Three, the stunt worker with many piercings and eye shadow so smoky it danced with flecks of fiery amber, had blurred around Bagsy as they applied her make up and put her into the ridiculous dress that constituted her costume. 'Let's cover up those scars again,' Three said as they pushed paste-like stuff into the indents and placed foundation over them, all the while Bagsy grit her teeth against the pain.
Shoved towards the set, and finding a script thrust into her hand, Bagsy barely had a chance to look at the two corridors leading off from the main room before the rehearsal began. As terrible as she had been before she read through the script, her acting only got worse as she grimaced at what was going on in the story. Rose Deprive flirted cringe-inducingly with Benji 'Bites' and Ko 'Fang' Fin. The worst thing about it was that most of the 'romance' involved vampire themed puns, or really weird comments on vampire specific things.
At one point, Rose was meant to ask Fang if being bitten by a vampire would be any different than being bitten by a human, to which Fang would suggestively say 'much better'.
Bagsy politely declined to read that line.
'We can take it out of the episode if it makes you uncomfortable, darlin',' Philip offered, clicking his fingers for someone to hand him a script before drawing a line through it. Bagsy let out a relieved breath.
As the episode focussed on the action, though, it became less embarrassing to act. The two vampire boys, though enemies of Rose, ended up having to team up with her when they found themselves trapped in a village that had been insidiously taken over by face-changers. The sets felt very real, and the costume for the face-changers sent shivers down Bagsy's spines. When they revealed their true forms, they had morphed faces that were half one thing and half another or hands where they should have feet. All of it was meant to be deeply disturbing and Bagsy found herself swept up in the storytelling.
By the end of their forced team up, Rose convinced the two vampires, who had fallen in love with her in the span of a few days, to abstain from hunting and killing. The narrator, who for some reason only appeared in the show at this one point and never before or again, would say how Rose was a fool for thinking a vampire could ever do such a thing.
The episode ended with Fang, restless from not killing, unable to hold back his urges anymore. He killed an innocent girl at the episode's close, unable to resist his cravings, and lavishing in the dying cries of his bloodied victim.
At that moment, Bagsy certainly wasn't thinking about inappropriate flirting. Mezrielda was all she could worry about and how this episode might make people treat her.
'Can't you change that part?' Bagsy asked Three after the rehearsal, as the stunt worker removed all the parts of her costume and the many layers of make-up plastered onto her face.
'Are you kidding? That's the best part! It's so shocking and dark... Rose loves Fang and Fang loves Rose, but it's a tragic affair because he's a vampire.'
'So?'
Three laughed, then realised Bagsy was being serious. 'You know what vampires are like.'
Bagsy couldn't find a voice to respond with she was so angry at the whole situation.
'Well done for remembering your permission slip,' Three said, changing the topic and indicating the piece of paper with permitted written on it in calligraphy that they'd given to Bagsy last time. 'It's always annoying when the tiles activate with each step.'
'I can imagine,' Bagsy said, distracted by a section of material at the edge of the tent that had a small crease in it she hadn't noticed before.
Once she was out of her costume she thanked Three, who left to practise their stunts, and began to collect her things. She tiptoed to the crease and found a hidden passage behind it. Glancing behind to be certain no one was following her, Bagsy slipped into it.
Her heart thudded in her ears as the small, dark space messed with her head, but she pushed on, digging her nails into the palms of her hand. It was only a few steps before she reached the end, finding a padlock on a cold, metal door that she could barely see in the dark.
Bagsy aimed her muggle torch's flickering light at the lock. It looked too strong to break and she didn't want to risk trying to use a spell on it, Starrett's image of the dam breaking playing in her head.
Pressing her ear against the door it wasn't just the coolness of the metal that sent a chill down her spine. Through the material she could hear a thousand tiny whisperings, melting on top of each other into an indecipherable mess.
'What's that light in there?' Bagsy heard a voice say and, jumping out of her skin, she clicked off her torch.
Light filled the small passage as Lewis, the boy with the wiry halo of blonde hair and lower face hidden by black material, pulled the entrance open.
Primrose was standing at his side, peering in. 'Is someone in there?' she asked Lewis, squinting her snake eyes at the darkness.
'You tell me.'
Primrose flicked her tongue out a few times and tasted the air. A look of recognition crossed her face as she picked up a smell, and her one snake eye and one ordinary eye fixed on the corner where Bagsy was crouched.
There a dreadful pause.
'No,' Primrose said at last. 'No one.'
'That whispering room always trips me out,' Lewis muttered, letting the tent flap fall closed again. 'And take that thing off,' he said to Primrose as their steps receded. 'Wearing gifts like that is how you become soft.'
Taking a few minutes to calm herself, Bagsy got to her feet and inched to the entrance. Checking no one was looking her way, she slipped back into the main room, hurrying for the exit.
'I'll speak to you later,' Bagsy heard Primrose say at the other end of the room, followed by hurried steps. Sharp claws dug into Bagsy's elbow as Primrose pulled her out of the tent. 'Come with me you idiot,' she hissed, pulling her bag over her shoulder as they went.
Once they were outside Primrose let go of her arm and walked towards the castle. 'How sssSTupid can you be?' she growled, her growing redder when she realised the strange emphasis she'd put on the S. 'What in Merlin's underpants drawer where you doing in there?'
'I got lost,' Bagsy lied, feeling a dull shock at the idea that Primrose might have intentionally covered for her.
'Don't do it again.' Primrose pulled her scarf tightly around her neck as they approached the double doors.
Bagsy looked over her shoulder to see Mezrielda's figure drawing nearer from the direction of the clearing. 'Do you know something?' Bagsy asked. Primrose ignored her. Taking a different tack, she peered at Primrose's scarf. 'That's a Rocketing Unicorn scarf.' A unicorn with fireworks was sewn on the end in gold; the emblem of the Rocketing Unicorns.
Primrose ripped the scarf off and shoved it into a pocket. 'It's a dumb scarf that I don't even care about.' She increased her pace to get away from Bagsy.
Letting her leave by slowing her own pace, Bagsy watched her with a concerned expression.
'What was that about?' Mezrielda asked, having reached her side.
'I'm... not sure.'
'How did it go?' she pressed as they set off back to the castle.
'I found a hidden passage,' she answered. 'And a locked door with sounds of whispering beyond it.'
Mezrielda stopped in her tracks. 'A hidden passage? A locked door with whisperings beyond it? Bagsy, those people are rotten. I beg of you, do not return tomorrow. Quit.'
'We've been over this already. If I quit and they are bad people they'll have more reason to hurt me. Besides, I think I have an idea on how to get into that room...'
Mezrielda frowned. 'Did you perfect the sealable substance? Can it open locks now?'
'No. But, and I can't believe I'm going to say this, I think I have someone who can show me how to unlock the door.'
'Who?'
'It's a Friday,' Bagsy said to a mystified Mezrielda. 'On Fridays I have Artifisiary.'
Professor Starrett was waiting at her desk. 'Come in,' she said as she took great pleasure in writing big, red Xs on homework with an even bigger, and even redder, quill.
'Hello, professor,' Bagsy said, hoping appeasement would get her what she wanted. 'I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you put into teaching me–'
'Cut to the chase,' Starrett muttered in disinterest, continuing with her marking while Bagsy put her bag down. 'Not everyone has time to listen to you drabble on.'
'Uhh, well, I, um–'
'I just told you I don't have time for drabble.'
'I want to learn how to cast the unlocking charm.'
Starrett put her quill down and walked, posture perfect, over to Bagsy. 'Finally. That wasn't so hard, was it? If you're wanting to cast a spell, we'll need to be cautious when releasing the magic that's built up within you over the years. Just in case your mind didn't grasp it last lesson, with every spell you've tried and failed to cast, you've added some water pushing against that dam inside of you. I must ask, then, for you to truthfully tell me how many spells you've tried to cast. Judging from the protego charm you emitted previously, it's a fair amount.'
'I've lost count,' Bagsy said. 'Most nights I stay up until one or two in the morning repeating a spell over and over, and I've been doing that since my first year.'
Starrett stopped abruptly. 'Seriously?' Bagsy nodded. 'If you're lying and I give you some veritaserum I will know.'
'I'm not lying.'
Starrett's eyebrows rose high as if she didn't know what to do with this information. 'It's going to be a long lesson, then.' With a wave of her wand, Starrett summoned a pile of padlocks that almost reached the ceiling. 'Start running.'
Bagsy built up a sweat, getting more tired as she exercised. Every now and then Starrett would tell her to stop and cast the unlocking charm. Doing as instructed, Bagsy would stand ready, focus herself, and cast alohomora at one of the locks in the pile. The first ten or so times it didn't work. At best, nothing would happen, but at worst a searing pain would burst into her arm and the tip of her wand would glow a dangerously bright purple.
When that happened, Starrett would hold her own wand against Bagsy's skin and calm the agony, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder to help her stay standing through the pain.
'You're fine,' Starrett would murmur in what, for her, could pass for comforting. 'You're fine.'
For a few minutes Bagsy would have to stand, enduring the dull ache, as the feeling of a strained muscle left her. Starrett would look like she wasn't certain Bagsy could take it.
'I want to keep practising,' Bagsy would say firmly.
It was all worth it when, around dusk, one of the locks popped open.
Starrett shot Bagsy an appraising look. 'That will do. We'll stop there–'
'No!' Bagsy protested, her hair sticking to her face and her shirt and trousers drenched in sweat, her heavy robe abandoned long ago.
'Excuse me?'
'Sorry, I just really want to get this perfect.'
'It is late, Beetlehorn. I'd like dinner, a cup of tea, and to put my feet up.'
Eyes darting back and forth, Bagsy thought quickly. 'Can I continue on my own?'
'Absolutely not. Your magic is dangerous right now. If you perform this wrong, or exercise too much before casting a spell, you'll overload this room with power that could bring the entire structure down. What do you think that pain you get is, exactly? Why do you think I stop you after every two to three laps? It's not because I'm a fan of prime numbers.' Starrett shook her head in disapproval. 'No, Miss Beetlehorn. You mustn't do this alone until we are certain the mammoth reserve of magic within you has been safely expelled.' Not knowing what to do, Bagsy turned big, pleading eyes on Starrett.
One of Starrett's eyes twitched in frustration. 'Fine. I'll bring my dinner here,' she grumbled, leaving the room with angry click-clacks.
'Thank you!'
'Instead of thanking me start putting in real effort.'
It was many hours since the sun had set, Starrett having summoned a comfy armchair to recline in, before Bagsy felt like she had enough control over her spellcasting to do it consistently. She'd cast alohomora at least thirty times now without any serious pain lighting up the muscles of her arm. Unfortunately, her spells were rather weak, and the more complex locks, or locks that were larger, remained impervious to her spells. But, as far as Bagsy's memory could tell her, the lock in the acting troupe tent was small enough that there was a chance her magic could work on it.
At some point approaching midnight Bagsy was running back down the steps of the tiered benches, feeling particularly out of breath as Starrett hadn't told her to stop and cast a spell for four laps this time. 'Are you sure this won't overload my magic–?'
Professor Starrett's head was lolling to the side, her usually pinched expression relaxed as she gently snored.
Glancing out the window to see the thick darkness of a late-night sky, Bagsy cringed in guilt. She also noticed, as she cooled down from her exercise, how cold the room was. Tiptoeing so as not to make the floorboards creak, she moved to Starrett's desk and poked around a bit, but not to be nosy. She found a thick blanket of red and gold. Wondering why the head of Slytherin house was so obsessed with the Gryffindor colours, she carried to blanket back to Starrett and laid it over her sleeping frame.
Starrett stirred. 'Dantes, get the tea cakes....' she mumbled before her head drooped back down and her snoring continued.
Holding back a laugh, knowing it might be the end of her, Bagsy picked up her bag and left, murmuring a 'Thank you,' before pulling the heavy Charms door closed.
The next morning Bagsy practically jumped out of bed. That Saturday was going to be a busy, exciting, and scary one. They had a visit to Hogsmeade in the morning and the second episode of the Vampire Affairs in the evening. Throwing on a warm jumper and some trousers, but deciding it was no longer cold enough for her cloak, Bagsy grabbed a bag of money and rushed out into the common room.
'Someone's chipper today,' said Emmeline from where she was petting Primrose's hairless cat.
Casting a glare at the cat, who had given Bill, Bagsy's rat, the injuries that had caused her death, Bagsy waved at Emmeline. 'Morning.'
'I'm waiting for Primrose,' Emmeline clarified, gesturing awkwardly at the cat, that didn't seem to know if it liked Emmeline petting it or not.
'Good luck with that,' said Bagsy, glancing in the direction of the girl's dormitory.
Emmeline sucked in a harsh breath. 'I'll sure need it.'
Pushing Primrose and her horrible cat from her mind, as well as Emmeline's seemingly hopeless attempts to befriend her, Bagsy found herself skipping as she approached the dining room. As if walking on sunshine, she pranced over to the Hufflepuff table, where she saw Mezrielda was already waiting. 'Good morning!' she greeted joyously.
Mezrielda looked her up and down. 'It's too early to be that happy.'
Bagsy frowned as she sat down. 'I thought you were a morning person?'
'I am. You're not.'
'Aren't I allowed to be happy in the morning?'
'I guess so. You're just usually a lot more... subdued. Why are you so energetic?'
Bagsy smiled widely. 'Because we're going to Hogsmeade together, of course!'
Blinking at her silently, Mezrielda swallowed. 'Yes,' she said, strangling her voice into a neutral response that she'd probably call mature. 'That is the case.'
'Oh, come on, you're excited, really.'
Mezrielda looked away. 'I suppose I'm a tad elated,' she admitted in a voice that was desperately trying to convey she didn't care.
Bagsy continued being a ball of energy as they lined up for the walk to Hogsmeade, bouncing up and down on her toes, and as they approached the village, taking extra steps and giving out little skips as they moved along. 'I was wanting to go to the Olde Sweet Shoppe and buy everything yummy I see,' Bagsy explained, giving her money pouch a jangle.
'I'd like to get a new quill from Ink Blots,' Mezrielda said. 'Mines a little... worn. I have just about enough for one of their cheaper ones.'
'Here.' Bagsy pulled five galleons from her pouch. 'Get a whole bunch of them.'
Eyeing the money hungrily, Mezrielda glanced at Bagsy. 'Are you certain?'
'Yup. We both know my parents are loaded and yours aren't. I've got plenty more for my sweets – it's only fair I share with you. Plus, you've been having a hard time recently, so if anyone deserves some nice new quills, it's you.'
Mezrielda gingerly put the galleons into her pocket, as if they were made of sand and would blow away in the wind.
Passing Hoohsair was a strange experience. The tall, crooked shop was as brightly painted as ever, its green, yellow and purple stripes twisting up its structure, but the windows were boarded up and a sign was stationed outside.
'It's shut,' Bagsy said, reading the sign. 'It doesn't say when it will re-open.'
Looking up at the building and taking it in, Mezrielda pursed her lips. 'The owner was murdered, remember?'
Bagsy nodded, thinking back to the recent article. 'By the breathing blight...'
'Let's go. We have sweets to eat and quills to buy.'
Nodding, Bagsy tore her eyes sadly from the sign and followed Mezrielda.
Swiftly, Bagsy raced along the jar-filled chocolate shelves of the Olde Sweet Shop, pushing treat after treat into the pastry basket she'd been given on entrance. She took fudge, toffee apples, gravy candy, peanut butter snowflake doughnuts, sugar skulls and tongue-tying tear drops to the counter, happily hefting the basket onto the till.
The clerk raised her eyebrows at the collection. 'Throwing a party?'
'Nope. Starring in a show.'
The clerk narrowed their eyes at Bagsy, then widened them in realisation. 'You're Rose Deprive!'
Suddenly wishing she'd said nothing, finding her energy leaving like a kicked over sandcastle, Bagsy gave a nervous nod.
'Your acting is superb,' the clerk told her. 'My father's an agent for actors and he was so shocked he hadn't noticed your talent before – it's his job to keep in the know!'
'T-thanks... how much are the sweets?'
'Oh, these? Rose Deprive can have them for free.' The clerk winked, handing the basket back. With a puff of icing powder, the basket shrunk around her things and formed into a palm-sized pastry ball that fit in her pocket for easy transport.
'Thanks,' Bagsy said, sneakily dropping a couple galleons on the till when the clerk was looking the other way before exiting the shop.
'What did you get?' Mezrielda asked, her nose sticking up in the air. She'd refused to enter the childish shop.
'Lots of stuff,' Bagsy answered as they walked to the quill shop.
Bagsy had just about finished listing her purchases as they walked back out, Mezrielda stroking the fake feathers of the quills she'd bought. One had green and silver stripes, another was ornamented with tiny blue gems.
Abruptly, Bagsy gripped Mezrielda's arm. Suddenly alert, Mezrielda looked sharply in the direction her eyes were fixed.
Professor Blythurst, pushed along by Professor Stery, was heading towards Pepsini's Curiosities. The shop's lights were on and Bagsy could see a figure sitting on the armchair by the fire place within.
'We need to go in there,' Bagsy breathed out.
'What, why?'
'Blythurst seemed like he never wanted to speak to Pepsini again,' Bagsy said. 'Why has he had a change of heart?'
Mezrielda said, 'Whatever reason it is it's none of our business.'
'Oh, of course.'
'Absolutely.'
They looked at each other in silence.
In unison, they started towards the shop.
Blythurst and Stery had already entered by the time they reached the door. Cautiously, Bagsy inched it open. Blythurst's usually weak voice was almost a normal volume he was forcing so much anger into it. His raspy, low tones reverberated through the shop, their fury making the little glass ornaments of the room tremble.
'You have no right,' Blythurst rumbled. 'No right at all to ask my students to be your messenger owls.'
'If Bagsy didn't want to deliver the message she wouldn't have,' Pepsini responded coolly, his hands clasping his wasp-decorated cane. He slowly raised his gaze from Blythurst to where Bagsy and Mezrielda had entered and were ducking behind a cabinet.
'You're stepping on my toe!' Bagsy whispered in complaint to Mezrielda.
'If you squeezed over a bit more I wouldn't have to,' Mezrielda shot back.
Pepsini sighed. 'Speak of the devil,' he muttered to Blythurst and Stery, before gesturing at the front of the shop. Stery and Blythurst turned and Bagsy and Mezrielda froze, looking back with wide eyes.
'Uhhh...' said Bagsy.
'Greetings,' said Mezrielda, pulling herself free from the small space they'd been trying to hide in.
Blythurst huffed in pain, looking tiredly at Stery. 'We're leaving,' he breathed out with difficulty, shifting in his wheelchair as if it was lined with thorns.
Stery pushed Blythurst towards the door. 'You shouldn't be here,' he told Bagsy and Mezrielda firmly.
Bravely, Bagsy stepped into their path. Blythurst narrowed his eyes into a fearsome glare, that was abruptly cut off as he broke into a coughing fit. Concern breaking out on his face, Pepsini rushed forwards, only stopped by Stery who held out a hand and shook his head in disapproval, something like deep hatred in his grey eyes.
'Please,' Pepsini begged. 'let me help him. He's going to die otherwise.'
Forcing his coughing down, Blythurst fought out words thick with mucus and pain. 'Can you bring Cotesia back?'
Pepsini's nostrils flared. 'You know I can't. Why must you be so cruel?'
'I wanted to accept our fates.' Blythurst motioned to Stery, who turned his wheelchair around to face Pepsini. 'I wanted to enjoy what time we...' He dragged in a ragged breath. 'What time we had. But you couldn't... accept that. You stole what time I had left with her from me... no cure can ever give me that back.'
As angry as Blythurst looked, Pepsini, who towered over him, was turning redder. 'She died so you might live. You'll have to forgive me for not wanting my dear sister's sacrifice to go to waste.'
Shoulders sagging, all the fight seemed to evaporate from Blythurst. 'I just want to be dust... so I can be with her again...'
Pepsini crouched down in front of Blythurst, a hand on the arm of his wheelchair. 'If you accept my treatment I'll let your dust be kept with hers when you pass on.'
As if suddenly remembering there were two children privy to this conversation, Stery looked at Bagsy and Mezrielda with his entirely grey eyes. 'You shouldn't be here,' he said, ushering them towards the exit.
Blythurst's breathing was becoming erratic, but he continued to force his words out. 'If I accept your treatment it will probably force me into years of agony before I get to be with her again.'
'If you refuse I can promise your ashes will never come near hers,' Pepsini spat.
Blythurst flinched at that.
Pepsini let out a breath, clasping his hands over his cane and staring pleadingly at Blythurst. 'If you accept the treatment your condition may improve. Your appearance I can guarantee would become miles better. Your hair may grow back, your skin might colour again, and your eyes may stop being, well.' He winced. 'Not to be uncharitable – but they may start to look normal. You could look like the Blythurst Cotesia would want you to look like. You could become the professor you're meant to be and make the difference to your student's lives she'd want you to make.'
Blythurst slumped in his chair, his frame wrecked and miserable. Something Pepsini had said had struck a nerve.
Something solidified within Bagsy, and she ducked below Stery's arms that were guiding her towards the exit.
'Hey–!' Stery protested, but too late.
Bagsy rushed to Blythurst's side and stood, chest puffed out, in front of Pepsini. 'I never met Cotesia,' she said. 'But I'm sure she would understand what Blythurst is going through. She'd want him to be happy, and she certainly wouldn't care about how he looks.'
Blythurst turned his eyes weakly onto her, looking rather touched by her proclamation.
'Besides,' Bagsy went on. 'Blythurst has been a great professor to me over the years. He's made a huge difference in my life! I wouldn't have my best friend Mezrielda if it hadn't been for his help brewing tangle-teasing solution in my first year!'
Bagsy gestured back at Mezrielda, who's brown eyes were icily fixed on Pepsini as if she wished her gaze alone could cut him in half. 'And I for one couldn't care less about his appearance. Everyone has something that makes them unique and cool – Blythurst has his quirks and other people have theirs. My hair is wild, Mezrielda has intimidating eyes,' Bagsy listed, not missing the proud twitch of Mezrielda's lips. 'You have your curled moustache,' she reasoned, gesturing at Pepsini's face. 'Stery has his grey eyes, Professor Fitzsimmons has those glasses that makes their eyes look like a bug, Starrett is short, Maisy has white unicorn hairs in her braids and...'
Bagsy trailed off.
Something wasn't right.
The atmosphere in the shop had changed like a bucket of freezing water had been dumped on everything around her. Everyone stared at her with wide eyes and mouths ajar. Blythurst and Pepsini looked surprised and Stery and Mezrielda looked horrified.
'What did you say about Stery's eyes?' Pepsini looked at Stery as he asked the question.
Stery said, 'Bagsy–'
'They're grey,' Bagsy answered in confusion. 'But that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say was that if everyone was the same it would be boring! It's not nice to insult Blythurst like you did–'
'Shut up,' Pepsini growled with a guttural rage that shocked her, as if a rug had grabbed her ankle. 'Grey as in the colour around the pupil is grey?' he checked, his eyes still on Stery. 'Or completely so?'
'Don't answer him,' Stery snapped.
Bagsy looked at Stery then back to Pepsini. 'I'm lost...'
She realised that, at some point, everyone had drawn their wands. Even Blythurst had his clasped, shaking, in one of his wasting-away hands.
Mezrielda grabbed Bagsy's elbow, pulling her away from Pepsini and Blythurst. 'We need to go,' she hissed in her ear.
Stery, seeming to have a similar idea, grabbed Blythurst's wheelchair and turned it towards the exit, keeping the other hand holding his wand, ready.
Moving like a cat stalking its prey, Pepsini stepped forwards, keeping his eyes unblinkingly on Stery. 'You were there.'
Blythurst fixed his uneven eyes on Pepsini. 'Try anything and you'll have to answer to Fitzsimmons.'
Pepsini forced his eyes off of Stery and onto Blythurst, as if someone had slapped him to look in that direction. 'How can you, of all people, defend him?'
Stery kicked the door open with a foot and used his leg to hold it there while Bagsy and Mezrielda darted out.
As Bagsy and Mezrielda drew in breaths of cold, fresh air, Blythurst said, 'Don't try to contact me again.'
Finally, Stery pulled Blythurst out of the shop and closed the door behind them.
Pepsini watched them through the window as if he was one of the many antiques crammed higgledy-piggledy within the space, collecting dust as the years went by.
A desperate glint in his eyes, Stery looked at Bagsy and Mezrielda. 'Keep this to yourself–' he said, but Mezrielda piped up before he could finish his sentence.
'We know. It was a slip of the tongue. We won't talk to anyone about this.'
'We won't?' Bagsy said in alarm to Mezrielda, who subtly shook her head, casting her a silencing look.
Stery breathed in relief. 'Good.'
Blythurst, however, did not look good. His skin had gone past pale and was heading into a yellow-greenish territory, his watery eyes seeming to lose all their colour and his hands trembled like a sweet wrapper blown along in the wind. 'S-Stery,' he said weakly. 'M-Mungo's.'
Stery took in Blythurst's appearance. 'Can you apparate?' Blythurst tried to shake his head. Instead, it stuttered to the side and held there, his eyes frozen as his breathing slowed.
Spinning Blythurst's chair around, Stery set into a run. Bagsy was about to set off after them when Mezrielda put a hand on her shoulder.
'We'd only get in the way,' she said. 'We should find a teacher and let them know Blythurst isn't well.'
Bagsy nodded. She understood the importance of letting the other professors know about the apparent emergency. What she couldn't understand was why her saying Stery had grey eyes turned a personal conversation into a Mexican stand-off they'd narrowly escaped.
While they hurried to find another professor, Bagsy glanced over her shoulder to see Pepsini had stepped out of the shop. His tall figure stood, as still as the trees of the nearby forest, his eyes specks of light in the distance, as he watched their retreating forms.
Something about the sight deeply troubled her.