7.
Black Dog Catchers

          IT'S surprisingly difficult to get Elio Black on his own, as Harry comes to find.

This discovery comes after a week and a half of trying to do exactly that. He'd lost the rest of the weekend to recovering in the Hospital Wing, kept company by Hermione and Ron and his occasional visitors. He thinks Elio might have been there when he woke, but he can't think of a single reason as to why the older boy would have visited him. The memory of the event has Elio as a figure lurking in the shadows, like a ghost — vanishing the second you look at him properly. His brain had still been muddled when he was waking and his attention was quickly grabbed by the defeat and then the loss of his broom, so he concludes he likely imagined it.

The guilt of the defeat had consumed Harry for the next few days. The entire Quidditch team except for Oliver had visited him and offered him some sort of comfort. But his Captain, he had prematurely concluded, had been avoiding him. It made him think Oliver blamed him for the loss — as he should — and it fed the awful pit growing in his stomach. By the time the older boy finally caught up with him, he was just about ready to quit the team. Again.

"Why would we get a new Seeker?" Oliver had exclaimed when Harry presented the idea to him. There was no resentment in their interaction, nothing that suggested he was holding a grudge. In fact, it was as if nothing had changed. All Oliver cared about was winning the next match and it seemed his weekend had been lost in the swirl of focusing on how to achieve that.

"Because... my broom–"

"You'll just train on one of the spares. If you haven't got a new one by the next match, I'll get Mam to send one of my old ones." Oliver had hardly batted an eyelid. It seemed this had been a dilemma he'd already dedicated some thought to, as well. "They won't be as good as some of your other options, but they'll do the trick. You can borrow my copy of Which Broomstick, too. It has all the current information on what are your best options."

"Thanks, Oliver." It was hard not to hide his relief. Quitting would have gutted him, but he'd felt so guilty he'd thought he'd deserved it. The Keeper gave him a smile and pressed a strong hand on his shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

"Hey, I was thinking, with the dementor problem..." The reminder of how the dementors affect Harry sent a flush of embarrassment throughout his body. Even though he was completely healed from his fall, the injury to his pride had not faded so easily. And Draco, unfortunately recovered from his run-in with the hippogriff, had made sure he didn't forget how embarrassing it was. But, judgement seemed to be the last thing on Oliver's mind as he suggested, "It's not going to do anyone any good if they keep threatening your life like that. I'm trying to see what I can do to help, but it's hard work. It might be worth seeing what Lupin knows."

Though Harry has no issue with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and in hindsight perhaps he should have been the person he thought to approach about his issue, Oliver's suggestion still felt strange and out of place. That may have just been because Harry has only ever heard the older boy talking about Quidditch, and forgot he could exist outside that bubble.

"Why?"

"He's the DADA teacher. You'd think he'd know a bit about defending yourself." Oliver had explained it in such a matter-of-fact manner it made Harry feel like an idiot. Then, he continued, "Black is actually the one who made me think of it. But, anyway, it stands to reason that Lupin might be able to teach you."

Harry blames this moment for his week long search for the Slytherin boy.

But, he listened to Oliver. After the next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, he lingered behind and spoke to the professor about his issue with the dementors. And Remus had, reluctantly, agreed to help — after Christmas. This presented a solution to one half of his problems which, in a roundabout way, was thanks to Elio Black.

The other half continued to eat away at him. Everywhere Harry went, the Grim seemed to follow. And, every time it did, he found himself in increasingly dangerous situations. He was starting to believe there might have been some weight to Trelawney's concerns. But he had no one to tell, no one who might have some advice. Hermione would see it as a series of coincidences and Ron, if he didn't turn it into a joke, would push this snowball of anxiety down the hill and crush Harry under their shared fears of his impending doom.

He'd felt utterly alone.

And then came Elio.

"Harrison!" The Slytherin had cried out one Wednesday afternoon. It wasn't Harry's name, but it was close enough to capture his attention. When he turned, there stood Elio, glaring at someone past Harry. He looked dishevelled, hair tousled in a chaotic mess that was worse than usual. His robes were askew and, stark against the dark material, was the Grim.

A gold necklace poked out from his clothes, untucked from its usual hiding place. The pendant was a dog's head, glinting at Harry. And then it was gone, as Elio chased after whoever had caught his ire.

Following that interaction, Peeves had ambushed Harry and startled him in such a way that nearly sent him falling down the stairs. This solidified the belief that the dog could only mean death for Harry.

Which only brought him back to his original issue of having no one to talk to. The longer he thought about how agonisingly alone he felt, how he could desperately just use a little bit of guidance from someone who seemed to know a thing or two, the more he thought about how Elio has been that source of knowledge this year. The secrets being kept from him had been revealed, reluctantly, by the Slytherin. Oliver was getting help with the dementors, which in turn had sent Harry to get the help he needed.

Harry didn't know much about the older boy, but he didn't seem the sort to resort to hysteria. And the only time he'd rolled his eyes at Harry was when he had accused him of being in cahoots with a murder. That was all Harry needed to convince himself to try and get Elio alone, to see what he knew.

It takes a week because every time Harry's path crosses with Elio's, the older boy is either in the company of Cedric or at the Slytherin table. Approaching one of those would be a death wish and the other Harry's pride won't let him face just yet. Whenever those two groups seemed to be missing Elio, the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Until, Harry finally manages to find him alone in the Great Hall at lunch. Elio is sat by himself at the end of one of the tables, absorbed in a book sitting next to him. A hefty sandwich rests within his hands. He's in the middle of a mouthful when the Gryffindor takes a seat across from him. Unable to say anything, he instead frowns; the confusion on his face says everything he can't.

"Why do you have a necklace of the Grim?" Harry asks, deciding it best to leap straight into it. That way he can't change his mind. His heart thuds in his ears, regret rushing through his veins. The second the words leave his lips, he grows convinced this is a stupid idea. He's about to set himself up for future ridicule from the Slytherins, he's certain.

Look at Potter, scared of a dog!

"The what?" Elio repeats. It only feeds Harry's doubt.

"I saw your necklace, last week. It's a dog... The Grim." The older boy stares at Harry, unblinkingly, as though he's trying to decode what he's being told. There isn't any hint to his emotions on his face and it's intimidating. Harry has no idea where he currently stands, whether the long silence is one of judgement or just pure confusion. But there's a smear of dirt on Elio's cheek, a strange imperfection, which Harry focuses on to alleviate his discomfort.

Slowly, Elio puts his sandwich down and brushes his hands together to rid them of any crumbs. He moves with no urgency. Everything is at his own pace, which is a speed that is agonising for Harry. It's a relief when Elio reaches around his neck and reveals the gold dog pendant. He removes it, to pass it to Harry.

Up close, Harry gets a better look at the pendant: it's intricately carved, with a yellow gem embedded into its forehead. Lines surround the gem, making it look like a sun. It doesn't look very grim, as it sits within the boy's palm.

"You know how people give babies presents when they're born, as a 'congratulations for being born' or something?" Harry shakes his head. The only thing he got for being born is the scar on his forehead and a lifetime of unwanted fame. "Well, I don't know who gave me that — someone called Mary, never met her. I've had it for so long, I forget I'm wearing it sometimes."

"Is it the Grim?"

"Why would someone give a baby an omen of death?"

"I– I don't know." Harry sighs, feeling stupid. He hands the necklace back and, when Elio puts it back on, it mocks the him from the older boy's chest. "I've been seeing it everywhere."

"You're probably paranoid." The Slytherin responds simply, without any judgement. As he picks his sandwich back up, he shrugs and adds, far too casually, "Or about to die."

"The second option is feeling more and more likely."

"How many times have you seen the dog?" Elio asks. As he bites into his sandwich, a pile of lettuce falls out the other side and lands on his plate with a wet slap. He sighs.

"I saw it before school started, in the bushes. I almost got hit by a bus then." Harry says. "And then I saw it at the top of the stands right before I fell off my broom."

"Go for three." Elio says, through a mouthful of sandwich. "Two's a coincidence, three's a pattern, or something. I don't know. I've never done Divination."

"But what if it is a pattern? Am I just going to be hounded by this dog until I die?"

"I mean, that's how it works, isn't it?" It had been a bad idea to go Elio. The older boy gives Harry something somehow worse than panic or scepticism. He seems uncaring, only interested in stirring the younger. "The way I see it is you've already had two run-ins and you're still alive. If the dog is trying to kill you, it's doing an awful job at it."

Harry doesn't say anything, torn between his pessimism and the desire to find some sort of comfort in anything.

"I'll tell you what..." Elio fills in the silence, putting his sandwich down again. He wipes his hands, then removes a ring from his little finger. It's a simple gold ring with a large black gem in the centre, polished so closely that Harry can see his reflection in it. "You can borrow this ring. The stone protects against evil spirits, which should help you with your Grim problem."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sure." The boy shrugs and resumes eating his sandwich. "I've never had any issues with evil spirits and I wear it all the time."

"Thank you. I'll take care of it." When Harry slides the ring onto his own finger, he feels significantly more at ease. He doubts it's entirely the ring's doing, but the feeling of having something that promises some sort of protection makes him feel infinitely better. With one problem passed, another curiosity takes its place and Harry asks, "Do you remember my parents?"

"No, I'm sorry, Potter." The Slytherin gives him a sympathetic smile. "I barely remember anything from before I was twelve. I only know what I was told and what I've seen in pictures or letters."

"Oh..." The disappointment rings in his voice, unable to contain it.

"If I come across any interesting letters, I'll let you read them. Or photos." Elio promises. "You can't tell Dad, though. He doesn't know I have them."

"He's going to help me with the dementors."

"You get hit by them bad, don'tcha?" It's an observation, not really a question, despite its phrasing. Harry's display at the last Quidditch match has ensured the entire school knows just how they affect him. Though Elio had been there during his first run-in with the dementors, so he would have already known. The older boy goes to grab something from his plate, before he discovers it's empty. With a slight frown, he shakes his head and picks up his goblet instead. He takes a sip, clearly decides that wasn't what he wanted, and looks around the table for something else. There isn't a lot to choose from and he eventually settles on an apple, biting into it with a loud crunch. "How's he gonna test to make sure you can hold up against an actual dementor?"

"I don't know. You don't think he'd make me fight of an actual dementor, do you?"

"Nah, too risky. He'd find an alternative." Elio stares at Harry as he takes a second bite of his apple, teeth puncturing the pink skin with a surprising amount of aggression. If it were anyone else — if it were anyone who acted remotely interested in Harry's presence — it might have felt like a threat. But Harry has since realised the error of his initial judgement. Though the Slytherin has been remarkably nice to him, all things considered, it's his complete disinterest that assured Harry he had no interest in killing him, or leading any killers to him. Every interaction has felt like it has come out of an obligated politeness.

Elio says something, but it is turned incomprehensible as he crunches on the apple at the same time.

"What?"

"I said, let me know what he does." He shrugs, uncaring. "Just 'cause I'll keep wondering otherwise."

"It won't be 'til after Christmas."

Another shrug, "I can wait." Elio takes three large bites and his mouth is full of apple, but he's finished with the fruit. It gets discarded on his plate, alongside the fallen lettuce. He wipes his hands, again. Through his mouthful, he asks, "Wha' you go' nesh?"

With some deciphering, Harry manages to figure out what he said: what you got next?

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. You?"

"Advanced Arithmancy. We're headed the same way, then." Elio explains as he rises to his feet. He closes his book — the title reads 'Dragonfly in Amber' and the cover depicts some sort of picnic. It's tucked under his arm before Harry can get much more of a look. Noticing where Harry's attention lies, Elio says, "It's weird, eh?"

"What is?"

"Time travel." The comment makes no sense to Harry.

"Yeah, probably. I've never had much to do with it." At this, the older boy raises an eyebrow that goes unexplained. His disbelief in Harry's answer confuses him more than the entire exchange, though he moves on too quickly for the younger to dwell on it.

"Bloody hell, 'scuse me a second." Elio marches off before Harry has a chance to figure out what's going on. He watches as the Slytherin jogs around the rest of the table, so he's on Harry's side, and then slows into a quick, controlled walk. His wand is drawn and he's thrown a spell before anyone has any idea what has happened.

An older Gryffindor boy cries out, as a small girl scampers off. He's accompanied by two of his friends and they all outsize the approaching Slytherin. And yet, Elio manages to make himself look infinitely more intimidating as he sneers.

"Pick on someone your own size, Harrison!" Elio growls, as his wand returns to his pocket. Despite now being undefended, none of the boys do anything. They all glare at him as though they wish they could beat him up, but not a single one lays a finger on him. The Slytherin has a sneer that reminds Harry of the look Lucius Malfoy seems to reserve for the Weasleys — as if he's just trodden in something disgusting. "Or are you so weak you can only harass girls half the size of you?"

"That snake was asking for it."

"Oh, oh no, that little girl looked at me funny. Oh, she's so terrifying with her little pigtails. I must defend my honour and pick on her, or else everyone will think I'm a coward." Elio's voice is high-pitched as he pokes fun at the boy. It's as if he's trying to goad Harrison into attacking him. Each word is a taunt, a prod, daring him to do something about it. "We've been through this, Harrison. She's eleven and skittish. There's literally nothing she could have possibly done to you to warrant a week of torment."

"She–"

"Yeah, I get it — asking for it. Still doesn't make you the big man you think you are." Elio interrupts him, which only makes the Gryffindor seethe even more. After this, every time Harrison tries to speak, Elio makes stupid, babbling nonsense. And every time after Harrison tries, the Slytherin gets louder. It's an immature display, completely unbefitting of a Lord, and ensures any similarities to Lucius are completely lost.

"If you must, take whatever issue you have with her out on me, Harry, because at least I can give as good as I get." Elio says when he eventually gets bored.

"Don't call me 'Harry'!"

"What was that, Harry?" Elio ignores him. "You'll stop picking on little girls half your size? Brilliant, I'm so glad I could help you reach this breakthrough."

The Slytherin spins on his heels and returns to Harry. As he goes to leave, Harrison calls out, "Just because you've got some fancy title, doesn't make you better than any of us. Hiding behind it just makes you the coward!"

There's a brief flash of annoyance on Elio's face, like lightning — gone as quick as it arrives. Harry only catches it because his attention had been on the older boy and even he feels like he imagined it.

"I'm sorry you share a house with that prick." Elio says as he approaches. He doesn't stop walking, forcing Harry to quickly fall into stride beside him. "He's been making this new kid cry all week. Normally I don't get involved, but she– I was the only person in the common room when she came back crying and I couldn't not ask and I guess now she's taken that as this indicator that I'm the person to go to for these sorts of problems. So I guess I've become her bodyguard or something, and I'm not even getting paid for it."

"What spell did you use on him?" Harry asks. He'd seen Elio cast something, but there hadn't been any visible outcome to it.

"Oh, I gave him a cold. A bit harder to pinpoint the blame on that sort of thing. Normally I wouldn't be so obvious, but I'm hoping it sends some sort of message." There's a beat. "I'm a bit like Apollo, really."

"How?"

"Giving out diseases, with a connection to the sun." He shrugs — his favourite gesture, it seems. "It made more sense in my head. Are you a religious man, Potter?"

"Don't think so."

"Neither..." Elio sighs. It's quite clear he's regretting walking with Harry, now. "How's the broom situation going?"

"How'd you–"

"Word spreads." Again, in hindsight, the answer is so obvious that Harry feels stupid for asking.

"Oh. Well, I haven't got a new one yet."

"Do you need..." He pauses, then changes his mind. "You should check Which Broomstick."

"That's what Oliver suggested." Elio grunts. They lapse into silence again. As they walk, Harry sneaks glances at the older boy. The Quidditch pitch isn't much of a representation of what he's like, where he's generally more of a blur of green than an actual person. Being in the house Harry tends to avoid if he can help it, he hasn't had much opportunity to find out what he's like outside of that. Elio holds himself like one of the Malfoys but, when he thinks no one is watching, he lacks all of the scorn. Only his posture and gait betray that he's a person of importance.

He has Lupin's eyes, Harry realises when the older boy catches him staring. He doesn't smile, but his eyes light up as if he did — the same way Lupin's do. That's why, he decides, the older boy seems trustworthy despite everything else suggesting he shouldn't be.

"This is where I leave you." Elio announces on the first floor of the tower, gesturing to a nearby door. "Happy learning, Potter. Keep me informed — on both your mysteries."

It had been an ordeal hunting down the Slytherin. It had then been a weird experience talking to him. But, Harry leaves their interaction feeling significantly lighter than when he went in. The ring on his finger is a comforting weight. He doesn't feel quite as alone as he did before. And that, he thinks, makes it worth it.

*

Elio looks the picture of focus. He sits in the dimly lit Alchemy classroom in the middle row, alone, hunched over a book. His mouth rests against his palm, holding his head up, and it gives him a rather tense appearance.

It's the first time Oliver has noticed they share a class — the only class, likely, as it's the only he's taking that muddles the years. He takes the seat beside him, though the younger doesn't seem to notice his arrival. The quiet flicking of his page punctuates the silence between them. He exhales, softly, through his nose. Oliver watches. Elio is quite clearly lost to the world and it makes the older boy curious as to how long it'll take him to realise he has company.

The answer, he finds, is most of the class. Once Professor Alain starts the class, Elio blinks softly and looks up, as if remembering where he is. The book goes away, replaced with a scroll, but Oliver remains unacknowledged. It doesn't seem intentional but, rather, a lack of awareness — or a belief that that awareness is unnecessary.

It's only when Alain splits them into pairs, that Elio finally looks at Oliver. Surprise — raised eyebrows, a pleased grin — passes across his face as he realises who his seating partner is. He leans over, almost conspiratorially, so close that they're touching.

"What are you doing here?" He exclaims, though his voice is hushed in the sort of whisper reserved for unproductive discussions in classrooms watched over by a strict teacher.

"I don't know. What am I doing here? I must've got lost on my way to Transfiguration." Oliver retorts. "What are you doing here? I didn't realise we shared a class."

"Am I that invisible?" Elio pretends to be hurt, hand rising to his chest.

"It would seem so." Oliver's straight-faced delivery is broken by the grin that tugs unwillingly at his lips. He then nods his head toward the little jar and assortment of rocks, pieces of wood, and other things. "So, what're we doing here?"

"Burning things." Elio answers with what is probably a concerning amount of eagerness. With a wave of his wand, he has a small, blue fire flickering away on the table — protected only by a metal plate. Oliver sets up the tripod above it, resting the jar within the stand. For safety, they have to cast bubble-head charms, to reduce the risk of inhaling any potentially toxic fumes. As the bubble forms around Elio's mouth and nose, he sighs, "I swear this class is just Potions' and Charms' horrible lovechild."

"Did you miss the bit where decent grades in both those classes were prerequisites for this one?" Elio only shoots Oliver a withering look. He's good at that, too. Somehow, he can make all the kindness disappear from his face, hardened by scorn and annoyance. It's still linger on his face — unimpressed with the world, as if it's all beneath him — as he takes the first rock and drops it in the jar.

"Do you know what that is?"

"Nae, she didn't say."

"Do you reckon it's a test?" Elio asks, eyeing the rock with a suspicious gaze. Oliver can only shrug, utterly at a loss. He leans back in his chair as he recognises that they have a little bit of waiting ahead of them, simply watching a rock burn. Elio copies his actions, resting one arm over the back of his chair as he tilts his body toward the Gryffindor. "I didn't peg you as the alchemist sort."

"I'm not. But Percy said I had too many spares last year and convinced me to take it up. He raved about it all last year." Oliver isn't usually one to give in to the demands of Percy, but this had been a year-long argument. They had all their spare periods together and the other boy had used the start of every one to make remarks about how few classes Oliver was doing. Then in the few classes they shared, he'd act surprised to see Oliver and act as if it were some great miracle that Oliver was even in class. Studying for exams brought both of these in one awful, little package. Eventually, Oliver thought another year of this would kill him and took up some extra classes.

"How many N.E.W.Ts were you taking?"

"Three — Charms, DADA, Transfiguration–"

"Three?" Elio gasps. He has the same horror in his tone that Percy had had, the utter disbelief. His hand grips the older boy's shoulder as he leans closer. "Why so few?"

"Not all of us can be academically inclined, Mr. Black." Oliver answers, a teasing grin playing at his lips. "But you'll be pleased to know Percy got me doing a grand total of five N.E.W.Ts this year. Somehow, he convinced Burbage I'd be fine to do Muggle Studies despite never having studied it."

"How'd he do that?"

"I imagine it had something to do with the personal tutelage he gave me over the holidays. He came over every day for a week just to catch me up." It had been a miserable week, if only because Percy had no respect for the sanctity of holiday sleep-ins. On any other day, Oliver has no issue being up at the crack of dawn. But not his holidays. They're rest days for a reason. "So, what N.E.W.Ts are you doing?"

"This, Transfiguration, Defence, Herbology, History, Magical Creatures, and Advanced Arithmancy." Elio counts his classes off on his fingers. It's not quite as hefty a list as Percy's, but it still becomes abundantly clear to Oliver that he's dealing with someone who values his academics.

"You dropped the two most important subjects for this class, but willingly continued History?"

"I've learnt what I needed to know from Charms and Potions. I'm good enough." He says it too casually to be bragging, but it sure does sound like a brag. Oliver just stares at him, speechless. "And I like History. It's important to know. Those who don't learn from it repeat it, or whatever."

"What career are you trying to get into with those N.E.W.Ts?"

"I'm not trying to get into anything. I could remain unemployed for the rest of my life and be fine." Elio shrugs, before adding, "I'm going into politics. I have a spot in the Wizengamot literally with my name on it."

"The perks of being a Lord." Oliver comments lightly. He doesn't mean for it to be a jab, but something in his words clearly hits a sore point. He receives a slight grunt of a chuckle, which seems to be more to simply humour him than express any genuine amusement. Elio removes his hand from the Gryffindor's shoulder and leans forward, resting against the desk. He watches the rock, which is starting to darken under the heat. This time, Oliver is the one following his movement, leaning forward so they sit shoulder to shoulder. He gestures toward the book. "So, what were you reading before class started?"

Elio pulls the book closer, so Oliver can reach it. The book spins across the smooth surface under the brunet's fingers until it comes to a halt between them. It only takes one glance at the painted image of a goblet surrounded by pink flowers to know this isn't the sort of book Oliver would enjoy. Not that he reads many books, but this seems like the sort his aunt would read.

"It's about a woman who goes back in time." The younger explains. Despite his previous investment in reading it, it would be easy to assume he doesn't care for the book with how he summarises it. He has a detached pretence, as if he's too cool to read. "Well, that's the basic premise."

"It's Muggle, isn't it?" Elio nods his head once. "Is it any good?"

"No, I'm reading it because I enjoy torturing myself with bad books." Sarcasm drips from Elio's words as he shakes his head. The gesture sets his curls loose, falling over his face, and he has to push them out of the way to continue staring blankly at the older boy.

"Never heard of that sort of masochism before." Oliver flips the book over, barely glancing at the summary, before he passes it back to Elio. Slowly, Elio seems to be warming back up, Oliver's comment forgiven.

"I don't suppose someone who was taking three N.E.W.Ts would." He's smiling again and, though there's amusement in his eyes, it seems to be a rather purposeful gesture — as if to make sure Oliver knows he's joking.

"Careful, you're starting to sound like Percy." Using their close proximity to his advantage, Elio nudges the Gryffindor with his shoulder. "I'm more of a crime novel bloke, myself, when I do read. I like a good puzzle. Never read any muggle books, though."

"Their fantasy books are good for a laugh."

The conversation reaches a lull as their first rock blackens enough to warrant its removal. Oliver levitates it out of the jar, before placing it down on the mat. The burning of it has made its identity even harder to discern, as now it simply resembles a burnt bit of anything. They ponder this dilemma silently, watching as the wisp of smoke around it fades and the rock cools.

It's as if, all at once, the room has filled with the smell of smoke. All Oliver can smell is the acrid scent of things burning, even through his bubble. Then Elio leans over and he discovers the younger smells like leather, mint and something unidentifiably sweet. The scent of his perfume washes over him and it's a grateful reprieve from the smell of smoke. Oliver inhales, burning the perfume into his nose, so that when Elio moves away again the smoke is somehow sweeter and more manageable.

"She was precise about literally every other instruction." Elio mutters, glancing up at their professor. The woman is still sat at the front of the classroom, watching over them all. "I don't think she wouldn't tell us for no reason."

"Maybe we should ask." Oliver offers.

But the younger shakes his head, "Let someone else do it first. That way, if I'm right, we don't look like idiots."

Oliver wants to remark that this logic risks more confusion in the long run, especially as Elio moves to begin burning another mysterious rock. But, as soon as the idea is placed in his head, he realises he doesn't want to be the class idiot. If it truly is such a great mystery, it won't be long until someone else asks.

Fortunately, though no one does end up asking what they are burning, Oliver and Elio are still protected from the title of class idiots. This is because one of their classmates, instead, claims that title with a rather large bang.

Literally.

Oliver and Elio, used to having objects fly at them at top speeds, have enough reflexes to duck under cover the second the glass jar explodes. The younger moves first, pressing a hand down on Oliver's back to bring the Gryffindor with him. As they hunch under the table, still, pieces of glass embed in the arm Elio has raised protectively. Coming from the right side of the room, he takes the brunt of the impact. Something hot and wet splashes against Oliver's back, stinging.

"Whatthefuckwasthat?" Elio hisses in a blur of words, barely comprehensible. His face is close to Oliver's as their heads bump together.

"If you can walk and you've been hit, please head to the Hospital Wing." Alain's voice calls out. She sounds unnervingly calm, as if she's seen this a million times. But this strange nonchalance helps calm Oliver as, he assumes, she would only react this way if the damage wasn't too severe. It's a good thing, too, given it seems he has to be calm enough for the both of them. Elio doesn't move, still clinging to Oliver, eyes wide. The Keeper wraps an arm gingerly around his back, trying not to hurt him, and coaxes him to his feet.

As they stand, he's able to get a better look at the damage: glass has been strewn across the classroom, originating at a rather shocked student who seems to have twisted out of the way before she received an onslaught of glass. No one seems to have been badly hurt, despite the jar exploding so impressively, though they're all carrying nicks and scratches.

Elio has only got two scratches on his face, one narrowly avoiding his eye and the other lower on his cheek. Despite this, his face is already a bloody mess — though this seems to be because of his hand, rather than those two cuts. The other hand, that had pushed the older boy down, now grips the back of Oliver's robes. It's quite clear he isn't going to let go.

They walk arm in arm to the Hospital Wing — which could not be closer to the Alchemy classroom, making Oliver wonder if this placement was intentional. Professor Alain helps the girl who had caused the explosion, though she seems more affected by shock than any injuries. Generally, that seems to be everyone's affliction.

Still, when Pomfrey sees the sudden onslaught of patients, she lets out a sigh and says, "Let me guess — calcination lesson."

She has them spread out across the various, empty beds, finding the students who had been hit the worst and starting there. It seems as though the students who had been sitting in front and behind had been taken most by surprise, needing more attention. Elio and Oliver sit on the edge of one bed. The younger still hasn't let go of his robes. Going out on a whim, Oliver reaches into the pocket he's seen Elio retrieve chocolate from plenty of times before. Sure enough, there's a bar there which he unwraps and offers to Elio.

"Thanks." The younger mutters as he accepts the bar. His hand remains on Oliver's back, though the tension eases around his collar. Oliver keeps his attention focused on Elio, trying to gauge how he's feeling. If it weren't for the previous events, it would be easy to just assume he's exhausted. He has that same detached, blank gaze the sleep deprived students who spent all night trying to finish an essay get. But, as he eats the chocolate, it starts to disappear. Not in the sense of any clear recovery — it just... disappears. Elio holds out his half-eaten chocolate bar with the promise, "I'm not sick, I swear."

Oliver takes it, only because he doesn't feel up to rejecting the boy. He only takes one bite, but Elio shakes his head when he tries to give it back so he finishes it.

"Merlin's beard, I dunno– I don't know what happened there, for a second." That's the first proper thing Elio says, after running his hand down the lower half of his face. The cut, Oliver has determined, is on the side of his hand. Blood smears down his bottom lip and chin. Elio only seems vaguely aware of it — licking his lip as if he can tell something is wrong, but not yet processing enough to realise what is wrong. He laughs. "Thought I was going to die. Bit of an overreaction, looking back, eh?"

"I don't think so." It doesn't sound as though Elio was actually asking a question or wanting approval, but Oliver gives him a response all the same. They fall silent, as the Slytherin's gaze goes distant again. The fingers around Oliver's collar are fidgeting absentmindedly, tightening and then loosening around the fabric. Then they settle, warm fingers brushing against his neck, and Elio sighs.

"I didn't extinguish the flame." The distress in his tone is so great it almost seems exaggerated, comical.

"I'm sure Alain dealt with that before she left." More silence follows. Elio removes his hand and Oliver almost regrets it, because he starts scratching at the cuts on his other hand instead. The younger manages to pull a tiny piece of glass out but gets blood all over his fingers and robes as a result. Watching him, Oliver impulsively reaches out and takes his wrist. "Should probably leave that to Pomfrey, Healer Black."

"Do you reckon we'll find out what those rocks were?" Elio asks, still staring at his hand. He wipes it on his leg, trying to itch it without use of his other hand.

"I don't know."

"I don't understand how, every year, your entire class ends up here." Pomfrey is saying when she reaches the pair, with Alain in tow. "Hello, Mr. Black, Mr. Wood. Where have you been hit?"

"I give them all the same instructions you approved and watch them like a hawk. I managed to contain the worst of the explosion — it was only those first shards that hit everyone." Alain responds. In the classroom, with her no-nonsense attitude and imposing authority, it's easy to assume she's spent her entire life teaching clumsy Hogwart students Alchemy. And though she probably has, that lifetime seems infinitely shorter beside the fierce Pomfrey — who always looks as though she's seen it all and isn't surprised, just disappointed. The Alchemy professor looks as though she'd only be ten years older than them, give or take. She, undoubtedly, would have been treated by Pomfrey when she was in school. Even as a professor, she has that same fearful gaze students get when Pomfrey is on her war path. "Two and a half months, that feels like a new record."

Pomfrey hums as she runs her wand down Elio's face, removing the mess of blood covering it. She then applies a salve to the few cuts and Oliver watches as they close up, soon looking as if nothing was ever there. His arm takes a little more work, as Pomfrey has him remove his robes to his waist to assess the damage. There are small nicks and cuts up his side from where the glass has sliced through the fabric and embedded into his skin, but this too is a piece of cake for the nurse.

Oliver is then put through the same treatment. With Elio taking most of the blow, it's only his back — where hot liquid, he learns, has splashed across him — that has been hit. Soon, they're both fully dressed, uninjured, and generally recovered from their fright.

"Class, your attention please!" Alain calls out once Pomfrey has finished. Her voice feels uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the Hospital Wing, and even she seems aware of this as she lowers her voice when she continues. "What you should have noticed, is that everything you put in that jar, all ended up blackened and indiscernible. It let go of unnecessary dead weight, to become better. Purer, as the old Alchemists were so focused on. Your homework is to start making the steps to undergo your own, personal calcination — though please, don't literally cleanse yourself by fire."

"If I see a single one of you in here with burns, there'll be trouble." Pomfrey calls out, from her office.

"Consider what holds you back, what you need to let go of. Let go of your pride and ego. Then, next lesson, we'll look at dissolution, the psyche, theories around the unconscious mind and how all these connect to the philosopher's stone. Class dismissed."

"Y'know, when Percy called this class enlightening, I didn't realise he meant it literally." Oliver mutters as he leaves the Hospital Wing with Elio, returning to the classroom to collect their things. He receives a soft snicker in response, but a glance at the younger reveals his expression scrunched up in what is becoming a familiar display of amusement. "What's next for you?"

"Advanced Arithmancy." Despite barely knowing the younger, Oliver knows with certainty — if only because he says it's full title every time it's been mentioned — that that 'advanced' is a source of pride. And he doesn't blame him. Sharing a room and study slot with someone studying it has given him an appreciation for the class he'd never willingly inflict upon himself. "You?"

"DADA."

"We're going the same way." And so, the pair head off together again. Oliver is used to being alone in the walks between class — very occasionally accompanied by the stray Gryffindor — so Elio's presence is strange. It's easy talking to the younger boy, easy to forget they aren't borderline strangers, easy to forget that only a few weeks ago he was a name and a reputation — nothing more. It's that Pureblood beguilement, he's sure.

Or, maybe it's not. Elio is so see-through, it would be easy to believe he hadn't grown up in that life. Interacting with other Purebloods, while their true motives might be hidden, their charm is always slimy with fake smiles and false compliments. They ooze with ill intent and you know they don't bode well but that's the trap, because you know and they know that they have you right where they want you anyway. You're in the palm of their hand because they're rich and powerful, and all they have to do is follow a little bit of etiquette before they have you like a marionette if you're not careful. But it's as if Elio forgot somewhere that manipulation is a part of his job description.

And yet, here Oliver is, only friendly with him because the younger has convinced him to hunt down a mass murderer that has qualified adults terrified of him. So, maybe, Elio is just better than Oliver gives him credit.

*

Elio Black is everything Percy Weasley wishes he was.

Successful and rich with a good family name and a reputation he's actually earned. He's socially competent and could have a large horde of friends if he wanted. It's hard to judge him academically, but he knows from Oliver that he's doing some of the more challenging N.E.W.Ts for fun. When he finishes, a nice Ministry job will be waiting for him and he won't even have to work hard for that.

He's not tall, but he isn't particularly short, either. Somehow, he's so perfectly proportioned that his height seems completely unimportant. He doesn't look odd. Percy is abnormally tall and he doesn't even have the proportions to make it work. It's as if he was strapped to some medieval torture device and stretched, leaving him lanky and awkward in the body he grew up in. Even approaching adulthood, he looks like he's just had a growth spurt and hasn't quite filled out yet. Percy doesn't even need to be attracted to men to recognise Elio Black is attractive, as though he decided he'd only take the good parts of puberty and skip the rest.

He's even daring, the very trait Percy is so often teased for lacking. He's the one with the stupidly reckless plan to hunt down his father, while it's Percy trying to play Slytherin — keep them all alive, enrolled, in no danger of being expelled.

This is all Percy can think about as he waits silently with the younger for the others to arrive. It's early in the morning, so Oliver is still getting ready after his morning exercise, and Elio informs Percy that Cedric is doing much the same after a brief Quidditch practice. So, it's just ever-punctual Percy sitting across from a rather tired-looking Elio in the Great Hall. The brunet is sipping a cup of tea, having filled it with an ungodly amount of sugar, as if that might wake him up.

Due to impromptu changes to the agreed upon schedule, by the time the other two arrive, they end up having breakfast together. In some ways, this is almost a blessing, as it provides one brief shattering of Elio's perfect, Pureblood illusion. In other ways, Percy wishes he could be anywhere but the end of the Hufflepuff table, with people he barely tolerates or knows (Oliver not included in the latter — he knows him far too well).

Oliver, as always, eats as if the food is about to sprout legs and run away. Percy is certain he's burnt any sensation off his tongue, but he's also long since stopped trying to understand why the Keeper inhales food as quickly as he does. He's also given up trying to scold any semblance of manners into him. It's a losing battle.

But Elio eats as if he has a million better things to do. He fills his mouth with food, then a thought passes through his mind and next second some incomprehensible slur of words leaves his lips. Percy watches in horror as half a piece of honeyed toast disappears in one go. Then, it only gets worse when, right in front of his eyes, the Slytherin glances at Oliver and, for some reason, quite clearly decides to race him through the rest of his food. At that point, Percy turns his attention to the far better mannered Cedric sitting beside him.

"How was your practice?" He asks, at a loss of what else he can talk about. The circumstances of their acquaintanceship has pushed them past the area of small talk, but he doesn't know the other boy well enough to fill in the silence with anything but that.

"Cold and wet. We were running through mud the entire time." Cedric responds. "But, anything to beat Ravenclaw."

"You better not." Oliver warns, as he finishes his last mouthful of porridge. Between him and Elio, he's the clear victor. The younger scowls softly, turning his attention to his tea. Since the others have arrived, it's the second cup he's poured himself. For one brief second, he looks like the epitome of poise as he takes a sip. And then he downs the rest in one go. It's horrible. "I need Ravenclaw to win."

Percy realises his mistake in bringing up the topic of Quidditch while surrounded by three players from opposing teams.

"Let's not get into any Quidditch debates. We just need to finish breakfast so we can... go." He says quickly, hoping to avoid any sort of debate. The last thing they need is to get caught up in a heated discussion about the Cup. That's the sort of topic that's likely to make the rest of their meeting awkward and uncomfortable.

"Did you find a better place?" Oliver turns to Elio at this, fortunately accepting the change in topic. The Slytherin shrugs his shoulders as he finishes the last of his toast.

"I found a brighter place." Elio answers and that alone makes it better than the last place. Percy had hated how cold and dark it had been, as if they were trapped in a dungeon. He's never felt claustrophobic before, but that room made him feel claustrophobic. "But we'll have to be more careful, keep an eye out for people."

The reason Elio says this, as Percy comes to discover, is because the younger's new meeting place is a window ledge in a tower. It's a walkway. He has them all seated on some bricks, overlooking the grounds. Fortunately no one is likely to pass through and, if they did, they'd have plenty of warning. But Percy now understands the distinction between "brighter" but not necessarily "better".

The meeting is kept short, because none of them have made much progress. Percy and Oliver had dedicated a few of their evenings to scouring all the books on Hogwarts and its defences, but all have largely reached the conclusion that sneaking into the school is impossible. With the added security, Hogwarts is one of the most impenetrable places in the world. The only way Black would have got in is if he quite literally strolled up to the tower — which in itself seems an impossibility, given the dementors and everyone else looking for him.

"I had an idea about the name." Percy mentions, only after Oliver nudges his knee insistently. It hardly seemed worth mentioning, and Percy was just going to wait to see if anyone had had a better idea, but the Keeper seems to have other plans. Quite quickly, he has all eyes on him, too expectant. Their hopes are up and all Percy has is a silly, little suggestion. "Well, I was doing my Astronomy studies and I remembered Sirius is a star–"

"The Blacks have a tradition of naming their children after stars and constellations." Elio confirms.

"Right, well, that star is called the Dog Star. So, I was thinking, as something more subtle, we could be the Black Dog Catchers. Or even just the Dog Catchers..." He trails off, before muttering, "It's a silly idea, really."

Despite how foolish he feels, Elio reacts as if it's the smartest thing he's ever spouted. He has the exact same enthusiasm Oliver had had when Percy had first made that connection. There's the same amusement shimmering in his eyes, a wide smile on his lips. But, with Oliver, Percy at least had the comfort of knowing that amusement was genuine. With Elio, it's impossible to tell how genuine his reaction is — if he's just having him on. The Slytherin is unreadable, even when his face is full of emotion.

"You're a genius, Weasley!" Elio exclaims as he slaps Percy's shoulder. At this, Percy assumes he must be having him on and grimaces at the thud of the younger boy's hand. "The Black Dog Catchers... All in favour of that as our new title, say 'aye'."

Percy is met with three, unanimous 'ayes'. Elio's hand is still on his shoulder, only withdrawing once the name is decided and not before he gives him one last, friendly squeeze.

"So, same time next fortnight?" Oliver asks, as the session clearly comes to an end. They haven't done a lot, beside deciding on the name, but a lot of their time had been lost to breakfast.

Elio shakes his head, "I can't. I have a date with the Carrows. Even school can't save me from proposals."

"You're getting engaged to a Carrow?" Percy blurts out in disbelief.

"No, but they'll try. It's what the tea is for." An insincere grin pulls at the younger's lips, his reluctance shining through despite all efforts to hide it. It's then that Percy finds the one thing he isn't envious of. At least he's not a Lord. At least no one will ever find him desirable enough to try and pressure him into a marriage he doesn't want. "But, anyway, I say we meet up the weekend after so we can plan how to make the most of that Hogsmeade time."

"Let's just meet in the library next time. There are some books on Hogsmeade that we can use." Percy suggests, not wanting to spend another meeting in a dark room or pressed against a cold window. Elio has quite clearly proven he's incapable of finding an acceptable place for a gathering.

"You really are a genius, Weasley." If the last wasn't, this comment is definitely an exaggeration. It sounds all too similar to the twins, in their teasing. "Great work, team."

They haven't achieved much, but that doesn't seem to matter to the Slytherin that has brought them all together. He leaves with a pip in his step, arm linked with Cedric's. Percy and Oliver head together toward the library, with the other boy promising he'll remain silent while Percy and Penelope study. And he does. Nothing can silence Oliver quite like developing quidditch strategies.

Or, at least, that's what Percy assumes he's plotting out. Until, he glances over and sees the word "dog" scribbled amongst his writing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I spent hours trying to research alchemy & transmutation and left it feeling no less confused on how to create a class around it (if anything I felt worse because I was bad at all the sciences it seemed related to). So if anyone has some decent alchemy resources...

If you too have ever wanted a poorly drawn, stick figure rendition of how I perceive the quartet's height differences, then boy do I have good news for you

(It's probably like 170 up to 190cm, roughly, if you were more interested in real world measurements)