THREE
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while you were sleeping
"Woah."
Eloise's scowl deepened. Magnus immediately took a generous step back.
"Noted."
There was a wrinkled mark on her cheek from her pillow and a rebellious strand of hair that was pasted against her forehead. "OWLs are only a month away, y'know. In case you'd forgotten."
Magnus knew that it was supposed to be a defensive jab, but he had actually forgotten. He waved it off.
He knew that it wasn't just about the exams—it couldn't be. Eloise was one of those people who planned their entire life day by day, week by week, month by month. She could probably finish her Charms OWL in time to polish her shoes and maybe cook an omelette before Professor Flitwick noted the one-hour mark.
No, it definitely wasn't about the exams.
· · ──── · ❈ · ──── · ·
ELOISE WOKE UP WITH a painful breath lodged in her throat.
It made her keel over the edge of her bed as she coughed violently, the feeling of murky liquid trickling down her lungs so real and all-consuming that it burned to breathe.
Her body was sore by the time the coughing ceased and stopped provoking the need to heave her respiratory organs out of her mouth and onto the floor. A bone-deep ache settled over her as she crawled back into the covers, her limbs moving languidly. She suddenly felt so aware of her own skin that her teeth chattered, each brush of her linen duvet against her like nails on a chalkboard.
Blurred and fragmented images flitted through her head like a roll of faulty tapes, blurry and ungrounded as most dreams were. Even then, the sensation of water clogging her ears and throat was overwhelming. It was horrifying and unmistakable and annoying.
Being plagued with visceral nightmares every time she closed her eyes made her feel small, like she was a child again. It was like that one irrational fear of the Bogeyman she had when she was younger, except this was a hundred times more terrifying, and she had a sinking feeling that this was somehow also very much real.
Casting the Silencing Charm that blanketed her four-poster bed every night had become a part of her routine that was as familiar as brushing her teeth and scribbling in her journal before bed. It felt a little like giving in, but Eloise would rather swallow her pride than be on Viktoriya Faire's Death List for the rest of her life.
She blindly reached towards the glass of water on her nightstand before bringing it to her lips, almost tipping it over onto herself when her hands jerked and trembled from the fading adrenaline.
When she dropped the empty glass onto her lap, she suddenly felt too awake for the darkness of the Black Lake outside her dormitory window. Even if the murky waters made it impossible to ever tell the time of day, she could tell that it was still an ungodly hour of the morning.
Eloise kicked herself out of her blankets and swung her legs over the bed, breathing in sharply when her bare feet touched the cold wood. She managed to find her old worn sneakers in the dark and slipped into them, not even bothering to bend down and pull them on completely.
"Lumos Minima."
A soft, faint light emitted from the end of her ebony wand, casting a delicate light against her face. She held the wand between her teeth as she pulled a knitted cardigan over herself and snuggled in.
The corridors of Hogwarts hid secrets within its crevices and casted flickering shadows against its walls, even more so after sunset. Eloise admitted that it wasn't the best place to be wandering alone at three in the morning while feeling like she had just been raised back from the dead.
She stopped at a lone painting and leaned in conspiratorially. "Hello there," she grinned as she reached up and prodded at the pear sitting innocently inside the oil painting. It squirmed in protest before the entire painting—frame and all—shifted on its hinges and proceeded to creak open like a giant, unconventional Hobbit door.
The smell of cinders and spices flooded over her as soon as she stepped in through the opening, and the warm glow of dying hearths was enough for her to wave the light away from the end of her wand.
And with a snap, Kippy the House-elf popped into existence before Eloise like a popcorn kernel.
"Miss Ryu! Kippy is so glad me Miss is here—oh, me Miss—"
Eloise crouched down onto her heels and tucked her arms around herself with a grin. She was now nearly the same height as the House-elf. "Hiya, Kippy. Everything good?"
The little House-elf beamed. "So very good, me Miss."
"Busy, huh?"
"Nothing Kippy can't handle!" she proclaimed, puffing her chest out and gleaming proudly.
Eloise's grin widened. "Of course."
"What can Kippy do for me Miss?" Kippy offered shyly, her nimble fingers fiddling with the hem of the worn sweater she was adorned in.
Eloise pretended to mull it over, her chin on her palms. "Some rosemary tea would be lovely, actually."
"Oh, ros'my tea does match tonight so," Kippy squeaked, her eyes widening. "It will only be seconds, Miss."
Eloise sank down onto one of the many benches that spanned the kitchens, a cozy reflection of the Great Hall right above their heads. She rested her chin onto her knuckles as she peered out an open window that was letting in a crisp breeze tasting of autumn and freshwater.
Something clinked onto the table before her. "Kippy made much ros'my tea for me Miss."
Eloise choked back a startled gasp when she saw that Kippy had seeped a bundle of freshly dried rosemary in a pint glass. "Merlin, Kippy. You'll run McGonagall out of the tea business, I think."
Kippy only smiled shyly, her hands clamped behind her back. She teetered excitedly between her toes and heels.
Eloise took a slow sip and basked in the steam that rose from the tea. Kippy remained in her spot, her eyes expectant.
"Hm?" Eloise tilted her head pointedly.
The House-elf jolted slightly before looking sheepish. "Kippy thinks Miss is sleepy."
Understatement. "Good observation, Kippy."
"Kippy heard," she began, her large ears sinking slightly in hesitation, "about a potion."
Eloise frowned in confusion, her brows furrowed. "A potion?"
"A potion to help me Miss at night. To sleep," Kippy whispered loudly, as if she knew to keep quiet but didn't know how to.
Eloise thinned her lips, suddenly cautious. "I don't need that, Kippy."
Kippy inched forward, her eyes darting around the kitchens as if she was expecting someone to pop out from the walls. "Kippy feels it every time me Miss is here. In the kitchens. There is darkness," she trembled. Her teeth chattered. "Shadows."
Eloise felt dread slowly seeping inside, and her neck prickled with the sensation of something looming over her. "I'm just stressed, is all."
"Kippy thinks more," the House-elf proclaimed. Eloise blinked back at her fervor.
"Oh, um..." she drifted off. She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped awkwardly to fill the silence.
Kippy suddenly reached from behind her back and dropped a glass vial onto the wooden table, letting it clatter dully. "Kippy already made it."
Eloise felt her eyes bulge out from her head as she choked on her tea, clamping a fist over her mouth with a sputtering cough. "Kippy!"
She knew to never raise her voice to House-elves—it was an unwritten rule within the kitchens, and upsetting a House-elf was a one-way ticket to getting barred from ever entering the kitchens again.
But sleep potions or draughts of any kind were carefully prescribed, and most medicinal recipes were so intricate and complex that the responsibility nearly always fell within the care of a special Healer.
And definitely not within the care of Kippy the House-elf, who probably made the potion in the Hogwarts kitchen sink.
The dark, shimmering purple swirled lazily within the flask. It was labeled "Flour/Flower."
"Kippy," she hissed, her hands scrambling to push the potion back into the House-elf's arms. "This breaks so many laws—I don't even know—Kippy!"
The House-elf blinked innocently. "It will help Miss. 'Tis the Draught of Heavy Sleep." She gave a wide, unbothered grin. "Kippy made it all herself!"
Eloise pressed her fingers against her temple in exasperation. "Yes, Kippy, but it's...dangerous to take without a Healer's prescription."
"Madam Pomfrey," Kippy replied without missing a beat.
"She's gonna have me expelled!" Eloise hissed.
"Kippy would never allow Miss to leave Hogwarts."
If only it were that simple.
Eloise let out a heavy breath and slid out of the bench, kneeling down onto the stone floors in front of the House-elf. "Kippy, isn't Hogwarts your home?"
Kippy let out the closest thing to a scoff. "Of course. Kippy is a free elf."
Eloise laid a hand to her chest as she whispered, "Hogwarts is my home too. You understand that?"
The House-elf noticeably deflated, her head hanging in defeat. Eloise sighed as she reached out and meticulously folded up the sleeves of the elf's bright yellow knitted sweater so that it no longer hung limply off her thin, bony arms.
"I appreciate the thought—I really do, Kippy, but—" her jaw snapped shut. Kippy has a trigger-happy mouth, as all House-elves do. She swallowed thickly, mulling over her words. "It's a dangerous thing," she merely said.
Kippy's eyes got a little more teary than usual. "Dangerous?"
Eloise really didn't want to go into it with a House-elf in a basement at three in the morning. "Yup. Like sticking out your hand to the Whomping Willow to chomp on. That dangerous."
"Oh no," Kippy shuddered, scratching at her yellow sweater in fear.
"Oh yes. Now let me get back to this barrel of tea you've just brewed for me."
· · ──── · ❈ · ──── · ·
"MALFOY, DON'T."
Unsurprisingly, Malfoy did.
"Ryu, can't you do something about this?" Malfoy hissed as he waved his timetables in the air, dangerously close to the nose of his disgruntled prefect. "Double Charms with Gryffindor?"
Eloise was cradling another violent, throbbing migraine to her temple and a nauseating tenseness in her chest, even with the thirty minutes of sleep she was able to cram in between Kippy's tea party and Olive's shrill alarm (which was quickly followed by Vik's string of well thought out curses). Her dark hair was pulled back neatly into a plait and tied with an emerald ribbon, but no matter how well put-together she seemed, the bruises under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
"Fortunately, the world doesn't revolve around you, Malfoy," Eloise snapped back.
"Ryu," Malfoy insisted firmly, somehow more annoying this time around. Now, nearly the entire Slytherin Quidditch team was watching expectantly from beside Magnus—it was an inherent skill for them to sense an impending arse-kicking, somewhat similar to how a weasel senses an earthquake.
"Go bother Grimmett—or even Hopkins, gods, just stop speaking to me," Eloise grumbled, her hands caged beside her face protectively in an attempt to block out Malfoy's voice. The respective sixth and seventh year Slytherin prefects turned their heads at the mention of their names, though Grimmett had a more violent reaction, not having heard the conversation and immediately assuming that Eloise had insulted him. Peter Hopkins merely gazed at them with near delight as if he was watching puppies quarrel.
"What'd you say, Ryu?" Nicholas Grimmett squabbled, his body tensing as if getting ready for a fight.
Eloise ignored him as she craned her head, giving Magnus a silent look.
He gave a sloppy salute in return. "Yes ma'am," he replied dutifully before shooting a sulking Malfoy a look of amusement. "I'll handle it from here."
Eloise rested a firm hand on his shoulder in thanks. Malfoy called after her as she sped out of the Great Hall, her braid swaying behind her smugly. In two blinks, she was gone.
Since most students were up early eating breakfast and complaining about their new timetables (as Malfoy had been), the corridors were calm enough that Eloise could hear the faint birdsong outside in the courtyards. The quiet eased her irritation slightly, washing over her shoulders like the soft breeze brought in by the creeping autumn.
Frowning, she reached into her canvas bag and fished out her own schedule, the parchment already crinkled from when she had shoved it inside to flee from the Great Hall. The first word she read was Hufflepuff.
Double Charms with Hufflepuff on Mondays. Double Transfigurations with Hufflepuff on Thursdays. Herbology with Hufflepuff on Fridays.
Great, she thought gloomily as she continued to mull over her new timetable. The murder of an innocent Hufflepuff is just what we need.
· · ──── · ❈ · ──── · ·
EVEN AFTER FIVE YEARS of being confined within the walls of Hogwarts together, the sixth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs still sat facing each other along opposite walls of the Charms classroom, a great, invisible divide running between them. In the center of it all, Professor Flitwick stood at his podium, flipping through his parchments with an oblivious whistle.
Eloise herself sat face-to-face with Fabian Archel, the Hufflepuff Chaser and renowned douchebag. A loyal, bloodsucking asshole, if you will.
She leaned to her right, her eyes straight ahead. "Has Archel always had that pinched look to him?"
Magnus followed her line of vision. "Hm. Like he's holding in an urgent, toe-curling shit?" he replied thoughtfully.
She grinned wickedly, her eyes still boring into Fabian Archel's. "Exactly."
Knowing they were talking about him, Archel scowled in irritation. They waved their fingers amiably in return.
"Welcome back, everyone!" Professor Flitwick piped up jovially over the voices. Conversations faded away naturally. "On to today's lesson—" he gave a chipper clap "—the Bubble-Head Charm!"
With a flick of his wand, the chalk wrote seamlessly on the board.
The Bubble-Head Charm
Incantation: Aerofer Capitis
Eloise frowned and leaned over. "Haven't we already learned this one?"
"Shut up."
"No, I'm serious, M," she said with a sharp jab to his ribs.
Magnus just continued to scribble carelessly onto his parchment. "Not everyone is a psychopath like you and reads NEWT-level books for fun, El."
Eloise huffed and gave up, stealing one of his quills in retaliation and dipping it in the ink before hastily scrawling her notes down into her own notebook.
Flitwick hopped off the podium and began his way along the invisible line. "Four hundred years ago, a witch by the name of Itzcoatl began formulating a way to help her village breathe underwater in order to flee the European colonists."
The pages on Eloise's textbook came alive as the sketch of Itzcoatl shifted across the parchment. The woman was braced defensively against an unseen enemy, her eyes glaring and her arms moving fluidly with wandless magic.
"As mentioned in Professor Binns' lectures—"
"Who's Binns?" Magnus snorted jokingly under his breath.
"—wand magic is, surprisingly, a very new practice." Flitwick scratched his mustache distractedly. "Historically, there have been particular people groups among us who are so...in tune with our world that they never had the need for wands at all."
Something tickled the back of Eloise's mind.
This happened more often these days; more than it used to, at least. The feeling of forgetting was a weird thing. To know so confidently that she knew something but didn't know exactly what it was that she knew.
This was one of those things.
No wonder she was going crazy.
For the first time in years, she noticed that Magnus was leaned forward in his seat, completely taken with what Flitwick was saying. He was mindlessly fiddling with the end of his quill when he caught her eye, which then he nudged his chin with a look that said, This is actually interesting, can you believe it?
"Itzcoatl was the chieftess of a small indigenous group in Central America, where there were numerous accounts of wandless magic," Flitwick claimed with a thrilling edge. "There were similar accounts in northern Scandinavia, Middle India, and along the coast of East Asia."
Someone raised a hand. "But, Professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Diggory?"
Cedric Diggory flicked his reading glasses up his nose, and the girl two seats to the right of him swooned. "Why the past tense?"
Professor Flitwick blinked owlishly from behind his thick spectacles. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You keep on talking in past tense. Do those people not...exist anymore?"
"The mystery of the day," Flitwick smiled stiffly. "Some scholars believe they exist, some do not, but after the horrors of colonialism and the Global Wizarding World, they have all passed away or have gone into hiding."
Eloise watched as Cedric Diggory nodded quietly and hunched over to write it all down.
Eveyone visibly startled when Flitwick clapped his palms, as he always did to signify the end of a tangent. "Moving on. So, Itzcoatl—she eventually figured out a way to breathe underwater with the Bubble-Head Charm. Although our incantations differ, the essence of this charm has remained the same ever since.
"Now, it is not only useful for underwater but also in large fires and high altitudes where oxygen is severely depleted. Quite amazing, is it not?" Professor Flitwick said with delight. A few Hufflepuffs nodded encouragingly. Graham Montague made a choking sound from behind Eloise. "Lovely. Now, everyone, please stand and repeat after me: Aerofer Capitis!"
· · ──── · ❈ · ──── · ·
ELOISE HADN'T FOUGHT with Magnus since their second year after he almost lost his hair for it. They were better at communicating than 90% of the marriages in the United Kingdom, a fact they were very, very proud of.
So Eloise couldn't explain the irritation, the slow build of unspoken tension between them as they walked along the corridors after their last class together, the setting sun casting a fiery glow to everything it touched.
It started in fifth year—if she had to say when it started at all—when the night terrors started stealing her sleep. Patience was always the first to go.
"M, I swear on Merlin's ass that I am fine."
"You look like you're about to vomit."
"I am not. That's disgusting."
Magnus stared unabashedly down at her, his eyes accusing. "When's the last you slept anyway? The year's just started. Can't have that much work already."
Eloise's brow twitched. "And you wouldn't know?"
"No, of course not."
"Whatever. I'll see you at dinner," she replied in a curt manner that made him furrow his eyebrows in confusion. She turned to strut gloomily towards the Slytherin dormitories before he stopped her.
"Woah, woah—hey, what is going on?" Magnus stammered, his hands resting on her shoulders so that she now faced him. "By Merlin, you've been off since this morning."
Eloise deflated slightly and put a reassuring hand on his elbow before gently nudging his hands away. "I'm fine, just tired."
"Nightmares?"
She nodded sullenly.
Magnus was the only one who knew any of it at all. He knew of the nightmares, the insomnia, but not the heavy dread in her stomach or the constant panic in her chest. She felt like she was standing on a railroad with her back to the train, not knowing when it will hit her.
The comforting hand that snaked behind her neck brought her back. "Well then, to the kitchens it is," Magnus proclaimed with a proud smile. "Now, tell me, your highness, coffee or tea?"
She barked out a laugh as she leaned in. "Fuck off."
"Now there's the Eloise Ryu we have all come to know and love!" Magnus swooned. "She shines through like the sun reflecting off of a centaur's greasy face!"
Several students swerved their heads toward them at his loud voice but immediately turned back around after realizing that it was Magnus Windsor, the rowdiest Slytherin in all of Hogwarts history.
He draped an arm over her shoulders casually, the other one spread triumphantly before him. "I have a vision—you, me, the kitchen, stuffing our faces with Kippy's German Chocolate Pie."
Eloise's look of dread melted away as she looked up at him with bright eyes.
Magnus puffed out his chest in pride. "And yes, with Chime-Off-Sko playing on the Musica Mirror," he confirmed with a nod.
"It's Tchaikovsky, Magnus," she corrected with an exasperated, endearing sigh. "If you're not careful, someone might think you're an ignorant, pure-blooded bigot."
His jaw dropped with a hand to his chest, thoroughly scandalized. "Me, a bigot?"
"You know h—" Eloise's lips sealed mid-sentence, her eyes no longer fixated up but now ahead—they also hid a storm of sorrow that only Magnus could see right through, and when he followed her line of sight, he immediately knew why.
There, across the corridor and staring back at Eloise with rivaling intensity, was Harry Potter.