Children of the Moon 0.5

bits fitting between "Sons & Daughters of Magic" and "Children of the Moon" proper
== Captain Scotland ==
29 August 1999; near Killin, Stirling, Scotland, UK
Ken hauls himself out of Mister Fairbairn's guest bed, yawns his way over to the door, then down the hallway to the washroom, shuts himself inside. He takes care of business, checks his reflection in the mirror.
Yup, the dark circles are still there, just like the ache in his back and the itch across his shoulders and the ears that aren't quite perky enough.
He sighs, drags a hand down his face, sighs again.
Back in the hall, he shuffles toward the reception.
Something ... giggles.
Ken pauses mid-step, listens.
Something's running!
He braces—goes over backwards at the impact, all limbs flailing, then the floor knocks the air outta his lungs.
"You're /finally up!" scolds Murron from somewhere around his middle.
Ken wheezes.
Her face swims into view. "Are you alright?"
Ken makes a noise like a deflating balloon.
Murron eeps, rolls off him.
He pushes to sitting, cautious, rubbing the back of his head.
"Are you okay?"
"Will be," croaks Ken. "I think."
Murron's everything dims. "Sorry."
"'s'okay, but warn me next time, yea?"
Murron nods, looking horribly guilty.
"What's got you so excited anyway?"
She brightens right up. "Come see!"
Ken accepts her hand, wobbles to his feet, lets Murron tow him into the reception.
Lessie's claimed the stuffed-est chair as a throne; Mister Fairbairn and Dreamboy are squashed on the other chair; the sofa sports some objects in wrapping paper and a Murron-and-Ken-sized space.
Murron pushes him into the gap, sits down tight against him.
"What's this about?"
"It's your going-away party," explains Lessie.
"But I'm—oh. Right. The transfer." Ken rubs his neck. "I guess I /am going away, but, it's not like I won't be back every month. You didn't—"
"We /wanted to," pouts Murron.
"The ladies in/sisted we make an occasion of this morning," adds Mister Fairbairn.
"Uh, okaaay—oof!"
"Open mine first!" 
Ken eases the very hard gift out of his gut, wheezes, "'anks."
Murron beams.
Ken picks at the tape, gives up, rips off the paper. "Whoa."
A perfect replica of Cap's shield shines up at him.
"This's /amazing."
"Int it? Miss Effie helped me make it and Mister Mair did the charms."
"Charms?"
"All sorts of protectives. Even /more than my shield has."
Ken runs his hand across the blue, white, and red surface. "Will it deflect bullets?"
"Uh huh! Just like the real thing!"
"This's so /awesome," breathes Ken.
"You'll mess up the finish if ye drool on it," says Lessie.
"No he won't! It's waterproof!"
"Get hold a'yerself anyway, Ken."
He makes a face at Lessie, leans over, kisses Murron on her freckled cheek. "I /love it. It's perfect. Thank you." 
Murron blushes, melts against his side.
"I see one problem with its 'perfection'."
"What now, Lessie?"
"You're Scottish."
"So?"
"That thing belongs to Captain Empire."
"Captain America."
"Whatever. We're Scottish."
"Which's neither American nor an Empire," drawls Mister Fairbairn.
"He can be Captain Scotland if it's such a problem!"
"If he's Captain /Scotland, can I make it a saltire instead of a star? Get rid of the red, too?" Lessie reaches—
"/No!" yelps Ken, hiding the shield behind himself. "If-if you do, how'll I explain it to people? This way it's just me being a comic book dork, aye?"
Lessie throws up her hands. "Fiiine. Be Captain Imperialism, then."
"Captain /America."
Lessie sulks back in her chair. "That's what I said."
Ken rolls his eyes.
Murron pushes a small box into his hands. "This's from Lessie."
He accepts it, rips his way in, opens the lid.
A tiny silver pin in the shape of a crown thistle gleams up at him.
He raises an eyebrow. "Jewelry?"
Lessie sighs. "It's charmed, doughnut."
"Oh. Right. 'course."
"You can use it as a tie pin or wear on your collar, but it'll soak up at least two solid hexes before it's outta space."
"It absorbs magic?"
"/Dark magic, yea. It'll buy you enough time to get your defenses up or run for it if someone attacks."
"It's pretty, too!" chirps Murron.
"Yea, it is," smugs Lessie. "Use the standard Drain spell to clear it and it's as good as new."
"You did the charm?"
"'course."
"Cool. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Ken fiddles with an ear that doesn't feel quite normal yet. "I gotta ask, though: what's with all the protectives?"
"You're going to /Glasgow."
"Actually /Port Glasgow, which's completely dif—"
"It's /dangerous!"
"Murron—"
"You /need these!"
Ken looks to Lessie for help.
"She's right. You suck at defending yourself and there're a lotta people up to no good in the city."
"I need a bullet-proof shield? I'm not gonna get shot!"
"Your first question was whether it was bullet-proof or not!"
"No one's gonna /shoot me!"
"Then tell yourself we did it for accuracy's sake."
"Oh my God, you two are /completely mad."
"We don't want you /hurt," insists Murron, "because we /care."
"/She cares. I just wanted to test my new charm."
"I'm such a lucky guy," Ken sighs.
.
== Grown Up ==
25 July 2000; Killin, Stirling, Scotland, UK
Ken hunches over a table in Gowdie and Gray's back room fiddling with one of the little packets of sugar and bouncing a knee, empty mug at his elbow. 
The door from the hearth room opens.
He drops the envelope, scrambles to his feet, hustles over.
Murron dives into his arms, squeals, "Happy birthday!"
Ken rocks back a step, keeps them upright, wheezes, "Uh, thanks."
She releases his middle, grabs his arm, drags him to the main part of the shop and into the queue to order.
He gets his feet sorted, rubs the back of his neck.
"Do you feel grown up?"
"Huh?"
"You're sixteen now!"
"I feel pretty much same as yesterday, t'be honest."
Murron hums, sways in place.
Something tickles Ken's mind.
"What're you thinking?"
She startles. "Nothing!"
Ken scratches behind his ear, clears his throat.
"It's no—"
"Missus Hughes said I'd pass a Legilimency OWL, you know."
Murron sighs. "Mummy and Daddy asked if we'll start planning the wed—"
"Hello~!"
Ken jumps; Murron eeps.
Behind the counter, Miss Enid raises an eyebrow. "Back for more?"
"Y-yea. Another Werewolf for me and—"
"A strawberry Pixie."
"—one of those for her."
"Oo!" Murron leans across the counter, whispers in Miss Enid's ear.
She beams. "I'll have those out to you in a moment. You'll be in the back room?"
"Mhm! Thank you~!" sparkles Murron, towing Ken the way they'd come, straight to—
"How'd you know this's my table?"
She floats down, says, "You always play with the sugar while you're waiting."
Ken huffs, slides into his chair. "What were you saying about your mum and da and planning?"
Murron blushes, darkening the freckles over her cheeks and even the broader ones across her bare shoulders.
Ken swallows.
"Mummy and Daddy were wondering if—now that you're grown up—if we'll start planning our wedding?"
Ken's jaw drops and his heart urks to a stop against his ribs.
"Th-they were thinking how I'll be grown up next year so we could do it legally—"
Ken might be breathing.
"—and ...."
"They-they're seriously /still talking about that?!"
"/Yes, and they made me /promise I'd ask you." She pouts. "I keep telling them things have changed and no one does it like that any more, but they just—" Pats herself on the head. "—'That's nice, dear', and keep talking!"
Ken snorts a little laugh.
""Excuse me~!""
They jump, turn to Miss Enid, hovering with a tray.
"I have a strawberry Pixie—" Miss Enid places the foamy pink thing in front of Murron. "—a Werewolf with an extra shot—" Sets the extra-large mug at Ken's hand. "—and a special treat for the birthday boy!" Settles an apple turnover topped with whipped cream and a lit candle in the the center of the table with a flourish. "Enjoy~!" She skips off.
Ken's face burns at least as hot as the candle flame.
Murron eyes the turnover, orders, "Make a wish!"
Ken takes a deep breath, then another, then puffs.
The flame flickers, goes out.
"What'd you wish for?"
"If I tell, it won't come true."
Murron pouts.
"Not. Telling." Ken picks up a fork, splits the turnover down the middle, edges half closer to Murron.
She picks it up with her fingers, nibbles a corner.
Ken bites off a mouthful of his portion.
"This is /so /good!"
"Mhm." He swallows with some coffee. "Very good."
"I could eat this /every /day."
"Missus Galloway would never let you."
"But I'll be an adult next year and then I can do what I want."
"It doesn't work like that," sighs Ken.
"It /should." Murron stuffs the rest of the turnover in her mouth, chews.
Ken sighs around a bite.
Murron wipes her fingers on a napkin. "Have you decided about NEWTs?"
"Yea ... I don't think I'll bother. I /barely passed the Herbology and Potions practical OWLs and those're my best subjects ... so I think I'll focus on school here. Go to uni, work with Da if that doesn't turn out." He shrugs. "Be a Muggle, basically."
Murron worries her hands.
"What?"
"It's nothing." She keeps fidgeting.
Ken scratches behind his ear. "Something's bothering you."
Murron shakes her head.
He takes a deep breath, exhales. "It's not like I can make a living as a wizard—not the way my magic works. I'm better off like this."
Murron nods, eyes down.
"Wish I was an /actual wizard, but—" He gestures helplessly. "—I'm not."
"But—" She squares up. "Will you keep working with Missus Hughes?"
"Yea ...." Ken rubs the back of his head. "I wanna be sure I have control, especially of this Nudging thing."
"Changing someone's mind?"
"Yea, pretty much. Make 'em decide the way I want without 'em noticing."
Murron shudders.
"Scares the Hell outta me, too," he murmurs. "I wish she hadn't told me about it. Now I worry all the time I'm doing it accidentally. Like, I'm forcing people to like me and—"
"We really like you. Stop worrying."
Ken huffs.
"We really do."
Ken concedes, sips, wrinkles his nose.
"What's wrong?"
"'s a little bitter."
She offers a packet. "More sugar?"
"Won't help. It's all the espresso."
"How much is in that thing?"
"Five shots. If I drink too fast, my heart skips."
Murron rolls her eyes, huffs.
"What?"
"Don't kill yourself before my birthday."
"After's fine?"
"/No! Don't /ever die!" Murron squeaks, eyes getting big and wet.
Ken gestures for calm. "I'll do my best, just, please, don't cry."
She sniffles.
"How 'bout I get us another turnover?"
"/Really?" She's all sparkles again.
"Sure. Just gimme a moment."
"Okay!"
Ken grins, pushes to his feet, aims himself for the counter and a treat for Murron.
.
== Consent ==
Note: title may change
16 May 2002; Glasgow, Scotland, UK
The train rumbles to a halt at Glasgow Central.
Ken pushes his way out into spring twilight, aims his feet for Gowdie and Gray's, stops dead after a meter or two, squeaks, "What're /you doing here?"
Don grumbles, "Happy to see you—oof!" 
Cherish grins, tucks her arm back against her side. "We're meeting you!"
"/Why?"
"We want you to tell Murron 'happy birthday' for us since we can't make it inland tonight."
"Why—"
"I have to /work," they whine in unison.
Ken snorks.
Don sniffs.
Cherish giggles.
The crowd on the platform thins.
"You're headed to Gowdie's, aye?"
"Yea."
Don strolls off; Ken and Cherish hustle to catch up.
They walk in quiet, soaking up the city smells and sights.
"What'ye have there?"
"Uh, it's a present."
"Couldnt've guessed, what with the wrapping paper," snickers Cherish.
Ken huffs. "I made her a journal."
"That's proper sweet." 
Don tilts his head back, looking at the sky. "She's seventeen this year, right?"
"Right."
Don chuckles.
"What's so funny?"
"I won my bet with Lesley."
"Which was that?"
"That you and Murron'd be married 'fore today." Don smirks up at him. "I figured you'd delay it long as possible. Thanks for the hundred quid."
Ken stumbles—
Cherish grabs his arm, steadies him. "Da, you were /betting on their love life?!"
"Was Lesley's idea."
"That doesn't make it better!"
"'m not turning down an easy hundred quid."
"How Mum /ever believed you were Irish when you're /obviously a Scotsman ...."
Don shrugs, side-eyes Ken. "You want some life advice?"
"Not really?"
"You should just do it, ye know. Marry her. You may be young, but life's awful short."
"/You should marry /your bird. You're /definitely not getting any younger," Ken shoots back.
"Thanks for the concern, but I'm gonna last /centuries longer than you."
"But /Valerie won't," points out Cherish.
"And you're already bloody /ancient, so you should get on with it."
"I'll ask her when I'm good and ready," growls Don.
"I'll do the same, then," smugs Ken.
"He's got ye there, Da," laughs Cherish. "Fair's fair."
Don grumps wordlessly.
"You ready for your exams, Ken?"
He shrugs. "I guess. The teachers think I'm a lock to get all the Highers I'll sit, so."
"Uni in fall, then?"
"Yea."
"Know which one?"
"Something in the city?"
"That narrows it down," drawls Don.
"University of Glasgow—" Ken huffs. "—/if I get in off the waitlist."
A quiet beat.
"Want me to pull some strings?"
Ken blinks at Don. "You ... /what?"
He shrugs. "I know people who know people."
"You'd /do that?"
Don shrugs again.
"/Why'd you do that?"
"'cos he likes you."
"'cos you're /useful," corrects Don. "Human lie detector an' all. You'd owe me."
Ken shivers.
"Don't mess him about like that."
Don rolls his eyes. "Breathe easy, straight arrow. I wouldn't ask you to do anything /evil."
"Riiight. Still rather get in on my own."
"Suit yourself."
They turn into Elmbank Street.
Don slows his steps.
Ken and Cherish match pace.
Don goes even slower.
Ken Reaches, gentle and cautious; his thoughts slide off something mirror-slick.
No reaction from Don.
"So ... anything on your mind tonight?" ventures Ken.
Don takes a deep breath. "Yea, now that you mention it. Keep your eyes peeled for a girl looks a lot like Murron, 'bout the same age. She's kidnapped from Norway."
"When did this happen?" demands Cherish.
"A few weeks ago. Just got word through the grapevine 'fore heading out."
Ken finds his voice. "She the same, uh, 'ethnicity' as Murron?"
"Yea, went ashore to sun herself a bit and vanished. Family couldn't find a trace of her or her 'clothes'."
Ken cringes.
"Word is we're looking for one of your tribe."
Cherish makes a frustrated sound.
"Which means she could be /anywhere."
"Aye. Which's why /everyone should keep watch for her."
"I'll be sure to spread the word at the market. You'll tell the folks in Killin, Ken?"
"R-right." Ken chews his lip as they wait for traffic to clear the crossing.
Don pokes his ribs.
Ken startles.
"What sorta deep thoughts're you thinking?"
"I'm wondering why you care so much about that sorta thing. Kidnappings and such like."
"'cos I'm eeeviiil~?"
"Well ... yea?"
Don snorts. 
"'least he's honest, aye?"
Ken rubs his neck.
"I care 'cos I'm—like a lotta my kind—a tad hung up on consent. Ye just /don't kidnap girls." Don hunches his shoulders, kicks a can into the gutter. "Pisses me off proper."
Ken grunts acknowledgment.
"Doesn't hurt he's got a little girl of his own to worry about," puts in Cherish.
Don gives her a Look, slows to a complete stop in front of the locksmith's next to Gowdie and Gray's.
Ken swings open the door.
"Thank you~!" Cherish saunters through.
Don shifts his feet.
"You're not coming in?"
"My presence ain't appreciated."
"Oh, uh ... right." He rubs his neck. "So, I guess I'll see you around?"
"Yea, and—" Don returns the glare of an elderly wizard shuffling past. "—let me know if you want a flat of your own in the city. I know people who let some nice rooms to students on the cheap."
"Uh, thanks. I'll do that. If it happens."
"Have some confidence. Ladies like it." Don flicks a wave, saunters off, disappearing into the crowd.
Ken sighs, ducks inside, heads straight to the back room with its Floo Network connection to where Murron waits for him in Killin. Category:Hogwarts!AU
Category:Hogwarts!AU: Children of the Moon
Category:Ficlet