Chapter Text
The figure on the bed lay flat on his back, in the standard recovery position, with a relaxed, placid expression on his face. In the background, monitoring spells traced soundlessly on the translucent glass mounted on the wall near the bed, oblivious to the young man in the chair next to the bed, clinging to the patient’s hand.
Dean Parker stared at his father’s lax features, searching them intently for any sign of life. Beneath his thumb, a pulse throbbed in an even beat, right in time with the steady rise and fall of Greg Parker’s chest. At least the pained grimace was gone – all the broken bones had finally been healed, along with the aftereffects of the severe concussion his father had gotten during the T-South riot.
The Healers were still keeping him in a coma, though – Dean didn’t understand all the nitty-gritty details, but according to his cousins, the Healers were worried about the connection between his Dad’s brain and magical core. They couldn’t get a mind-healer to check his father because of his Wild Magic, so they were left treating his magical core. Something about how repairing the core’s side of the mind-core connection would make it easier for his Dad’s mind to rebuild its side. At least, that was the idea, but there was no way to tell until they finally let his Dad wake up.
A quiet sigh echoed in the room; though Dean was determined to stick by his Dad as long as it took for him to wake up, he couldn’t deny that he was getting a little frustrated – and bored. Besides, it wasn’t like his father was going to wake up, not when the Healers kept pouring new potions down his throat every day. But his cousins and his father’s best friends were insistent that his Dad couldn’t wake up alone, so there was a whole schedule set up. Despite the boredom and endless tedium, Dean wasn’t about to be the weakest link in the vigil chain.
The whistle from the door brought his head up and Dean’s hands snapped up to catch the book his cousin tossed to him. Confused, he turned it over and blinked – the book he’d picked out a couple weeks ago when Aunt Sophie took him and Clark to the bookstore.
Lance strolled over, hands in his pockets, and Dean tossed him a glare for the nonchalant expression on his face. One corner of Lance’s mouth twitched up in a smirk, but the stroll dropped down to an amble and the younger boy pulled his hands out. “Uncle Greg won’t mind if you read a book.”
Glancing down at the book, Dean tucked it between his leg and the chair, then grabbed his Dad’s hand again. “No thanks.”
His cousin sighed and perched on the opposite side of the hospital bed. “Dean, seriously. You don’t have to spend the whole time just staring at him. He’s gonna be fine.”
“Then why won’t they let him wake up?”
Lance snickered, earning a furious glower. “ ‘Cause Uncle Greg got voted Worst Patient Ever by the Healers.”
Dean felt his jaw twitch and a tiny snort erupted. “Worst Patient Ever?”
The younger boy nodded with as much solemnity as he could muster. “Keeps pullin’ crazy stunts with his magic that land him in the hospital – and they work.” Tilting his head to the side, Lance added, “Honestly, I think Healer Travis is getting back at Uncle Greg for getting hurt after she pulled an all-nighter to get him back on his feet after T-South.”
Shaking his head, Dean pulled away from his Dad’s limp hand. “Aren’t you kinda early?”
His cousin shrugged. “Figured you needed a break.”
The brunet eyed his cousin suspiciously. “You’re supposed to be here tonight.”
Lance nodded. “Healer Queenscove said I could use my gryphon form.”
Dean blinked. “What? Why?”
The other boy huffed and flopped down, draping himself over their guardian’s blanketed legs. Dean arched a brow, but he’d long ago figured out that St. Mungo’s was more laid back than most hospitals. So long as it didn’t actually hurt his Dad, none of the Healers would say a word about the teenagers curling up on the hospital bed.
“I’m usually okay, but my Animagus form is acting up a little,” Lance admitted. “If I go gryphon overnight, should calm my magic down again.”
“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Dean pointed out.
One shoulder lifted. “Like I said, I’m usually okay. The last time my Animagus form started getting antsy, I just spent the night in my room.”
“Was that before I came?”
“Yep,” Lance confirmed, shifting so his upper torso was on Dean’s father’s stomach and sapphire gazed upwards into Dean’s brown eyes.
The older boy considered, then grabbed his book, pulled it up, and started reading. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance pull out his modified Nintendo DS and heard the chime of it turning on.
His Dad slept on.
* * * * *
Lance nibbled his lip as he navigated through the maze to his next objective. A group of monsters popped up, sending the screen to a fight scene and he input the fight commands on autopilot as he debated what he could do. Not with the game – he’d played it before and even beaten the thing – but it served as decent cover and kept his fingers busy while he plotted.
The first night…that had been a surprise, although, in hindsight, he should’ve known. Oh, sure, he’d known that Healer Queenscove was putting Uncle Greg back on the core-healing potions, and sure, he’d known the reason they were overnight potions was ‘cause the core-healing potions would go right through Uncle Greg to hit the ‘team sense’, but he hadn’t quite made the connection between the ‘team sense’ and his link to Uncle Greg. Not until that link had come to life, sending tingles through his body only moments before his core began to hum – he was just lucky he’d already been in bed, ‘cause fighting that magic…
The second night, he’d tried, but it had been so laughably futile that he’d only tried the once before giving up. The potion was just too fast. Too powerful – like a keyed spell. Actually, it probably was a keyed potion; would make a whole lotta sense. Not that it made him any happier.
But that wasn’t the problem at the moment. He might not like this particular consequence of his magical link to his uncle, but Lance was pragmatic enough to know that magic like that always came with downsides. That first night might’ve caught him off-guard and unprepared, but once he knew, he’d been able to deal.
No, the problem was that Healer Queenscove’s potion wasn’t just stimulating rapid magic generation in his uncle’s core – it was stimulating his, too. And all of Team One’s magical cores. It wasn’t the first time Uncle Greg had been on a regime of core-healing potions, but the last time, Team One hadn’t been Animagi. Plus, their cores had probably needed the extra boost, so they hadn’t been affected near as bad as they were this time.
Dean hadn’t noticed and Clark prolly hadn’t either, but Lance had been watching them intently and he could see the signs. The way the adults were getting more and more jittery, how they were having trouble standing still, even the way their eyes were starting to glow at odd moments, showing sparkles of their native magic.
He’d talked it over with ‘Lanna and they’d both come to the same conclusion – Team One needed to burn off the excess magic in their cores. The quickest, easiest way for them to do that would be to shift into their Animagus forms for a couple hours every day. Heck, they’d prolly be fine if they just slept in their Animagus forms each night – that would burn off the magic right as it came in and let them get used to the feel of their animal forms.
‘Lanna had suggested just telling them and he’d considered it, but he had a feeling they were still in denial. Yeah, they’d transformed into their Animagus forms and gotten registered and everything. Even gone through all the retraining to use their enhanced abilities to best advantage – but they still didn’t understand just how much an Animagus form changed someone. Add in the Wild Magic and Team One didn’t have a clue.
So…he had a different plan – and he really hoped this one worked. Well, he mused, if nothing else, he’d burn off the excess magic in his magical core.
* * * * *
The overnight Healers were dubious, but a combination of Cruppy-eyes (1) and his Head of House ring convinced them to help him reinforce the hospital bed and move Uncle Greg over to one side of the mattress. With the wary Healers looking on, the teenager blurred and Illishar hopped onto the bed; curling up next to his uncle, he rumbled a squrrr and settled in place, one wing flaring out to drape over the older man like a living blanket.
Nuzzling into his uncle’s shoulder, the gryphon huffed a contented sigh and let himself drop into a light doze. Seconds later, his link to Uncle Greg tingled and his core vibrated before letting out a low hum. His muscles relaxed, all at once, and his mind echoed the core’s hum as golden magic pulsed, soothing him to sleep.
* * * * *
Wordy arrived a bit early for his shift at St. Mungo’s; as he walked through the hospital, his steps slowed and a grimace emerged. He was not looking forward to the hours of alternating between fidgeting in a chair and pacing from wall to wall in Sarge’s hospital room. It wasn’t so bad when he was on-duty; there was always something that required movement. Action – whether it was the workout room, running laps, drills in the training buildings, or even a foot patrol for some up close and personal Team One PR, there was no lack of activities that didn’t involve sitting still.
The situation wasn’t as bad as it had been right after Fletcher Stadium, when Sarge had gotten dosed with a potent magic booster that had flooded the ‘team sense’ with power and nearly ended with Team One addicted to their Sergeant’s magic, but Wordy had found himself wishing, off and on, that there was some way to temporarily shut down the links. Keep that core-healing potion of Baird Queenscove’s from sending their cores into overdrive.
Scrubbing at his buzz cut, the big constable checked his watch, shook his head, and strode into Sarge’s room. Just inside the door, he came to a halt, gaping at what he saw. Deep inside his gut, something lurched, seething jealousy and desperate longing twisting together.
“The overnight Healers said he insisted.”
Wordy jumped a foot, whirling as he landed.
Healer Susan Travis smirked at him, tipping her quill away from the clipboard she used for her parchmentwork. “Situational awareness,” she chided.
Checking his watch again, the constable groused, “Too early in the morning.”
“No coffee either,” Susan drawled, her smirk deepening when Wordy glared at her. “Too early for that, too?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “Too wired for it.”
The blonde straightened, frowning. “Your magic is acting up?”
He tilted one shoulder up in a shrug and turned back to the bed. “Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” the Healer replied, her tone heavy with meaning.
Blinking at that, the brunet looked closer at the pair on the bed inside the room. One was Sarge, of course, and the other was Lance. Except, for reasons known only to himself, the kid was in his gryphon form. The gryphon – Illishar – was curled up next to Sarge, leaning into him with his wing draped over Sarge’s torso.
At first, it looked like the gryphon was still asleep, but then Wordy noticed a slit of sapphire watching him from the dark-brown feathered eagle head. Crossing his arms, the broad-shouldered constable arched a pointed brow. One furry, feathered ear flicked back, then Illishar huffed and raised his head, folding his outspread wing as he did so.
Wordy caught a flash of red as the wing moved. “Wait – what was that?” he demanded.
Illishar turned towards him and tilted his head, confused; Wordy felt his breath catch. “You’ve got facial markings?” he hissed.
Yeah…?
The brunet jumped again, eyes going wide. “You can talk?”
“Constable?” Susan asked, somehow managing to sound both tart and concerned at the same time.
The gryphon let out an amused squarrr and hopped off the opposite side of the bed. Ranging to the side, sapphire eagle eyes looked up, laughter shining in their depths beneath the deep blue streaks of feathers that ran above his eyebrow ridges, ending just a bit behind them. A second flash of blue appeared in small dashes of color just behind his eyes, and deep blue feathers outlined the back of his jaw, creating a solid distinction between Illishar’s head and neck.
Wordy moved closer, examining the young gryphon closely. Turning, Illishar swept out the same wing he’d had draped over his uncle; the red reappeared on the top feathers, right at the tips of the primary and secondary coverts (2). Beneath and behind the wing, the gryphon’s lion fur was a deep tan, with a lighter shade of tan on his belly and the inner fur of his legs.
The feathers on his upper back and the leading edge of his wing were a very dark shade of brown, darker even than his hair color. The covert feathers were a slightly lighter shade of brown and tipped with a solid red hue, while the primary and secondary feathers sported a rich shade of brown that matched with the color of his tail feathers, though the latter darkened to black where they joined the hidden tuft of the gryphon’s lion tail.
Flexing casually, Illishar shifted to sit, allowing Wordy to inspect his chest, head, and the underside of his extended wing. The constable’s eyes trailed over that wing, marveling at the differences. Oh, the underside of the wing had the same basic look as the backside – dark brown at the leading edges, a slightly lighter shade of brown on the coverts, and a rich shade of brown on the primaries and secondaries – but all of those browns were paler than their counterparts. Curiously, the underside coverts also lacked the red tips of their counterparts.
He flicked a glance at the gryphon’s foretalons, absently noting that they shifted from eagle claw to lion leg right above the wrist, but the transition from fur to feathers at the gryphon’s chest and shoulder area was far more interesting. Feathers draped the gryphon’s chest in a V-shape reminiscent of a lion’s mane, and Illishar’s head feathers were all flared out, as if the teen’s roguish personality had translated itself into his Animagus form’s appearance. On his head, the rich yellow beak and blue facial markings stood out, right along with the lion ears tucked in the gryphon’s head feathers. The outside of the ears was all fur, of the same shade as his lion fur, but inside the ears, a row of feathers ran up the inside edge, flaring out towards the outer edge.
Shaking his head, Wordy scrubbed at his jaw. “How the heck did we miss that?”
Huh?
Waving a hand at Illishar’s wing, he elaborated, “Red on the wings, facial markings – how the heck did we ever think Sarge was you?”
Finally getting it, Illishar squarrred, wing folding as he laughed. Straightening, he blurred back to human, still snickering.
“And how’d I understand you?”
Lance sniggered again. “I’ll give you three guesses and the last two don’t count.”
Travis chortled. “Wild Magic.”
Grinning, the teenager flashed her a thumbs up. “Yep.”
Wordy rubbed his eyes, closing them in realization. “Of course. Universal translator.”
“Yep.”
“You’re an incorrigible brat, you know that, right?”
“And you love me anyway.”
Reaching out, Wordy snagged his nephew. “We love you no matter what, kiddo.”
Lance flushed, but didn’t fight the brunet constable’s hold.
Shaking his head again, the big man asked, “So what gives, kiddo? Why’d you give the overnight Healers kittens?”
Mischief gleamed up at him. “Don’t you mean kneazles, Uncle Wordy?”
Smirking, he ruffled Lance’s hair, swallowing his chuckle at the yelp and immediate retreat. “Too early for semantics, kiddo. Spill.”
Lance huffed, but shrugged and replied, “My magic was getting kinda antsy, so I asked Healer Queenscove if I could sleep in my Animagus form.”
Wordy blinked. “That uses up the magic?”
“Sure does,” Lance confirmed. Shrewd sapphire met his gray, the two of them almost on the same level. “Wanna try?”
Eagerness welled up and he almost said Yes before he bit down and clamped his jaw shut. “Prolly not a good idea in here,” the constable remarked.
The teenager arched a pointed brow and gave him an unimpressed Look that sent a shiver down Wordy’s spine. It was a dead match for Sarge’s ‘do-you-really-think-I-didn’t-think-of-that’ expression, right down to the way Lance was shifting back and crossing his arms.
“You do know St. Mungo’s has to be able to treat centaurs, minotaurs, and half-giants, right?”
“They do?” Wordy asked, turning towards Healer Travis.
“We do,” she confirmed. “I’ve never seen any centaurs or minotaurs come in, but sometimes we’ll get a half-giant in the Emergency Ward.”
The image of his form flashed in his mind’s eye, coupled with fierce longing; his skin itched and stallion instincts prodded at him, as if the Animagus inside of him was begging to be released. Magic pulsed, in a steady beat, and he knew shards of it was gleaming in his eyes. It took an iron effort to pull back and wrestle his animal side back in line.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised both of his companions.
Lance gifted him a skeptical look and Travis shook her head, expression tart.
“You’d better get going, kiddo,” Wordy added, stepping towards the open chair tucked deeper in the room.
“Wait.”
The constable turned his head, arching a questioning brow.
Biting his lip, Lance hesitated, then asked, “Could you take tonight instead?”
Wordy frowned, crossing his arms. “You’re not staying here all day.”
“No,” Lance agreed at once. “But ‘Lanna’s supposed to be here tonight.”
“And?”
The teen fidgeted, glancing away as a light flush rose. Looking back up, he explained, “She’s got a big test tomorrow in one of her harder classes.”
The brunet constable’s frown deepened in thought. “And she could use the extra time tonight to study?” he guessed.
“Yeah.” Another fidget. “I, um, I wasn’t supposed to ask, though.”
Wordy smirked. “No problem.” He nodded to Travis. “You mentioned it to Susan here and she spilled the beans.”
The blonde twitched a smirk of her own at Lance’s grateful expression.
Smirk fading, the big man asked, “So who takes today’s shift?”
“Mindy.” At the blink, Lance tilted his head. “Uncle Greg knows her. Not that well, but if he starts waking up, she can come running for one of us.”
Wordy mulled that over, then nodded. Not ideal, but if ‘Lanna needed some cover for her test, he could do that. Plus, it meant he could go to work and spend the day moving instead of sitting still. Ed wouldn’t be thrilled, but all of them knew what Sarge would say. The kids came first – they always did.
“Uncle Wordy?”
Glancing up, he waited.
“Could you, um…” Lance shifted. “I know you don’t wanna try your Animagus form, but…”
He considered, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sure, kiddo. I’ll tell ‘em. Just don’t expect any takers.”
Lance didn’t look happy, but nodded, accepting the answer.
* * * * *
Just as Wordy’d expected, Ed wasn’t happy with him showing up for work instead of taking his shift at the hospital. But once he explained, Team One’s Sergeant nodded, then shook his head in amusement that ‘Lanna had tried to hide her test from them, only to be ratted out by her brother.
With a full team on-duty, Team One snapped up a patrol route, all of them picking locations where they could park their trucks and do a foot patrol instead. It wasn’t common – and hindered a quick response to any potential hot calls – but the team was too agitated and on-edge to tolerate being confined to their vehicles for an entire shift.
By the end of the shift, Wordy was happy to note that the worst of the jitters had worn down enough that he felt tired, the tension in his gut easing right along with his shoulders. He still felt warmer than usual as his core continued to churn out more magic than he knew what to do with, but he was no longer wound up and constantly on edge.
His teammates were the same – tired, but content in the face of what usually would’ve been a long, punishing day. Especially since they’d taken on their foot patrols in full gear, carrying more weight than most cops on foot patrol did. It was worth it to finally calm the agitation and walk off the stress from the past few days and weeks.
* * * * *
For the second time that day, Wordy trekked through St. Mungo’s towards his boss’s room. His feet dragged, but more from exhaustion than anything else. He did grimace – he’d walked off the excess magic today, but in only a few hours, Healer Queenscove’s potion would be flowing through Sarge’s system, sending their cores into overdrive and wiping out all the gains from that daylong foot patrol.
He was tired of it – tired of the magic inside him going crazy every time Sarge needed that extra support. If only there was some solution, something that would let them burn off the magic without going to extremes on the job. Or, even better, something to cut off the ‘team sense’ and keep that potion from getting to them in the first place.
Maybe, in the morning, he could ask about that? Sure would be nice, particularly since there was no way he could go back in time and warn his younger self about all the downsides to keeping that intangible bond with his boss and best friend.
Inside Sarge’s room, he found Healer Travis, looking more tired than he felt, and a new addition to the room.
As he frowned at the cot, Travis cast him an amused look. “If you tried to spend the night in the chair, you’d probably crack your head open on the floor.”
Wordy blinked, then flushed as he remembered. Oh, yeah…there was a reason they’d wanted Sarge’s kids, Clark, Shelley, and Sophie to take the overnight shifts.
“Thanks,” he said, tone sheepish.
“Of course, Constable Wordsworth. The house elves will be up with dinner soon and I’ve let the overnight Healers know you’re subbing for Lady Calvin, but you’ll need to be at work again in the morning.”
The brunet nodded, understanding Susan had set up his cover story for why he’d be fast asleep as soon as the potion hit Sarge’s system. “In other words, have dinner and just go to bed.”
“That would be the idea,” Susan agreed. “I’ll check with you in the morning, Constable. If you’re still feeling the effects of Baird’s potion, I’ll have a talk with him. See if we can find an alternative.”
“That would be great.” Relief shone in gray eyes, backing the depths of the big man’s gratitude.
Travis’s jaw twitched in a smile and she nodded. “Have a good night, Constable Wordsworth.”
“You, too, Healer Travis.”
* * * * *
The cot was more comfortable than it looked – yet another commonplace magical miracle. Wordy shunted aside the faint jealousy in his chest, the part of him that looked at the wizarding world and saw so many things that could make life better on the techie side of the fence. Maybe someday, if they could ever get the wizards to admit that the Dark Ages were over.
He rolled over, squinting as the light from the hallway hit dark-adjusted eyes – apparently wizards hadn’t figured out how to keep hallway light out of hospital rooms. Or maybe that was deliberate, to help the overnight Healers who had to check on all their sleeping patients. On the other bed, Sarge was still, breathing slow and steady as he lay on his back, too deeply asleep to roll over on his side like he preferred.
From outside the door, he heard footsteps, coming closer, and his gut clenched. Right in time with a swirl of power from his magical core, still brimming with energy, even after that all day foot patrol. Something inside him tensed in anticipation and a shiver of dread danced up his spine. Along with a last-second thought that maybe, just maybe, he should’ve listened to Lance that morning.
An overnight Healer ducked into the room, not even glancing in Wordy’s direction. A potion bottle was set on the bedside table and the wizard flicked his wrist. A wand dropped into the man’s hand and he took a step back, dipping his wand at the potion before muttering something with a flourish that ended with the wand pointed at Sarge.
On his cot, Wordy stiffened, waiting for the inevitable. Tingles came from his link to Sarge, but they didn’t go directly to his core as usual. Instead, he felt the tingles spread from his chest up to his shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers, and down his torso to his legs, calves, feet, and toes. Dread rose and he clawed at his core, trying to fight, trying to push the potion back, but the tingles spread farther, tracing up through his neck to his head. He felt the tingles reach his brain, resonating inside his skull so strongly that his mind went blank. All desire to fight drained out of him, replaced by a strange anticipation that sent a thrill through his soul.
His core thrummed, magic racing through his veins and muscles like lightning, and something inside him snapped. Breathing lengthened and deepened as his body relaxed into the potion’s hold and sleep claimed him.
[1] A Crup is a magical canine resembling a Jack Russell Terrier, with a forked tail. As per the Harry Potter Wiki, Crup puppies are known as Cruppies.
[2] Covert feathers are the second layer of feathers on a bird’s wing, above the primary feathers on the outer edge of the wing and the secondary feathers which run from the end of the primary feathers to the bird’s body.