice for environmental perception and focus in a potentially hostile environment.  Told you I’d teach you if you ever want to learn, girl.  What are you gonna do mid-battle if your wand snaps?”

“Steal someone else’s,” Tonks smirks.  “I’d rather learn that shadow-blinky thing you do.”

“No,” I say flatly, rapid-shaking my head, which just makes me dizzy til I stand straight again.  "You don’t know splinching til you’ve seen shadow splinching, by which I mean wounds that never heal and— just.  No. Nope. Nien. Nyet. Nooooo.”

I don’t realize the shelf is descending down the wall til we’re at ground level and stepping back onto hard wood and I’d pout more, but Lupin’s still bright-eyed and his wolf seems super-happy Lupin’s finally adopted the ‘find a mate’ attitude.  It’s hard to pout at love-in-progress, so I just pretend I don’t see it, give my top a quick snap at the hem to switch back to my casual robes and follow my ever-growing pack-flock out to hunt down food.

***

Tonks and Lupin vanish after dinner to who-knows-where and Snape steals me from Annie to discuss ‘how homework isn’t excused due to illnesses’ but mostly ends with us strolling in leisurely silence through the empty halls. 

“You’re starting work on another counter-curse tomorrow?” He finally asks once 'slightly awkward' melts into ‘mellow conversation’ mode.

“Yup. Not sure on the timing on them yet, since I won’t even know what the curses do until they’re halfway done, though.  But without an immediate need for a rush, I should get more reasonable breaks.”

“Should?” He repeats, clearly unhappy.

“Should,” I sigh back.  “Minus crisis mode, it’s easier to hear my internal alarm clock reminding me to eat and sleep.”

“And hopefully easier to hear Remus and I badgering you about them,” he adds.

“That too,” I agree, huffing through a smile, then bump his arm lightly with my shoulder. “Sorry for bailing on you guys last night,” I mumble. “I don’t always deal with… them very well.”

“Understandable,” he murmurs back.  “They’re not quite what I’d expected and I’m finding it easier and easier to dislike them.”

I smirk.  “Well… don’t go overboard with it.  They did make a pretty great school.”

He makes an agreeing noise and we walk on, comfortable in silence before I peel off for the Hufflepuff common room with a soft ‘good night’.  This time, when dreams pull me under, they're  of turbulent bouncing where I never land quite right, or not right enough to catch my balance until Snape snatches me out of the air and steadies me on the shelf at his side.  I feel amazingly safe there.