Chapter Text
(Crowley's POV)
The office was quiet now.
Too quiet, after the chaos of the evening: students bursting in covered in mine dust, confessions of hidden identities, and decisions that would ripple through the school year ahead.
Crowley leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the ornate ceiling. The meeting earlier that day felt like it had happened weeks ago, not mere hours.
He should document tonight's events. File the incident report. Update Yulia's enrollment status in the system.
Instead, he found himself replaying that staff meeting in his mind.
— — —
(A few hours ago…)
“Let me be clear about what we're dealing with," Helios started, standing by the window with his arms crossed. "Yulia is grieving. Actively. Her mother passed less than two days ago, and she's been dropped into a completely foreign world with no support system and no way home."
Ayden had nodded, her notes spread across the table. "From what I observed today, she's functional. Able to maintain basic routines, engage socially when necessary. But she's also exhibiting clear signs of suppressed grief. The kind that doesn't process, just... accumulates."
"Dangerous," Crewel added.
Very," Ayden agreed. "Especially combined with magic use. We've all seen what happens when emotional regulation fails during spellcasting."
Crowley cleared his throat then, drawing their attention. “She's... guarded. Cautious to an almost excessive degree."
"Understandable," Trein added, Lucius purring in his lap. "...Given her circumstances. But it will make helping her difficult.”
Vargas leaned forward, his usual boisterousness subdued. "So what do we do? We can't just throw her into the regular curriculum and hope for the best. Not with everything she's carrying."
Helios had been quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. Then: "We give her the option to enroll as the first 'magicless' student."
The room had gone still.
"Explain," Crowley said.
"She needs time," Helios continued, turning to face them. "Time to grieve. Time to adjust. Time to exist in a space where she's not constantly performing or hiding or pushing herself beyond her limits."
He paused for a moment. "If she enrolls as magicless, with Grim handling the practical magic components, she can attend classes, learn the theory, be part of the community. Without the pressure of magical performance. Without the risk of overblotting or something similar if her emotional state destabilizes."
"And if she decides to reveal she isn't magicless?" Crewel asked, one eyebrow raised. "Won't that result in us appearing negligent in our assessment?"
"Then we explain that we were erring on the side of caution," Helios retorted. "She came from another world. We had no baseline for her magical capacity or stability. Given her recent trauma and the unknown variables, we made the professional judgment to restrict magic use until we could conduct a proper long-term assessment."
Ayden nodded. "It's not dishonest. It's actually the most responsible approach given the circumstances."
Trein stroked Lucius. "And it gives the girl agency. She can choose how much she reveals, how quickly she integrates. Control, when so much has been taken from her."
"Exactly," Helios said.
“I agree with Dr. Von," Crowley took the lead, his voice carrying the weight of decision. "We'll offer her the choice. Full enrollment or conditional half-student status with restricted magic use."
"And physical education?" Vargas asked. "I'm all for inclusion, but my curriculum is designed for adolescent males. The strength and endurance standards—"
"We'll assess her individually first," Trein interrupted. "A baseline fitness evaluation before we determine if she can handle the standard curriculum or requires modifications."
"Fair enough," Vargas agreed. "I can design something appropriate once we know what we're working with."
The discussion had continued, safety measures, and protocols. But Crowley's mind had already drifted to that other conversation. The one that had preceded all of this.
The promise that had started everything.
— — —
The memory surfaced now, unbidden and sharp.
Three years ago. Late evening. A knock on his office door.
That young man stood in the doorway, and Crowley knew that something was wrong.
His hands were shaking. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. There was blood on his sleeve, barely visible against the dark fabric, and his breathing came in careful, controlled measures, like each breath cost him something.
"I need to ask you something," He said, his voice hoarse. "And I need you to promise me something. Please."
Crowley ushered him in, closed the door, and cast a privacy ward.
And listened.
"I have a sister," The young man said, slumping into the chair across from Crowley's desk. His hands were still trembling. "Yulia. She’s younger. Fourteen. And... she's still in my home world. We’ve been apart since she was nine."
Crowley stayed quiet.
"You know I came from another world," He continued, voice raw. "And somehow, maybe because of that, I have another ability exclusive to me besides my Unique Magic." He closed his eyes. "With it, I could shift myself to my home world but it took time for me to understand this ability.”
"And you've been training it in hopes of seeing your family," Crowley deduced.
"Yes," The young man’s voice cracked. "I developed enough control over that ability to look across dimensions. Just to see them. Not in small, blurred fragments. But… I can't interact, nor speak to them, can only... watch. For a few minutes at a time before the strain becomes too much."
He looked up then, and Crowley saw the devastation in his eyes.
"Again, I saw them tonight. My father and sister. I thought—" His hands clenched. "I thought I'd finally be able to see them happy this time. To know they were finally okay without me, at least."
The silence that followed told Crowley everything.
“He is going to die in a few months," came the whisper. "My father was on the hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and machines. And I couldn't…I couldn't do anything. Couldn't hold his hand. Couldn't tell him I was there.”
"He wanted her to promise," His voice broke. "Have her promise never to use her Unique Magic. He was so worried about her, about what it might do to her. My sister said, 'We talked about this before. And again, I can’t promise that, Dad. I’ll still use it when there’s a chance someone else can be saved.'"
“My father sighed and patted her hand, saying he needed to rest,’” He wiped at his eyes roughly, the gesture almost angry.
"And I had to stop watching because I'd used my ability too much, and I could feel the backlash starting." He gestured to his sleeve, and Crowley realised the blood was from a nosebleed. A symptom of magical overexertion. "But I heard him. Heard what he said to her after she left the ward."
"What did he say?" Crowley asked.
"'Be selfish a little. Let people care about you.'” The young man’s voice was barely audible. "And then he looked. For just a moment, I could've sworn he looked right at where I was watching from. Like he knew. Like he could see me across dimensions and time and…"
He broke off, pressing his palms against his eyes. His hands trembled harder.
"He said, 'That also applies to you, son. Take care of your sister when the time comes.'"
"You want me to protect her?" Crowley finished.
"I'm asking you to help me keep my father's wish," The young man corrected, looking up. "He wanted her to let people care about her. Wanted her to be more than just... surviving."
"You could do that yourself," Crowley pointed out. "You’re going to be here full-time when your foster father retires. You'd have every opportunity to—"
"No." The young man shook his head. "I can't. Just… not yet.”
He stopped.
"I don’t know what Yulia’s Unique Magic exactly does and she needs space," he said finally. "That space needs to exist without someone hovering over her, watching her every move. I can't be objective with her when I’m secretly finding out more about her Unique Magic. Can't give her the distance she'll need. But you have the authority. The position. The ability to make institutional changes that I can't."
He leaned forward.
"So I'm asking you, Headmage. Help me honour my father's unfulfilled promise. Prevent my sister from using her Unique Magic at all, or refrain her from using it too much. Please."
The raw grief in the young man’s voice resonated in Crowley's chest. The desperate need to do something, anything, to make it mean something.
"As your kind headmage, I’ll try," Crowley said. "When she arrives, I'll do my best to help restrict her use of magic."
The young man closed his eyes, relief washing over his features. "Thank you."
"But," Crowley added, “If your sister uses her Unique Magic, I cannot be held responsible for the consequences. For it is her choice. I am powerless to change that."
He looked up.
“And the restriction can only be applied if she’s enrolled," Crowley said. "Then, at least, I’d be able to carry my part out," He'd held the young man’s gaze. "Are you willing to have your sister be enrolled in an all-boys school? Your sister might be compromised if any dire situation occurs."
He went quiet for a long moment.
Then, slowly, that young man nodded.
“I won't let anything happen to her.”
His hands finally stopped shaking. “I can’t.”
— —
Crowley opened his eyes, staring at the darkened window.
That conversation had haunted him for the past three years. He'd wondered if that young intern had been wrong, if Yulia would remain in her own world.
And then she appeared in the Mirror Chamber during the entrance ceremony.
“Well then, Yuu, tell me: From what land do you hail?”
"I'm from Singapore."
“Headmage Crowley, there’s no need to send me back at all.”
“Hmm? Do you not miss your family?”
“I do, but… My mother passed on today. As for my father, he passed away three years ago.”
The weight of his promise settled over his shoulders like a mantle.
I ought to honor my promises, he thought. As a gracious headmage.
Even if it meant being a person who knew the full truth.
Some promises were meant to be kept in silence.
Crowley stood, moving to the window. The campus was dark now, most students already in their dorms. Somewhere out there, Yulia was heading back to Ramshackle with that monster called Grim, probably exhausted, probably still processing everything that had happened.
She didn't know her brother was here. Didn't know that she was being protected by someone who'd watched their father suffer and could do nothing but honour his final wish.
Some promises could only be honored in silence through careful decisions, and protective measures.
Crowley turned back to his desk, pulling out the enrollment forms.
The ‘gracious headmage’ performance had worked beautifully. No one questioned why he'd taken such interest in a random displaced girl. Theatrical gestures were excellent cover for genuine intention.
But he'd miscalculated with the mine.
Too casual. Too confident it would be a simple test of resolve. He'd been operating on incomplete information, and it had nearly cost four students far more than it should have.
Acceptable risk in theory. Unacceptable outcome in practice.
He tapped the pen against the desk, mind already reorganizing his approach. The young man three years ago had asked him to protect her, and Crowley had agreed because he could and… because he had the position, the authority, the cleverness to manage it.
He just needed to be more thorough. Verify his assumptions. Adjust the variables.
Time to make it official. And time to keep his word.
Though… he'd be lying if he said duty was the only reason he was invested.
After all, a girl whose Unique Magic worried her family enough to beg for restriction, trying to survive an all-boys academy while her brother watched from the shadows?
Now that was worth paying attention to.