Bats and Cauldrons

Bats and Cauldrons

The cool,  smooth surface of the glass was calming in some way as she pressed half her body against it. Curled up in the wide windowsill,  book perched on her knees,  Brooklyn felt something close to peaceful.  The green tint to the water on the other side made her pages shimmer just slightly.

She liked it here when no one was around the common room.  It was dim and quiet, the shadows very natural and safe to those with a preference for them.

After six years attending Hogwarts, she knew when most of her housemates would be out.  There was a game today,  after all,  and she loved game days because everyone could be found in the stands.  No one was out causing trouble that she would have to take action to prevent.  Not that she disliked her Head Girl position of course,  but a little time off was pleasant. She was used to the responsibility after having served as prefect formerly. 

She liked to be left to her mind,  left to think and plan for everything on the horizon.  There was much she needed to do and it seemed so rare to have a moment to really make proper plans for gaining what she wanted. 

Admittedly,  she enjoyed classes, but they were hardly enough,  too slow. Passing her O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) in the fifth year with top marks did nothing to make her feel more prepared. They did not give her the real training she needed.  Thankfully there were books hiding in the restricted section for that and a few fellow students with grand bits of knowledge that made up for some of the lack. She needed to accelerate her training if she ever wanted to make a difference. 

Later, much later,  when everyone else was yet asleep,  she and Nightwing would need to make a trip as they frequently did.  There was much to accomplish and she found even small victories were... better than none; they at least offered her moments of relief from the crawling under her skin that craved what she was not allowed to offer. While her victories were only ever small so far,  they were something,  and that was more than she could let go of. 

Even when she was alone,  as she was now,  the peaceful feeling wasn't encompassing.  That dark itch under her skin,  the unending coil of tightness in her muscles, that burning need stemming from emotions she never named,  that never went away.  It slithered through her blood even while she slept,  unquenchable and admittedly dangerous because she knew feeding it was the only way to ease it,  but she also understood that indulging too greatly would consume her. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something of a glimmer,  hardly noticing the shape of a slithering thing with three heads and long body, simply that it was headed for her.  Reacting mainly in surprise,  conditioning so long drilled into her very core,  she threw her book like a weapon in the direction she supposed the castor of the spell might lurk in the same moment she pitched her body forward.  She rolled and dropped easily into a familiar defensive stance, wand swiftly in her fingers, results of long hours spent training and submerging in dueling practice. 

The cackle of amusement hitched, dampened for only a moment when the book cracked against a face. With a narrow-eyed glare,  she shifted away from her stance in order to properly strike a disapproving pose. Still, he snickered while pinching the bridge of his long, thin nose, skin so perpetually without color that even the mark the book left was more blue-white than red. 

"John!" Brooke hissed, waving her free hand at the disappearing Runespoor Patronus charm like she might wave away smoke from a blown out candle. 

 As if to prove he wasn't cowed by the glare that sent even seventh years running for cover back when she was younger and less than half their size, he smoothed back his green hair, "Startled?" He purred as he dropped his hands to his sides. 

Resolutely,  she resisted the urge to straighten his tie,  forcing the urge aside.  Usually, she would move in and set his uniform to rights while he rolled his eyes with exasperated fondness. 

She only notched the intensity higher on her glare which,  in turn,  made him giggle further with his interesting high,  low pitchiness.

"You always get so prickly when I manage to sneak up on you." His grin turned that little bit sharp,  the way he had that so often intimidated others and kept them wary of him. 

John was unfathomable to most people, strange and disturbing, yet somehow charming under his glaring contrary differentness to that of the rest of the world. He wasn't like anyone else,  wizard or otherwise. 

"You shouldn't use Patronus charms for pranks and disturbing other people's homework." She intoned her voice to be scolding. "You're a Head Boy and it sets bad examples for younger students."

"Sure, miss prefect." He looked entirely too knowing, "That's why you're annoyed." His abnormally wide smile appeared as it often did, that hint of creepy leaning to it she long ago became perfectly used to, "Besides... why have one if I never use it?  No one is here but you and I've never seen a rule against it. Magic is supposed to be fun... you can't be serious all the time. You know I can always make you smile, it's what I live for! I'm the only reason you have a life." He teased. 

" 'e has a point,  love." Oswald Cobblepot slid around the corner, out of his hiding place on the stairs, smarmy smirk in place as always, "You are, like, the only person down here.  Studying.  Alone.  While everyone else is out there screaming their heads off in support of their house teams or booing another,  havin' a grand ol' time.  In comparison..." he waved a hand at them as if that made his point. 

"You're here. What does that do to your theory?" She replied flatly, though she knew perfectly well he was not hurting for company. 

Recent addition though he was,  his devilish, disheveled, bad-boy good looks had girls from all grades more than interested in the transfer student. He was bad,  trouble even a teenager could acknowledge and understand,  but he did it with style. Even when they knew each other as young children before he moved to America he always oozed charm and it was not a skill that had abandoned him. His accent didn't hurt him as far as girls were concerned either. 

"Ah,  but I only came back because I forgot me scarf! I've a reason! You, not so much." Oz simpered, well assured of his verbal victory. 

"You came back to taunt and annoy me,  don't lie." Brooke tilted her chin up to let him know he hadn't won.

"Here now, I only want to see you live a little like John says.  Maybe get you to pop over to the Three Broom Sticks,  something like that.  Break the monotony of your rigorous education."

Brooke scoffed, "All these years you were gone, Oz, and you still have nothing better to do than attempt to lure me into trouble."

John snickered loudly, "Could you even find good trouble without us? What kind of guys would we be if we didn't give you directions now and then? Lure you to the wild side?"

Actually,  she could find trouble just fine,  thus the need for study. 

There was a good reason she studied and devoured education the way she did, she just couldn't tell them quite all of it.  They knew she was driven, everyone in their house was, so that wasn't unusual, but they joked about her shaming even a Ravenclaw with her obsessive reading. 

"Right! It's only because we're good, kind-hearted blokes that we take the time to drag you out of your neat little lines. Trust us, you need help!" Oswald nodded definitively. 

"Don't play that, you won't make me forget." Brooke picked up her book with a flourish and shook it John's way to demonstrate she had lost her page thanks to him, "I'm not serious all the time."

"Only every second of every day, Brookie, pal! I've seen your house, remember? I spend every summer with you, I can't help but notice!  No color,  no fun,  too quiet unless I'm around! Training every day! Someday... I'll finally get you... unwound."

"I was studying, and you two have an issue with that? Maybe that's why I always beat you in scores, hmm?" She offered a reluctant smile,  one John always particularly liked getting from her.

Sure enough,  green eyes brightened just that much more, "You could teach the class,  buddy! Why spend your life worrying?"

She sighed and hugged her book, "I have to get that apprenticeship."

John threw both arms around her shoulders enthusiastically, "You have nothing to fear! You're perfect and we both know it! You have the highest scores every year!" He gave her a little shake to emphasize.  

John lingered,  hanging on, a hint too hard.  His face rested against her neck,  lips brushing skin,  making her almost shiver when he breathed her in like perfume.  People so often suspected them of being young lovers,  like Victor and Nora,  but it wasn't true.

They were best friends since she learned not to shy away from the danger in his smile.  Best friends since she began to realize he was just as damaged,  if not much more, than she was, and since she decided she would be the one to hold his pieces together. They were best friends since the day a little eleven-year-old with green hair coldcocked a second year that cornered her on the train hissing mean accusations about her dead father.

She never would forget the sight of that strange looking boy with such an impossibly wide grin, wand held still aloft after he growled: "Stupefy." At that moment she couldn't fathom anyone coming to her defense like that,  someone she'd never met.  She told him she could have handled it but of course, she also thanked him for his assistance the way manners dictated,  and he just laughed, long and strange sounding.  He made her wary yet she couldn't help feeling drawn to him,  couldn't help liking him. They hadn't even been sorted and already John knew they were meant to be, "two threads in the same stitch."

John whispered directly into her ear so only she would hear, "You're perfect.  Perfect! Nothing can stop you. Nothing would dare,  no,  not for you. The world is yours,  Brookie, they'll see it eventually." He believed in her too intensely,  almost with fanaticism. 

At times,  in the beginning,  all John's intensity,  manic swings of demeanor,  and the dangerous hints of pure inanity bubbling up through his cracks had frightened her.  Even at a considerably young age she could recognize insanity,  identify the sensation of pebble flesh and dread accompanying the dangerous people of the world. 

After she became a prefect,  no one,  not even teachers had really been able to keep John from patrolling right along beside her,  acting as her shadow.  After a year of teachers trying to prevent him being Brooke's shadow prefect,  they were both simply elected Head Boy and Girl to be done with them. John had great intensity and dedication that the teachers struggled to keep on their side and as controlled as possible,  or at least properly directed. 

After knowing him so long,  she still occasionally felt the prickle of fear,  but not of him,  no, now she feared for him.  She feared the day she might not be there to calm him,  the day something cracked and broke.  If broken sufficiently,  even magic could not always put things to right. 

John didn't let go or back away,  but Oz was used to seeing them acting oddly after several months being around them.  He responded the way everyone did; ignored it. 

Oz huffed out a laugh he clearly tried to stem the bitterness from,  mostly successfully, "You're an established descendant of nearly every pure-blood line with family ties to even Durmstrag and Ilvermorny. Your mum was a former Slytherin prefect, related to the Peverell's. You'd have it in the bag even if you couldn't cast a single charm."

Brooke knew it still stung him, even after so many years, to have his family name stripped of power even though he had a similar pedigree as she did.  They were disgraced, lost nearly everything. Moving away hadn't been enough to quell the hurt. 

"Plus,  you've a decent face.  Not the best,  but it's good enough." Oz added,  clearly to chase away any unpleasantness. 

"Always so charming." Brooke huffed sarcastically. 

John pulled away from her as if struck with a jinx the next moment when a sonorous, slightly nasal, bored voice drawled through the open space, "At it again, you three?  Public displays of romantic intention are discouraged,  you know? Don't you have...a game to cheer for? Show your... house spirit?"

They all turned slightly alarmed eyes on the newly appointed head of Slytherin house.  None having noticed his silent,  shadowy arrival. 

"Professor Snape." Brooke greeted him cordially simply from habit,  though she admittedly was less afraid of the man and more admiring of his abilities. 

She found him inspiring.  His dark robes that swayed perfectly as if enchanted to flow just the right way; he had a sinister sort of speed and agility to go along with his silent approaches that she very much found an enticing display.  He was very much her source of emulation of recent times, the figure she kept in mind while she was away from the school walls. Many likened him to a bat.  While not handsome,  he was intimidating,  beautiful like a poisonous snake. 

She wanted to be exactly like him from the moment she first saw him because his talent was a useful one.  He had the ability to strike fear into others simply by walking into a class. Striking effortless fear into others,  that she could learn from. 

"We were just about to get that way." Oz poked his thumb over his shoulder,  toward the stairs, recovered for his slight shock at the sudden arrival of the billowing,  dark-clad figure. 

His black eyes remained unimpressed as he gazed at them dispassionately, a slight curl to his lip as he spoke, "See that you do," then he swept from the room in a flurry of perfect black robes just as suddenly and silently as he arrived. 

"Guess we better go cheer." John chuckled low and a little thin. 

Snape managed to make those two nervous the way only one other professor could.  Who didn't fear to get on the wrong side of the headmaster's right-hand lady? For his short time employed, Snape was already doing very well at earning the respect of everyone,  but particularly his own house,  which was no easy task. 

Brooke swept her way up the steps,  book clutched in her arms,  sending off a quick retrieval spell to summon both hers and John's warmer outerwear.  It was just as well that they go to the game,  she supposed.  She would get no more reading done with them hovering as it was. 

All was dark and quiet when she crept out from behind the bed curtains,  shoes tucked in a pouch,  robes gathered tightly in hand to keep them from making a sound.  Her feet hit the cold floor,  sending a jolt through her system that she ignored in favor of tiptoeing from the dorm and down the halls. She avoided the little triggering spells she knew full well was in place and she took particular care passing Snape's areas of residence. She never had to take quite the care she did now with the former head of house. 

She couldn't fully complain since it was rather good training, escaping, getting past such a cunning gatekeeper.  He was far more challenging than the groundskeeper. Actually, she would put Snape on par with the equally intimidating Gryffindor head of house and Deputy head even though she honestly liked the woman. 

She slipped her shoes on once she was through the doors,  coiling her green and silver scarf tightly around her neck and up over her nose.  The air was biting cold but even that was probably good for her,  something to toughen her up against the elements. 

Once outside the grounds,  she remained vigilant,  breathing out the puffs of hot air in the cold,  wishing breath was not such a necessary part of life.  The steam gave her away as she traveled towards the woods.  She needed to invent a spell to fix that.  Even with a Notice-Me-Not charm around herself,  she didn't feel it was adequate.  Small things could give her away.  It was always small things. 

The glow from the lunar flowers and the passing fireflies lite her way through the darkness, the crescent moon offering little help.  She was well accustomed to the darkness,  however,  and navigating within it, forced herself to be. 

Upon arrival into the trees, she shed her school uniform in favor of the garb underneath, stuffing the robes into her pouch.  Once free to wear attire more suited to her endeavor, she made straight for Nightwing,  the sound of hooves against the earth enough to guide her to the herd.  They were all but invisible in the darkness, ironically,  even to those who could see them,  save for their eyes,  glowing reflectively.

All those shining eyes turned to her as one when she entered their space,  but she was a frequent visitor,  and one they took a particularly keen interest in. She pulled forth the raw steaks for her companion and the rest of the Thestrals tucked away with a shirking spell in her bag. They had something of a standing arrangement, she and the herd. Distributed bribery among the small bunch was sufficient for their silence.  

The great beast contemplated her with a tilt of his head and a slight lift of dark leathery wings.

"Yes,  I'll need your help tonight,  if you would be so kind?"

The dark stallion tossed his head in an affirmative and she cupped his muzzle affectionately.  They looked terribly frightening but to any that took the time to understand them,  they were wonderful.  She had never found them anything but breathtaking, perhaps because she felt the connection with them, these stallions of death.  Fear of death had been long absent in her even if she did not openly seek it. 

Once she fed him, the skeletal horse-like creature nudged his nose against her shoulder in fond approval, making her stumble just a little from how strong he was. With a chuckle, she pet his firm cheeks,  looking into his white, strikingly intelligent, luminous eyes. 

"Ready to go hunting,  my friend?"

He eyed her with a soft snort, a clear inclination of agreement before he allowed her to climb astride his winged back.  The next moment they were sailing through the dark night with only the thump of his enormous wings to signal the departure. 

She had just learned a new spell: Deletrius, she was eager to try out on a few thick,  defensive walls she knew harbored one Death Eater cache of dark artifacts. Her Bombarda Maxima or Incindio were also decidedly effective against anything she used them on thus far. She learned a great many spells including ones not taught in any class.

She was not an Auror, no,  she was not bound by their rules.  Most likely,  since she didn't abide by the Ministry rules she would be considered just as criminal as those she hunted but it made no difference.  There were things the Ministry could not do,  things that hindered them,  people who hindered their efficiency by leaking secrets,  and none of those problems applied to her.

Brooke did what others could not.  What even the kindly Auror that rescued her the night of her parent's deaths could not do.  She could go where no one else could because she did not follow the rules of either side, neither light or dark.  No one could tip off her targets because no one but she had any idea where the Bat would strike.  It was highly effective. 

One of Borgan and Burke's nests were about to face a trial by fire,  potentially in a literal sense.  As was the discovery of a trove of a recent graduated Ravenclaw with a sudden leaning for collecting dark artifacts no one should have access to; or rather,  things she refused to allow other access to.  Riddler would learn to hate her,  she wagered,  though he would probably never find out her real identity any more than the others had. 

It was with a wide smile upon her lips that she sailed off to her destination. This was where she felt truly free,  where the tension under her skin ceased its perpetual crawling.  When she had a task, a goal, a blow to strike,  she felt untethered. 

Much later, ash and debris cleaned from her person with a few cleaning spells, she descended the stairs to the common room once more, shoes in hand and robes in place. It was just hinging on dawn, orange glow only hinted at on the skyline,  darkness still prevailing in all but spirit.  Even the teachers were not in the habit of being up at that particular hour so it was with little fear that she padded down the stone steps. 

It made it all the more startling when John's voice erupted from the deathly stillness of the common room,  his tie, and monogrammed vest askew more than usual, "Trouble sleeping?" His voice had that sinister edge to it but she supposed it must be from lack of use after the night. 

His long legs were thrown over the side of the chair,  kicking lazily,  catching her eye and holding it for some reason.  Maybe she did not care to look him in the eye considering she knew full well some of the items she either stole or destroyed that night had belonged to his adoptive family. 

"Yes...quite right. I was having trouble." She forced her expressing into a blanked state. 

"Where did you go to pass the time?" He asked eagerly,  snapping a book shut,  though how he had been reading in the dark,  she could not say. 

"Dropped down to the kitchen. I was feeling peckish."

John was silent for a moment, staring, and it was all Brooke could do not to shift beneath his focused study. It was strange, to feel the need to defend herself or fidget.  It had never been her habit to do so, not as a Wayne and not as her alter ego.  Nothing made Batwoman uncomfortable in particular.  She induced discomfort in others because either name she used was cause for at least respect, it was not supposed to be the other way around.

Sometimes though, she could swear he was reading her like a book, as though he could hear her thoughts. Which couldn't be considering her rigorous study and application of Occlumency.  Never the less, it felt exposing, leaving vulnerable secrets bare in a manner she had never experienced with another individual.

Not that she had never been subject to vulnerability,  she had many times,  painful times. She'd been vulnerable against her will and fervent resistance because she feared openness too greatly to open herself willingly. John was different. Sometimes she wanted desperately to tell him everything. 

The urge was non-existent with anyone else. It didn't feel wrong to tell him the truth, it felt like a betrayal to lie, which was disconcerting.  It made her lies flat and pitiful when she was usually very effortless in the art. Lies were protection for both of them. 

She never felt tired after a successful mission but suddenly she felt drained.  Not waiting for his reply, she dropped into a chair and scooted it closer to his,  tossing her own legs over the side so she could tangle their legs together.  John held tightly to her,  winding their lower limbs together as much as possible.  Brooke was asleep in a matter of seconds after,  lulled effortlessly by her friend's low purred hum.

The wind swirled around her, tugging insistently on her scarf and robes as she walked through the courtyard, books clutched to her chest. John was a close, grinning shadow at her side the way he was most days. They shared every class together since John inevitably took every class she did. She was headed to the owlery before their next class to send off her weekly letter to Alfred, her distant cousin and Fred the house elf at Wayne Manor.

Fred was not the house elf's real name, or it had not been until her four-year-old self began to call him that in a twisted sort of logic only children understood. Once upon a time, she had been insistent the elf was not only her best friend but also her cousin, and thus, he simply had to be named accordingly, but he could not be named Alfred, clearly, since the name was taken, thus it became Fred. To date the elf refused t be called anything else and she was fairly sure he magically changed it entirely because of her.

Alfred and Fred, along with a few other house elves, lived at the Manor and had since she could remember. Alfred Pennyworth had been visiting the year the Wayne's died and he abandoned all else in order to take Brooke under his wing, neglecting his own former home to stay with her.

The Wayne's were established descendant of pureblood lines with family ties to Burke, Lestrange, Macmillan, and Nott even though the family relocated several generations before Thomas was born to the vicinity of both Durmstrag and Ilvermorny. Though Thomas Wayne attended Durmstrang Institute, he chose to return to his old family home shortly after graduation. 

Martha Wayne née Greengrass, a former Slytherin prefect, was known to be related to the Peverell's as well as Prewett, Rowle, Shacklebolt, Travers, and a very distant link to the well-loved Ollivander line. 

Though the name Wayne was acquired after the relocation, and not listed in the Sacred twenty-eight, they held more power and sway than almost any other family including Malfoy.

However,  they had been struck down in Diagon Ally by a rogue Death Eater named Chill when Brooklyn was eight. Alfred and the house elves cared for her after that, and somehow, through clawing and scratching her way through, the young Wayne managed to maintain that power base, cunning even at her young age. She navigated the politics and swam in dark waters, avoiding the pitfalls and trusting no one but Alfred to be her guide. Alfred was her strong and powerful protector through everything and he never left her side. With her pedigree, no one was surprised at her ferocious tenacity to do as she saw fit, gaining herself emancipation at the age of ten. 

Even after she was established as head of her house, Alfred still stayed with her, tending to her needs and supporting her every aspiration. His approval of her clandestine activities was less than glowing but he supported her all the same, offering her his total confidence and help. He was already blood but he might as well have adopted her as his own child, particularly since his wife died young and he had none of his own. She often wondered if that was why he stayed, perhaps he felt the same.

Brooke walked up the steps while John bounced theatrically up each one, singing some song he very likely made up. After so many years with him, she did not bother to roll her eyes, used to his antics, though she still never understood where his energy for it all bubbled up from.

The owls looked up to level the boy with a collective glare when he hit a particularly sour note but John did not notice. Sometimes he had the voice of a dark, terrifying angel but she deeply suspected he was partly tone deaf in some ranges of notes unless it was actually intentional when he achieved the cringe-worthy dissonance. 

On a perch away from the other owls in the darkest corner, dangling upside down was her Creature Companion. His leathery wings were folded tightly around his body and his large pointed ears flicked at the sound of her approach. When she eased in front of him, his beady green eyes fixed on her before he let out a welcoming shriek that also made the surrounding owls fluff their feathers in annoyance.

King Bat had been in her family since before she was born though she knew very little about him. He was ominous and magnificent, dwarfing most all of the other owls in comparison to his great size. She had her suspicions about him but she doubted she would ever fully understand the creature.

He was not an owl and she technically should not have been allowed to keep him at school but she battled the Headmaster himself over her long-standing connection to the bat and his preexisting ties to her family. In the end, King Bat perched among the owls and delivered her letters home.

He screamed again, with a warble at the end she strongly suspected he learned from being surrounded by owls so long. She expected he was pleased to be returning to the Manor for a short while. Ever the dutiful friend, he allowed her to slip the notes into his mail pouch. She rubbed affectionately between his ears before slipping him a treat.

A moment later, with a sonorous shriek, his massive wings nearly sent her backward with the force of air as he shot out the doorway. After a moment watching him flap into the distance, she grabbed John's hand to drag him back down the steps to head to Charms class. John was muttering to her about the scheduled lesson they were to have when he suddenly snickered and elbowed her.

"Well, well!" He tugged her to a stop and peeked around a pillar, "Look who we just caught in the act!"

Brooke peered around the empty courtyard until she spotted the black and yellow set of scarfs and robes tangled together. Lips locked and arms wound around each other, Victor and Nora huddled under a tree. Everyone knew about their little secret and everyone knew they would marry right out of school. They shared a Badger patronus, for Merlin's sake. The Hufflepuff pair were sickeningly cute if not perhaps disturbingly codependent. She doubted either one knew how to live without the other.

"Cute, aren't they?" A smooth, feminine voice whispered at them from around the very next pillar. 

John's eyes widened and he instantly took a subtle step away from how closely he had pressed himself to Brooke while spying on the others, "Quinzel! Didn't see you there!" He smiled too wide and obviously tried not to fidget.

Brooke shoved viciously at the sense of discomfort that always came over her when the blond showed up around John. She did not mind Harleen, they got along well enough, probably since they both had a slightly skewed sense of humor.

She was very pretty and rather well endowed without obviously flaunting it.  She was bubbly yet almost sad and subdued at once,  happy and oppressed at once in an unfortunate combination. The Ravenclaw was a Pureblood with a line of Healers down her father's side. Her father had aspirations to bring her into the business one day. Harley told her once how she secretly wanted to be a teacher or start her own branch of healing, but she would never say so. Brooke sometimes wondered why the girl told her, but she supposed that was what happened when you paid attention to the moods of people around you, you caught them when they were vulnerable enough to talk.

Quinzel was the reason Brooke knew, contrary to more than half the school's assumption, that John was not in love with her. John was head over heels in his infatuation with the Ravenclaw.  He gushed about the girl any time she passed within sight of them. He told her once that Harley's wand was Pinewood with a Phoenix feather core 13 inches, while his was Hawthorne wood with a Phoenix feather core, 13 inches.

He waxed poetic about the fact that he had nearly gotten pine as well, how it had been so close had Olivander not tried that last wand. Not that he was anything but happy with his own wand, he assured her, but wasn't it such a coincidence! Though he did point out that his was brittle flexibility and hers was pliant, but the similarity was uncanny, so he said. After that conversation, Brooke had been a bit wary of letting John near the girl because she had no idea how he knew that much about the other girl's wand when they almost never spoke.

She knew everything about John's wand but she would never have known about Quinzel's without his rather extensive information. Inexplicably, she also found herself jealous that the two shared such a similar wand, even though they were not entirely similar. It almost did seem a bit strange that they could have been so close considering John's obsession with her. But she supposed she must have been more or less envious of the wands themselves and their lack of ill reputation compared to her own supposed deeply unlucky though highly rare; Elder wood with a Unicorn hair core 14 ½ inches and Hard flexibility. She would never trade her wand but the 'wand of elder, never prosper' bit tended to grate her nerves at times. Her wand was not like anyone else's and she supposed that was why it irritated her to hear John go on about the Ravenclaw's wand.

"They are cute, but they also should not be engaging in public like they might in a broom closet." Grabbing John's arm, she pointedly marched into the open to give the two Hufflepuffs a stern warning, though she did not deduct points.

John chuckled low and dark as they walked away to class, "So harsh, buddy! Don't want to give us the reputation for being murderers of love, do you?"

"It happens to be our job," she pointed out a little snappishly.

He slung an arm over her shoulder, "And you do such a great job of it too, Brookie!"

When a little third year bumped into John, tossing both their books to the stone floor, Jarvis Vision turned an alarming shade of purple before squeaked a hasty, "Sorry, Doe, didn't see you!" 

"No worries," John told the Ravenclaw amiably when he crouched down and scooped his books back up. 

Vision was Muggle-born but he was a natural talent even for his total lack of familiarity with common knowledge of the wizarding world.  He was born to be a wizard, everyone said so. They both knew him well enough considering Tony took the little boy under his wing almost the moment they met on platform 9 and 3/4. Tony had a habit of collecting wayward individuals even though he was likely the most wayward of all.

When John handed the boy a book the kid beamed, "Thanks, Doe!" before he scurried away.

For reasons unknown, John had been skillfully obliviated at the tender age of ten, left with no memory, and presumably orphaned. He was, however, taken in by the Lestrange family without explanation until he was accepted to Hogwarts, which left most assured of his likely pure status even if the Lestrange family remained entirely mum about their knowledge of the boy's identity. No one even knew for sure he was twelve without the extensive work from healers to determine it. 

It was widely conjectured that they knew not only who the boy was but also the reasons behind his condition. He was rumored to be a potential Gaunt family member, which would make him a descendant of Slytherin. If anyone were to find out he spoke Parseltongue the way Brooke had one summer when they were in second year, that would likely be further confirmation of the rumors.

Once the Muggle-borns found out his story, they took to calling him John Doe, and it stuck for some reason. Over half the school called him John Doe and occasionally even a teacher would slip. 

"We're going to be late, John." Brooke prompted him and they hurried through the nearby door to swoop into empty chairs near the left-hand side.

Almost the second they hit the seats the lecture began and Brooke took a breath to ease herself,  wondering why she was so tense. She could feel the pressure in her temples and noticed she had been clenching her jaw for some time so she relaxed it. 

Harvey Dent leaned over his desk to whisper, "Cutting it close, huh? Guess you're not always perfect." The Gryffindor offered her a cheeky grin when she glared.  

Dent was built like a rock wall,  wide shoulders, thick arms,  barrel chest,  chiseled, and strong features. He was a Beater for his house and a very good one.  Looking at him made her glad she never played Quiddich. 

They had been friends since they were very young and being in different houses had done nothing to change that even if it did give them reason to barb each other more often and allowed for a bit of rivalry. 

"Sod off, Harvey. You're never on time. This might be the first time in history you've made it here before me." 

His laugh was full and infectious, "I'm only messing with you, grouch! I doubt it would hurt you record even if you were late. Flitwick would forgive his favorite student."

"I don't see what business you have with my scholastic records." She groused.

Harvey made a face and leaned John's way, "She seems testier than her usual gloomy self, is she on her time of the month or something?"

John attempted to smother the cackle he let out while Brooke vehemently vowed to spell every last stitch of clothing the Gryffindor owned to be permanently green and silver right after she plastered him to the top of his own tower with a permanent sticking charm. 

"Watch out, Mate!" Oswald Cobblepot whispered to them, but she was not at all sure which of them he was warning or if he was just letting them know they attracted attention.

Harvey's laughter tapered away and so did John's when he noticed Flitwick moving their way with as close to a glare as the man ever seemed able to wear. Brooke did not feel particularly sorry for her own outburst and when she told the professor exactly what Harvey said to cause her outburst, the man flushed pink like he had never heard such a thing before in his life. He did not take points from any of them, particularly since mentions of a woman's cycles in class seemed to have put him off enough that he wanted to ignore the whole thing. She loved how easy that man was. That would never have worked on Snape or McGonagall. 

"I know you still love me." Harvey whispered. 

She rolled her eyes but John sneered, "I never said I love you."

Dent looked instantly offended, "I wasn't talking to you,  John,  but I'm pretty sure,  secretly,  way deep down,  you probably love me too."

"Pretty sure I don't." John smirked defiantly and Harvey shook his head,  mumbling about denial.