Commisery
Alex rubbed at her face, exhausted. Another ineffective practice done – only eleven more till Slytherin flogged them for all to see. She was currently having her downtime occupied by an impromptu sympathy session, hosted in Cho and Marietta's dorm room. She was sitting on Cho's bed, stroking Cho's owl. There was a knock at the door.
"Got it!" said rosy-cheeked Sophie brightly. She pulled the door open to admit Melinda, who was balancing five teacups on a tray.
"My mum's secret blend," she told them, moving around the room for each of the girls to take a cup.
"A secret, huh?" Marietta said slyly from where she lay on her bed, a D&E textbook open before her. "So what's in it?"
"Maybe you should check that book for the definition of 'secret', Marietta," Melinda said, raising an eyebrow behind her glasses.
"Come on, we can keep a secret, Mel," Cho coaxed.
"And risk summary execution by my mother? I'll pass."
They each took a sip of the flavoured water. It was warm and light; a floral sweetness reminiscent of honey; well-balanced and calming. Warmth instantly surged through Alex's body, and she gave a contented sigh. Sophie's eyes were closed, as though deep in consideration. She opened them after a moment.
"First flush, black; only a touch of cow's milk, though could do without; a pod of vanilla – smooth, velvety; and then..." She took another sip. "Is that starflower?"
The others fell about laughing as Melinda narrowed her eyes, her mouth flickering between a scowl and a smirk. "Only you, Soph," she muttered, fondness bleeding into her tone. "Only you."
Sophie fluttered her eyelashes innocently. Alex felt some of the tension in her muscles alleviate. It felt remarkably nice to be able to laugh about something – anything. After they'd finished gloating and swearing to secrecy, attention turned to Alex.
"So, I take it practice didn't go so well?" Cho asked.
Alex tilted her head back to look up at the painted ceiling; midnight blue and speckled with flecks of gold, silver, and bronze. "What gave it away?"
"The twenty minute shower," said Marietta.
"The glum looks," said Sophie.
"The staring into space," said Melinda. "Literally," she added.
Alex quickly corrected her gaze, looking to each of them uncertainly. "So you all decided you'd...?"
"Share in a bit of commisery," Melinda confirmed, nodding.
"Definitely not a word, by the way," said Marietta, flicking through her textbook.
"So, what's wrong?"
She glanced at Cho, who had spoken. "A better question would be 'What's right?'" Alex said, sighing. "I'm supposed to play a Quidditch game in front of a school that expects me to fail, my own house looks down on me, one of my best friends has abandoned me, another's repressing a complete mental breakdown and refuses help; all on top of the fact that everyday I'm getting judged for not having one gender all the time, and I still can't control my Metamorphosing!"
Silence met this admission, prolonged as the girls either thought of what to say or for someone else to speak for them. Marietta broke it when she looked up from her textbook and said, smiling wryly, "So, in summary: you're a complete mess."
Melinda scowled at her, apparently offended on her behalf, though Alex simply shrugged and nodded.
Sophie looked contemplative. "Scott's having a breakdown?"
"I – " Alex stalled herself. She knew Scott wouldn't be happy if the girls knew he was having a hard time of things.
"I sort of assumed he was doing a strong and silent type thing," Melinda said idly.
"Well, if he was, it worked wonders on you," Sophie teased.
"You're one to talk," said Marietta, smirking.
Sophie's face flushed even more than usual.
Cho, as was usually her job, called them away from the topic of Scott, "We've more important things to deal with right now, you three."
Alex shot her a grateful look. It was always very awkward to bear witness to the girls prattle on about her close friend, though Cho always seemed to realise when they were making Alex uncomfortable.
Her face returning to its usual pigment, Sophie raised an eyebrow. "You called Croaker your best friend, you know."
"Well, he is."
"You know he hates you, right?" Marietta asked.
"He doesn't," Alex said resolutely.
They all looked at each other uncertainly, whilst Alex rolled her eyes.
"He can't even bring himself to look in your direction, let alone speak to you," Melinda pointed out. "I'm fairly sure he just can't stand girls."
The others each crinkled their noses in distaste, which called for another sip of tea from each to counteract it.
"It's not that," Alex insisted. "He just... overthinks girls. Like there's a way he's supposed to approach us, but it's beyond his abilities."
"What does he think we are, Chimaeras?" Marietta asked critically.
Alex had no doubt that if Ethan believed girls were like Chimaeras he would have absolutely no issue interacting with them.
"Honestly, I'm surprised he and Scott even lasted this long as friends," said Sophie. "I mean, they aren't very similar, are they?"
Alex decided it wasn't worth disagreeing out loud, since it would be necessary to explain Scott Carter to them in-depth, which she was certain he wouldn't appreciate – emotionally reserved as he was. But as far as Alex was concerned, most of the two boys' differences were surface level; they were very similar in that they were both the biggest pair of anoraks she'd ever met. Encyclopaedic knowledge of the most obscure factoids was their speciality. The biggest issue was reconciling the differences that did exist, and with the way things were, such a hope seemed to be an impossibility.
Ethan was bitter at Alex for sticking with Scott - to Ethan, Scott was the problem. Blaming Scott for the two of them attempting Quidditch was ridiculous when, after all, she'd been the one to push Scott to join. But Ethan had long complained about Scott's so-called 'Quidditch brainwashing'. The very notion was ridiculous; were Scott capable of such things, Alex would now be a die-hard supporter of the Wimbourne Wasps. But whilst Alex found herself constantly ready to forgive, Ethan was not, and she knew that the other night's duel must still weigh on his mind, as it did for all of them.
Cho hummed deliberately, her expression insinuating quite a degree of thought. "Your Metamorphosing, that's still a struggle for you?"
Alex nodded glumly.
"Well, I wonder if you could get help from someone with the knowledge to control it?"
Alex shrugged. "Well, books haven't helped particularly. There's none that've been written by any actual Metamorphmagi, no proper guide; Here's How You Metamorphose on Command, nothing like that."
"Right," Cho said, still with her considering look. "But what if there were... well... is an actual Metamorphmagus you could go to for questions?"
"Then I'd say you were holding out on me," Alex muttered facetiously.
"I only heard about it yesterday!" she said defensively.
Alex blinked. "Wait, you're serious?"
The other girls looked at Cho in askance, too.
"I mean, it's not like we speak with the seventh years much – outside of prefects, I suppose – so really, it's no wonder we had no idea," Cho began to ramble. "It was actually a prefect who told me – well, not told, per se, but I overheard at least – though she's supposedly hard to miss, so –"
"Cho," Alex interrupted quietly, "are you saying there's someone else here... like me?"
"Maybe?" she answered uncertainly. "The prefect I heard it from – that Robert Hilliard – didn't go into too much detail, but I think she's a seventh year."
"Does this person have a name?" asked Sophie.
"Er, Nymphadora Tonks?"
"Is that the one with a Sleakeazy Hair-dye addiction?" Melinda asked.
Marietta rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, if she's a Metamorphmagus."
Alex was hardly listening. Another Metamorphmagus? It all seemed too good to be true. Was this the solution she so desperately needed to all her woes? The person that could tell her exactly how to make her transformations behave? Distracted as she was, she almost didn't notice the beginning of the disconcerting sensations that accompanied metamorphosis; a tingling feeling akin to the experience of a climbing sneeze – but not limited to the nose; all-encompassing to the body.
Alex stood suddenly, causing Cho's owl to hoot indignantly as it fluttered over to the windowsill.
"Sorry," Alex spluttered out. "Thanks for the tea, and, er, commisery."
Alex was out the door and six steps down when the steps under their feet vibrated for but a moment, before –
"Oh, arse."
Alex fell, landing painfully on the proportion in question. The twisting staircase had quite suddenly given out, its evil magic smoothing it into an instant slide. Alex – quite gracelessly – descended the helter skelter from hell, picking up more and more speed as it stretched on. Finally, after bumping uncomfortably against the walls on the way down, the once-a-staircase forcefully deposited him into the common room. Several students glanced up disdainfully at his sprawled form, before returning to their assorted studies.
He stood, scowling at the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, as if she had personally attacked him with her cursed staircase, and slouched off up the boys' staircase, thoughts of Nymphadora Tonks displaced from his mind.
Almost three-hundred miles away, encamped in a clearing surrounded by looming oak trunks, was a collection of canvas shelters. The faint silver sliver of lunar light that peeked through the overcast sky was not enough to explicate their colours, nor their number. This, however, didn't seem to bother the creature that weaved its way onto the scene. Its large orange eyes scanned the amassed tents, before locking onto one, somehow knowing its target at a glance.
The tent itself was occupied by two ten-year-olds; nestled in their sleeping bags, and awake well beyond their bedtime. Their idle chatter was quiet enough not to disturb the neighbouring tents' occupants, but no less enthusiastic in its fervour. The two girls, one Lindsay Carter and one Demelza Robins, were deep in discussion of some exciting plan for the morrow.
"– once we're there," Lindsay, the darker of the two, was saying, "we just need to slip away so no-one sees where we go. Then it's East," she continued, indicating a hand-drawn map, "and just after that is this section Muggles can't go into. And then..."
Her drawing of a unicorn didn't quite do the creature justice, but the equine beast – with its resplendent white coat and pure golden hooves – was unmistakably the true goal of their rule-breaking.
"Amazing," Demelza murmured, her eagerness palpable. "What are they like?"
"They hate boys," Lindsay replied.
Demelza nodded. "That's fair."
"The one I met almost murdered Scott. He tried to pretend he wasn't scared after, but he was. His Boggart was a unicorn for a while after that, until it..."
Lindsay trailed off suddenly. There was an odd sound just outside, and she could swear that something had just collided with the tent. Glancing at Demelza nervously, Lindsay awaited the scolding from one of the adults or their patrol leader. After a few seconds of silence, a curious noise called from beyond the canvas.
"Hoo... Hooo."
Astounded, Lindsay unzipped the tent flap, and emerged partially into the frigid evening. She twisted her head about, reminiscent of the creature she was looking for; and sure enough, there were the familiar burning orange orbs of the family owl staring back at her.
"Merlin!" Lindsay half-shouted, both a curse and a cry of greeting.
"Hooo... Hoo!" was the eagle-owl's reply, before he leant down to pick a letter off the half-melted snow.
Lindsay moved back into the tent, mortified by her loud exclamation, and still in mild shock from the arrival of her unexpected visitor. Merlin followed her in, letter clutched in his beak.
"Your owl?" Demelza whispered. "Who's the letter from?"
Lindsay took the envelope from the bird's mouth, but she'd already recognised the neat handwriting of her brother printed on the front. As overjoyed at receiving a letter from her estranged sibling as she was, something in her gut told her that whatever Scott had to say wasn't anything overly pleasant. His letters over the past month had been sparse with details on life at Hogwarts, and he never seemed to go into detail about his progress with his Quidditch team.
Instead, he had been more interested in life at home, especially her birthday. Of course, she'd provided him with all the details – she'd had a small party with a few friends, they'd gone ice-skating on the tarn in the woods, and she'd gotten a number of gifts she'd been hoping for (no new broomstick, though) – but she couldn't help but notice how he skimmed over any query directed at himself.
She'd say he was homesick, and no wonder. She didn't know if she could manage without any of her family for that long, she'd go stir-crazy. Scott did have friends, however, so she was slightly surprised at his behaviour in his letters; and it wasn't like him not to 'subtly' indicate some great success he'd achieved, unless he was saving it for the right moment.
"Um," Demelza cut into her thoughts. "So are you going to open it?"
"What? Oh, right!"
She tore the envelope open, and unfolded the letter within. She took a breath in, but was interrupted by an indignant hoot.
"Er," Demelza said, glancing between her and Merlin uncertainly, "I can cover my ears?"
"Don't be silly," Lindsay said, to her and to the owl. "Demelza can listen if she wants." She glanced back down at the letter, and then read aloud:
"Hey Lindy,
"I'll dispense with the usual, and get straight to it, I suppose. I've written this to you mostly to get some of this off my chest. I can't say it to anyone else. I messed up – a lot. In the last month I've managed to basically ruin everything that I had at Hogwarts. I've been the worst friend imaginable, and have repeatedly gotten myself hurt by being a blundering moron. But I suppose I should stop the endless slew of self pity – I've gotten a little too good at it recently.
It's difficult to completely explain, but me gaining the Beater position hasn't gone down too well with the rest of my house. They're not big fans of the role, and Alex and I have faced a fair bit of harassment as a result. Ethan got pulled into it too – you know how easy a target he is. It sort of strained things between us. And then there's this girl –"
Both Lindsay and Demelza raised their eyebrows.
"- Not that sort of girl. A bad sort. The type that thinks Dad's a blood traitor and Mum's –"
The message cut off at this part, continuing on the next paragraph.
"Regardless, we've had something of a tiff, me and this girl. A really bad one. A lot of mistakes were made, more than once, especially by me. I thought I could outplay the girl, but she hit me with a spell before I could deflect it back at her. It was a bad one, and they haven't been able to remove it so far. Now I've ended up what the school matron calls 'heavy-hearted', which is apparently a real condition she can diagnose.
But that was the last straw, I think. Ethan just couldn't take it anymore, and now he's gone. Not gone gone, he's fine, but he's not my f–"
The letter cut off again.
"I just kept pushing my luck. I made an Unbreakable Vow, I agreed to a duel, I had us join the Quidditch team.
Oh Merlin, Quidditch. I almost had to leave the team. If I lost the duel I was bound to resign. But not just me. I forced Alex into it, too. Their life wasn't at risk like mine, but it still amounted to the same thing. But I think a part of me wanted to lose that duel, so that I'd have an excuse to leave the team, so Alex wouldn't have to go through with it either. Because it's so terrifying, Lindy. The school expects us to fail. Our team expects us to fail. I expect us to fail.
You can't tell Mum or Dad any of this. Especially not Dad, I don't think I could handle that. I can't talk about it with Alex, either. I've dragged them this far, and I've hurt them. They won't admit it, it's not like Alex, but I have. I refuse to burden them even more than I already have. Every time they try to ask how I am, I feel even worse. I don't deserve their concern, or their pity.
And I certainly don't deserve my own, despite doing nothing but providing it.
Reading back on what I've written, I've sort of gone off the rails a little. Anyway, chances are you're reading this with Demelza Robins, so hi Demelza."
"Um, hi Scott," she said awkwardly.
"Melz, he can't hear you."
"If you want to see me embarrass myself, my house, my school, and our family, the game's on the 1st of March."
What followed was a barely legible line, which had evidently been crossed out several times, but from what Lindsay could make out:
"Tell Dad it's fine if he can't make it."
The blue liquid rippled with incandescent fury, contained barely by the magically-reinforced pewter. Ethan swiftly brushed the chopped bat hearts off the chopping board into the bubbling mixture, whilst Pellon stirred with a metal rod. The potion began to settle as it shifted to a vivid green, ready for the next stage of development.
As far as Monday mornings went, this one was going about as well as could be expected. Very nearly two weeks on, and he was still quite isolated. He wasn't particularly good at inserting himself into friendship situations; he'd had a total of two flukes in his life, and he didn't expect many more to come his way any time soon. Declan Haworth was difficult to approach, and Eddie Carmichael kept trying to sell him on some scheme or another. Belby was nice enough, but he and Carmichael were attached at the hip, it seemed.
Ethan went to glance at his open textbook, only to – unwillingly – find his eyes drift past it to Alex. He was presently screwing up his face in consternation as Declan Haworth salvaged their potion from whatever mess had been created. Ethan sighed aloud – almost Scott-like in his theatrics. Immediately realising what he'd done, he quickly returned to checking Magical Drafts and Potions.
And there was the guilt and regret. Excellent.
"I get it."
His head snapped around to gaze at the one he was certain had spoken. The smaller boy had to have been the culprit, but he wasn't looking his way, and it was Emile Pellon – self-professed hater of Mudbloods and co-evildoer of Scarlett Skeres, Emile Pellon. He'd had one actual non-Potion related conversation with him – when they'd planned for that damned duel – but to speak now... What did he mean by it?
"Er-um..." Ethan stammered. "The recipe, you mean?"
"It's about survival," Pellon continued. Ethan couldn't see his face directly, but he could see it reflected in the luminescent green substance sitting in Ethan's cauldron.
"Erm, well, yes. It's an Antidote to Common Poisons."
"Sometimes it means making choices you wish you didn't have to make. But it's worth it when the alternative means something far worse for you. If that's what you're worried about, anyway."
Pellon had looked away from the potion. His blue eyes beheld Scarlett beside Scott, an expression on his face that was difficult to define. His eyes swiftly averted when Skeres' dark gaze shifted towards them, though Ethan wasn't nearly as fast. Her eyes lacked their usual terrifying intensity, but they narrowed regardless as they set themselves on him. Fearing the onset of some dark curse or petrification, he quickly slammed his eyes shut and turned his head away.
"We're not talking about making potions, are we?" Ethan asked.
Pellon passed a great deal of air through his nose and grimaced. "Are you going to add the knarl dung, or not, Croaker?"
Alex dashed ahead of everyone else coming out of the dungeons, eyes darting hither and thither. The question on his mind: Where were the seventh year Hufflepuffs presently? Not at Potions – that much was obvious. He was fairly sure the first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had just had Transfiguration, which would probably discount a decent portion of the school. He didn't think there was nearly enough time during morning break for a seventh year to properly study, so...
He sped out the Entrance doors, and made a sharp right turn around the castle's flank. He passed the broom shed and entered an expansive courtyard through a long archway beneath the battlements. A minute's scan showed the large stretch of green and white was beginning to fill up with students, but none with the distinctive hair that his quarry was reputed to have. Fuming slightly and not wanting to look foolish, he made his way around the outskirts of the courtyard until he found a way back inside the castle proper.
Fighting the urge to immediately give up, he continued down a corridor, thinking furiously. So ensnared by his own thinking was he, that he failed to notice the trap awaiting him as he turned the corner. With a rolling snap, the trebuchet unfurled its cargo.
Once upon a time, Alex would have simply dodged the projectile, but months of rigorous conditioning had corrupted this reflex into an instinct of holding his ground and swinging a large stick. No such stick existed in the vicinity.
Alex wasn't sure what would have been worse – if the projectile really had been a Bludger, or the reality of the situation. The dungbomb collided with his chest with such ferocity that it was a wonder Alex escaped the reception of a fractured rib. The pratfall that ensued could have given the one from two days prior competition. Then there was the smell – no, Alex decided, this is far worse than a Bludger.
A small figure materialised, hovering over the mechanism that had lobbed the pong. He was garishly garbed and grinning ear-to-ear, seeming immensely pleased with himself.
"Oopsie-daisy! Didn't expect students would be coming this way!" Peeves lied.
"You complete arse!" Alex spat.
Peeves clearly wasn't listening – he seemed far more absorbed with reloading the siege weaponry. Alex attempted to climb to his feet, clutching his smarting chest, only to be forced to throw himself out of the way of yet another dungbomb.
The poltergeist cackled loudly as Alex extracted his wand.
"Oooooh, the ickle firstie thinks he can do magic. Go on then, show us your best sparks!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Peeves easily darted out of the spell's path, and opened his mouth. "STUDENTS USING MAGIC IN THE CORRIDORS!" he bellowed. "200 POINTS FROM RAVENCLAW!"
At about this point, Alex was feeling remarkably close to what he imagined Scott felt every time he went red in the face and started shouting.
"Accio Peeves' hat!" came a voice.
The poltergeist shrieked in rage as his hat suddenly departed his head. Alex watched it zoom away, down the corridor he'd been walking, towards a girl. Her short hair was a shocking shade of fuchsia, though Alex saw it only for a moment before it was covered by Peeves' belled hat.
The girl shook her head, and the sound of Christmas rung out almost two months late. "Wotcher Peeves," she said, her voice thick with familiar London inflection. She pointed her wand at what she might have called 'titfer'. "Locomotor hat."
The hat abruptly leapt off her head, and sped off down the corridor.
"Well, you'd better be off after it, then," she said to Peeves, smirking. "It's got a hot date with the filthiest toilet this floor."
Spitting and swearing, the poltergeist zoomed off after the quickly receding hat.
The girl smiled wryly. "I'll be paying for that one later. Only way to get him to bugger off, though."
"You're Nymphadora Tonks," Alex said. It wasn't a question.
Nymphadora's hair then performed a spectacular trick – it suddenly flashed red, and then returned to its previous pink just as quickly.
"Just Tonks, if you please," she replied grimly.
"Sorry," Alex muttered hastily, "it's just that, er, I've actually been looking for you."
"For me?"
"Um... Yes?"
"What for?"
What for, indeed, Alex thought. He wasn't entirely certain what he wanted to ask this Tonks. What was it like to be a Metamorphmagus? How have you managed this long without going insane? Are you like me in any way?
There was then that oh-so-familiar sneeze-like sensation, and Alex suddenly found herself standing before a very dumbfounded Tonks.
"Erm, that's what for," Alex said.
"You're..."
"A Metamorphmagus, yeah," Alex finished for her. "But... I don't just change appearance. It's more than that."
"Well, yeah," Tonks said. "I was also going to say, you're both a witch and a wizard."
"Sometimes, I'm actually something in between... or neither," Alex said, sighing. "I don't really know. I just... I wish I wasn't."
Tonks' expression looked calculating for a few moments, before she nodded. "Alright, come with me."
Alex blinked. "With – ?"
"Peeves'll be back soon, and you don't want to see him angry. He can do worse than treat you like a castle wall, best believe me."
She indicated down another corridor, which they made their way down, until they found an empty classroom. Once they were safely ensconced within, Tonks turned to face Alex.
"Before anything else, I should probably know your name. You already know mine."
"Alex. Wroxton. Alex Wroxton," she managed to get out.
Tonks nodded. "Wotcher, Alex. So..." she intoned, clicking her tongue idly. "Metamorphosing's more than a little finicky."
Alex didn't really know how to respond; she'd been made aware of that much from the last twelve years of her existence.
"Would you like to walk me through your experiences so far?"
Alex thought for a few moments. "I... Well, it's been a problem all my life at this point. I never knew it was magic, necessarily, but I did know that there wouldn't be many that could understand.
"Getting too familiar with people outside of my family was always dangerous. Exactly what the dangers could have been weren't always super clear, but that always made it... scarier, I suppose.
"So now, I'm always tense, expecting my own... morphing or whatever to give me away. No matter how hard I try to beat it back, it always slips by me. I've tried everything, but I just can't fight it.
"How?" she pleaded. "How am I supposed to fight it?"
Tonks didn't say anything for a while, merely stood there, smiling wryly. Eventually she spoke. "Leave it to a Ravenclaw to overthink something, but wind up with no real answers or ideas."
"Wha – ?" Alex began.
"Sorry," said the older girl. "Why not take a seat?"
Alex did so, sitting in one of the chairs standing beside a desk. She bit her lip, expectantly awaiting what she hoped would be a decisive solution for her problem.
"Right. Well, to start with – what you're doing is fighting something that can't be fought."
Alex felt her face drop as her mood did the same. "There... There's really nothing?"
Tonks sighed. "I didn't say that."
"But... how've you managed to get this far? Have you had to deal with changing all this time? How are -" Alex stopped herself short as Tonks held up a hand for pause.
"Maybe one thing at a time, hey?"
Alex noticed that her leg was vibrating uncontrollably now that she was seated. She willed it to still. "I... Okay," she said uncertainly.
"Let me tell you," Tonks said, twisting her head to one side, "I've never gotten anywhere trying to shove these changes aside. When they come, they come.
"You're forgetting that you're human, too. Sometimes you feel a certain way, and your body will just respond. With us, that means we Metamorphose, whether we want to, or not."
Alex shook her head, feeling tears forming in her eyes. "I can't keep living like that! With me, it's not like my hair or eyes change colour – it's my whole biological makeup!"
"But," Tonks continued, "that doesn't mean you can't ever control it."
And then she was screwing her face up. Her body began to lengthen, her hair changed from pink to platinum blonde, her nose widened, before she changed it all up again. Yellow eyes, then brown, then pink. Her heart-shaped face morphed, her cheekbones narrowing, then widening. By the time she was done, she'd settled on a look that made Alex think of a much older version of herself - fair-haired and light-eyed, complete with a radiant smile.
Alex could only look on in wonderment at what she was seeing. A very warm pleasant feeling swept through her entire body, feeling oddly similar to her Metamorphosing, but without the accompanying fear or anxiety. She managed to tear her eyes away from the sight before her to check her own form, but saw that it was unchanged.
"How?" was all Alex could muster.
"You can't fight what you are, Alex," Tonks said. "But you can be yourself, to the absolute best of your capabilities. There are things you can control – just how much you express yourself."
Alex felt her lip wobble. "You make it seem so easy."
"It's not, at first. But when you take your first step, you aren't fighting your leg, you're learning to move just another part of you. That's all it is – you're just flexing another muscle, and after a little you find you can walk just fine, normal-like."
Tonks screwed her face up again, and in moments she was back to how she'd looked when she'd found Alex.
"Things aren't gonna be the exact same in how we experience stuff, but trust me on this. I've been somewhere similar."
A distant crashing and shrieking met their ears then, carrying from somewhere beyond the classroom door. Peeves, it seemed, had returned from the pursuit of his hat.
"We should probably make ourselves scarce before he finds us," Tonks remarked. "He's not bound to be happy. Lucky I know a secret exit." And she moved over towards the classroom's window.
"Secret?" Alex asked wryly, as they both departed for the courtyard beyond.
It was later that night that Alex found herself once again standing before the mirror that had for so long been the bane of her self-esteem. This time, however, she examined her features with a different vigour.
Expression. That was what Tonks had been adamant about. She would need to find creative, unique methods of expressing herself. Small things to start with, leaving room for plenty of growth. If she kept at it, she'd find that she could begin to surprise herself by what she was capable of.
Tonks had continued to discuss Alex's situation until morning break had concluded, with the promise to follow up again soon. Now Alex was here, staring herself in the face. It'd been exhilarating to see herself reflected in Tonks' features, a feeling she so often struggled to experience when she saw herself, but now...
Alex squinted. How was she feeling? That was the secret to learning apparently - to lean into sense. What did she want added, changed? How could she enhance what she was seeing? There were no thoughts of how she should appear, nothing of that loud voice that demanded she be unlike herself. Just what she wanted.
What she wanted was a streak of pink in her hair.
Her eyes went wide.
