The marble staircase stretched upward into shadow and torchlight, each step worn smooth by centuries of students making this exact climb. The stone gleamed in the flickering flames, and somewhere high above, the sound of distant laughter echoed through corridors they hadn't yet discovered.
The prefect leading their group—a tall girl with dark brown hair pulled into a practical ponytail and sharp hazel eyes that missed absolutely nothing—paused at the first landing to let the stragglers catch up. Her prefect badge gleamed silver in the torchlight, and she carried herself with the kind of confident competence that suggested she'd been managing first-years for at least a year and had developed systematic approaches to preventing common disasters.
"Right then," she announced once everyone had assembled on the landing, her voice carrying easily despite not being particularly loud. "Welcome to your first proper introduction to Hogwarts architecture. I'm Claire Daniels, sixth-year prefect, and for the next seven years—or at least until you figure out how to navigate without getting hopelessly lost—I'll be one of the people responsible for making sure you don't accidentally end up in the dungeons when you're trying to get to the common room."
"Does that happen often?" Peter asked nervously, his voice carrying just enough genuine concern to suggest he was already mentally preparing for navigational disasters.
"More often than you'd think," Claire replied with the kind of cheerful honesty that was either reassuring or deeply alarming, depending on how you looked at it. "The castle has a sense of humor about staircases. They move. Sometimes when you're standing on them. Sometimes when you're halfway between floors. It's all part of Hogwarts' charm—or its attempt to give the staff job security through student rescue operations. Depends on your perspective."
"Moving staircases," Marlene breathed with obvious delight, her dark curls bouncing as she leaned over the railing to peer upward into the vast architectural impossibility above them. "That's either the most brilliant thing I've ever heard or the most terrifying. Possibly both simultaneously."
"Definitely both," Claire confirmed. "First rule of Hogwarts navigation: never trust a staircase. Second rule: if you get lost, find a portrait and ask for directions. They're usually helpful, though some of them do enjoy sending first-years on elaborate detours just to see if you'll notice."
"The portraits *talk*?" Frank asked, his voice climbing with a mixture of fascination and mounting alarm about exactly how many sentient things lived in this castle.
"Oh yes," Claire said with obvious amusement at his expression. "Welcome to Hogwarts, where the furniture occasionally has opinions, the staircases have agendas, and the paintings provide running commentary on your life choices. You get used to it."
"When?" Peter squeaked.
"Never," Claire replied cheerfully. "But you learn to pretend you have, which is basically the same thing."
As they began climbing again, the group naturally sorted itself into smaller clusters based on conversation momentum and walking speed. James and Sirius were immediately behind Claire, peppering her with questions about secret passages and whether the moving staircases could be predicted or manipulated. Remus followed at a more measured pace, clearly filing away information for future reference. Peter stuck close to the group, his nervousness about getting lost making him hypervigilant about staying within sight of the prefect.
Hadrian found himself walking with Natalia, Lily, Bellatrix, Frank, Alice, and Marlene—a cluster that seemed to have formed naturally through some combination of shared sorting trauma and compatible conversation rhythms.
"So," Bellatrix said with the kind of intense curiosity that suggested she was already planning elaborate schemes, "exactly how lost can you get in this castle? Like, 'wrong corridor' lost, or 'accidentally discover a secret chamber that hasn't been opened in centuries' lost?"
"Bella," Frank said with weary resignation, "why do you sound excited about the possibility of catastrophic navigational failure?"
"Because catastrophic navigational failure sounds *interesting*," she replied with fierce enthusiasm. "Getting mildly lost is boring. Getting spectacularly lost with potentially dangerous consequences? That's character building. That's adventure material."
"That's how you end up explaining to professors why you missed three weeks of classes because you got trapped in a broom closet that turned out to be a portal to somewhere deeply unfortunate," Alice countered with the kind of practical wisdom that suggested she'd already mentally catalogued all possible disasters and their prevention strategies.
"Worth it," Bellatrix declared with absolute conviction.
"You're completely mental," Marlene observed with obvious admiration. "I respect that. Completely unsafe, probably going to get us all killed, but I respect it."
Natalia, who had been observing the architectural features with calculating precision, spoke up with the kind of analytical assessment that suggested she was already mapping optimal routes and identifying strategic advantages.
"The castle's layout doesn't follow standard architectural principles," she said, her voice carrying that particular combination of fascination and tactical interest. "These corridors branch at angles that shouldn't be structurally sound, the staircases connect at points that violate basic engineering, and the whole building appears to occupy more internal space than external dimensions would allow. It's either brilliant magical construction or the castle itself is operating under completely different physical laws."
"Or both," Lily added, her scientific mind clearly engaged by the architectural impossibilities. "Magic seems to rewrite physics on a fundamental level. What we're calling 'impossible' might just be 'operating under different rules we don't understand yet.'"
"That's either very wise or very concerning," Frank observed. "I can't decide which."
"Why not both?" Hadrian said with that trademark grin, earning himself several looks of fond exasperation.
They passed portrait after portrait—sleeping knights in armor, stern-looking witches examining spell components, landscapes that seemed to have actual weather patterns, and one painting of what appeared to be a bowl of fruit having an existential crisis about whether it was still life or actual life.
One portrait—a witch in Tudor-era dress with sharp features and sharper eyes—actually turned to watch them pass, her painted expression shifting from mild curiosity to obvious assessment.
"First-years," she observed with the kind of tone that suggested she'd been watching students make this climb for centuries and found them all equally bewildering and entertaining. "Fresh meat for the castle's digestive system. Which house?"
"Gryffindor!" James called back cheerfully, apparently having decided that conversing with portraits was now his new favorite activity.
"Ah," the Tudor witch said with something that might have been approval. "Lions. Bold, reckless, occasionally brilliant, frequently absurd. You'll fit right in with the rest of them. Try not to blow anything up in your first week—gives the whole house a bad reputation."
"No promises," Sirius replied with that devastating grin.
"I like you already," the portrait said with obvious amusement. "You've got that look—the one that says you're going to be either legendary or expelled, possibly both."
"He's definitely getting expelled," Natalia called out. "We're taking bets on how long it takes. Currently, the odds favor 'sometime in second year after a prank goes spectacularly wrong.'"
"Oi!" Sirius protested. "I resent that extremely accurate assessment of my future academic trajectory!"
The portrait cackled with genuine delight. "I'm going to enjoy watching you lot. Name's Violet Blackwood—hung here since 1542, right where I can observe all the Gryffindor traffic and collect material for my eventual memoir about teenage stupidity through the ages."
"We'll try to be memorable," James promised.
"You already are, dear," Violet replied with satisfaction. "Now run along before your prefect decides you're too much trouble and leaves you here to navigate on your own."
They hurried to catch up with Claire, who had paused at another landing to count heads with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd learned to prevent stragglers through constant vigilance.
"All present and accounted for?" she asked, her gaze sweeping across the group with the kind of assessment that suggested she could identify missing students through some combination of headcount and intuition.
"All here," Remus confirmed. "Though we did stop to chat with a portrait who threatened to write about our academic failures in her memoir."
"Violet Blackwood," Claire said with obvious recognition and fondness. "She's been giving first-years grief since before my grandmother attended Hogwarts. Lovely woman—well, lovely painting—absolutely savage sense of humor. She once spent an entire year composing terrible poetry about a student who'd been rude to her. Had it memorized by heart, performed it whenever he passed by. Poor bloke transferred to Beauxbatons just to escape the artistic harassment."
"That's either brilliant or terrifying," Frank said.
"Both," Claire confirmed cheerfully. "Now, a few more flights and we'll reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, who guards the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Current password is 'Fortuna Major'—you'll need to remember it, because she absolutely will not let you in without the proper password, no matter how much you beg or how cold you are or how desperately you need to use the facilities."
"She sounds delightful," Natalia observed dryly.
"She's actually quite lovely once you get to know her," Claire replied. "Just very serious about security protocols. Seven hundred years of guarding the entrance will do that to a person. Or painting. The distinction gets fuzzy after that long."
They climbed higher, passing more portraits, several suits of armor that appeared to be having silent conversations with each other, a window that looked out onto what should have been solid stone wall but instead revealed a perfectly normal view of the grounds, and one corridor that seemed to loop back on itself in a way that violated several laws of topology.
"That hallway," Lily said, pointing at the impossible loop, "shouldn't exist. You can't have a corridor that connects to itself without creating a closed system. Unless—" Her eyes lit up with scientific excitement. "Unless it's using spatial manipulation magic to create a localized dimensional pocket that—"
"Lily," Natalia interrupted gently, "you're doing the thing again where you explain magic like it's physics homework."
"Magic *is* physics," Lily protested. "Just physics with significantly more interesting rules and considerably fewer limitations on what's possible."
"She's going to be *insufferable* in Charms class," James predicted with obvious fondness. "Already theorizing about dimensional pockets and we haven't even attended a single lesson yet."
"I prefer to think of it as being prepared," Lily replied with dignity.
"You prefer to think of it as having already read half the textbooks," Natalia corrected.
"...Maybe."
They reached a long corridor lined with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom appeared to be either sleeping or pretending to sleep while actually observing the students with one eye barely cracked open. The painted figures ranged from stern medieval wizards with impressive beards to more recent headmasters in Victorian dress, and one particularly cheerful-looking witch who appeared to be knitting something that moved on its own.
Claire stopped at what appeared to be a dead end—a stretch of wall with a large portrait of a very fat lady in a pink silk dress, dozing in an ornate chair with a wine goblet balanced precariously on the armrest.
"Right then," Claire said, raising her voice slightly to address both the portrait and the assembled first-years. "This is the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. The password changes every two weeks—the current one is posted in the common room, and prefects will inform you of updates. Under no circumstances should you share the password with students from other houses, no matter how charming or persistent they are. Security isn't just tradition—it's practical."
The Fat Lady stirred at the sound of Claire's voice, blinking awake with the slow grace of someone who had been genuinely sleeping rather than feigning it for dramatic effect.
"Password?" she asked, her voice carrying the warm, slightly tipsy tones of someone who'd been enjoying her evening refreshments and wasn't particularly bothered by the interruption.
"Fortuna Major," Claire said clearly.
The portrait swung forward like a door, revealing a round hole in the wall large enough for several people to walk through simultaneously. Beyond it, warm golden light spilled out, along with the sound of comfortable chatter and the crackling of what was clearly an excellent fire.
"Welcome to Gryffindor Tower," Claire said with obvious pride, gesturing for them to enter. "Your home for the next seven years."
They filed through the portrait hole one by one, emerging into what could only be described as the coziest space any of them had ever encountered.
The Gryffindor common room was a cathedral of comfort—all scarlet and gold furnishings, squashy armchairs that looked like they'd been specifically designed for maximum relaxation, tables scattered with abandoned homework and chess sets, bookshelves crammed with everything from textbooks to adventure novels, and a roaring fire that filled the circular room with warmth and the pleasant smell of burning applewood.
Windows along one wall looked out onto the grounds—though how they had windows this high up in a tower was another architectural mystery—and the ceiling was decorated with golden lions that occasionally stirred and yawned like they were only slightly more awake than the students.
Several older students were scattered around the room, most looking up with interest as the first-years entered. A few called out friendly greetings. One group playing Exploding Snap paused their game to wave. A pair of seventh-years by the fire looked up from their books long enough to nod acknowledgment before returning to whatever intimidating N.E.W.T.-level material they were studying.
"Girls' dormitories are up the stairs to the left," Claire was explaining, gesturing to a spiral staircase that led upward. "Boys' dormitories are to the right. You'll find your names on the doors—four to six students per room, depending on year size. Your trunks have already been brought up, courtesy of the castle's logistical magic that we don't question because the alternatives involve too much manual labor."
She paused, then her gaze settled on Hadrian and Natalia with the kind of expression that suggested she'd been briefed on something unusual and was still processing exactly how to explain it.
"Potter, Evans—both of you, I mean the Natalia Evans, not Lily—I need a word before you head up to the dormitories. The rest of you, feel free to explore, get settled, don't break anything expensive, and try to be in bed at a reasonable hour. Tomorrow's your first day of classes, and Professor McGonagall has exactly zero sympathy for students who show up exhausted because they stayed up half the night exploring."
Lily shot her sister a curious look, but Natalia just shrugged with the kind of casual composure that suggested she'd already anticipated something unusual about her accommodation situation.
The other first-years began dispersing—James and Sirius immediately claimed adjacent armchairs by the fire and began what looked like a very serious discussion about optimal seating arrangements for future mischief planning. Remus gravitated toward the bookshelves with obvious interest. Peter followed him with the air of someone who'd decided that staying near the responsible friend was the safest strategy. Bellatrix, Frank, Alice, and Marlene found a cluster of chairs near one of the windows and immediately began what sounded like an animated debate about whether the moving staircases could be mapped or if their patterns were genuinely random.
Lily hesitated, clearly torn between joining the others and staying with her sister, but Natalia gave her a subtle nod that said *I've got this, go make friends* with the kind of silent twin communication that was slightly uncanny to witness.
Once the common room had resumed its comfortable ambient noise level and most of the first-years were thoroughly distracted, Claire gestured for Hadrian and Natalia to follow her toward a quieter corner near one of the bookshelves, where their conversation wouldn't be immediately overheard.
"Right," she said, her voice pitched for privacy, "so I've been briefed by Professor McGonagall about your... unique situations. Both of you have familiars that are, shall we say, significantly more exotic than the standard owl, cat, or toad."
"Nundu cub," Hadrian said simply. "Aslan. He's currently in his quarters, which I assume have been arranged somewhere considerably more secure than a standard dormitory."
"Kitsune," Natalia added with matching brevity. "Laika. She's also presumably been accommodated somewhere that won't terrify the other students or accidentally set anything on fire through supernatural means."
Claire nodded with the kind of calm acceptance that suggested she'd been prepared for exactly this information but was still processing the implications of having a Nundu and a kitsune residing in Gryffindor Tower.
"Yes," she said carefully. "The castle has made... special arrangements. Both your familiars have been settled in the quarters normally reserved for the Head Boy and Head Girl—it's a separate living area with more space, better security, and significantly more structural reinforcement than the standard dormitories."
She paused, then continued with obvious awkwardness.
"Which means that you'll both be living there as well. With your familiars. In what is traditionally seventh-year accommodation. As first-years."
The silence that followed was weighted with implications.
"So," Natalia said slowly, her analytical mind clearly working through the social and political ramifications, "we'll be living separately from our year-mates, in accommodation that's going to make us look either incredibly privileged or deeply weird, because our familiars are too dangerous or unusual to be integrated into normal student housing."
"That's... yes, that's essentially the situation," Claire confirmed with obvious sympathy. "Professor McGonagall wanted me to explain that it's purely practical—Aslan and Laika both require specific environmental conditions and security measures that simply can't be provided in the standard dormitories without extensive modifications that would disrupt everyone else."
"Makes sense," Hadrian said with surprising calm, his mind already adapting to this new variable. "Where are these quarters, exactly?"
"Through that door," Claire pointed to an ornate wooden door at the far end of the common room that Hadrian hadn't initially registered as separate accommodation, "then up one more flight of stairs. Private entrance, separate from the main dormitories, normally only accessed by the Head Boy and Girl once they're appointed at the start of each year."
She looked genuinely concerned about how they were taking this news.
"I know it's not ideal," she said carefully. "You'll be separated from your year-mates during sleeping hours, which can make bonding more difficult. But you'll still share all your classes, meals, and common room access with everyone else. The professors just thought... given the circumstances..."
"Given that a Nundu cub, even a baby one, could accidentally hurt someone if startled during the night," Hadrian finished for her. "And a kitsune's magical signature might cause unexpected effects on nearby students. It's practical. I understand."
"Plus," Natalia added with that characteristic precision that suggested she'd already calculated social implications and determined optimal response strategies, "living in the Head Boy and Girl quarters as first-years is going to generate exactly the kind of gossip and speculation that will either make us interesting or make us targets. Possibly both."
"Probably both," Claire confirmed with obvious sympathy. "Though for what it's worth, I think most of Gryffindor will find it more fascinating than threatening. We're not exactly known for our rigid adherence to traditional hierarchies."
"Unlike Slytherin," Natalia observed.
"Unlike Slytherin," Claire agreed with a slight smile. "Where this situation would probably cause a minor political crisis and three separate attempts at sabotage before breakfast."
"Lucky us, then," Hadrian said dryly.
Claire studied them both for a moment, clearly assessing whether they were genuinely okay with this or just putting on a brave face for social purposes.
"You know," she said finally, her voice carrying genuine warmth, "most first-years would be either devastated or terrified by this arrangement. You two are handling it with remarkable composure."
"We've had practice with unusual circumstances," Natalia replied with the kind of smooth deflection that revealed nothing while sounding perfectly honest.
"Plus," Hadrian added with that devastating grin, "how many first-years can say they have private quarters in Gryffindor Tower? Silver linings and all that."
"Very mature attitude," Claire said with obvious approval. "Now, should we go take a look at your new accommodation? Your familiars are already settled in, according to Professor McGonagall's notes, and your trunks should be waiting."
"Lead the way," Hadrian said with easy confidence.
As they crossed the common room toward the ornate door, several students looked up with obvious curiosity. Marlene caught Hadrian's eye and mouthed "Where are you going?" with exaggerated lip movements that made her look like she was performing in a silent film.
Hadrian just shrugged and pointed at Claire with an expression that said "Prefect business, tell you later," which seemed to satisfy her curiosity for the moment.
The door opened onto a narrow spiral staircase—stone steps worn smooth by centuries of Head Boys and Girls making this climb, lit by torches that burned with that same pleasant magical flame that never seemed to produce actual smoke.
"So," Claire said as they climbed, her voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space, "fair warning—these quarters are significantly nicer than standard dormitories. Better furniture, more space, private bathroom, sitting room that's actually designed for studying rather than the common room chaos. The castle takes care of its Head students, and apparently it's decided that extends to students with unusual familiar requirements."
"Define 'significantly nicer,'" Natalia said with obvious interest.
"Think 'small apartment' rather than 'dormitory room,'" Claire replied. "The castle apparently believes that if you're going to be dealing with the administrative headaches of being Head Boy or Girl, you deserve compensation in the form of not having to share a bathroom with five other people and actually having somewhere quiet to work."
"I like this castle's priorities," Hadrian observed.
They reached the top of the stairs, where another door—this one more elaborate, with carved lions in the dark wood and what appeared to be actual gold gilt around the frame—stood closed.
"Password is the same as the common room," Claire explained. "Though you'll have the option to set a secondary password for added privacy if you want it. Given your familiar situation, that might not be a terrible idea—you don't want curious younger students trying to get in to see the Nundu."
"Excellent point," Natalia agreed.
"*Fortuna Major*," Claire said clearly, and the door swung open with smooth, well-oiled precision that suggested significantly better maintenance than the squeaky dormitory doors below.
What lay beyond was exactly as advertised—a miniature apartment rather than a simple bedroom.
The entrance opened into a sitting room that was larger than most of the regular dormitories, furnished with comfortable chairs, a substantial desk perfect for homework, bookshelves already half-filled with reference materials, and windows that looked out over the grounds with a view that probably cost extra in normal circumstances.
"Sitting room," Claire said, gesturing at the space. "Shared space for both of you—studying, relaxing, whatever you need. Through that door—" she pointed to a door on the left, "—is Hadrian's bedroom and bathroom. Through that door—" the door on the right, "—is Natalia's bedroom and bathroom. Both bedrooms have space for your familiars, though given the size difference between a Nundu and a kitsune, Hadrian, yours is a bit larger."
"Makes sense," Hadrian said, already crossing to his door with obvious curiosity about what awaited.
He opened it to reveal a bedroom that was, indeed, significantly nicer than standard first-year accommodation. A proper four-poster bed with scarlet and gold hangings, a wardrobe that was actually large enough to hold his things rather than requiring everything to be crammed in sideways, a desk positioned by the window for optimal natural light, and—most importantly—a reinforced section in the corner where Aslan was currently lounging like a small silver lion, his golden-green eyes half-closed in contentment.
The Nundu cub looked up as Hadrian entered, his mental voice immediately flooding Hadrian's consciousness with that warm, sophisticated baritone that suggested ancient wisdom and occasional sarcasm in equal measure.
*Finally,* Aslan observed with satisfaction. *I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in the castle's digestive system and I'd have to go rescue you from whatever architectural nightmare you'd stumbled into.*
*It's been three hours since we separated,* Hadrian pointed out.
*Three hours is an eternity when you're waiting in an unfamiliar space surrounded by the scent of hundreds of years of human adolescence,* Aslan replied with dignity. *I've had time to thoroughly inspect our new quarters, determine optimal sleeping positions, and mentally catalogue everything that could potentially be used as either a toy or a weapon. The room meets my standards, barely.*
*High praise.*
*I am discriminating about my living conditions. It's one of my better qualities.*
Meanwhile, across the sitting room, Natalia had opened her own door to find similar accommodations—though slightly smaller, to account for the fact that a kitsune required considerably less space than a growing Nundu.
Laika was curled on the bed, her silver-and-white fur catching the lamplight and making her look like she was made of moonlight and mischief. Her intelligent amber eyes opened as Natalia entered, and her mental voice carried that distinctive combination of ancient wisdom and playful humor that was characteristic of her species.
*Comfortable accommodations,* Laika observed with approval. *Superior to the previous arrangements, with adequate space for both rest and entertainment. The window positioning is excellent for surveillance purposes, and the proximity to the common room allows for social observation without requiring constant presence.*
*You sound like you're conducting a tactical assessment,* Natalia replied with amusement.
*All spaces should be assessed tactically,* Laika replied with perfect logic. *Optimal positioning is the foundation of both defense and entertainment.*
Back in the sitting room, Claire was watching both doors with obvious curiosity about how they were settling in, though she was too polite to actually intrude on their private spaces without invitation.
"So," she said when they both emerged looking pleased with their accommodations, "you're all set? Any questions about the arrangements, the facilities, how to access the common areas?"
"I think we're good," Hadrian said with genuine appreciation. "Thank you for explaining everything. This is actually going to work out really well—plenty of space for studying, privacy for the familiars, easy access to the rest of Gryffindor."
"Just one question," Natalia said with that characteristic precision. "How do we handle the social dynamics of living separately from our year-mates? Any advice for preventing this from becoming a source of tension or resentment?"
Claire considered this thoughtfully.
"Be present," she said finally. "Living up here doesn't mean isolating yourself—you'll still share the common room, attend meals together, participate in house activities. Most students won't even notice you're not in the regular dormitories unless it's specifically pointed out. Just... make an effort to be part of the group during waking hours, and the sleeping arrangements won't matter nearly as much."
"Solid advice," Natalia agreed.
"Plus," Claire added with a slight smile, "having interesting familiars is going to make you automatically popular, at least with the students who find magical creatures fascinating. Which is most of Gryffindor, honestly. We're not known for being intimidated by potentially dangerous things."
"That's either reassuring or deeply concerning," Hadrian observed.
"Both," Claire confirmed cheerfully. "Welcome to Gryffindor, where our motto is essentially 'well, that was stupid, let's do it again!' Now, I should get back to the common room and make sure none of the other first-years have accidentally set anything on fire or gotten themselves stuck in furniture. Do you need anything else before I go?"
"We're good," Natalia assured her. "Thank you again for explaining everything."
"Any time," Claire said warmly. "And seriously—if you have questions, concerns, or just need advice on navigating Hogwarts social politics, any of the prefects are here to help. That's literally our job, and most of us actually enjoy it."
She headed back down the spiral staircase, leaving Hadrian and Natalia alone in their new shared quarters with their respective familiars.
For a moment, they just looked at each other, processing the implications of this arrangement.
"Well," Natalia said finally, settling into one of the comfortable chairs by the window, "this is going to be interesting."
"Define interesting," Hadrian replied, claiming the chair across from her.
"We're eleven-year-old first-years living in seventh-year accommodation because our familiars are too dangerous for normal dormitories," she listed with clinical precision. "We're going to be the subject of immediate gossip and speculation. We'll be physically separated from our year-mates during sleeping hours, which could impact social bonding. And we're sharing living quarters with someone we barely know, which requires either excellent communication or the development of passive-aggressive notes systems."
"Or," Hadrian suggested with that trademark grin, "we could just be honest with each other, communicate like reasonable people, and treat this as an opportunity rather than a problem."
"Revolutionary concept," Natalia said dryly. "Honesty and communication in a shared living space. What's next, actually using words to express preferences instead of engaging in elaborate psychological warfare?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Hadrian replied. "Small steps. Starting with: which desk do you want? The one by the window gets better light, but the one by the bookshelf has easier access to reference materials."
Natalia considered this seriously.
"Window," she decided. "Natural light is essential for maintaining proper sleep schedules and avoiding the kind of vitamin D deficiency that leads to poor decision-making. You take the bookshelf desk—you strike me as someone who does extensive background research before making major decisions, so proximity to reference materials is probably more valuable."
"Logical," Hadrian approved. "See? Communication. We're naturals at this."
*You're both ridiculous,* Aslan observed from where he'd padded into the sitting room to investigate his new territory. *Congratulating yourselves for basic adult behavior. This is why cubs shouldn't be allowed to make their own decisions.*
*We're doing fine,* Hadrian protested.
*You're doing adequately,* Aslan corrected. *Which, for humans, is apparently considered 'fine.' Such low standards.*
Laika had also emerged, moving with that characteristic fox-like grace that made her look like she was floating rather than walking. She settled on the rug in front of the fireplace—because of course there was a fireplace, this was Hogwarts—and regarded both humans with obvious amusement.
*They think they're being mature,* she observed to Aslan with dry humor. *It's adorable. Like watching baby foxes try to organize their first den and acting like they've discovered architecture.*
*Humans are always adorable when they think they're being competent,* Aslan agreed with matching amusement. *Give them a few years. They might eventually develop actual wisdom instead of just enthusiastic fumbling.*
"Are they making fun of us?" Natalia asked suspiciously, clearly catching enough of the mental exchange to recognize mockery when it occurred.
"Absolutely," Hadrian confirmed. "Aslan thinks we're cubs playing at being adults. Which is... actually pretty accurate, now that I think about it."
"We *are* eleven," Natalia pointed out. "Playing at being adults is basically our entire existence right now."
"Fair point."
---
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