"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
September 5th, 1975
Quidditch Tryouts
Grace
Blue skies stretched unendingly overhead and a gentle, crisp breeze blew. Perfect flying conditions.
It was a good sign, Grace told herself, even though she didn't much believe in signs. She needed all the luck she could get today.
If James Potter was at all surprised to see her in the lineup for keeper trials, he did her the great courtesy of not showing it. Then again, given that Jackie Lowie — a second year who would look more at home in a beauty salon than a Quidditch pitch — had shown up, she guessed that she was hardly the most outlandish hopeful present.
She took a deep breath and spied Asha waving madly from the stands, giving her a huge thumbs up from between Emmeline Vance and Dorcas Meadowes. She couldn't help but grin.
What a dag. She thought affectionately as she caught Asha's eye.
"Right." Potter said commandingly, appearing very much in his element as his eyes swept appraisingly over the seven or so students who had signed up to trial. "We're looking for a new keeper, as we've lost Allison."
He paused somberly after these words, as if observing a moment of silence in honour of a fallen comrade. Grace was struck with the bizarre urge to laugh — with the way Potter grimaced, you'd think that Allison Peakes had tragically died, whereas in actual fact she had just graduated.
Though Grace supposed that leaving Quidditch behind would constitute a fate worse than death to somebody like James Potter. In light of that knowledge, his morose demeanour made perfect sense.
Potter gave the group a look over, the space between his brows creasing slightly. She bet that he believed none of them capable of filling their outgoing keeper's boots. Well, she'd show him.
It was ambition like she had never known before; her heart was in her throat, but she didn't care. She steeled herself. She could do this.
"Let's start with a few laps of the pitch, on my mark."
Grace readied herself, mounting the Comet Two-Twenty that she had received as a birthday gift only a month earlier.
Potter raised a silver whistle to his lips and blew.
She kicked off and felt all of her worries melt away.
Soaring in a wide arc across the pitch, Grace became aware that a number of the other hopefuls had plainly not spent much time in the air before. Two failed to get off the ground and a third wobbled uncertainly through the air, struggling to pick up any real speed (or perhaps they were quite rightly afraid of what would happen if they did).
Heartened, Grace accelerated, sharply turning at the peak of the oval and whizzing back towards where Potter was waiting. His expression betrayed nothing, but Grace couldn't bring herself to care. She felt a whooping feeling in her stomach, the sort you might feel during a sudden drop on a rollercoaster. She couldn't imagine anything more exhilarating than this — flying. It got her every time, the great miracle of being able to soar through the air like it was nothing. ("You're such a muggle-born," Emmeline has said with a wry smile when she had tried explaining it to her the previous night, "everything's a miracle to you lot.").
Potter gestured for Grace and the other three who had successfully completed their first lap to take another turn. She did this with ease, upping the acceleration for an extra added challenge, but when she dismounted she realised that one of the other students had faltered partway through the second lap.
That must be why Potter wanted us to go round again. She thought. They must have looked pretty shaky the first time round.
And so within two minutes, it was already down to three. The other four students who had botched the attempt went to sit on the stands, though only one or two looked truly disheartened.
There were scattered claps and cheers for those who remained, and Grace distinctly heard Asha and Dorcas yelling out "goooo sports!" before dissolving into giggles. She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Alright. We're going to see how you go saving goals now." Potter said, gesturing to the stands. The other two Gryffindor chasers — a blond sixth-year by name of Bernard Cork and a tiny little third-year called Corbett Littletree rose from their seats and marched forward.
Corbett had been something of a surprise addition to last year's team, but Grace knew that the slight boy was much more than he appeared. At his debut game he had zipped through the air like he was born to it, and the only real concern anybody had for him was whether he could cop a hit from a bludger or not.
First off the ranks was a second-year boy that Grace didn't recognise. He flew well enough but only saved three of the five goals — he seemed to have difficulty telling when the chasers were faking, and missed two in a row to Potter because of it.
After that was Dahlia Buckling, who seemed to be suffering from extreme nerves. Grace wasn't surprised, she always remembered the fourth year as having a jumpy, anxious disposition. Once Grace had asked her for a spare quill and she had nearly jumped out of her skin. Dahlia was dreadful, and Grace felt for her. She imagined Dahlia was a whole lot better than her performance today indicated.
Grace didn't have time to feel too badly for Dahlia, however, because then it was her in the air, circling between the three rings.
The Gryffindor chasers were bearing down on her, passing the Quaffle swiftly between them. They were superb — one mind, seamlessly anticipating each other's actions.
It was Cork who took the first shot. He aimed for the far right hoop, hoping that Grace's position over to the left would make the save more difficult.
It was difficult, but not impossible.
Grace heard cheers from the stand as she threw the Quaffle back to Cork, who she flattered herself looked a little impressed by her save.
The second came from Potter, who pelted the Quaffle with such force at Grace's chest that she felt as though she might fly right back through the ring with it.
But she caught the red ball, grunting at the impact and successful arresting its momentum, and threw it back.
Potter raised his eyebrows.
That's right, be surprised. She grinned with satisfaction. I'm no delicate snowflake, Potter.
Shots three and four came from Littletree; one was saved easily, the other she felt she had caught by the very tips of her fingers.
Four out of five. That's the best score so far.
Her heart soared.
Potter, Cork and Littletree were all smiling now.
"One more for glory, Jones?" Potter asked, throwing the Quaffle back and forth in his hands. "Give the crowd something to really cheer about?"
She grinned at him. "You got it, boss."
Potter laughed. "Now that's what I like to see from my players — a bit of bloody recognition!"
Cork punched Potter in the arm and cast her an amused glance. "Don't go calling him boss, Jones! Merlin knows his head's big enough already!"
She ducked her head in mock apology, feeling very much like whooping for joy. Potter had called her one of his players — did that mean she was on the team?
"Alright, alright, banter later! Let's take this last shot, boys!" Potter said ruefully, jerking his head back.
They flew to half-pitch and circled for a moment, deciding on a play.
And then in a flash they were hurtling toward her, the Quaffle changing possession so quickly that it was difficult for Grace to tell which of them even had it. They circled each other in a dizzying way. The scarlet of the ball matched the colour of their robes so closely that it was nearly impossible to distinguish. She thought Potter might have it, but…
It was instinct, more than anything, that told Grace to go right. She felt her body move through the air as though she wasn't inhabiting it, as though she was watching herself from the outside.
She saw the Quaffle soaring through the air towards the right hoop, saw her own arms outstretched towards it…
"WELL DONE JONES!" Potter roared appreciatively, zooming over to her and clapping her on the back. "Welcome to the team!"
She blinked, registering the weight of the scarlet ball in her hands. She had caught it. Then she grinned wildly. "Seriously? I'm in?"
"'Course you're in!" Cork flew over and thumped her on the back. "That was bloody brilliant!"
"I doubt even Allison Peakes could've saved that, and she was keeper for five years." Corbett Littletree added quietly, a small smile on his face. Lord he's young. Grace couldn't help but think as she looked over his cherubic face.
She laughed breathlessly, her cheeks hurting she was grinning so widely.
"Let's get back on the ground." Potter said briskly. "We've got tactical matters to discuss, and I imagine your little fanclub will want to give you their best."
He glanced askance at Asha, Emmeline and Dorcas, looking slightly bemused at their frantic jumping and waving. It was a bit rich for him, Grace privately thought, to be critical of anybody having a fanclub given that his own was such a constant nuisance to the rest of them.
But Grace kept this to herself, too buzzed to care about the many small hypocrisies of James Potter, who she had to remember was her Captain now, after all.
She landed and found herself tackled into the ground by her three friends; they went down in a gale of giggles, elbowing and squawking gracelessly as they lay in a heap on the pitch. They were beside themselves; Grace wondered if they had snuck Firewhiskey into the stands (it wouldn't be a first for Asha, nor Dorcas. Though Emmeline could always be relied upon to discourage such behaviour.).
"Geroff!" Grace struggled vainly from under Asha's forearm, which had her in what she imagined Asha thought was a hug, but was, in fact, a sort of semi-affectionate choke-hold. Dorcas had caught her around the middle and was laughing deliriously at Grace's navel. Emmeline had taken part in the initial assault but now sat up on her haunches next to them, brushing a grass stain from her skirt fastidiously. Tackling people and rolling about in the dirt was hardly Emmeline's thing, but Grace felt in this case that it was the thought that counted.
"We're so proud of you!" Asha cried, squeezing tighter and causing Grace to choke a little. "My little girl is growing up! Oh, it warms the heart!"
"Didn't know you had one of those, Ash." Said Dorcas slyly, recovering from her giggling fit and sitting cross-legged next to Emmeline.
Dorcas was a Slytherin, and she had come to them after an eventful term as Asha's potions partner. The two had gotten on famously despite their house allegiances ("I'm a bitching potioneer first and a Slytherin second," she had famously in their first lesson together, to which Asha had briskly replied; "Excellent, help me scrape a pass in this godforsaken subject and I'll take you to Honeydukes, my treat." The rest, as they say, was history.).
"Seriously, I can't breathe!" Grace gasped from under Asha, who reluctantly released her and sat up too.
"So…" Asha drawled, grinning widely. "You're a… sportsperson, now, are you?"
Grace swatted her arm. "I'm a person, I now play one sport."
"That's how it starts. Admit it, Gracie, you've joined the dark side. You're an athlete now." Asha's nose wrinkled in mock-distaste. "Oh, I'll miss you when you eventually decide you're too cool to hang out with me."
"Never." Grace grinned. "I mean, you're a total dork, for sure, but rest assured that I wouldn't have you any other way. Provides a nice point of contrast against my newfound coolness, don't you think?"
Asha shoved her in the arm, smiling haughtily. "You're such a brat."
"And you're such a weirdo," Grace replied affectionately, picking a blade of dry grass from Asha's hair. She saw Potter beckoning her over to him and pulled herself to her feet. "Gotta go, Captain's orders."
Asha rolled her eyes. "Just remember, I can always replace you with Dorcas if you make a habit of this leaving-me-for-Potter business."
"Just what I've always wanted," Dorcas said sarcastically, "to wait in the wings for somebody else to fail, so that I can become the primary friend of a girl who somehow managed to brew a highly dangerous poison instead of a simple cough-relief draught."
"That's the spirit Dorc, keep it up and you'll have taken Grace's place in my heart by end-of-term." Asha patted Dorcas lightly on the head, causing the other girl to swipe at her. Grace grinned. Asha had always liked to tease.
"Hurry UP, Jones!" Potter's voice bellowed.
Grace startled slightly, and smiled apologetically at her friends. "Gotta go!"
September 5th, 1975
Charms Class
Remus
Today's lesson saw them practising the silencing charm on toads. The spell, however, was rather difficult to perform and so the classroom echoed with the sound of loud croaking.
It was the perfect cover for conversation, and Remus was not surprised nor disappointed to find his friends taking full advantage.
James had kept up a steady commentary on his new lineup for the upcoming Quidditch season; "Cork and Littletree are on fine form, of course, I knew I could count on them to keep up the practice over break. Both beaters need a bit of a tune-up, though McGibbon is perhaps a shade more prepared than Locke… and of course Jones is the big surprise, isn't she? Took out the trials with a near-perfect performance. I've got a few minor notes for her, but there's nothing a couple good practices shouldn't fix. No doubt we'll take the Cup handily this year…"
His stomach did a small backflip.
"Jones?" Remus fumbled with his wand and poked his toad in the eye. It gave a reproachful croak and made a bid for freedom — hopping off his desk and down the aisles of desks.
Sirius sniggered as Remus tiredly said "accio toad," his cheeks colouring.
"Yes." James said calmly. "Jones. Didn't you come to the Keeper trials, Moony?"
"Wasn't feeling well." Remus muttered, and James didn't press the matter further. The full moon was in three days, and Remus could already feel the effects of his upcoming transformation at work.
"Fancy her, don't you?" Sirius grinned, having successfully silenced his toad after only two attempts — such was his prodigious talent. "Saw you giving her a proper look over during Care of Magical Creatures the other day."
"Don't be stupid." Remus said harshly, unable to account for his sudden ill-temper. "You know I don't go in for that sort of thing."
"If you say so." Sirius said in an infuriating, sing-song voice, making James snigger.
He glowered at Sirius. "Don't you have detention with Kettleburn and Moor tonight?"
Sirius groaned, all cheer evaporating. Remus felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction.
"God, Moony, don't remind me. I can't stand the thought of hours practically alone with that shrew."
"Oh, come on Pads," James said bracingly, "it's only Moor. You two just had a slight misunderstanding."
Remus felt that James was somewhat understating the matter. He remembered the hate-filled expressions on Sirius and Asha's faces as they faced off, wands pointed threateningly. Not to mention the nasty mood Sirius had been in for hours afterwards.
Not that he hadn't deserved what he got. Remus was so fiercely fond of Sirius, so grateful for his friendship, but that didn't mean he was oblivious to the handsome youth's shortcomings. Remus had never been very good at standing up to his friends, and so he hadn't told Sirius to shut his mouth when he'd started in on poor Emma Vanity.
Asha hadn't been afraid. She'd called him out. And Grace had stood behind her, resolute.
Of course Grace would, he thought to himself. She's a good person. A better person than you, at the very least.
'Fancy her, don't you?' Sirius mocking voice came to mind unbidden, the words he had spoken only moments ago ringing in Remus' head. He frowned.
He had to shake this.
September 5th, 1975
The Forbidden Forest
Asha
If it had been any other teacher at Hogwarts, they'd have just scrubbed out some cauldrons or written lines. But of course, Asha Moor and Sirius Black had not been caught in their wrongdoing by just any teacher, oh no, they had been caught by Kettleburn.
Silvanus Kettleburn, whose idea of an appropriate punishment was a midnight stroll in the Forbidden Forest. They were to look for Wiggentree bark ("and do be careful, Wiggentrees are almost always guarded by bowtruckles; they might look harmless but they'll gouge your eyes out given half the chance," he'd said cheerfully) and turn in an essay on the properties of the Wiggentree by the end of the week.
And of course, it wasn't Kettleburn himself who would accompany them. That was too much trouble for the lazy old codger, she didn't doubt. No, their glorified babysitter was none other than Rubeus Hagrid.
Hagrid had cheerfully led them beyond the treeline, and Asha had followed very reluctantly. In the dark it was difficult to see much beyond the endless outline of tall, straight tree-trunks. The night air was filled with the sounds of hooting and other noises that Asha didn't care to identify, lest she lose her nerve entirely.
What was most vexing was Sirius Black — if he was at all afraid of being in the Forbidden Forest after dark, he didn't show it.
In fact, he looked bored by their excursion, as if he did this sort of thing all the time. He hadn't even bothered lighting his wand, as though the dark of the forest didn't particularly bother him.
She frowned. The first thing she'd done was cast lumos. His refusal to do so made her own actions feel like weakness — which was absurd.
Asha couldn't help but feel that all of this was bitterly unfair; all she'd done was stand up to Black. If Kettleburn had been keeping an eye on things the way he was supposed to, there wouldn't have been an incident in the first place.
She aimed a kick at a nearby tree-root in her bad temper. Black glanced sideways at her, his fine features forming a sneer.
"Problem, Moor?"
"Only you." She replied shortly, eyes straining to make out anything in the darkness ahead. Hagrid walked a ways apart from them; having told the pair that it might take a while for them to track down any Wiggentrees.
"Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you. If not for your little episode the other day, I might be in a broom closet with Juniper Potts right about now."
"That swotty Ravenclaw in the year below?" She raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't seem like your type."
Black frowned. "And what's my type, exactly?"
"Insidious, airheaded, breathing…"
Black glared at her, momentarily lost for words. He gathered himself, and when he spoke it was in a cold, bitter tone; "At least I have a type to disparage. You'll have to work on reproducing asexually, I imagine. Ugly thing like you."
"You really do go blundering straight towards the 'ugly' stuff, don't you?" She thought aloud, noting with some satisfaction that Black's frustration was mounting. "It's quite unimaginative, and more than a little shallow, you know."
Surprisingly, Black made no reply to this. She watched as his jaw worked for a moment, it seemed that he was trying to get his temper under control. She wondered why he was bothering; it certainly hadn't been a priority in class the other day.
"You know what, you're right."
She stopped in her tracks.
"What?" She asked incredulously. "What did you just say?"
He glowered at her, jaw tensing again. "I said… you're right. About the 'ugly' stuff. I shouldn't do it. It was rubbish to talk about Vanity that way, and you."
She blinked, shocked. "Thanks." She said almost automatically.
"I'm not saying you aren't an insufferable pain," Black continued, much to her chagrin. "I still dislike you — heaps, actually, you have loads of annoying qualities—"
"—you're really terrible at apologies, you know—"
"—like interrupting," he glared at her meaningfully, before continuing, "and sticking your nose into things that don't concern you, and acting all superior all the time…"
It transpired that Asha had many annoying qualities. She consented to spend about five minutes listening to Sirius Black enumerate her flaws — carefully considering and indexing each for use in future self-torture. No doubt the words would come back to her when she lay in bed thinking ― she could agonise over them then, and feel confident in her utter inadequacy. Sirius Black was hardly a credible source, she knew, but he was, at the very least, less out of touch with the common man than she was. Maybe within this litany of criticism she would find the secret to coming across like a normal, likeable human. Maybe.
Her capacity for self-flagellation was finite, however, and after a spell she merely tuned Black into the background. He continued to vent uninterrupted; "And another thing..."
It was then that she noticed.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
She turned around.
She couldn't see Hagrid anymore.
There was just a narrow beam of wandlight. And Black. And her.
Alone.
"Where'd Hagrid go?" She hated how her voice broke slightly as she said it. She didn't want Black to think she was afraid.
She was, of course, stupidly afraid; but that was hardly the point.
"We must've wandered a bit too far." Black said, eyes darting about. He didn't seem bored anymore.
"Well, which way do we go?" Her voice was an octave too high and vaguely hysterical. Black raised his eyebrows at her.
"Are you afraid, Moor?"
"No!"
It could not have sounded more unconvincing if she had tried.
He looked at her disbelievingly. "Come now, what is it you're worried about? The dark? Or the monsters?"
Asha rather felt she had a healthy level of fear towards both, but figured that wouldn't be the best answer to offer.
"I'm not scared."
"Have it your way." Black muttered, peering into the dark. "Lumos."
His own wand now cast a beam of light into the darkness, but it did not reveal any sign of Hagrid to them.
"Should we call out?" She asked hesitantly, jumping slightly as she heard a twig snap, only to realise it was Black moving forward once more.
"That would be a very bad idea," Black said levelly. "There are all sorts living in the Forest that might hear us. Not all of them friendly."
Asha shivered at the thought of the veritable legions of dark creatures that might descend upon them in the night.
It was then that she heard a rustling in the trees. Something was moving just beyond their view. It sounded big.
"Hagrid?" She called softly, hopefully.
Whatever it was, it made no reply.
Wordlessly, both she and Black raised their wands in the direction of the noise, exchanging significant glances.
"We'll move towards it slowly," Black said under his breath, "anything unfriendly and we stupefy it at the same time."
She nodded, her mouth set in a grim line.
They crept forward, and for a painful moment, there was nothing but the quiet crunch of leaves under their feet and their own heavy breathing. Black couldn't play off that he wasn't scared now, too, Asha thought with grim satisfaction as she clutched her wand tight. Right now it was evident that they were both as terrified as each other.
There was another loud rustle, and without warning something huge burst from the darkness.
Asha screamed and fell back. Black fell with her, flinging his arms to his face. Their wands soared through the air and landed well out of reach. The light they cast was extinguished, and the forest fell into an almost complete pitch. All Asha could see was the creature.
She felt terror bloom in her chest as she took in the sight before her —
Reared up on powerful hind-legs was an enormous, jet-black horse. It had glowing red eyes and wings that Asha thought must span several people in length. The glossy finish of raven's feathers could be made out in the dim light ― Asha didn't know if this creature looked more like a dark angel or a horse from hell.
The creature flapped — causing a powerful gust which would've knocked them down if they had still been standing — and have a terrible, unearthly whinny.
Asha baulked at the sheer power of it. Without thinking, she grabbed Black by the arm, gripping so hard that she was sure she must be hurting him. They scrambled back, scraping their elbows on the twigs and stones that littered the forest floor. Neither one of them seemed to have the impetus to make their legs work properly. Asha knew they needed to run, but she felt quite incapable. She dimly registered that her whole body was shaking. Black didn't seem to be in any better shape. He seemed to be trying to speak to her, but every time his mouth opened little more than a soundless croak came forth.
Those eyes… they were terrible. Blood red with a pitiless black centre.
And they were glowing, ever brighter by the moment. That red glow seemed to grow and grow, it was almost hypnotic to look at. Asha found she couldn't tear her eyes away.
You must. A tiny voice inside her head argued. You have to.
She must. She had to.
But she couldn't. They were just so red. And that little black pool in the centre… it was as though she was being pulled into it. The borders of it seemed to blur and though her body was still she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that she was being pulled ever closer.
She wanted to lean forward, into those fathomless depths… She dimly registered Black mirroring her movements, leaning towards the sinister creature.
And then —
Nothing.
"Blimey! What happened ter you two?"
Her head was swimming. Hagrid's gruff voice sounded as though it was coming from very far away. She opened her eyes, and it took a moment before they came properly into focus. The world was a blur of blue-green and fuzzy, vertical lines stretching far overhead…
Trees, she thought. I'm looking at trees.
The ruddy, hairy face of Rubeus Hagrid came into view. He peered anxiously at her, and Asha felt herself jerked upright as though she was a child. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the unexpected displacement.
She felt as though she was going to vomit. Her skin prickled unpleasantly, she felt she was covered by tiny, microscopic ants. She dragged her fingernails across her forearms without thinking, but the sensation did not subside. Now she just had angry red scratches on her arms. Self-inflicted, no less.
Sirius Black looked approximately as good as she felt. He was pallid, and clammy, and hunched forward with his hands gripping his knees — knuckles white.
"Can yeh talk?" Hagrid placed a huge, hubcap-sized hand her shoulder. The rough touch grounded her, enough to speak at least.
"Yes." Her voice was scratchy like she'd been screaming for hours. But she hadn't been, had she?
"What happened?" Hagrid repeated kindly. "I found yeh both lyin' here without yer wands."
"Over there." Sirius said hoarsely, gesturing over his shoulder to where they'd flung their wands in their utter panic.
Hagrid removed his hand, and Asha thought that she might fall without the support. Her legs wobbled, but she steadied herself. She would not faint.
Well, not again, anyway.
Hagrid retrieved their wands from the undergrowth and handed them back. Asha felt the familiar warm tingle of her wand in her hand and felt her legs steady. That was better.
"What happened?" Hagrid repeated for the third time.
"Big." Sirius said scratchily, his face drawn. "Wings…"
"Yes. Big horse." She nodded vigorously. "Scary."
Neither one of them seemed up to forming whole sentences, but Hagrid seemed to grasp their meaning fine all the same.
"Hypnotised us." Asha shivered, remembering those sinister red eyes. "Did something funny…"
Sirius nodded vigorously and shuddered.
Hagrid was shaking his head, looking pityingly from her to Sirius. "Sounds like you two had a run in with a hippogriff, is all. Got a nasty fright."
"No!" Sirius snarled. "Knocked us out!"
"You both got a shock," Hagrid said kindly, "I reckon you both tripped and hit yer heads, is all. Makes sense, yer wands prolly went flyin' around the same time, I wager."
"That isn't—"
But Hagrid would hear no more talk of giant demon horses. He insisted that they pop up to the hospital wing for a thorough look-over. "I'll handle Kettleburn," he said kindly, "Got a bit of Wiggentree bark back at me hut anyway. Kettleburn don't need to know where it came from, eh? I'll tell 'im it was you two that found it." They had shakily given Hagrid their thanks — after all, Asha could think of nothing worse than a follow-up excursion into the Forbidden Forest after what had just happened.
They were pronounced to be in perfect health by Madam Pomfrey and ordered back to their beds with a vial of pepper-up potion each.
They walked in silence, and Asha got the distinct impression that neither one of them had the foggiest idea what to say. They knew what they saw, and it certainly wasn't a hippogriff. The question was, what would they do about it now?
Perhaps they could just forget the whole thing? Carry on as normal? It was done, after all. Nothing bad had happened. The creature had clearly been scared off by Hagrid's approach and hadn't had time to eat them, or whatever other horrible things it had planned for their unconscious forms.
They climbed shakily through the portrait hole and into the deserted Common Room. The hearth burned low in the fireplace, little more than molten coal. There was no merry crackling or cheerful voices. Everybody else was asleep.
Asha couldn't imagine sleeping.
She stood frozen at the foot of the stairs to the girl's dormitory. Black mirrored her actions; he seemed unable to take the first step up the flight towards his bed. He stared at her. She stared back.
She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
He did the same, with similar levels of success.
They looked like goldfish — very frightened goldfish. The thought must have struck Black at the same time as it had her, because they both suddenly snorted and shook with quiet laughter.
"We must look like a right couple of loonies." Black said, the rakish grin she was accustomed to seeing on his face making a reappearance. Something about the familiarity of it was soothing to her. She smiled back.
"Apparently we are. Seeing demon-horses instead of hippogriffs." She said, shaking her head.
"No." Black's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I know what I saw. You know what you saw."
He gazed at her imploringly, and she nodded. "'Course I do. Don't think I'll ever forget."
He breathed a sigh of relief, but still looked deeply troubled. "We need to find out what that thing was."
Once he had said it, it was obvious to Asha. Of course they needed to research that dreadful monster. How was that not her first impulse?
"Where do we start?" She asked quickly, mind racing at the thought of their new project. "The restricted section? I could get a permission slip, but it might take a while to figure out an angle that a teacher would buy. We could always sneak in, though that's more your speciality. If you think we can pull it off, I'm game."
Sirius Black was observing her closely, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. It pulled the skin of his cheeks in such a way that his impressive jawline was thrown into even sharper relief. It was a handsome smirk. He was smirking handsomely. At her.
She frowned, perturbed. "What?"
He gestured at her as if that was explanation enough. "You. Jumping in with both feet."
"What of it?" She asked challengingly, her frown deepening.
He shrugged. "Just didn't think you were the type." His silver eyes twinkled. "Quite delighted to be proven wrong, though, if you're to be my partner-in-crime."
"Partner-in-crime?" She asked warily.
"A temporary posting, I assure you, just until we figure out the mystery of the demon horse." He said swiftly, clearly eager to dispel any assumptions that he might choose her company freely. As if I'd want him to! She thought irritably, crossing her arms over her chest and surveying the handsome boy closely.
"I suppose I could ask Grace, she knows all about magical creatures, but..." Asha faltered, "it's strange, I have this feeling that we shouldn't tell anybody else. I don't know why."
"So we'll keep it to ourselves," Sirius said shortly. "It's decided. I'll meet you down here at eleven o'clock tomorrow, okay? We've got a free period after Defence."
Asha nodded. "Eleven o'clock. Got it."
"Well…" Sirius sighed deeply, taking a step before glancing back at her. "Goodnight, Moor. I'd say sweet dreams, but I both dislike you too much to wish you any and also question the likelihood of sleeping at all after what we've just been through."
"Yeah, yeah, screw you too." She grumbled and took the steps to her dormitory two at a time.
Irritatingly, Sirius Black was perfectly right. Asha did not fall into any sort of slumber before the early hours of the morning.
And when she did, she dreamed of pitiless red eyes.
