Chapter Text
There is something very, very wrong about this year’s students. She knew this the moment she laid eyes on them. Their eyes, their movements. They didn’t move, think, react the way children did. One of the Weasley Twin’s set off a Whizzbanger. Twenty students reached not for wands, but for weapons that weren’t there. She had seen the way each of them had tensed, fluidly and smoothly entering subtle battle stances, ready to strike within a moment’s notice. Madame Pomfrey was an expert in treating wounds and ailments of nearly every kind. From battlefield triage to delicate treatments, there was no physical wound she didn’t know how to mend. But there was no spell to heal a mind.
She had seen the horrors of not only Voldemort’s war but Grindelwald’s, and if there was one thing she could never drive from her mind, it was the empty eyes of those who lived. Lived when all others died, when their friends and family had been taken into death’s embrace and they were left behind, wondering why it wasn’t them instead. But there had been no recent great war, and the students were too young to remember the horrors of Voldemort. Twenty students, all showing signs of traumatic experiences, in one generation? She didn’t believe in coincidences.
All this was why she was currently pinning the cheerful blue-eyed Hufflepuff in front of her with one of her best Mediwitch Knows Best stares.
“Mr Egbert, you have to take your Dreamless Sleep Potions.” John Egbert had been suffering from nightmares, frequent and frightening enough that his class work had begun to suffer. They had started recently, apparently triggered by what the entire school had begun to refer to as the ‘Boggart Incidents’. She was not surprised at all to learn that it had apparently centered on some of the Twenty students.
John smiled at her, cheerful and friendly, buck teeth as white as snow. “Sorry, I forgot, ma’am.” ‘Forgot’. John Egbert woke up in cold sweats or didn’t sleep at all. John Egbert had woken up with a scream so desperate, the rest of House Hufflepuff couldn’t stop sending him concerned looks. You didn’t ‘forget’ to take the one thing that could prevent that kind horror. That kind of absolute dread. She sighed, folding her hands across her lap patiently.
“Mr Egbert...” Her tone carries a warning, and he just smiles at her again, sheepishly. She sighs, relenting. “Why won’t you take the potion?” She’s exasperated now, but that’s mostly because John Egbert is a difficult patient. It’s hard to try and be stern with him, when he seems so... she doesn’t really have a word for it. Innocent? Naive? He seemed to radiate this ‘I’m a good boy, honest’ aura and you could tell he had his fingers crossed behind his back even before you learned he had engaged the Weasley Twin’s in a pranking war that had required the intervention of half the staff before it ended.
The smile falls for the briefest of seconds, and unsurety, nervousness and a strange sense of longing peek out from behind the facade. She feels almost voyeuristic, catching a glimpse of something she knows she was never meant to see. The momentary glimpse fades as quickly as it came. “I just forgot? I’ve been busy with all the homework.” She sighs. He’s lying, but she knows he won’t tell her the truth. “... Go back to bed, Mr Egbert.” He smiles at her again, slips off the bed and leaves silently.
She watches him leave, with a wistful stare.
The bubbling of the cauldron is the only thing that breaks the silence. Grey skinned fingers carefully work the knife, removing the organs of the flobberworms and preparing them to be used later in potions. The nubby-horned troll worked wordlessly, nimble hands working through practiced movements in a routine. Black eyes watch him move just as silently, tracking the way the knife splits the slick brown skin of the worms.
“... Makara hasn’t been sleeping.” He breaks the silence softly but with a suddenness that seems to scream. The knife pauses for but a moment before resuming it’s work, graceful in an almost sarcastic way. “I know.” The troll grunts in return, punctuating his reply with the slapping sound of disemboweled flobberworm landing on disemboweled flobberworm. Of course he knew. They were moirails. Snape would’ve been surprised if he didn’t. “Madame Pomfrey tells me that Egbert isn’t either.” The knife flashes a little too quickly, but the cut is still professional and perfect. There are times when Snape wonders how experienced Vantas is with knives.
“Your point, Professor?” The tone is respectful, if only grudgingly. Vantas has authority issues, a trait Snape found was disgustingly prevalent within the House of Lions. A little part of him is actually somewhat pleased that he has earned the Gryffindor's respect in some way. The rest of him still bubbles with annoyance. “You are moirails with Makara and... inclades with Egbert, aren’t you?” He was going to say ‘friend’ but Alternian terminology seemed more appropriate. More personal. Direct. Strictly speaking Vantas was both to Egbert, and Snape was fairly sure that all the students in the Boggart Incident were connected either by friendship, incladeship or both. Karkat only grunted in reply.
“As a Professor at Hogwarts, I am professionally concerned as to the well being of not only the students in my house, but the student body at large.” He said softly. A part of him was personally concerned. A little bit. Not one he’d ever admit.
“And you’re talking to me about this why, Professor?” The next flobberworm is barely on his table for a scant few seconds before it’s disemboweled and flung into a barrel with the rest. He weighs his options, before deciding that being blunt will be the best option when dealing with Vantas. “Makara refuses to talk to me about it, and Egbert is a Hufflepuff.” Vantas said nothing. “I’m not blind, Vantas, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped behaving as though I was.”
He circles around the table, and Vantas pauses momentarily in his flobberworm slicing. “First the Boggarts, now nightmares and insomnia. Ampora flinches every time he so much as holds his wand and Strider goes into his own world whenever he sees blood.” Red eyes meet his black ones. “I’m not an idiot, Professor, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped behaving as though I was.” Snape falls silent, and they match wills in a silent contest. They both look away at the same time. The cauldron bubbling is the only sound that remains for what seems like hours.
“I can’t force you to tell me what happened, Vantas.” His voice is subdued now, quiet. “But it’s important that you talk to someone about it. I may not be your head of House but I am... intimately familiar, with this kind of... issue.” Vantas returns to slicing his flobberworms, performing his detention with that same routine ease. “I’ll keep it in mind, Professor.”
His knifework has not dulled at all, and if he is bothered by their discussion he does not show it. “I know that it may feel as though nobody understands, but that is a lie. You are not alone.” The blade stills for a moment once more.
“With all due respect, Professor, we were never alone.” The knife moves in swift strokes again. They fall into a silence that could be called comfortable until the end of the hour.
The first one to work up the courage to ask the question on everybody’s lips is Hermione Granger. Dave Strider is so far from surprised by this that he is surprised at his lack of surprise. She looks nervous, and a little bit anxious, so he opts to break the ice himself.
“Sup Granger.” He gives her a cool nod, and she returns it awkwardly. “What can I do for you?”
“We were curious.” She blurts out, with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Smooth. He could admire that. “Yes, they do match the carpet.” She falters for a moment, unsure before regaining her composure. The reference is lost on her. Probably for the better. She probably wouldn’t like the implications. “It’s... your boggart.” He was expecting that, but the reminder still sends electricity up his spine, and his fingers twitch.
“Shit, Granger, take a girl out to dinner before you go rooting through their deepest darkest secrets.” She looks flustered, and he gives himself an imaginary pat on the back. He has no intention of answering her inquiries. He has no intention of answering anyone’s inquiries about his Boggart. The only people who matter already know why. The Egbert-Harley twins had practically sandwiched him in a cuddle pile in the Room of Requirement.
Hermione squeaked lightly and he smirked. She started stammering, so he just ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Granger, I don’t really want to just spill my guts all over the table about it, to someone I barely know, no offence. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about that isn’t about my crippling, absolutely terrifying, deep-seated and did I mention completely and utterly personal fears?” She didn’t answer. “Super. I’m just gonna continue working on my sick fires if you don’t mind.”
She shuffles off, presumably to report back to the other two of the Golden Trio. Tavros glances over at him, from the position he’s in, lounging on the couch by the fireplace. “Was that, uh, really, necessary, Dave?” He says quietly. Dave shrugged in reply, scribbling another line onto his parchment.
“I’d say better me then Karkles, but Granger was probably smart enough to choose me over him to begin with.” Tavros snorts lightly at the idea of Karkat ranting loudly and excessively at the bushy-haired girl.