Woooo Happy Birthday Zoe, We Love You!!

by whisperingbonesstan

Summary:

Happy Birthday Zoe! Thank you for being one of the most amazing people ever and for making all of our lives better. We love you very much and hope you enjoy your present before AO3 inevitably takes us down :'( :0 :)

Notes:

This one is Evan's!!! He says, and I quote, "Originally a college AU, still technically a college AU, but it went places I wasn’t planning it to go."

Chapter 1: More Than a Half-Life

Aila bursts through the doors of the library. The force of her entry causes them to slam, shattering the silence in the vast entry hall. At 2 am, no one is there to care. Except the tired looking student manning the front desk, but he doesn’t care either. She runs forward and turns sharply through the narrow doorway to the left, descending into the stacks below. She can feel the tears welling up, but she doesn’t let them surface. She keeps going, down and down, flight after flight. Once she reaches the bottom, she will be able to allow the sobs to push their heads above the water, gasping for air. Safe in the darkness, surrounded by the forest of books, she can sit, safe in her aloneness, and cry.
But she never hits the bottom. The floors keep coming, lower and lower, and never seem to stop. The books on the shelves grow older, mustier, more alive. They seem to be rustling, like leaves on a tree. They even sound organic. She keeps running down until, finally, after what feels like an eternity, she reaches the bottom. She crumples to the floor. The tears come and Aila begs for catharsis. All of a sudden, she hears a change in the whispering of the books – the pattern she had quickly become deaf to has been disrupted. She looks up and sees a face, the most beautiful face she has ever set eyes on.
“Hello?” Aila asks.
“No human feet have made it to the lowest level in generations,” the girl answers.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m human, and I’m here,” retorts Aila.
“You must leave immediately. Go back to where you came from,” the girl scowls. Aila thinks she looked even prettier when she was angry. “It isn’t safe for you here.”
“It’s ok,” Aila says, and reaches her hand out the other girl’s, brushing it lightly. She wants to reassure the other girl, but after what she had just been through, she wants the touch to make herself feel better as well. “I should be safe with you here.”
The other girl winces and pulls her hand away. An indeterminate expression passes across her face, and she cautiously touches Aila’s hand back. It’s cold.
“What do I have to fear here?” Aila asks.
The other girl hesitates. “Me.” Aila thinks the other girl seems sad about this but is unaware of the fact.
“No,” she responds. “I don’t have to.”
“I have done deeds which you cannot even begin to comprehend. I have seen evils which chill the hearts of men. I am the quenching fire which purifies the rotting wood. I am the coursing flood which washes away the years of accumulated grime. I am…”
“…a beautiful woman who lives in the basement of a library. I am not scared of you.”
An emotion would have flowed across the other woman’s face, if her face were capable of showing emotion.
“Why are you here, …”
“Aila.”
“…Aila? You were crying when I found you.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Remember what I said, Aila, the horrors which I have beheld.”
And so Aila told her.

 

The fifth time Aila goes to the bottom of the stacks, the very bottom, she finds the other woman waiting for her.
“I have something to show you,” she says. “Never before have mortal eyes beheld the expanse.”
Aila is a bit puzzled, as the other woman takes her hand and leads her through the narrow canyon between the bookshelves. The path twists and turns seemingly at random. She feels as if they are creeping ever deeper into the earth. The path grows darker and darker until the darkness becomes so deep that it turns light again. Finally, the passageway opens onto a vast courtyard. Intricately carved, ivy-covered colonnades encase a lush garden. The sky is a brilliant midnight blue, illuminated by stars that twinkle with the light of a million suns.
The other woman leads Aila down to a small pond, where a fountain burbles inexplicably from the center. She sits down and gestures for Aila to join her.
“I have dwelled here since before the moon rose amber.”
A long pause.
“It’s the first place I felt anything approaching a home.”
“It’s magical,” Aila says, looking into the woman’s eyes.
“The second place is when I first felt your touch.”
Aila lifts her hand to the woman’s cheek. For the first time, it feels warm.
When their lips meet it tastes like nothing and everything.
“Me too,” Aila whispers.

 

Aila’s lips just barely brush the other woman’s ear.
“What’s your name,” she whispers as quietly as she can.
“Lorelai.”

 

The last time Aila goes to the bottom of the stacks, she can’t find Lorelai anywhere. Instead, she hears hysterical sobbing. A man’s hysterical sobbing. Aila follows the voice. She peers between a bookshelf and sees a man in salmon shorts pinned to a bookshelf. Lorelai is holding him there with an inhuman strength.
“Please... please no, I’m so sorry,” he gargles.
Lorelai says nothing.
The boy turns his head, and just for a second, makes eye contact with Aila. Cornelius Jefferson. He is a Phi Tau Beta. Aila feels like vomiting as images of Cornelius in that dizzying, pulsating frat basement circle through her mind. She knows what he is capable of, was capable of, yet, here he is, begging for mercy.
He whimpers pitifully as Lorelai places her hand on his chest. Aila reaches for her own chest, remembering Lorelai’s touch. Lorelai’s hand grows skeletal as she digs into his chest. With a crack, she rips out a rib. He groans. Lorelai holds up the rib in the light. It has broken, and its sharp end gleams like a star.
Lorelai plunges the bone into his neck. Blood gushes forth, turning everything red.
Cornelius screams. Aila screams. Lorelai turns suddenly and locks eyes with Aila.
“No. No. No. No,” Aila repeats. She starts to back up towards the exit, as Lorelai walks toward her. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Lorelai’s dark skin begins to shift and writhe. She starts to look fuzzy around the edges.
Aila starts to cry. She sees that Lorelai is crying too, but the tears are ink. Small black lines begin to creep off the edges of her body. They float through the air toward a book on a shelf. Lorelai grows hazier.
“I’m so sorry,” she says over and over. One of the strands whisks past Aila’s eyes so Aila could read it.
“Aila’s eyes met Loralei’s. In that moment it was not Loralei who was stripped bare of skin and flesh and all markers of humanity. Aila was power and air and light. She smiled out through her veil of fire. The villagers stared back, and the layers of ash, sedimented in their eyes and throats and minds, were razed clear with the heat of Aila’s gloried defiance. Aila smiled wide, her teeth glimmering fangs. She tilted her head back and roared.”
The words keep fluttering by, but Aila is looking up at Lorelai, who is growing fainter and fainter.
“I’m so sorry. I tried to warn you. I’m so sorry. I…”
Lorelai was gone.
Aila breaks down crying on the floor. The whisps of what had once been Lorelai continue to float through the room which is now filled with Aila’s sobs.
She sits there for a long time.
At last she looks up, through her clouded eyes, and sees that all of the whisps have settled.
She stands up and walks to the shelf where the book is, where Lorelai is. She pulls it off the shelf. It is warm. She opens it up. The page she happens upon has one line on it.
“I am here with you,” Lorelai cried out.
Aila turns to the beginning of the book and starts reading.

 

Aila wasn’t sad when she left the library for the last time. She knew what she had to do. She was power and air and light. She knew what she had to do, and they would do it together.

Chapter 2: Live Love Jasper

Notes:

What is up homie! This is the first time I have written creatively since Parv's class in junior year of high school. Thus is your power!!!!!!!! Anyways you're one of my favorite people in the whole world and I hope that every day of your life is the best day ever :) Also I am currently publishing this in my intermediate coordinator training. Like I am literally sitting in the conference room of a random building typing this while listening to a PowerPoint on how not to be an awful person. I am also very hungry and they have little chocolate croissants on the other side of the room but nobody has gotten up for a while and I don't want to break the silence. Anywho, Tyler is reading this over my shoulder and judging me. Sorry Tyler :(

It was a dark and stormy night… but in like a fun way. A way that made you want to sit in a bay window and curl up with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate and be happy. Jasper very much wanted to do this, however, he was out of hot chocolate. And so, because he was out of hot chocolate, he decided it would be a good idea to go for a little jaunt around the neighborhood to his local coffee shop and so he put on his bright yellow rain jacket and bright orange rain boots, and, looking like a walking traffic cone, headed down the street of his cozy little neighborhood.

While walking, he ran into his roommate Loralai. He asked her if she wanted to go to the coffee shop with him but she said, “Sorry I am but a humble side character in this fanfic and therefore will not join you.” (Author’s Note: How do you write dialogue? Should I have started a new paragraph?) Not at all disgruntled by his roommate's reply, Jasper continued walking. After about 9 minutes (or exactly enough time to listen to Classic by MKTO 3x) he found himself outside the shop. The store used to be a Dunkin Donuts but had been taken over by Starbucks in recent years. This mildly irritated Jasper because Dunkin had much more affordable prices and Starbucks employees sucked ass but hey, when in Rome ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Jasper enters the Starbucks and is surprised to see the store decked out in Christmas decorations even though it’s literally November 6th. With Mariah Carey blaring in the background, Jasper makes his way up to the front of the store and approaches the barista. He’d been hoping it would be his friend Aila, but alas it’s just some lunatic named Katie instead. She laughs at him when he asks for a hot chocolate, because literally what loser would pay $6 for a small hot chocolate? Yet, despite this fair point, after negotiations on his drink order, he actually ends up paying $9 so who knows… mayhap Katie was a double agent secretly on the side of capitalism all along. He moves to the end of the line and watches Katie begin the drink. She opens the fridge and grabs the bottle of non-dairy milk (oat to complement the chocolaty favor obvi). Next, she pours the milk to the “grande” line of the steaming pitcher and places it under the steaming wand, aerating it for 4-6 seconds. She then queues 4 blond ristretto shots and while the shots begin to pull, adds 4 pumps of mocha and 2 pumps of toffee nut syrup into a grande cup before inserting it under the spout, just in time to catch the espresso as it begins to trickle out from the machine above. While the shots finish pulling, Katie pulls the heated milk out from the steam wand, cleans the wand, and wonders for the millionth time why the steam wands are so phallic and why cleaning them always feels so sexual. She taps the pitcher on the rim of the counter a couple of times to get rid of the bubbles until the final product looks like “wet paint.” Grabbing the cup, she pours the milk slowly and gentry so that it evenly distributes amongst the espresso. Near the top, she dips the milk pitcher just a little bit so that a small dollop of foam drops (intrusive thought is to write “drools” instead ;)) into the cup, staining the otherwise uniformly colored drink with a light circle of snow.

With his finished coffee in hand, Jasper leaves the store. The rain has turned to a drizzle but there are puzzles aplenty along the sidewalk so he takes some time jumping in the puddles, splashing, and remembering what it is to be young and free and innocent. In the middle of doing this, he looks up and makes sudden eye contact with someone across the street. He smiles when he realizes that it is Fida, the girl from his anthropology class (Jasper’s in college). He thinks Fida is so super cool and kind and pretty and smart and so he waves shyly. To his delight, Fida waves back and begins to cross the street towards him. They begin talking. First about all the fun facts they’re learning about Greek religious festivals in their anthropology class, but then also about their common interests, and the meaning of life. It’s a really intellectually stimulating conversation and Jasper feels very fond of Fida by the end of it. It appears the feeling is mutual too because suddenly Fida is saying that Jasper’s her favorite part of Anthropology class and asking him if he’d like to go to see a movie with her. Jasper is ecstatic and quickly says yes before excusing himself to go do a couple of jumping jacks behind a tree to burn some of his excitement off. Once cool, calm, and collected he rejoins Fida and together they begin walking towards the center of town. Realizing that movie theater food is a sham and way too expensive, they stop at Market Basket for two baguettes, a loaf of butter, and one of those strawberry-banana smoothie things they have near the produce section.

They arrive at the movie theater and smuggle the baguettes inside in the arms of their jackets. They get inside the movie theater, one Jasper has never been to before, and they look around. He’s a little baffled that this movie theater is in a furniture store… but decides it’s best that he doesn’t point it out at the risk of offending the rather pretty girl who invited him here and seems quite enthralled by the whole shebang. It’s a throwback movie that he hasn’t seen before but nonetheless loves. It’s from the 80s and it has a killer soundtrack. He doesn’t exactly remember what the plot is about but he thinks it has something to do with a guy who's an assassin who goes back to his old high school reunion but then somebody’s trying to kill him? He thinks it’s some idiot named Zoe’s favorite movie? Point Blank? Point Gross? Gross Blank? Are any of those close? Anywho, the point is that he really enjoyed the movie and he even got to kiss Fida three whole times.

That’s right!!! They kiss once, twice, three whole times before they decide to be done kissing for now so that the plot can move on and Katie doesn’t have to attempt to write smut. After exiting the theater, they decide to peruse the furniture for a bit, you know, rate the value of each sofa and such. When they get tired of this, they take the escalator back downstairs, past this weirdly huge green animatronic monster thing eating what appears to be a mannequin in a Yankees jersey. This part confuses Jasper, but he knows the Yankees suck so he supposes it’s fine. They get ice cream and watch a water fountain show, trying to guess the songs featured in the performance and wondering how much the person who choreographs the water shows gets paid and if they require any formal training. When they announce that the furniture store/movie theater/ice cream parlor is closing soon, Jasper realizes that they have been sitting there talking for 5 whole hours. Wow! Time really flies when you are having a good time :) Except now Jasper has to pee :(

After begging the employee to let him use the bathroom, Jasper and Fida begin walking home. Stopping to identify bird calls. After walking Fida home to her door, Jasper arrives back home to find Loralei wrapped up on their sofa watching and watching Buffy and Vampire Slayer. Loralai looks so warm and cozy and comfy and the Buffy is just so perfect for the fall vibes the universe is currently giving them. He settles down next to her and spends the rest of the night watching Buffy, eating popcorn, and just generally relaxing and chilling. He falls asleep on the sofa next to his bestest friend, having just gone on the first date with whom he could already tell was the love of his life. It was the best day of Jasper’s life ever. He’s so happy to be alive and safe and alive and happy and did I mention alive?

The end.

Chapter 3: Like Real People Do

Notes:

This one is Sammie's!!!!!

Notes:
Sorry for the long wait everyone >.< I got diagnosed with cancer and had to go through chemo, but the doctor says I have 3 weeks to live which means I have time to appease the brain worms

Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, English is my first language, I’m just an idiot

Summary:
High school AU featuring protective Lorelai, sunshine Aila, smol bean Jasper, and stupid Mikka getting what he deserves

*BEEP**BEEP**BEEP*

“Ughhh”

Lorelai opened her deep silver eyes, fluttering her eyelashes a few times as the world came into focus. Not wanting to start the day yet, she snuggled closer into her bedding, feeling like she was wrapped in a cacoon of cloud candy as the autumn breeze flitted in through her open window. The rushing of the nearby river and the chorus of birds were not as easily turned off as her alarm clock, however, so she finally sat up, slipped out of bed, and began to get dressed.

Never one to care about the opinion of others, Lorelai pulled on a pair of black cargo pants and layered a deep green and blue flannel on top of her favorite girl in red tour t-shirt. She pulled her blonde locks into a messy bun and grabbed her bag as she left her room.

Leaving her house, she waited for Aila, her neighbor and her long-time crush (not that Aila knew that), so that they could walk to school together like they have since 1st grade.

Finally, Aila stepped out of her house, skipping down to Lorelai in a pink sundress, buzzing with excitement.

“Are you ready for the first day of our senior year?!” Aila exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, another year of having to sit through classes taught in order to brainwash all of us into sticking to the status quo, where women are forced into competition with each other while men are placed on pedestals for doing the bare minimum. Can’t wait” Lorelai scoffed as she rolled her storm-colored eyes.

“Would it kill you to lighten up sometimes?”

“Yes.”

********************

First period was biology with Mr. Butcher, which was nothing new. Lorelai sat at a lab bench with Aila, and their other best friend, Jasper, sat just in front, occasionally turning around to quietly make witty comments about other people in the class. Again, nothing new.

What was new, however, was Mikka staring daggers at Lorelai from across the room. Quarterback of the football team and son of the mayor, Mikka walked around the school like he owned everything and everyone. For the last three years, he had ignored Lorelai’s little group. This year, however, he seemed to have changed his mind.

Lorelai wasn’t blind. Aila was beautiful. There is a reason why she had always held a secret crush on her childhood best friend. But again, Lorelai wasn’t blind; over the summer Aila had finally grown into her long legs, filling out in all the right ways while maintaining her perfect skin and sunny disposition. Just during homeroom, Lorelai had noticed multiple boys looking at Aila like it was their first time seeing her, and apparently, Mikka was included in this lot. And what Mikka wants, he thinks he gets.

Sure enough, at lunchtime, Mikka swaggered up to their table, grinning like a hyena on the prowl.

“Hey Aila”

“Hi Mikka?”

“So I’ll pick you up around 8 then?”

Lorelai had to stifle a laugh as Aila’s jaw dropped in surprise? Disgust? It was hard to tell.

Jasper didn’t do as well to conceal his amusement, joking “Wow Mikka, I’m surprised you even know how to tell time without your butler here.”

“You won’t be laughing when I shove your head in a toilet, smartass” Mikka sneered, which only made Lorelai laugh even harder. Whipping his head to look at her, Mikka said “What’s so funny, little miss lesbian?”

“Ooh, stupid and homophobic, what girl wouldn’t be swept off her feet” Lorelai smirked back.

Fuming, Mikka stormed back to his table of football bros, who glared back at their table with all the intensity of frat boys who got their beer pong table taken away.

*************************

Three weeks later

*************************

Lorelai didn’t like sports. Football specifically, she abhorred. But Aila wanted to go to the homecoming game to cheer on her nephew, Nyssic, who was in the school band.

Their school’s team was behind by 5 points, with 1 minute left on the clock. At the last second, Mikka got the ball, and threw to a teammate in the end endzone, scoring the winning touchdown. Neither Lorelai nor Aila cared about that, but they did care about Nyssic getting to lead the band through the celebration song at his first game as drum major. Or it should be said, Aila cared about Nyssic, Lorelai was too distracted by the happiness and pure joy on Aila’s face to pay attention to anything going on around her.

It was this moment of distraction that allowed Mikka to sneak up on them, grabbing Aila by the waist and spinning her around to face him. “You know, for winning the big game don’t you think I deserve a congratulatory kiss?”

Before Aila could begin to resist, he was pulling her towards her, time slowing as Aila realized she wasn’t going to be able to escape his chapped lips as they inched closer.

Right before they reached her, Mikka’s face was suddenly flying sideways, with Lorelai’s fist following. Her punch sent him rolling down the bleachers head over heels, leaving him sitting on his bruised butt right in front of all the cheerleaders and the entire student section.

While he picked himself up and ran away crying, Aila was looking over at Lorelai.

“You punched him.” She said in awe, staring at Lorelai with wide eyes.

“He didn’t ask for permission” Lorelai responded slowly, also slightly in shock at how quickly and viscerally her body had reacted when she saw him puckering his lips. “You should always ask for permission” she whispered, realizing how obvious and almost silly that sounded.

“So why don’t you ask?” Aila whispered, staring into Lorelai’s eyes, which widened with the realization of what Aila was implying.

“May I kiss you”

“I have been waiting for you to ask since we were freshmen,” Aila said as she smiled and pulled Lorelai down to kiss her.

Fireworks exploded behind Lorelai’s closed eyes. Whether they were from the kiss or from the school celebrating their big win was not the question, as at that moment, there was no one else in the world besides Aila and Lorelai.

 

~Fin

Chapter 4: Creating Love at Work/ Spectral Love

Notes:

Okay this one is Hannah's!! I think we all know she has not read Whispering Bones so when she says AU she means AU... so AU you might not even know what the original U was ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I literally cried tears of laughter reading this for the first time... which isn't saying a lot b/c I cry a lot, but still Hannah... you're an icon never change I love you :)

Summary:
Business AU. Lorelai is a ghost who is working her life away, that is if she still had one. Aila is also a ghost working at the same company but in a different department, what will happen when their paths cross?

It may be surprising, but lots of ghosts and beings in the afterlife want to continue their lives. They want to keep living and hitting milestones, those of the living seek. They have goals and want to reach achievements. They want connections with others, whether they be friendly or romantic.

Lorelai is a marketing coordinator for a company called BOOston IVF. Here, everyone at the company helps those who have infertility struggles, often due to being ghosts, because believe it or not, ghosts have a lot of difficulties conceiving children. There is an alternative and immoral route, which involves abducting living children and choosing to raise them alive or murdering them. That can also be a hassle at times, which is where BOOston IVF comes into play.

Lorelai has been very busy at work lately, she has been planning a big fancy event for the company called the Bottom. During this time, she has spent countless hours in meetings planning everything. She basically lives in her cubicle. Recently, she has been working on the seating arrangement for the dinner portion of the event.

A few cubicles down is Aila, who works in Human Resources. She knows everyone’s name at the company, but hasn’t necessarily met everyone or know who is who. She is currently helping an employee change the destination of their direct deposit, when she noticed someone hovering around the door to her office. She quickly finished helping the ghoul with their issue, before asking the being outside to enter.

Lorelai enters Aila’s office and asks her about the list of attendees for the Bottom. Aila is able to help Lorelai sort out the list of employees who will be attending the event. During the interaction between the two, there is an unexplainable connection. The two feel drawn to one another.

A few days go by and the two keep running into each other throughout their work days, despite this never occurring in the past few years they’ve both worked here. Upon these run ins, they’ve had small conversations about superficial topics.

When Lorelai is finalizing the seating chart for the dinner, she changed Aila’s seat to be next to hers, in order for her to get to know Aila better.

The day of the event is here. Everyone is finding their seats for the dinner. Lorelai is already at her seat fidgeting worked nervously, as she waits for the rest of her table to arrive. Fifteen minutes after the start time of the dinner, Aila arrives at the table and takes her seat next to Lorelai.

Aila is surprised to be seated next to Lorelai, since she’s been thinking about their previous encounters. What a coincidence! The two hit it off and talk nonstop through the dinner, even whispering to one another throughout various presentations and videos during the dinner.

What are the odds, at the hotel the company is staying at, they are paired together to share a hotel room. They spend the night hanging out and talking.

[Insert Ghost Smut if wanted, Use your Imagination]

After this night, the two grow closer and closer as time goes on. They spend time together after work and hang out when they can during work. Their relationship blossoms into a love-filled haze.

After a year of being together, they decide to take the next step and move in together. This leads to marriage two years later and then the want to create something of their own and out of their love. At the very infertility company they work at, they were able to conceive their own ghoul of a child.

They all “lived” happily ever after.

The End.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Oh wait... you thought Hannah only had the one fic? NOPE!!!!!!!!!! Best made a whole second one too... your friendship must just be so inspiring and joyful to her ;)

Part 1: A Love Beyond Death

Aila has always been fascinated by the unknown, but she never expected her life to take the extraordinary turn it did. Therefore, when she came across Lorelai, she was instantly drawn to her.

But here she is, now a ghost herself too. The burning sensation has begun to subside and it’s just her and Lorelai. Lorelai has been in this realm far longer and her eyes held the wisdom of ages.

Lorelai reached out to Aila, her touch like a gentle breeze. Aila felt an inexplicable connection to Lorelai, a bond that transcended the boundaries of life and death. It was a love that neither of them had expected to find.

As time passed, their love grew, deepening with each passing moment. They roamed the ethereal landscape together, continuing to enjoy their undead lives together. They discovered that, even as spirits, they could still feel joy, laughter, and, most remarkably, love.

One day, as they watched the living world from the edge of the forest, Aila shared a secret dream she had carried since her days as a living being.

"Lorelai," she said hesitantly, "I've always wanted to be a mother. To have a child of my own."

Lorelai smiled, her ethereal features lighting up with affection.

"Aila, I share your dream. I've yearned to experience the joys of parenthood, to watch a child grow and learn. But how can we, as ghosts, ever hope to achieve that dream?"

Aila's eyes sparkled with determination.

"Love knows no boundaries, Lorelai. If our love has brought us together across the realms of life and death, then perhaps it can help us achieve the impossible."

Part 2: The Unconventional Journey

Aila and Lorelai's decision to become parents was a leap of faith like no other. They knew they faced challenges that no living couple could comprehend, but their love was unwavering.

Their quest began with research. They sought out ancient texts and wise spirits who might hold the key to bridging the gap between their spectral existence and the living world. It was during these explorations that they stumbled upon the notion of IVF—a technology that could potentially allow them to conceive a child.

They consulted with the wisest spirits they could find, learning about the intricacies of IVF and the complexities of the living world's reproductive processes. Lorelai, with her timeless wisdom, absorbed the information like a sponge, while Aila's enthusiasm and determination shone brightly.

The spectral couple realized that, to pursue this unconventional path to parenthood, they would need to find a connection to the living world—a physical presence that could interact with doctors and undergo the necessary medical procedures. This presented an entirely new set of challenges.

One fateful evening, as they pondered their predicament, they were visited by the spirit of a wise old woman who had once been a renowned scientist in the living world. She had dedicated her life to advancing medical knowledge and had a deep understanding of IVF.

The elderly spirit introduced herself as Dr. Dielers, and she offered her guidance.

"I sense a deep and unique love between the two of you," she said. "I may not be able to cross the boundary between our realms, but I can offer my knowledge and expertise. I will be your guiding light in this journey."

With Dr. Dielers’ assistance, Aila and Lorelai began the intricate process of IVF. It was a journey filled with trials and uncertainties, as they navigated the complexities of reproductive medicine from the spectral world. They watched over the living world, their connection to it growing stronger as they pursued their shared dream.

Part 3: A Spectral Miracle

Months turned into years as Aila and Lorelai's IVF journey continued. They faced setbacks and moments of doubt, but their love and determination carried them forward. Dr. Dielers’ spectral presence remained a constant source of guidance and support.

As they watched the living world, they found a potential surrogate—a compassionate woman named Emily, who had always wanted to help others experience the joy of parenthood. Reece, although living, felt an inexplicable connection to Aila and Lorelai's story and agreed to be their surrogate mother. Reece, like Aila, embrace the magic of the forest and was open to helping, while learning more about the their world.

The day of the IVF procedure arrived, a day filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Dr. Dielers’ spectral guidance was crucial as they navigated the complexities of the medical process from their unique vantage point.

The procedure was a success, and they watched with bated breath as Reece's pregnancy progressed. Aila and Lorelai felt an unbreakable bond with the growing life inside Reece—a child who was the product of their love, Dr. Dielers’ wisdom, and the magic of two spectral souls.

As the day of the baby's birth drew near, Aila and Lorelai hovered on the edge of the spectral world, their anticipation and love binding them to the living world in a way that defied explanation.

And then, in a moment that transcended all boundaries, their child was born. Reece cradled the baby in her arms, tears of joy streaming down her face as she gazed into the eyes of the spectral mothers who had brought this miracle into existence.

Aila and Lorelai watched with awe and gratitude, their love having defied death itself to create a new life. It was a moment of pure, spectral magic, a testament to the power of love, determination, and the boundless possibilities that existed even beyond the realms of the living.

As they embraced their child, a beautiful blend of love and magic, Aila and Lorelai knew that their unconventional journey had been worth every trial and tribulation. They had defied the very nature of existence to become parents, and in that moment, they realized that love truly knew no boundaries—neither life nor death could stand in its way.

Fin.

Chapter 5: Arborea

Notes:

Ayo it's Macy time!!!!!!!! I don't know what's going on here... but I love it and I think maybe Macy should do this more often? My Immortal and ATYD wouldn't stand a chance when compared to an author of her level :') Also please let it be known that homegirl cranked this out in two days... like damn. Literally this chapter tripled the word count of this fic.

 

Summary:
She hates him. He hates her. But they both are dark and twisty in their own ways— and they both really, REALLY jive with trees.

For Zoe, my inspiration, an author for the ages. Stephanie Meyers and Ted Geisel? Sure, them too. Not for J.K. Rowling. Sorry, J.K..

PART I: APATHY
The smog of a city overwhelmed Loralei as she stepped off of the blood red, double decker bus onto the unfamiliar streets of London. The smells— of smoke, of sweat, of too many people, too heartbroken, too close together— overwhelmed her, but she did not cower. No smell could be so rancid as that which she had left behind in that shack on the moor. Alcohol, waste. She prayed to a god that had forsaken her that memories of Ewin would burn away. After all, she would never have to see him again… right? Yes, even if the school made good on their word to ferry her back from the haven that they promised each year, they could not force her to board that bus again. She’d sooner drown in this peasoup for eons than spend another day under Ewin’s hateful eye.
And he would never find her anyway. Not that he’d try! Surely, he was thrilled to see the back of her long, silver-blonde hair, iridescent like matted cornsilk. If he’d been awake to see it. She’d crept out before he rose that morning, slipping some coin from the tin above the fridge to pay for her passage on the Greyhound. He’d miss the money more than he’d miss her, as it meant one less bottle of ale to numb his shriveled heart and the powers he so despised.
He had not known that she, too, was graced with the same gifts. She’d hidden them from him, not that he’d looked— when he gazed into her glittery, ice-cold, sapphire blue eyes, he’d never sought power: he’d assumed that she, like her mother, was without gifts. He’d mocked her for it. Mocked her, for seeming to lack a magic that he hated himself for possessing. What a fool! She had known, and the school had known, and now she was away and soon to be free.
She tugged on the coat of a passing woman. She looked down at her, the same mix of ambivalence shrouding pity and disgust on her face that she’d noted in many city-dwelling faces that glanced as her when they rushed down these streets.
“Do you know where I can find King’s Cross Station?”
The woman’s eyes appraised her curiously, and Loralei noticed her odd collection of clothes and— oh, look! A boy, who looked around her age, peered curiously around his mother. Loralei’s eyes snapped to his other hand. A familiar envelope was gripped in it, crushed in his vise-like fist. A friend, perhaps? No, she had no friends. The few others her age who’d lived on the moor had glared at her, hated her, ignored her.
This boy did not. He seemed unable to look away. She felt an urge to scrub at some spot of dirt on her porcelain pale cheek, but instead held her arms tight at her sides.
The woman looked about Loralei, brows rising as they processed the empty ground at her feet and the too-long dress, as though surprised by the lack of luggage and decorum. But Loralei’s own letter had promised any supplies she might need.
“How old are you, dear?” Appraising kindness oozed past the cold facade of the woman’s face, and Loralei did not trust it. It was this expression, of unearned nicety, that prompted her to apologize and slip away, melting into the stream of people exiting a nearby shopping mall— not the mismatched sneakers on her feet or the odd kilt she wore.
The eyes of the boy continued to scan the crowd as his mother tugged him away from the strange, haunted looking girl. She’d disappeared with the experienced ease of a ghost. But still, Jasper thought he spied her muddy shift (was she not cold, wearing that light purple dress in the early chill of September?) sweeping past corners as they walked, following them to the station.

Loralei had learned not to trust what people said to her. She’d preferred to observe from afar and find her way by watching their actions instead. So she was sure that if this stranger had told her the way to Platform 9 and ¾ was to run through a wall, she would’ve ignored it as an obvious lie: but when she saw the boy take his mother’s hand once more and walk with her through the solid stone, she followed without doubt.
She’d slipped through the crowd on the platform, past dark robes and large trunks and owls and toads and— cats!— in search of the nearest door onto the ruby red train, scarlet like the fallen leaves on the moor before the river swept them away. She made her way past students hauling trunks up from the platform and felt both embarrassed at her own lack of luggage and grateful for the liberation of no belongings to speak of. Her pockets, like her soul, were empty. She’d no need or means to fill them.
She found a compartment to match that barren heart and tucked herself in a corner by the window, gazing out the window. The throng of people outside swept like a raging current, pushing and pulling, separating children from their families and dragging them into the cherry-red train cars. The hum of sound soothed her, and she caught her eyelids drooping. But she could sleep here, couldn’t she? Without fear or worry?
When she opened her eyes, she was not alone. The boy from earlier sat across from her, face plastered to the window. He still held tight to his letter. When he felt her icy gaze on him, he peeled his cheeks away and returned it, jaw slack, eyes wide. His brown irises reminded her of the dull muck of the life she’d left. He smiled cautiously, and she responded by sliding to the other side of the bench, retreating into the shadows by the door. She was not like other girls. She did not want friendship or attention from this lad. But still, when his grin slipped and his mouse-brown eyes returned to the view out the window, hers followed. The buildings melted into trees.
She watched the forest surround her ‘til she slept.

The line of students in the entrance hall oscillated, shivering in sync. But Loralei, like a heavy iron anchor on the end, stood still. The cold of the rain on the lake was something welcome and familiar. It reminded her of the pools that littered the moors: of the sparse happy times in that home that was not. And the grass and trees of the grounds had put her at ease, braced her nature-loving spirit with certainty as she approached the stark stone walls of Hogwarts Castle. Now, inside them, she fought against shivers brought on, not by the cold, but by the crushing stone entrance hall.
“Loralei Mackenzie?” A matronly woman, tall and thin in tartan robes, approached the line. Loralei slipped away from the pack, her slip dripping on the floor. She felt the quaking eyes of the other first-years on her back and heard the hiss of whispers. One boy laughed, and a few others followed suit. She hardly spared him a glance— a pointy silhouette, white-blonde hair, and a sneer prodded her periphery. Another boy shushed him, and him, she spotted. The boy from the train. His auburn hair looked especially soaked. Had he fallen in the river? She didn’t care. She did not need his support or his pity.
The woman— a teacher— introduced herself as Professor Mcgonagall, and ushered Loralei into a room off of the main hall, where a worn trunk awaited her.
“I thought it best to prepare you before the Sorting, young lady. After all, you’ll need your school robes before entering the Great Hall, and certainly a wand.” She pulled a bundle of ink black fabric and a carved stick, pale as bone, from the case before shutting it again. “You may change in here, then join your classmates outside. We’ll proceed to the ceremony as soon as you’re ready. Don’t dawdle, now— we’re all slightly famished.”
Loralei did not wait for the professor to leave. Instead, she tugged the too-large robes over her head in front of her, not pausing to remove her slip dress. She had a feeling if she did that it would be taken away for scrap— this dress, the only piece of clothing she could picture her mother having worn. Professor McGonagall’s pinched brows puckered tighter, but she did not question the rush or the long skirts that poked out from under the mass of robes.
“Thank you.” Loralei murmured.
“You’re very welcome— though I must say, I should’ve asked Madame Malkin for a smaller size. I think we’d do well to return and kick off the feast as soon as possible, Ms. Mackenzie. I don’t know what your family has fed you, but it certainly was not enough.” Concern wracked her features. Loralei found herself believing it more heartfelt than the usual pity. But she did not say another word as she followed those tartan skirts back out; as her bony, bird-like, delicate but stone-strong limbs swam through the sea of night-black fabric across the hall; as she took her place, as directed, beside the sharp blond boy; as he wrinkled his nose at her, muttered some snarky rubbish about the “state of Hogwarts these days”; as he stalked into the Great Hall and she pursued him into the waiting crowd beyond.

Eager faces cheered at the table to the far right as the boy before her mounted the stony steps to the precarious stool and the wrinkled hat upon it. The green cloaked crowd whooped, as though already sure he would join: and they were right, as the hat erupted into a throaty cry of “SLYTHERIN!” as soon as it touched his slick hair. The quick decision had been the norm this evening: the Sorting Cap had been decisive in its choices. Loralei wondered if it knew as soon as it touched their heads: if it identified by some precise algorithm, with one all-knowing mind-read, in seconds. She wondered what it would choose for her. From the houses it had described, she’d no idea where she belonged. Why was there no hogwarts house for the lost, the lonely, the forlorn? Would it declare a new one just for her? Or consign her to no house, to a continued life at the fringes of society?
She passed the boy— Drolo Milfoy? Dragon Mouthflee?— on the steps, and his eyes flashed to hers. For a moment, he looked almost feral with worry: a frantic gleam of desperation crossed his face, tinting his gray eyes dark. But then he glared at her, and bumped her shoulder as he passed, and she pushed the condescending boy from her mind.
The hat descended on her head, muffling the sounds of the hall and the final cries from the Slytherin table as Drogo (yes, that was definitely his name!) took his seat at their table.
“Finally!” A voice, the voice that had echoed through the hall in song what felt like forever ago, now bellowed within her brain. She held her bones still as they yearned to flinch. “A challenge!”
A challenge? Good, she didn’t want to make it easy.
“You’re loyal, certainly— but few have earned that loyalty, have they? And not ambitious, but determined, with a capacity for cruelty. Oh, and you admit it!”
She was sure he was right. She’d rarely expressed it, but every so often the quiet rage that burned in her had crept near the surface. When the butcher had followed her to the stream, she’d been only too happy to bite his prying hands, and had felt a vicious righteousness at the blood that had cascaded into the stream, Flavorade in the dancing water.
“Smart, yes. Though you seem unsure of it yourself.”
No, not unsure. Just unused. Her brain was no grand blessing when she wanted nothing more than to while away her hours in peace rather than panic.
“Aha! You disagree. Perhaps you’re right. Well, to stand at odds with ancient magic like me takes great courage, Loralei Mackenzie. And bravery— even the bravery to stand alone when you long to be with others— is a virtue one house prizes above the rest.”
Long to be with others? She did not long for that! For quiet and calm, for rest. For an escape from pitying, prying eyes.
“You’re wrong there. There’s a difference between wanting to avoid others and wanting them to accept you without pity. Though I understand expecting pity rather than love. When you feel the latter, you’ll have something real to lose. But be brave, child. Seek it out!”
Her brain stilled against the hat’s conversation. It laughed at the suddenly icy corners of her mind. “Ah, you protest, but I must admit that it’ll have to be…”
GRYFFINDOR!
Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from her head, and Lorie slid off of the school. Meager applause filled the room, with some whoops from the far left table: but the friendly faces there were marked with curiosity, too.
“What happened up there?” The curly-haired girl to her left whispered. She met her eyes and she didn’t wince away, as many did when met by her cool gaze. She recognized her from the line outside. Herman Garter, or something like that.
“What do you mean?”
“You were up there for ages.”
She shrugged. Well, she’d known she would be a hard problem to solve. An enigma.
The girl introduced herself for real, but she didn’t listen too closely. Instead, she followed the lead of the red-haired boy who’d joined on her right and tucked into the mass of food that rose before them as the last stragglers filed to their tables.

As the feast drew to a close and she finished filling her usually empty stomach, a tall, elderly man rose at the head table.
“Welcome, all!” He shouted, bringing the raucous room to quiet. “A new year, and a new state for our school— after decades of fear, as many of you know, the dreaded Lord Voldemort was found dead of natural causes just weeks ago.” He winked. “That terrible era has come to a close.”
Shouts and cries of joy. The room exploded in excited glee. Loralei found herself smiling at the unabashed outcry, buffeted as the red haired boy whooped and another boy with unruly black hair and wonky glasses high-fived his neighbors. She caught the eye of the auburn haired boy, now seated at the Hufflepuff table (Aspen, McGonagall had said? Asher?), who looked delighted at her expression and did an odd little dance of happiness. Fool. Over his shoulder, she noted the markedly more somber state of the table swathed in green. The large boys on either side of Drogo Mayfly looked almost upset, and the boy himself—
They were seated so far away from each other, but she was sure she could see the muscles in his cheeks straining, as though fighting off a smile of their own. A smile, but one that was marked by a touch of fear.
“A peaceful year ahead, dare I say?” The eyes of the man on the dais twinkled. “It would be a first, but… well, we can only hope.”
Loralei’s eyes remained on the sharp features of the boy across the room. He looked at his plate now, and any trace of a smile was obliterated. He looked defiant, but worried.
“So be safe! Be cautious! And learn the rules— and which to break! I remind you that dueling outside of the club is against the school bylaws, and that the Forbidden Forest remains as chock full of danger as ever, so its name holds true.”
A forest? Say what he would— this old man could not keep her away from it. But then again, she needed to be careful, to not risk losing her right to be here. She nearly looked up at this headmaster, but was stalled by the jerk of Django’s head. He snapped up at the mention of the forest and caught her staring. They were locked together— her flat eyes meeting the pointy slice of his own, like a heated knife through styrofoam. So far away— and yet, she felt as though they were enveloping her with black, void-filled sight. As all-encompassing as this cursedly heavy robe. She blinked, and the irises came back into focus. Gray? Of course– who ever heard of eyes as thickly dark as night?
The headmaster finished his speech, and the red-haired boy pushed past her, yawning, eager to get to sleep. She followed the other first-years up to the dormitory and barely noted her new trunk seated at the end of the bed as she fell into the covers, eager to finally experience sleep on a real mattress for the first time in her life.

 

PART II: AT ODDS
The next few weeks passed without grand event. She started her courses and found them novel but unchallenging: the work came to her naturally, as though with some engrained animal instinct. The Sorting Hat had been right: she was, truly, smart. Others in the class notice her, and the curiosity in their eyes (a stark improvement from the pity, but still isolating) gave way to respectful interest. They were peers, admiring peers— and some of them, like the Granger girl, considered themselves competitors. But still they were not friends.
If anything, Jasper was the closest she had. The roundfaced boy with auburn hair and eyes like churned muck had asked her to be his partner on the first day of Herbology class, and had stuck by her side in every class since. He seemed determined to make her laugh at the price of his own dignity, but if jinxing himself to make her icy features crack into a smile was something he was willing to do, that was on him. He encouraged, supported her, and cheered for her when she did well in class.
And he defended her when Doctor Mallfoil teased her. The blonde boy’s sharp, sculptural face were in stark contrast to Jasper’s broad cheeks and soft jaw, and they were indicative, she thought, of his razor-like personality. He didn’t hesitate to sneer at her rolled up sleeves, to elbow past her in line, or to drip ingredients on her books as “who could tell the difference when they’re already in such… used condition?” He had plenty of opportunity nowadays, as they’d been assigned to each other as partners in Potions class.
To be fair, she could hold her own. If only be ignoring his snide remarks and refusing to learn his name. Anytime she asked “Dreckle” to pass the frogspawn, he glowered and snipped out a harmless attack on the dirt under her fingernails. The soil was worth the crust: since the forest was so notoriously out of bounds, she spent her free time roaming the grounds and working in the greenhouse, learning about the saplings in the nursery and the foliage the lined the stone walls of the towers.
It took a lot to make her snap but finally, effortfully, he succeeded. One class, as they worked on their own iterations of a Cure for Boils, he’d snatched her carefully sliced toadstools and poured them into his own cauldron. When she’d glared at him and swiped his own, he’d shrugged it off. But his eyes did not leave her knife as she scraped the unevenly diced shrooms into her own mixture.
She should’ve known it was a ploy. In the second before the pieces broke the surface, she could’ve sworn his gray eyes flashed entirely black. Then they were obscured in a noxious, putrid cloud: a cloud that smelled like ass.
BOOM.
The dungeon classroom rattled as though the bricks in the cold stone walls were rustling to break free of their mortar as her potion, all of her hard work, went up in fumes. And through the putrid scent, she saw him: black eyes rolled back, squinted in laughter, pointing at the evaporated result of the double class period.
Without thinking, she snatched his arm. He pulled back, his face drawing to shock. Had he expected her not to fight back when he’d stolen her work and given her the wrong ingredient? She’d already bent and born so much in her eleven years. But to this lean boy, she owed nothing.
Her nails dug into his skin. She was surely drawing blood— she felt her grip tighten, further and further, as though no bone blocked her way. His arms, nothing but flesh: his blood…
His blood was watery, almost translucent. But the little color it took on was not red, but black. Black as hematite. Charcoal in water. Low viscosity tar.
His eyes alight on his arm and the juice squirting from it, bursting from the crescents of her piercing nails. Then they lifted to her face, twisted in feral surprise. His calculating gaze met her own with a sudden defensiveness, sturdier than the walls of the classroom itself in that brief, shaking moment, and then, with a sudden wrench of strength unexpected from his lanky body, he pulled free and screamed.
“She stabbed me! Lora-lame SHANKED me with her claws! PROFESSOR!”
As he flailed back, she watched with baleful eyes. As Professor Snape approached and she turned to meet his gaze, she was sure she saw Draco surreptitiously pulling his sleeve back down in her periphery.
“Miss Mackenzie… you destroy a school cauldron, waste valuable ingredients, WOUND a student, and now you spill ink, all in the last ten minutes of class? An eventful end to the day.” The teacher hissed. Lorelai glanced at their worktable, where Draco was mopping a spilled bottle of dark liquid off of the table. Was that what she’d seen on his arm? Or had he spilled it to cover the truth? She knew what she’d seen, but she also knew that she was the only one who’d seen it.
“And now you ignore admonishments. Idiocy: a classic Gryffindor trait. A detention, I think, will raise your attention. And fifteen points from Gryffindor, to impress the message.”
She raised to her eyes to meet his through his shock of greasy hair. The punishment was deserved. She’d let her guard down, and for trusting her instinct that this blond stick figure meant no serious ill-will, she would reap what she’d sown.

Jasper, however, disagreed. Or at least, he disagreed in her being the sole recipient of the unknown, promised punishment. When she told him (after his tireless prodding) why her robes smelled like the wrong side of the lake, he’d been outraged. “When I get my wand on him… So blond he looks bald… Chin like 30% angle… Does that prat think I’ve been jinxing myself and learning NOTHING from it?” He muttered under his breath all through Herbology, his eyes flashing up to the castle until the herbs were repotted, the lesson finished, and the bell for end of day sounded.
Even then, he might’ve gone quietly back to the Hufflepuff dormitory. His day would’ve reached a peaceful close as his mood settled, lulled into calm by the fires of the warm room under the lake. But, ever the gallant hero, he’d insisted on trailing her back to Gryffindor tower to ‘protect her’ from any wandering Sytherin thugs: and just his luck, that the one he hoped for crossed their path outside the Great Hall.
“Mackenzie!” Dribble called, strutting out of the staircase to the dungeons. “Just the dirt-smudge I was sent to find. Snape wanted me to get this to you before nightfall. Apparently your detention is in-demand.” He handed her a crisp envelope and waited expectantly. “Well? What’s in store? Scrubbing the steps? De-worming the owls? Corralling the giant squid?”
“Shut up, Malfoy.” Jasper clenched his jaw and readied his wand. Loralei ignored them both. At least their ego-battle would give her some peace from her well-meaning shadow and give her a chance to sneak upstairs quietly, to read the note in private.
“Gonna attack me, eh? But don’t you have a better track record of hitting yours—“
Wham.
Loralei turned back when that now-familiar shriek filled the entranceway. Draino was curled on his back, bellowing and clutching his stomach. Jasper stood over him, his right hand wrapped around the length of his wand. Evidently he’d taken his opponent’s words to heart and opted for brute force over a spell.
Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of risking the same audience as Loralei. Snape stalked from the dungeon doorway to help his wailing young house-member to his feet as though the oil in both of their hair was a telepathic conductor, drawing them together at moments of great need.
He rounded on Jasper. “Another punishment is in order, I think. If you’re so determined to defend your friend—“ Loralei wrinkled her nose and instinctively shook her head at the word; she had no need of friends. “—perhaps you can better serve her in a shared detention? Join Miss Mackenzie tonight. I could use the extra hands.”

 

PART III: ATTACK
“This is bogus,” Jasper sniffed. Loralei agreed: she’d nearly caught a break from the constant knot of people, but now she’d be spending her one evening of near peace with the noisiest person she’d yet met. Even now, as he led the way down the grounds to Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the forest, he maintained a non-stop, panting monologue on the injustice of the situation. Though, as he reminded her time and time again, what a punch. Loralei didn’t have the heart to remind him that Malfoy’s tumble at his hands had seemed more connected to Snape’s presence than to the fist brushing his gut.
As they approached the cozy house, Loralei remarked on how warm it looked in comparison to her memory of Ewin’s ramshackle cabin. For one thing, it emanated warmth, like a toasty campfire built inside an oven in a crematorium. For another, it looked well-loved: geraniums bloomed in the windows, and little twig-like creatures dangled their legs out of knots in the logs that composed the building, taking in the last light of the setting sun. Their pin-thin limbs reminded her of herself— slim as the branches of a sapling, a breeze away from tumbling to the ground, but bearing a hidden, inexplicable durability.
Then her thoughts strayed to the trees beyond, and they swept her away.
The whisper of tree needles called to her, a melody over a chorus of tall grass that brushed against the border trunks and thinned into quiet as the forest floor melted into flat, soft night. Leaves rustled, and the cushioned pad of slinking animals wove through them, patting a beat into the moss and fallen leaves beneath their feet. A noisy, ambient silence. Welcoming her. Beckoning.
“Loralei?”
Jasper’s call shook her from her reverie, and she realized she’d stepped forward, arms open, reaching for the edge of the wood. He hadn’t noticed: his call, from where he stood on the wide steps to the door, seemed more like a plea for support rather than one to recall her from the hypnotic song of the trees. Still, she heeded it and joined his side.
He knocked, and almost instantly they heard a resounding answer ‘round the back of the oversized cottage. “O’ER HERE!”
Hagrid met them in the back garden, where he seemed to be consulting a list. When he glanced up, his friendly young-Santa face tightened with concern. “Bit young, eh? To be goin’ inter the forest?”
“We’re going into the forest?” The two first-years gasped— Jasper with fright, Loralei with the repressed glee of an impossible dream come true.
“Yeh— just ter the edges, mind; an’ only fer an hour or so. Gotter get some potions ingredients for ol’ Snape, see. Mugwort ’n the like.” He showed them some plant sprigs, then popped some samples of each into a few different bags. “All yer gotter do is find some more o’ these and put those you can track down inter the right bags. And yer won’t be goin’ too far, not inter the deep woods, but still… ter send young’uns like the two o’ you feels a bit harsh. What did ye do, gutpunch the Malfoy kid right in front o’ Snape?”
“Something like that.” Loralei murmured as Jasper nodded proudly.

Hagrid sent them into the woods alone. “Nothin’ll mess with ye so long as ye stay within the thinner woods, and ah’ve gotter tend to Fang, wot with ‘is gout acting up. But when ye get to the real oaks, tha’s when ye oughtter turn back. No leaves are worth riskin’ yer necks.”
But as they roamed the brush, Loralei became certain of two things. First, the majority of the plants they needed would lie in the shadows of taller trees, where cloud cover blocked the sun and they could brew, potent, in the shadows: and two, she needed to lay in those shadows, too. She’d not ventured into the woods since the copse about the moor, the only true haven from Ewin’s halitosis and insults, and she’d missed the freedom of a natural shelter. So she wound through the trees, weaving a fishtail braid with Jasper as they dipped through, never straying too far from each other, and arcing, ever so slightly, away from the moonlight at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Further and further they dove, and though Jasper’s face scrunched with increased worry at each pass (and as those passes grew tighter and tighter, until he opted to follow her trail precisely rather than fording his own), he did not protest. After all, they were finally locating what Snape asked for. Mugwort, toadstools, foxglove, even nightshade sprouted between the roots of the massive ancient trees, interspersed with yellow wildflowers that seemed to hold the glow of the sun despite the impenetrable darkness. Loralei wondered if the light changed at all when the sun rose, or if the canopy was so impenetrable that nothing could creep through. It made the tenacity of these sturdy little flowers all the more meaningful. Like her, they looked fragile: but like her, they could withstand a neglect to needs that would leave others beyond repair.
Here, she belonged. Here, she was home.
Jasper tugged at her sleeve. He wanted to go? But she couldn’t go. This was where she needed to be, where she belonged. He tugged again, more urgently. She spun and stared at him—
Past him—
Followed his gaze back the way they’d come.
A looming, pale figure lurked in their return path. White face, white hands, but otherwise a silhouette melting into the darkness. Or part of the night itself. The texture of the blackness seemed to ripple around it, like tendrils blowing in the wind. It did not approach, but tilted its head to stare at them.
Loralei slowly turned back, resetting her sights to the deep forest. She felt no threat: this creature was a part of this place, as was she. It would not harm her. That is, it would not harm her— if she did not harm it.
She took another step forward. Jasper grabbed her wrist, making to pull her back. He pleaded with her. Then he released her, and she spun again, feeling his absence beside her.
“COME ON!” he cried, waving alongside himself as he sprinted back through the oaks. The lanky, hulking figure had disappeared in the second they’d both looked away, and Jasper had seized the opportunity. But though an inquiring voice in her head wondered if he’d make it, or if he’d realize his trajectory was skewed from their original route, it spoke with a hesitant professionalism, and she simply acknowledged before restoring her gaze to look ahead.
But how could she look ahead, when the ghostly figure now blocked her path?
It stood not ten feet away, partially obscured by the trees, and though it had no visible eyes, she could feel its smooth features trained on her, staring at her, assessing her as though from a void. This close, she could see that its height measured near the same as its distance from her. It wore, not the darkness itself, but an odd, long suit. Black worm-like arms seemed poised at its back, ready to reach for her, hold her.
The two beasts of the woods stared at each other, neither moving. A staring contest, with one party guaranteed to lose by virtue of having any eyes at all. Still, Loralei held her ground. Her icy sapphire blue irises, the color of morpho menelaus, did not water.
Jasper shouted in the distance, calling her name. She heard him crash through the brush and sensed an animal spooking nearby, frightened from its home by his bumbling steps. She flinched at its panic. She blinked. The slim giant was gone.
For a brief moment, all was quiet again, and she relished it. But the quiet was soon shattered by Jasper’s scream. This time, he did not call her name: instead, he wept gutturally, as though forcing all the air he had from his body, crying to the sky for help, begging the stars. Now she feared, and now she would go to him. As the screams faded to whimpers, then to nothing, Loralei ran.
She found Jasper entangled in the roots of a tree, Hagrid gingerly lifting him from the ground. The massive giant paled when he looked at her, windswept but calm in the darkness. “Do yer see?” He lamented. “Do yer understand why I said not ter go in so deep? The creatures that live here— they’re mysteries, and they don’t always take kindly to outsiders. That monster tonight was summat I’ve never seen before, and it’s summat you’d do well to never risk seein’ again.” She looked under his arm and saw Jasper, pale, as though empty of air, with cruel dark lines of crushing force wrapping like vines around his neck. It looked like he’d been strangled by a vicious helix. A slinky of death.
He took her in. He seemed to mistake the blank slate of her mind for shock, as he slung Jasper over one shoulder like a sack of potato and patted her gently with his other enormous hand. She couldn’t help but wonder if, from his eyeline, he’d stood as equals with the stickman.
Her mind was blank, yes. But no longer emptied by confusion for what had happened. No, she was no longer uncertain as to the evil committed by this strange, slender man— though it still felt at odds with the calm it had emanated, so barren as she often felt. No, she was sure this was not that anymore. Now, this was rage on behalf of her first, and only, friend. On behalf of the boy who’d looked back for her.

Word of the encounter spread around the school like wildfire, and students pestered her all the next day for details of the ‘long woodsman’. None had seen it before, they said: this was some new beast, foreign to the Forbidden Forest. Evidently, many of them were regulars in those supposedly disallowed grounds. She refused to answer the barrage of questions and quietly shouldered them away as she went from class to class. In between, she found herself sneaking up to the infirmary to check on Jasper, its only inhabitant at present. Each time, he was still unconscious: and always, she found herself looking through the window over his head, out to the forest that still encroached on her mind.
The only person who did not speak to her was the one she most expected to harangue her, and the one she most hoped never to utter a word to again. In Potions, Dingo remained silent. No taunts, no jeers, no hissing about Jasper and how he’d ‘strangled under the pressure’ of a night in the woods: no, instead the boisterous boy was weirdly stiff and looked gaunt, shaken and stirred. He avoided her eyes all lesson, pushing ingredients to her as soon as he was done with them and refusing to accept them from her hand, waiting instead for her to set them on the table.
Rather than welcome, she found his silence enraging. What right did he have, to tease and trick and torture them, then to ignore her entirely now that Jasper was hurt? She’d had enough of hiding in the shadows for the comfort of others.
“This is all your fault.” The hiss of her voice was barely audible over the hiss of the steaming potion, but she was sure Draco heard her. His face snapped up to hers, fear and panic and guilt wracking his features. For the briefest moment, his eyes flashed that brief, complete black. She didn’t react to it, but leaned in closer, enjoying the way her words cut back at this sharp boy. These were wounds he deserved.
“I… How did… I did no such thing.” His eyes were gray saucers again, unblinking. Afraid.
“If you had messed with my potion… hadn’t taunted him, hadn’t gotten him roped into that detention too— none of this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a bully, Midfield.”
He loosened slightly, as though relieved. But for what? For the certainty that she saw him for what he was?
“Think what you want, Mackenzie. But I didn’t send him into that forest last night. If you’re looking for someone to blame, try… try Snape, or Hagrid. Just don’t cry about it to me.” He shoved his notes in his bag and sauntered from the room.
She packed up her things and ran after him, but he was nowhere to be seen— not in the dungeons, or in the Great Hall, or out on the grounds watching practice in the Quidditch pitch. Finally she gave up her search and made her way back up to the Hospital Wing.
There he was! The boy that had evaded her all evening stood at the door, peering in through the crack, frozen. She believed for a moment that it was her eyes on him, the cool water and hatred of them icing him in place. But then he looked up, wiped his own eyes, and caught sight of her. He started, shivering, and spun in the opposite direction. This time, she let him go without giving chase.
She took his place at the door and looked in. Madame Pomfrey was patting down the bruises around Jasper’s neck. Her ointment worked wonders, she’d said, but on magical injuries like this, time was the best, and sometimes the only, healer.

 

PART IV: ADJUSTMENT
Rumor began to spread about this mysterious new power in the forest. A few more students were sent in there for another detention, and they came back hella freaked: three were injured, with bruises like bitchslaps across their faces. One, Lee Jordan, had significant wrapping lacerations.
The Wessley? Wassel? twins were enraged at this assault on their good friend and secret shared boyfriend. As they acted up, strewing pranks about the campus in search of in-forest detention, it became clear that the teachers were no longer holding detentions in the forest.
They snuck in instead, and Loralei winced to feel flowers stamped under their feet. She sensed them pushing under branches, kicking birds, and then— then she sensed the small violences halting before some looming force.
She spotted them sprinting from the edge of the woods, one supporting the other. Within hours everybody knew that the one whose name began with “G” lost an ear to the “longest bloke I’ve ever seen.”
That idiot Henry Pallor braved it too, accompanied by the youngest red-haired Winslow brother who’d sat beside her at the Welcome Feast. Both wound up unconscious and battered-looking. When they finally awoke with the hospital wing, it was with a vengeance.
Sometimes Loralei entered the woods as well. She found them welcoming, and treated them with grace and respect, and they reciprocated. She felt them watching her, welcoming her. No slender figure bothered her, but she could’ve sworn she sensed it beyond her periphery sometimes, hiding in the shadows.
Jasper recovered his voice after months, and she sat with him as he rasped to Dumbledore about the looming man he’d seen that had ensnared him with ropes of darkness, like wobbly arms. Her friend was quiet these days. Occasionally, she found herself missing his noise.
Draco, too, was changed. He’d begun zoning out in Potions, as though disappearing into another world within his mind. His verbal abuse and trickster ways had faltered in favor of earnestly gazing into nothing. He came to class once with blackened lacerations at his wrists and she asked, but he hardly flicked his eyes to look at her in response. She found a recipe for a poultice for him when he left for the bathroom, and she tucked it in beside his cauldron before finishing her own work and leaving the dungeons for the forest.
She still felt watched in these woods. Not only by the trees: but by whatever creatures lived among them. Hagrid, meanwhile, was practically on trial, as some people thought it was some spider in the forest that he cannot control. He insisted that his good friend ‘Eragon’ would do no harm. She agreed: not that they would not harm students, but that these deeds were not theirs. She’d met the spiders, heard them when she’d roamed the woods, and she was certain that they would not be so lenient with their victims. They would not let them live. Whatever was in there was restraining itself.
She saw Dongle enter the forest once and followed him, but lost track of him almost immediately beneath the tree cover. How could a boy so pale, with such shiny hair, disappear so easily? He looked practically emissive. Glossy, shiny. Emaciated. Flawless? No, she mustn’t.
Now she really mustn’t, not with that sound of twigs snapping behind her and a pitter-patter echoing through the trees. That muted tingling could only be those vicious spiders. And then a whoosh… and then, they were gone.
She kept her eyes trained ahead, following a little stream, until she reached a familiar clearing, lay upon the moss beside the pool at its center, and slept.

She awoke to the feeling of being watched again, and opened her eyes to darkness thicker than dark. Tendrils of night skirted around her. Loralei did not scream: she welcomed them as they wrapped around her, almost in a caress, and then let go.

Term drew to a close. As classes wrapped up and peace settled over campus, new incidents diminished. Was it because the beast had quieted? Or because it had successfully driven intruders from its depths? True, Loralei hardly encountered other creatures in those woods nowadays… but she still entered herself, and the more she voyaged in, the more certain she was that she could not bear to separate herself from it. On the day of the train, students flooded down the grounds into Hogsmeade, and under Professor McGonnagall’s watchful eye, Loralei joined the ebb and flow of rushing movement. Her peers pushed to the train in bittersweet relief, looking back at the Hogwarts edifice as a beacon of homework and exams and friendships to begin anew in the new year. She looked back too. Not to the bricks and stone and hallways, but to the forest. When they reached the station, she slipped off of the platform. For the briefest instant, she debated staying in the town and seeking lodging, but she knew that any business owner would report her to the school. Instead, she took to the woods. They welcomed her with outstretched branches, and she passed the months by that pool that now felt like home. Few monsters bothered her, and those that did came with curiosity. The looming, lanky q-tip figure in the spiffy suit was not among them.
The next years were much the same: general peace persisted, bolstered by renewed respect for the fear that the forest engendered and its mysterious new inhabitant, who seemed to only show himself during the school months. Perhaps it hibernated over the summer, sleeping comfortably with the knowledge that students would not raid the woods til the new term commenced. Loralei remained restrained with many of her peers, but earned their admiration for her off-the-charts skills. Jasper remained her friend, and Drekko, a concern-engendering competitor. Still, though she worried for his visibly worsening condition, she did not feel pity. No, she would never treat him with the arms length sympathy that so many others had faced her with before. Yet, try as she might, she could not stop herself from watching him at meals and in class. Why did he not eat? Surely he needed to— perhaps it would help as he continued to look worse and worse for wear over the years.
In their third year, as they approached the train station, she lingered on the corner of the platform and watched him remove his cloak. Beneath the layers of fabric, he wore an odd high-collared suit. It’s something of a uniform for his family, if the pictures in the prophet were anything to go by.
She befriended others in their class, or at least, they befriended her. Harkness and Don, two exhaustingly loud Gryffindors, seemed to want her to help them with homework, but she refused; Minnie Grange trailed her from class to class, discussing books, but spoke with a fire fueled by academic competition. Norville, however, was a true friend: he never asked for her help, and she rarely offered, but he made her laugh and became fast friends with Jasper in Herbology. If she believed she could trust, she felt certain that she would almost, maybe, trust them both. Too bad her icy core could warm to no one.
But with each passing laugh, she sensed the frost sloughing off the bark of her soul. Maybe the Sorting Hat was right: maybe she could have friends: maybe she just wanted ones that truly wanted her. To be cared for was not a familiar experience, but it was almost the norm in this place. And if ever she doubted the witches and wizards in the packed stone halls, she could take to the Forbidden forest. It was a part of her, as much a friend as any of them.
Nay; a loved one. A family.
PART V: ACCEPTANCE
In her sixth year, she began to write to him. She’d seen him more and more over the past few years— a towering form, waiting behind a tree, there and gone each second to the next. The student body called him Slenderman.
“Tell me, Slenderman,” she’d scrawled on a spare sheet of parchment, “how tall are you really?”
She expected no response: after all, if this creature was entirely of the forest, how would he know how to write? But write back he did, in a slanted, angular script on a sheet of parchment, fixed to a tree that she passed on her return to the woods that next day. “My form varies with each passing hour.”
“Tell me,” she replied. “I want to know you.”
“I am a mystery, unsolvable.” His writing bore hurt and hesitance: she could see it in each stroke of the ink.
“Trust me.”
Two days passed before she found his reply, placed under a stone at the edge of the pond’s bank.
“Anywhere from six to ten feet.”
He told her of his ways, of the voice that spoke within him, and she found herself thinking about it constantly and yearning to learn more. She wanted to help him, to understand him. After all, he thought as she did about the value and importance of this forest that was either feared by students or treated with cavalier audacity.
“I do not hurt the creatures that belong here, or those that stray in with peace in their hearts. But some wizards who delve between these trees do not come with good in their hearts. I see that, and I stop that.”
Another time, she asked him why he’d hurt Jasper. “I did not mean him harm,” Slenderman replied. “But he was bound for creatures that would harm him, and he’d left you behind… and I tried only to hold him back, but sometimes, I cannot control what I become. I’m sorry to cause him, and you, pain.”
He cannot be able, can he, if he does not hurt those that keep the peace?
Flourishing, their correspondence continued. She felt safe in it: this figure without eyes had no choice but to look on her without pity. As she left notes throughout the forest, she often spotted him in her periphery. He always lurked, and the instant she blinked or took a step, he was gone. But when he disappeared he’d take her messages with him, and often new parchment replaced them.
Where was he getting all of this stationary? A forest creature, with remarkable paper resources. And some ability to use… a quill? If she was not certain he would not harm the woods, she’d almost have expected him to make the paper from the trees themselves. But he would never, not this peaceful soul.
Loralei often found his responses left by the pool that she frequented, particularly on those evening when she’d left before he could reply, and she’d taken to collecting them there, storing them in a dry space between two rocks. But as she went more and more often, she found herself in a constant rush to make it to class. In Herbology, Jasper looked at her with suspicious concern, poking at her with his long-since recovered non-stop onslaught of conversation to tell her where she swept off to after class, and why she always entered the greenhouse accompanied by the smell of fresh leaves. In Potions, Draco no longer commented on her dirty nails. Instead, he’d taken to perking up in her presence— and her in his. Though his condition still seemed ill, it looked to have stabilized, and to her surprise the plateau brought her great relief. It also came with the bonus of further academic success, as the partners cooperated with excellent results.
All was happy. All was perfect. All, for once, was safe. Until Pewter stole some firewhiskey from the Three Broomsticks, accepted a foolish dare from Wassail, and snuck into the forest to “vanquish the beast, once and for all.” After all, as he announced to the Gryffindor common room, these grounds were theirs, and no one, not even a ‘stretched egg’ would dictate where he could and could not go.
Loralei had been in the library when he’d made this pronouncement, trying to identify that very creature, when Neville careened in to tell her Panda’s plans. In Neville alone had she confided about her penpal, and she knew he would not share what she said with Jasper. Not when he could not even bring himself to tell his closest friend about his own deep seated romantic feelings for him— feelings that, they both knew, were not reciprocated. Jasper had always had eyes only for Loralei. Muddy eyes, like a burnt bread crust. Damp with curious sympathy. She only hoped that Jasper would one day look away, and that when he did, his gaze would settle upon Neville.
In that moment, she also hoped that Pater had fallen into a drunken sleep before he’d breached the wood. But as she sprinted down the endless grounds, her bag bouncing at her side, a paper and a ink-dipped quill tucked beneath her arm to write a cautionary note to her Slenderman, her skinny boy, she heard distant cries on the wind and knew that he’d found his fate. Panting delicately, but not sweating (as she never perspired), she flew into the trees.
She came upon a body as soon as she breached the deep woods, but it was not the arrogant wannabe hero’s. It was the lifeless shell of an innocent bunny, struck too hard by a stunning spell and stupefied into the great beyond.
And just past the innocent creature, she found the body.
“Why can you not control it?” She wrote to him, seated helplessly on a boulder near the strangled, torn body of ‘the Boy who Lived’. “Are you the beast, or does it somehow control you? Did you choose this?”
She dropped it there, certain that he was lingering out of sight, watching her watch the broken figure and feeling just as torn asunder as Henry Packer looked. And as she flew through the trees towards Hagrid’s cabin, she spotted his response, tacked against a tree at the edge of the wood. She ripped it from the bark and shoved it into her bag as she approached the distant lights of Hagrid’s cabin.

She could hear them still, the screams of the now-celebrated oaf, the sobs of the half-giant as he’d carried the boy from forest, the hum of the trees as they looked on. The funeral dirge that had wracked the grounds a week later. Loralei knew that the school’s board of governors would begin deliberations on how to proceed now that a life had been taken, and that soon the woods she knew would be forever changed. Much as she felt for the lost boy and his loved ones, she ached to think of her own loved ones— the forest itself, and perhaps even the mysterious man who hulked within it— suffering as a result.
She walked into Potions on the Monday after the weekend, eager for the comfort of an afternoon beside Dinky Milky. These days, as they worked on cooperative potions, the two had taken to huddling around her used book, warm from proximity to each other and to the large, burning cauldron. Though the dungeon around them was as cold as the ice in her eyes and the storm in his, their shared heat kept them comfortable. Anyway, with their NEWTs fast approaching, they had no choice but to work through the chill.
He seemed broken somehow, distracted: but he looked at her as their shoulders brushed as though clinging to a lifeline.
They leaned close to the page, looking for instructions for how to prepare the dragon’s blood for the Amortentia, and they reached for it at the same time, eyes still on the parchment. Their hands touched, and a spark— not of heat, but of brutal, numbing cold— rushed through, as though stabbed by an icicle. She felt bitten by the freeze of it. His hand jerked away from the contact, striking the bottle. It shattered across the page.
She looked at him and he at her, his eyes flashing black again: and then he yelped and grabbed her wrist, rushing to pat down the book and siphon her blood-red blood off of the page. “Don’t worry about it,” she comforted him, running her wand over her cut hand. “It’s dragon’s blood, so it’ll stain regardless. But the page was marred enough anyway, and the school gave it to me like that— no money wasted, Dracon. Let’s just use yours.”
Sorry still glossed his face, but he followed her suggestion and pulled his book from his bag, flipping to the right page. She shoved her own back into her bag, and as she did, she spotted a crinkled paper at the bottom. In the rush of panic, she’d forgotten— the letter.
Pulling it out, she flattened it on the table and scanned it. The words “I wish I could control it. I’m sorry, Loralei” met her eyes. Her eyes shifted from the apologetic beast’s words to the face of the apologetic man beside her, pale as the moon and thin as a starved ferret. And then, following his eyes, her gaze settled… on his book.
That handwriting.
That familiar slant, that spiky cursive. Delicate. Determined.
Known.
Her eyes fell back to the wrinkled page and cautiously, she slipped it back into her bag. He did not move, engrossed as he was in this potion. This potion, that smelled… like hair oil, potions ingredients, leaves, like a certain pool, deep in the midst of the Forbidden forest. She looked at him again. On this man, this monster, that she… but she could not admit it. Not without hearing it from him, not without knowing.
They finished the potion and wrapped up the class, and he finally returned her gaze.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Are YOU?” she whispered, the quiet tone reinforced by the strength of certainty. No, she could not be okay. How could she be, when this boy, this man the she… felt so deeply for, held such a monstrosity in his gaunt body?
She felt his eyes on her back as she turned and floated from the room. Her robes, always too big for her frail frame, were somehow too short on her height— the result of a growth spurt in third year. And yet she’d never been as tall as him.
The cloak seemed to levitate above the ground, a river in its own right: a river bound for the woods.

 

PART VI: AFTER ALL THIS TIME?
He followed her there, melting between the trees. Sometimes she spied him when she turned back. Each time, he stopped and looked back— as himself, or as the creature. Each time when she resumed her passage, his pursuit continued. He was not following her, per say: he simply knew where to go, and where she would wait to meet him.
Finally she reached the pond and settled upon the moss at its bank. In a few moments he joined her, crossing his legs and dipping one long, pale finger into the near-freezing water. She wondered which would feel colder to the touch— his hand, or the chilly pool.
He was waiting for her to speak, and so she did.
“You're impossibly fast and strong. Your skin is pale white and ice-cold. Your eyes change color. And you really enjoy writing notes and pinning them on trees. You never eat or drink anything. You wear suits.” Loralei gasped quietly. “How tall are you?”
“Six feet tall.”
“But what would you say your height ranges between?”
“… six… and… ten feet.”
“I know what you are.”
“Say it. Out loud. Say it!”
“You’re…” She trembled. “Slenderman.”
“Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“Then ask me the most basic question. What IS a Slenderman?”
“You won't hurt me.”
Draco took her hand and pulled her to her feet, hauling her into the brush around the pond.
“Where are we going?”
“Deeper into the woods. Out of the sunlight. You need to see what I look like in the total dark.”
Loralei let him draw her away from the comfort of the pool, past the glowing yellow flowers she so loved, to a patch without them or any other light to speak of.
“This is why we don't show ourselves in complete darkness. People would know we're different. This is what I am.”
She gasped. His pale skin glowed through the dark, illuminated the tendrils rising from his back. “It's like… a tree. You're beautiful.”
“Beautiful? These are the tentacles of a killer, Loralei. I'm a killer.”
“I don't believe that.”
“That's because you believe the lie. It's camouflage. I'm the world's most dangerous predator. Everything about me invites you in, my voice, my face, even my smell As if I would need any of that.” With a loud whoosh, he disappeared. She turned and spotted him behind her, peeking out behind a tree. “As if you could outrun me!” Another whoosh. She blinked, and in an instant he stood right in front of her. “As if you could fight me off. I'm designed to kill.”
“I don't care.”
“I've killed people before.”
“It does not matter.”
“I wanted... to kill you. I've never wanted a witch's blood so much in my life.”
“I trust you.”
“Don't.”
“I'm here. I trust you.”

 

PART VII: ALWAYS.
After barely a week of deliberation, school leadership comes to the conclusion of the irrevocable danger of the forest. The governors announced their decision with such speed and gusto that it seemed they’d had the memo written for years, and with the widely publicized passing of the Parker boy (who’d apparently been a renowned child star), they’d finally gotten the opportunity they wanted to raze the woods and its inhabitants.
“Burn it to the ground,” they announced.
Dumbledore protested, and many teachers joined him. It became the norm for courses to be canceled as professors attended meetings and frequented the ministry, making pleas. Hagrid disappeared from the campus entirely, and was rumored to be making plans for the creatures of the forest to sneak away under cover of night.
But as soon as the governors proposed it, parents rallied behind it, and with such undeniable and resounding support, the bygone conclusion was reached at last. Why expose their children to such unnecessary risk? And after what young Peters went through? Bureaucracy spoke.
Loralei could not stand to see the trees meet such a sorry state, nor their inhabitants, and she was determined to subvert the system even if doing so is straight-up anarchy. She began to while away all her hours in the forest, sleeping on the moss by the pool, wandering, listening, seeking some way, any way to protect it. Sometimes she emerged from the wood to sneak books out of the library and bring them there, hoping to find some solution, any solution, like a giant bubble to fend off any threatening flames. But though she was the best witch of her age, (recipient of straight Os, much to the chagrin of Herman), she was only one person.
Door helps her. Pander’s death shattered him— the two disliked he eachother, but he’d never wanted him dead, let alone by his own tentacles— and Loralei, and the thought of the forest, pieced him back together. She fixed him. He was… so broken.
Sometimes, he said, the beast within took control. It felt when the woods did, and wanted nothing more than to protect it, and though he tried to repress it (and had, successfully, since the Pelter incident), it gradually wore on him until, eventually, it snapped through. His face was so sculpted, so gaunt, so perfectly pale, little more than a perfect, perfect skull. Each day, he resembled the monster more and more.
It was inevitable that it would overtake him, and finally it did. They were flipping through books by the edge of the pool, and one moment he was that beautiful, haunted blond boy, lounging beside her on the rocks in his signature suit and reading aloud from 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi: and the next, he rose, stretched, changed. She knew what it meant, knew that the crimes against these woods had reached their peak. And sure enough, she smelled smoke on the breeze.
Slenderman turned to her and opened its maw. “I can only do so much,” it grumbled, and its voice of rasp and gravel emanated from every tree.
She nodded.
“I can only do so much alone.”
“What are you?” She asked. “How did you come to be?”
“I am of this forest, I am of the trees. I am what you name me to be. I am… a skinny little woodland spirit.”
“I too am of the trees. What I am, I am for them.”
“Then speak. Speak for them. If you give them voice, they may give you power, and you may save this place.”
She gazed back into that blank place, and she knew what she felt was love: for this man, for the monster he became, for the forest itself.
She rose, and the long purple shift that she’d worn on her first day here all those years ago brushed the ground. It fit now, no longer loose as it was then. She knew the way. She wove to the edge of the woods where shouts and the crackle of fires being fed roared to life in her ears. Soon the fire-bringers would steer the wind toward the trees. Ironic! These magic wielders would use a natural means to destroy a natural space. She wondered if magical fire would not work on a place so heartily imbued with inherent power of its own. But then she realized as she emerged, too soon, from the forest that the logs they stoked the flames with were hewn from the border trees of the forest itself. They’d carved out its very edges to sculpt their own weapon. No wonder Draco had looked so fragile: he’d fought the urge to protect the woods from this slaughter. Even in the face of this massacre, he had no wish to kill again.
She emerged, and the men and women growing the flames noticed her one by one, and turned to face her. Some gestured for her, flapping their arms to get away from the woods. Others simple looked on, watching the forest itself come to face its fate head on.
She spoke for the trees. For those sentinels behind her, those innocents bravely awaiting their fate: for those already cut down, separated from their life and their core.
Her voice echoed across the grounds.
“I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues. It’s not about what it is, it’s about what it can become.”
Silence and stillness fell over the firebringers. They looked at her now, in fear and shock. In admiration. She knew that they could see her for what she was: bone, held together by the roots and soil of these woods. A baby, born from its womb: a pot, baked in its kiln: a bun, in its oven, with an eggwash and a crispy crust, refusing to be eaten. An acorn, from its trees. She could, and she would, grow into a forest in her own right.
She raised her arms, and the flames, fed by the lifeblood of the forest itself, responded. She lowered them, and as they dissipated to the ground, little more than coal and ash, she felt the music of their sigh of relief and release watch over her as it returned to the chorus within the trees.
Dumbledore rolled to the bottom of the hill. He stood to untangle his grass-stained beard as it wrapped tightly around him, like a silkworm untangling itself from its own endless greenish-white web. He could not apparate within school grounds, and he’d found the fastest way, reaching her before these tree killers could think to cut her down, too. “A Lorax,” he shouted, and the call carried to all of their ears. The people before him gasped and abandoned the bonfires entirely.
“My dear girl,” he called from afar, “you are a child of the trees. This forest— originally known to those of us who read the lore as the Aila Woods, before time and fear warped their title away— claims you as its own, and is to you to protect them. You accept your role when you become their voice: so long as you will them safety, so mote it be.”
He waved his wand, a clean switch and flick, and the ashes of the fires lifted into the air and dispersed into the breeze. The men and women who’d prepared them watched them go, amazed acceptance in their eyes. Some teared up, not at the beauty of the glittering display of mysterious pollen, but out of shame for the crime they’d committed against these woods and against the tall, purple-clad woman before them. Who knew where that substance would settle, but she sensed an inherent power… a pheromone-like draw… filling the heart she thought she’d lacked.
They would settle later. The dust was already settling. But it would feed the regrowth, and she would stand there with it. The Lorax. With her at its side, and infinite time before them, the woods, surely, would grow back.
She felt a cold hand grab her own. Draco had reached her side, and he looked up at her. Then he rose, assuming control, mastering his alternate form. As he pulled her back into the darkness of the trees, Slenderman’s tendrils reached out, not strangling her but holding her. A comforting hug, a lover’s embrace.
Loralei and Draco. Lorax and Slenderman. Two forces of the forest, united in love for Aila, and for each other.

 

FIN.

Chapter 6: A Brief Interlude

Notes:

Boom! A painting! Sort of...

Okay, full disclosure I tried for approximately 12 minutes to figure out how to add a picture directly onto AO3 b/c I've def seen fics do it before but alas I was not successful :( My work around for this is click the link below and it will take you to a google doc where I've pasted a picture of the image. What can I say, Wilmington High School students will be innovative problem solvers!!!!!!!

Anywhosies, this is a painting Spencer made for you! It's watercolor, bleach, and acrylic. It also exists in a physical form not solely as pixels and that physical form is currently in the process of being mailed to you so yay for that!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1EoCJrc6Uytx7VzpHXPIDAcp8q2bNST2XCUJ60FUU7yA/edit

Chapter 7: Which Whispering Bones Character Are You?

Notes:

What can I say... what's a birthday without a BuzzFeed quiz? As a matter of fact... what's *anything* without a BuzzFeed quiz? Answer: miserable and stupid. This quiz was a collaboration between me, Evan, Brandy, and Sammie!

Also I know I made a typo on the one question :(((((( I made this quiz during a meeting and now it won't let me fix it :(

https://www.buzzfeed.com/katieedeburn/which-whispering-bones-character-are-you-2mnu2fauzx

Chapter 8: Coffee? Coffee.

Notes:

Okay this one is Anna's!! And the coffee shop AU strikes again!!! Clearly a fan favorite and a timeless classic. Also probably b/c baristas are statistically the coolest people ever. Especially baristas who also work in book stores. Except until those losers stop working in book stores and start working in IVF marketing departments. Although I suppose that IVF marketing department did give you a $30 food voucher which is quite a slay soooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It doesn’t make sense to keep coming back. Aila knows this.

And yet, she pushes open the door to the coffee shop that she drove an extra 15 minutes out of her way for because she keeps telling herself that ‘the fair trade Colombian espresso is worth it’.

She’s greeted with the smell of a warm roast and the merry jingle of the bell above the door.

Loralei looks up from the flower garland she is braiding to no doubt add to the verifiable forest that the interior of the Whispering Bones coffee shop has turned into.

She stands from her chair behind the serving counter with the grace of a porcelain ballerina. Her auburn hair burns bright in the reflection of the morning sun that glints its way through the windows.

She tilts her head to the side, eyes crinkling at the corners in one of the rare smiles that Aila likes to think is just for her.

But sure, Aila’s just here for the Colombian roast.

“Good morning, Aila. I thought you may have forgone your visit today, it’s almost 9.” Loralei says as Aila walks up to the counter.

“And miss the best cup of coffee on this side of The Woods? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Aila says, mustering up a pleasant smile of her own.

Loralei laughs. “I’m glad to hear you think so. Just a black Americano, as usual?”

“You know me so well.” Aila says.

Loralei nods, grabbing a cup and turning around to the espresso machine behind her. It hisses and purrs and Loralei mutters to it while she makes the coffee like it’s an anxious cat.
Eventually she turns back around and pushes the steaming cup of coffee across the counter.

Loralei opens one of the glass pastry cloches. “Would you like to try an almond madeleine? I made them fresh this morning.” She says, holding out the cookie on a small white napkin. A white flag. An olive branch. An opportunity.

Aila chews her lip. “No, no, I shouldn’t.”

Loralei puts down the napkin. Aila can see her holding back the question on her tongue.

Alia takes out her wallet and forks cash onto the counter.
“Thank you.” She says, picking up her cup of coffee. She holds it up to her face so the rich warmth can waft over her as she turns to leave.

“I can’t make any sense of you, Aila.” Loralei says.

“What?” Aila turns back around, eyes wide.

“Everyday people come into my shop because they are hungry for something. Not just the pastries. They come here because they are hungry for the warmth, the comfort, the community. I started this coffee shop for that very reason, because I too was starving for connection. But you. You order a plain black coffee every single day. You’ve never used milk or sugar. You barely even look at the pastry case. And you leave before your coffee has even had time to cool. I don’t get it.”

“I’m not really sure I can explain it.” Aila says.

“I don’t need you to explain, but I want to understand. If it’s not the food, or the warmth, or the company, what is it you hunger for?”

Loralei looks at Aila, her brow pinched in question. Her grey eyes are piercing as they flit back and forth, searching Aila’s own for the answer.

Aila swallows.

“I…I don’t know.” She says.

Loralei nods, thinking. She quickly writes something on the napkin and wraps the madeleine up in it. She picks a bright yellow flower from the garland and ties its stem around the napkin, securing the cookie in place.

“Here. Take it for the road. You might want it later.” Loralei says, holding out the makeshift parcel.

Aila reaches for it, brushing her fingers against the soft skin of Loralei’s wrist as she takes the napkin out of her hand.

She fumbles to put the napkin in the pocket of her jacket. Loralei is still looking at her when she looks up.

“Thank you. I think I have some extra cash in my wallet still-“ Aila starts.

“It was a gift. It is yours to keep, free of charge” Loralei says.

“Well, don’t you know how to make a girl feel special.” Aila says, blushing.

“You are special, Aila.” Loralei says.

Aila blinks. And breathes, she thinks. She can’t be too sure because of the way her brain goes slightly fuzzy.

“You-re- you, you have a nice day.” Aila’s mouth starts speaking words she did not agree to as she starts concentrating all of her energy on putting one foot in front of the other and walking out of the coffee shop.

Loralei’s laugh echoes the jingle of the bell above the door as Aila escapes into the chilly spring morning.

She walks two blocks before she remembers to breathe.

She also remembers the napkin burning a hole in her pocket.

Digging it out, Aila carefully unties the flower stem and opens the napkin. She takes a bite out of the madeleine.

It’s even better than she expected. Of course it is.

She turns the napkin right side up to read the note that Loralei had left.

For when you know what you’re hungry for.

Loralei’s phone number is scribbled underneath.

Aila tucks the flower stem behind her ear. She can’t help the corners of her mouth from lifting into a smile.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll get a blueberry scone.

Notes:

Okay homie that is all we've got, I hope you have enjoyed your present :) Thank you so much for being one of our favorite people in the whole universe. Our lives are infinitely better b/c we know you, please never doubt how much we love you yada yada yada, I'm not gonna lie I'm really tired now, planning this whole thing was hella exhausting so I'll skip the rest of the flowery language and you can just imagine a couple more phrases extolling your virtues. Whatever the exhaustion though, you'd be worth it 10x (imagine that one emoji that's like happy and content with closed eyes and a slight smile but I can't find an emoticon equivalent so I can't put it here)

I leave you now to go eat chili. But, b/c I think you'll enjoy the knowledge please know that my dad put entire cherry tomatoes into this chili and when I asked him why he said he thought they'd be like "popping pearls." He was surprisingly right, that is very much the sensation evoked and yet... like Icarus I fear we may have chanced too close to the sun.

Anyways, we love you.

Sincerely,
Katie, Evan, Sammie, Macy, Hannah, Anna, Spencer, and Brandy