Chapter 34: Who Is That Girl I See?

The two sheets of paper – one lined notebook, the other probably grabbed at the last minute out of the paper feed tray of a printer – fluttered down toward the table. Ben, being a little quicker than his friends, caught them before they actually hit Kenny's breakfast plate. Kenny, for his part, was looking like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

"So who is the bastard?" Ringo asked, peering at Kenny's face.

"What bastard?" There was a manic light in Kenny's eyes.

"The bastard in the letter? You look like—"

Kenny laughed, his face splitting into a huge grin.

"No bastard! Or well, if there is a bastard, he lost." Kenny threw his head back and more or less howled.

"Great—our pal's become a werewolf." Cameron sopped up his egg with toast.

Kenny grabbed the papers out of Ben's hand and thrust one of them back at Ben. Probably because he wasn't eating anything sticky or drippy for breakfast.

"'You won. - Luca,'" Ben read out loud. "Kimmy's gonna be at your mom's for the holidays?"

"The whole Christmas break. Oh, sweet cursed orange parka, she's going to be there! Christmas might actually be more than me and mum sitting there moping while waiting for the phone to ring and Kimmy to call," Kenny said almost breathlessly, waving the lined notebook paper. Probably a letter from his mother, as the likelihood that Kenny's dad would actually write his son to tell him about the holiday was somewhere between "none" and "Satan's skating partners with Hitler for the Brimstone Olympics."

"That is awesome, dude. Insert a totally not-gay bro hug here." Ringo grinned.

"Right, no gay feels. That led to uncomfortable questions from Donna after you got that letter from your dad telling you your mum was outta rehab," Kenny laughed.

"Did it really?"

"No, but it made a good line, right?" Kenny said.

"You two are nuts," Booker opined from the end of the table.

The two in question looked at each other then laughed.

"But in a good way," Ben said. "Definitely in a good way."

The wind seemed bound and determined to whistle through every loose stone and high window in Ravenclaw Tower, and as a result, the Ravenclaws were nesting. Blankets had been stolen from every bed and every trunk, oversized jumpers had been tossed over every type of shirt up to and including other jumpers, and the upperclassmen had Conjured additional blankets for anyone who needed them.

Candice was wrapped in one Jon had made, looking something like mound of soft-serve ice cream with her head and arms sticking out. Meanwhile, Quill kept shooting sparks at the fireplace in their little alcove in the hopes of making the fire a little warmer. Jon and Rowan were sharing a quilt Rowan had Conjured as they worked on their Charms homework. Only Aubrey seemed to be immune to the cold, though anyone who knew him knew that he put Self-Warming charms on all of his clothing the minute the first day of fall hit and didn't take them off again until it was practically June.

For the moment, there was little sound in their little alcove other than the scratching of quills, the flipping of parchment, and Quill softly swearing about drafty old castles and extolling the virtues of central heating in turns.

Then Blair came in.

Jon was the first to look up. "Hey, Blair, what's …"

He trailed off, and Rowan looked up.

Blair looked – not just pale, white, chalk-white, the kind of white that made Rowan sit up and try to fight her way out from under the blanket. Her eyes were glassy and hollow. And when she slowly sank to the sofa beside Aubrey, she moved as if she were under water, or perhaps in a dream.

"Blair?" asked Aubrey, putting a hand on Blair's back.

She flinched away.

"Blair?" Jon echoed, with no small note of alarm. Even Quill and Candice were staring at her.

"Is s-s-something wrong?" Rowan asked, which was a stupid question because of course something was wrong, but somebody had to ask it.

Blair looked up. Her eyes went from one friend to the next.

"Can—can you put up a Silencing Charm?" she asked. "Or—something? I don't—I don't think I want to try to do any spells right now."

Quill's answer was to point his wand at the entrance to their study nook and call out, "Muffliato!"

"Thanks," Blair said dully.

And for a long, long moment, that was all she said. She sat slumped forward, her hair hanging down on either side of her face, shielding it.

Then she swallowed. "I … I just made my Animagus breakthrough."

"Wait—seriously?" Candice asked, trying to sit up eagerly but too tangled up in her blanket to manage it. "Blair, that's awesome! What did you turn into?"

Blair didn't answer.

Rowan glanced sidelong at Jon to see Jon glancing sidelong at her.

Then Blair did answer. It was so soft at first that Rowan wasn't sure she had heard it – or that she had heard it correctly.

"A … peacock."

Jon's eyes narrowed, and so did Rowan's. Quill cocked his head to one side. And Aubrey just watched Blair.

"That's cool!" Candice said, because someone had to say something and she alone seemed able to pull it off. She even sounded enthusiastic … she probably was enthusiastic. "I mean, I'm not going to lie, not what I pictured you as, Blair, but—"

"No—no—you don't understand! A peacock!" Blair repeated. "A peacock! With the—" She waved her hands, fanning them out and nearly smacking Aubrey in the nose. "With the feathers!"

"Well, yeah, with the feathers," Candice replied. "I mean, you can't have a peacock without the feathers. They're kinda the whole …"

She stopped.

She frowned.

She looked around the circle to see everyone doing much the same thing – looking around the circle, looking at Blair, looking around the circle again.

Somebody had to say something. It wouldn't be Rowan; Rowan knew the stammer would be too much to even bother trying. And the boys seemed too thunderstruck to speak.

So it fell to Candice to state – or ask – the obvious. "Aren't … um … aren't the peacocks with the feathers—boy peacocks?"

In answer, Blair moaned and covered her face with her hands.

"G-g-g-girl p-p-p-peacocks are c-c-c-called p-p-p-peahens," Rowan heard herself murmur, mostly to Candice – maybe to all of them.

Candice's jaw fell. "Well, shit," she whispered.

And Blair sobbed.

Fighting her way out of the blanket was more urgent now – and more difficult, because Jon was trying to do the same thing – but Rowan had barely gotten herself half out before Blair started speaking. "Is it—too fucking much to ask to be normal?" she sobbed. "I try! I try so hard! I—I wear dresses and I put on makeup and—and my hair—and I try to be polite and proper and—why can't it fucking work?"

"Blair," Quill said very quietly and very slowly, "I don't think changing who you are on the outside to change who you are on the inside has ever worked for anybody. Ever."

"Why not?" Blair demanded. "Why—do you know what Professor Puccini did when I changed? And when I changed back? He—he just stared at me! Now even he knows that I'm a—a freak!"

"You are not a freak, Blair," Jon said. Glancing sidelong as Rowan, who could only nod without a word, he went on, "Look—take it from someone who's been—maybe not there, but in the same neighborhood, kind of—"

"No, you haven't!" Blair shot back. "You—you know who you are! And—and so you like boys. So what? There's a name for that! There's a—a word for that!"

"There's quite a few words for that," Quill muttered darkly. "And usually only—"

"That's not what I mean and you know it!" Blair fired back. "He's gay! There's nothing—that's not an insult! It's just a thing! A thing you can be! And maybe—maybe people don't like it, and maybe you and Jon had to—to hex and punch quite a few people when Jon came out—but at least people understood it, at least it has a name, at least—"

"T-t-trans," Rowan interrupted.

Everyone – Aubrey, Blair, and Jon with confusion; Candice with a gasp; and Quill with eyebrows raised – looked at Rowan.

"What?" Blair asked.

"T-t-trans," Rowan repeated. "That—that's w-w-what it's c-c-called. T-t-transsexual—or t-t-transgender. I'm n-n-not—I know there is a d-d-difference, I'm j-j-just n-n-not s-s-sure what it is …"

She glanced at Quill and Candice for help. Candice was nodding. But Quill was frowning. "I think Blair's the only person who can answer that."

"What?" Candice asked, looking up at Quill. "How? She's never even heard the—"

"Not—not the difference between the two," Quill waved his hand, "that's not important right now, but whether—whether …" He glanced at Blair and shrugged helplessly. "Whether that's—what you are."

"Whether I'm—what?" Blair asked, looking from Quill to Candice to Rowan with something like …

Hope?

Rowan swallowed, because somebody had to explain, and it probably wouldn't be Quill, and it really shouldn't be Candice. "T-t-trans. It m-m-means—someone who—who f-f-feels like the opposite s-s-sex of w-w-what—what their b-b-body l-l-looks like. I think—"

"It's a boy born in a girl's body, or a girl born in a boy's body," Candice filled in, grinning.

Blair's jaw fell. "Really?" she whispered. "That—that's a thing?"

Rowan never thought she would hear that particular combination of words from prim and proper Blair's mouth, but considering she'd let out—

… She?

Rowan very quickly decided that she would bring up the question of pronouns later. Much later. For now, she would do just fine for Blair until Blair decided otherwise.

"Yep," Quill said with a shrug.

And when Quill said that, Blair wilted. Not collapsed – but all of the tension seemed to rush out of her at once, and she flopped back onto the sofa.

Now that the worst of the crisis seemed to have passed, Rowan could easily untangle herself from the blanket and sit on Blair's other side. She hesitantly put a hand on Blair's shoulder.

Blair didn't shake it off.

But Blair did sit up. "What—what happens, then? To—trans people?"

"Sex-change operation," Quill replied. He sat down next to Candice and shrugged.

"At least in the Muggle world," Candice added.

"Wait—you mean …?" Blair asked.

"Doctors—um—I don't know. They do surgery, so that trans people's bits match what's in their head and not—um—what they were born with," Candice explained.

"An operation? Like—" Blair blanched. "Like—cutting people open?"

"Operations are n-n-not c-c-considered a f-f-f-form of t-t-torture in the M-M-Muggle world," Rowan stepped in quickly.

"Well—" Candice began, and thanks to Quill's hand on her mouth, did not finish.

"They're n-n-not," Rowan insisted, glaring sidelong at Candice. "They're j-j-just—they w-w-work, all r-r-right? About as w-w-well as anything that's n-n-not m-m-magic w-will."

"But there's got to be a better way," Aubrey muttered. "I mean, for Merlin's sake. You can change yourself into an animal. There's got to—there has to be an easier way to resolve a few … bits."

Blair gasped. And blinked. And stared at Aubrey.

"… What?" asked Aubrey.

"You—you're not mad?" she asked.

"Mad about …?" Aubrey asked.

"Aubrey … for over a year …" Blair swallowed and bit her lip.

"For over a year what?" Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "Blair, you've been my best friend since we ran onto each other on the train in first year – remember?"

Her lips starting to tremble. "You—you're not upset? I mean—you—we pretended—"

"The key word being 'pretended,'" Aubrey answered. "I knew you didn't have any more romantic interest in me than you did in Candice … or that chair over there. And as for my romantic interest in you …" Aubrey shrugged. "Blair, snogging you would be like snogging my sister … or my brother, as it happens."

That was what it took for Blair to break down finally.

"And that's enough," said Jon. "Come here, Blair."

Not that Blair came or went anywhere. She was not in any condition to go anywhere. But everyone else could come to her and wrap her in a big hug – Jon, Rowan, and Aubrey first, and Quill and Candice once they got Candice unwrapped from the blankets.

"Hey," Candice said, once Blair had calmed down enough that one of them could get a word in edgewise, "you know, Blair, if you're going to be a boy, you might want to chop off that hair—"

"NO!" said Aubrey, Quill, and Rowan all at once – Rowan not even stuttering.

"Aww, why not?"

"Because if Blair is starting things off as a boy," Quill answered, "she's starting off on the right foot, not with a five-minute Candice fringe special."

And Candice sighed.

"You lot are no fun."

"I can appreciate the founders' attempts to keep boys out of the girls' dormitories, but, Merlin's balls, it would be so much easier if, when Miri and Dara are going at it, somebody other than me—like say you for example, Zachary—could go into the room and break up the fight. I can get them to stop fighting, but it makes me feel like I'm kicking puppies." Juliette collapsed onto the sofa with a long-suffering sigh that seemed to deflate her curvy body.

"Merlin's balls? I don't really want to think about that one, Juliette," Spencer told her.

Ignoring Spencer – or mostly so – Juliette sighed again. "And now Miri has locked herself in a cupboard and refuses to come out while Dara is there—and Dara has responded to this by plopping herself in front of the cupboard, so I'm not sure Miri could come out if she wanted to. If I thought it would solve anything I would go to Professor Sprout, but—in all likelihood Dara would act contrite for the amount of time it took for the professor to leave, then go right back to being the little hellspawn she is."

"I wonder if we could get Professor Sprout to sign off putting Miri in the other dorm. There's still one bed open in that room, isn't there?" Zach asked.

They talked about that for a moment, but the problem was until Miri asked to be changed to a different dorm, nobody knew if it could be done by someone not personally involved. And Miri still wasn't even admitting that Dara was bullying her, let alone at the point where she'd actually ask Professor Sprout to move her.

"Juliette! Juliette!" Penny, one of the first-year girls that shared the dorm with Miri and Dara, came running out, her face drained to paper white.

"What?"

"Miri was banging on the cupboard door to get Dara to let her out—and Dara wouldn't—and Miri said something about needing her—breathing thing."

"Inhaler?" Spencer asked.

"Yes! And now Miri's not responding at all, and Dara's still in front of the door!" Penny cried worriedly.

"Oh! Frigging—UGH! I am going to kill that kid—unless she's managed to kill Miri! Then I'll just let the Wizengamot send Dara to frigging Azkaban! And hope they rustle up some dementors or something!" Juliette called as she vaulted over the sofa and loped for the first-years' dorm. Zach and Spencer hurried to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the girls' dorms.

A few incredibly tense moments later, Juliette came out carrying Miri, who was limp and unresponsive in the older girl's grasp. Spencer took Miri from Juliette.

"I'll take her up to the infirmary," Spencer told her.

"I'll get Miri's inhaler and meet you up there," Zach told him. Spencer nodded but had already turned and was heading up for the door.

"Dara!" Juliette snarled; it wasn't even directed at Zach – and Dara had more than earned it – but even so, Zach winced at Juliette's tone.

"What?" Dara growled sullenly. Juliette grabbed the first-year by the ear and marched purposefully toward the door.

"We are going to go see Professor Sprout."

"Zach?" Penny asked worriedly, scuffling her toe against the wood floor. "Miri's gonna be okay, isn't she?"

"I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey can fix her up right as rain." Zach smiled. "Do you know where Miri's inhaler is?"

"No. She hid it. Because Dara kept taking it—and I think her mum got mad at her for having to have another one sent." Penny looked on the edge of tears.

"That's okay," Zach told her, patting her shoulder comfortingly. "Accio Miri's inhaler!" He waved his wand and a moment later the strange contrivance floated into view. He shoved it in his pocket. "Thank you for telling us."

"We don't like Dara all that much either," Penny told him, her round face earnest. "She's pretty awful most of the time."

Zach nodded and headed for the common room door, leaving murmuring Hufflepuffs behind him.

By the time he reached the tower, Miri was being tended to by the school matron. Spencer paced back and forth outside a drawn curtain.

"If it would do a damned bit of good, I know you're not supposed to hit girls or kids younger than you—but I would beat that brat bloody."

"I know—if it makes you feel any better, Juliette dragged her off by the ear to see Professor Sprout," Zach said, putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

"Maybe a little," Spencer admitted. "I don't know anything about asthma, not really, but I'm pretty sure if you stop breathing, you die, right?"

"Um, eventually. Rowan could tell you."

"The point being what would have happened if Penny hadn't come and gotten Juliette?" Spencer asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and glaring at the far wall.

Zach's stomach clenched. He … hadn't thought about that.

"Rowan says that almost anything that Muggles have, wizards can cure. Maybe we could see if asthma is one of those things?" Zach offered with a shrug.

"Well—that keeps this from happening again—maybe—but …" Spencer shook his head.

"What happens next time? And there'll be a next time and another next time and another and another?" Zach sighed.

"Exactly. And there's nothing we can do." Spencer looked at the curtain, and so did Zach.

"We can hope. My mum says that hope is one of the most powerful things in the world."

The next morning at breakfast, the school was buzzing about the little Hufflepuff first-year who had nearly suffocated in a cupboard, locked in there by another little Hufflepuff first-year. Most people weren't giving too much credit to the rumors ("It must have been some kind of an accident. What kind of Hufflepuff would lock a girl in a cupboard until she nearly dies?"), but Vivianne could not help but notice that Zach's friend Miri was conspicuously absent, and Zach and his friends all looked vaguely miserable.

Well, not Juliette. Juliette looked about ready to spit, and not in her default "My name is Juliette Gurriere and the world exasperates me to no end" way.

Vivianne glanced sidelong at Sybilla, who was watching the first-year section of the Hufflepuff table very, very carefully. Vivianne nudged her. "You know, it's terribly unsporting to use first-years for target practice."

"I believe it may in fact be worse to lock a girl in a closet until she nearly dies," Sybilla pointed out.

Vivianne nodded, conceding the point, but added, "It's also terribly unwise to get between Mademoiselle Juliette and the latest target of her wrath."

"Ah, but Vivianne, you forget, Mademoiselle Juliette is a prefect. Whereas I … am not." Sybilla smirked and twirled her walnut wand in her fingertips. "I'm sure we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Vivianne chuckled, the next response already forming—but she stopped as the shadow of wings fell over the Slytherin table.

Today was the kind of sunny, glorious day that sometimes occurred in late fall – as if the sun knew it was going to be defeated, but wasn't going down without a fight. Vivianne had to shield her eyes as she looked up, scanning the owls for one particular—

There!

Great-Aunt Dindrane's long-eared owl, Blackstone, was gliding in for a landing. Vivianne hurriedly downed the rest of her tea shoved the last bit of toast into her mouth. If this was the letter she'd been waiting for—

It was. Blackstone held out his leg and Vivianne's eyes went wide. Not only was the letter addressed to Miss Vivianne Gorlois – Private and Confidential, but the seal was made of green and purple wax melded together in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of a yin-yang sign. The seal was further embossed by being stamped with the Gorlois family seal.

Vivianne hissed. How many times as a child had she seen that seal and been admonished never to touch it? Great-Aunt Dindrane did not mess around; if anyone other than the lawful recipient tried to open one of her letters, they would get a painful bite to the fingers if they were lucky, worse if they weren't.

Vivianne gave Blackstone a tickle under the chin, fed him a piece of bacon, grabbed her bag and the letter and hurried away without a word to her compatriots – not even to Sybilla.

She had, she guessed, twenty minutes until Transfiguration. With luck …

There was an empty classroom standing open just outside the Great Hall. Vivianne slipped into it and muttered a charm to lock the door.

Then she took a seat at one of the desks. Taking a deep breath – her fingers still smarting with the memories of dozens of accidental nips and bites – she carefully opened the seal.

Great-Aunt Dindrane's letter covered three pages in close, small, but impossibly neat writing. All were on her official letterhead, possibly bespelled against further spying.

Vivianne took another deep breath and reminded her breakfast in no uncertain terms that it was to stay where it was.

She began to read.

Dear Vivianne,

First, allow me to apologize to you again for the manner in which you found out about the investigation into your grandmother's death. I assure you, it was not my intention. That being said, we have all learned a lesson from this. Should I need to speak to you in an urgent manner in the future, I shall contact the Headmaster directly.

Now, as for the facts. I am afraid that what we know at this juncture is very little. The Aurors, I suspect, know more, but as yet they are only sharing the minimum of information with us. We – Great-Aunt Laurelle, Great-Aunt Enid, Aunt Ragnell, and myself – have debated pressing them for more information, but at the moment, we have decided to let the Aurors pursue their investigation with a minimum of interference. We have also ordered all Gorloises who are of age to cooperate fully with the investigation. We are quite certain that this despicable crime is not a clan matter.

So her grandmother's inner circle did not think that one of the clan had murdered Igraine. Vivianne swallowed. That was … comforting, in a way.

What was far less comforting was that Great-Aunt Dindrane had not specifically said that this was not a family matter.

Vivianne shook her head and kept reading.

That being said, here are the facts as we know them:

1) Your grandmother was murdered in the gardens between 12:45 PM, when the house-elf Ettie last saw her, and 3:30 PM, when she was discovered.
2) During this time, the wards admitted one person to Caer Tintagel. They had been weakened, as your grandmother was expecting a guest.
3) The guest your grandmother was expecting did not murder her. This guest did not arrive until after your grandmother was discovered and has an excellent alibi for the time during which the murder must have occurred.
4) Your grandmother did, in fact, technically die of a heart attack. Upon further examination, the Healers discovered that the fatal event was triggered by multiple applications of a Shocking Spell. This spell is actually used on the Continent to revive the victims of heart attacks, so it is perhaps understandable why it was not rigorously questioned upon the Healers' first examination.
5) Your grandmother's planned guest is cooperating fully with this investigation.

As you can see, what we do know is dwarfed by all that we do not know. There is a great deal of speculation afoot and practically every member of the clan has a theory, but theories and speculation are scarcely worth the air used to utter them or the parchment to write them.

I can say that no one has yet been asked to assist the Aurors with their enquiries. I can also say that the Aurors have not been forthcoming to us as to who their chief suspect is.

Lastly, I can tell you that while your aunt, Elaine O'Blake, is not part of the investigation – it would not be proper – she did play a role in assisting the clan to press the Aurors to investigate.

Vivianne, I understand that it is difficult for you, knowing that this investigation is in progress without being able to know what, precisely, that progress is. You can rest assured that I will be in full communication with you in the days ahead. As soon as we are acquainted with the facts, I will ensure that you know them.

Concentrate on your studies, Vivianne, and let us take care of the business of the clan. Also, do not hesitate to write if you have questions.

Sincerely,

Dindrane Rowena Gorlois

PS: Your Aunt Nell insists that I relate to you that if you need anything or simply wish to talk, that you can feel free to write to her, or, indeed, to any of us.

And there ended the letter.

Vivianne closed her eyes and swallowed.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but it didn't feel very long before someone knocked on the door. "Vivianne?" That was Belle. "Are you in there?"

Hurriedly, Vivianne folded the letter – the two halves of the seal joined together when they touched – and stuffed it in her bag. She pointed her wand at the door and took off the charm. "Yes."

Belle was first into the room, but she was followed by Sybilla – and Cornelia. "Is everything all right?" Belle asked.

Vivianne sighed and shook her head. "It was a letter from Great-Aunt Dindrane." When even Sybilla looked confused, Vivianne clarified, "Our solicitor."

Sybilla hissed, Cornelia's eyes went wide, and Belle gasped. "Oh, Vivianne," Belle murmured, coming into the room and putting an arm around Vivianne's shoulders. "Was it about your grandmother?"

Vivianne nodded.

"Do they know who did it yet?" Cornelia asked, slipping into the seat next to Vivianne. The question, ghoulish as it sounded, was not unsympathetic.

Vivianne shook her head.

"Was she able to tell you anything useful at all?" Sybilla asked, Summoning a chair from one of the other desks and sitting between Cornelia and Vivianne.

"Not really," Vivianne admitted. "I mean—I know a bit more—but not—"

"Oh, Vivianne," Belle murmured.

"We can make an excuse for you if you don't want to go to Transfiguration," Cornelia pointed out. "We'll tell Professor Puccini you're having girl troubles. You know he never asks if people tell him they're having girl troubles."

"Even if some people like to claim it three different times in the same month," Sybilla muttered.

"Hey, it worked," Cornelia fired back.

"Girls," Belle said reprovingly. "But seriously – what do you think, Vivianne?"

Vivianne shook her head. "I'll go to class." She tossed her hair back. "We should probably get going anyway."

"Not yet, Vivianne," Belle said, gently – but no determinedly – keeping Vivianne in her seat. "We have a few minutes. You can take your time."

Vivianne shot her a wan smile before glancing around. "Thanks – all of you, by the way."

And Cornelia, of all people, was the one to smile and shrug. "We're your friends, Vivianne. What else are we supposed to do?"