"Static electricity is the universe's way of saying it wants to hold hands. Unfortunately, it usually forgets to let go." — Cyrus Greengrass
January 16, 1970
Waking up in the Slytherin first-year dormitory had become a bit of a hazard.
Vega opened his eyes to find his bed curtains sticking to his face. He peeled the velvet away with a crackle of blue sparks and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The air in the room tasted metallic, like licking a copper coin, and there was a faint, high-pitched thrum coming from the foot of his bed.
"Vega," Cyrus's voice came from the next bed over. It sounded muffled. "Your lizard has magnetized my pillow again. I can't get my head off the mattress."
"He's not a lizard, Cyrus. He's a spirit of wind."
"He's a nuisance," Cyrus groaned. There was a sound of fabric ripping. "Ow. My ear."
Vega swung his legs out of bed. His socks, which he had left on the floor the night before, immediately shot across the rug and slapped onto his feet.
"Convenient," Vega muttered, standing up.
He walked over to his trunk. The lid was cracked open an inch to allow for airflow, though Newt's Amazonian habitat jar was doing a good job of keeping the interior humid. He peered inside.
Raijin was awake. The baby Lei Shen was floating in the center of the trunk, curled into a figure-eight amidst the storm-grey Cloud-fluff. He looked bigger than he had last week, his obsidian scales were glossier, and the crystalline spikes along his spine were glowing with a steady, rhythmic pulse.
"Morning," Vega whispered.
Raijin chirped, a sound like a silver bell being struck under water, and zipped up out of the trunk. He coiled around Vega's wrist, nuzzling his cold nose against Vega's pulse point. A small spark jumped between them.
"You need to stay in the trunk today," Vega told him, stroking the creature's lightning-antlers. "We have Potions. The fumes make you sneeze, and last time you sneezed, you short-circuited Barty's cauldron."
Barty Crouch Jr., who was currently trying to flatten his hair with a spell that wasn't working, looked over. His hair was standing straight up, making him look like a frightened dandelion.
"My mother sent me a comb made of bone," Barty complained, looking in the mirror. "She said it stops static. It doesn't work. I look like I've been struck by lightning."
"It's a look," Vega offered, gently unwinding Raijin from his arm and guiding him back into the misty depths of the trunk. "Very avant-garde."
"It's tragic," Barty sighed. "Are you sure we can't just... ground him? Like a lightning rod?"
"I am the ground," Vega said, closing the lid and locking it with a complex sequence of wand taps. "That's why I'm the only one who doesn't stick to the furniture."
x0x0x0x0xx0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x00
Breakfast in the Great Hall was a noisy affair. The post owls had just arrived, bringing with them a flurry of snow from the charmed ceiling and the usual morning chaos of letters and packages.
Vega sat between Rhea and Ellaria, buttering a slice of toast while Cyrus frantically copied Vega's Astronomy chart from the night before.
"Jupiter is in the third quadrant, Cyrus," Vega pointed out, taking a bite. "Not the fourth. Unless you plan on discovering a new planet, you might want to move that star."
"I hate space," Cyrus muttered, scratching out a dot. "It's too big. And the math is rude."
"Vega!"
Professor Slughorn bustled down the aisle, looking like a walrus in a velvet waistcoat. He beamed as he stopped at the Slytherin table, a half-eaten crystallized pineapple ring in one hand.
"Good morning, Professor," Vega said, wiping crumbs from his mouth.
"I heard the news!" Slughorn boomed, his mustache twitching with delight. "The Dragon Club! Rosier tells me you've been invited to the Crossed Wands sessions. Marvelous! Simply marvelous. First years are never invited. Never!"
"I think Rosier just wanted someone to practice on, sir," Vega demurred politely.
"Nonsense!" Slughorn waved a hand. "I know talent when I see it. You must come to supper tonight. I've invited the editor of Transfiguration Today, he's doing a piece on Animagi, fascinating stuff, and I told him all about your beetle-to-button work. He's dying to meet you."
Vega mentally calculated his schedule. Tuesday was usually reserved for the Sphinx Club's riddles, but he had solved the last one early.
"I'd be honored, Professor."
"Excellent!" Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder. "Bring young Mr. Greengrass too if he ever finishes that chart. I daresay his father would appreciate the networking."
Slughorn waddled off toward the staff table, humming happily.
"He likes you too much," Rhea observed, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "It's suspicious. He looks at you like you're a prize truffle he found in the woods."
"He's a collector," Ellaria said softly. "Vega is shiny. Slughorn likes shiny things."
"I'm just glad he invited me," Cyrus sighed, finally putting his quill down. "My father sent me a three-page letter about the importance of 'cultivating influence'. If I tell him I had dinner with an editor, maybe he'll stop sending me books on etiquette."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of frozen fingers and root vegetables in Greenhouse Three, where Sprout had them harvesting Bubotuber pus. But the highlight of the day was Charms.
Professor Flitwick was vibrating with energy as they filed into the classroom. He stood atop a stack of books, his wand twitching.
"Softening Charms!" Flitwick squeaked. "The Spongify incantation. Essential for dueling, exploration, and avoiding broken bones when falling from heights!"
He gestured to the stone floor in front of his desk.
"Observe!"
"Spongify!"
A patch of the flagstones turned a bright, violently purple color. Flitwick jumped off his desk. He landed on the purple patch, bounced three feet into the air, did a somersault, and landed back on his books with a flourish.
"The charm alters the density and elasticity of the target," Flitwick beamed. "You are not changing the object; you are changing how the object interacts with kinetic force. Begin!"
Vega looked at the cushion on his desk.
Density, he thought. Elasticity.
It was the same principle Ming Yue had taught him in the training ring. Soft vs. Hard.
He pointed his wand.'
"Spongify."
He didn't just want the cushion to be soft. He wanted it to be responsive.
The cushion turned violet. Vega pressed his finger into it. It didn't just give; it pushed back. He tapped it harder. The cushion launched his quill into the air, bouncing it off the ceiling.
"Excellent control, Mr. Black!" Flitwick cheered. "Now, try the floor!"
Within twenty minutes, the classroom was a chaos of bouncing students. Barty had Spongified his shoes and was currently ricocheting off the walls like a rubber ball, shrieking with laughter.
Cyrus had Spongified his desk and was trying to stop his inkpot from launching itself into orbit.
By late afternoon, the adrenaline of Charms had faded into the quiet hum of the library.
The winter sun was setting early, casting long, orange shadows across the stacks. Vega, Cyrus, and Barty claimed a table near the Restricted Section, far away from Madam Pince's hawk-like gaze.
"So," Barty whispered, leaning over a copy of Defensive Magical Theory. "Did you hear about the seventh years?"
"Which ones?" Vega asked, not looking up from his Arithmancy homework.
Mulciber and Avery. They were holding court in the courtyard during break. Talking about 'purging the weak'."
"They talk a lot," Vega said dismissively. "It's mostly hot air."
"It's not just talk, Vega," Cyrus murmured, lowering his voice. "My father says the Ministry is getting worried. There are disappearances. Not big names yet, but people on the fringes. Muggle-borns. Squibs."
Vega looked up. The fun of the bouncing charms felt very far away.
Narcissa appeared from the stacks, carrying a stack of books that looked heavy enough to crush a small dog. She dropped them onto the table with a thud that made Barty jump.
"You're loud," Narcissa stated, sitting down and smoothing her robes. "Madam Pince is watching you."
"We're discussing current events," Vega said. "Politics."
Narcissa's expression tightened. She opened a book on N.E.W.T. level Potions, but she didn't read it.
"Aunt Walburga wrote," she said softly, not looking at him. "Sirius set fire to the curtains in the drawing room yesterday. With accidental magic."
Vega smirked. "Good for him. Those curtains were hideous."
"She's worried," Narcissa said, and she didn't mean about the curtains. " About Bella."
She looked up, her blue eyes piercing.
"Rosier is recruiting, Vega. He's asking the fourth years to sign blood pledges."
"I know," Vega said. "I've informed Grandfather."
Natrcissa said nothing. She just stared.
"I'm done," Vega announced, packing his bag. "I need to go feed Raijin before Slughorn's dinner."
"Have fun," Cyrus muttered, still glaring at his Astronomy chart. "If you see Jupiter, tell him I hate him."