Sons & Daughters of Magic 2

continued ....
== Broken Bones ==
Date: 14 March 1998; Killin, Stirling, Scotland, UK
Ken stuffs himself into his two softest tee-shirts and his warmest jumper, drags himself down to the Big Hall and through the queue for lunch, wishing the entire way his bones weren't throbbing and his ears would start feeling human again right bloody now.
Lessie waves him over and he oozes in beside Murron with his tray, yawns, "'mornin'."
Murron bobs her head, goes back to poking her fish-on-greens with a fingertip.
"What's wrong?"
She wrinkles her nose. "It's /old: been in plastic too long."
"Um, I've got a free day, we're moored, and there's finally an all-clear, so we can go fishing i-if you like?"
Murron lights up. "You'd do that?"
Ken's heart does a barrel roll and he ducks his head. "Sure. No problem."
Murron hugs him tight and all the blood in his body rushes to his face.
"You are so /cute," giggles Lessie.
"Not as cute as little Kris was! He's—"
"Not so loud!" hisses Ken, looking around for eavesdroppers. "We don't wanna out him!"
Murron uncurls, whispers, "He's so /fluffy! And /round!"
Lessie smirks. "Too bad Ken skipped that stage, aye?"
Murron nods with enthusiasm.
He mutters, "Yea, sorry I got Turned after I was a baby."
Lessie and Murron frown at him.
"Sorry." He picks up his fork, starts pushing meat and gravy around.
They keep frowning.
He sets aside the cutlery. "What?"
"We were only teasing and you're being mean," chides Lessie.
Ken hunches. "Sorry. I just ...." Sighs to a stop.
Murron nudges his arm, smiles encouragement.
"He's not cute: it's a /curse."
"You're cute, too?"
"That's not—" Ken growls, shakes his head clearer.
"What's wrong with you today?" asks Lessie.
"Last night's what's wrong with me."
"You don't have to be so—"
"Forget it." Ken shoves to his feet, grabs his tray—"I'll be ashore."—and stomps off.
Lessie catches up at the boathouse as he's gathering mealworms from the box for bait.
He tries to ignore her, but—"What."
"You're not usually this grouchy, even the day after. What's eating at you?"
He carefully closes up his little cup of worms, leans on the worktop, hunches deeper into his anorak. "I'm jealous, alright?"
"Jealous? Of Kris?"
"Yea."
"/Why?"
"'cos he's not gonna remember what it was like for him before. He'll /always've been a werewolf."
"How's /that something to be—"
"He's too young to have friends; I lost most of mine overnight. /Literally overnight."
"I didn't—"
"/You wouldn't talk to me without a teacher around for the rest of the term! Even though you're a hot enough wizard you can Stun me faster'n I can blink!"
"I said I was sorry and I was /scar—"
"And I /wasn't?!"
Lessie flinches.
Ken sags. "Sorry." Shifts his feet, swallows. "I thought the pain was gonna be the worst bit, but it's the /lonely what really kills. You want to belong so much it /burns."
"You've got me and Murron and Royal."
"Yea, and that's great an' all, but there's a whole /world of wizards out there who'd rather I'd died. Like the spanners who stopped trading comics with me." 
"'cos that /totally means they want you dead."
Ken huffs, tugs his wonky ear. "Like my Gram and Gramps, then. They disowned us—me and Mum and Da—when we finally told 'em."
"Disowned? /Why?"
"Me for being /that, them for letting me live this way."
"But it's none of your fault!"
Ken sighs, "You know how wizards are about werewolves. How they are about /anyone not a wizard."
"How's that?"
"Don't play. You /know a lot of them'd throw Murron back in the sea, too."
Lessie grins, nasty. "They'll have to go through us first."
"I'm not much of a threat, but you ...."
"You just need practice."
Ken stifles an eye-roll, asks, "You know where Murron is?"
"She went ahead to your favourite spot. I figured you'd still be fumbling around in here and came looking."
"You gonna join us?" Ken gathers a pole, stringer, baggie of spare hooks, his bait cup, and a set of pliers.
"Nah. I promised I'd help Miss Effie look for bowtruckles in the woods."
"Sounds like fun."
Lessie makes a face. "'least they're not slimy like fish."
Ken huffs, heads out of the boathouse, turns down the loch-side path.
"See you later!" says Lessie, taking the fork up the hill and into the trees.
"Later." He takes the direct-ish track to the finger where he's had the most luck fishing, shimmies through the tall grass into a little trimmed area.
Murron sits on a quilt, huddled in her heavy coat and hugging her knees, well back from the edge of the water, staring out over it.
"Hey," greets Ken quietly.
She perks up, smiles.
He flops next to her, maybe a little forward to make sure he can cast far enough out for good-sized fish.
Murron scoots closer, tucks up against his left side.
Ken shakes fluff from his head, fumbles with the hook and line.
"May I help?"
"I've got the fishing bit down, but I'd really like it if you handled stunning 'em again."
Murron snaps a nod.
Ken manages the knots, grimaces as he spits the creepy-crawler, then flicks the bait and hook a few meters into the loch.
Quiet, watery noises and birdsong.
The line twitches.
Ken gives it a yank, tugs a fair-sized perch onto the bank.
Murron lunges, there's a flash of motion, and the fish lies still.
"Thanks," he croaks.
"You're welcome~!" Murron clips the perch to the stringer, drops it in the shallows, nestles back against Ken before his next heartbeat.
He re-baits the hook, launches it loch-ward.
Barely a beat and another bite.
Ken and Murron and the perch repeat their dance.
"We make a pretty good team, yea?"
"Seal Girl and Wolf Boy!"
"Uh, I was thinking more Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers?"
"But they're Americans?"
"That's not—" Ken sighs. "Never mind."
"Well, we're awesome together, too, and /you've got superpowers."
Ken covers a blush by scoffing, "I don't have superpowers."
"You change shape! And last week you turned my hair green!"
Ken cringes. "Sorry 'bout that."
"I thought it was pretty and would've kept it if Missus Galloway'd let me."
"O-okay." Ken turns his attention to his fishing gear.
The next hook-and-worm combo results in a /massive pull.
Ken tugs—
Something /yanks and the line goes slack.
—tips backward; Murron steadies him before he goes heels over head.
They right themselves, look to the water.
A pale kelpie, flailing trout in its jaws, ducks beneath the surface.
"Of all the bloody cheek! That was her lunch you-you doughnut!"
Murron laughs, pats his his arm. "You'll catch another."
"If that bastard hasn't scared 'em all off." Ken sets to work tying on a new hook. He finishes, baits, casts.
Watery noises, birdsong.
"How're you feeling?" asks Murron.
"Like every bone's been broken and knitting and my ears are /wrong."
Something splashes in the rushes.
"It's still painful for you?"
"Yea." Ken side-eyes her. "Your Changes weren't?"
Murron shakes her head. "It was easy as Apparition: a /shift and I was in my other shape."
Ken swallows. "Do you miss Changing?"
"I remember when I could eat fish raw, scales and all," she sighs.
"You could?" Frowns. "You can't?"
"It was the teeth." Murron mimes wicked canines. "These can't do the job."
"But the other ones couldn't do apples, you said, right? And they were hard to get, but now you can have 'em whenever? So there's that on the plus side."
Murron smiles, head down. "I like apples."
Ken braces himself, squeezes her hand.
She squeezes back; Ken's heart flitters as he leans closer—
""May we—""
They jump apart.
""—interrupt?"" yells Mister Fairbairn from near the path.
"Sure?" squeaks Ken.
""We can walk on if you want to keep snogging?""
Ken's face gets hot and his voice refuses to work.
"It's alright! The way's muddy, though!" answers Murron.
Mister Fairbairn crashes through the brush and grass, skids into the clearing, plops beside Ken, wheezes, "Lovely spot you've got here."
"Thanks."
Dreamboy pads over, lies down with his front half in Mister Fairbairn's lap.
Mister Fairbairn bobs his head toward Ken's line. "Catching anything?"
"Some decent perch and a kelpie stole a trout, hook and all."
Mister Fairbairn snorts.
Ken re-casts his un-nibbled bait.
"Is this for food or fun?"
"Uh ... food. Murron's fish was a little off at lunch, so thought I'd help the kitchens."
Mister Fairbairn grunts approval, strokes Dreamboy's back.
Watery noises, birdsong.
Mister Fairbairn says, "Have you ever heard of the Wulver?"
"Uh, no? Should I have?"
"They're not on any syllabus, no." Mister Fairbairn leans back on his braced elbows. "The Wulver're a clan of sorts in Shetland: folk with wolf heads who make a habit of leaving fish for hungry families at the full moon."
Ken blinks at the pole and line and stringer.
"Haven't met any myself, but some dear old friends swear blind they're real and that they still visit the villages from time to time."
Murron tugs his sleeve.
"Seeing you like this reminded me. Hadn't thought of them in /years." Mister Fairbairn shakes his head with a laugh. "Wulver."
"Do you ... do you think the Wulver are real?" whispers Murron.
Mister Fairbairn grins. "How much more real can you get than a story?"
Ken's eyebrows climb into this hairline. "Um, something /real—"
"I believe it's time to leave your to your sport!" Mister Fairbairn hops to his feet.
Dreamboy /woofs, sorts his legs, giving Mister Fairbairn a Look while he does.
"Good day, Miss MacDonald, Mister Gorman~!"
"Uh, 'bye?"
He vanishes into the brush with Dreamboy in pursuit.
/Thrashing from the end of Ken's line.
He yelps, drags the biggest perch he's ever seen out of the water.
Murron's on it in an instant and it joins its fellows on the stringer.
"Think that's enough for today?"
"One more," replies Murron, pressing herself tightly to Ken's side, "at /least. I don't want to go back yet."
"No problem." Ken hunts up a fresh worm with what must be the sappiest of smiles on his face. 
.
== Scent ==
Date: 23 January 1997; Killin, Stirling, Scotland, UK
Ken lies flat out on the rug in Misterfairbairn's reception, thumping his tail lazily against the floor.
Murron naps on the sofa, snoring softly.
"She doesnae seem the noisy sort," says Misterfairbairn.
"A shoulda warned ye 'bout that," replies Lessie.
Dreamboy pushes open the creaky bedroom door, patters over, sniffing earnestly.
Ken yawns.
"This's a normal thing then."
"Oh aye. 'specially when she's well tired."
Dreamboy makes his rounds of the reception, nose pressed to the ground.
"What d'ye say, Mister Gorman? This racket put ye off her?"
Ken whuffles.
"Dinnae 'spect so," chuckles Misterfairbairn. "Silly me, even askin'."
"Yea, silly ye," sniffs Lessie. "Those two are Meant Tae Be. Capitals letters an' all."
Dreamboy sniffs his way onto the carpet and over to Ken's—
Ken twists around, gets to his paws.
"Is that so, Mister Gorman?"
Ken sniffs with interest.
"Mister Gorman, are ye listening tae me?"
Ken continues his investigation.
"He's nae listening."
"That ... that's so—"
"Very like a dog, aye?"
"Aye," sighs Lessie. "A was gonna say 'disgusting', but ...."
Dreamboy moves off, nose to the floorboards.
Ken huffs the scents out of his nose, shuffles off to the water bowl for a drink.
.
== Johnny Cash ==
Date: 30 April 1998; Killin, Stirling, Scotland, UK
Ken hisses, shakes the sting from his hand.
"It hurts less if you Deflect," says Lessie, frowning at him from the other end of the Pentagon's dueling lane.
"I /know, awrite?"
"You could charm him a shield like mine?" offers Murron, holding up her little rowan disc.
"He needs to learn to fight."
"I'll /never learn. I'm bloody /hopeless," he grumbles.
"Captain America fights with a shield!"
Lessie rolls her eyes. "Captain America's /fictional."
"He still fights with a shield and /wins."
"Murron ...," sighs Lessie. "Ken, you're a bad influence on her."
Ken rolls that off his shoulders, digs in his back trouser pocket. "Maybe the wand'll help."
Lessie cocks her head, drifts closer. "Is that the new one?"
Ken rolls the twig between his palms. "Yea. Miss Effie says it should help me Focus better."
"She tell you what it's made of?"
"Says it's bird cherry and a 'totally unique super-secret ingredient'."
Lessie rolls her eyes.
Murron kinda sparkles at him. "It's one-of-a-kind?"
Ken ducks his head. "Yea."
"Just like him, thankfully," drawls Lessie.
"/Dealanaich!" Ken jabs—
Lessie raises her hand, bounces the lightning bolt /straight back at Ken.
—ducks, feels static tug at his hair—
Murron squeaks.
—whirls, heart in his throat.
Murron cowers behind her shield, the charm on its surface glowing.
""Eyes front!""
Ken spins—
Sparks fly as he knocks—barely—Lessie's spell aside.
—rocks back on his heels and immediately fires a wild jinx which splatters harmlessly against an office window.
Lessie's counter-spell hits him in the gut like a fist, lands him on his bum, wheezing.
"You need to /concentrate."
"I need to not suck." Ken flops flat on his back. "I'm /hopeless."
Murron sits beside him.
"You're /not. You need practice."
"I'm /this—" Holds up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "—close to being a Squib."
"You have magic."
"Not fucking much."
"It's enough. You just need pra—"
"Practice. I /know." Ken huffs, sits up, tugs an ear. "Ever think I might not be duelist material?"
"I /always think that—"
"Then why—"
"—but you should be able to defend yourself anyway."
Ken crosses his arms. "I'll just bite anyone who gets close enough."
"Would you really?" asks Murron.
"Probably not," he sighs, slouching.
"Which's why you need to learn hexes," says Lessie.
Ken groans, braces his chin on his hands.
The Pentagon's lanterns spark to life.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Murron bobs her head toward the windows of the administrative offices.
"The war. What else?" Lessie drops down. "I wish /we could fight. /Our lives—"
"Lessie, we don't stand a chance if They get to us. They've been killing /teachers: Miss Speight, Mister Number, Missus Crellin ...."
Murron traces her fingers along the grain of her shield, murmurs, "It can't be good."
"What can't?"
"Whatever they're talking about. Mad Rory's here. It's never good news when he's around."
Ken chews his lip.
"What're you thinking?"
"Did either of you see Ailsa or Beathan come in?"
"I didn't."
"No?"
"Ever seen him—Rory—without them before?"
"No ...." Lessie shakes an idea loose. "It's probably nothing."
"Hope so," sighs Ken, "but I've got a bad feeling."
"You /always have bad feelings and you /still barely pass Divination."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
The door to the admin section flies open.
All three of them go still.
Mister Fairbairn in black and Mad Rory in a bright orange jersey top march across to the Pentagon.
"You. Inside. Right now," orders Mister Fairbairn.
"What? Why?"
"Nobody—absolutely /nobody—leaves the dorms tonight. I expect /you lot to make sure they don't."
"But, why?"
"An' why /us?"
"We're sinking the School—"
Murron goes dead still, stops breathing.
"—and you're the first people I saw."
"Where—"
"But—"
"Later. /Nobody comes out. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," crisps Lessie.
Ken mumbles something like that.
Murron says nothing.
"Good." Mister Fairbairn snaps a nod, spins on his heel.
Ken swallows. "What's going on?"
"The Ents go to war," says Mister Fairbairn over his shoulder.
"What does that mean?" hollers Lessie as he disappears into the gatehouse.
"The last stand. The shootout at Hogwarts Academy," intones Mad Rory, rocking on his heels. "You-Know-Who is throwing everything he has at Hogwarts in the next day or two, so we'll do the same—even the dragon-folk from the Islands are coming. We're either gonna stop him there or die trying."
Ken's blood run cold; he shivers inside his coat.
Murron gasps, presses closer.
Lessie asks, "May I ask a question?"
"Shoot, but quick-like."
"Where're Ailsa and Beathan?"
The wild light in Rory's eyes flickers. "Dead."
"Wha—?"
"We took on a buncha baddies tonight. I made it out; they didn't."
"But why would ...?"
"Because Beathan swore one of 'em would never set foot in Glasgow and he meant to make it stick."
"Did he?"
"She'll never set foot /anywhere again."
Lessie eyes glow and there's something /off in her voice when she says, "Good."
Ken shudders.
Rory tips an imaginary hat, saunters for the gatehouse, singing, "—sure as night is dark and day is light, I keep you on my mind both day and night, and happiness—"
The melody fades.
"What the Hell was that?"
"Johnny Cash," mumbles Lessie.
"Wha?"
"The song. "Walk the Line" or some such. Don made me listen once. 's Johnny Cash. Weird thing to be singing."
"You're talking about singing and Beathan and Ailsa are /dead!" blurts Ken.
Murron cowers against him.
"They were the best fighters we had and they're /dead. What're we—" Ken swallows. "If they don't—"
"They /will. 'sides, it's not just ours fighting, it's Hogwarts and free agents like Mad Rory, too." Lessie hops to her feet. "C'mon, we have jobs to do." 
Ken blinks at her.
"Guard the dorms. Nobody gets out, remember?"
"Uh, right." He heaves himself upright, tugs Murron to standing, holds her there. "You alright?"
"We'll be underwater!" she squeaks. "We could /drown!"
"It'll be okay," assures Lessie. "This's /amazing magic."
"And Lessie'll be right there. No place safer."
"What about you?" 
"I'm a really good swimmer." Ken manages a smile. "You know, dog-paddle."
Murron snorts a tiny laugh, wipes her eyes on her sleeve.
"C'mon. We need to move."
"Yea. Right. 'course."
Lessie tows Murron toward the girls' building.
Ken aims his feet for his dorm, trudges across the floating walkway as the first ribbons of magic criss-cross the sky overhead.
.
== Doggie ==
Date: 30 April 1999; Wester Hailes, City of Edinburgh, Scotland, UK
Ken sticks to the shadows of the hedges and walls along the pavement, head and tail low.
The gate to Number Thirty-six hangs open.
He turns in, creeps up the path to—
""'ello, doggie~!"" calls a tiny voice.
—freezes, lasers in on the source: the stairs to a basement flat.
A little boy tiptoes over, crouches beside him. "Are ye lost?"
Ken doesn't dare breathe.
Tiny hands reach for the Fish.
"What d'ye have there?"
Ken lets the Fish go.
The boy peers at the writing on it, then Ken. "All give this t' Missus Barnes t'morra fer ye."
Ken wags nervously.
"Sucha /nice doggie!" The boy strokes Ken's head. "A wish ye were /my doggie."
Ken whuffles, nudges the boy away.
"Ye haftae go?"
Ken bobs his head.
The boy sighs hugely. "Awrite."
Ken wags, aims himself for the gate, takes off at a trot.
""'bye, doggie!""
‘>'bye!’ whuffs Ken.
.
== Stranger Song ==
07 May 1998
Across the Big Hall table, Royal folds his napkin and says, "I asked Kirsty to the Victory Dance this morning."
"So?"
"She agreed to go."
"Congratulations," sighs Ken.
Royal leans into his space. "Have you asked Murron?"
"Not yet."
"Oh fer—/Ken! You—"
Ken hisses, flaps his hands.
Royal rolls his eyes. "Just /ask her, aye?"
"I'll think about it."
"If I can talk to Kirsty—" Royal sits back, crosses his arms. "—/you can ask Murron."
"Yea, Gorman, you and MacDonald make an /adorable couple. I'm sure you'll have /adorable babies—sorry—/pups someday, too," sneers Aleck from a couple seats farther along the table.
Ken cringes.
"Won't they, though?" breathes the Space Cadet from beside Royal. "Imagine if they're all fluffy! Hey, Ken, can I be godfather so I can snuggle with 'em?"
Aleck snorts.
"Reid, you're not helping," says Royal.
"But I—"
"Yea, sure, Edan. You can be godfather," mumbles Ken.
"/Magic!"
"Look at that, all the Half-breeds'll be one big, happy family," sneers Aleck.
The Space Cadet wrinkles his forehead. "None of us are half anything?"
"You're, like, half-giant, Gorman's half-wolf, and—"
"Just ... just drop it, Aleck."
"You gonna make me, Wolfie?"
Ken growls, swings his legs over the bench, stands.
"Now you've done it," drawls Royal.
"Yea, right." Aleck pushes to his feet. "What can /he—"
Ken steps toe-to-toe, bares his teeth.
Aleck swallows hard, steps back.
"Don't even need a full moon, do I?" Ken cocks his head, hopes for some eyeshine. "I bite or scratch and it /never heals proper."
Aleck retreats another step, then squares up. "Threaten all ye want, Half-breed. Doesn't change the fact I'm human and you're not."
Ken does his best to loom.
"Is this because he's jealous Ken's got magic and he doesn't?" stage whispers the Space Cadet.
"Pretty much," smugs Royal.
Aleck's eyelid twitches. "I may be a Squib, but at least I have /standards."
"What does /that mean?"
"Means, Wolfie, /my kids won't belong in a zoo." Aleck turns on his heel, stomps away.
Ken slumps down onto the bench, lets out a shaky breath.
"That was /stupid," announces the Space Cadet.
Ken swings around, eyebrow raised.
"/Every/one knows you can't be /born a werewolf. And it takes two /selkies to make a baby selkie."
"I'm kinda afraid to ask, but how do you know that?" says Royal.
"I read ahead in the Magical Life book."
Ken turns to him. "Magical Life is a second-year class?"
"I, um, borrowed the book and read it over spring break."
Ken blinks rapidly.
Space Cadet shrugs. "I couldn't go home and I was bored." 
"Then what was all that about wanting to cuddle Ken and Murron's fluffy babies?"
"Well, yea, they /probably won't be fuzzy, but there's always genetic mutations and wouldn't they be even /cuter if they /were?" He takes a breath, turns to Ken. "I'll snuggle 'em, fuzzy or not."
Royal snickers, "You ... you are something special."
"Thanks!"
"C'mon, godpoppy." Royal stands, comes around the end of the table. "Let's make sure you get some Ken-and-Murron's to spoil." Claps a hand on Ken's shoulder.
The Space Cadet follows, gets hold of Ken's other shoulder. "How're we gonna do that?"
Royal tugs Ken's jumper until he drags himself upright. "/We are gonna escort him over to the girls' dorm so he can ask her to the Dance." 
"And it'll be so romantic there'll be kissing and then: /babies!" squeals the Space Cadet.
Ken whines as they march him out of the Big Hall.
"What about you, Edan? You ask anyone?"
He heaves a spectacular sigh. "Aaron turned me down."
"Erin? Why didn't you try Lorna? She's been flirt—"
"/Aaron, not Erin."
"Wha?"
"I don't actually like girls that way."
"You're a little young to decide—"
"Leave 'im be, Royal."
"I'm just say—"
"He likes who he likes, aye?"
Royal side-eyes him, but keeps his mouth shut the rest of the way to the girls' building.
Ken lets them stuff him through the door, steer him to the intercom panel in the foyer. He pulls the lever for Murron's bell, grumps, "Happy?"
"We'll leave you to it," snickers Royal, flicking a salute. "C'mon, Edan."
"Good luck, Ken~!" The Space Cadet waves and follows Royal outside.
Ken exhales, leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
His heart beats out an irregular rhythm for a long, long while.
Murron creeps in. 
Ken jerks up straight. 
"You wanted to talk to me?"
"Y-yea, I did."
"So ...?" She shuffles her feet. 
"I—" He swallows. "I'd like you to come to the Victory Dance with me."
"You would?"
"Y-yea, I—" He swallows again. "I really would. Please, Murron?"
"/YES!" She hugs him hard as a rugby tackle.
Ken wheezes, holds her close—gently.
"I was afraid you weren't going to ask."
"S-sorry. I—"
"I'm so /happy you asked!"
"A-alright."
"What tartan will you wear?"
"Huh?"
"It's a formal."
"Oh, uh ... I'll have to borrow school kit."
She hums.
He buries his nose in her hair, breathes in the smell of her apple shampoo.
Murron hums, quiet and cheery.
Ken listens; his spirits lift.
She adds words in her family's language.
"What're you singing?"
"It's Mummy's 'welcome, stranger' song."
"Uh, okay."
"Do you like it?"
"It's really, um, happy?"
"Mhm! She said a song for new starts /has to be happy."
"How's this a—"
"It'll be our first date!"
"Oh. Right. Wait, what?"
Murron suddenly pulls away, grabs his hand.
"What's—"
She tows Ken out the door. "We have to go to the greenhouses!"
"Wha? Why?"
Murron keeps dragging. "You'll see~!"
Ken stumbles along behind her as out of the School along the loch path.
The glass buildings peek through the trees.
"Why're we—"
"Colours!"
"Wha?"
"Colours~!" sings Murron and she stuffs him into the flower house.
"Would you just tell—"
"Stay right /here." She pushes him down onto a bench surrounded by a thick planting of Flitterbloom, immediately disappears into the greenery.
"Murron!"
""Don't move!""
Ken rolls his eyes, sulks back.
From far away: ""Can you colour-shift living things?""
"I can try?"
Silence.
"Murron?"
No response.
"Where'd you go?"
"To find this!" Murron skips up, brandishes a small plant with creamy, daisy-like flowers.
Ken racks his memory for the damn thing's name.
Murron sits down, puts the plant between them. "It's an Any-colour Aster. Lessie'll help us match flowers to our formals."
"Corsage, right."
"Mhm! We're lucky there were some left."
"Y-yea, really lucky."
Murron beams at him.
This close, her eyes have starry sparkles and there's a dusting of freckles over her nose.
"You're really pretty," he blurts.
Murron's cheeks turn bright pink.
"S-sorry. I didn't—"
She moves the plant behind herself, tucks up under Ken's arm, says, "You're cute, too," she says.
Ken squeaks; his cheeks flame.
"I'm /really happy you asked me to the Dance."
"Me, too," croaks Ken. "I mean, I'm glad I asked. I mean—!" He takes a deep breath, blows it out. "I'm glad you said 'yes'."
"Of /course I said 'yes'," huffs Murron, sliding to her feet, gathering up the aster. "Let's go get our flowers coloured."
"Good plan. Let's go. Umm ...." Ken offers an arm.
Murron grins, links hers, aims them for the exit.
.
=== Concert ===
Dreamboy, Ken, and Kris sit shoulder-to-shoulder on Misterfairbairn's balcony, shadows sharp under bright moonlight and scents crisp in the clear, cold air.
Lessie leans on the rail next to Kris. "Ye really think they will?"
Misterfairbairn snorts. "A /know they will."
Kris /wuffs, wiggles in anticipation.
Ken fills his lungs, tips his head back. ">/Awoooooo!"
">/Awoo!" Kris gasps. ">/Awooo!"
"/AAAAWOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Ye missed ane," drawls Lessie.
">/Awawoooooo!"
">/Aw-awoo!"
"So I did," sighs Misterfairbairn, gesturing to Dreamboy.
"/AAAAWOOO>oooooooo!"
"Better."
">/Awoooooo!"
">/Awoo!" Kris wheezes. ">/Awooo!"
"Much."
">/Aaaawoooooooooooooo!"Category:Hogwarts!AU