"I know," Eirene huffed out of habit, embarrassed. She moved as if to cross her arms, and then didn't. She hopped tiny hops in the cold. Her hand dropped further in the air. Merlin's sake!

"You don't have to," her brow furrowed as she glanced towards the hut. Was she being pushy? She didn't mean to be pushy about something like this. They were on a mission and it was cold. Therefore...

She just wanted to see what it would be like. Her stomach gave a curious flop.

Ah, balls, Frank was messing this up utterly. He was going to hurt Eirene's feelings again. He was going to lose his change.

"No! Wait. I do. I do want to."

He reached out and took her hand, suddenly very concious of how tightly he held on. Got to be casual, but not too casual, that's right. It felt very different from the other times he'd tried to hold Eirene's hand. His chest felt tight, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to want to kiss someone. He hoped not, because it felt awkward.

After the initial strangeness of what felt like a ritual of requesting, clarifying, and then linking hands, Frank felt a wave of relief. He glanced at Eirene and let out an nervous chuckle that shook his whole body, which was tight from the cold.

"Uh-huh. Okay?" He thought so. "Right, let's go. I see smoke from the chimney." 

Uh huh. Oh good! She hadn't ruined whatever this was.
 
Eirene giggled once, nervously, as his hand closed around hers. A little too tightly at first, then he eased up.

Then they were walking. Walking to the hut! Their wands lit the way, their joined hands guarded against the cold, and Eirene was smiling, and wondering why she was smiling, when all they were doing was walking. Together.

First step - hold hands? Next step - analyze.

She didn't feel exasperated or annoyed like she had that day they'd missed the train, or that time after class when he'd reached for her hand. She'd been busy! Busy thinking. Maybe.

If she didn't feel annoyed, and a smile kept flickering on her face, did that mean she liked him? Her stomach flip-flopped, more and more so the closer they got to the hut. Her heart beat faster, more and more so the closer they got to the hut. Eirene smelled smoke from the chimney and glimpsed shapes beyond the bright windows. Professor Onuris lived there.

Her foot slid against a rock, and she automatically tightened her hold on Frank's hand, glancing back at him. His face looked kind and familiar. Her heart rate calmed, she found her footing. They could face anything, because they'd survived Slandermouth, and the measles, and the dreaded lover's nook, and the awful Hogwarts Howler.

Eirene turned to look at the door.

She extinguished the Lumos spell, pocketed her wand, and knocked, sneaking Frank a small, shivery smile.

Oh. They were still holding hands.

On the steep walk down the rocky slopes, Frank and Eirene had to fall in step to keep together and keep from pulling on each other. It might have been easier separately, but neither of them let go. Frank felt himself thinking about it way too much, going over things that had been floating around in his brain for days. He'd never seen other just-friends hold hands, except maybe some of the Hufflepuff sixth year girls, but he and Eirene weren't both girls and they didn't really laugh that much. Maybe that meant he and Eirene weren't just-friends, but how could they if neither of them decided that. It had to matter what they decided to be, right? Holding a hand wasn't magic. It didn't just magically make you fall in love. Frank was sure he wasn't in love, but he was sure that he liked hanging out with Eirene more than anyone. And she was pretty. But Figaro had also said - okay, they arrived.

Professor Onuris's home was called a hut, but it was built on a scale for a half-giant. The size didn't strike you until you were standing in front of it's great door, which was at least ten feet tall. It was enough to stop his whirling fourteen-year-old's thoughts in their tracks.

Eirene smiled at him. He smiled back. He decided then that maybe they didn't need a label. Even if just-friends couldn't hold hands, Frank-n-Eirenes could. Wait, it'd be better alphabetical. Eirene-n-Franks. He'd nearly forgotten he was nervous about getting more involved with the gross man from the beach.

"Remember how I thought we were in Finland? But it was actually just Cumbria?" he said with a grin. "Let's leave that part out."

"Of course," her smile widened. Eirene could do that! As long as Frank left out the part when she'd screamed at the sea for stealing her luggage and later when she'd cried on Cosima's mother's shoulder. And the part when she'd knocked over the lamp in the house they'd broken and entered. What else.

What else had she forgotten? Something kept niggling at the back of her mind.

Eirene turned to Frank with a gasp, "I forgot to tell - I neglected to tell my parents about that strange wizard-"

The door opened.

He enjoyed his evening hours, as a rule. This was one of the many pleasures of living apart from the castle.

Once lessons and meals and small talk were over... to retreat into the dark of the winter night, to the cosy fire of a cast iron stove and piping hot Valerian tisane, that was no small thing. It was a thing to be relished and appreciated. Sylvain sat cosily at his desk this evening, poring over an almanac of beast breeding seasons in a raggedy green cable-knit sweater. His border collie, Marcel, dozed peacefully under the table. The window was tightly shut against the cold but its curtains were drawn apart.

Through the fogged glass, the tall silhouettes of the Forbidden Forest might be discerned. Sometimes he felt very far away from civilisation indeed. Or at least that was how he'd felt until a knock came at the door.

Marcel barked once, softly, eagerly rising. The Frenchman followed suit with a gentle frown as he wondered which of his colleagues or pupils had come down to speak with him. The latter, it seemed, judging by the voices coming through.

"Allô!" he exclaimed as he pulled the heavy door open to the sight of two Ravenclaws standing in the light of the little lantern that hung over the outside step. "What is this? It is cold, come come," Sylvain shooed them into the large hut and shut the door behind him.

Inside, he waved the pair towards the small square dining table - across from the desk, which lay on the other side of the stove. In the centre of the hut, a cauldron was bubbling away with the heavy scent of Valerian. "Mademoiselle Antonopoulos, monsieur Sellaphix. You come at a strange hour, is something the matter?"

Frank grimaced and shrugged. He hadn't told his parents about Shufflebottom either; his letter home had omitted all of it. They'd also kept those details from Mrs. Early. It had seemed better at the time to not worry the adults overmuch but apparently that strategy was out the window. Speaking of windows, the door opened and they were flooded over with warmth and light and the friendly silhouette of Professor Onuris. There wasn't really anyone who looked like Professor Onuris. He just had a slightly funny way about him but it was always gentle. He gathered them in but Frank needed no goading - he really should have brought his coat.

Frank had never been in the hut before, he turned a circle looking along shelves and into the rafters as he went to the table. This was it, here they were.

He climbed into a chair and folded his hands on the table. He waited for Eirene to be seated, then nodded seriously.

"We're sorry to disturb you, sir. But actually, we do have something important that we need to, well, it's important information that needs to be passed along to the authorities."

Frank looked at Eirene for confirmation. She had the newspaper.

Eirene's smile returned when Professor Onuris opened the door. Mademoiselle! Antonopoulos! He somehow made her long last name sound melodic.

She took a seat at the table and was already opening up her bookbag and pulling out the newspaper as Frank kindly and politely explained. Eirene sniffed, the warmth inside the hut making her nose want to run (she refused it) as an earthy, pungent odor bubbled from the cauldron. In the back of her mind she attempted to identify the substance, but otherwise was wholly focused on the Daily Prophet article in front of her. She smoothed out the paper on the table and pointed to the article titled Ollivanders Robbed...[1]

Below the headline, Norman Shufflebottom glowered from his photo.

"This... fellow." He was hardly a gentleman! "Accosted us in Slandermouth when the floo network flung us onto the beach."

Was that fair or accurate? Yes it was! She didn't give one thought to the person currently arrested, his life or his motivations, or the fact that he'd offered accurate directions in the end. It was everything in the middle and at the start that mattered.

She gave the professor a few moments to read the article, glancing at Frank and the collie who had settled near him. Eirene put a hand under her nose to make sure it wasn't running, and arranged her braids neatly over her shoulders as she looked at the professor again. She didn't know anyone else who could wear an old sweater and still look so nice.

"We strongly suspect he's using the beach as a base of operations," she added in a tone caught between excitement and solemnity, anticipating lots of questions.

Frank snapped his gaze up to Eirene. “Actually, technically he assisted us.”[2]

“What? No, technically he accosted us!” Eirene looked at him in surprise.

Frank glanced over at Professor Onuris for a second, then curled in to discuss this with Eirene ‘privately’.

“How do you figure that? He gave us directions,” he said.

“Frank!” Eirene whisper-exclaimed, shooting a glance at the professor and then leaning over the table. The betrayal! “First, he confronted us by the outhouse-” she sniffed, the memory of it mingling with the odor of the hut. “And did you forget about the jarvey he murdered?”

“What…” Frank whispered and leaned on his hand, his fingers in his hair. Was he remembering wrong?  “I thought he murdered the jarvey after? Just because he looked funny doesn’t mean he accosted us.”

Frank didn’t know why he was defending Shufflebottom, but he wanted to make sure their story was straight!

Eirene leaned back in her seat, opening her mouth then shutting it, and shooting a horrified look at the professor. She hadn't meant the jarvey had been murdered first! Did it matter when? It was murder! Why was Frank arguing with her! He never (rarely) argued with her. The magic of the dreaded lover’s nook has completely faded, and now she was confused about what had actually happened, and this was not how she’d expected this to go.

“He murdered the jarvey after he gave us directions, because then we ran away, but first he accosted- he did!” Eirene huffed.

Frank sat back with a huff, his mouth a straight line.

1.	Beyond the front page
2.	Frank's dialogue/responses added via google doc

He joined the children at the table, intrigued by Frank's serious introduction and the reveal of yesterday's Daily Prophet. Sylvain quickly skimmed the article in question while the other two exchanged words - by the time he looked up from the print, the two Ravenclaws were arguing over whether this Shufflebottom character had been a bane or boon. Murdered a jarvey....? Marcel whimpered from under the table and Sylvain reached down to scratch him behind the ear.

"Pardon," he spoke softly in the silence left behind by the terse conversation. "I do not think I understand correctly. This man, who is now in custody of the Ministry, you have met him before? When you were displaced, oui?"

Sylvain was more or less talking to himself, ascertaining facts, though his tone made it easy for Frank or Eirene to correct him where necessary. "It is a very serious thing indeed to kill a Jarvey. If you both would like to report this to the Ministry, I will help. But you must understand that this will mean Monsieur Shufflebottom will face another charge in addition to his existing ones..."

To him, personally, it was a superfluous act. On the other hand, Sylvain knew that these were the kind of decisions that would shape their moral compasses, and he did not want to advise them to the contrary unless he had to.

Professor Onuris was an tricky character for Frank. He was, all at the same time, entrancing, intimidating, and now, gentle and comforting and suddenly and shockingly empowering. It wasn't often that adults asked kids what they wanted to do. And never when it came to something important. Frank had been so concerned that if they told anyone, the whole thing would be whisked out of their control to who knows what consequences.

Frank nodded along at Professor Onuris's summary; he did understand correctly. "No, that's right."

But another criminal charge? For killing a Jarvey?  Frank looked to Eirene for feedback but she looked like she's seen someone's bare bum.[1] They hadn't even thought about that.

"Actually, we didn't know that it was a crime. We just thought it was a nasty thing to do, and, you know, an example to show he wasn't someone we should trust. We were thinking more of the outhouse. If he was a robber, he might have hidden stolen things there as well."

But that wasn't Frank's strongest concern anymore, it was the choice. He'd hoped the grown-ups would handle it. Frank thought hard for a moment about how to word it. "If the Aurors found out what we saw, will we have to talk to them?"

1.	Approved by Elle.

Actually, technically, - exactly, Frank. Eirene nodded. He summed it up so well that she half-hoped the Professor would award Ravenclaw points.

Eirene had not even considered that they could report a crime like jarvey-murder and be taken seriously. It was horrible, of course, but it mostly lent credence to her argument that Shufflebottom had accosted them, the beach, the jarvey, the universe.

Eirene had not even considered that Professor Onuris would trust them enough to leave this major decision up to them. It was trust, wasn't it? He cared! It meant he cared. It just felt like they were talking about reporting it so quickly. Maybe Frank had been hoping for guidance as well, as he seemed reluctant to talk to Aurors. Hmm! Frank was so shy sometimes.

"We'd have very little to tell them, because we bravely ran away before we could find out more, Professor," Eirene added.

            "If the Aurors found out what we saw, will we have to talk to them?" asked Frank.
"We'd have very little to tell...ran away before we could...Professor," added Eirene.

Sylvain rose from his seat, going to the cauldron that bubbled over the hearth in the middle of the floor. "I see," he said thoughtfully as he gave the tisane a stir and then drew his wand so that three tin mugs dropped from their hooks and floated over to him. "Here, wait for it to cool." The Frenchman filled the mugs and returned to the table.

The tisane was a milky colour, as he had brewed the Valerian in sheep's milk instead of water. It smelled sweet and malty, underneath the herb's odd scent.

"I think it would be good to write down separate testimonies, oui?" he accio'd a few rolls of parchment and self-inking quills from his working desk. "You will sign and then I will sign both, and we can send it to level two. If they need more information, they must first write to your school or parents for permission to interview. You may specify which you would prefer. You may decline to be interviewed."

These were their rights and they were minors. Sylvain set these down delicately. "If you do not want to write at all, that is also alright," he blew on his drink cautiously. "Mr Shufflebottom, he is already in custody after all."

Level Two? Written testimonies? Notifying parents? Decline to be interviewed?

Frank felt a wave of nausea. He laced his fingers together and bounced his leg under the table, trying to settle himself. It was hard to pinpoint what was making him so anxious which was probably because it was a very broad application of stress. He'd put the day at the beach behind him. A little dream rune under his pillow, some fluffy fiction-reading, and a reminder (whenever he thought of it) that they'd done their best and it was all over.

Except it wasn't.

Sylvain served them some kind of tea and Frank reached out and pulled it closer. It was piping hot - nice for this weather.

This time he spoke, he didn't check over at Eirene. The 'we' was starting to feel the tiniest bit flimsy. She was very good at convincing but things were getting more complicated.

"We don't need to put anyone out," he said as calm as he could. "I think we thought that we'd just tell you and then you'd tell them and they'd look into it and that'd be ... it."

He flattened his hands out on the table.

Eirene thanked the professor and blew on the tea carefully, much like he had. What was that? Valerian? Valerian! Her shoulders relaxed, hearing the process and their roles outlined. Some of her zeal had been lost from the moment she'd found Frank and waved the article in his face. She only wanted - what did she want? To feel validated, she supposed. Validation did not require formal accusation, but the authorities would know what to do. There was a process for everything. Eirene would just have to tell her parents the full story first.

Frank seemed reluctant, though. She tried to catch his eye.

"I can write it for both of us, Frank," Eirene furrowed her brow at him.

"You can help me write it. I won't even say 'accosted'. I'll pick a neutral word."

What a good friend she was!

             "We don't need to put anyone out," began Frank.
      "I can write it for both of us, Frank," volunteered Eirene, helpfully.

Or at least Sylvain thought she believed she was being helpful. "Non, mademoiselle. You must only write your own if you do it at all," he smiled a little, understanding that she simply wanted to do what was best for the situation. Witches were better about this than wizards, sometimes. The professor made a thoughtful sound as he looked from one student to another.

He was not perceptive about these things but he eventually 'got it'. Now, for example, he finally saw the conflict didn't lie in how but if they should act at all.

"You must make a decision, oui?" Sylvain addressed Frank, still quite serious and soft. "Your friend may write her testimony and you may refrain, but there is no in between."

It was strange, what he wanted to convey to them, and he was not so articulate as some of his colleagues at the school. He needed a moment. Sylvain sipped his drink and felt its calming effects, like a heavy blanket to weigh down wandering thoughts. His attention settled on the young witch now, eager as ever she was in lessons.

"Please, allow your friend to take responsibility for his own actions and inactions," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "It might be inconsequential to you but every one of us will one day be forced to make these decisions for ourselves, without Hogwarts and without your mama or papa, and it will be to his detriment if you rob him of his prerogative to learn."