⋆𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠⋆ - 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑

𝟎𝟎𝟖 - 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

⋆

𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟴, 𝟭𝟵𝟰𝟰

Elizabeth's in the Med Wing, hands only slightly shaking as she writes down her report on the incident and treatment of seventh year Minerva McGonagall. The Gryffindor head girl had come in sheepishly during her shift, sporting furry cat ears and looking decidedly embarrassed.

An Animagus transformation gone awry, how riveting – there are certain procedures in place for cases that have legal ramifications like this, and she derives a certain amount of sadistic pleasure in following the required questionnaire to a tee. The prefect in front of her is a known stickler for rules and an outspoken supporter of Dumbledore – of course she relishes in the opportunity to fuck with her.

Her amusement skyrockets when McGonagall admits she hasn't registered with the Ministry's Animagus Registration.

"Well, Professor Dumbledore said I needn't yet, I believe he is more informed on such things than you", she sniffed defensively, her Scottish brogue thickening as she got more uncomfortable – Elizabeth kept looking at her blankly, weighing the consequences of just leaving her like this.

However, she noted that McGonagall seemed perturbed now that she repeated the blatant excuse out loud – her feline set of ears twitched and it had her wondering how the head girl's hearing was affected by the circumstances.

Dumbledore was wrong, of course. A minor that has achieved an Animagus transformation is still required to register in the Ministry, though their name would only become available in public records once they reached majority – the amendment had passed the Wizengamot in 1789, following the incident of a firstie achieving the transformation but getting stuck as a bunny because it destabilized their core.

McGonagall looks slightly terrified when she mentions the getting stuck part, hands going to rub at her cat ears as she asks Elizabeth if she, too, would remain like this. She took pity on the girl after that, silently snorting at her fear of being deemed unsightly – how terrible, truly an unimaginable fate.

The head girl's worries were for naught, of course. Despite Dumbledore's complete ignorance of her, she still was one of his best students and had already proven her capability with human transfiguration.

She had still insulted her though...

"Well, I'll do my best but you might need to consider investing in a hat."

McGonagall looked completely horror stricken, hands once more going to rub at her cat ears as she tried to self-soothe, she opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling down slightly, resigned to her fate.

Elizabeth smiled at her placidly – 'the lights are on but I'm not opening the door for you' kind of smile, the one Healers exceled at. She continued filling out the ministry report in silence, briefly glancing back at the head girl once in a while, watching as she began to fidget in her seat – she wondered if this could be considered a form of psychological torture.

After a few minutes of watching the girl slowly work herself up, she relented and lifted her wand.

"Now, hold still, it shouldn't hurt too much."

The spell was painless.

The Blue of the Animagus reversal spell burst out forth and ingulfed the brunette before dissipating, leaving the head girl with only one set of ears. She conjured a mirror for the brunette to look at and it was nearly snatched out of her hand.

Quickly, she found herself faced with a very flustered Gryffindor thanking her profusely and even using her blasted given name in what she likely considered an attempt at sincerity, she awkwardly patted the girl on the shoulder before sending her on her way.

The second she heard the heavy thud of the door closing, she let out a breathy sigh, flicking her wrist to sanitize and straighten out the sheets of the previously occupied bed.

She walked over to the Wing's reception desk and slumped in one of the armchairs, a worn leathery monstrosity she had taken a shine to early on in her internship – she had a tendency to appreciate the wretched, broken things littered throughout her life.

Her hands moved to massage her temples as she let out a prolonged groan, her head was killing her and her bones felt more restless than usual – and fucking hell did she hate this school.

It was a Sunday, so perhaps the nuns had prayed extra hard for her to have a uniquely shite day in her freakish boarding school, it seemed like an appropriately petty thing to do – she could imagine their agonized suffering way down there in England, with their favorite scapegoat out of reach they couldn't blame anyone else for their various misfortunes.

How dastardly.

Elizabeth made the Sign of the Cross and promptly snorted to herself.

⋆

She's hiding out in an unused classroom again.

It's nothing bad this time, she's simply bottling the latest orders for her shady, underhanded business as Jacques had put it ("Kid I love you and I'm very proud but there are several felonies hiding in that sentence alone, Jesus Christ").

The felonies aren't limited to muggle ones, but he doesn't need to know that. The Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency does indeed have a wizarding equivalent but it's so snobby, and she doesn't have the connections for that. Besides, it's a badge of honor to be involved in the Hogwarts black market during your schooling, in her opinion at least.

It's also likely the only working experience she'll ever get to have.

The Gray Lady's floating off to the side, she's silent tonight – but she often is so Elizabeth doesn't take it to heart. She sinks into the methodical process of her own creation with a rare contentedness, simultaneously working on her occlumency shields as she enters a trance-like state.

She's humming before she realizes it, it's a sad tune, reminding her of a funeral march. Austere and drawn out in a way that has been used since olden days to signal the absence of all that is good.

The empty vials surrounding her start rattling and the corked one currently in her hand drops to the floor. It doesn't break but the cork is jostled out and the potion escapes – that's a waste of ingredients.

It's getting louder, she notes absentmindedly, rattling through her throat and making her veins vibrate. Her vision's awash with white and the spoon holding the sealing wax had dropped from her hand, slowly leaking scalding wax onto her thigh.

It doesn't hurt, it should hurt.

An ancient grief that isn't her own plows through her, shrieking all the while. Her heart aches as though someone's mauling it, the Gray Lady vanishes somewhere and when she comes back there are a lot more ghosts with her.

The walls of the classroom ripple with silencing wards that she hasn't personally cast, much stronger than whatever she could, in her state. There's a stone in her throat, weighty and sharp and jagged.

It's making its way up.

It's doing so rapidly; it's already touching her tonsils. Brushing against her wind pipe as though it wonders if it should go back down that way, just to see what happens. The stone reaches her molars and she tries to bite at it – it's solid and so, so cold. Like chewing on ice chips but worse –

It's on her tongue. She tastes it and it tastes of loss. The stone reaches her front teeth and pushes.

It's out.

Oh. She's screaming.

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A/n. I'm so dramatic lmao. I'm also really sorry for the haitus, I started senior year today and the last few days were overrun by preparations. Myrtle's such a vindictive bitch sometimes I love her.

Minnie's face claim is Keira Knightley in my imagination but it's really up to you.