Chapter Text
“Shaeigh’s a weird name for a bloke, innit?” a random third year muttered as Tyler navigated the crowded hall, sidestepping lingering clusters of students. The words stuck in his ears like a bitter taste.
“Probably ’cause he’s some weird he-she gender-liquid thing,” another laughed, loud and cruel.
Tyler clenched his teeth and bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt, forcing the words back down. He wanted to shout. Wanted to punch someone. But he didn’t. Not here. Not now. This was bullshit. Absolute, ridiculous, soul-sucking bullshit.
Whatever. He just needed to get to the hideout. That’s all. One foot in front of the other. Ignore the snickers, ignore the glances. Just get there.
The hallways felt narrower, somehow, without his friends by his side—without Lochlan. Every corner seemed too close, every locker too tall. His pulse quickened. This time next year, this would be how Nelly felt too. Alone. Unseen. Vulnerable. The thought knotted something deep inside him, sharp and heavy. God, she was going to suffer without someone there to speak up for her, to make sure the world didn’t steamroll over her.
No. Stop. Fenella was not a child to coddle. She was an independent woman in a wheelchair, not a helpless patient in a hospital bed like his Ma had been. Focus, Tyler. Focus.
His attention snapped forward as he noticed more teachers than usual patrolling the halls, their eyes like hawks’ eyes, footsteps deliberate. Must be Zach tryin’ tae catch us goin’ tae the hideout, he thought, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. Nice try, ya eejit. We’re no that daft.
He slid into a shadowed crevice, heart hammering, as Professor Sprout passed by. Once she disappeared down the corridor, Tyler tugged his cloak tight, pulled his hood over his hair, and merged back into the flow of students as though he had been there all along. Three more teachers prowled the halls before he finally reached the Room of Requirement, and each step had him counting his luck, breath shallow, ears straining for the slightest sound.
Inside, it smelled faintly of old parchment and herbs, comforting and familiar. Nelly was sprawled on a beanbag, legs propped casually against the wall, her hair tumbling in wild waves as she scribbled in her notebook. Shaeigh was focused on the stone wall itself, her hands moving in bold, deliberate arcs to create graffiti that seemed chaotic at first glance but probably made perfect sense inside her head. Symbols, lines, splashes of color—it was art, it was rebellion, it was Shaeigh.
Lochlan wasn’t there. No surprise. Hospital wing, probably. Poppy fussing, prodding at his shoulder, muttering about healing charms that refused to cooperate. Magic had never been kind to that joint.
“Tyler!” Nelly’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. She waved him over, her grin wide, eyes sparkling.
“Come ower here, Ty—I’m wantin’ tae show ye this verse frae the new sang Ah’ve written.”
He crossed the room, sitting beside her, the familiar comfort of her presence settling around him like a warm cloak. He leafed through the papers she handed him, lines crossed out, notes scribbled in the margins, her handwriting rushing across the page in bursts of inspiration.
“That’s really good, Nelly,” he said, genuine admiration in his voice. “Did it take ye long tae write?”
“Aye, it did,” she admitted, cheeks pink with pride.
Tyler glanced at Shaeigh, irritation mingling with fondness. “Shaeigh, ye ken those boys’ve been callin’ you names again? It’s pissin’ me aff, honestly.”
He groaned, leaning back, rubbing a hand over his face. Shaeigh rolled her eyes and looped an arm around his shoulder, her touch easy and grounding.
“They’re just jealous of my beautiful name, Ty. Forget it, lad.”
The door creaked, and a slender figure stepped through—Lochlan. Hood up, shoulders tense, eyes darting. Tyler’s chest tightened, a mix of relief and longing washing over him. Without thinking, he bolted across the room, shoving Shaeigh’s arm off gently in his haste.
Lochlan didn’t protest. He just let Tyler pull him close, their bodies fitting together like pieces that had been missing. His lips found Tyler’s in a fierce, desperate kiss, holding on as if letting go might undo everything.
“Ugh!” Nelly’s fake retching was so loud and perfectly timed that Tyler actually gagged.
“Och, Fenella! Ye’ve set him aff now! Well done!” Lochlan groaned, mortified. Shaeigh chuckled softly and patted Tyler’s back, amused by the chaos.
Eventually, Tyler pulled back, breathless. Lochlan had retreated to his corner, hood back up, gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor. Shaeigh followed him, settling beside him, hand firm on his shoulder.
“Hey, Loch Ness,” she said gently, quiet but direct. “What did Madame Pompom say this time, eh?”
Lochlan scowled, eyes rolling. “She said it wis beyond repair. Ah’m grounded fae Quidditch, an’ Ah’m no allowed tae dae ony heavy liftin—wi ma books or in Potions. It’s pure shite.”
“Well,” Shaeigh replied softly, leaning against his good shoulder, “at least ye’ve still got yer arm.”