Word Count: 3,172

Former Word Count: 2,396

…

What Might Be Called Home

...

[September 3, 1994: Healing Hall, the Altair Institute of Magic]

Azalea woke slowly, blinking dazedly up at the high ceiling. It was a light blue. Powder blue? Azalea couldn't remember the name. She's not even sure where she would have learned it in the first place. It tasted like clean. Not the paint, that didn't taste like anything. Azalea did not eat the paint. No, the air itself tasted like cleaning products and antiseptic… which was weird, because wizards didn't actually use antiseptic. They had cleaning charms for that.

"—iss Pott—"

She groaned, closing her eyes again. Why was the ceiling blue if it was an infirmary? Azalea didn't mind. Waking up in a bright white infirmary just made her want to gouge her eyes out… and Madame Pomfrey would disapprove of any eye-gouging. Disappointing Madame Pomfrey was very low on Azalea's bucket list.

"—iss Potter. Oh, Miss—"

Azalea's head hurts. Also, her eyes are still closed. And sticky. That didn't sound like Madame Pomfrey. Where was she again? An infirmary, she got that, but—

"—fors."

Azalea gasped, her mind suddenly clearing. She blinked rapidly, and this time it actually helped, her brain finally taking in the area around her. She stared at the woman who spoke: tall, with cool gray eyes and wrinkles, especially pronounced in the furrows of her brows. She had a nice voice, one that reminded Azalea of what a grandmother was probably supposed to sound like, one hardened by age and softened by warmth.

"Can you hear me now, Miss Potter?" the woman asked, and Azalea nodded in return. She regretted it immediately, the nod making her head feel… gelatinous? Gelatinous was a good description. "Good morning then, Miss Potter. It's 6:30, and the morning of September the third." Azalea closed her mouth, she'd just been about to ask that.

"I've purged all of the manticore poison from your system, and healed the other wounds caused. At this point, I'd be surprised if you didn't have immunity to most poisons by now… but give it a few months before you test that. The rest of your group is waiting outside in the main wing, as you are currently in a more private room of the Healing Hall. Your friends expressed you'd likely be more comfortable with privacy. As for the rest of your fellow Hogwarts students, I believe that only two boys, Boot and Finch-Fletchley, also arrived on time. The rest are being retrieved."

Azalea opened her mouth to thank her, and it quickly turned into a cough. The Healer —because she had to be— quickly moved to her side, helping her sit up and offering her a glass of water that the girl gulped down desperately.

"Though I know you had no real choice, Miss Potter, you really should not have used that much magic." the Healer criticized, "You were still recovering from an extreme case of magical exhaustion, and you've only set yourself back with your defense. You are not to do a great deal of magic. I am going to be informing the Headmasters of this, so your teachers will be aware. They will warn you if something could potentially overextend your magical ability, understand?"

"Yes ma'am." Azalea agreed hoarsely.

"Now, Miss Potter, I'm Adrea Vesalien. I am both Altair's Head Healer and one of the healing magic professors here. If you give me a moment to check your vitals and wounds, you can take a shower and dress— your bag is just there." Healer Vesalien gestured to the side, and began tracing her wand in patterns over Azalea's body.

"Miss— uh, Healer? Vesalien." Azalea fumbled for words. "What's— ah, sorry ma'am—"

"Take a moment, Miss Potter." Healer Vesalien said. "You had a bit of a concussion. It's entirely healed now, but waking up into it can be disorienting. And Healer Vesalien is appropriate. Think of your full sentence before you try to say it."

Azalea was quiet for a moment, before restarting. "Thank you, Healer Vesalien." her words were a little over-enunciated, like she was being careful with pronouncing every syllable. "What did— I mean, what other wounds did I have? I thought it was just the poison."

"Well, there were the wounds from the poison entering your body." Healer Vesalien said drily, "Other scrapes and bruises from your adventure, poorly healed old bone breaks, lingering potion damage, and, most concerningly, hairline bone fractures and nerve damage that is only caused by exposure to the Cruciatus curse. Now, I don't know when you were under the Cruciatus curse, Miss Potter, but I'm going to assume it was before your recent stay in Saint Mungo's. I find it concerning that they didn't pick up on the Cruciatus damage."

"Oh."

"'Oh,' Miss Potter, is not an appropriate response to that." Healer Vesalien scolded. "But I'm not in the habit of asking how my patients get their injuries."

"Sorry," Azalea defaulted, ducking her head. "Where did you say my friends were?"

"Out in the main hall, Miss Potter. They slept in there, all had their own injuries that needed a bit of healing work. Miss Abbott kept asking me about the spells I use— I'm assuming I'll see her in my healing class?"

"That's likely, ma'am." Azalea confirmed. "She's always been interested in healing magic. She used to help the mediwitch at—"

"Mediwitch, Miss Potter?" Healer Vesalien interrupted, affronted. "They only had a mediwitch at that school of yours? I noticed all sorts of injuries that tracked four years, Miss Potter, and they were the sort that any experienced healer would have trouble dealing with."

"Madame Pomfrey was a good—"

"—she might have been a good mediwitch, Miss Potter, but that doesn't make her a Healer." Healer Vesalien scolded. "Every student at Altair with the capability to perform healing magic must obtain enough practice in medical magic to qualify as a mediwitch. It is a graduation requirement, and certainly not nearly acceptable to work in any hospital, let alone a school hospital!"

"Sorry, Healer Vesalien," Azalea said automatically. "Could I take that shower now?"

"Of course, Miss Potter. Don't forget to take your clothes out first." the Healer gestured to a door. "Bathrooms are that way. Oh, and Miss Potter? You best be careful with your 'sorrys' and 'thank yous.' I'd remind you there are fae here, and they take those debts seriously."

"Than— ah, I appreciate it, Healer Vesalien." Azalea said gratefully to the Healer's laughter, standing to collect her clothes from her bag, and following the healer's directions to the bathroom. She showered and went about her business, scowling at the ugly red scar the manticore had left her with. It made a bit of a disaster of her thigh, but it would be an interesting story to tell… but not to Sirius or Remus. Avoiding that would probably be a good idea.

Azalea went back to the room she'd been put in, folding and replacing all her clothes and slinging her backpack over her shoulders. She took a moment to breathe, studying the pale walls and empty room. There was one plant, with long stems and wide leaves that sat on a corner table, right in the line of sunlight. Azalea wondered for a second if all the rooms had plants in them, decided they probably did, and pushed open the door to the main wing.

She was welcomed with shouts of her name and Hannah throwing her arms around her, only to be summarily crushed against Susan and Luna as they joined in the hug.

"Lou, Susie, Hannah," Azalea greeted, laughing. "I'm fine! I told you I'd be fine, I am!"

Susan squeezed tighter, scolding Azalea all the while about each and every thing that could have possibly gone wrong (what if they hadn't found the hippogriffs? What if they'd run into another beast?) Azalea took the insistent questions with a relieved smile, letting her friends cling to her.

"Terry and Justin are here, too." Luna commented dreamily. "I do think Justin had a run in with nargles! He seemed a little confused…"

"They got here around seven this morning, so we still beat them." Susan explained, grinning. "None of the other groups have gotten here. Terry said they split from Granger and Weasley like halfway through, and then spent the rest of the time panicking about something or other. He kept saying things about cannibalism and hedgehogs? Guessing they had as fun of a time in the valley as we did."

"Hah… Healer Vesalien mentioned they got here. Has anyone else gotten here yet? Vesalien said they were being retrieved…?" Azalea trailed off.

"Yes, about that—" a new voice interrupted, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Our deputy headmistress is a little frustrated with your— well not yours specifically —but your lot's performance. So… they may very well be showing up a little… worse for wear. If that's the phrase."

The girls turned quickly, facing the new arrivals, only for Hannah to gasp in startled fear.

"It's the phrase, Oliver." the one on the right affirmed, the "s"s extending slightly. Azalea stared. It was the first time she'd seen a naga— he had to be a naga, what with the way his skin transitioned into scales and further to a tail below his waist —and for some reason he wasn't what she expected to see. Naga, in the (human-written) literature, were described as monsters with claws and feathers and scales and sharp teeth. While he had the scales— and the sharp teeth —it wasn't quite in a terribly "monstrous" way.

Azalea was fixated on the tail, all a pattern of silver-black scales that shimmered faintly in the light. It was long, stretching at least five feet behind him, plus the several feet positioned under him, supporting his torso in an imitation of someone walking. (Azalea wondered if nagas slithered faster if their bodies were more angled near the earth… and also never wanted to actually see if that was actually possible.) Some of the scales had an almost rainbow-like sheen in the light shining through the tall windows, and the naga wound his tail up beneath his body in foreign ease.

"Good morning, and welcome," the naga greeted, and Azalea finally bothered to notice his face— curly blonde hair, and eyes that were only a slitted pupil and blue iris, completely lacking in any white. His companion, Azalea realized, was also not human. He looked it for the most part, other than the too-sharp teeth and pointed ears… and skin that was tinged just a little too blue, hair that was a murky dark green, and clear blue eyes. The hair had a too-natural texture for it to have been dyed, and Azalea certainly didn't think he was sick enough to be blue that way.

"Oliver" had his arms tucked behind him, under what looked like the Altair cloak. He had a dagger strapped to his thigh —and why did all the Altair students have weapons on them?— and an incredibly at-ease smile. In contrast, the naga wasn't wearing clothing, nor did he have any weapons. Instead, he had a cord necklace, hung with gemstones of all varieties and bright feathers. The naga looked bored more than anything else, albeit far from uncomfortable with the goggling stares the girls had focused on him.

Luna, unsurprisingly, was the first to realize she was being rude. "Hello, Mr. Fae, Mr. Naga!" she chirped cheerfully, gliding forward with a beaming smile. Like everyone else when they met Luna Lovegood, the two students looked momentarily taken aback before 'Oliver' mimicked the smile. It was a ridiculous moment, tiny Luna Lovegood grinning maniacally at a fae twice her size.

"Hello to you as well, Miss Human." 'Oliver' greeted.

Azalea couldn't help but smile at the interaction, and she nodded a polite greeting. Susan and Hannah looked on edge, but surprisingly not terrified.

The naga slid forward, holding his hands out to Luna, then cupping her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. It was a strange gesture, all things considered, but the way Luna's grin grew impossibly wider just assured Azalea of her decision to come to Altair. It also made her realize that the naga was part snake, and she might very well end up speaking Parseltongue.

While her friends knew she spoke it, all of Hogwarts had practically rioted at finding out, complaining about how evil and perverted the language was. While Azalea didn't quite personally understand how a language could be evil, the uproar had left her wary of speaking it… especially since she could never actually tell that she was speaking Parseltongue.

"Ssssyrul," the naga introduced himself, the s almost exaggeratedly dragged out. "This is Oliver Volren, a fae of the water variety." His sentences were strangely paced to Azalea, with longer gaps in places that, if it were written, would probably have commas.

"Thanks for introducing me, Syrul. I never would have been able to without your help." Volren chided. "We know who you all are, of course. Deputy Mercuriel basically lectured everyone who was delegated with introductions. It's very nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll have a lot of fun getting to… hm, getting to know you."

Azalea couldn't help her discomfort as Volren gestured for them to follow him. The fae seemed… Azalea wasn't sure of the word. Predatory? Anticipatory? Regardless of the warm welcome, he seemed like he was measuring their worth.

"The two boys who made it —Boot and Finch-Fletchley, I'd imagine— are just outside. The others will haul their Hogwarts students to the hospital wing to get checked out before they're brought to the Atrium. That's where we're going." Volren explained. "The Atrium is the main gathering area for Altair. We have meals, festivals, parties, dances, death matches, markets, and any other number of things."

"Death matches?" Hannah squeaked. Volren talked over her.

"But for now, its where you kiddies are gonna eat breakfast! We serve all sorts of foods, according to all beings dietary restrictions and requirements! For instance…"

Azalea lagged behind, waiting for Syrul who let them all pass before taking up the rear. She glanced over at him and back to her friends somewhat hesitant before going for it: "Uh, § I think… §

§ Did you… ? You're a Speaker? § Syrul asked in Parseltongue, staring intently at her. He looked increasingly delighted through her stammered affirmation.

§ Yes, I've always been able to speak to serpents. § Azalea finally managed. § But I'm not great at controlling when I actually speak. §

Azalea kind of expected derision, or hostility, though she wouldn't have been able to explain what she thought might happen. The sheer delight in Syrul's expression was not it, though.

§ You haven't yet been able to choose when you speak, then? § Syrul asked, and continued without waiting for an answer; § Silaes will certainly enjoy teaching a newborn Speaker. §

§ Silaes? § Azalea asked nervously, § and newborn? §

§ You have no experience Speaking, and therefore you are a newborn speaker. Silaes is a Serpent and the teacher of the Serpent Magics. § Syrul explained, then gesturing for Azalea to walk next to them to catch up to Volren and her friends.

§ By Serpent, you mean… Serpent? § Azalea faltered. That wasn't the word she meant to say.

"You mean Naga." Syrul said fondly, this time in English. "Yes, Serpent Folk are Naga. We tend to stick to Serpent Folk or Serpents. Naga is not a word that exists in our language… nor do many other words. I will have to let Silaes know you speak. I will see you soon, little Speaker."

As soon as they caught up with Volren, Syrul drifted away, presumably to find Silaes. Volren took a moment to complain about the lack of "good company" before returning to his tour guide-ish spiel.

Azalea rejoined them easily, looping her arm through Luna's crooked elbow. With glee, Volren stopped in front of the doors to the Healing Hall, turned to face them, opened the doors magically, and spread his arms wide all the while, acting like a character from revealing something exceptional.

Azalea might have laughed, but… it was exceptional.

The Healing Hall was directly next to the Atrium, a wide open space of green grass, rocks, and a cobbled courtyard. It was dotted with oranging trees and shrubs, with gold-painted posts hung with triangular purple canopies providing shade. In the center, there was a ring of distinctly Greek columns (corinthian, Azalea recalled faintly from her primary school) covered in green ivy and flowers of all sorts. A string, or cord, or something was hung between the columns, curving impossibly into a perfect circle. Hanging from it were flower baskets blossoming in fluorescent pinks, blues, reds, and violets.

Tables were spread about, some under canopies and others warmed by the morning sun. The largest was along the edge, shades by a rectangular canopy and piled with heaping foods. Azalea wasn't sure she would even be able to name most of the foods.

Beings of all sorts moved between the food and their tables or spaces, exchanging greetings and welcomes with easy affection.

Between the grassy and paved areas were sprawling gardens, all of which seemed bigger than the space they were in. Azalea had been out of her right mind when flying in on a hippogriff, but the Atrium she had seen was not the right size for the gardens to fit.

The gardens were half full of flowers and trees that looked pretty and half full of fruits and vegetables and herbs. The gardens were tended to by little fairies, more miniature children with colorful skin and iridescent wings than what had been described in the books (and different from Lockhart's pixies).

Most obvious on the cobbled paths were what Azalea could get were sprites— beings made of an element 'magickified' who were entirely composed of that element. Fire sprites made of flames wearing clothes of smoke or nothing at all, water sprites that were near formless except for the ambiguous near-humanoid form. They chattered about, haranguing the fauns that trotted to and from, occasionally trying to trick or steal from unwary students.

And oh, the students. Azalea grew up in Little Whinging. The most diversity it had ever seen was her and Old Lady Barbara who lived at the end with her "roommate" of 50 years, Elizabeth. (Number 3 had seen them kissing! Kissing!) Hogwarts, and Magical Britain in general, had hardly been much more diverse.

But here? Azalea had never seen such variety in clothing, in hair and eyes and skin tone and race. She picked out fauns and naga, humanoids with pointed ears and dwarves with beards and everyone had their place.

They hung in cliques, like any gathering of people was wont to do, and each was full of people joking and laughing and talking warmly.

Azalea, next to her friends for years, had never felt more at home.

...

a/n: it's college time babyyy! i am so tired, & a little sorry that this is late.

x kie