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There was a chill in the air as Greta approached Hogwarts a few days before Christmas of 1991. She shivered, the sudden cold coming over her almost like a warning, but she shrugged it off and entered the castle. It was the middle of winter, of course she was freezing.
Once inside, the sight of floating candles and glittering trees gradually warmed her. That, and the excitement of seeing her best friend for the first time this school year. Although, lately she wasn't sure he was her best friend anymore - he'd stopped writing months ago, except to invite her here for a holiday visit.
She entered the great hall, scoping out the number of students who'd stayed over the break. Of course, not all of them would be in the hall together, but she could still estimate.
"Good- Good m-m-morning," someone said, and she turned to see Quirinus standing behind her - familiar, yet so unexpectedly different. He was wearing a turban, his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles, and even though she could only see his face and hands she was immediately concerned by how thin he looked.
"Hello," she greeted, instinctively moving to give him a hug, but he flinched. She froze, recalling the letter he'd written detailing his encounter with vampires, and how his speech and nerves had regressed to how they'd been in school after the trauma. She took a deep breath to apologize, the air smelling strangely like garlic, but he did first.
"I- I'm sorry, I'm n-n-not used t-to being touched late- lately," he said with a twitchy smile, bringing his long nails to his mouth.
"No, it's alright," Greta said quickly, her thoughts racing with worry, "I shouldn't have... I didn't expect you'd be so..."
"Odd?"
"Afraid," she quietly corrected.
Surprising her, he laughed, albeit nervously.
"I'm- I'm alright, Greta, r-really, My s-sp-speech has- has suffered, and I'm m-more jumpy, b-but- but I'm fine," he told her, leading her to the Ravenclaw table, "Come on, I- I have a- a- a gift f-for you."
Smiling, she followed him and noticed a bracelet on his wrist with little cloves of garlic dangling from it. That explained the smell, at least.
"Why are you wea--?" she began, before the answer came to her. The vampires. Of course.
"What?" he asked, as they sat down across from each other, "Oh, th-this?" He gestured to the turban.
"Sorry, I shouldn't--"
"No, no, it- it's fine, it's n-n-not religious or- or anything," he clarified, "It was a- a gift."
"For Christmas?" she asked, wondering who on earth thought that was a good idea.
"Last s-summer. In- In- In Libya."
"Oh, really?" she said with a smile, "That's nice, I'd love to hear more about your trip."
"I d-didn't t-t-tell you?" he asked, awkwardly adjusting the fabric, his hands trembling.
"Only a little. Mostly about the vampires," she quietly answered, so as not to startle him by mentioning it.
He just laughed shakily, saying, "I- I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean to st-stop writing... I j-just had so- so- so much h-happening, and- and all of that on- on t-t-top of everything..."
"I understand," she told him, reaching across the table and squeezing his hands, "I'm just so happy you wanted to see me. I was beginning to worry."
"About w-what? That I- I w-wouldn't want to...?" he trailed off, watching as she nervously glanced down, "Of c-course I want-- I've wanted to- to- to see you, a-and write m-more, I just c-c-couldn't find t-time, and- and- and--"
"I know. It's alright," she said, giving his hands another squeeze when he glanced away. She knew how self-conscious he could be about his stutter, and having it return so suddenly in adulthood had to be difficult.
"How- How have y-you been?" he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.
"Fine. I mean, I've been coping."
He looked at her then, equally worried and curious, and asked, "With- With what?"
"Oh, I didn't tell you," Greta sighed, shaking her head, "I'm so sorry, it's been so long since we've properly caught up--"
"No, d-don't be, it's r-really m-m-my fault," he insisted, pulling his hands away so he could clasp them together anxiously.
"I understand, with the stress and everything," she assured him, "But, um, my girlfriend broke up with me."
"Oh. I- I'm sorry."
"Yeah," she whispered, then cleared her throat and laughed, "Looks like I'm destined to be alone after all."
"Don't say that," he managed to say clearly, before getting tripped up, "You'll f-find someone, I- I'm p-positive."
Not having it in her to argue, she gave him a small smirk and asked, "And what about you?"
"Oh, I d-don't have t-t-time f-for anything like that," he dismissed with a wave of his trembling hand, "Y-You know me, m-married to my work."
Deciding not to push him further, she asked, "Is it going well? Teaching a different class?"
"It's d-d-different, b-but fine. The st-students find it m-more in-in-interesting, at least," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Are you having trouble with them?"
"No," he said, a bit too quickly, "The f-first years are a- a bit much, b-but that's to be ex-expected."
Lowering her voice, she asked, "Harry Potter is in that year, isn't he?"
Quirinus flinched slightly, but answered, "Y-Yes, poor thing, he h-had no idea a-about m-magic until Hagrid t-t-told him."
"Really? Even with his parents...?"
"Mmhm. I- I- I don't know m-much about him otherwise, b-but he's a good kid."
"That's good to hear. I can't imagine..." she sighed, shaking her head, "Anyway, I'm glad you're coping well."
"Barely," he whispered, before tightly pressing his lips together.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can--?"
"No, there's n-nothing. Don't- Don't worry about it," he cut in sharply.
"You know I can't do that," she said, her tone gentle.
"I'm- I'm sorry," he said, looking down slightly, "I t-truly c-c-can't think of- of an-anything that could help."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But hasn't anyone tried? Surely Dumbledore has noticed."
"I- I don't know. Even if- if he did, it's n-not like he could g-g-give me t-time off. Nobody would t-take the p-p-position."
"I would," Greta said the instant the idea came to her, "If you asked for the rest of the year off-- I know I don't have the experience, but if there's really nobody else--"
"That- That's very k-kind, but I- I'm- I'm better when I'm w-working," he said, wringing his hands.
"Are you sure it's good for you? It seems more like a distraction."
"I know," he murmured, "But a- a distraction is b-better than n-n-nothing."
"You could heal. There are muggle doctors who-- Well, of course you know that," she said, laughing sheepishly.
Smiling, he pointed out, "I d-don't think they s-sp-specialize i-in vampires."
"You wouldn't have to say they were vampires."
"I- I suppose..." he conceded, before he suddenly cried out in pain, pressing his hands to his temples.
"What is it?" she asked, bolting upright and joining him on the other side of the table with an arm around him. A few students glanced at them, but didn't seem concerned. Were they that apathetic, or was this something they were used to?
"I'm- I'm fine," he clearly lied, "Th- This happens all- all the t-t-time."
"Is that supposed to sound better?" she tsked, squeezing his shoulder.
Her heart jumped into her throat when he bolted upright, backing away from the table. More people were staring now, and she did her best to keep her voice firm and controlled as she stood.
"I'm sorry. You're alright, you're safe."
A few of the kids snickered, and she shot them a glare. It was like being transported right back to her own school years, where she was one of the only people willing to stand up for him. She supposed she might have frightened these students, now that she was an adult, but it served them right for laughing at someone in distress - adult or not.
"I'm- I'm fine, Greta, you d-don't have to- to be so angry," he assured her, placing a hand on her back, "Come, let- let's g-go to my office and t-t-talk."
"Alright," she sighed as she allowed him to lead her from the great hall, "I'm sorry, I should have known better than to touch you so suddenly."
"It's alright. And- And thank you for- for st-still caring about me."
She glanced at him, puzzled.
"I kn-know they c-c-can't really h-hurt me, b-but I- I- I still..."
"You don't have to thank me for that," she said, looping an arm around his, "And I understand. Just because they're children doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
"Y-You're right," he said as they began the walk up the stairs, "I d-don't g-get angry about it, the- the way I d-did as a child, b-but I don't kn-know how to- to- to m-make them listen."
"That's good-- I mean, that you don't get angry."
He laughed, saying, "I- I know. I don't w-want them to be- be afraid of me, a-and honestly, I d-d-don't have the en-energy f-for anger these days."
He suddenly froze, his eyes widening, as if he'd heard something she hadn't.
"What's wrong?"
It was a moment before he snapped out of it and looked at her, smiling in a too-bright way that unnerved her.
"N-Nothing, I'm- I'm- I'm sorry," he said, one of his eyes twitching, "That- That just happens, s-sometimes, n-n-nothing to w-worry about."
They walked the rest of the way in comfortable but worried silence, and Greta watched the occasional ghost humming carols that echoed through the empty halls. When they reached the classroom, and then the office, she noticed an unsettling lack of color.
"You haven't decorated," she observed.
"Oh-- I completely forgot, I'm s--"
"No, it's alright," she said as she patted his arm, "You've been working so hard, you must be exhausted."
"I am," he sighed, releasing tension she hadn't even felt in him, "I haven't had a moment to myself in months--"
He was suddenly struck by another bout of pain, nearly toppling over. Greta caught him and helped lead him to the nearest sofa where she sat next to him, crossing her legs under her long robe and keeping a firm hand on his back.
"I'm sorry," she said, watching him press his hands against his forehead, "Do you want me to leave? Perhaps this was a bad time..."
"No," he instantly cut in, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes, "Please don't go, I can't be alone right now."
"But you just said... It sounded like you want to be alone," she said with a tilt of her head.
"It's complicated," he said slowly, "I never feel like I'm alone, there's always... something there... It doesn't make any sense, but I can forget about it when I'm with you."
"It makes perfect sense," she told him, taking his hand, "You went through something traumatic, and immediately came back to work without doing anything to treat it. It's very common to have auditory hallucinations or flashbacks."
He looked like he was fighting with himself over whether to say something - to argue, perhaps, or give extra context he hadn't mentioned - but remained silent.
"And you sound a lot more calm since coming here, to the office," she added.
"What?"
"You haven't been stuttering."
For some reason, what little blood remained in his face drained, but he gave a tiny laugh and said, "You're right, it's much easier to speak when it's just us."
She thought that was a bit odd, as his speech had never used to improve depending on who he was speaking with - at least not so dramatically - but kept quiet. It wasn't her place to interrogate that anyhow.
"That's good. I'm glad I can help make that easier for you," she said, holding one of his hands in both of hers, "You feel so cold, are you ill?"
"No, I'm always a bit cold lately," he said, before shaking his head, "I almost forgot, I have presents for you. Wait right here."
Greta pulled her own gift for him from her pocket. Had he said "gifts," plural? She hoped not - technically she'd brought him more than one thing too, but since one package was edible she felt it didn't exactly count. Maybe he had done the same thing.
When he returned from his bedroom, he was carrying one large bag in one hand and a smaller box in the other.
"Here, open yours first," Greta said as he sat down, and handed him the wrapped gift she'd kept in her pocket.
Beaming, he took it in both hands and said, "Thank you!"
"You haven't even opened it!" she exclaimed, resisting the urge to playfully whack his arm - she worried she might break it if she did.
"Well, I know I'll love it if it's from you. And because it's clearly a book," he laughed.
"And this too," she said, handing him a translucent fabric pouch of cookies, "You can sort of see it already, though."
Setting the book aside, he took the little bag and peered inside through the fabric.
"Are those flowers?" he asked, pulling apart the ribbon tying the bag together.
Grinning, she said, "Yeah, and they're edible!"
Quirinus took one of the cookies, observing the tiny bits of lavender baked into the top with a childlike wonder she hadn't seen on his face in ages.
"I couldn't possibly eat these," he said, though she knew he would - he was too polite not to, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Open the other one," she urged.
He did, and found a book, as he'd expected, but when he flipped it open he just stared.
"It's a journal," he murmured.
"Yes..." Greta said, taken aback by his underwhelming reaction, "Do you not like it?"
"No, I- I do, it's wonderful," he quickly stammered, examining the inscripted illustrations on the cover, "I love it, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then..."
Her lips turned up in a relieved but uneasy smile, and she told him, "It's enchanted. Whatever you think or feel will appear on the pages."
When he flipped to the first page, there were indeed words appearing in shimmery blue cursive. Greta subtly attempted to sneak a look, but Quirinus shut the book, blinking rapidly.
"Thank you," he said, clutching it tightly to his chest, "I'll use it every day."
Watching him curiously, she replied, "You're welcome. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, just... oddly emotional," he said with a whisper of a laugh.
"That's alright," she said, putting a hand on his arm, "Is there something you want to talk about?"
"No, no, it's nothing specific," he answered, before taking a deep breath.
She was tempted to slide her hand up to his back, to comfort him until he couldn't hold in whatever he was feeling, but the thought made her stomach twist with guilt. If he was going to talk, he shouldn't be manipulated into it.
"I'm alright, really, I'm sorry," he sighed, glancing at her with a weak smile, "Here, open yours."
He first handed her the smaller box, wrapped neatly, but simply. She took it in both hands, turning it over carefully. It was too large to be jewelry, but something told her it was just as delicate.
"Am I going to break this?" she asked, glancing at him.
"No, I've put a spell on it."
"So it is something fragile?" she said with a self satisfied smirk.
He shook his head with a sigh that was almost a laugh, and said, "Just open it and you'll see."
She did, and inside the box was a glass frog, just small enough to hold in one hand.
"It's perfect," she gasped, staring inside the box. It was a translucent green color that was more opaque throughout the body but barely noticeable through its small finger pads.
"You can take it out," Quirinus said, smiling.
She reached in, her hand shaking slightly, when suddenly the frog hopped onto her forearm.
"Oh!" she squeaked, watching it hop its way up until it was on her shoulder, "What if it falls?"
"It won't break. I've given it a charm for that too."
The frog hopped back down to her hands, and Greta held it up to give it a tiny smooch on the forehead.
"I love him," she declared, placing the frog back in the box.
"It's technically not a boy or a girl--"
"My son."
Quirinus laughed, "Anyway, you don't have to keep him in the box. He can roam around wherever, and won't leave your sight. I made it a bit bigger than it was originally, so you couldn't lose it."
"Thank you," she beamed, stroking its back.
"Here, this one too," he said as he handed her the bag.
"I don't know how anything could possibly top that," she said as she accepted the bag, "And I only gave you one thing."
Confused, he said, "No you didn't."
"The cookies don't count."
"What? Of course they do!"
"They'll be gone by next week!"
"By tomorrow, most likely," he argued, grinning, "Just open it."
She removed the green tissue paper from the bag and pulled out a very large and familiar book.
"Isn't this yours?" she asked, flipping through the gold pages and running her fingers over the gem encrusted cover.
"It's yours now."
When she looked at his face, there was no sign that he was joking.
"But why? I thought it was an heirloom--" she said, lowering her voice, "Did you have a fight with your family?"
"No, nothing like that," he said, shaking his head, "I just don't need it anymore."
"Why not?"
"I suppose because I've learned it all. It does sound egotistical to say, though, doesn't it?"
"But won't your parents care that you just... gave it away?"
With a mischievous smile she'd missed seeing on his face, he said, "I don't have to tell them."
"I really appreciate it, but..." she sighed, unable to smile back. She couldn't place what it was exactly, but something about the whole situation felt wrong.
"I know it's a bit odd to gift something that belonged to me," he said, his hands fidgeting on his lap, "but I want you to have it."
When she looked at his face, how pale and emaciated he looked, it clicked. Her hands shook slightly, and the more she pondered it the more lightheaded she felt.
"No, I don't think it's odd. It's just that... You know, I notice the signs of even non-magical ailments. That's part of my job."
"Of course," he said as his eyes narrowed in confusion.
"None of this may apply to you, but with the state you're in, I'm worried that..." she took a deep breath, and went on, "People give away important things when they know they're dying, or... or planning to die."
He was silent for a moment, and Greta felt her heart pounding in her head.
"That does make sense," he murmured, glancing at her with a twitchy smile, "I didn't mean to worry you, I'm sorry."
Her body sagged with relief, and he patted her arm.
"I knew I was in rough shape, but I didn't realize it was that worrying," he snickered.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean you look bad--"
"You know I don't care about that," he said, dismissively waving a hand.
"So you're not ill? Physically or mentally?" she asked, just to be sure.
"Well, I don't know if I've ever been completely mentally well," he said with a quiet laugh, "But not like that. I promise."
"Okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it all serious," she said, her voice tightening with a mixture of embarrassment and the late response of her fear.
"No, there are plenty of reasons for you to be worried, I understand," he assured her, "With all of my stress, and everything, I can see someone in my position looking for a... a way out." He looked down, seemingly pondering something to himself.
"But not you, right?"
Looking up at her, he smiled and said, "No. I haven't had thoughts like that since we were in school."
"That's not so long ago, you know," she said, kissing his gaunt cheekbone and pulling him into a hug. He was hesitant to hug her back at first, but his arms slowly wrapped around her and squeezed.
"I'm so glad you're here," he said, his voice muffled in her shoulder, "Thank you."
"Of course," she murmured, a bit overwhelmed by the smell of garlic that still hung around him, "And thank you for making time for me."
He pulled away a bit, but held onto her arms.
"I should have gotten back to you sooner," he lamented, his eyes downcast, "I wanted to, I was just... afraid that you wouldn't. Not just you, but anyone. But then I thought, if I don't now, at Christmas of all times, I never would, and that frightened me even more."
Hearing how anxious he was about both options made Greta's heart break a bit. She knew from her own school years how it felt to keep her feelings hidden because she was afraid.
"I know I can't make that fear go away, but you never have to be afraid to talk to me," she told him, "Even if it's been years - not that I'd ever want to go that long without seeing you - but no matter how much time passes, even if you are afraid, I will always be glad to hear from you."
Quirinus squeezed her hands so tightly it was almost painful, but she couldn't be bothered by it when he was shaking so hard.
"What is it?" she asked, noting how tensely his eyes and lips were shut. It looked like he was trying not to cry.
With a small gasp, he said, "I'm afraid all the time."
"Of what?" She rubbed her thumbs over his hands, and he took a deep breath.
"I- I can't tell--"
His hands flew to his head as he let out a pained sob, and Greta had an arm around him in an instant.
"I can't tell you because I don't know," he finished, frantically, as if he might make the pain go away if he did. To both their surprises, it did, and he broke down in tears.
"It's alright, I understand," she said with a strong hand on his shoulder, "Everything is so stressful, and too much, that you don't know exactly what to point to as the cause."
He just nodded and told her, "I'm sorry, today was supposed to be fun, and..."
"It's alright, and it has been fun," she said with a bit of a teary expression herself, "I'm more glad to be here for you at a time when you needed someone."
"You're too good," he whispered.
"It's really quite selfish," she admitted, "I care about you so much, that seeing you - feeling you in this much pain - it hurts me. I love you, of course, but you're so much a part of me that I couldn't stand to lose you."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. I mean, not just lose you to death, but to your illness, your own fear..." she explained, hesitating, "Could I stay with you?"
"Please," he said quietly, "You can stay as long as you'd like."
"For the night?"
He froze then, the little color in his face draining, and he said, "No. I don't think... I'm sorry, I can't."
"I won't sleep in your bed if it makes you unco--"
"It- It's not that."
"I can sleep right here on the couch--"
"I don't need you hovering over me, I have enough of being monitored as it is."
Wondering what that could possibly mean, she firmly told him, "I can help you if you just tell me what's going on."
His eyes began to unfocus, as if he was staring at something behind her or listening for something, before he looked at her again.
"You should go," he said, quietly, but unmistakably clear, "I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm sorry. But I need you to go."
"If I'm hurting you somehow--"
"You're not," he cut in, "Not at all. I just need to be alone until the school year ends."
"Are you sure that's good for you?" she asked, knowing it wasn't, but not wanting to push him away further by lecturing him.
"I'll have the rest of the staff to help me when I need it."
"I'm offering you help right now." It was more a plea than an offer.
Quirinus shook his head and confessed, "I would lose focus of my work."
"I don't see how--"
"I know. I can't explain it, I just need you to trust me."
He stared at her so intensely that she had the sense that something very bad would happen if she didn't - or, at least, that he believed it would.
"I don't deserve it, after what I've said to you, but this is just as much for your well-being as mine," he insisted.
"Of course I trust you," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, "We've said worse things to each other as kids."
"That's why it felt so wrong, just now. We're not kids anymore. I'm sorry."
"That doesn't mean we won't still fight once in a while," she told him, smiling as she reached for his face and wiped away the last of his tears, "You're alright, I forgive you."
Looking down, wringing his hands, he asked, "Would you still want to stay for the night? It's getting dark already..."
"If you want me to," she said, looking over his face with concern, "Is it alright if I take the sofa?"
"I don't mind, but wouldn't you rather have the bed?"
"I couldn't kick you out of your own room."
"There's room for both of us," he said, before quickly adding, "If you're okay with that."
"Are you?" she asked.
"Yes, I wouldn't offer if I wasn't."
"Alright," she said, before her smile faltered, "I didn't bring any extra clothes."
"Oh, that's alright, you can borrow mine. My parents actually sent me some of their old clothes a few months ago, but they're a bit big," he laughed, "Well, more than a bit. Even before I started losing weight they were falling off me."
That was a bit worrying, but Greta knew he had always been naturally thin. She managed a snicker and followed him to the wardrobe in the bedroom.
"Here, these jeans should fit you, though they may be a bit long," he said, handing her a pair, "You can pick whatever shirt you'd like. Unless you'd prefer a dress."
"A dress?"
"My mum doesn't understand that they're not quite the same as wizarding robes," he said with a sheepish smile.
"I can't say I blame her," she said, picking out a frilly pastel nightgown, "I mean, this is basically an old-fashioned dress robe."
"Give that here," he said with a snort, "You can wear my pajamas."
"No, I like this one."
He stared at her for a moment, before sighing, "Because it's green?"
"Mhmm."
"Keep it then, it'll look much better on you," he said, unable to stop smiling.
Once she had changed, she returned to the bed to find Quirinus already under the covers, having traded the turban for some kind of toque. He was staring at the ceiling, and didn't seem to notice her until she crawled in next to him.
"Are you alright?" she asked. He glanced at her, watching her pull the blankets over herself.
"Just tired," he muttered, turning on his side to face her, "Are you comfortable?"
She nodded and asked, "Why are you still wearing a hat?"
"It's cold."
"Cold?" she echoed, not feeling it.
"Didn't I tell you?" he said with a smile, "I shaved my head."
"What?"
"I did!" he laughed, pulling up the front of the hat so she could see past his hairline - or where it used to be.
"But why? You've never been one to experiment with your looks."
He hesitated, looking as if he didn't know the answer himself.
"I... wanted to know what it'd feel like, I suppose. I was curious."
"Well, it's good to know you haven't changed," she snorted, curling up close to him. He took one of her hands, and her chest suddenly felt warm. She was grateful for the dim light, the shadows concealing how red her face must be getting.
"Not in that way, at least," he quietly agreed.
"You'll be back to normal once you get through the year," she assured him, rubbing her thumbs across his bony knuckles.
Smiling, he said, "And no matter what happens, I don't think I'll be teaching anymore."
"That's good," she murmured, "I mean, I'm glad you know your limits now. You should take some time for yourself next year."
"I can't promise that," he said, oddly somber.
"But you'll do something less straining, yes?"
He kept quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting as he pondered it.
"I'll try," he whispered, "I just have to make it to summer."