From the Ashes

who: Pete & Jon
when: tuesday, fifth period
where: Jon's class
what: omg puffs

Pete was kind of amazed that it took him this long to hear about it, but once one of his third years mentioned the that Jon was basically drowning in puffskeins, he about threw himself out of his window in the middle of class; sadly, he couldn't actually go interrupt Jon's classes, so he had to wait until fifth period when they were both free.

Well, really, he was loitering at the edges of Jon's fourth period class from about halfway through, but whatever. He still waited decorously until almost all of Jon's students had left before he presented himself, bouncing excitedly on his toes, and said, "Tell me it's true. And tell me you still have them."

Who: William and Spencer
Where: The Library
When: Wednesday afternoon.
What: Bad moon rising

Spencer had barely dismissed the Slytherin and Ravenclaw fifth years before he was stumbling out of the greenhouses himself. He'd tried out a charm at lunchtime to make his head ache a little less, keep him a little more awake, but the effects had faded quickly in the first five minutes of the first lesson after lunch, and he had never been more grateful in his life for the free periods he had on Wednesday afternoons.

He couldn't stay in the greenhouses, though. The thick, humid air made him feel worse, and he needed somewhere cool and quiet, somewhere he could sit and be still and not hurt his head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept properly, and last night the hour he'd managed to catch had been full of Hogwarts burning, and the sudden, sickening realisation that there were a group of third years trapped in a classroom. He'd woken just as Gabe emerged out from the wreckage, all of them starting forward at the realisation that Pete wasn't beside him anymore. He hadn't been able to get the faint taste of bile from his mouth all day.

Inside the castle wasn't much better than the grounds; in fact, there was a crowd of students, laughing and shouting across the halls as they headed off to their next classes, and Spencer swallowed and kept his head down, headed up to the library. William was militant enough that Spencer had no doubt it would be quiet enough, and the air in there was cool, the musty smell of books familiar and comforting. He slipped in the door quietly, nodding at some of his first year students waving at him from a table, and found himself a dark corner. For a moment, he just leaned against the wall, and then he slid slowly to the floor, drawing up his knees and pressing his forehead against his knees. He was so goddamn tired. He wasn't going to risk sleeping.

Who: Gabe and Dallon
Where: High table in the Great Hall
When: Wednesday morning, over the dregs of breakfast.
What: Working down Gabe's list in a systematic fashion. Well, slightly systematic.

The cutlery in the Great Hall was stainless steel, even at the high table. Gabe had checked. (And stainless steel, how prosaic was that? The ceiling was enchanted with some of the most jaw-dropping magic Gabe had ever seen in motion, and that included all his travels, but the silverware was steel. Whatever.) Gabe had been all ready to go switcheroo on the eating irons, but thankfully he'd thought better of it. He might have been as enthusiastic about this as though it were part game and part hunt, but for the werewolf - whoever it was - this was a carefully guarded secret, and his life. A little care was warranted, and silver-burns to the tongue were hardly discreet, not to mention being a really bad beginning to what Gabe actually wanted to be a useful working relationship.

So, plan B.

He had a free session first up on Wednesday and - what do you know! - so did their new Arithmancy professor, Dallon Weekes, currently top of Gabe's "sure, he's a suspicious fucker, but is he a suspicious furry fucker" list. Gabe was often one of the last to be dragged away from the breakfast table, if he even made it at all, so no one was going to look askance if he lingered after the rest of them had trudged off to their early-morning darlings. Once the population had thinned out markedly, Gabe gathered up his Stuff, shoved his last piece of toast between his teeth, and scooted the few chairs down to slide in next to Professor Weekes.

"So hey," he said, indistinct around the mouthful of toast, arranging his jug of coffee and special little tankard thingy. "Dallon, man. Sorry. Can I call you that? We haven't really had a chance to talk. I'm always in the fucking dungeons, right?" All of it delivered with Gabe's sunniest grin.

who: ryland and gabe
where: ryland's classroom
when: free period
what: a rigorous vetting process

Ryland was spending today's free period in a valient, if mostly fruitless, attempt at organizing the bookshelves at the back of his room. He could just do it by magic, but these books were old and unruly, so half of them refused to budge without being physically picked up and rearranged.

"You know," he said, glaring sternly at a particularly stubborn text on 15th Century wizards. "Just because you're two centuries old, it doesn't mean you aren't flammable."