Chapter Seven: Friends

Yasha woke slowly. He was so warm and comfortable that he fought the sensation, trying desperately to burrow back into the quiet solitude of sleep. His mind, however, wasn't having any of it even as it struggled to trudge through the sludgy murkiness of waking.

Groaning, Yasha rolled over and hissed in pain when his fingers were caught between his side and the mattress. When he opened his eyes, he saw his hand was bandaged and frowned—what the hell…?

That was when he realized he wasn't in his dormitory. There was a curtain around his bed, so he couldn't see the rest of the room; it was quiet enough for him to realize he was in the hospital wing, though. There was a moment of confusion where he couldn't recall how he'd gotten here before the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. The feast, the visions—were they visions or were they real?—the panic. He remembered Jarvis and Clint helping him back to their dormitory, but that was the last thing he knew with any clarity. Whatever happened next was encapsulated in flashes of emotions rather than any real memories of events. He assumed he must have been in enough of a state for them to think he needed help, whether physical or psychological. The thought made his face flush hot with embarrassment.

"Good, you're awake."

Starting, Yasha's head whipped to the side to see Madam Bishop coming around the edge of the curtain. The nurse looked dead on her feet, probably from being up half the night taking care of people like Yasha if anyone else had as rough a time as he did, but there was still a slight smile on her face as she set a bottle of potion and a goblet on his bedside table.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, putting a hand on his forehead.

Yasha thought for a moment, mentally cataloging his bodily functions, before slowly replying, /Feel funny./

"Oh, right. One second." Madam Bishop plucked her wand from her pocket and touched it to both Yasha's and her own throat in turn. "Try again," she prompted, her voice echoing through his head in Russian behind the English she spoke this time.

/I feel funny,/ he repeated obediently, rubbing his uninjured hand across his stinging eyes.

"You probably will for a bit. You've got a fever," she explained right away. "Plus some nasty burns on your hand. You should've come straight up here instead of back to your dormitory, just so you know. Burns aren't something you mess with."

Yasha mumbled out an apology as she turned her back on him and opened the potion, pouring a portion into the goblet.

"I put a salve on it, so that should be good as new in no time. You'll just need to keep the bandage on for a couple of days so the skin doesn't get irritated as it grows back in."

Grows back in? he thought, puzzled. He hadn't realized it was that bad the night before, but admittedly he'd been paying attention to other things instead.

"This will help with the fever," continued Madam Bishop, handing him the goblet. "Every last drop. It tastes like crap, but you'll live."

Yasha put the goblet to his lips and sniffed the potion—it smelled like honey. Shrugging, he tipped his head back to take a sip.

That's definitely not honey. The taste was bad enough to choke him at first, and he shoved the goblet away with a pinched expression. Under Madam Bishop's stern gaze, though, he had no choice but to hold his nose and down the rest. The bitterness didn't lessen, and to add insult to injury, there were even chunks at the bottom.

He remembered having to take potions when he was sick as a kid, but they'd never had lumpy chunks of goop at the bottom. Gross.

/What time is it?/ he inquired once he'd finished every disgusting drop as directed, handing the goblet back to Madam Bishop. There was no window over his bedstead, so he couldn't quite tell the angle of the sun.

"Almost eleven."

A spasm shot through his lungs with sudden dread. He would already have missed Defense Against the Dark Arts and their morning break, which meant… /I'm supposed to be in Divination!/ he exclaimed, throwing back his covers before a surprisingly heavy hand shoved him right back down on the bed.

Madam Bishop glared down at him and shook her head. "No way, Smirnov. You're here all day."

/But—/

"Nope. If your fever's gone by tonight, which it probably will be, I'll let you go back to your dormitory so you can be in class tomorrow. I've already let your teachers know you won't be coming today, so you can get the work from a friend."

She shot him one last Don't Argue With Me look when he opened his mouth to do just that before taking up his goblet and vanishing behind the curtain.

Sighing, Yasha let his head drop against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't mind staying in bed all day and avoiding his classmates, but he'd much rather do it in the privacy of his own dormitory. A curtain wasn't really going to cut it, especially when the memories of the night before were playing on repeat in his head.

He still couldn't figure out what had happened. It was one of Tony's stupid pranks, that much was certain, but how had he managed all that? It was impossible that he'd be able to magically create a personal demon for most of the students there in general, but what he'd conjured for Yasha? There was no way he could have known what was in his head. There was no way he was privy to the dreams and nightmares where Yasha was trapped in a burning house with his family reaching out for him or he climbed into a coffin to join them when they were already gone. He desperately wanted to know how the sick, twisted workings of his mind had been put on display.

Out in the open, for most of the school and all of his friends to see.

They probably think I'm nuts, bemoaned Yasha silently, grabbing his hair and yanking hard. I just can't catch a break.

Yasha rolled onto his side, careful not to mess up his bandages this time, and glared at the curtain as though he might be able to set it on fire with just his gaze. That wasn't something he wanted anyone else to see ever. Hell, he never wanted to see it himself, inside or outside his head. The next time he saw Tony Stark, he thought he might just curse him. Nothing serious, just something nice and humiliating so the idiot knew how it felt.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, fuming and wallowing in equal measures, before there was a rustling sound behind him.

"Yasha? You awake?"

It took every ounce of willpower not to groan out loud because, wouldn't you know it, the universe wasn't looking to cut him any slack just yet. He briefly considered pretending to be sleeping, but he knew his breathing was too uneven for that and turned onto his back in spite of himself to see Steve peeking tentatively around the curtain.

Thank goodness they'd given him a set of pajamas at some point the night before or this would have been more awkward than it already would be.

"Hey," he croaked in English. His throat was raw and sore, probably after all the screaming he'd done the night before.

Steve smiled as he came around the curtain, holding up two earpieces and Yasha's goddamn cat. The second Winter caught a glimpse of him, she went crazy in Steve's arms until he dropped her on the mattress, pouncing on his chest to nuzzle and lick his face frenetically. Huffing out something that sounded like a laugh, Steve handed Yasha one of the purple devices before donning his own.

/What are you doing here?/ inquired Yasha once his earpiece was activated, stroking Winter's fur and holding her tightly to his chest.

Shrugging, Steve explained, "Sam said Zima was worried about you, so we thought she could use a visit. Not sure we're allowed to have pets in here, though, so keep it to yourself." He had that same mischievous gleam in his eyes he used to get when they were kids, and Yasha snorted involuntarily.

/Yeah, but why are you here?/ As soon as the words left his lips, Steve's face fell a fraction and he started backpedaling. /I mean, Sam or Clint could have brought her up./

Steve's expression cleared a little as he nodded thoughtfully. It wasn't that Yasha resented his presence per se, but of all his old friends, Steve was the one he avoided more than anyone. It wasn't just a matter of recognizing certain mannerisms with him—they'd known each other since they were born. If anyone was going to give away the game, it would be him, so Yasha kept his distance as much as possible. He helped Steve during their study groups and they'd had a few brief conversations (not that they were really long enough to be called even that) about Quidditch when the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors passed each other on the field between practices, but that was about it. There was no reason for Steve to go out of his way to bring Winter up here, not when he had plenty of other friends and a girlfriend to occupy his time with.

It appeared as though Steve was thinking along the same lines, his expression turning a bit bashful as he brushed his hair out of his face.

"Well, they were planning on checking in after classes were done for the day," he hedged, his eyes alternating between Yasha and the floor. "I just thought you might like some company."

Yasha stared at him in silence, blinking a few times. It felt like he couldn't possibly be hearing him right, or it was merely an excuse to butt into Yasha's business, but the smile on Steve's face told another story. He didn't feel bad for Yasha even though he was probably one of the many people who had seen what he'd been so afraid of in the Great Hall. He wasn't there to show him pity or ask nosy questions about what the hell was wrong with him. His offer was entirely genuine: he honestly just wanted to be there as moral support and company to an acquaintance who needed it. If ever there was a moment where Yasha was able to see little Steve Rogers in the hulking beefcake he'd become, it was that one.

After a minute, Yasha felt his mouth twitch into a small, grateful smile. /Thank you./


By the time Yasha was released from the hospital wing, dinner was almost over. He had no appetite regardless, so he made his way slowly back through the mostly empty corridors down to the common room.

Steve had stayed with him through his lunch period and most of their afternoon break, filling him in on what they'd been doing in the classes they shared and complaining a bit about the ones they didn't. Yasha had just listened raptly, petting Winter and occasionally asking a question. They talked about the upcoming game between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, trading jeers and talking strategies. They had been so absorbed in the conversation that they didn't realize how much time had passed, nor did Yasha have even one second for his mind to wander to any of the dark thoughts that were usually hovering in the corners of his brain. It was the most normal he'd felt since he was thirteen years old, not that he wasn't still emotionally drained as soon as Steve cradled Winter in his arms and left to take her back downstairs before his last class of the day.

The rest of Yasha's afternoon was mostly spent alternating between dozing and speaking with his friends as they filtered in before dinner. Skye had brought him a little teddy bear with a red, star-shaped balloon reading, Get Better Soon! He'd teased her a little for it while she insisted she had nothing better to do in Transfiguration, but he couldn't help glancing back at the stuffed animal every now and again. It made him smile.

Nat had practically torn off the face of the hospital wing with her arrival, glaring daggers at him. He couldn't even get out a greeting before she was ranting in rapid-fire Russian about what an idiot she was for not taking him to the hospital wing like she'd wanted to and how she was going to kill Tony Stark the first opportunity that presented itself. Yasha didn't even try to interrupt her tirade, waiting until she'd talked herself out before calmly reassuring her that he was fine and it wasn't worth going to Azkaban over. She'd distinctly disagreed, but she cooled off enough to have a mostly normal conversation, complete with informing him that she and Jarvis had all the notes and assignments he would need to make up.

He'd waited until after she left to flip her off for that one.

Needless to say, as he strolled through the hallways and down the grand staircase, the last thing Yasha wanted to do was talk to anyone else—he'd met his quota for the day.

Unfortunately, Tony Stark had other plans. He was just emerging onto the stairs from the first floor corridor when he caught sight of Yasha and stopped dead in his tracks. His face was entirely void of the usual arrogant smirk; he wasn't even wearing his thoughtful genius-invention-in-progress expression. Instead his face was still pale the way it had been after the feast the night before, and he had a hard time maintaining eye contact as he half waved in greeting.

Yasha mirrored the gesture before continuing on his way.

"Wait."

Damn. Knew I wasn't getting outta that one so easy.

Sighing, Yasha turned around and raised an eyebrow, unconsciously folding his arms over his chest defensively. All thoughts of cornering Tony and asking what he'd done completely flew out of his head, leaving nothing but the desire to get back to his dormitory and sleep for a year uninterrupted. Tony, for all that he was a terrible judge of how others were feeling, seemed to sense it and scratched the back of his neck. He opened his mouth once or twice, rolled his eyes at himself, and poked a purple earpiece into place. (Yasha was really starting to hate those things—it meant he had to talk.)

"Look, uh…" Tony cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm not usually one to make apologies, so you'd better be listening carefully 'cause it probably won't happen again. Sorry about what happened last night. I, uh… I didn't expect all that."

For a second, Yasha considered just nodding and walking away. He forced his feet to remain planted to the stone step, however, and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't going to accept the apology, at least not yet, but he wouldn't make this too difficult on Tony when he was well aware that getting an expression of regret from him really didn't happen. Ever. /How did you do it?/

A little glimmer of something flashed through Tony's eyes, but he quashed the excitement as much as he could to casually explain, "It's a new invention I came up with—the Bogus Boggart. It does the same thing as a real boggart: it sees you, it shows you your greatest fear, all that jazz. One time use, and you don't need to know any spells to get rid of it. Prank your friends, they figure out it isn't real, then poof—gone."

As he outlined his prank, Yasha felt as though someone was squeezing his heart and refused to let go. It made sense now: Tony hadn't made those illusions appear the way he did when Yasha was in his first year, but he'd figured out a way to make a device that would be able to do it on its own. After all, what else did he fear more than the idea that his family had died calling his name, wishing he was there with them? What more was there to fear than the feeling that your family might be angry that you hadn't been there for them when they needed you—that you weren't there and maybe if you were, you could have done something to stop what happened? The thoughts whirled around in his head, making him dizzy, and it was a moment before he realized Tony had stopped speaking abruptly.

He appeared to realize he was starting to sound a little too excited and shrugged, gazing down at the floor. "Didn't think everyone would be scared of such weird shit, you know?"

/Isn't that the point of being afraid? That it isn't always rational?/ Yasha pointed out, his voice hard and unforgiving.

Scoffing, Tony exclaimed, "Yeah, but giant octopuses? Or is it octopi? I can never remember. Anyway, seriously, who the hell is scared of stuff like that?"

Yasha stared at him, waiting for the regret to slot back into place. It took a minute and then—yup, there it is.

"Anyway, long story short, sorry for scaring the crap out of you and half the school. Won't happen again."

Wait, something's not right here…

Narrowing his eyes, Yasha incredulously demanded, /Did Fury tell you to apologize?/

"To every single student in the school no matter how long it takes," deadpanned Tony in affirmation.

/And he won't let you make an announcement at breakfast or something./

"Nope."

/Smart man./

"Screw you, Yasha."


/I'm going to find out who decided nonverbal spells could be a thing and slowly remove their intestines from their body./

/Has anyone ever told you you're one scary bitch?/ inquired Pietro nonchalantly, earning a smirk from Nat where she was trying (and failing miserably) to summon her textbook from the other side of the room.

Just about everyone in their study group had mastered Levitation Charms without speaking the incantation and moved on to Summoning Charms, which took twice the level of concentration: focusing on the item and focusing on the incantation in your head. Perhaps it would have been better to try something different, but Yasha wasn't about to turn back now that they'd started and the others didn't seem prepared to admit defeat just yet.

"This is impossible," frowned Sam. He was holding onto his wand with both hands as if that would count towards his level of concentration, but his quill hadn't moved an inch in ten minutes.

"Aw, come on, man," taunted Clint, easily summoning his fifth cupcake (freshly stolen from the kitchens). "You've just gotta focus."

"In a second, Barton, I'mma focus my wand right up your ass. Shut the hell up, man."

Clint grinned in response, taking an exaggerated bite of his dessert and chewing with his mouth open so the rest of them had to witness the nastiness. After he'd managed the totally intended Stunning Spell on Yasha, it appeared to release some kind of block and he was able to cast just about anything nonverbally on the first try these days. It had taken a few attempts to get the Summoning Charm right, but food could be a powerful motivator, so it didn't take too long.

"You know, it's a shame you won't be able to summon the Snitch tomorrow as well as you do those cupcakes," observed Peggy with saccharine sweetness. She didn't ordinarily come to their sessions—in fact, they frequently teased her when she did show up about being in the presence of royalty since she was Head Girl—but she'd made an exception tonight to watch the hilarity of Steve attempting nonverbal magic, which ended up looking more like constipation depending on the spell.

Rolling his eyes, Clint flipped her off and returned to summoning his next treat.

To be honest, Yasha had been surprised that Clint allowed them to practice tonight at all. They'd been on the Quidditch pitch perfecting their performance for tomorrow's game every waking moment after class. Yasha had thought his stint in the hospital wing would have gotten him a lecture or at least a glare given how seriously Clint was taking the game, but he'd surprisingly been pretty mum about the whole thing. He'd made one comment that Yasha had better be in top form come Saturday, but that was all. Still, at breakfast that morning he'd unexpectedly announced that they could have Friday night to themselves and relax before the game, much to their collective relief, and promptly checked with Yasha to see if they were going to practice spells.

The answer had almost been no. In spite of the fact that no one was treating him any differently or asking any questions he didn't want to answer, Yasha simply didn't feel like being around people. He'd managed to get through most of the day in silence, copying notes and avoiding the gazes of his classmates as much as possible. He wasn't sure if they were looking at him, but his neck itched as if they were. Every time someone whispered something under their breath, he instinctively thought it was about his meltdown on Halloween. There was no way of knowing without paying more attention, which he wasn't keen on at all, so he'd ended up shutting himself in his head for most of the day as a result.

Having to tutor his classmates and friends in nonverbal magic after all that was at the bottom of his list of things he wanted to do. All he really felt in the mood for was curling up in bed, maybe playing with Winter, and sleeping. The others had been adamant about at least putting an hour or two in, however, so he'd made a slight compromise: he brought Winter to their study session and sat in the corner on top of one of the desks to watch in silence while everyone else worked on their spells. They must have realized at some point that he wasn't in the mood to talk, because after the first ten minutes, they stopped trying to ask questions or engage him in conversation. Nat spared him the concerned glance now and again, and even Steve eyed him warily from time to time, but otherwise he was left to his own devices while they cursed in frustration at their lack of success (except for Clint, of course).

As soon as the promised hour was up, Yasha hopped down off the desk and muttered his excuses before ditching out, leaving the others to keep working without him. He felt calm enough that he knew he probably could have stayed the whole time, but having his roommates up here meant he might get a few minutes to himself, and that was just too tempting an idea to pass up.

Yasha managed to make it almost to the ground floor before he regretted his choices.

/Hey there, Screaming Smirnov./

Okay, so not everyone was ignoring what had happened on Halloween. Yasha disregarded Rumlow's presence and kept walking.

/Aw, come on, don't be that way./

Go to hell, Yasha huffed internally, holding Winter a bit tighter as he picked up the pace.

He thought Rumlow would let him go, but apparently he was dumber than he thought. Yasha just barely avoided falling on his face when his feet involuntarily stopped, stuck to the floor where he stood. It was in that moment that he realized he really should've just told everyone to go to hell and stayed in his dormitory all night.

Rumlow's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he strode leisurely up to Yasha, crossing in front of him to lean casually against the wall. His smirk was as arrogant as ever; Yasha had thought maybe he would be out of practice with no teachers to rubber stamp him. Unlike at Durmstrang, there was no special treatment at Hogwarts. In fact, if Yasha had to wager a guess, he'd say the professors downright hated Rumlow. He was the kind of student who thought he knew everything when in reality, he had no clue what he was talking about but wanted people to think he did. He was frequently disrespectful, both to professors and other students, and he never listened to a word anyone said against him. His tenacity would be admirable if he wasn't such a dick about it.

/What's the rush?/ he sneered. /We haven't caught up in a while./

/What do you want, Rumlow?/ inquired Yasha tonelessly. He figured if he just played along, they could get this over with much quicker.

/Nothing. Just wondering how it feels to be the biggest coward in Hogwarts—which is saying something with all these babies./ He broke off to snort derisively, shaking his head. /Seriously, they wouldn't last a second at Durmstrang. I was always surprised you did./

Yasha stared at him in silence, unmoved.

/Anyway, I just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow,/ he continued when Yasha didn't rise to the bait. /With Rogers and Odinson on the other team? I figure you'll need it./

Rumlow smiled like a shark and held out his hand as if he expected Yasha to shake it. When Yasha made no move to comply, he laughed, /Come on, man! Don't leave me hanging here./

Yasha continued staring at him, wondering if it would be worse to shake his damn hand or get punched in the gut when he was holding Winter if he didn't. Ultimately he decided to just suck it up and deal, taking Rumlow's proffered hand and shaking.

It took two seconds to realize his mistake when Rumlow clamped down hard on his still healing fingers and yanked his hand forward. Yasha cried out as he fell to his knees, somehow maintaining his grip on Winter as the contact with the stone floor sent pain shooting all the way up into his abdomen. Rumlow made a move like he might knee him in the face—

—then went flying backwards into the wall just close enough for Winter to wriggle free and commence clawing viciously at his arm, leaving bloody trails behind as he attempted to regain his bearings enough to bat her away.

Frowning in confusion, Yasha turned slightly on his aching knees to see Clint standing a few feet behind him, eyes alight with an angry fire Yasha hadn't seen since he was accused of stealing Winter. All of it was aimed not at him, but at Rumlow as Clint strode forward and aimed his wand at Yasha's feet, which were released from the spell holding him to the ground an instant later. He immediately yanked Winter back to his side, where she hissed and spat at Rumlow from afar, then lowered himself to sit on the stone floor and rubbed his knees with a wince. His hand was almost fully healed from the burns he'd suffered, but the skin was still raw beneath his bandages.

"What the hell?!" spat Rumlow, stumbling to his feet and yanking his wand out of his pocket. He leveled it right at Clint, who responded in kind as the two faced off. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Barton. Pleasure."

Yasha probably would have laughed at the obvious sarcasm if the situation were different. Unfortunately, he was too busy watching Rumlow's every move.

"We were having a conversation—"

"Not what it looked like to me." Clint's head tilted slightly in Yasha's direction, his tone changing to one of polite incredulity as he commented, "You leave for, what, like five minutes and it all goes to shit."

/Sorry, I'll wait for you next time,/ scoffed Yasha, rolling his eyes. Clint smirked, his gaze still trained on Rumlow.

"This is all I ask. After all, I love a good conversation," he muttered dangerously.

Grinding his teeth, Rumlow adjusted the grip on his wand and hissed, "Stupefy!"

"Protego," returned Clint with a lazy flick of his wand, his shield blocking the spell successfully. Apparently, despite all their lessons to teach them the opposite, Rumlow still hadn't learned how to cast a spell without giving it away.

Fortunately, he didn't know that Clint had.

A jet of red light hit him in the chest a second after he'd cast his own spell, and he went sailing through the air down the corridor. The spell was so strong that when he hit the ground, he continued sliding a few feet along the rough stone floor, which couldn't be comfortable.

"Gentlemen, what is going on here?" a familiar voice with a German accent spoke from the opposite end of the hall.

Yasha bit his lip, cursing internally as Professor Erskine strode up the hallway toward them. He was one of the more understanding teachers, but he doubted there was a whole lot they could do about the situation they found themselves in: Yasha sitting on the floor, apparently unharmed, while Clint stood scowling at Rumlow where he was moaning on the floor. Erskine was looking between the three of them with a stern frown on his face, waiting for a response.

Figuring it was probably best to tell the truth and suffer the consequences, Yasha had just opened his mouth to explain when Clint cut in over top of him with a bashful shrug.

"Sorry, Professor. We were practicing nonverbal spells and it kinda got outta hand," he lied easily. He raised his voice to call down the corridor, "Right, man?"

Yasha wondered if Erskine heard the same veiled threat that he did, but if that was the case, he didn't make it obvious as Rumlow grumbled in the affirmative. It wasn't often that he was cowed into submission, so the fact that he'd done so in the face of Clint's rage was really quite a compliment for the latter.

"Well, perhaps now is a good time for bed," he suggested with raised eyebrows.

"You got it, sir," agreed Clint immediately, hauling Yasha up by the arm and waiting while he plucked Winter off the ground before leading the way towards the common room. It was a struggle, but Yasha didn't glance back once at Rumlow or Erskine the whole way.

Neither of them said a word as they made their way down the stairs, through the entrance hall, and entered the Hufflepuff common room in silence. Once they were safely inside, however, Yasha turned to Clint and shot him a bemused look.

/How did you know…?/

Clint didn't need to ask what he meant, shrugging a little uncomfortably under Yasha's scrutiny. "Some of the guys were worried, so I was just checking to make sure everything was all right. Good thing I did, too—what's his deal, anyway?"

Snorting, Yasha explained, /I embarrassed him in front of his friends when he tried to curse Jarvis once. We've never exactly been on good terms after that./

"What a jerk," grumbled Clint, beginning to walk away when Darcy called out a challenge for an Exploding Snap game.

/Clint?/ Yasha put a hand on his shoulder before he could get too far, his roommate turning to glance at him curiously. /How come you helped me?/

Clint actually looked a little surprised to be asked that question, but Yasha wasn't sure why he would be. It was no secret that, while he kept the open animosity to a minimum, Clint wasn't his biggest fan. Still, Clint shrugged as if it was obvious.

"'Cause we're friends, man."

Yasha blinked a few times, nodding numbly before letting him go to join Darcy on the sofa by the fireplace. When he entered the dormitory alone and sat on his bed, Winter nuzzling up against his jaw since she clearly thought he needed cheering up, he turned those words over in his mind and repeated the events of the last week.

He'd helped Clint get past whatever nonverbal blockage he'd been having.

Clint had sat with Yasha and Jarvis at meals for most of the week, along with Sam.

Clint had helped bring him back to the dormitory and take him to the hospital wing on Halloween.

Clint had given him a pass on Quidditch practice and kicked the crap out of Rumlow for him the way Yasha used to do for Steve.

Holy shit. We're friends.