"Well... what happened, when you came back from Narnia? You were—a kid again all of a sudden, after not being one? That seems like it'd change things."

"Well - but - it shouldn't matter, should it? The mind is the master of the body."

"...the body still... I mean, you have a brain in there. I'm pretty sure. And it's interacting with the rest of you. You'd have a different, um, hormone profile? And maybe different brain chemistry, and maybe even different brain development? Oh! You could check if you've gotten better at languages! That would be really interesting actually..." She trails off, ducking her head shyly. "Sorry, got carried away."

"...hormones... that's... I've heard the word, I think, but I'm not sure - the muggles found some sort of substance in rat blood, wasn't it, and they said it was what made them male or female? Are you saying that - it's my brain and my blood doing the thinking for me, and my soul's just sort of along for the ride?"

"Well... souls are in there somewhere too. But brain and blood matter. People are made of stuff. There's a whole chemistry class at this school, right? Because you can affect the mind through the brain using chemistry."

Edmund abruptly begins crying.

"—sorry—did I say something wrong?" Shut up and hug him, Chantal. "Sorry." That is not shutting up. She bites her lip and applies Very Careful Snugs to the sad friend.

"You d-didn't - you didn't say anything wrong - I just - the last time I talked to my brother - he tried to tell me. He said we were all suffering because - because we were young again - and I was a prick about it because - because fucking Descartes said -"

He gives up and goes back to sobbing.

Hugs. Hugs hugs hugs.

A throat clears.

"Edmund?"

Edmund twitches violently. He flinches back from the hug, as if he can retroactively put his guard back up and notice -

"Tom!"

He extricates himself and hugs Tom firmly around the waist. "Um - sorry we got distracted we were going to get food but -"

"You got absorbed in plumbing the depths of your new roommate's soul, because the concept of being around someone without knowing exactly who they are and how they function is anathema to you."

"Yeah."

"Sorry," says Chantal, on pure reflex.

Tom shrugs. "I wasn't that hungry. Have you done anything worth apologizing for besides distracting my toy?"

"I don't think so?" she says, with the uncertainty of someone who just sort of goes around assuming at all times that she's probably doing something wrong.

"Then go forth and be forgiven. I don't suppose you'd object to my eating with you?"

"Of course n-"

Edmund looks over at Chantal. "Well - hmm - you know how I feel about it, but."

"I don't mind," she agrees quickly.

"Cheers, Chantal! So we can all have whatever meal this is pretending to be together."

"In order to do that you will probably have to stop hugging me."

"What, you can't carry an eleven-year-old?"

"A challenge!"

Hup! And away.

(They're sort of adorable, and yet, phenomenally concerning. That is her diagnosis.)