She was a misfit, he was a git.
Matilda Diggory enters her fifth year of school, ready to remain as under the radar as possible, only there's a catch. She's somehow managed to catch the eye of a particularly annoying redhead, who seems hell-bent on...
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Matilda's first full moon on the Lupin farm was unlike any she'd endured over the summer—and better.
For one, Dumbledore had ensured that Professor Snape brewed Wolfsbane Potion for both her and Remus, a rare mercy that allowed them to retain their minds through the night. It dulled the frenzy, but not the agony. Bones still cracked. Muscles still tore and reformed. And yet, the madness did not claim her.
For another, there had been a roaring fire in the shed where they were kept, its warmth a small defiance against the cold that always settled into her bones after the shift. The scent of pine and earth mingled with the bitter tang of Wolfsbane, grounding her as she curled on a bed of straw, exhaustion dragging her under before the night was through.
She woke to the scent of dawn—crisp and cool, tinged with the musk of morning dew. Aching, she dragged herself to her feet, joints stiff as she and Remus made their way out of the shed. The sight that greeted them was the same as they'd left: Professor McGonagall, Lyall, Dumbledore, and now a tall wizard she did not recognize. He stood with a quiet sort of power, his dark skin contrasting against the deep purple of his robes.
"Kingsley," Remus greeted, shaking the man's hand. His voice was rough, raw from the night before.
"Remus," Kingsley said, his deep voice even, measured. Then his gaze flicked to Matilda, assessing, unreadable.
She straightened, ignoring the thrum of exhaustion pulling at her limbs. She was used to being observed, used to the weight of expectation, but something in Kingsley's scrutiny felt different. As though he were measuring something unseen.
McGonagall's sharp gaze softened when it landed on her, but the steel beneath remained. "You both made it through the night. That's what matters."
Matilda rolled her shoulders, wincing. "Tired. Sore. But nothing new."
Kingsley exhaled slowly, glancing at Dumbledore. "Strange things are happening, Albus. We can't take chances anymore."
Matilda's stomach clenched.
McGonagall nodded sharply. "Yes. But that is not a discussion for now."
Kingsley inclined his head before disapparating, leaving behind a ripple of unease.
Lyall rested a hand on Matilda's shoulder, his warmth grounding. "Come inside, duck. There's breakfast waiting. We'll be in soon."
She wanted to stay. Wanted to listen. Kingsley's words had been too vague, too deliberate. What strange things? And yet, her stomach gave a well-timed growl, and her knees threatened to give out.
So she nodded to Dumbledore in passing—earning a knowing wink—and made her way inside.
By the time she had showered and changed, the adults were still outside. Matilda scowled as she peered through the kitchen window. McGonagall's mouth was pressed into a thin line, Kingsley's absence doing little to ease her expression. Dumbledore stood apart, gaze cast toward the horizon as though it would whisper him the answers he sought. Lyall watched Remus carefully, but Remus wouldn't meet his father's eyes.
