The Founders

Chapter 12

Kyra stayed up late that evening trying to finish her homework. She sat on one of the circular tables beside the huge windows, the light indigo and wavery. She cobbled together a foot long essay for Care of Magical Creatures and briefly practised the Protean charm, with no luck, before finishing off her Herbology essay on the uses of wormwood.

Most people had left the common room by this point and Kyra tiredly watched the fire flickering green and low in the grate. She rubbed her eyes and stood up with a stretch, one leg prickling and heavy from having been folded under her. In the corner of the common room was a small ice box, humming quietly with its enchantment.

She opened the door, the blue light glowing cold in her face, and took out someone's can of coke. She sat tiredly on the floor in front of the fire, her back against the sofa, and propped the can on her knee, it's chill biting through her tights. A burning coal tumbled with a hiss and hollow kthunk to the bottom of the grate, sparks going up like bubbles in a drink. Her eyes felt very fixed and starey and she ran a thumb down the side of the can, letting a rivulet of condensation slip down to her hand.

The memory of a café in Italy jumped before her, unexpected and saturated. There was the café at the bottom of some kind of historical tower, like the rook in chess. Flapping material partitions formed a square barrier around it. It was on the quiet side of a busy square, just in the chill stone shade now, the sun still orange and intense on the lake at the other end, where stone dropped off to harbour.

Actually, Kyra couldn't remember if you could see the lake from the café. She remembered sitting in the café, a wide, shallow bowl-plate, very white, framing a mozzarella, black olive and tuna salad in front of her. Around the corner behind the cafe, a narrow street veered off into cave darkness, tourists emerging mysteriously from the crazy canyon depths. For some reason, she remembered the café from afar, as though she were standing across the square, on the stairs of the pink-washed church.

She took a sip from the can, cold and sweet, and let the memory drift apart.

The next morning, Grace was obliged to pull her bodily out of bed, yanking the covers back so that cold air from the open window made her skin pucker. Kyra groaned into the cotton of her mattress and rolled as best she could to the floor. Grace threw a jumper at her and she pushed her forwards down the stairs, hands on either shoulder.

Most people had already left the breakfast hall, but as they entered the doors, Kyra dazedly walked into a warm chest. Hands steadied her shoulders and she raised her eyes blearily. A dimple, then green eyes banded with a thick black line.

"Beating you today should be easy, then," Alexander said with a smile.

Kyra was definitely not in the mood. "Yeah, probably," she said. "But some-day, my friend, some-day," she continued, giving him a pat on the shoulder. She walked around him and hauled Grace behind her.

Kat was walking down the aisle from the Gryffindor table, holding a stack of toast and a mug. "Hey," she said, looking concerned. "I got you some toast. Breakfast is about to close."
Kyra gratefully took the food and coffee, and they began walking out of the hall in a group.

"So, today is the next instalment of the saga between you and Fyfe, huh?" Kat continued, as they walked through the doors.

Kyra groaned and dropped her head. "I hate how involved everyone is in this. People will start placing bets next."

Kat pulled her long red hair into a ponytail. "I think there has to be a decent chance of you winning for that to happen, actually," she said with a sly smile. Kyra gave her a withering look.

Kat laughed. "It's just that no-one has ever beaten you in DADA before. There's a compliment in it somewhere."

Kyra made an unintelligible noise as they reached the wide first step of the staircase, and draped herself across the banister, her arms hugging the curtail.

Kat looked at her in amusement. "Are you playing quidditch with us this weekend?"
Kyra groaned again and Grace brushed the sweaty hair at her nape aside.

"What she means is 'I'm too exhausted for this conversation right now but I will soon be ground down by peer pressure and emotional blackmail.'"

"Please," Kat pleaded. "We're a keeper short, and you're actually not bad."

Kyra shook her head in mild despair.