Hogwarts School - Elsewhere

Lorelei had no place else to go.

No, that wasn't entirely true. There were other possibilities, other people she could have asked, Caius and Kate most notably, but she'd already imposed upon them enough that summer. Whether it was apparating in the Dankworth ballroom or waiting at Caius's door whenever she couldn't bear to return to her own cabin, they'd both provided her with a safe haven.

This time, she'd give them a break from the weight of her own burdens. There was someone else she wanted to see, to spend time with, to learn from. And this time, at least, Lorelei had the decency to knock.

"Healer Bellestorm?" She called through the door, resisting the urge to simply call her Tala. Even despite the closeness she felt to the erstwhile Head Nurse, even despite the very core of each other they'd shared in witnessing every full moon for the past term, it seemed almost too familiar to call her by her name.

"It's Lorelei," And then, almost like a sigh of relief, she used the name she had the freedom of using here, with Tala. "Logaratchagi."

With Rocío's arms around her, everything felt alright again. The world had been knocked askew but now, in this brief moment, it was made right again. For a moment, she had lost everything, but now, the only thing that mattered had returned to her, and it held her tightly.

“You’re okay.”

Though she'd known it already, it still felt good to hear it spoken, to have Rocío's presence announced to the world, materialized to every single one of her senses. Even her head turned inward, breathing in the scent of her hair, pressing her lips once, softly, to the familiar curve of her neck.

Only once she felt the comfort of her presence in every pore, in every muscle, in every inch of bone, did Lorelei pull away, only slightly, to let her watery eyes meet Rocío's. Held there, she resisted the urge to look only slightly left, toward the curtain where Kate had thrown that damned ring only days before.

(She still didn't know whether it remained there, or whether a servant had swept it away. Or whether, perhaps, Kate herself had done her the favor of chucking it in a bin.)

The words took a moment to come, because how in the world could she explain it all? There was no succinct way of putting everything her adoptive parents had put her through—even in the space of only five minutes—into a simple recounting.

So eventually, she simply blurted out the broad strokes. The simple thing without the complicated feelings and all the unanswered questions attached.

"The Kensingtons tried to marry me off," Somehow, remembering how she'd reacted to the other times her adoptive parents had tried to make decisions in her stead, she knew that even this, simply stated as this may be, would make Rocío just as angry and disbelieving as she had been. "But I escaped."

“We both do, I guess,”

This brought a wry smile to Lorelei's lips. For all that she tried to project nonchalance to the world, for all that she pretended to be nothing but a delinquent, Rocío was the smartest person she'd ever met. More, even, than the adults who paraded themselves as Professors, masters of their fields. She felt absolutely certain that Rocío could do whatever she put her mind to.

Her eyes fell to the hand squeezing hers, cementing her to the realities of the world they both shared.

Together.

And it felt so good to her Rocío say it out loud, settling far more anxieties than those they had been voicing for the past few minutes.

"Any idea what you'd like to do?" She asked. "Potions Master? Healer? Werewolf tamer?" An eyebrow arched playfully, eyes glinting.

When the food came, though, Lorelei was almost disappointed. She let her thumb grave against the back of Rocío's hand one last time—a promise to return, soo, to find the place it belonged—before it had to find her fork and knife instead.

She gestured to the many appetizers sprawled out between them. "Take some."

Mi Heroína,

The Kensingtons tried to do something horrible when I got home. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but I never thought they'd sink so low. I left before anything terrible happened, but I could really use your company right now. I know you've made arrangements of your own for the summer, but if you can find a moment, I would truly appreciate it.

I'll be staying at Kate's until Camp, most likely.

Let me know if you can come, or if it would be easier for me to come to you. I just really need to see you right now.

xox
- Loré

---

Having told Kate to wait in another room, that she just needed a moment alone with Rocío, Lorelei waited in the ballroom. She remembered the last time they'd been there, remembered seeing Rocío then, resplendent in red, and what a surprise it had been to see her there in a crowd of pureblood elites. She remembered how she had shined far brighter than any of their pompous asses.

In the wake of the Kensington's little attempt at entrapment, Lorelei was feeling far less forgiving toward purebloods, in general. She knew she'd always remain one of them, as even in Nepal, her father—her real one—had made it clear that their purity was essential to their standing, to their business's continued success.

Even that memory made her skin crawl now. For the first time, she'd started considering whether he, too, might have pulled something like this on her. Their culture certainly wasn't a stranger to arranged marriages. She liked to think he would have asked her, at the very least, for some form of consent.

Again, she reminded herself that everything would be ok. She had left Kensington Manor. Sure, she had nothing left. No money, no possessions—not unless she risked going back. But she had Rocío.

Everything would be alright once she was here.

Finally, she heard the telltale crack of apparition and before she knew it, Lorelei was already on her feet, hurrying toward Rocío, catching her in an embrace, eager for the reassuring and oh so familiar weight of her arms to wrap around her.

"You're here."

And everything would be alright.

She caught that tension in the air, like she'd said something wrong. For a moment, it twisted at her gut, worrying that she'd erred in mentioning a potential future when all this—even the ground they'd tread before—still felt so new.

Even with all the time they'd spent together since the holidays, with Lorelei carefully picking at Rocío's walls and using the ruins to rebuild what they'd lost one brick at a time, the foundation often felt shaky, rocky, as if the softest spasm could send the whole structure tumbling back down.

The waitress's arrival, then, had been a blessing. A distraction from that tension. And when Lorelei returned them to the conversation, pressing forward despite her doubts, she thought she felt that tension ease.

Not so much in her, however, though this was a different flavour of anxiety, and one that had little to do with Rocío herself.

"I'm not sure," She answered. Lorelei's eyes fell to the table. Despite the distance it forced between them, she found herself reaching across its surface, palm up expectant. "I don't think the Kensintons would let me go very far. I'm sure they have plans for me."

They'd never told her what those were, but they had always been implied. And since she'd gone to Hogwarts, since he'd proudly learned she'd been sorted into Slytherin, Abernathy in particular had taken a liking to talking to her about finances. Lorelei had never known what to make of it, but she'd surmised that her own interests, her own wants, mattered little in whatever equation he was working.

So, really, there had never been any point in thinking too hard about what came after Hogwarts. Surely, it would all be decided for her.

"I'd like to visit, though, at least."

“I know,”

Two simple words, and they meant the world.

That summer, Lorelei had been so concerned about all the things she hadn't been learning about Rocío—a concern that had stuck to her to the point those same questions were spilling out now. Meanwhile, Rocío had simply watched. She had simply learned.

It made Lorelei smile, and she felt the impulse to reach across the table, or knock it out of the way entirely so that she could pull her into her arms. Alas, she would never dare be so indecorous. Not even for Rocío.

“If I drag you to Olvera Street, we’re getting taquitos dorados with guacamole.”

"Well, then we should do that someday." She said, as if it were the most simple thing. "Next summer, maybe."

The waitress chose that moment to come take their order. Lorelei chose charbroiled bistecca, alongside several appetizers she thought might sate her boundless appetite—arancini, salmon tartare, a burrata salad—and a bottle of red, to share.

The perks of being adults.

When the waitress left, she resumed the subject.

"I'd like to take you to Nepal someday, too."

She barely even remembered the place herself.

Her hands reached for Rocío's, happy to see hers reaching back.

She had doubted, though—just a bit. If only because she suspected there were still others. Or, worse yet, that Rocío still harboured doubts of her own.

"No," She said, nevertheless. "I knew you'd come." Despite everything, she knew. When Lorelei called, Rocío would come running, no matter where they stood.

Lorelei took a moment to take her in, admiring this woman who was always so effortlessly beautiful. Tonight, though, she was absolutely stunning, all in black, where Lorelei wore all white.

"Let's go inside."

Leading the way, she pushed the door open, holding it for Rocío. Inside, they waited only a moment before she gave her name to the hostess and both of them were lead to a table in a quiet part of the restaurant, near a window overlooking main street.

Picking up a menu, Lorelei glanced over its edge before looking at any of its offerings.

"What's your favorite food?"

A loud crack reverberated through the ballroom as Lorelei Kensington aparated into the home of Katherine Dankworth.

No one expected her, as evidenced by the gasp of a nearby servant and the tray clattering onto the floor. But there had been nowhere else to go. No other safe place she'd been before that she could conjure in her mind, that she could picture clearly enough to aparate to in a panic, without risk of splinching. And Kate's invitation, still only a few days old, so recently refused, rang clear in her mind when the horror of her situation became clear.

With only a moment to catch her breath and take in her surroundings, Lorelei ripped the ring from her finger, throwing it against the floor where it clattered and rolled toward the gaping servant. She looked back at the woman, her heart beating too madly to pretend at politeness or apology.

"Fetch Kate, please," She said, breathless. "She's expecting me."

Close enough to the truth to work, she hoped.

Although in any other circumstance, Lorelei might have been happy to have Healer Bellestorm join her and Professor Dragomir out on their monthly treks to the Shrieking Shack, this evening, she felt anything but happy. She felt her feet drag against the soil, something her mother would think unbecoming.

(Something, she couldn't help but worry, Healer Bellestorm would also find unbecoming.)

Yet she couldn't help it. The absence of Rocío Valdés weighed heavier on her shoulders than it had on any of the nights before. And on those nights, the weight of it was already crushing her. There was more than Wolfsbane to blame for the circles under her eyes; every night she lay light in her sleep, waiting for the telltale click of heels against the dormitory floor. Alert to any sign that her roommate had finally returned. That she was no longer bent on avoiding Lorelei at all costs.

Heavier still was the weight of a jar in her bag. A new salve that had appeared on her bedside table. Proof that Rocío still thought of her—still must care for her in some measure, even if she did not care to stand in her presence.

Or, perhaps, it had been meant as a goodbye. One last gesture, for the road.

Whatever the meaning, she had it ready for the morning.

Sure as ever, Lorelei went through her usual full moon ritual. She found a sturdy pillar, surely reinforced with enough magic to withstand the pull of a giant, and wound chains too bind herself to it. Her wrists slipped into their manacles—loose, now, though soon enough they would dig welts into the skin of a monster, where they would remain come sunrise.

The Shrieking shack was dark, but to a werewolf, even in human form, that mattered little. Feeling the moment draw near, she looked to Billie, then to Tala, feeling the mounting apprehension that always came in these moments. As sure as she was of the blessing this curse had given her, doubt always crept in when sunset loomed close. With her guard so worn this time, it hit her all the harder.

As the moment approach, she felt goosebumps creep up her skin. Even without seeing the sun or the moon, her body knew their cycles well. The beast would always be ready to pounce, to seize its moment.

It started with the crack of bones, then the ripping of flesh as a thicker hide, coarse with black fur, sprang free, and a hitch at the back of a larger throat as teeth sprang free, sharp and laced with their eternal poison.

It ended with a whimper, as the beast sprang forth but Lorelei remained. Present, always, with the wolfsbane. Present to take control, present to feel the pain, present to remember it all in the morning. Present to smell blood on the wind, close—so very close— as well as gardenias and cinnamon and cigarettes and—

Rocío.

Another whimper came from the black werewolf as the person within realised with a pang that she was here. Unseen, maybe, but here, if she could only find out where. Lorelei, only an animal at the end of the day, began to sniff the ground. With what area her bounds allowed her, she paced the edges of the pillar, drawing close to the edge of the outer wall closest to her usual pillar.

So close.

The beast groaned, and then it began to dig, claws scratching loudly against the old floorboards, pulling out deep splinters and tearing gashes where the wood had grown softer with age.

So terribly close.

There was amusement in Anderson's eyes, sparked by Lorelei's question, but it didn't bother her. Though she was a pureblood, much of the world beyond the walls of Kensington Manor was new to her. Rare or common, so many of it was the same to her—all of it equally as precious so long as it was new.

This proximity between herself and Anders—that was not new, and yet, she coveted it just as much as this moment they both shared. It was not new; but it had been absent, lacking. For more than half her life, Lorelei Kensington had been deprived of something so simple as touch. Of all the currency at their disposal, love and affection, her adoptive parents had hoarded for themselves.

That summer, Lorelei had had her first taste. Rocío had laid her hands upon her skin at its most raw and it had been a deliverance. When it had all ended, when Lorelei once again became starved in the absence of those soft and disarmingly gentle hands, she discovered just how addicted she had become, how impossible it was to live without something so simple as the contact of someone else's skin against hers.

Though the crowd pressed in upon them, it was Anders she felt most acutely, pressing closest against her. No one else mattered; those other bystanders were nothing but an excuse for Lorelei to lean in harder, to greedily feel the warmth of the other girl pressed into her own. Though the room was sweltering already, Lorelei took it all in, craving ever more.

Anders was right—Lorelei really did need a reason to let loose. Far more so than she knew. It was freeing to unshackle herself from the sixth year dormitory, to be free of waiting, at least for one night.

These names, from Chuck Berry to Mimi Palmer, and even all the way to Zeppelin, were all alien to her. But Lorelei listened to the man on the stage, enraptured like a  pilgrim to a prophet. She breathed this place in like a revelation.

(And Merlin knew it smelled like one.)

Then the musicians launched into a melody eclectic and electric that pulled the crowd to madness until it pulled them just as easily into a calm sway. Lorelei watched, entranced, leaning on Anders, who seemed just as eager to fill whatever space remained between them.

"This is Zeppelin,"

The words were screamed in her ears and yet, Lorelei had to replay them in her mind, unsure they'd heard Anders properly. Perhaps she had heard her. Perhaps she simply did not know the meaning of the phrase. She twisted back to put her lips near the Gryffindor's own ear.

"What's that?"