1:41 PM




With something close to resentment, Micah followed one Gracie Slant down the third floor hall. It was Saturday, at  one in the afternoon, and at this time he would usually be found outside, happily dozing in a warm patch of sun, but today… was not that day.

Naturally, this was noted with some unhappiness. And Micah was not naturally given to such a thing—not, at least, directed towards someone who hadn’t actually done anything to him or his friends (and indeed, was actually pretty nice to them, all things considered). Brooding and shame, yes. Resentment… not so much.

Glumly Micah recalled that very quiet afternoon that had been, and then… wasn’t. It had started normally enough—on a rare whim he had been in the library, poking through its herbology section in search of something to read outside – and, ideally, fall asleep from – and found himself settling in instead. The hand had appeared out of nowhere, clapping his shoulder out of the blue and startling him so badly he’d very nearly dropped the book onto the floor.

And if that hadn’t been enough, Gracie Slant’s famous grin had been on the other end of it. Gracie was cool, but… she was Gracie. One of the most laidback Slytherins there ever was, but more, obviously, or she wouldn’t head Slytherin’s quidditch team. And Dueling Club. And...

So caught up in his musings, Micah hadn’t noticed the witch in question had slowed, falling back until they were side by side—her very elbow jabbing into his side. When he righted himself, it was with her hand around his arm and his face bright red; she’d kept him from falling over. “I said,” she drawled, letting go, “how’ve you been, Gallagher?”

Micah blushed. A pained grimace took over his features. “Well,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “I’ve been—well.”

As Micah Gallagher was his adorable self, Gracie side-eyed with growing amusement, lips pursed but curling helplessly at the corners.

When she’d set out that early afternoon, she’d had something– someone—two, actually –rather different in mind. Gallagher was nice, even fun (especially if one was the teensiest bit cruel), but to the Slytherin there was just something painfully vulnerable about him, a kind that put one in mind of a helpless baby animal, or a damsel in distress. The boy was nearly six feet and kind of stocky, but then he went and blushed, and well. He was practically a squishy little victim just waiting to happen. Raine and Alex… were not.

They were quite the opposite, in fact.

But both girls had been busy (–and, yeah, weren’t even in the class to begin with), and hunting pixies alone sounded even more like a chore than usual. Granted, maybe she shouldn’t have put it off for so long, but… After Quidditch, Dueling Club, and now the dueling tournament and the Tetrawizard tournament to deal with, how could anyone expect her to have any time for chores? Bless Professor Donovan and her concern for both class and students, but she really did ask a lot from them. It was enough to make a seventeen-year-old witch despair.

Anyway, for all that Gallagher didn’t seem too happy about being made to tag along he couldn’t be terribly put out, or he’d have found a way to slither out of it (like he usually did). He had even offered to carry her things, which was appreciated but unnecessary.

“That’s good,” she replied, because it was, and because making conversation with him was like poking a clam, she continued, “I’m doing pretty well myself. I mean, I swear I’m still picking out lake things from yesterday, but it’s nothing to complain about, honestly.”

And then she had to stop, because Micah turned positively fuchsia at the reminder of yesterday’s match—or rather, what had happened after.[1] Gracie had to grin; it had been rather nippy, if she recalled correctly…

“I’m glad that’s over, though,” she went on cheerfully, stepping away from him just enough to swing her hands and clasp them together. “I love quidditch, but there’s still the dueling tournament, you know?” Even if she wasn’t a finalist, she still had to make sure the whole thing ran smoothly. “And the Tetrawizard—they announce the champions tomorrow!” Wistfully she sighed. “Maybe I’ll get picked this time.”

But there was no time left to dwell on it, because the abandoned corridor was now in sight. Gracie fell silent, her mouth curving as she drew her wand. Stopping short of the door, she glanced at Micah, letting her smirk grow. “Ready to stun some pixies?”

The expression of pain increased. “Please stop hitting me,” he sighed, but drew out his own wand anyway.

1.	[May 14] Captain(s) of Recklessness

Shooting him a beaming, twinkling smile, Gracie waved her wand at the lock, “Alohomora!” and pulled the door open. Stifling another sigh, Micah followed.

Inside, the corridor was just as dark and dusty. Things had been moved into it in recent years (particularly with a certain three-headed dog’s eviction), but they were chairs, desks, tables and shelves—things deemed superfluous but still wanted within reach (unlike the Room of Requirement, which was on the seventh floor)—stacked upon each other and covered with cloth. In one corner was a skeleton, lax, alone and… oddly proportioned–?

“Stay sharp,” advised Gracie, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know they’re just pixies, but they’re tricky shits by half. Give ‘em an inch…”

“I know,” Micah said, and pinkened because he hadn’t meant to cut her off. It was just… pixies. He wasn’t talented in Creatures the way some of his housemates were (and was uncomfortable with many a creature, in fact), but he wasn’t crap at it, either. And he had dealt with them before, those times he had to watch over his plants in Herbology, in and out of class.

Gracie, though—he hadn’t meant to snap at her, and was relieved to see she hadn’t taken offense. If anything, she grinned – apparently satisfied – and ventured further into the room. She didn’t look back to see if he was following, so he supposed that he should, and did.

But an outstretched arm stopped him before long, barring him from another step. Startled, Micah looked to her in confusion.

The Slytherin brought a finger to her lips; she’d heard something.

Gracie kept her hand outstretched, lowering it only after she’d ventured – quietly – a few steps closer to one table, her shadow slowly creeping upon its dusty cover. She thought she heard something– was quite sure, in fact– but there was no telling for sure; it had been as she and Micah were speaking, so even as she pressed to recall the niggling possibility of being wrong was starting to seep in…

She pushed it away, though, because she wasn’t new at this (even if her past experiences had been decidedly less magical in comparison). One thing she’d been taught was to trust her gut; if it had nudged her in the first place, then she had better listen—or at least give it the benefit of the doubt. She’d heard something.

Wand clutched in a ready grip, Gracie confronted the table, Micah left standing warily by an old chest. She raised it aloft–

Stupefy!

The cloth blew in, revealing—nothing!

But elsewhere within the room– scrawny blue figures erupted from practically every other crevice, filling the room with gleeful chirping and rapidly beating wings. “Gracie!” shouted Micah, voice high with alarm. Gracie whipped around, just in time to see him mobbed by several pixies, diving and darting at him with mean yanks and grabby hands. He stunned one– and then another– only for twice as many to take their place. “Hey! Get away from him!”

Some looked her way, and a few of them blew raspberries at her. The rest, however, zipped towards her, expressions cocky and malicious.

Her own narrowed in reply. “Immobu-”

They snatched her wand.

Gracie didn’t hesitate; she ran.

“Micah!” she shouted, dashing towards him. “I need–” A chair skidded toward her, into her way. Expression morphing into one of irritation, she leapt, kicking off of it without a thought—which effectively put her in the way of an incoming table. She vaulted over it like a pommel horse. “Your wand! Give me your–”

Together the pixies hauled open the trunk, began pelting at her with textbooks. Ow ow ow. “Micah!”

“In—a second,” he gritted out, sounding irritated himself, and well—she couldn’t really fault him, not when there were just too many of them about him now for him to get out so much as another spell. He had his work cut out for him just trying to keep his wand. “Close your eyes,” he told her, as he (ineffectually) batted his assailants away. “I’m gonna–” He stopped, looking sickly, but continued, resolute, “I wanna try something. But I need you to close your eyes!”

Despite herself, Gracie perked up, peeking at him with interest from beneath the shield of her arms. “Gracie.”

The witch rolled her eyes. What was he gonna do? Flash them? But she did as she was told, shutting her eyes tightly. “Fine, fine.” Another textbook hit her, bounced off her shoulder; she bit off a swear. “But hurry up!”

Micah took a shuddering breath. This was a terrible idea, but he was all out of good ones at the moment and he needed the pixies to give him space. He wasn’t great at spells, not the way Gracie was, and if the pixies had both wands they’d have no way of defending themselves. Of the two of them Gracie had to have one.

And so, gripping his wand extra tightly, Micah shut his own eyes, squeezing them shut as he mustered up his fear, panic, and every sense of inadequacy he had right then and there, until it all solidified into one awful but stable thing that he could brace himself against. It roiled inside of him, heavy and constricting like a clump of tar, but he needed it, wanted it–

Had it. Though there wasn’t a surface available he could see himself with, he could feel it take hold, his features rippling, withering, shriveling. He opened his eyes (saw a string of flesh stretch across one of them) and snarled.

The pixies scrambled back, shrieking shrilly. The tart fizz of glee had blanched into alarm, then curdled into horror; in a second it would be–

Somewhere by Gracie’s head, there was a warlike screech.

–hate

With renewed hostility they swarmed him then, attacking whatever bit of him they could get at. Micah struggled to push back the curse; it was like swallowing bile. “Gracie!” he called as the last of it faded, and pitched his wand at her, breath held as it flew.

She caught it! And just in time, too, because it looked like Micah was about to carried away—by his shirt.

She spun around, zeroing in on her thief, and it jerked back at her attention. Which, good; it had nicked her wand, it should be afraid. “Expelliarmus!” she shouted, and a bolt of white light burst forth—knocking the pixie clean out of the air!

And as for her wand—her hand closing around it with a sense of rightness, Gracie felt herself break out in a smile; this was much better. Gallagher’s wand was alright, but as soon as she’d cast she could tell it wasn’t quite right. There was something too… tame about it, almost dull.

Feeling infinitely more cheerful, she spun on her heel and snapped out her arm, quick as a whip. “Immobulus!”

Another bolt of light shot into the air, although this one swiftly swelled into a near-invisible barrier that flashed and scattered upon contact, like lightning. Frozen, the pixies began to float away, rendered quiet and helpless. Save for the clatter of fallen texts, the whole corridor, in fact, had fallen silent—hushed.

Leveling the creatures a look, Gracie eyed them all, nose flaring as if she were about to deliver something particularly blistering. Instead, she sighed and met Micah’s gaze, rueful. “Well,” she said. “That teaches me to be overconfident.” Gingerly she touched the back of her head, and winced.

The pixies taken care of, Micah’s shoulders slumped with relief, knees suddenly weak and his heart rabbiting against his chest. He’d almost gotten himself strangled, and then—He shivered, as the reality of what could’ve easily been finally sank in. He had been in real trouble for a moment there, he knew, and it had only been because of Gracie that he’d come out of it none the worse.

Unconsciously tugging at his collar, Micah sat heavily on the chest and stared blankly at the pixies. He was trying desperately not to feel like he was about to break into tiny little pieces when he met Gracie’s gaze, and was all too glad to focus on something other than his own shortcomings. “You warned me first,” he felt compelled to point out, because it was true. “How’s your head?”

“I wasn’t really,” she argued, but sighed. “Like I had a run-in with a bunch of pixies and lost. What do you think?” she grumbled, trudging over to sit with him. Cautiously rolling her shoulders, her neck, she muffled a groan. “Ughhhh.”

Micah raised his brows—glanced at the pixies drifting aimlessly by before looking back.

“You know what I mean,” Gracie elbowed him. He ducked his head, grinning.

Now that they weren’t getting their asses kicked, they sat like that in companionable silence, content to just catch their breath. Micah, for one, looked like he stung all over; he hadn’t had any books thrown at him (at least, not until the last minute), but he’d been scratched, pinched and had his hair pulled. He looked even worse off than she did, and she really did hurt. The little buggers hadn’t gotten any headshots, but it’d been a near thing—and the hits they did make, more than made up for it.

But… scratches. These were pixies. Maybe they should be disinfected–?

Before she could pass so much as a comment, though, the Hufflepuff cautiously thumbed his cheek—apprehensive, as if he were afraid of what he might find. When his fingers came away with smudges of blood, he looked so dismayed that Gracie just—guffawed. His face. “Relax, Gallagher; you’re still the prettiest elf at the ball.”

Micah blushed. “I wasn’t-” She laughed even harder. “Funny,” he huffed.

Still, he waited her out before glancing at the pixies again, restlessly shifting as he did. “Um…”

Gracie followed his gaze and gustily sighed—more work. Of course. “We should, yeah,” she said, resigned as she handed him his wand. “Lemme just–” Dragging herself out of her seat, she plodded over to a spot beneath the pixies—a point where, she judged, put her roughly at an equal distance from most of them, if not all.

As Micah slid off the chest to join her, she conjured a cage. It was a broad, simple thing, with curlicues but not much else, and wasn’t small, maybe two feet tall—more than enough space for a first year. It’d have to do.

And as it turned out, it did.

The last pixie directed into the cage, the Slytherin shut the trap with an air of satisfaction. “We didn’t miss anyone, did we?”

Micah cast a look around. “…No,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, I don’t think so.” Gracie beamed.

“Brilliant,” she said, and with a tap of her wand the cage rose, rising until it hovered steadily at waist level. Inside, the pixies bumped against each other gently, still kept in their frozen state. “We should be getting them to Professor Donovan then, before we have to wait for her to come back from the forest or something.”

Micah nodded, and then froze mid-nod, twisting around to give the room – and then her – an uncertain look. “Maybe we should…” The corridor was still out of sorts, after their altercation with the pixies, and he didn’t feel quite right leaving it that way; it wouldn’t be fair to the caretaker, whoever that was and his mum– he wasn’t–

Gracie made a face but waved him off. The gesture was more of a concession than dismissive, and a second later he was proven right. “You do it, then,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She added, dramatically, “if I lift my arms anymore they will fall off, I swear.”

Relieved, Micah cracked a smile and set to work. It wasn’t that he was a particularly tidy person – Merlin knew his mum had seen worse messes in his room – but that was really only in the privacy of his own home, or at least the immediate vicinity of his bed in the Hufflepuff boys’ dorm. Elsewhere– public spaces– was just—no.

There wasn’t a lot that needed to be done, honestly—they’d stopped the pixies before they could much more than slide some furniture around, and looking around, Micah could see it was hardly that much; they’d focused more on throwing the books (which were in bad shape, but could be easily fixed), and so before long the young wizard had everything set to rights, putting the chairs back in their places, the table pushed back to its previous spot. He even went so far as to adjust the sheet on the table, tugging at it until it was neat and even–

“Okay, Martha Stewart.” Gracie’s laugh startling him out of his thoughts, Micah looked up, meeting amused green eyes and an equally amused grin. “You can stop now, I’m pretty sure the caretaker can handle it.”

Pinkening, Micah pulled away, but a grin tugged at his face and it was Gracie who pulled him away from the table completely, coming over to draw him away by the elbow. “I was just…”

“I know,” said Gracie fondly, as she led him back to the door. As they neared, her hand fell away. “I’m sure we can find you something else to do—after we bring these guys to Professor Donovan.”


Letting her and the cage pass through first, Micah was the last to exit the room. The door– though heavy, practically petrified with age –silently swung shut behind them.