Early Morning


It had happened in the Great Hall. Feliks, accustomed to rising early, had been reading his Defences textbook over hot porridge and raspberry jam when he sensed an interruption in the usual chatter across the house tables. A strange mixture of snickering and sharp hushes. He didn't pay it any attention. People were opening their owl mail and they were probably just fussing over something they had received. Homework was more important.

A minute later, something light hit the side of his head and he flinched. Feliks shut his book and looked around innocently. Nobody was looking at him. Pointedly, perhaps, but he couldn't tell. He glanced at the crumpled bit of paper that had been thrown at his head. It was colourful, and he picked it up on instinct.

Feliks stared at the sheet once he had smoothed it out. If there was any further snickering or hushing he didn't hear it. There was blood in his ears. Secret Lovechild of a Murderess, the header read, and he recognised himself in the picture. It was taken when he had been shopping with papa and Johann in Diagon Alley.

With a horrible sinking sensation in his stomach, he realised he was wearing the same sweater today as in the photograph. Feliks slipped off the bench and stuffed the article into his pocket - he kept his head down as he walked hurriedly out of the hall, leaving his textbook behind.

---


"I can have a hot cocoa, please?" the young wizard found himself in the Kitchens, sat next to the humongous fireplace that had just been doused in anticipation of the day's warmer weather. Many of the house elves were busy clearing up after having prepared breakfast for the castle, but one of them quickly disappeared to fetch Feliks what he wanted.

He had thought about going back to the common room but he didn't trust his housemates not to tease him about the article. Many of them had criminal parents too but he didn't think they'd understand. They grew up with their families. Feliks hadn't even known who his mum was until his papa told him over a month ago now.

The hot cocoa was suddenly being proffered to him and he sat down on a low stool, taking it into his hands. This was a nightmare. He considered writing to papa only he was afraid of who he'd run into on the way up. And Oma was away today. Maybe he could stay here all morning. Maybe nobody would notice.

Feliks rubbed at his eyes with one hand. He felt like crying but he was so angry. Too angry to think properly. What had he done for them to write that? He didn't have anything to do with his mama, he didn't want to have anything to do with her. He wanted to go home. It wasn't fair.

His dark hair lightened at the roots, growing a vivid red outwards. Something in the dying fire grew brighter - as did the candles in the Kitchen. Feliks drank his cocoa. Everybody was going to hate him.

Since yesterdays little downpour, the past fourteen hours of Naomi's life had quickly evolved into a social storm that struck with the force of Relampago del Catatumbo. She had the meeting with the Headmaster which led to, what felt like barely an hour later, her becoming a prefect, and the news reached the Slytherin grapevine before she had time to fully process it--she could barely keep her hair color straight.

Naomi had forgotten that Slytherins were way to good at spreading news and gossip.

So, in the moment the post arrived that morning, delivering her some colorful cacao pods and well wishes from her family, Naomi politely and not-so-forlornly excused herself from the table. The ends of her kinky, tri-color locs bounced behind her as she exited the Great Hall in a blur of pink, teal, and blue before she snuck off to the kitchen pantries with much more calculated movements. After she slithered into the pantry, Naomi gestured up towards the pantry ceiling where enchanted bags of banana leaves faded into view and crawled down the walls like land-locked cuttlefish. Then she set to work reorganizing her stash of all-things-cacao.

When she heard the request for cocoa, Naomi realized that the little first year Metamorph had found their way to the kitchens. The older Slytherin wrapped up her work, shooed away the magical bags, peeped her head out the door to see how she could sneak by Spectre… who definitely did not look like he was enjoying his cocoa.

The prefect slithered out of the pantry and quietly slid it shut behind her, "What's got you going hothead?" Naomi spoke with a gentle lilt as she stepped closer to the fire. Her gaze surveyed all the flames before landing on the kid's fiery mop of curls, "Gettin' mad at a innocent cup of cocoa could land you in  detention." She raised a curious brow at the younger Slytherin.

In the Great Hall, Sulwen sat at the end of the Slytherin table, dutifully finishing her bowl of porridge as the other early risers whispered over their plates of food. Spectre this, Ira Almasy that. After Feliks had hurried out, Sulwen had looked over a housemate's shoulder and skimmed the article, her spoon limp in her hand.

It explained a few things. Feliks' metamorph ability, and his accent. It especially explained his offensive name for muggleborns during History class. She'd wondered since if he'd really been oblivious to its meaning, or if the word had simply slipped out like a loose, rotten tooth.

His mother wasn't a puff adder, but she might as well be[1].

Frowning slightly, Sulwen rose from the table and gathered the letters she'd received from home. She had things to do today. History revision. She thought she'd stop at the kitchens, collect two hot chocolates, and ask Elaine if she'd like to share notes in the common room. It was a bribe, of sorts. One hot chocolate for a friendship. It had worked for Wesley.

After discovering that Elaine had explored the lower level of the castle weeks ago with Wesley Wold, the very boy who had flung a fang into her hair, Sulwen had started to worry about what her peers thought of her. She hadn't even been invited. Granted, adventuring with Wesley sounded about as appealing as holding a mandrake up to her ear, but at least he was useful for one thing.

He'd announced how to get into the kitchens during class one day.

"Hello?" Sulwen cleared her throat in front of the still-life of fruit, glancing around the empty corridor. She didn't know whether to hope for a random Hufflepuff to pass by and let her into the kitchens, or to slink to her common room before anyone saw her.

Wold had said to talk to it, hadn't he? Talk to the fruit and it would let students in.

Eventually, an older Hufflepuff did come along, tickled a pear, and opened the door to the Kitchens for her with a cheery wave.

Thank Merlin for Hufflepuffs. Sometimes.

Inside, dirty dishes and platters were stacked on the five large tables as the elves cleaned the dishes and whisked them away to the shelves. Candles floated above, glowing brightly.

Sulwen went still at the sight of a red-headed boy, sitting on a stool in front of the huge hearth.

He turned his face, and she saw his profile. Feliks?

Feliks had escaped here, along with another from their House. Naomi Foley. The new prefect.

Glancing behind her at the door, Sulwen considered leaving. The house elves, however, bustled to the front, asking what she'd like in high, chirping voices.

Tilting her chin up, she gave a polite nod to her housemates, then looked away. She fidgeted with the slim stack of letters under her arm, unable to look at Feliks hunched on the stool for longer than a second.

"Two hot chocolates, please," she ordered stiffly, sending the elves into a flurry of movement. She remained in the front of the kitchens, near the hanging pots and pans, and kept her gaze on the array of glowing candles, which seemed brighter than usual.

1.	Referencing this post

            "What's got you going hothead?"

Feliks almost spilled his drink in surprise, turning his head to catch sight of the older Slytherin who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't even checked to see if anybody else was in here with him. "Gettin' mad at a innocent cup of cocoa could land you in  detention." Foley remarked.

She seemed friendly enough, and did not approach as a more intimidating housemate might have. He reached into his pocket to draw out the crumpled articl,e and handed it to her by way of explanation.

"They write about my mama and me, even though I have never met her." Feliks said in a quiet voice, which harboured an undercurrent of something more temperamental. "Now everyone will kno--" he stopped short when a movement at the front of the Kitchen caught his eye.

Sulwen was the last person he wanted to see right now but her courteous nod was not too bad. It did make him feel like she must already know about the article - she would have at least said a greeting if she didn't. Would she always ignore him? Would they all? The candles gleamed brighter at this anxious thought.

Feliks drank his cocoa to stifle the cold, sinking sensation in his stomach.

With a quirked brow, Naomi took the paper and gave it a quick once-over before Spectre was suddenly distracted. Once Naomi saw it was the young Reid, who had been sorted into the Slytherin, the prefect then gave a soft smile and firm nod towards the other first-year as she realized that either all the first year Slytherins were awkwardly getting a taste for hot cocoa today or (considering someone with the last name of Reid was getting two drinks) they had decided to try their luck at some Mesoamerican chocolate ritual. Fortunately, Naomi was well-equipped to deal with either case.

Unfortunately, as Naomi more carefully read the article, what she wasn't entirely equipped to deal with was the complicated family dynamics being conjured by this awful article. Family dynamics that were being brewed into a murky mix of truth and fiction. A murky brew that Reid had already been stewing in and one Spectre just got thrown into.

But the prefect's brain quickly blindsided those foreboding thoughts with two things that gave Naomi something exciting and comforting to focus on. With a raised voice she started--

"Ah so we've got Reids and Almasys in here now? Like Abby Reid and Raine Almasy?" Naomi already knew the answer,  but gave both first-years a slow nod and smile before continuing with a proud and reverent tone, "Dependable and fun, 'dem two."

As Naomi let the statement hang in the air like one of Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, the colorful ends of her kinky locs seemed to curl tighter (or was it maybe it was a trick of the shifting lights?) before they whipped around with Naomi's spellwork of a summoning charm. A stool quickly floated itself under her rear as she slowly lowered herself down next to Spectre and continued rambling.

"I mean, you know Raine? Yeah?" Naomi focused her attention back on the little metamorph, "Hair like 'dis--" Naomi flourished her hand around the Slytherin's current firey red hair, "Gryffindor Prefect, quidditch captain, caracal animagus? Got a wicked feel for Transfiguration?" Naomi gave quick, shallow nods as she studied the other's face, "You should know her--t'ink she's an auror now--uh anyway..." The prefect's voice slowed as she looked back at the article about Feliks and Ira a third time, before what was said finally sank in.

• "...I have never met her."

What was that quiet tone? Something reserved, timid, but also defensive? A minefield, for sure.

"So Balfour Spectre... is yuh first parent--first involved parent?" Naomi spoke more slowly, cautiously as she looked to Feliks for confirmation. "And Johann, he's like, what, a co-dad? Wing-dad? Potential second dad? Gets you no favors in Storm's class I'm guessing?" Finally Naomi's smile returned with a lopsided grin.

Sulwen stared at Foley. Naomi Foley, the new prefect who said batty things, knew her aunt, who said even battier things. Just for 'sulks and giggles', as Abby would tease.

Somehow, it made sense. Abby did indeed live with a friend named Raine now, and her letters came from their flat in Hiraeth Gardens. Hiraeth was a Welsh word that meant something like homesickness. Sulwen had looked it up. Whenever she received another letter, she imagined that Abby had sent it from a sprawling, wild English garden full of chaotic clusters of drooping flowers like foxgloves or monkshood, and smatterings of bellflowers, peonies, lavender, and roses.

Romantic and sorrowful.

She shook her head, banishing the thought. She had things to do today. Like study. Very exciting things.

Though she hadn't heard Feliks when first arriving, she'd seen the crumpled article in Foley's hand, and was just waiting for the older girl to read it and react nastily like the others in the Great Hall. Instead, Foley summoned a chair for herself, and filled the room with chipper chatter. Definitely an acquaintance of Abby.

Sulwen moved closer to the pair of Slytherins, and leaned against the edge of one of the huge tables near the fire. Crossing her arms, she listened to Foley ask about Feliks' other... parents.

Her mother said that some purebloods chose not to produce proper families and instead dallied around in a nontraditional, silly fashion. She still didn't really know what that meant, only that it was impolite to ask questions about it.

She arched an eyebrow at Foley. Someone's mother had not told her the same.

A house elf bowed in front of her, offering her the two hot chocolates she'd requested.

"Thank you," she said quietly, then looked at the mugs in her hands, considering.

Was it true? Was Feliks really the child of Ira Almasy? If so, how much influence had the mother had? This was her chance to find out, for her own peace of mind in the common room if nothing else.

She set her stack of letters down on the table, sidled on over to the fire, and cleared her throat.

"Prefect Foley," she greeted her formally, then glanced at Feliks, and then at his hair. All red. Not a trace of his brown locks remained. "Would you like one?"

She held a cup out to the prefect. Seemed she had an extra!

To his astonishment, Naomi started chattering away. Feliks stared at her as if thought she were speaking a different language for a moment - she had referred to him as an Almasy but she only meant it in reference to somebody else who had passed through this corridors like him. He sat straighter as she summoned a chair to join him at the fireplace, peppering all manner of questions with her animated gestures.

            "You should know her--t'ink she's an auror now--uh anyway..."

"I do." Feliks quickly slipped in his response; his anger eluded him in this bewilderment. "Um, I... I have heard of her." Papa and Johann said that he could meet her when he returned for Christmas. There had been so many Spectres and other people to meet, and he hadn't been ready to face another Almasy anyway.

Sulwen joined them, punctuating the older witch's conversation with calmness that relieved Feliks. She was sitting down with them! She wasn't going to ignore him! He managed a half-smile at her, although it quickly faded when he clocked the glance directed at his hair.

Oh. He hadn't meant to do that! The boy wizard blushed, exerting some effort so that his curls darkened once more. Red was an Almasy colour. He wanted to be more like... more like Johann, who was kind and clever.

"Balfour Spectre is my papa." Feliks put down his mug and folded his arms across his stomach, hunched forward. Naomi wanted to actually talk about this instead of tease him - so why shouldn't he be honest? "I was sent to him in August. He is going to marry Johann, so I think they are both my fathers. Not that it matters to Professor Storm." Fathers. That was a comforting thought.

Yes, they were his parents, they were alive and well and were waiting for him in a big house in Edinburgh. With three cats and three dogs and floating jellyfish and lots of newts. They loved him. Feliks bit his bottom lip, eyeing the two witches hesitantly.

"I lived with Almasys. In Siberia. But not with my mama," he desperately wanted them to believe that she had nothing to do with him, even though neither had implied otherwise. "I'm not like her." Feliks insisted.

When Reid finally approached, and offered her a mug, Naomi gave an inviting grin and took the mug. The other first year's company also seemed to bring about some calmness, which was helpful, but Naomi also knew a nosy Slytherin when she saw one. She then took a sip of the totally normal and not ritual magick-ed hot cocoa and then returned her focus to Spectre who only just noticed the red hair.

The Slytherin prefect chuckled and then took another sip as Spectre gathered some wits and started speaking again. Ah, but the conversation came back to Almasy again, and there was that desperation.

Naomi set the cocoa down in her lap, "Ah well," to give the kid truth or fiction? "If you don' want people buggin' you 'bout it, best say it like a Slytherin: 'I'm a better person than her, and so are my papas'--will save you from a few arguments. "

She nodded and then decided to brave Feliks' dragon den of emotions and offer the truth.

"Because you are a metamorph-" like Ira Almasy, "-and maybe you  picked up some Almasy habits from living wit' 'dem-" also probably like Ira Almasy, "But you can be a different kind of metamorph--maybe Spectres and Storms have transfiguration-savvy ancestors?--and you can replace old habits wit' new ones." Naomi picked up the mug again with a gentle smile as she added, "I'm sure your dads, proffesors, friends, or even classmates-" the prefect leveled a quirked brow at the likkle Reid, "can offer help wit' 'dat."

As Naomi took another sip of cocoa, her curious green gaze peered over the rim of the mug, remaining focused on Feliks' first-year classmate.

A house elf summoned a stool for her, and she sat across from Feliks near the fire. He looked woeful indeed, and more like himself with dark brown curls. He'd become the boy she knew from class again.

Sitting across from him, seeing his half-smile and blush, made her feel a bit of sympathy for his situation. She smiled very slightly, and straightened her back as she noticed his was hunched.

Sulwen wondered what her mother would say about this Mr. Spectre and this Mr. Storm marrying. Marriage was the opposite of dalliance, or at least Sulwen thought so.

She sipped at her hot chocolate, her hands stilling as he spoke. Most importantly, Ira Almasy was Feliks' mother. It was true. He'd deny it, otherwise.

Just as she was beginning to process how she felt, Foley pointed out that he was a metamorph, and likely shared other traits. 'How do you know you're not like her' had hovered on the tip of Sulwen's tongue, and she was glad she hadn't had the chance to say it.

Her eyebrows rose as she met Foley's green gaze. Teach him to learn new habits? How? Her peers, in general, did what they wanted. They threw fangs willy nilly. They weren't very good at listening.

"Must be cold," she commented, falling back on the blandest of social niceties. It gave her another moment to sort her thoughts.

"Is Siberia where you heard That Word?[1]" Sulwen crossed her arms loosely to match her legs. "What you said in History class a few days ago."

She spared a glance at Foley. If Foley wanted to know, she'd have to ask Feliks.

"You heard it from the other Almasys?"

Though the hot chocolate warmed her hand, her voice remained cool and reserved. Sulwen knew very well that a parent did not have to be present to exert influence, whether through letters, or through those left behind to raise the children.

Family also acted one way in public and another way at home. Just like a metamorph, they wore different faces.

1.

That Word

            "...best say it like a Slytherin: 'I'm a better person than her, and so are my papas'--will save you from a few arguments."

Hesitantly, he nodded at this piece of advice, and drank from his mug while he contemplated the idea of being bullied by his classmates about the article. They had thrown the crumpled page at his head but they had not said anything to him. Would they? And would he do what Naomi advised, if they did? Feliks saved this conundrum for later and smiled in relief as the subject turned to his metamorphic ability.

"Da, it is no worry. I will learn somehow," he reassured the prefect. "With help." Learning was not a problem for him: he loved to learn new things and especially new spells, which made his wand wood shine brilliantly.

Sulwen, on the other hand, did not relinquish the article's mysteries as easily. She was full of questions. Feliks lowered his mug and set it aside - it was getting warmer down here, in his sweater. She was talking about mudbloods. He nodded, solemn.

"I lived with their squibs and even they use it. They do not like muggleborns." Feliks explained, finding it difficult to talk about the Almasys like he wasn't a part of them anymore. "But I understand now. It is not important, the blood. Johann is a half blood and papa thinks he is the best of wizards."

He smiled wider at the mention of the older wizards, who had been patient and kind with him, unlike the Sisters. "Do you..." a pause, a swallow. "Do you think the others will forget? About this article? In time?"

Spectre seemed keen on unlearning bad habits however he say fit, probably through resourcefulness, but the other first year was more focused. The Likkle Reid's raised brows did not go unnoticed, but the first year fell into the suggested role with ease and even tried to subtly help Feliks air some dirtly laundry.

Naomi's green gaze caught the Reid's glance, causing the prefect to quirk her brow again.

But, where Reid was subtle as a whisper, Spectre was an incoming freight train, leaving nothing to the imagination. Naomi wasn't convinced this kid  understood the weight of the word, but at least Feliks knew it wasn't useful,  knew to use the right words now and was knew to use it to make the New Dad Duo happy.

Naomi took another sip of her cocoa and then gave Reid a slow blink of approval.

But, as Feliks continue talking, he had made his way back to the topic of the article again. "It would be nice, yeah?" Naomi smiled and put her cocoa down again. "No one will forget, but 'dem may talk 'bout it less or get bored of it, especially if all you do is drink hot chocolate and shape up real quick when yuh mess up-I mean, you know, aside from shapin' up like a shapeshifter." Naomi cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders,  "Anyway…"

"Yuh both know who to go to if trouble comes up, yeah? Like your circle of friends, teachers, prefects, et cetera?"

Feliks seemed genuine. In fact, he seemed genuine most of the time. Sulwen blinked, surprised he'd lived with squibs. What had that been like? She would find a way to ask later.

As for blood, her brow furrowed and she glanced to the side, taking a sip of hot chocoolate. Sulwen wouldn't call it unimportant. Families like hers obsessed over proper marriages and proper bloodlines, and had pride in their lineage. Just like she knew That Word was wrong, however, she didn't know how to express her thoughts in a polite way, and so she said nothing.

Sulwen nodded, agreeing with Naomi again, the girl's words echoing and shaping her own ideas. There was always someone around who would do something foolish to draw attention to themselves.

Friends? Teachers? Hmm. She didn't intend on burdening anyone or experiencing the sort of trouble that warranted it.  Sulwen could understand why Feliks had chosen to hide in the kitchens. She didn't know who she'd go to first, either.

Pausing for a moment, she studied Foley's expression, having caught glimpses of her humor earlier.

"Mmhmm, there's you," Sulwen said with a straight face. "You're a prefect now. We'll go to you if we have any trouble."

She glanced at Feliks, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Anytime, correct?"

Naomi's confidence - that this was temporary, that it was something he could improve - put the young wizard at ease. She was not wrong. Nothing had changed. Feliks was still the same person he had been before the article and he was still one of the luckiest people in all the world: he went from having no family to having the best one, overnight.

            "Yuh both know who to go to if trouble comes up, yeah? Like your circle of friends, teachers, prefects, et cetera?"

Sulwen piped in before he could reply, "You're a prefect now. We'll go to you if we have any trouble," she caught his eye and he mirrored her smile with a self-conscious one. "Anytime, correct?"

"Da," Feliks played along and looked up at Naomi. "If I have trouble, I can tell you?" he couldn't help slipping in a hopeful tone. The fourth year wasn't the only one he could go to, of course, but she was probably one of the few amongst the students. Some things Oma would not understand.

There was also uncle Sylvain and.... no, Professor Storm was not a good idea probably.

Ah, she had walked into that one. Naomi tried to look dissatisfied with the answer, but couldn't hide the smile that crept into her wry pout.

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, "Come to mean if anyt'ing troubles either of you. "Obviously also our Head of House, if 'tings escalate. Osha Warrington and Kelvin Watkins are good prefects too—or 'dem can at least help you find someone else."

"Anyone else though, friends, classmates or professors?" Naomi took another sip of the cocoa.

A small smile settled on Sulwen's face as Feliks played along and Prefect Foley accepted the teasing with a wry smirk.

Her smile slowly faded at Naomi's next question. Why was she asking?

Sulwen still thought she'd burden Darkfall first, if absolutely necessary, because he was her Head of House and she appreciated the way he conducted classes.

But Naomi had mentioned that, and she couldn't think of anyone else.

"No, I'll be fine. I'm sure I won't need to," she said a little uncertainly, hands cradling her cup of cocoa. She glanced at Feliks. He was the unfortunate one with his face printed in Witch Weekly.