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“The only reason I haven’t given you a month’s worth of detention is because you were not caught.” Headmistress Griffin’s voice is sharp as a knife, her posture severe and her eyes cold as she glares at Icy from behind her desk. Outside the Headmistress’ office, Darcy and Stormy lurk. They hadn’t been involved.
“I took care of the children first.” She doesn’t grumble - that’s beneath her. But she’s also not here to exchange bladed words with her Headmistress; Griffin is many things, chief among them the only person Icy is comfortable not trying so damn hard around. It’s unnecessary.
So - where with anyone else Icy would engage in a battle, where with anyone else Icy would eviscerate with a mere word - here she lets herself roll her eyes and pout.
There aren’t many places a witch can claim genuine safety at. Cloud Tower is one; the care of Headmistress Griffin is another.
“And what possessed you to start a bar fight with a bunch of those Alfea pixies?” Griffin demands.
“I owed one of them a debt.”
Icy has only a moment to realize she’s said something wrong.
“The fairies started the fight.” Headmistress Griffin asks, still as stone. Cloud Tower thrums around them, listening.
Icy takes a breath, and lets it out slowly.
“As I understand it, the other pixie’s spent the entire semester belittling and abusing Bloom for being from Earth. She’d had enough. And what witch worth her salt would turn down putting a fairy in her place?”
“Bloom. The…Earth girl. You had some altercations with her near the start of the semester.”
“She resolved our dispute.” Icy says simply. She’s not opposed to telling her Headmistress what’s going on - Griffin is a witch to her core, and if she had any idea about all this hidden knowledge, they would all know. But the situation is beyond her; it’s not Icy’s decision to make.
“Earthlings are always such breaths of fresh air.” Headmistress Griffin sighs, and - finally - sinks down into her chair. The thunderous aura that has surrounded her fades.
“You’ve met them?”
“Earth’s a delightful place for us. All sorts of negative energy. Makes a wonderful vacation destination, if you can avoid getting caught by the Council.” Something close to a smirk graces Headmistress Griffin’s lips as she speaks, but it’s gone in an instant; she leans forward, folding her hands in front of her, and Icy reflexively straightens her own posture.
“Lucy informed me there is a wizard lurking about. Neither Saladin or Faragonda have informed me of his presence. I hardly need to tell you to be careful, but if they are playing at something - you must exercise caution.”
“Is this an admonishment?”
“Oh, heavens no. Make the poor boy weep for all I care. Just be smart about it.” Headmistress Griffin snorts.
And Icy -
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She says, and then bows her head and accepts her dismissal without comment.
She wants, she realizes, to tell Griffin. Because Griffin says Faragonda and Saladin’s names so carefully that Icy cannot help but pick up on that thread of something, and whatever Griffin thinks of them - they’ve stolen. They’ve hidden. And they’ve lied to her.
Allowing the only woman to have ever offered her a guiding hand to continue laboring under ignorance sours like rot on her tongue. But - it’s not her place. She’ll bring it up, she decides. Not a good turn, not a good dead - but like respecting like. Griffin deserves to know.
And.
Icy deserves to know if Griffin will put them first, of if she’ll go straight to the enemy.
X
“Ah. I see.” Griselda says, and Bloom groans aloud and sags against the table behind her. It’s just the two of them and Musa in an old, apparently abandoned classroom - Musa’s got her headphones on and is bent over a textbook, scribbling ferociously in a notebook. Bloom’s asked for more practical help.
If she has to waste her time on another detention, this time for off-campus activities unrelated to Alfea - which is bullshit and probably not legal even in Magix - then she’s damn well going to make the most of it. Even as exhausted as she is, even if her head is pounding, even if transforming brings back the ache in her wings because she has wings now - she can push through it. It helps that Griselda had started out by asking Bloom to demonstrate how she’d punched Amaryl, and then corrected her technique; she’s already in a good mood.
“It’s - um. I want pants. Musa said it’s possible to change it.”
Griselda reaches up and adjusts her glasses, and Bloom pulls herself up to sit on the desk behind her; Griselda’s getting into lecture mode.
“There are two ways a fairy can change the appearance of her transformation. The first is though willpower - if a fairy is in tune with her inner power and sufficiently motivated, she may alter her transformation, although her ability to do so is limited. Clothing type is about all you could do there, I’m afraid. Coloring and wings will remain the same - wings as a physical part of you, and coloring as it denotes your homeworld allegiance. The other is to earn a greater transformation.”
Griselda’s a great teacher. She knows how to keep people engaged; Bloom picks up on the tilt to her voice and grins.
“Greater transformations?”
“I am sure you’ve noticed that your abilities are - hmm. Plateauing, I suppose? That will change now that you’ve unlocked your wings, but you’ll hit another stopping point soon enough.”
Bloom nods; it’s a compliment, which is rare enough from any of her teachers. Less rare from Griselda - but only because Bloom impresses her, because Griselda is genuinely proud of her progress. It’s a warm feeling. Griselda is a good teacher.
“So we have hard limits?”
“Yes. They can be exceeded, of course - you’ll learn about convergence next year. Greater transformations are a more common way to strengthen a fairy’s power. Magic requires study and practice, but it also requires proving oneself. If you are not worthy, your homeworld will not grant you the power you seek.”
It’s kind of like a video game, she thinks. Events, she supposes; if it requires proving oneself, it must be something like a quest.
“Your first year here at Alfea is primarily spent learning the basics; how magic works, how it functions, and how to use it. The goal is to earn your wings and discover your specialties. That is why you take such a wide variety of classes. The second year curriculum is structured differently; you’ll have some leeway in choosing classes, but to succeed, a sophomore at Alfea must achieve her Charmix transformation, and successfully converge with a fellow fairy.”
“Charmix.” Bloom repeats. Griselda nods.
“Charmix is the first transformation a fairy can earn after she grows her wings. Then comes Enchantix. Charmix is relatively easy to earn, comparatively - fairies do not progress past that unless they wish to become a guardian fairy. We’ve records that indicate there are other transformations, or alternative transformations, but no fairy has successfully completed one in centuries. Alfea does not push its students to such unreasonable lengths - Enchantix alone is dangerous, and rarely completed.”
Bloom blinks, and takes that in, and then looks down at herself. She’s - she remembers what she told Musa and Icy. Cowbird.
She’s - her magic is hiding her for a reason. It did on Earth; she was put on Earth for a reason. If a transformation comes with greater power - that might strip away whatever has been done to hide her. She presses a hand to the gem at her throat; it’s smooth and warm and strangely comforting.
It feels a little - rude. To want to change her magical self. But she’s never worn a skirt in her life, and she doesn’t intend to start now, not in a form that is meant for fighting. Even Stella has shorts. Stella, who outright refuses to wear pants because they’re not stylish enough.
It’s about practicality, she tells herself.
“How do I - um. Do the focus thing?”
Griselda nods her head approvingly - had she expected Bloom to try and achieve a greater transformation right then and there? How stupid were the usual Alfea students, if Griselda actually thought that? - and then pulled herself atop the empty teacher’s desk. Bloom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Griselda crosses her leg, long skirts draped perfectly over her knees, and Bloom follows suit. She puts her backpack in her lap - her skirt’s too short to cover anything up without something holding it down. Griselda smirks at her.
“The easy part is getting in tune with your power. You may not be able to here; fairies tend to find it easiest to do so by meditating with their specialties or elements.”
“So it’s - meditation.”
“Yes. You want to cease thinking about your magic. You need to feel it. Feel through it, until you can sense your homeworld. For you, you will feel the heat of your flame suffuse your entire body. You may catch while meditating, so do take care to do so somewhere…fireproof.”
She copies the way Griselda positions her hands, and straightens her spine. Her whole body aches, her back especially what with the whole fucking brand new limbs she’s grown but - just in exhaustion, for the rest of her. It’s been getting worse. The dreams.
“The harder part is summoning enough willpower to impose your desires on your magic. You must be clear, concise, and unshakable. I knew a girl when I attended Alfea who got distracted by her roommate’s pet firebird. She sprouted feathers, and was so upset about it it took an entire semester before she could focus enough to undo it.”
Oh, that’s - well. Horrifying.
Bloom closes her eyes, and listens, and does her best to obey. She’s not good at meditation under the best of circumstances; as tired as she is, it shouldn’t surprise her so much to jerk awake to someone shaking her. She’s de-transformed at some point, and she’s back in her jeans and sweatshirt.
Musa and Griselda are leaning over her. Musa’s smirking, a little.
“Have you not been sleeping well?” Griselda asks, frowning.
“No. I - um. Weird nightmares at night.” She says honestly, and takes Musa’s offered hand. Musa’s already packed up their stuff; she mouths an apology at her and gets a wink for her trouble.
But - it’s very specifically at night. During the day, if she naps - there’s no visions, no voices. It’s weird. And inconvenient; she can’t just sleep all day and go nocturnal until it’s over. She’s got classes, and she wants to see her friends, and she has to study and the library closes every night.
“Sorry.” Bloom adds, awkwardly. Griselda purses her lips, and shakes her head.
“C’mon, hun. I can play you some music, might help. That’s how I did it - my headphones used to be my mom’s.” Musa says, her voice soft like it always gets when she mentions her mother. Bloom’s still holding her hand; she gives it a gentle squeeze and earns a smile for her trouble.
“Go on, girls. Bloom, feel free to stop by the infirmary if this persists. We have sleep aides there.”
“Thank you, Griselda.”
She absolutely won’t; Alfea likes weird magical herbal remedies over what she’s come to associate with medicine, and she doesn’t trust anyone but Flora to give her stuff that’s actually meant to be taken. But the offer still means something.
Griselda waves them away, and they take their leave.
And Bloom can’t stop wondering - does Griselda know?
And would she turn them in, if Bloom told her?