Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The October sun was doing its best to keep November's chills at bay and laid persistently into the school grounds, as if to give the best run for the last of its money.

The whole student body was showing its appreciation for the sun's efforts by taking to the grounds and camping around the lake, some groups studying, some revising, some simply catching the last proper sunlight of the year, or egging on a group of sixth years who'd taken to the Quidditch pitch.

A lone figure sat off the beaten path and most crowded areas, leaning against a tree by the lake just far enough from the Forest to avoid its chill and just close enough to have the noise of the crowds echo softly off the barrier of the trees before getting sucked in. A bob of blonde hair got occasionally fixed by a swift movement of a hand when the bangs slipped too far into her face as she leaned over her book, seemingly completely lost in it.
Her left hand was idly tapping a ruminative rhytm against her temple with the handle of her wand, broken only to secure the occassional uncooperative strand of hair or to turn a page.

According to Shaw's count, she has been sitting there for at least the two and a half hours since she joined Carter, Fusco and Finch in watching John fool around at the pitch with his mates. First hour went by uneventfully, bar a few neat tricks and a near fall; ninety minutes were marked by the arrival of Zoe, who joined their group with a soft sigh as she dropped her book bag before swiftly following its path. Two hours in, Shaw was past bored watching the sixth-years fly around and even tired of discussing some of the more interesting strategies and tricks with Joss. Two and a half hours in, her eyes ended their restless search for something entertaining on the blonde for the ninth time, and the girl had yet to move something else but her hands. With the situation on the entertaintment front growing dire, tenth time followed soon after and this time the blonde was looking up into the tree, her lips moving, the book abandoned in her lap.
Shaw was distracted by Reese's arrival momentarily and her eyes flashed devilishly as she spotted the apple he was throwing and catching as he approached them. Never one to pass an opportunity to get a rise from the older boy, she made a move to snatch the apple from him – but her hand only grabbed air. As did John's.

"What did you do with my apple," He exclaimed indignantly and she only leveled him with a gaze. Sure, she was probably one of the best in Defence in her year, but non-verbal vanishing spells were beyond her, and he should know better than to rub it in her face.

Instead of answering, she scanned the grounds for clues, her search ending with the lonesome blonde to her left. Who was now standing, hands on her hips, staring into the crown of the tree. And suddenly her head turned and her eyes met Shaw's and then she threw her head back and laughed.

Shaw grit her teeth.

No one laughed at her. Or even in her direction.

She turned her attention back to the others. John gave up on figuring out the Mysterious Apple Disappearance Act and was listening to Zoe's recount of something or the other that has happened earlier that day, which Shaw felt no remorse about interupting.

"Who's that," she tipped her head towards the mocking blonde and her tree, her eyes on Zoe, who was most likely to know. To her surprise, it was Lionel who answered her first.

"That's Fabray," he said as if that was supposed to mean anything to Shaw. Though when she thought about it, the name did sound vaguely familiar.

"Sixth year Slytherin," Zoe supplied, glancing in her direction, and Joss nodded along.

"One of the best in her year," Finch murmured without lifting his head from the book he was burried in, to which Carter huffed.

"She's one of their chasers, too," she said however and this time Shaw nodded minutely, gears clicking in place. Figures the name sounded familiar.

"Any particular reason she's talking to the tree," Shaw asked lightly, as that was what the blonde seemed to be engaging in, her book forgotten on the ground.

This seemed to have attracted the attention of the others, as they all looked to see for themselves. Fusco snorted in amusement.

"It's almost dinner time," he commented with a glance at his watch. While Shaw appreciated the point, she did not see the relevance, but he continued. "She's probably trying to get Adler down."

This earned a amused hum from Reese and the girls, and a confused frown from Shaw. Still watching the tree and its whisperer, she took a breath to ask further, when an upside-down head popped out from the tree's crown followed by two hands so suddenly and unexpectedly Shaw took half a step back and forgot her question, to a great amusement of her friends.

"That's Cass Adler," Zoe supplied languidly, a trace of amusement still in her tone. "She and Quinn hang out."

Carter chuckled at that.

"Adler's a fifth year Ravenclaw," she added for Shaw's sake, and Shaw frowned. Granted, she transfered to Hogwarts only last year, but if the girl was in the same year she was, they should be sharing at least some classes – Hufflepuff had History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and Potions with Ravenclaw from what she recalled – yet the face in the distance looked perfectly unfamiliar.

She kept watching the pair – the one that was previously perched in the tree descended to the ground with surprising grace and they were both sitting side by side, engrossed in conversation. The Ravenclaw seemed to be explaining something to the older girl, pointing at – Shaw had to squint a little to be sure, but bristled as soon as she confirmed – the very same apple she was prevented from snatching off Reese. When she squinted some more, she could see it now had a few considerable dents in it, which only added insult to the injury of confusion. She considered walking over there and giving the thiefs a piece of her mind – ideally some of the more cursing-prone pieces – for a few minutes, but before she could decide on the best approach, a magically enhanced voice bellowed through the grounds, startling everyone and their owls. Even through the Sonorus charm, Shaw recognised the voice and coudn't stop the eyeroll if she wanted to try. The owner of the voice has been on her case since the train ride earlier that year and seemed to have made it her life mission to annoy the hell out of Shaw at every turn.

"Leave my fucking ink bottles alone you asshole," Root's voice vibrated through the grounds from the castle and Shaw did her best to supress an amused chuckle – no one messed with Root, everyone knew that, and the effort to appear invisible that collectively fell over all the occupants of the outside, lest they somehow caught her attention, would be at least mildly amusing, if Shaw allowed herself to associate such words with Root's behaviour. Which she did not.

Instead, she followed the example of the herd and joined in the collective head-turning and crowd-scanning to see any indications that would mark a perpetrator – anyone who was foolish enough to get the attention of one of the most ominous, for a lack of a better word, Hogwarts student by messing with the creepy nerd's library time and ink bottles. Give-away signs were well known to all – pale face, anguish and possibly foul smell indicating regret over past choices and anticipation of the future lack thereof.

To her surprise, she saw the older Slytherin gently smack her companion over the top of her head as the Ravenclaw shrugged exagerattedly before she shook her head and opened her mouth. Zoe and Fusco were turned the opposite direction and flinched slightly when another voice sounded through the grounds in response, but Shaw's eyes were pinned on the person speaking – her face held nothing but slightly sullen amusement and her voice reflected the sentiment.

"Soorry," she drawled out and the word filled the grounds carrying no regret it promised, leaving horrified stupefaction in its wake that was even more pronounced than when Root's outburts tore everyone out of their mild sunny late-afternoon limbo.

Shaw watched the Ravenclaw get up and shrug again at something the blonde said, offering her hand to get up, before they headed off back into the castle, taking the longer route by the lake's shore that led them away from the thickest crowd. Soon they disappeared into the castle and Shaw turned back to her companions.

"And what's her deal," she zeroed in on Zoe again. The older girl chuckled darkly.

"Adler's not her real name," she said and Carter narrowed her eyes slightly and Fusco shuffled nervously. Even John seemed to tense up a little and Shaw only raised her eyebrow, prompting Zoe to continue.

"She's an al-Ghul," Carter spat out and the school's resident know-them-all nodded her confirmation, even though she shot a slightly disapproving look in Carter's direction at her tone.

"She's really good at keeping to herself," she said placatingly. "She only hangs out with Quinn, only Root sometimes joins them. Her and Fabray have been really close since her first year."

"Real show of people skills that was," Fusco huffed indignantly and Reese's mouth twitched.

Zoe's eyes narrowed and Shaw sighed. For all the talking they usually did, sometimes getting them to speak in a comprehensive manner was an even bigger pain in her arse.

"She sent a fifth year to St Mungo's," Carter volunteered, disapproval still in her face. "And did who knows what to a couple of others. They all dropped out before the semester was over."

That offered some information, Shaw supposed, but hardly enough.

"Quinn was being bullied real bad," Zoe provided. "It started in her first year already. Her family is old purebloods, but her father is a..." she hesitated and Fusco jumped in to help her.

"Brown-nosing wannabe," he said and Carter snorted her assent as Zoe rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," she allowed. "And she's not exactly on the best terms with him. So she was getting a lot of pain left and right and...she was pretty good at fighting back, but it got much worse by the beginning of her second year. Once, a group of fourth and fifth years cornered her and Adler was there."

Finch abandoned his book in favour of listening more actively, releasing a breath in reminiscence. John took over from Zoe.

"She asked them what they were doing and why was it so funny," he said slowly. "Carrey, one of the fifth years, thought it'd be funny to indulge her and explained."

Carter let out a dismissive sound, her priorities in bully-hating clearly shifting situationally.

"She listened, thought about it and..." Reese trailed off.

"I see," the little girl said thoughtfully as she scanned the scene before her. The six older kids were towering over her with assured confidence of unchallenged kings-of-the-rock, slightly amused and taken aback by this strange naive first year they stumbled upon. The hall was silent – while most people were perfectly content with moving along past some of the habitual bullying, increasingly bad as it was, first years warranted a different kind of attention, at least in the first few months. "Terrorising someone your size could be dangerous and not everyone lives for the thrill," she continued with levelled voice and a few of the group who had any self-preservation instinct to speak of begun to shift slightly. "Now hurting someone smaller, nowhere near your level," her eyes glazed over a little and the shifty ones begun slow reverse. "I can see the appeal." No one moved. "Maybe I should try it." Carrey chuckled and the ones who started backing off took the opportunity to attempt to blend into the crowd. "In a few years, maybe you should," Carrey's voice held a clear edge of amusement, but she cut into his words, her tone pure ice. "Why wait," she looked up to him and his survival instincts kicked in two seconds too late. He was on the floor, skreeching with pain before he could even move his wand and his body went limp soon after. The girl stood there, surveying him with cold interest. "You were right," she said, as if reflecting on some profound advice. Then she giggled, and it almost sounded like she was trying the sound out. "This is fun. Maybe we should do it again some time," she raised her eyes from the unconscious figure to look at his lackeys that stood around, completely frozen, aghast. "What do you think?" No one breathed. She sighed and turned her attention to the tiny blonde who was crouching by the wall. "I think perhaps we should go," she said conversationally and gestured for her to join her, which the blonde promptly did. No one followed them. Carrey was transferred to St Mungo's that evening and the rest of his troupe was rummoured to suffer such severe night terrors they all had to leave Hogwarts in the following months.

"...and no one ever bothered Fabray since," Fusco finished.

"Ms Adler is very advanced for her age," Finched stepped in with a mild tone in his voice. "No doubt due to her background. But there has been no incidents since."

"That we know of," Carter murmured under her breath.

"I don't know," John mused. "I see no harm in bullying bullies."

"He ended up in St Mungo's, John," Carter hissed and he shrugged. "And no one even batted an eye. There was no investigation. No punishment."

"Come on, Joss," Zoe waved her hand. "Who would punish a tiger for having teeth? What could they do to her, really. Write to her parents?"

Fusco chuckled at that.

"Her old man would have probably cursed her for slacking off and letting them live," he said darkly. "She even stepped down from her Quidditch team in her second year, remember?"

"She plays Quidditch?" While Shaw was – albeit with a front of great reservations – hanging onto every word up until now, this was allowed to catch her attention.

"She used to," Carter said. "Damn good flier she was, too."

"But then she realised she was using magic when flying," Finch contributed. "And she handed in her resignation from the team. She still trains with them sometimes, and she played in the game against Gryffindor last year when both of our beaters were out," he paused and John and Carter nodded their confirmation, "but she played alone for two and got called out for fauls more than anyone else. All of which, frankly, were completely baseless and none of them went through, but still."

The Gryffindor star players only shrugged. All was fair when it came to Quidditch. And the loss of that game still hurt, unlike the Bludger hits they scored.

Shaw was processing.

"What do you mean," she started slowly, "she was using magic when flying?"

"The al-Ghuls are a very, very old family," Zoe said. "And very secluded, too. They have a...different kind of magic. It's more like what children have, only they can control it."

"Or like house elves," Finch added. "Only much, much more powerful and without the restraint house elves are bound by. It's a very old, raw kind of magic."

"What's she doing here then," Shaw asked. "Sounds even more dangerous than...well, anything else here."

This recieved a collective shrug.

"Al-Ghuls are usually home-schooled," Zoe told her. "She asked to go to Hogwarts and her father...didn't stop her. And I guess people thought allowing her in had...less terrifying consequences than flat out telling her no. Collective blame and all."

Quinn was getting increasingly frustrated. Finally, she decided to bow out for now and tilted her head upwards.

"Come on Cass, it's almost time."

An unconcerned hum was her response.

"Dinner time, come on," she punctuated her words by snapping her Charms textbook closed.

"Ain't hungry," came the distracted retort this time.

"You haven't eaten today yet," she put a well-measured amount of disapproval into her tone this time.

"I had," she paused in minute hesitation, "food."

"That was yesterday and it was lunch," Quinn rolled her eyes and stood up to support her point. Her friend looked at her, still a little unfocused.

"Was it?" she asked with a hint of absent curiosity.

"Yes. Now get down, we're getting dinner."

Cassandra smirked lazily, closing her book. "Whatcha readin'?"

Quinn sighed, both at her friend's deflection and at the subject in hand.

"Conjuring charms. Can't get it to come around."

The girl perched on one of the branches frowned slightly.

"Thought that was summer semester."

"Flitwick is trying it with a few of us now," Quinn allowed. "But it's like something's missing, I can't get it to work."

When she looked up again, Cass was smirking, chewing on a bite from an apple that certainly was not in her hand a few seconds ago.

"Thought you can't conjure food," Quinn frowned in confusion, too used to this to even bother to acknowledge it. But after she decided to break the hard theory, she was pretty certain there was a rule not allowing that. Cassandra closed her eyes in relaxed focus.

"Angry," she said. "Quidditch. New. Ish. Hufflepuff, I think. She's with, ah, John Reese and his band."

Quinn looked around curiously and, to her delight, found the very person checking all the boxes staring at her with suspicious attention. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Sameen Shaw," she said when she got a hold of herself. "She transferred in from Ilvermorny last year. She's in your year."

Her friend swallowed the bite of her appropriated apple and swung around so that she was hanging upside down from the branch, her face on the same level as Quinn's, albeit upside down.

"Don't have any classes with fifth year Hufflepuffs," she commented idly. "You want me to show you, or you wanna figure it out yourself?"

Quinn sighed again. She was at the end of the rope on this one and generally had no qualms about making the best out of having her personal Ravenclaw prodigy to help her out.

"Hit me."

Cassandra smirked again and swung around, landing deftly on her feet.

"Okay," she sat down, dragging the blonde with her. "Summoning charms are easy, right," she paused to wait for a nod, "conjuring is just as easy, only you start out with an idea of the thing rather than an actual physical object that you just need to move in space."

Quinn frowned at that lightly and Cass caught it.

"There's the summoning where the thing flies at you," she illustrated by leading her hand through a languid motion, "and then there's the one when it," this time she opened one of her fists and closed the other, "like apparation. Or how the house elves send food upstairs from the kitchens. It's simple quantum physics."

That earned a hearty chuckle.

"Whatever you say, Einstein," Quinn murmured affectionatelly. She might have Root explain that to her later. The younger Slytherin was usually her go-to when her best friend got a little too deep in the vast mind of hers and lost the sight of people struggling with more complex concepts of Muggle science and their application to magic.

"So like what you just did with the apple," she decided to get back on track. Cassandra nodded.

"Gone from one place, appears in another," she confirmed and snapped her fingers. "Like this," she held up her hand for Quinn to take.

Legilimency was something Quinn took up mostly because of befriending the strange first- year, hell-bent on proving she can stick around despite the more sinister and untamable aspects of the younger girl's magic, but as time progressed she not only found herself finding the subject enjoyable, but also to be something that came very easily to her. She had come far from then and was now very proficient in the subtle art. Aside from the obvious benefits, it proved invaluable for instances like these. She took the offered hand and closed her eyes.

"Got it?"

The words echoed slightly, as she heard both the thought and the sound, and she focused on the bright string of magic her friend's mind was offering, trying to get a feel of the direction, focusing on her focus and process. This was the part where she observed.

A foreign flicker of mischief that flashed through her mind distracted her for a second, but she managed to recover quickly enough to grasp the general feeling of direction the charm had before she opened her eyes and saw an opened bottle of ink resting on her friend's open palm. She nodded slowly. This kind of summoning she understood.

"Now for conjuring," Cass continued and Quinn closed her eyes again obligingly, feeling the focus zero in on the specifics of the ink bottle, the slight nuances, until all there was were black concave and convex curves, blacker liquid and sharp determination.

Pop.

This time she was greeted by two identical bottles of ink.

She sat back, processing silently, and Cassandra gave her space, more than familiar with the drill. She amused herself by having the two bottles take turns in disappearing and appearing, and Quinn distantly decided she probably didn't want to know. She closed her eyes, allowed the memory of her friend's focus fill her mind and led her wand through the movement along with the incantation.

Pop.

Her glee over the bottle of ink – albeit closed and empty – that sat in front of her was short-lived, as she heard a happy yay from next to her and the bottle disappeared again. She looked up at her friend and the innocent eyes she found staring back at her sealed the deal. Now she really didn't want to know.

But she didn't have a choice.

"Leave my fucking ink bottles alone you asshole," voice full of frustration bellowed at volume impressive even for a Sonorus charm and Cassandra toppled over with laughter.

"Took her long enough," she managed to breathe out between two fits. "But you got it, yeah?"

"I did," Quinn sighed in resignation. "You know better than to mess with Root's library time, asshole," she drove her point home by gently slapping her over the head. "You should apologise."

Cassandra huffed.

"Fine."

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, letting the word reverberate through the space surrounding her. With a corner of her eye she saw Quinn flinch and smirked minutely. That'll teach her to force unsincere apologies.

Allowing her friend to recover, she got up slowly and looked back down at her.

"You said something about dinner?"

Quinn winced.

"You're an ass."

Cassandra shrugged.

"At least you got the conjuring thing down," she extended her hand to underline the peace offering, and Quinn took both in a stride. It's been five years of dealing with each other and if she were being honest, messing with ink bottles and getting someone kicked out of the library for disturbance was not even on the list titled capacity for destruction that had her friend's name on it. Frankly, she doubted it doubled even as a mild offence. Maybe it would fit on the list of barely had to try. Which, in all honesty, was a very, very long list that pretty much also covered most of the other categories.

But at least she was not opposed to eating now. Quinn was a pragmatist. She'd take what she got.

Given the relatively early time and the number of people still outside, the Great Hall was mostly empty, but they still joined Root at her customary place at the end of the Slytherin table.

The brown-haired fifth year traded them to a scathing glance.

"Quinn got the conjuring charm down," Cassandra announced happily as she sat down and started piling food at her plate that, Quinn had a sneaking suspicion, she had no intentions of eating.

"Conjure me something that'll negate the library ban I got." Root was clearly not in the mindset to celebrate academical accomplishments of other people.

"Oh," Cass sounded very unconcerned, "you got banned again. That's why you look so uprooted," she deadpanned, focused on shifting her collection of food around the plate.

Root gave her a very unamused glare.

"Or better yet," she suggested, "conjure yourself out of my space."

"That's reverse summoning," the Ravenclaw looked up, looking slightly more invested, "and it's called disapparition." She gave Quinn a look, to press her previous point on the subject, and Quinn made a mental note to bring the whole quantum thing up with Root when she was in a happier mood. Maybe in a week. Root however perked up at the change of subject.

"Can you apparate in Hogwarts?"

Cassandra shrugged, disinterested again.

"It's illegal to apparate if you're not of age."

Both of the girls snorted at that. Legal and illegal were barely points of reference for either of them, and it was double the case for Cassandra, who pretty much lived in her own moral bubble that allowed no visitors but ocassionally took transient prisoners.

"But," she thought about it for a moment and Quinn frowned – she needed her either enough aloof-distracted to ingest something without realising it, or primarily focused on eating, and this was neither.

With a pronounced crack that turned a few heads, Cassandra shifted one seat to the left and cracked a self-satisfied smile.

"Yup," she popped the p out. "All good."

Root's face was alight with mirth for a few seconds before it fell and her focus pinned on her plate pointedly. Quinn turned to see what caused the change and was met with the Headmistress' stone gaze.

"Ms Fabray," McGonnagal held her eyes before moving to the others, "Ms Adler. Root."

"Good evening Professor," the trio echoed and Cassandra shifted back to her original seat carefully.

"I believe I have you to thank for the complaint about unbecoming behaviour in the library earlier this evening?"

"Madam Price has very sensitive ears, Professor," Cass volunteered and Quinn could swear she heard Root mumble a quiet not anymore into her mashed potatoes. If there was a time to bang her head with a chicken wing, this was it.

McGonnagal's jaw tensed as she fought down her reaction however and she turned to the Ravenclaw.

"I need to have a few words with you regarding Quidditch, Ms Adler."

Quinn sighed again. So much for getting her to fucking eat.

But her friend was already halfway out of her seat, a strange expression on her face and a ready "Yes ma'am" on her lips. All Quinn could do was watch them leave the Hall and schedule a trip to the kitchens for later.

The door never clicked closed.

"I never got to congratulate you on the last year's game," McGonnagal started. "Impressive performance, really."

"Thank you ma'am," Cass shifted slightly. "It's not often I get to play, but I enjoy it when I do."

"I understand why you chose to quit the team in your second year, however," McGonnagal continued, "and given the circumstances, I must say it was an admirable decision."

Cassandra shifted again. She was very, very well-honed at this. But despite that, or rather because of that, she hated every second of it.

"It is my understanding recruiters will be showing up during the season," she offered and the Headmistress nodded.

"Perhaps it is better you keep closer to the ground," she said. "I am sure they would descend upon you like vultures the moment they saw you on the pitch," she allowed a little smile, which was mirrored.

"I will keep a low profile, ma'am, no games for me," her smile grew a little. "But," she hesitated minutely, "I am not the only profficient player. There are many other great fliers, and I am sure they'd be interesting for the recruiters. And some even more susceptible to some of the less...mutualy beneficial offers."

The Headmistress nodded to that solemnly.

"I will see what I can do," the girl offered and when McGonnagal met her light hazel eyes that ever so often clouded with iron grey, she wondered – not for the first time – if this young woman ever got to be a child; and why was it that she probably never did. The very least she could ever offer her was place at her school, somewhere to get a few friends, a couple of stolen moments, a vision of what childhood was to other people. She thought back to a similar ocassion five years ago, barely two months into her first year, when she had summoned her to her office, how the girl seemed almost curled into herself despite her rigid ramrod stance, how she readily apologised for speaking out of term in her Transfiguration class – something that was complete news to Minerva – it would never happen again, she promised, and pledged to take any punishment the Headmistress deemed appropriate. There was a hint of fear and remorse in the girl's eyes as she stood in front of her – but it vanished the second the Headmistress assured her that she wished to discuss the bully incident. At that, her spine straightened up, all penance from her eyes gone, self-assurance settling in with natural ease. She gave a full account of the event like she was giving a report and blinked with perplexity when McGonnagal, having gotten over the initial shock brought on by the clinical summary, brought up the issue of punishment. She watched the girl's eyes unfocus and lips move, repeating the words mutely to herself, trying to see if she could make some sense of them like that, and the confusion that settled when she came up empty-handed.

"What was the problem, ma'am," she asked, her voice dripping with genuine befuddlement, and Minerva gaped slightly, lost for words.

"You cannot hurt students, Ms Adler," she managed to say, finally. "Not like this. Not here. Not anywhere. In Hogwarts, we teach students how to control their powers."

The girl's expression told her that did not clear any of the confusion up.

"It was controled," she said slowly, clearly grasping at straws of whatever little she thought the Headmistress might have issue with. "And...is it just me? Because they were also hurting someone. For a while, from what I understood." Minerva expected the last part to sound accusing, but it was merely a statement of a fact, without even a trace of blame or apprehension. She took a moment to realise what that meant.

She took a deep breath, hoping whatever she should say would come to her on time.

"It is unacceptable to cause permanent damage," she started out. It was a good start, she thought. "Or any damage, for that matter." Better. "You are much more powerful than most of the students here." This recieved a slow blink. "I will not have you harm another student on my watch. Is that understood?" She ran out of ideas towards the end, she knew, but something dawned behind the girl's eyes and they turned almost dark grey. Her face grew solemn, as if she was rearranging her mind around a strange, foreign idea, trying to see how to make it fit.

"Yes ma'am," she clipped, her little body at perfect attention, eyes forward. "I understand. I will not engage nor cause any bodily harm while on the school grounds." She hesitated. "And I will work hard on minimizing any other harm my presence here might cause." She nodded minutely, mostly ot herself, Minerva thought, as if retrospectively revising her statements and deeming them admissible. "I know now it is unacceptable and I apologise for my transgression. I understand punishment is in order."

She didn't make the last part sound like a question and Minerva knew there and then there would be no punishment. She waved her off and watched the tiniest flicker or confusion run through her eyes as the eleven-year-old hesitated for a split second before delivering a strudy thank you and slipping out of the office.

It took the Headmistress a good few days to realise the thank you was complimentary, not a reaction to the lack of punishment.

It was that memory, and many others, albeit different, that followed, which made it oh-so easy to sit through the ocassional rant by Flinch or Madam Price. Because a few months later, she saw the eyes that reminded her of deep, cold caves and tall, dark towers ablaze with mirth as their owner hung upside down from a broom, explaining something to a reclusive second-year blonde Slytherin, gesturing so wildly it was a miracle she didn't fall off.

"...but you cannot save everyone from themselves."

The words brought the Headmistress back to a present with a snap.

"Not everyone," she mused. "But perhaps everyone is worth a try."

Hardened eyes were her answer.

"Perhaps," she ventured cautiously, "you could consult your father on the matter." She debated long and hard with herself whether to go down that path, and her decision to do so only cemented her fear of how dire the situation was. Surely enough, the young woman in front of her stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"My father's decisions are not mine," she responded. "And my will is not my father's to command. Besides," a slight upturn of her lips followed, "my father can hardly be bothered with matters as mundane as Quidditch. And," the smile grew a hair wider and a tonne darker, "saving everyone is not really the family motto."

That was unassailable.

The Headmistress motioned for her to leave and Cassandra turned, stopping in the door as she was spoken to again.

"You turned down a Prefect position. That is highly uncommon. Unheard of, even. Can I know why?"

She considered the question briefly before smiling.

"I was honoured by the thought and your trust in me," she said. "But," she hesitated slightly, "I would not feel comfortable in such position."

And with that, she left.

Heading back to the Hall, a voice in her mind piped up. We got a message from Nyssa. She wants to talk. As soon as possible, she said.

Well that was fast.

I'll deal with that, she thought back. You talk to Quinn. And Root, too. And when we know more from Nyssa—

—I'll get McGonnagal alone, Fiss finished her thought and with that, she rounded the corner into the Hall and paused slightly, adjusting her posture and checking the teachers' table quickly.

It took a while to get everyone to leave the pleasant weather, but as far as Shaw went, it was a fair trade when it came to food. The Great Hall was all filled up by then and she followed Lionel to the Hufflepuff table, more than happy at the prospect of the roastbeef that's been avoiding her for days now.

As her eyes sweeped the room customarily, she stopped on a pair of Slytherins, sitting all the way down the table, a pronounced space left unoccupied between them and the rest of their housemates. She scanned the Ravenclaw table for the other girl, but came up empty-handed and when she looked back at the Slytherin duo, Root caught her and winked. Well, tried to, anyway. Scorning, Shaw returned to her plate, not bothering to fight down that smile.

But a few minutes later, she was torn away from her little piece of heaven by a forceful entrance of the very Ravenclaw she tried to locate previously. The girl scanned the room as she walked and, clearly finding her target, rounded up on the two girls at the side of the Hall.

Shaw looked around and was mildly amused to find that everyone was suddenly very focused on their plates. That was a presence she could respect, she thought absent-mindedly. There seemed to be a hushed argument between the older Slytherin and her blue-clad friend that escalated quickly and ended abruptly when the Slytherin stood up to meet the other girl and pushed her forcefully, adding a loud "You know what? Fuck you!" for effect.

Silence deepened and grew louder.

Then Adler let out a bark of cold laughter and turned, marching out the same way she came, tossing a careless whatever over her shoulder.

The silence was so thick Shaw could swear a few of the younger students started to choke on it.

Fabray turned around, white and stone-faced as a gorgeous marble statue, and her murderous gaze swept across the room.

"End of production," she yelled, throwing her hands up a little. "Everyone go back to your sad lives." And sat down with a slight slump.

The room buzzed with noise again and Shaw realised Fusco was in fact speaking to her, about the honey mustard and how well it went with the pork, the slightest hint of panic in his voice. She tuned him out in favour of watching Fabray's back and, in association, Root's front. It was somehow gratifying, being able to watch the tall brunette without the danger of her noticing, because it almost never happened. But now she seemed to be fully focused on the girl across the table from her, who gently laughed at something Root said and dragged her finger across her hand that was laid on the table between them slowly.

Shaw filed this for future reference.

Root blinked with confusion, but then smiled a brilliant smile.

This, too, got filed, and Shaw went back to her plate, glancing up a few minutes later just in time to see them leave the Hall, the blonde's hand firmly placed on the brunette's lower back, slowly going up and down as she whispered something into the other girl's ear, and to catch the end of Fusco honey mustard ode.

Exactly thirty seconds after the two Slytherin girls exited the Great Hall, there was a slight flutter in the buzz, like shifting gears.

"Wonder what happened there," a fourth year Gryffindor behind her threw out catiously, though loud enough to be heard.

"None of your fucking business," Zoe slammed from the middle of the Slytherin table coldly and resolutely, and that was that.

Chapter Text

Cassandra stormed out of the Great Hall and broke into a run the moment her feet hit the stairs. Fifteen minutes and some crawling later, she was settling down in the Shrieking Shack.

Her conversation with the Headmistress was something she anticipated – the Professor's suggestion to involve her father, not so much. Minerva McGonnagal was one of the few people the young al-Ghul genuinely respected, and a large part of that was because she knew the older witch respected her, too. Which meant respecting boundaries. With her request, the Headmistress went above and beyond her charge's self-set limits.

And the unsettling part was that Cassandra knew it was deliberated, not something said on a whim. The Professor who dedicated her life to making young wizards and witches feel – and be – safe forewent her impulses and put her on the spot.

Which meant she must have been very distressed and very much out of options.

And an unsettled McGonnagal was not a concept that sat too well with Cassandra.

Sighing, she ignited a flame in her palm and let it hang in the air in front of her, waiting.

The flames crackled a little and she smiled without looking up.

"Marhaban, 'ukhti."

"Alsaghir'," the face in the fire replied in a sing-song voice and Cassandra's head shot up.

"Talia. Wasn't expecting you," she said evenly. "Everything in order?"

"Yes, yes," the eldest sister replied dismissively. "Just wanted to see how you are doing, seeing I missed you this summer here."

"Not by my fault."

"Of course not," Talia said placatingly, her eyes sweeping her sister's surroundings with a gleeful disgust. "Is that your room?"

Another voice sounded from her side of the flame and she turned for a moment before idly waving back and disappearing with a muttered sayid alkhayir.

Cassandra froze. Talia was not a regular at Nanda Parbat, and their interactions were largely carried out in English and very rarely formal. Which could mean only one thing. She took a deep breath.

"Saelam aleykuum, tafali."

"Wu-aleykuum saelam, alab."

Root was not amused.

Root did not like not being amused.

She lived in a state of constant amusement and liked it, however bitter it sometimes turned, but today was not her day and it all went back to Adler and Fabray.

First they decided her ink bottles were their props.

Then they got her kicked out of the library.

Okay, that one was probably a little on her and mostly fun, but still.

And now, by whatever twisted sort of logic Quinn's mind operated on, a row with her friend apparently warranted strangely friendly behaviour that led to her being shoved into a broom closet on the third floor, Fabray on her heels and pretty much everything else.

She opened her mouth to demand some answers, but Quinn's hand clapped it swiftly, wand in the other hand, she mumbled a quick Muffliato and a few other spells and charms Root didn't catch.

Then she paused and looked around cautiously.

"That enough?"

Root was seriously considering bitting the hand that was still over her mouth, if only to point out how riddiculous it was to ask questions without allowing her to answer, but someone else did answer.

"Should be. I will deck it, just in case."

A strange draft of energy breezed through the small space and Root looked around for the source.

"All good," said the bat hanging upside down from the ceiling.

Right, thought Root. Cassandra's pet thing.

Quinn finally released her and took a step back, slumping against the wall.

"Okay," she said. "What is it?"

Root decided to keep her snark to herself for now, even though the older girl was not making it easy.

"Had a talk with McGonnagal," the bat said. "It went as expected. It is probably more serious that we thought."

Quinn's face fell a little.

Root rolled her eyes.

"A non-legilimens here? You two care to bring me up to speed after ruining my dinner?"

"It is one of the teachers," Fiss said from the ceiling.

"Well we knew that," Quinn replied, completely ignoring the other girl. "We only didn't know which one. Cass said she didn't want to get too close."

"We might need to, if we want to know for sure."

That was it.

"Enough," Root barked. "Explain or I walk. And I will make a show of looking thoroughly disappointed when exiting this closet."

She played along when Quinn flipped and started acting strange at dinner, got up at the seductive you wanna get out of here, despite the uncomfortable chills it sent down her spine and even managed to relax a little when the older girl whispered just go with it into her ear on their way out, but one thing she wouldn't go with was being used and consequently left in the dark.

Quinn made a face and Fiss snickered.

"You know how C can feel other people's magical energy."

It wasn't quite as simple, but Root was familiar with that facet of the young Ravenclaw's powers, so she nodded.

"When we came back this year, there was someone she didn't like," Quinn said.

It wasn't quite like that, she recollected. Ever since the summer after her third year, she always took a little longer to settle back in Hogwarts. They never talked about it, but Quinn was pretty sure her friend was, for one reason or another, going back to stay at her father's for the holidays. And the first few days – or weeks – always had her a little more shifty and blurred around the edges than usual.

But she stiffened lightly when they got off the train in Hogsmeade this year and then actually stopped dead in her tracks when they entered the Great Hall and flinched.

"There's...something," she said when Quinn went back the few steps she took before realising she was walking alone and asked. "Something...new," Cassandra took a deep breath, as it trying to catch a smell, and scanned the room. "And old. I don't like it. It's not...it doesn't belong here."

"It is an old, powerful energy," Fiss continued, addressing Root. Quinn winced lightly. Good and bad were not concepts Cassandra and her dæmon operated with, but she did, and after seeing her friend's reaction she was more than happy to classify this as really fucking bad, thank you very much. "And it is not properly contained," he carried on. "We have been trying to figure it out, but it is not safe for us to engage directly without...knowing more, first."

Root nodded.

"She will try to find out more now," he was addressing both of them now and Root smiled in appreciative understanding. The public fight was an alibi for both of them – it allowed Cassandra to storm out and disappear without being followed, and gave Quinn a reason to act out of character. "But it is very likely there is little to be known without some actual legwork."

"So this is what," Root looked between them, "a call to arms?"

"A warning," Quinn said, her eyes on Fiss. "Something's up and it got the attention of the al-Ghul family," she let her gaze slide down to Root, who nodded slowly. That was probably not very good.

"But we have no clue what," she said, just to confirm.

Quinn nodded, but Fiss stayed suspiciously silent. They both looked up.

"There have been," he hesitated, "tendencies, at MACUSA, lately. People have been messing around with the Traces, trying to see about establishing a more institutionalised level of control. Talks were held regarding blanket preventive strategies. It did not get very far yet, but it would be foolish to think they will be alone in their efforts."

"Somebody's been taking lectures from the Muggles," Root smirked humourlessly and Fiss made a contemplative noise in assent before twitching lightly.

"We should go," he said. "We have been here for a while. This," there was a poorly hidden smirk in his voice, "probably wouldn't take very long."

Quinn chuckled and raised her hands to mess up her bob cut a little and tug at her shirt and tie, eyeing Root expectantly until she followed.

"So I guess this means," Root said as she went about rebuttoning her shirt lopsided – she was not one to do anything half-assed – "that we're keeping this one on a deep down-low?"

"Since we have no idea who's behind it, nor what are they behind in the first place," Quinn trailed off and Fiss chirped his agreement.

"McGonnagal went above and beyond on the sneaky front," he said, "and she probably has a pretty good idea about at least some of the players. So we're playing it by her for now."

"Alright," Quinn nodded, leaning into the door and giving Root's dishevelled state one last once-over. "Let's go." Her eyes landed on Fiss, who was still hanging from the ceiling motionlessly. "You good up there?"

He twitched slightly and shivered his wings.

"You two go ahead. We probably won't be around much tonight."

The lights in the Headmistress' office were all out bar the table lamp that illuminated the stack of documents Minerva was making her way through slowly. She finished reading another one and set it aside, reaching for the seemingly endless pile on the left side of her desk. When she turned back, a cat hopped up silently onto the desk and laid down comfortably.

Minerva blinked and started on her paper.

A cool draft of energy hit her skin gently and passed, enveloping them in a shimmering bubble she knew was only visible from the inside.

"Good evening," she said politely.

The cat purred and she shot it an irked look.

"Very funny," she commented, unimpressed.

A few minutes passed in silence.

"That bad, huh," she murmured.

The cat purred again.

"The paperwork looks positively disheartening," he said agreeably.

She didn't dignify it with an answer.

"We were told to stand down," the cat continued after a while and Minerva stiffened.

"I thought she said she wouldn't speak to her father," she said carefully.

"Not everyone got the memo," Fiss answered cuttingly and she heard his discontent with her loud and clear.

She thought back at her conversation with Cassandra earlier that day. My father's decisions are not mine, she said.

"Does that mean you – she – will stand down, then?"

The cat on her table twisted around.

"The arguments against engaging directly were...very convincing," he said, bumping the shade of the lamp with his paw softly. Shadows danced around the walls. "The play is larger than we thought. There are many players and we cannot see the whole picture yet."

Minerva blinked slowly. The young Ravenclaw could probably be accused of many things, in all fairness, but thinking small was definitelly not one of them.

Fiss abandoned the lampshade and twisted back to face her.

"We can keep the situation here in check," he said. "Minimise the damage. But there are many levels to the game. This is the best we can do from our position."

Minerva felt the dread fill her insides.

Fiss rolled around again, pointedly avoiding her eyes.

"Staffing changes will be in order soon," he said to the lampshade and Minerva froze. "Under the circumstances, it would be good to go with your gut."

Before she could react, he stood up and softly jumped off the table, his tail swooshing as he walked away. He paused right before the shimmering barrier.

"She said she's sorry."

The protective bubble vanished as he walked through it, and he disappeared fraction of a second later, leaving the Headmistress alone in her silent, dark office.

Quinn Fabray's and Cassandra Adler's fight at dinner was the hottest not-talked-about topic until breakfast.

Quinn Fabray subsequentivelly getting it on with Root in the broom closet was a close second.

But the news of Professor Flitwick taking an unexpected personal leave due to health reasons spread through the school like a raging wildfire.

The Great Hall buzzed with energy, topics of conversation ranging from theories about the Professor's condition to who would be the most obvious choice for the new Head of the Ravenclaw House.

"Maybe Professor Vector," John threw out. "I've heard she was a Ravenclaw, and she's teaching Arithmacy, after all."

"Maybe McGonnagal will appoint someone temporarily," Carter shrugged. "We don't know what happened with Flitwick. Maybe he just has a flu."

Fusco leaned across the isle.

"I've heard they transported him out of the castle early in the morning. Fat Friar said he wasn't looking so good."

This recieved another shrug from Carter.

"The teachers are awfully quiet," she said, turning her head to look to the front of the Hall. Bar a few exceptions, the teachers' table was indeed remarkably void of conversation.

Shaw turned to look, too, and then scanned the rest of the Hall. The lively chatter of the students all around was creating a chilling juxtaposition to the professors' silence. Her eyes stopped when they hit Root's, who was already staring at her and mouthed good morning Sameen through a toothy grin. Shaw rolled her eyes and continued her visual sweep. She caught a flicker of blonde on emerald green and went back, zeroing in on Fabray, who was standing between the Slytherin table and the doors, looking indecisive. When she caught Shaw's eyes, her gaze turned icy and she went to sit.

As the Hall started to empty out, Shaw joined her classmates and headed off to the dungeons for potions. Halfway through, a clutter of Ravenclaws who were heading the same way blocked her way and she looked around to release some of the exasperation at their pace. Fabray had yet to move, but now she was looking almost nervous, her wand tapping a rapid rhythm against her knee. She was looking around the room, too, when her eyes stopped and narrowed at something. Shaw moved to look, but then at the same moment her path cleared and the first bell rang, so she bolted out of the Hall.

Later, in the humid chill of the dungeons, she felt a timid tap at her shoulder as she was rummaging through the supplies cabinet and twitched to knock them of.

"Sorry," said the Ravenclaw girl shyly, "you're sorta blocking they way. Can you hand me the mandrake roots?"

Shaw shortly considered refusing, but then changed her mind and reached for the box. Turning around, she held it out but didn't let go.

"Adler not in today," she asked conversationally and the other girl looked at her as if she grew a second head.

"She never took Potions with us since halfway through the first year. I think she's in Advanced with seventh-years this year. "

"Huh," Shaw acknowledged thoughtfully. That answered about as many questions as it raised, but the Ravenclaw girl was already turning away.

"Sorry about Flitwick," Shaw called after her, recieving a short look and a nod in response.

On the other side of the castle, Carter was not having a great day.

"Where is your partner, Ms Carter," Professor Hersh spotted her standing in her solitude from across the room and started walking towards her. Scraps of silver mist twirled in his wake and Carter looked around in vain search for the missing Slytherin. She could swear she saw the girl in the Great Hall, but now she was nowhere to be found.

"I don't know, Professor," she confessed. "I can start on—"

She was interrupted by the door of the classroom clicking open.

"Sorry, sir," Fabray said. "Got held up by Professor Longbottom."

Hersh's eyes narrowed slightly, but it seemed he decided not to comment.

"Where did you leave Ms Adler," he asked instead. "I asked her to attend this class. She has yet to produce a Patronus."

Fabray, who'd already moved next to Carter and was looking around the class, froze almost impreceptibly.

"I don't know, sir." Her voice was so cold Carter twitched. "Professor Flitwick is in charge of her schedule."

"Well Professor Flitwick isn't here," Hersh snapped, "is he."

Carter watched her watch him walk to the front of the class with unbriddled disgust.

"You missed the intro," she said. "You want me to walk you through it?"

Fabray turned slowly to face her.

"Thanks, I'm familiar," she said with a wave of her hand. "You wanna start?"

Carter's second attempt produced an impressive cloud of silver mist, and she turned to her partner. But the Slytherin was staring out of the window absent-mindedly.

"Hey," Carter nudged her. "I don't want Hersh coming over here again."

There was a joyful whoop from the other side of the classroom and a silver hare hopped around in a victory lap, to the sound of Hersh awarding ten points to Gryffindor for the first succesful attempt.

"Right," Quinn tore away from the window and looked idly at the cloud of Carter's mist. "Just don't—imagine you're not doing it for yourself."

Cater frowned in confusion.

"Like," Quinn thought about it, "you got a younger sibling? A muggle childhood friend? A muggle relative? Your dad?"

Joss bristled and opened her mouth to defend her heritage, but Quinn waved her words away before they could form.

"Someone, anyone, who can't produce a partonus. Imagine you're trying to conjure it for them, not for you."

Carter nodded carefully and closed her eyes, trying to combine a happy memory of her father and her little brother, allowing the slightest chill of worry about them in. The first attempt produced a remarkably thicker cloud of silver so she focused a little more and at that, a cat formed from the mist and swam through the air around them. Carter watched it with a mixture of pride and joy and then turned to Fabray, who was watching it too, albeit with a strange expression on her face.

"Your turn," Carter said, gesturing towards Quinn, but she shook her head.

"I'm good. Try again."

So Carter did, once, twice, until there were ten minutes till the end of the class and her partner had yet to get her turn. Joss decided to put her foot down.

"You taught me how to do it but can't do it yourself?"

Fabray's head snapped to her, her eyes cold, calculating. Then she pursed her lips and turned back and, with a flick of her wand, a large eagle flew out from the tip and sailed around before fying out through the window and disappearing in the sun.

"Non-verbal Patronus charm, huh," Carter commented, trying to keep the awe out of her voice. Fabray merely shrugged.

"Been practicing a lot. Learnt it in third year."

"Adler helped you?" It was no secret the younger Ravenclaw did that on a regular basis, and Quinn never shied from giving credit where credit was due. When it came to her friend, anyway.

Now she was fixing Carter with an unreadable gaze however.

"Something like that," she said only, but Carter decided to push.

"Is that why you learnt it? How you knew how to help me? Because she can't do it?" She echoed Hersh's previous words, the memory of the Slytherin's reaction coming in too late.

Surely enough, her gaze turned so cold Carter almost took a step back, but then the hazel eyes blinked and it was gone.

"Cass doesn't need a Patronus. I learnt it when I was studying legilimency."

This confused Carter even further, but the bell rang to mark the end of their class and Fabray was already halfway out the door.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was filled with sounds of clinking silverware, plates and bowls, shifting of benches and a great deal of chatter. With Charms classes suspended until further notice, Flitwick's condition and fate – and just as importantly the future of Charms – were still very much a hot topic that only few tired of since yesterday's breakfast. The students of Hogwarts loved themselves some drama and gossip with just a touch of outrageous theories, and the short Professor's sudden vanishing act provided grounds of some supremely fertile quality that were sure to get them through the next couple of days easily.

So far, Shaw has heard that he was attacked by goblins, that some of his past duelling rivals came for him, that he fell through the trapdoor installed in his bedroom for such very occasion and – her personal favourite – that he he got attacked by bowtruckers that'd mistaken him for a stub of a tree.

Next to her, Fusco was bickering with Reese over details of the newest variation of their version of events while Carter rolled her eyes privately, half-hidden behind a Defense textbook she'd been glued to the whole day. As for herself, Shaw decided there was a much more interesting mystery than that of Professor Flitwick; for he was not the only one whom she'd not seen since the evening before yesterday. And, much unlike it was the case with the Charms master, no one seemed to be paying that any mind whatsoever.

She scanned the room perfunctorily and, much as it has been the case for the past two days, found no trace of the short-haired Ravenclaw girl.

She tried asking around, but was met with little enthusiasm. A few of the people she tried to pry information out of suggested she go and ask Quinn Fabray – but they did so in a manner of someone suggesting the best way to count dragon's teeth is from up close; and Shaw just wasn't quite sure she was invested enough in the mystery to warrant such level of commitment.

There was, of course, another person she could ask who might have the information she was after. Her eyes flew up and down the Slytherin table. Their Quidditch team just made it in from their practice and Shaw saw Fabray scan the room quickly before she sat down and absently answered a question of one of her teammates. Shaw frowned a little and her eyes slid to the end of the table. How was it that the one time she was actually looking for her—

"Hello, Sameen," a voice purred in her ear. Shaw did not flinch, but her mind contemplated murder. "Looking for someone?"

Root's smile was all teeth and her eyes twinkled with mischief. A golden coin danced through her fingers, back and forth, and Shaw raised one eyebrow in silent question. Root smiled wider.

"Girl's gotta make a livin' somehow," she stated lightly. "You were looking for me, though?"

"I wasn't," Shaw cut. "I was just wondering why did all the birds stop singing."

Root laughed, unaffected.

"Probably because it's night, sweetie," she said in a serious voice. "Songbirds retire with nightfall. And it's getting pretty dark outside."

Shaw scowled, but took her opening.

"Adler often out this late?"

Something flickered behind Root's face before she settled for a slightly patronising little smile.

A few moments passed and Shaw realised she wasn't getting an answer. She tilted her head. Root rolled her eyes a little and let out a small breath of amusement.

"I am not her warden," she said with a smile. "You should ask Quinn."

Shaw mirrored the smile sweetly.

"I am asking you."

Root's eyes unfocused for a fraction of a second before they narrowed at someone – a seventh-year down the Gryffindor table was trying to get her attention. She moved in his direction before flashing Shaw one last smile.

"Haven't seen her since their fight," she threw over her shoulder. "Cassandra does as Cassandra pleases. She'll be back."

And with that she left. In the background, Shaw could faintly hear her Quidditch captain direct their team to go to bed – the season was opening the next morning and Hufflepuff stood against Slytherin.

"And Slytherin is in possession again," the commentator's voice boomed across the pitch through a microphone, "Fabray has the Quaffle and heads towards the goals – she passes to Yogorow who passes to Durban and –" a collective aaah sounded from the seats "– Durban loses the Quaffle as he tries to avoid a Bludger from Hufflepuff's Fusco."

Shaw swung her bat at the other Bludger to send it back to the field and spared a look in the direction of the Chasers – Fabray apparently made a dive for it and was in possession again, heading towards their goalposts.

The game was fast and sharp, just as Shaw liked it. There were a couple of clouds scattered across the sky and the breeze was pleasant; it made her feel alive and she circled the pitch to give Fusco a better angle as he aimed the Bludger she sent his way at Fabray. The blonde Slytherin was a ruthless player and a phenomenal shot, Shaw found out, and when she got close enough to the goalposts, it was usually too late to stop her.

And sure enough, she avoided the Bludger Fusco sent her way and, giving him the finger as she did, kicked the Quaffle through the rightmost ring as it flew through the extended arms of their Keeper.

"And another ten points for Slytherin," the commentary informed enthusiastically as he rung in the score, "ninth goal from Fabray so far in the first game back. The ice queen is on fire today, ladies and gentlemen!" The audience roared and Fabray shot across the pitch as a bullet in a pursue of the large red ball, narrowly avoiding Shaw as she went.

Shaw huffed.

The Slytherin Keeper intercepted the Quaffle one of Hufflepuff's Chasers threw and returned it to Fabray, who caught it deftly as she stormed by the posts. Fusco sent a Bludger too meet her, but Fabray maneuvered her broom with expert ease around it and continued on her trajectory towards the other side of the pitch.

The score was now 120:20 for Slytherin and Shaw was getting itchy. As Fusco's Bludger neared her, she swung her bat again and sent it after the Slytherin. As if she knew, the girl turned her head to meet her eyes and smirked. Shaw frowned lightly in confusion and then her jaw slacked open. Fabray dropped a couple of feet just before the Bludger reached her, but threw the Quaffle up – the Bludger smacked into it and sent it surely through the central hoop. The audience's roar was cut short a second after, as the Bludger continued on its path and smacked into the Hufflepuff Keeper who flew up to catch the Quaffle and was now hovering in front of the hoop, knocking into him so hard he barely managed to grasp his broom with his hand as he fell. The referee blew her whistle sharply and silence fell upon the pitch. All players hovered in place, waiting for her to call a faul.

Fabray had a ghost of smirk on her face and Shaw wanted to knock it off. She was positively fuming with anger.

"Fabray," Sylvester yelled across the pitch. "Knock it off with the show! Just because something crawled up your ass and died doesn't mean you get to mess around on my pitch! One more toe out of line and I will kick you off your broom myself."

The smirk on the blonde's lips didn't fade.

"I was within rules, Coach," she defended herself. "It was an evasive maneuver."

Sylvester waved her hand and her eyes narrowed at Shaw.

"And you, Chivauva," she yelled and Shaw bristled. "Who's team are you on? The Slytherins are doing a great job of wiping you out of the cup without your help. If you can't hit it right, leave it to Curly Hair over there. At least he's not taking out his own."

The Slytherin Seeker who was hovering a couple of feet below Shaw snickered and Shaw saw red.

Sylvester blew her whistle again and the game was back on; Shaw was flying around, trying hard to quell her anger.

Half an hour later, Slytherin was in the lead 180:30 when the stadium held its breath – the Hufflepuff Seeker caught sight of the Snitch and was racing across the pitch, his Slytherin counterpart hot on his heels. But they were not the only ones moving; Fabray was in possession again and was swishing through the air towards the goalposts. Shaw did the maths and rounded on her, waving quickly at Fusco, who got her meaning and send her a Bludger as it was passing him. The angle was awkward, but it would do, Shaw decided; she was now flying to meet Fabray, who was racing at neckbreak speed, readying to throw as she noticed Shaw. The Bludger neared and Shaw swung against it. But the bat barely grazed it and slipped down – and Shaw felt something crack instead, followed by a pained gasp and a few distant yelps.

Her bat hit Fabray square in the face and the force of the swing knocked her off her broom – somehow, she managed to throw the Quaffle before the collision and a ring indicated another score, but the blonde herself was falling through the air and two long whistles announced the end of the game.

Shaw looked around to see which of the Seekers caught the Snitch as Durban and one of the Slytherin's Beaters dived after Fabray, trying to catch her, but they both missed and suddenly the air froze.

Fabray's unconscious body was hanging in the air, suspended several dozen feet above the ground, and Durban finally reached her, trying to maneuver her to his broom to bring her down safely. There was a shuffle on the stands and Shaw saw a green-clad figure shoot up and out of view. When she saw Root next, the girl was aiming her wand at her and a cold draft hit her before she could even move. The force of the impact lifted her a few feet up and she noticed McGonnagal and a few other teachers jump up – but everything was weirdly silent, muffled. Then a dark blue streak bounced off something about a foot away from her face and she heard faint yells and saw Root running after someone who'd entered the pitch. It was Adler, Shaw realised, and Root was doing her best to catch up with her. Another streak hit the shield that was cast around her and suddenly the sound was back.

"Stop!" Root yelled as Adler pushed away Durban, who made it to the ground with Fabray and hovered over her anxiously. The Ravenclaw leaned over her friend quickly and then straightened up again. Shaw could nearly feel the anger that was pulsing through the other girl and it almost made her turn her broom around and make a fly for it.

"Stop it," Root yelled again and pointed her wand in Shaw's direction again before she leaned over the blonde Slytherin, saying something to Durban quickly. Another wave of energy crashed into Root's new shield and this time it was so forceful Shaw's broom did a sommersault.

"Adler!" McGonnagal shouted in unison with Sylvester, who was flying towards Shaw like a bullet, sending another shield ahead of her that wrapped around Root's. The pitch was empty, as everyone else retreated to the relative safety of the ground.

Even from above, Shaw could see the expression of Adler's face; she was not stopping, despite McGonnagal running out on the pitch. Root was suspiciously silent, Shaw thought absently, before another voice sounded.

"Ace!"

Adler's steps wavered.

"Stop it!"

Fabray was conscious again, trying to elevate herself on her forearms,  her face white as a sheet and smeared with blood. Root and Dubran were kneeling on her sides, supporting her. Adler stopped. A strange energy run through the air.

"Stop it," Fabray repeated and there was a surprising amount of venom in her voice. Sylvester reached Shaw and was motioning for her to descend as she kept herself between the Beater and the motionless Ravenclaw who stood frozen in the middle of the pitch. Shaw directed her broom downwards and watched as the Headmistress approached the other girl, stopping a few feet away; she was positively seething and snapped something at Adler before turning back and walking away. Adler twitched a little and followed the Professor out of the pitch.

"Are you out of your mind!"

McGonnagal waved her wand forcefully and the door of her office slammed shut. The young Ravenclaw held her eyes; hers were clouded with heavy grey, like storm clouds. She was white as a ghost, deep shadows beneath her eyes, shivering lightly.

"Sit," the Professor pointed at the chair in front of her desk and the girl lowered down on it before straightening up again, taking a few frantic steps forth and back like a caged tiger.

"I need to see Quinn," she choked out.

McGonnagal regarded her for a few seconds, then turned to one of the portraits on the wall.

"Phyllida," she said, "can you please ask Madam Pomfrey to send Ms Fabray up as soon as she can?"

The witch in the portrait nodded and disappeared behind the frame.

The Headmistress turned back to the Ravenclaw.

"Sit," she repeated, and the girl closed her eyes for a moment before lowering herself into the chair again, this time staying. Her hands were shaking lightly and there were sparks of energy dancing around her fingertips; she closed her fists a couple of times, closing her eyes again in focus, until the sparks disappeared.

"A month of detention," McGonnagal said stiffly after a few moments of silence. "every Tuesday and Friday." She was too stunned and needed to regain her footing.

"Yes, ma'am," the Ravenclaw replied simply, not moving a muscle.

A portrait behind Minerva snickered and she closed her eyes to hide the fact she rolled them.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before there was a knock on the door and Quinn entered.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she told the Headmistress and there was murder in her eyes when she looked at her friend, but she gave in to her questioning gaze.

"Fractured skull and broken nose," she said. "All mended now, but I'll have to spend the night in to rule out brain damage."

Cassandra bristled, her nostrils flared.

"You need to knock it off," Quinn snapped, a hint of worry well-hidden behind her anger. "It's just Quidditch. I've had worse."

Minerva watched as a shiver ran through the younger girl again; she got out of the chair in an elegant but sharp motion and the sparks of dark blue energy resumed their dance at the tips of her fingers as her jaw clenched. She watched the Slytherin watch her friend, her worry slightly more pronounced now.

"It was an accident," Quinn continued carefully but pressingly and Cassandra shifted.

"You don't know that," she choked out and something clicked behind Quinn's eyes before they narrowed at her friend.

"When did you come back," she asked softly and Minerva looked up – she would very much like to know that, too. The young Ravenclaw has been notably absent since the Headmistress' talk with her daemon two nights ago.

The dark grey eyes flickered up, but she stayed silent.

"Just before the match?"

Quinn's voice was low now, almost coaxing, and the other girl nodded mutely.

"I am fine," Quinn impressed again. "It was just a Quidditch accident. Shaw's bat slipped on the Bludger, she didn't mean to do it. It flew at her in a bad angle. She was trying to stop me, because she knew if I scored, they'd've lost."

There was no answer and Minerva tried really hard not to feel like an intruder in her own office.

Quinn smiled softly.

"Root's shields' got better," she offered and Cassandra's neck tensed before she made a dismissive noise. Quinn ignored it. "Guess Shaw's lucky you didn't actually try."

Cassandra took a deep breath and looked at the Headmistress for the first time since Quinn walked in.

"I might have blasted a hole through the bottom floor of the Ravenclaw stands on my way out," she said with a hint of apology. "I will fix it."

McGonnagal took the information in, matching it with what she saw as she stormed past the stands towards the pitch. It wasn't as much a hole through the floor as a landing site of a medium-sized meteorite.

"Starting Tuesday night," she nodded. "No magic."

The portrait behind her made a snorting noise again and she was ready to see if she could punch a hole through it. Instead, she sighed and sent Quinn back to the Medical Wing, dismissing Cassandra too at her mute request to be allowed to escort her.

When the door clicked behind them, she sighed again and leaned back in her chair.

"That girl is nothing but trouble," Phineas Black muttered from his portrait off to her right; his voice held a surprised edge of someone who was very much unused to announcing such things in a disapproving tone. "She should have never been allowed to be here. There is nothing anyone here can teach her."

"She is learning perhaps more that anyone else here, Phineas," a silver-haired wizard said peacefully from a portrait right behind Minerva. The man next to him snorted haughtly for the third time.

"Regardless," he uttered dismissively. "She can learn, but she will never change." He paused for a moment and then continued. "And if she changes, it might as well be the second-to-last thing she ever does."

Minerva closed her eyes tiredly. When she decided the anticipated events warranted entertaining the idea of making a deal with the devil, she didn't quite imagine the full scope of the consequences it would bring. She thought of one of her oldest colleagues, unconscious at St Mungo's; the healers assured her he was alive and essentially unharmed – but so far they were no closer to identifying the spell that put him in that state – which meant they were no closer to undoing it.

With another heavy sigh, she summoned a bunch of thick envelopes from the other side of her desk and started opening them.

The ending of the match was one of the most spectacular finali Hogwarts' pitch has seen in years, but due to the accompanying events very few found it in them to actually revel in it.

The Slytherin team made a brief appearance in the Infirmary for a little celebration that was cut short by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey; Szymanski, the Hufflepuff's captain, dropped by to check on her and deliver congratulations and apologies on behalf of his team, along with wishes of speedy recovery.

Root was a notable no-show.

Just after midnight, Quinn turned around in the bed yet again and her eyes fell on the figure sitting in the chair next to her bed.

"Madam Pomfrey will lose it if she has to kick you out again," she murmured and Cassandra shrugged.

"The woman has a patience of a saint," she replied lightly. "And her sanity is unshakable."

Quinn huffed. If anyone was able to make a dent in the healer's unwavering mental balance, it was the young Ravenclaw.

"Next time leave a note," she said instead of commenting on it and her friend had the decency to look away. "I had to tell Longbottom you were sulking in your room after we had a row, but I don't think he'll let it go that easily next time."

The Deputy Headmaster approached her at breakfast the morning after Flitwick's hospitalisation and though she didn't let it show, it threw her for a loop.

"And you missed Hersh's Patronus class again," she added after a few minutes of silence. "And Carter was asking about you."

"So has the short Hufflepuff, apparently," Cassandra said musingly with just a touch of lingering reproach. "Root needs to handle her pet projects a little better."

"Those are some mighty words from someone who blasts holes in school's infrastructure," Quinn snorted.

Her friend huffed indignantly.

"And I think she actually really likes her," the blonde added after a moment. "She's a fucking disaster around her."

Cassandra smirked before sighing and rubbed her nose with a frown, her eyes closed.

"We'll have to have a talk with Morgan," she said.

Chapter Text

The Slytherin common room was lit with subtle, mellow light. It created a pleasant background to the music that weaved from strategically selected places and the buzz of conversation. Due to Quinn's Infirmary confinement last night, the celebration party was moved to Sunday and, a few hours in, transformed into a prelude to a slumber party.

The hero of the Saturday's match made an appearance at the beginning and then vanished, as was her habit. No one paid this any mind – even if she didn't just come out of the Hospital Wing with a broken skull, Quinn was never one for mingling.

Zoe was contemplating getting another Ashpodel tonic as she lounged in one of the sofas by the edge of the large room, watching the party-goers with mild interest. Reese left for the Gryffindor tower almost an hour ago and she now had a decision to make – stay up and get a drink, or call it a night.

A muffled crack sounded from the other side of the room where the fourth-years were, followed by an enthusiastic do it again! and she made her decision.

Before she could get up, there was a pronounced pop sound, followed by a hand that was extending itself to her, offering a glass of clear liquid, ice cubes and a few leaves on the top. She followed the arm to the rest of the body and sighed softly, pressing back into the sofa.

"Didn't expect you to come back," she took the drink with a slight nod of appreciation.

Quinn shrugged, scanning the room with feeble distaste.

Zoe liked the blonde sixth-year; she was there when Carrey's bullying started taking turn for the worse towards the end of the girl's first year and helped cover for her when she got them back later that week. It did little to improve the first-year's position with the bullies, but her feistiness endeared the older girl to her. Zoe lived in the middle of a large net of connections and her uncanny ability to see what made people tick and how to make them tock put her very high up the Hogwarts' totem pole; she enjoyed the company of someone who could see through almost anyone's bullshit and never hesitated to call them out on it. And who only really cared about one person.
Her father was, according to Zoe's personal opinion, a good-for-nothing turncoat, but Quinn never allowed that to shape her. She made a name for herself, and was very firm in her ways.
With her looks, Zoe mused as she watched the blonde's profile, her brains and her Quidditch status, she was the ideal candidate for the most popular girl at school – instead they called her the ice queen, and only part of that was due to her blonde hair and cold eyes. Quinn knew what she wanted and what she didn't – and always knew the price of getting it. Zoe could appreciate that in a person.

Which led her to ask.

"What do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Quinn kept her eyes forward, frowning slightly with interest as she zeroed in on a group of second-years who snuck out of their dormitories and were currently eyeing one of the tables covered with drinks.

"Sylvester is about to get invested in what Laskey drinks at breakfast," she commented idly and Zoe smiled. The young Gryffindor Seeker had a long way to go.

"And McGonnagal will be out of her office on Tuesdays and Fridays for the next month," the blonde continued. To this, Zoe nodded lightly with consideration, raising one eyebrow. Quinn caught it, a shadow of snide smile on her lips.

"Cass' got detention."

Zoe hummed.

"She got real loose yesterday on the pitch," she remarked lightly, keeping her voice void of any emotion. "Everything okay now?"

"Bar a traumatised Shaw and some property damage? Yeah," Quinn turned the corners of her mouth up slightly.

Zoe chuckled.

"Shaw's pretty hard to traumatise. Root didn't look so pleased though."

When she turned to look at the blonde, she found a pair of sharp hazel eyes already regarding her thoughtfully. Quinn tilted her head, as if considering her next words, and then looked back away.

"She'll get over it," she said with assured confidence. "Not so sure about the Gryffindor part of your clique. Despite the fact that they didn't do jackshit."

Quinn was frowning now and Zoe wasn't sure if it was due to the hypocrisy of it, or because she didn't appreciate someone not standing up for their friends.

"Your little friend has quite a reputation," she went with after a short deliberation. "I doubt—"

"So you're the reason my ears are burning," sounded an amused, melodic voice next to her and she fought down the flinch of surprise. She often wondered how could someone who was able to silence the Great Hall in the middle of Friday dinner just by walking in sneak up on people like this, but it was probably just in her genes.

She smiled at the newcomer in greeting.

"I was just about to change the subject," she said lightly. "If that made your ears burn, they must have been on fire when Lionel and John were filling Carter in on yesterday." Joss decided to forego the match in favour of catching up with her homework and missed all the excitement. The account of Root's reaction did soften her frown a little, but the whole tale did very little for warming her up to the young Ravenclaw.

"Perhaps I should give them my version," Cassandra offered lightly and Zoe looked up in surprise, her eyes flicking between the two girls. If the Ravenclaw just went off script, Quinn was hiding her surprise supremely well. Or maybe there was nothing to hide, the seventh-year though. These two had little patience for social calls, after all.

She considered her options. Despite the current climate, it could hardly do any harm to be seen with the two girls in public. Plus, it might give Root an excuse – not that the mercurial Slytherin ever need any – to join them, and Zoe would lie if she said she wasn't enjoying her constant attempts at reeling Shaw.

"Hogsmeade is next weekend," she said non-committally. "Shaw wanted to see the Hog's Head."

Cassandra smiled and got up.

"I should head back," she said and her smile turned sly. "Wouldn't want to get caught out in the corridors after hours."

Quinn and Zoe chuckled at that and Zoe gave the Ravenclaw a parting smile.

"It was nice talking to you again," she said. The younger girl smiled back.

"Sonberg is giving a surprise test on Tuesday," she said. "The question on Amerim's translations is a trick one."

Zoe's smile widened. This was not business. But then Quinn got up too and Cassandra continued, her voice almost imperceptibly colder, like an echo of cave air that washed over her despite the smile that accompanied the Ravenclaw's words.

"Keep your friends close, Morgan."

The Charms classes were re-established on Monday and Shaw was standing in the corridor, waiting with the rest of the Hufflepuffs to be let in. The Slytherins were still to arrive and she looked around with mild interest when confused Ravenclaw students started showing up a few minutes before the start of the lesson.

"They swapped us," she overheard one of them telling her housemates when asked. "Slytherin's taking our Care now with Gryffindor and Tuesday's vice versa."

Shortly, the door to the classroom opened and they trickled in, eyeing the front of the room curiously.

Their new teacher was a tall, lean blonde woman with dark eyes, dressed in simple black robes. She could have been in her late twenties, Shaw thought, and watched the incoming students with forceful attention.

"Good morning, class," she said when the door clicked closed behind the last of them. "I am Professor Sinclair and I will be here for the length of Professor Flitwick's absence. It is my understanding you have been going by the Achievements in Charming so far?"

A sound of agreement hummed through the room and she frowned, reaching for a parchment that laid on her desk.

"No need to wait to get acquainted," she murmured half under her breath as her eyes swept across the parchment and then the classroom. "Just wave or say something when I call your name."

She went through the Hufflepuffs first, nodding lightly to herself with each reaction she got. Shaw's name was last, and she made a vague effort to move her hand and make eye contact. The Professor smirked a little before moving onto Ravenclaw.

"Cassandra Adler?" Her eyes swept the room questioningly, searching for any sign of movement.

"She doesn't take this class with us, Professor," Brooks, one of the Ravenclaws, spoke after a moment of silence. "She finished with her mandatory Charms two years ago."

Sinclair's eyes narrowed and she frowned.

"She takes the Advanced classes now?"

Brooks looked around, searching for support.

"I don't think she takes any Charms now, Professor," another Ravenclaw spoke. "Professor Flitwick—"

He was cut off by the sound of opening door and Adler walked in, a little out of breath.

"Sorry, I—" she wavered slightly when her eyes landed on the teacher, who raised her eyebrows at her. Tense silence filled the room as the student and the teacher engaged in some sort of a stare-off. "I was not informed about the change in my schedule until too late," Adler finished. "It won't happen again, ma'am."

Sinclair motioned for her to sit and Adler did, falling into the seat closest to the door.

They spent the lesson getting on the same page – quite literally – and when Sinclair finally assigned homework and explained what was planned for the next lesson, she waved them off to leave.

"Ms Adler," she called. "A moment, please."

Adler moved from the door and stood by the frame, waiting for everyone to leave. As Shaw reached the door, she was seriously considering going out of her way and shoulder-checking the other girl, but the Ravenclaw smiled inexplicably when she saw her and sidestepped.

Shaw frowned and left without a word.

"Of all people, my father decided to send you."

She walked across the empty classroom and leaned against one of the desks at the front, her arms folded firmly across her chest as she eyed the other woman. There was a look of annoyed scepticism on her face.

"Al-Awal was supposed to go, but he got another assignment at the last moment. I volunteered," the woman smiled mildly in response.

This received a scowl.

"And it was allowed?"

"The ways of Ra's al-Ghul are mysterious, yet never wrong. His will is the law for a reason, shabal. Your father cares for you."

The younger of the two tried really hard to not roll her eyes, but made no further effort to hide the resulting struggle.

"I don't want you here," she said, sounding like a petulant teenager. "This is my space."

The woman's eyes flickered around, an almost invisible hint of regret shading her features.

"I know, shabal. I shall have you returned to your usual schedule and stay out of your way. But the Demon's will is my own – and the Demon wills I be here. And I figured perhaps you would find my presence less disagreeable than Al-Awal's."

Another scowl followed readily.

"Al-Awal I could kick into the next dimension," she muttered, tracing her finger idly over a scar that went under her collar bone, and the blonde woman smiled.

"I do not believe his pride could take any more, Almufadal'." The girl twitched as if she'd been slapped. "Nor could his status. His favours with the Demon are running thin."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Very well," the girl finally moved, resolute. "I am familiar with your mission here and my father and I came to an agreement about my own focus. We shall proceed accordingly. If the need arises, we will convene; but I would prefer it happens off grounds if at all possible – and only in extreme emergencies."

"That does not contradict my orders," the woman nodded and caught a flash of hazel eyes. Making a quick decision, she added "I am to give weekly reports directly to Ra's al-Ghul. So far, I received no directions as to their extent."

The girl's nostrils flared with discontent and she turned to walk.

"Sayid alkhayir, Sharara," she muttered as she moved to open the door. Standing in it, she turned. "Thank you, Professor," she exclaimed and left.

The door clicked closed.

"Tasruni ruyatak, shabal," the woman sighed into the silence.

Specks of dust floated lazily in the rays of the late afternoon sun that filtered in through the high library windows. The realm of Madam Price was filled with silence as heavy and full as the books that lined the ancient shelves.

Quinn's quill was sliding seamlessly across her parchment as she wrote, stopping to consult the books that were laid around her every now and then. The Potions essay was vicious, but she was making her way through it steadily, confident in her findings. She finished the paragraph and rolled her head from side to side, waiting for the satisfying crack. She took a moment to revel in the relief when it came before going back to her work. She was doing well with the word limit, and the conclusion should just get her through.

Two first-years slumped into the chairs a few seats from her and started chattering under their breaths – just quiet enough not to attract the librarian's attention, but definitely not quiet enough not to catch Quinn's. She frowned into her paper and took a deep breath. Maybe they'd stop. Maybe they were discussing study material. She sent a quick prayer to whomever was listening for patience. And possibly their swift exit.

A few moments passed and neither came.

"...definitely staying here for Christmas, though my mom won't probably be pleased," one of the kids whispered with little success but great excitement. Quinn raised her head slowly and let her eyes trace all the way from her essay across the books that surrounded her to the one that laid closed in front of the first-year before boring them into her face. The girl clamped her mouth shut with an alarmed expression and, after exchanging a terrified look with her friend, they grabbed their books and retreated quickly, tripping over their feet as they went.

Quinn chuckled humourlessly and went back to her task. After a few minutes, she tossed the quill on the table carefully and leaned back in her chair, checking the dreaded essay off on her mental to-do list.

She closed her eyes and, stretching, the words of the first-year echoed through her mind, leading another memory to surface.

Her new friend of a few months was standing in her dorm, looking around with a guarded expression. Quinn found out a long time ago it was fruitless to ask exactly how Cassandra managed to get places the way she did – she discovered most of the castle simply adored the young girl – and the parts that didn't love her feared her with great passion. When Quinn took her to the Slytherin common room for the first time, they idled in front of the wall as the blonde rightful occupant of the dungeon searched her mind for the password that'd just changed that morning. Cassandra took a step forward and the stones gave way all by themselves. As far as pieces of rock went, Quinn would describe the movement as deferential, possibly bordering on enthusiastic. Now Cassandra stood by the door to her room, ramrod straight – a posture Quinn has learnt to associate with discomfort.

"You are leaving," she commented simply.

"Yes," Quinn answered as she stuffed her bag. "I'll be back right after Christmas."

She heard a breath of comprehension being let out at the opposite side of the room.

"Christmas, yes."

Quinn shot her a quick look over her shoulder.

"You forgot about Christmas," she half asked, sceptical. For the past fortnight, the castle looked like – in words of other people – winter wonderland. Quinn privately thought it looked as if someone asked a golem to decorate and then forgot to say when.

"I did not forget," the younger girl dismissed the idea. "I merely never thought about it much."

Quinn stopped her packing and turned around.

"You've never celebrated Christmas," she stated more than asked.

Cassandra shrugged.

"Christmas is a Christian holiday, celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ," she said plainly. "There is no reason it be a holiday observed by the...back at...home."

"It's a holiday to get presents and  stuff yourself with too much food and spend time with your extended family ," the blonde tried.

The Ravenclaw blinked, her face blank.

"And to give presents to other people," Quinn pushed. "You gotta do it."

Another blink.

"It has not occurred to me I was expected to participate," the younger girl said slowly. "Is it prescriptive to gift things to all people present?"

Quinn sighed deeply, turning back to her bed and turning her bag inside out. All its content spilled on the covers. Cassandra peeked over her shoulder curiously.

"Are you looking for something?"

"No," Quinn sighed again. Her mother was not going to be pleased.

"You're only supposed to give presents to people who are important to you," she said as she rummaged through her nightstand for parchment and quill and heard a contemplative hum in response. She found the desired items and flattened the parchment with her palm before starting her letter.

"We're going to celebrate Christmas," she informed her friend resolutely as she wrote.

Her mother was the dictionary definition of displeased and Quinn never told anyone where the top-of-the-line broomstick came from. Cassandra got better at the concept of gifts as the years went, anyway. Perhaps a little too good, Quinn thought as she remembered the magic-made litterbox frame with intricate carvings that nobody ever asked about and that sat in the corner of the Headmistress' office as of last winter.

She looked at her essay and frowned.

Ever since the beginning of this year, Cassandra has been switching between the so very her Hogwarts student she became and the dark, solemn person Quinn met all those years ago like a confused bird. There was heaviness behind her eyes that Quinn hated with all her soul and that weighed on her like a mountain rested on her shoulders.

The Quidditch thing was not an isolated incident, Quinn knew. Though it was by far the grandest in scale and number of witnesses, it was a part of a much larger pattern that Quinn got accustomed to seeing around the beginning of the school year. But they were well into October now, and things were only getting worse.

The young Ravenclaw never lost control, Quinn knew that. The young witch was the walking definition of reined. She was fully – as fully as she could – aware that the second her friend lost – or gave up – control of her powers, they were all as good as dead and then some. But she came as close to it last Saturday as she would allow herself. Quinn didn't remember much. She remembered seeing Shaw, throwing the Quaffle, and resigning herself to her fate; which came in the shape of bright, blinding pain at the end of the Beater's bat. Next thing she knew, Root was hovering over her, telling her something frantically, and as Quinn tried to get up a wave of nausea and ache hit her so hard she almost fainted again. Root noticed and cast a quick pain-numbing charm and it wasn't until then that her words filtered through the mist Quinn's mind was submerged in. She caught just a few of them, but it was enough. Cassandra, crazy, stop her. Later, in the Hospital Wing, as Madam Pomfrey went about patching her up, she murmured something about increased intracranial pressure and how lucky Quinn was it was relieved on time.

They both knew that wasn't Root, and definitely not Joey.

Quinn closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, allowing the silence of the library wash over her.

A set of approaching footsteps tore her from her musing.

"You wanted something?" Root dropped unceremoniously into the chair next to her, propping her feet up.

Quinn leaned forth, opening her eyes.

"Yeah," she said. "Tell me about quantum mechanics."

Chapter Text

Autumn weather hit the north with little preambule to speak of. Cold drafts were sweeping through the castle's corridors and wet, icy rain drummed against the windows and roofs. First Hogsmeade weekend was hardly significant enough for nature to ease its assault. Nearly-Headless Nick had an ongoing wager with the Fat Friar and hovered by the entrance to the Great Hall, keeping track of the third-and-above-years who'd entered the Hall, looked up and let out a sigh as heavy as the clouds that hung overhead. He'd bet the Griffyndors were the least prone to be disheartened by something as trifling as weather, and so far it was not going so well for him.

"Come on, Shaw."

Nick turned with such enthusiasm his head nearly toppled off. He recognised the voice of the Griffyndor's famed Beater – John's attention was on the girl beside him, but he did cast a discreet look at the ceiling as they walked in; and let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. The ghost frowned with disappointment, but when his eyes found the Fat Friar, who was currently busy chatting with a second-year, he straightened up a little. He was going to count that one for himself. Surely Reese's exasperation could just as well be assigned to the conversation with his Hufflepuff companion, whose face mirrored the sky almost too perfectly. He smiled winningly as he watched the pair walk into the Hall.

Twenty minutes later, yet another sigh travelled to his ears, and he turned to watch. He did not hear the sighing person approach, which – he knew – could really only mean one thing.

"I told you I stopped by the kitchens before I went out," he heard a voice declare defensively. "Hello Nicholas," the speaker followed and her companion gave him an offhanded nod in greeting as he wished them good morning. It wasn't that young Ms Fabray had anything against him specifically, he knew. She just wasn't very fond of fallible people, and ghosts were merely people who, of all things, managed to fail at living. While he did not like her definition, it was admittedly difficult to argue with the logic of it.

"Yes, and you had an apple," he heard her retrieving voice respond. "The elves told me. And that was three hours ago and you've been running around outside until now."

Nick sighed again. There was no way he could write those two up as disheartened by the weather.

"I always tell you you can join me," Cassandra said as they walked between the tables, completely missing the point. Quinn was never sure when it was genuinely a case of lost-in-cultural-translation and when she was just doing that on purpose to mess with her.

They sat down at the Slytherin table and returned Root's absent-minded mornin'.

"And I always tell you," the older blonde impressed as she pulled a tray of eggs and bacon closer, "that food is important. And breakfast most of all. You need something warm before we go to Hogsmeade in this weather."

"Root's not eating," Cassandra pointed out conversationally, surveying the choice of meals before her without enthusiasm.

Root lifted her head and her I already ate died on her lips under Quinn's pointed gaze. She huffed in defeat and piled some more porridge into her empty bowl. Quinn's glare turned back to her Ravenclaw friend, who mirrored Root's action with the exact same expression of vanquish.

"Why would you want to go to Hogsmeade in this," Root asked, pointing at the ceiling with her spoon. "It's not like you can't go virtually any time."

"We're meeting Zoe and her friends," Cassandra supplied. Root's attention peaked up. "Quinn says I need to apologise to Shaw for last week."

Quinn, who couldn't recall ever saying any such thing, smiled into her bacon. Now this was definitely on purpose.

Root's eyes lit up and wandered over to the Hufflepuff table. She let out a quiet, thoughtful hum.

"Need any back-up on that?"

Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were alight with mischief.

Cassandra shot her an entertained look.

"You fired a stunning hex after me," she said, sounding profoundly amused. "Several times. What sort of back-up are we talking about here, exactly?"

"I can support your claim when you plea insanity," Root smirked, unperturbed.

"On what authority?" Quinn made it through the stack of bacon and took a break before continuing on the eggs. "Extensive personal experience?"

It was Cassandra's turn to chuckle as Root huffed indignantly. Then she caught the eyes that were watching them from the other side of the Hall and her face lit up with a smile that was all teeth.

"Come on," she said after a few moments, turning her attention back to her porridge. There was no way she was finishing a second helping, Quinn be damned. "You wouldn't want me to rot away here all by myself now, would you."

Quinn just shook her head at her. Cassandra scoffed.

"That was mediocre at best," she said scoldingly. "You can do better than rot. But I will allow it."

"Besides," Root chose to ignore the jab at her punning skills, "we can get away to talk about mine and Quinn's clandestine affair. I mean...any development on that front?"

Cassandra was surveying the spoonful of porridge with such rapt attention as if she was expecting the oats to get up and jump off of it.

"I think we can put that one to bed for now," she said when she decided her breakfast was unlikely to perform seppuku and had to be helped. Root barked out a short laugh and Quinn very nearly banged her head against the table.

Shaw was on a mission.

She set herself a goal and would not be led astray from reaching it, no matter what or who tried.

The Hog's Head was a place with reputation for not having a reputation – and she was interested in seeing that for herself. No students ever went there, although it was allowed – another point in favour of the place, in her opinion. Maybe there would be actually interesting people. Besides, since she let them drag her all the way here in this weather, the least they could do was something she actually wanted.

She shot the group another look.

"We can just stay here, come on," Fusco tried reasoning with her. Carter and Reese seemed inclined to agree with him, while Zoe, much to Shaw's concealed surprise, did not seem adverse to venturing outside and making her way over to the other pub.

"Perhaps Lionel is right, Sameen," Finch looked up from his butterbeer sorrowfully. "We could go when the weather is more agreeable."

"I can go by myself," Shaw gave up and stood.

John and Joss followed her example with matching expressions of surrender and Zoe joined, a mild smirk on her lips.

Fusco huffed.

The walk was not a pleasant one, and Shaw knew she was in for some serious complaining and huffing and grumbling from Fusco once they made it somewhere he could open his mouth without an immediate risk of drowning. Personally, she much preferred it when he suffered in silence.

Dreading the prospect of such future, she walked straight into Reese's tall form as he stopped just short of the worn-looking door. The sign above it creaked aggressively in the wind and Shaw wondered if it was good will, or simply magic that kept it from falling. Probably a great deal of both.

Reese seemed a little hesitant to open the door, when Lionel forced his way through from the rear.

"What's the hold-up," he muttered and swung the door open.

A draft of cold wind swept through the room and effectively froze all conversation, as everyone inside turned to look at the newcomers. They filed in swiftly and made their way through towards the bar, dripping as they went. Most people returned to their own business, but Shaw could still feel eyes on her. She heard Reese ordering their drinks as she looked around.

They were by far the youngest here, from what she could see; but she couldn't see much. Most people were wearing some version head-wear or another, most faces obscured by hoods, veils or, in one case, a thick curtain of unkept, greasy hair. She met a pair of yellow eyes over a sinister smile of yellow-er teeth and frowned right back. The room was dank and smelled vaguely like a mix of damp clothes and dust.

They greyish boy behind the bar procured the five butterbeers Reese ordered and they went to sit at an empty table in the corner. Zoe grimaced lightly and sat down with great care, while Fusco just slumped down and opened his mouth, no doubt to start his tirade. Shaw closed her eyes and contemplated spilling his butterbeer on him by accident. Just to take his mind off things, she reasoned with herself. And it'd probably warm him up a tad, too, so pretty much she'd be doing him a solid.

"Happy, now," he asked her surly and she made her decision. If she tripped, just a little, she could catch herself on the table, her hand slipping, hitting that bottle in front of him, sending it straight—

The door opened again and, again, all heads lifted to observe the intruders. Shaw absently thought this was probably the most traffic the pub has got this week, seeing some of the figures seemed to have pretty much become a permanent part of the scenery, but then she looked towards the door and frowned.

It was almost an automatic reaction now.

She saw Root smile, she frowned.

It was a good reflex, she though. Root was rarely up to any good and it always paid off to be one step ahead of everyone else. Even when it came to facial expressions.

One of Root's companions followed her example and removed the hood of her overcoat, revealing a head of blonde hair and a subtle smile that was sharp around the edges. She said something to the other two and headed for the bar, leaving them behind.

Zoe's face split with a smile and she waved at them, causing Root's grin to widen even more.

"Fancy bumping into you here," she said cheerily as she pulled out a chair between Zoe and Harold.

Shaw chose to ignore her and instead focused on the third newcomer, who grabbed a chair and set it next to the last empty one, claiming it for herself. Her hood was still up, but Shaw doubted it was fooling anyone here.

"A bit of an odd place for an afternoon hang-out," she commented as she looked around warily, her face still hidden.

Quinn sat down next to her friend and handed out the butterbeers she brought; two to Root and Cassandra, one, inexplicably, to Zoe, and left two for herself.

"You lot got all the drinks you want?" She directed the question to the rest and Joss frowned lightly.

"I think we're good for now," John responded calmly and Quinn smiled a humourless smile.

"Well if you want any more, you better go and get it before the hood comes off," she uttered, motioning with her head towards her friend and Root's smile turned into a smirk around her butterbeer bottle.

"Cassie here is not exactly popular among the local crowd," she offered gleefully at the confused scowls. "Last time we were here—"

"We just got here," Zoe cut her off, "I think we should be fine."

She nodded slightly at Cassandra, who cast one last look around before lowering her hood.

Shaw half-expected some grand reaction, considering how much of a fuzz the other three girls seem to make out of it, but nothing much has changed. Cassandra held her head in her hands, leaning forward on her elbows that rested on the table.

Next to her, Shaw heard John let out a silent breath.

She scoffed.

John and Zoe started talking about the last Quidditch match; a conversation Fusco readily joined, shortly followed by Fabray whom Zoe called upon to help her defend the Slytherins' tactics.

Shaw was getting ready to join, too, when something collided with her shin under the table.

She looked up, Root's face already waiting for her, her eyes full of mischief.

"So," Root drawled out, "what's a girl like you doin' in a ditch like this?"

Shaw rolled her eyes, but also caught a sight of Carter's face, who was watching something over Shaw's shoulder. Root's eyes sliped off Shaw and widened with horror, before they shot towards Cassandra almost reflexively.

Shaw turned around and came face to face with the yellow-like eyes that were watching her earlier. The man's nose was inches from hers now and her own nose was full of his odour; something sharply sweet that made her almost want to throw up.

His teeth barred in a vicious smile and Shaw's hand was on her wand, ready to curse him off, when a voice spoke from her left.

"Fancy bumping into you here, Farlan," Adler echoed Root's earlier words, but there was a remarkable lack of fancy in her tone. Shaw wasn't sure if the girl was keeping her voice down on purpose or if she was just doing it for the effect; regardless, the man froze and then took a hasty step back as if he'd been burned, his eyes even wilder than before.

"Nobody wants a scene," Adler's voice was still low and her hands still framed her face, though she raised her head to look at the man. "Why don't we all go back to our drinks; I will pretend I never saw you, you will pretend you never saw me. Everybody gets to enjoy their afternoon in peace."

The yellow eyes blinked and he turned, stalking back to his table without a word.

"A friend of yours?"

Carter was the one to break the silence, eyeing Adler with clear distaste. Quinn's eyes narrowed.

"You're welcome," the blonde hissed through gritted teeth and Shaw bristled, turning to Adler.

"I had that," she barked at her.

One corner of the Ravenclaw's lips twitched with a half-smirk.

"I guess I had a score to settle," she said, tilting her bottle towards Shaw in a lazy half-toast. "Getting a sleazy werewolf off your back should weight out throwing a few harmless jinxes your way when under duress, I suppose. With some interest. Because knowing Paorach, regardless of your unquestionable aptitude in Defense, you most definitely didn't have that."

Shaw was fixing up to retaliate, but Fusco's voice beat her to it.

"Paorach," he said slowly, frowning. "Farlan Paorach?"

There was a strange tinge in his voice now, as he not-so-discreetly turned his head to look at the man who was now sitting at his lone table, all of his attention resolutely – obediently, Shaw thought – on his drink.

"Not a terrific company," Harold spoke up, his eyes wary. "Unless you are one of those chosen few who think Fernir Greyback was a gift to the world and his legacy is something to worship and further."

"I heard 'bout him," Fusco nodded at that slowly and Carter frowned as she, too, moved her head in agreement.

"My uncle works at the Ministry, said he got out of Azkaban on a technicality," she commented, hey eyes flicking to the man and back swiftly. Quinn snorted.

"The fact that dead witnesses are no good for conviction is hardly a technicality," she spat, voice laced with venom.

Almost involuntarily, Shaw's attention drifted to Root, who had been uncharacteristically quiet thorough the whole scene. The brunette seemed frozen, staring at the table with an expressionless face, pale as a ghost. As if feeling Shaw's gaze, she lifted her eyes and a fast sequence of expressions seemed to flicker through her face until she settled on a teasing smile. She made a wink attempt and Shaw was more than happy to oblige by rolling her eyes and moving on.

The topic of conversation changed and once the drinks were finished, no one seemed too opposed to a change of venue. As they were getting up to leave, Shaw watched Adler look over her shoulder at the barkeep and send him a teasing wink. The boy paled even unhealthier shade of green and she smirked, putting her hood up in a smooth, practiced motion.

"Last time we were here everyone left the moment she walked in," a voice spoke in her ear and she turned sharply, almost knocking Root over with the motion. The brunette smiled benevolently. "The poor lad spent the whole time it took us to leave alternating between trying not to shit his trousers and figuring out how to tell us to leave without telling her to leave," she paused and then grinned. "So, y'know, if you wanna go for drinks, I am a much safer choice."

Shaw had her doubts about that, but before she could voice them Harold left out a heavy sigh just next to them.

"I still have a Runes homework to finish," he said, clearly replying to a question Shaw missed. Root, however, smirked.

"You can borrow Cassandra," she offered with a winning smile. "I'll trade you. One for one." Her hand sneaked through space to reach for Shaw as if her meaning needed to me made any extra clear; Shaw batted it off quickly, taking a few affronted steps sideways. Root didn't follow, only continued to smile devilishly.

They made their way outside, heading for the safety of the castle.