Tom scritches him behind the ears absently. "Easy, there."

Delighted noise. "I will not stop bouncing for God or any man."

"Well that's fine then."

They arrive at the dorm. Edmund pokes his head through the door first. "Hello?"

The suite is... interesting. At a glance it seems like it could fit right in among the Slytherin dorms, as a smaller cozier alternative to the common room; but there are subtle alien touches to the design, like the couch this woman is sitting on that's modeled like an oddly shaped river pebble smoothed by long erosion into a comfy place to sit. The woman herself looks up at Edmund with mild bemusement. "Aren't universities supposed to cater to the post-puberty crowd?" she wonders. "Whatever, not the weirdest thing about this place by a long shot."

"Call me a prodigy," Edmund shrugs. "You won't be far wrong."

Tom follows him in. "Hullo," he says. "Tom Riddle. Are you some kind of inexplicably brunette Veela, or are people that pretty all on their own where you come from?"

Edmund rolls his eyes fondly. "And I'm Edmund. You wanted pubescent?"

"People are this pretty where I come from thanks to centuries of careful deliberate optimization! I'm Ysandre."

"Huh. So - breeding the prettiest of yourselves like cattle? Seems an odd thing to choose to optimize for."

"My civilization optimizes for a lot of things."

"Well, that's good! Intelligence, I imagine? Magical potential?"

"We'd be optimizing for magical potential if it existed in our world! For all I know the Empress has a secret project about it."

(There is, now that Tom and Edmund have entered the room, a new face peering nervously in past the slightly-ajar door.)

"Oh."

"Don't be mean. If magic doesn't exist in someone's world it doesn't mean they're a muggle."

Edmund notices the nervous face! He gives her a very small wave.

"What are you talking about? The only definition of muggle that matters is whether you have magic."

"Do you really want to get into this now? Be nice now on the presumption that I'll win this argument later."

"Ugh."

"Dare I ask what not being nice would consist of?" she says, ignoring Edmund's very small wave and its target because the girl at the door very strongly gives off the impression that she will pop like a soap bubble if too many people look at her at once.

Tom is clearly sulking too much to answer.

"Oh, he's got a chip on his shoulder about people without magic back in our world - not entirely without reason, they're a bit awful a lot of the time, but I've been working to soften him up. He'd probably just be slightly more rude to you than he's being already."

"Eh, I kind of like it when people are openly rude to me, I feel like it wastes less time and energy than the alternative. Then again, in what passes for polite society at home, the correct way to express your dislike for someone is to lightly imply that you think they have subpar taste while talking to someone who knows someone who knows them at a party they're not attending. I am, as you may imagine, glossing over a lot of the subtleties. It's exhausting."

Edmund giggles. "Oh, life at court. I miss it terribly."

"I don't! If the Empress wants me back after this she had better be prepared to deploy massive bribes. Which, knowing her, she will be."

"...if I had the chance to go back to Narnia... ugh. It'd be lovely, but - Earth has so many more problems that I can help fix. I just miss - you know, having a place where things were mostly good, somewhere I was just polishing up the details. But I wouldn't trade it. Besides, Tom's here."

"Into fixing problems, are you? Decent hobby, I guess. Keeps things interesting. Where's Narnia?"

"Oh, um - a few months ago by the clock my sister walked through a portal into a fantastical world ruled over by a wicked witch, and after some false starts the rest of us went in too, and I had rather a bad time of it at first but, um, my siblings defeated the witch and Aslan, the King of All Worlds, set me to rights, and then we ruled there as Kings and Queens for fifteen years. Then we got dropped back through the portal and we were all kids again. It's been... an adjustment."

"Also they've been keeping the whole affair secret from everybody in our world," Tom adds. "I suppose you should feel very honored."

"Oh, what, is she going to tell the Minister? There's not a point to keeping it secret here."

"The King of All Worlds? Which ones?"

"Well, all of them, in theory - he's the god the Muggles worship, or so he said, the one that created the world and sent his only begotten son to die for humanity's sins and all that. But with the sheer number of worlds we're learning exist, I'm not so sure of it. How could he have only one begotten son if he had to sacrifice him for that many bloody worlds? It all seems a bit ad hoc, is all I'm saying."

"Yeah, I see what you mean. I was gonna say, I feel like it'd be news to a lot of worlds that they have a king."

"Rather."

Edmund turns to the girl waiting outside. "Are you going to come in? None of us bite except Tom, and I'd stop him."

She sidles nervously into the room.

"...is it true you've met God?" she asks hesitantly. "Did he have anything to say on the subject of vampires?"

"...not in particular? They're not so much different from wizards, if you ask me, just... deader."

"...I think we may be talking about different kinds of vampire."

"We're probably not from the same world, so yes, probably we are talking about different kinds of vampire. But I've no reason to think Aslan would give me advice on your world's varietal."

Small sigh. "That makes sense."

"...what's your name? I guess we could go 'round and introduce ourselves, that sounds like fun - I'm Edmund Pevensie, I'm twenty-five or eleven depending on how you count it, and I hope to become Minister for Magic one day."

"I'm Tom Riddle, I'm thirteen, and... hmm... I'm considering studying to become an Animagus."

"You've never told me that!"

Tom shrugs. "We've been together less than a week."

"Chantal Myers. I'm the Vampire Slayer."

"Ysandre Navarr. My life's ambition is to be totally useless."

"Hmm. I feel strongly inclined to convince you otherwise, but we've just met. But - isn't there anything that itches at you, some social problem that feels like a loose tooth that only you can pull?"

"I mean, I hate lots of things about my society, but my plan for what to do about this is to leave and go do architecture somewhere else by myself."

"...huh."

"Personally my plan for dealing with the things I hate is to conquer the world and make them stop."

"That sounds like so much work! Why would you do that to yourself?"

"Because then no one can put me back there."

"Eh, fair enough, but consider instead becoming enormously powerful and then fucking off to an uninhabited planet and building yourself the prettiest house imaginable where you can live in comfort and luxury and not having to fucking deal with anyone's opinions about your personal aesthetic choices ever again in your life."

"But becoming god-emperor is my personal aesthetic," Tom says, moving swiftly past his moment of vulnerability.

"Can't argue with that!" she says cheerfully.

(Chantal looks like she might perhaps wish to argue with that, if she were capable of arguing with anything.)

"I'll keep him on track," Edmund reassures her. 

"Which of us is enthralled to the other, again?"

"—oh, I wasn't—I'm not—I didn't mean to be rude," she says haltingly.

"Let's not have it be rude to make subtle facial expressions while other people are talking, that sounds like a terrible idea."

"Entirely agreed. I just wanted to be reassuring."

"And I didn't."

"Yes, that does seem to be how you two operate."

"Oh, have you figured us out already?"

"Was I not supposed to have?"

"What if Chantal and I go get some food?" Edmund says abruptly. "I know what you like, Tom; Ysandre, tastes?"

"Quantity over quality, I'm hungry and adventurous."

"Got it. Chantal, you coming?"

"Sure, okay."

Edmund heads out, a spring in his step, leading Chantal.

Once they're out of earshot and then some, he says "Sorry for Shanghaiing you. It's just - I wanted to see if you needed help."

"What do you mean?" she says, nervously, not that she has ever not been nervous.

"You're edging around like you don't feel safe. I want to know if there's something I can do to make you feel less... like that. I can tell Tom you're not interesting, or - ask Ysandre to keep an eye out for you - or scout out the students in the other dorms and tell you what they're like - just, what do you need? To be alright."

She blinks a few times. "Um. I don't—um. I think my being this way is mostly not—about—things? I am just sort of very nervous as a person. It's fine. I'm fine."

"...if you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. And - I don't need a reason to help you feel safer. Just let me know if there's anything I can do?"

"I, um, thank you. I'm not sure... sorry, I don't know how to... I guess I, um, don't have a lot of practice answering that question? Sorry."

"Well - do any of the things I said sound like they'd help you? Telling Tom you're not interesting, scouting out the other students for you, asking Ysandre to keep an eye out?"

"...I, um, I think Tom can probably already tell I'm not interesting. But you can tell him anyway if you want."

"...I don't mean it that way," Edmund says. 

After a few seconds of awkward silence:

"He thought I was interesting."

"...?"

"I - we met at school - and I made an impression - and he. He rewrote me. I can't - I love him. But. I think... it's best for him... if he doesn't do that to anyone else."

He inhales. Exhales. "So. If I keep his attention... away from some people... it's not about whether I think they're. Interesting. It's. Well. Call it jealousy. He won't need anyone else with me around."

"...oh," she says quietly. "I—but I really do think you are just correct, if you tell him I'm not interesting. I'm not... I'm only here because I'm the Slayer. There's not anything interesting about me."

"I'm not sure what the Slayer is, but - I've never met someone who wasn't interesting. At least a little. And I think you're - trying not to be, but I see the sparks."

"The Slayer is a girl with magic vampire-fighting powers who's supposed to save the world from all the things that are trying to end it. Turns out that's a lot of things," she says. "It's—a big responsibility. I don't think I'm very good at it. World hasn't ended yet, though, so I guess there's that."

"How long has it been you?"

"Three years. Since I was fifteen."

"If I'd been told I had to save the world when I was fifteen I'd have killed myself. I could barely handle living in a palace, learning magic and manipulating politically inclined badgers. And you've been fighting evil for three years? Thanklessly, less I miss my guess."

"Mostly it is not very hard! I have magic vampire-fighting powers, I punch the vampires, they fall down, I stake them. Sometimes the Watchers tell me I have to go do something important and I go and do the thing and then go back to punching vampires. If it required special expertise the world would have ended at some point in the past several thousand years of the power getting passed to an untrained fifteen-year-old whenever the previous Slayer died unexpectedly."

"It doesn't have to be complicated to be hard on you."

"...I guess. I don't know. It's not—it's not the sort of thing where—I'm just not used to thinking of it that way. Mostly I think about how untold numbers of untrained fifteen-year-olds across all of human history have managed to do this job and I have the best help out of all of them because the Watchers only accumulate more institutional memory and expertise with time and yet, somehow, I keep screwing it up."

"The world hasn't ended yet, and you're still alive. Maybe you're doing better than you think."

"I think that if I were doing well, people wouldn't be dying of my mistakes."

...well.

They walk in silence for a while, exiting the dorm building into a courtyard. Rather than go directly to the dining hall, Edmund sits on a nearby bench, gesturing Chantal to join him.

"I'm going to tell you a story I haven't told anyone. Tom doesn't count, because he read it out of me himself."

"Okay."

"When I was ten - actually ten, not just looking like it - my sister went through a portal into another world. It was called Narnia. She met a faun, and she had a lovely time, and she came back to us and we didn't believe her because that's not how magic works. I went through the same portal the next day, and I met - a woman. She was beautiful, and... she bewitched me. Not any kind of magic I'd heard of before, just - I wanted to make her happy, and I'd do anything to make it happen. I promised to bring my siblings to her castle, even though I think I knew that she meant us no good. And - I tried. But they were too clever for me, so I ran back to her. She was... angry. She hurt me. She was going to kill me, but Aslan's army rode in and rescued me."

His eyes are shining. "And... they brought me back to my siblings, and I told them I was sorry, and they told me that everything was alright, even though it wasn't. And then the Witch came and told Aslan that I was a traitor, and that by the Old Laws she had every right to me. And he told her she was right. But then he said that if she relinquished her claim then he would give himself over to her instead. And she did. And she tortured him to death on the Stone Table, a sacrifice to make herself stronger."

"Aslan... came back. Killed the Witch. She hadn't accounted for some loophole in the Old Laws, and he had. But." Edmund swallows. "That doesn't mean he didn't die because of me. He talked to me, before that battle where he killed the Witch. Told me... By my grace, you live. For your sins, I died. Were it not for me you had been damned. Remember always what you owe. Live for me; go forth and sin no more. And for fifteen years, I did. I remembered what I owed. I lived for His grace."

"But when Tom was fixing me up for himself, something about that... came loose." He smiles tightly. "Stopped pretending to make sense. I stopped believing that it was a ten-year-old boy's fault that he was hurt by a grown woman, that it was his fault that his god lay down and died for him. I stopped being able to believe that. And I don't think it's a teenage girl's fault if she's not a perfect soldier. If she can't singlehandedly stop every bad thing that happens in the world, without anyone suffering for it."

He closes his eyes. "You don't have to forgive yourself," he says. "But - you don't have to forgive yourself to know that it's not your fault that you're not God. And if no one's told you that, then they hurt you. And that's not your fault either."

"Oh."

"...do you want a hug."

"I would not turn down a hug."

She hugs him. Very very carefully, like he's a baby bird, or perhaps like she hasn't experienced positive human contact since before she had superstrength.

This does not surprise Edmund in the slightest. He hugs her back with all the strength in his skinny preteen frame, and he rubs her back in circles, and he cries a bit.

"It's... it's because I'm the Slayer, right," she says haltingly. "It's because I can, I'm supposed to, I have a responsibility because I—because it's within my power. But. You are not more powerful than God! If he wanted something about that interaction to go differently he should've done something different about it!" She ventures the softest of squeezes. "And, I, I guess, maybe, it's not always in my power either—" whoops now she's bursting into tears, how did that happen.

"You have a responsibility," Edmund agrees, hoarsely. "You have to try. And - I know you have."

Tiny sniffly sobs as of one who understands on a bone-deep level that she is not supposed to be seen crying.

Edmund would like to express some opinions to whoever taught this girl that understanding. For now he will continue hugging.

"I, um, sorry," she says. "Probably you didn't—come here looking for strange girls to sob all over you—"

"...are you under the impression that I told you my tragic life story and wanted you to nod politely and say 'oh, hmm, that was very interesting'? Because I didn't. This was an expected and positive outcome."

"...okay that makes sense," she acknowledges. (Sniffle.) "I just—I'm not used to people... caring."

"This is consistent with my hypothesis that I want to hex everyone you have ever met."

Tiny watery giggle. "Oh no, don't do that, they're, um..."

...and then she falters, because up until very recently she would have said they're trying their best, the best way they know how, to do what's right for the world, to help her be the most effective Slayer she can be... but...

"...I know they're probably - I mean - someone's got to be the closest thing you have to good, even if they don't do what they ought. But - you deserve better."

Deeeeep breath tiny voice.

"When I got the invitation letter from Mesmerra I was locked in an abandoned building with a vampire and my powers weren't working."

Hug.

Angry hug.

Shaking with fury hug.

Light fixture in a nearby sconce flickering on and humming threateningly and suddenly shattering -

(She squeaks and ducks, instinctively turning so that Edmund is shielded from the glass.)

Edmund squeaks similarly when moved. The dangerous humming ceases, as does the furious shaking. "I - fuck - are you okay -"

She brushes at the sleeves of her jacket and combs her fingers quickly through her hair, checking for shards. There's no hard spots or sounds of tiny fragments clattering to the ground. "I'm fine—are you okay—what was that—"

"It - it happens sometimes. When wizards are - really upset. Angry. It's not supposed to happen by the time you're in school. But - I guess - I was really upset."

"...sorry?" she says uncertainly. "It's. Um. Well I really want to say it's not a big deal but I think perhaps it kind of objectively is."

Edmund chokes on a slightly manic laugh. "Yes, I think it's objectively a pretty big deal that the people who are supposed to be protecting and supporting you instead allowed someone to take away your powers and lock you in a building with a vampire. What the fuck is the point of having back-up if they don't back you up?!"

"...I'm... not actually... I'm not actually sure they... well, it, um..." This sentence is a disaster. Try again. "...I'm not sure it's just a matter of—of someone getting past them. I—um. It's." This sounds so flimsy when she says it out loud, but, "My Watcher was—looking forward to my birthday, I guess, sort of? Except then when my birthday actually happened it was like she had forgotten it completely? Except then, um. The thing. Happened. And now I don't know—like, it's obviously insane to think that that was what she was looking forward to all this time—and she wasn't looking forward to it in, in the fun way, it was like, she kept doing extra training and 'you'll be eighteen soon' and—I don't know, I think maybe I am just insane."

Edmund looks confused as she goes through the tangled syntax.

Then, around "obviously insane", he - crystallizes. It starts with his face and spreads through his body. His expression is blank. His muscles are perfectly relaxed.

"Do you know where she is now?" he asks, blandly. His voice is precise.

"...I mean no because I was locked in an abandoned house but yes because she's probably in the same set of places she's usually in but no because you shouldn't go murder her because she is trying to make the world not end and for all I know it was really important! And she kept doing extra training, and on things that in retrospect are relevant to not having my powers, and what if there was a really good reason for it and she was just doing her best to help!"

"I don't want -" He shakes his head. "I want to kill her. But I wouldn't unless I had no other choice. What I'm going to do is read her mind. Find out what she knew, what could possibly be so important that they would betray you like that for it. If her reasoning somehow satisfies me, I will tell her exactly what I think of her and leave it at that. If it doesn't, I will find a way to make sure neither she nor her coven of vultures ever gets their claws on another child."

"I think you shouldn't do that."

He looks - lost.

"They hurt you. They'll hurt more people. More children."

"I don't want them to hurt people but—but I don't want them to get hurt, either, and I don't want the world to end, I really feel like you have not been giving sufficient attention to the part of this story where things are the way they are because the world might end if they were a different way! I don't know for sure that the world would end if you stopped the Watchers from being like that all the time but it seems important to check really carefully before you try anything! And—and if me getting hurt means the world won't end then that's good, that makes it a good thing, I am happy to get hurt if it saves billions of lives!" She shrinks into herself, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. Sorry."

Edmund hugs her firmly.

"Don't be sorry. I - I want to help you. Not hurt you more. I just... got caught up. I'm sorry."

She wavers for a moment, then hugs back. "It's okay. Thank you for—for caring."

Edmund continues hugging for some time.

"I've been less..." He pauses. "I've been less... something. Ever since I came back from Narnia. I used to have self-control. I used to have ice in my veins. But... I've been making mistakes. Like, like getting so upset about you getting hurt that I didn't think about what you'd want."

"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.)