It was the best weather they'd had in ages, though still a bit chilly. Wearing his coziest sweater and broom riding gloves, he and his pseudo-brother, Fred, decided to take advantage of the lack of rain. With full stomachs after dinner, Alistair knew that he had a limited amount of precious daylight left, and he certainly wasn't going to be out past curfew. His homework could wait.

So the pair tossed a quaffle back and forth, whining about professors and their workload-- Alistair complaining about his sister and her congenital and incurable naïveté.

That could only keep them entertained for so long, and the activity was growing dull.

"Fred," He paused, tucking the quaffle under his arm, "D'you think there's any cool sports on brooms that haven't been invented yet?" The Slytherin grinned, "You know, like a game completely about dodging bludgers. Broom-Dueling! Or--" Oh, this was genius, "Sky wrestling. Sky jousting." He waited for Fred's response, and for any sign that he would want to try any of these things. They were practically immortal after all-- magic could heal most broken bones.

Tossing a quaffle had been well and good for a bit, but Fred was starting to lose concentration and honestly, though it was cool they’d passed the quaffle like five hundred times without dropping it (yea, he had sort of been counting while Alistair complained…)…

Holding his hands out, ready to catch the quaffle for the five hundred and twelfth time, he was surprised when Alistair didn’t chuck at him with all the force he could muster as he did every couple of throws to attempt to knock him off his broom.  “I mean, there must be,” he retorted with a snort quickly after Alistair asked about other sports that hadn’t been invented yet.

There must have been loads of them: Alistair seemed to have a mind for half of them.

“Sky obstacle courses?” Fred shrugged, “or – or – sky fencing!  That’d be wicked, with swords,” he threw his arm out and his broom dipped as he did.  “Or broom tug of war!”  That’d probably be dangerous, but he couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t be fun.  “If we go to the suits of armor, I bet we could nick a few swords and have at it… or I don’t know, transfigure some blades of grass into swords!” 

"Why is it, boys are always so eager to find new ways to hurt each other?" Ayla asked with a sweet smirk as she looked up at the two. Her own broom was slung over her shoulder and a quaffle was tucked under her arm. Ever since her little "coaching" session with Peyton the month before she had been trying harder during practices and was determined to win the upcoming Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw game just to show him up. She wasn't in her full quidditch gear but a well fitted pair of jeans and a sweater, her turquoise hat tucked under a knitted cap.

She swung her broom off her shoulder and was quickly up in the air at their level. She had no idea what she had just interrupted though she didn't really care. Now that she was a prefect she was determined to get back to being friendly with everyone in school regardless of their house. Besides she only had a few more months before all her tormentors graduated and she'd be free to do anything she wanted next year.

"Though if you two are absolutely set on bloodying each other up, I'm sure we could find something for you to use." Ayla absolutely excelled in charms but she was none too shabby when it came to transfiguration.

Obstacle courses. That was kind of awesome. However, it wasn't as brilliant as the idea of broomstick fencing.

He opened his mouth to respond, but then Ayla made an appearance. Alistair had always thought that she was kind of cute, and her bright blue hair made her easier to spot in a crowd. She didn't exactly have the best of luck with Slytherins, but Alistair had always been friendly to her. Especially after his little sister got sorted into Hufflepuff. He couldn't exactly afford to make any Hufflepuff enemies.

... Then again, he probably could. What was the worst a Hufflepuff could do? Not hug him goodbye? Refuse to share sweets?

"We're determined to at least break something." Whether it was a bone or an inanimate object. He gave her a toothy grin, intent now on showing off. "And we don't need objects to do it--" Without any sort of foresight or complex thought, he sped towards Fred on his broom. Alistair leaned forward and trying to force Fred into a headlock of sorts.

Balancing on the broom was just as difficult as it looked.

At the sound of another voice, Fred struggled to steady himself on his broom before he looked down.  It was his prefect partner, Ayla.  Honestly, that was kind of a relief.  Sure, being around her at first had been awkward (Fred wasn’t the best around girls), but doing patrols and meetings and stuff… it made it easier to not stammer and be an idiot.  Waving downward, he called out, “Hey Ayla!” and wasn’t surprised when she lifted off to their level, asking about why they wanted to hurt each other. 

Before he could jump in, Alistair started and left Fred with a look of pure horror on his face.  “Break something?” he echoed, mortified, before looking at Ayla, “we’re not going to break anything!” he clarified, eyes scanning back to Alistair, still perched and looking very proud of himself.

Well, that was until he was moving and Fred did not have the good sense to get out of the way because he was suddenly engulfed in a headlock that made him release this weird, strangled sound.  Grappling to hold onto his broom and try and push back, Fred hooked his ankles around one another instinctually and then grabbed onto Alistair’s arms to try and pull him off. “Al!” he half-growled, half-yelped, “Le’me go!” and swung haphazardly to get at him. “Help me, Ayla!” he squawked, “turn him into a squid or somethin’!”

Al and Freddie were quite the pair. They had always seemed like such opposites. She had been one of the many students they had convinced that they were brothers. It wasn't until Alistair's sister was sorted into Hufflepuff that Ayla learned the truth. Although even after wards it was hard not to think of them as such. Alistair was one of the few Slytherins that was actually friendly with her (even if she hadn't always returned the favour) and Fred was her new partner in . . . not-crime? The two had certainly become friendlier with each other since they were both made prefects at the beginning of the year, often sharing their duties with each other.

Despite herself Ayla felt a little flush when Alistair gave her his toothy grin. She laughed out when he sped toward Fred. She had a feeling this was going to go one of two ways. Either Al was going to succeed in breaking something (likely something of Fred's) or they would both fail so spectacularly Ayla'd be laughing for weeks.

Fred called out for her help and she had to admit, she was sorely tempted to turn Alistair into a squid. Just the thought of Squid-Al made her giggle. She removed her wand with a little difficulty. She wasn't used to doing wandwork while on her broom. She was used to speed and catching and throwing. Balancing on her broom wasn't an issue though.

Ayla flicked her wand at the tussling boys, "Sciurfors!" The bright blue light hit Alistair and turned the Slytherin into a Squirrel, a flying Squirrel to be exact. Had the boys been wrestling on the ground she would have gone with Fred's suggestion of turning him into a squid. Up in the air though, he would have fallen to the pitch and been squashed. Being a flying squirrel gave him the option to still hold onto his broom or at least glide to safety if neither of the others caught him first.

Shit, he had forgotten that Ayla was just as good at transfiguration as he was! One moment, he was a short, good looking Scotsman, the next he had paws.

His clothes fluttered to the ground and his broom with them. He tried to speak, but his little squirrel mouth was not built for human speech. Instead he let out a guttural squirrel scream, claws digging into Fred's shirt. What was he going to do once he was human?! When he was transfigured back, he would be completely naked. Now, he and Fred were close... But not close enough to see each other's business. If fur wasn't cover his cheeks, he would've blushed.

Alistair did what any human-in-a-squirrel's-body would do when attached to somebody else's chest-- he crawled into one of the shirt holes, gripping onto the fabric for dear life.

Then the biting started.

It shouldn’t have escalated so quickly, and thinking on it, Fred probably never should have suggested that Ayla turn Alistair into anything.  He should have known she would do it.  He should have known.  But, he didn’t. 

So, here he was – Alistair’s broom swiftly dropped out of the sky and the once Alistair-now-Squirrel crawled up onto his arm with it’s horrible little claws and Fred squawked in horror.  “What the bloody hell?!” he waved his arm frantically for a second, then realized if he did dislodge the squirrel, it would send Alistair careening toward the ground.  That’d probably be a problem. 

He didn’t even get a chance anyway. 

Before he knew it, Squir-astair found his way in his sleeve and oh… oh no.  The expletives that left his mouth were things he wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard anyone say before – and he was in classes with Connor – but there they were, tumbling out of his mouth as little sharp pains stung at his skin.  It was at this point that Fred didn’t think that he was high up in the air.  He didn’t think that the pitch beneath them was hard.  He didn’t think that he was on a broom.

Fred kicked his legs out and shuddered like he was having a seizure.  But, rather than tumbling immediately onto the ground, Fred felt a sudden dip in the pit of his stomach and he screamed – the most horrifyingly high pitched sound he’d heard himself make in a long time and it felt like a millennium before SMACK. 

The world went dark.

Ayla had to admit, Squir-astair was super freakin adorable. She almost D'awww'd out loud.

At first she was giggling but the humor in all of it was quickly lost when a frantic squirrel boy sent his best friend falling to his death.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, I've killed them!

At the back of her mind she made a note to practice spells while on her broom. She didn't even consider it an essential skill until now. She had leaned down tight against her broom, going into an almost completely vertical nosedive to try and make it to the pitch before Fred did. She leaped off her broom skidding to her knees and raised her wand at the rapidly falling figure, "Arresto Momentum!"

He was already too close to the ground, the charm barely hit in time and he still landed with a sickening crack. Ayla bit back tears as she crawled over to him, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Without thinking about her partner's delicate sensibilities she shoved her hand into his shirt and rooted around. Getting a little more frantic until she felt fur, moving fur.

In one fluid motion Ayla extracted Squir-astair from the insides of Fred's clothing, though detaching his claws may or may not have left a mark. She cupped him with both hands, "Thank Merlin, you're not dead." She kissed his furry little face and nuzzled him before placing him on her shoulder, "Stay there while I make sure Fred's not dead."

She turned her attention to the prone body in front of her and felt his neck. She wasn't sure if she could actually feel a pulse, the movies made it look so much easier than it actually was. He was breathing though so that was a good sign. Maybe he just needed to be woken up?

"Aguamenti." A light stream of water sprouted from the tip of her wand and she splashed his face hoping to startle him conscious.

As Fred fell, Alistair fell with him. It was the scariest moment of his life-- but he learned that squirrels were better at falling from high distances than humans were, especially with Fred there to cushion the fall. At least he was conscious! His little squirrely heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his little squirrely chest. He was trapped! In Fred's shirt! He let out  a scream as he saw Ayla's giant hand reach for him to squeeze him to death-- oh, nope. False alarm.

She seemed just as glad as he was that he wasn't dead. She nuzzled him. Alistiar let out a surprised, startled squeak. he was glad he couldn't speak English at the moment, it wouldn't have done him any good anyway. Being nuzzled by a giant was TERRIFYING, even if she was pretty.

Perched on Ayla's shoulder, he watched carefully to make sure Fred was still alive. He could see his chest rising and falling steadily. He was breathing. He relief Alistiar felt allowed him to find the humor in this whole situation.

Then the Hufflepuff tried to DROWN him! Like a terrible best friend, he let out borderline-maniacal squeaky laughter.

Time did not register for the unconscious.  It was why his alarm seemed to mysteriously ring in what seemed like a flash after he got to sleep.  But, this time it wasn’t his alarm that startled him out of bed – it was a cold, fast stream of water pulverizing him in the face.

The shock went through him like a lightening bolt and when his mouth opened, instead of air he was suddenly filled with water and that made his eyes open like dinner plates.  Driven completely by adrenaline, he bolted up upright.  Fred choked and sputtered, struggling to find air in the stream.  He held his hands up and burped as the fountain-like spray moved from his face to his stomach. 

The water in his mouth dribbled out and down his chin as he shuddered, still petrified that he would drown.  Finally following the stream to the tip of Ayla’s wand and then to Ayla herself, he opened his mouth to ask what the Bloody hell was wrong with her… but all that came out with a ripe, loud BURP.  If his face wasn’t already red from practically dying, it would have been.  So consumed with trying to breathe, waking up, and suddenly feeling a distinct wave of nausea, Fred didn’t even notice the horrible pain in his arm, or the terrible red stain starting to pool on the sleeve of his jumper.

“What did you do?!”


Having appeared at the edge of the field just in time to see Ayla’s spell and Fred and Alistair’s subsequent descent, Esther could only watch in horror as her friends plummeted to the ground, paralyzed by the horror that gripped her lungs. She’d been jolted into action by the screaming, but once they had begun to fall… Limbs turned into lead, long strides stuttering into a stumble.

Though she was still a few yards away, Esther heard the crack perfectly – horribly – loud and clear.

Worse still was the blood.

It wasn’t a lot, from where she stood—not yet, anyway. On Fred’s sleeve it was little more than a tiny bloom, a small flush of crimson seeping through the fabric. But to Esther, the patch was positively lurid.

She tore her gaze away from it to the only conscious – culpable – person at the scene: Ayla.

Ayla, who always had it out for Slytherins—even ones who had never even spoken to her. But Alistair? Alistair had always been nice to her, even when she wasn’t—when she was tacky, or catty, or…

Esther dashed across the field—this time propelled by a rush of something hot and awful burning at her heels. By the time she reached them, Fred was already stirring into consciousness – thank god – even letting out the most hideous burp, but it wasn’t enough to calm the Slytherin prefect’s panic; Fred had just sustained a nasty fall. Even worse, there had been a very audible crack. To top it all off, there was blood on his jumper. Blood! Just looking at it was enough to make Esther ill.

But not quite enough to win out over anger. It took all she had not to shove the other girl away from him. And–

Eyes snagged on the articles of clothing strewn across the field before catching on the rodent in Ayla’s clutches. That had better be Alistair, or so help her.

Esther dropped down to her knees on the side of Fred’s broken arm and drew her own wand. Blood blood bloooooood, her brain sang like the world’s worst tune. “Stop that!” she snapped, batting at Ayla’s wand and glaring as Fred tried to find his breath. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

She didn’t wait for an answer; instead, she ducked her head to peer at Fred’s face, her own giving way to worry. Brows creased into a fretful frown. “Do you remember what happened? How many fingers am I holding up?” She held up three.

Ayla's elation that Fred was quickly brought to was quickly squashed by the shrill voice behind her. She couldn't help but roll her eyes as the other Prefect joined them. She opened her mouth to explain what had happened when little miss I'm better than everyone else swatted her wand out of her hand and yelled at her. For a long moment Ayla sat back on her heels stunned. She hadn't done anything wrong, but of course the Slytherin would see it otherwise. The only mistake she had made was listening to Fred. If she hadn't transfigured Alistair like her partner had told her to, none of this would have happened.

Could she have used Rennervate instead? Sure, that probably would have been the better choice but she didn't know the charm well and she didn't want to risk hurting Fred. Looking back, her response had been a muggle one, something none of those present were likely to understand.

Every fibre in her being wanted to scream at Esther. Tell her she had it all wrong and for once didn't actually know everything. It would have been pointless though. Her words would have fallen on deaf ears and no matter how much she loathed the other girl (especially in that moment) Fred was far more important.

Coming to her senses Ayla reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a small vial. An essential for any seasoned Quidditch player, in Ayla's opinion. She handed it to Esther, "Take it. It's Dittany. Find out where the bleeding's coming from and pour it over the wound." Her voice was quiet and reserved. Devoid of the seething anger she had felt since the other girl's arrival, "I'm going to help Alistair."

Ayla rose from her spot, retrieved her wand from where Esther's slap had sent it flying, and walked over the pitch, picking up Alistair's scattered clothing. She brought it all to the locker rooms and laid them out on one of the benches. She gently removed Squir-astair from her shoulder and placed him next to his clothes, "I'm sorry. Neither of you were supposed to fall from your brooms." She wanted to say more but couldn't find the words. Instead she gave him a solemn look and stood in the doorway of the locker room. She reversed the transfiguration and left all in the same motion so as not to have any chance of seeing something she really didn't want to see.

Ayla walked back to where Esther and Fred were. She kept her distance though. She really had no interest in getting slapped again. If it wasn't for the fact that she genuinely considered Fred one of her friends she'd have simply walked off as soon as she made Alistair human again.

At Esther's arrival, Alistair let out some panicked chirping noises. Alas, nobody could understand him. This whole thing was out of hand. Now that he noticed Fred's bleeding, his little rodent nose couldn't un-smell it. Esther was, understandably, furious. Behind that fury was very real concern. He wished he could explain that they were just being stupid, and that it wasn't completely Ayla's fault. He didn't like seeing Esther genuinely worked up.

At least Ayla had the common sense to grab his clothes and take him somewhere private before changing him back. She made every effort to keep from seeing his broomstick and bludgers. He appreciated her courtesy and quick thinking in a situation, despite the fact that Fred was very clearly hurt. He wanted to tell her that he understood, and that everybody got hurt while having fun sometimes-- but she left too quickly.

Alistair tugged his trousers and shoes on. He made sure his wand was in his pocket. Sweater in hand and mindless of the weather, he ran outside to join the others and check on Fred, heart pounding in his chest. "Did you fix him yet? Did you get a look at it?" He glanced from Esther to Ayla for answers. His dark eyes focused on Fred. "You okay? Do you want us to take you to Nagde?" Wait, no. Not Nagde. "I mean, the other one." Alistair was too worried to remember her name at the moment. 

It was one of those weird moments where Fred knew what was going on… but it was hard to think about what was going on or what people were asking of him. What?  Blinking a little bit, Fred tried to focus his vision – which he hadn’t even registered as fuzzy and then he squinted.  What?  Voices were kind of hard to hear over the weird sound happening in his head.

“Fingers?” he responded woozily and tried to focus on Esther – now that he realized it was actually her and figured out what she was asking.  He could see: it was three.  There were totally three fingers there.   

Unfortunately, that was not what came out of his mouth. 

As he opened his mouth to say three, there was a sudden surge and then it was all over his jumper… and down his chin.  That was pathetic.  He felt pathetic.  He must have looked it too as he turned his eyes upward to Esther and Alistair – where was Ayla? 

“I fell,” he finally answered pitifully.  “I don’t feel so good.”