April 14th, 1894; Afternoon — Hogwarts Grounds

She had woken up again not in her own body, but her old own body. This was disappointing, but there was nothing to be done about it: the staff who remained their chronological age were doing what they could, and Nell had to simply wait. While this would not have been too great a problem at thirty, Nell was currently working with her twelve-year-old capacities which were decidedly less patient.

Feeling the same antsiness that had seen Nell a world-traveller instead of a wife and mother, the woman-turned-girl decided she simply must get some air. There were her duties to attend to, of course, though those that required more... physical presance than she had at present had already been delegated to one of her upper-year students. Nell made her way down to one of the courtyards.

It was there that she saw them.

Recognizing a face, when one was a professor, was hardly something to write home about. Indeed, it was rather part of the job. But this face sparked recognition not because of class or roving the halls or anything like that, but because the body it was attached to had been assigned a detention.

To serve at the staff table.

The night before many of the faculty had woken up as literal children.

"Oi!" she called out, voice still higher-pitched than Nell was useful, decidedly wrong. "You!"

There was a storm brewing in her dark eyes.

— Open a student who may have had detention. —

  

Benedict sat in the courtyard reading a novel to himself quietly. It was one that he and Miss Potts had decided to add to their private reading list outside of the book club and he was quite enjoying it. Unfortunately he was running behind on this chapter, owing to that embarrassing business of the detention. It had been a minor infraction, some otherwise harmless tomfoolery and showing off in class had gotten out of hand and the professor felt they were being disrespectful. In that regards the punishment fit the crime and he felt very much put in his place having to wait on his professors.

Very well, he could still get caught up and have his notes ready on the chapter for after boys book club.

"You!"

A shrill voice that he did not recognise pierced the air and startled him from his daydreaming. "Me?" he wasn't sure whether to run or to laugh at the way the young girl forcefully approached him. Probably for the best he chose neither, but he did let slip a small smirk as he pushed his mane of hair back out of his face. "How may I be of service, Miss...?" while the girl had a faint sense of familiarity, COMC being his favourite subject and Brierley his favourite professor, Benedict had absolutely no idea who he was speaking to. It was only polite to allow her to give him her name before she confronted him about, something?

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Elenora Brierley

  

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Benedict Hunter may have had an interest in her subject, but in this moment, that fact alone was not enough to save him from her scrutiny. After all, the Gryffindor was not above reproach: if he were, he would not have landed the detention that had seen him serving the head table the night before she looked like this.

Determinedly, Nell marched up to the Gryffindor, noting with irritation that he was at eye levelw ith her now. The witch's reduction in stature had reduced with it her best asset in appearing intimidating; in spite of her sex, Professor Brierley was typically taller than all but her N.E.W.T.-level students. Her scowl, she hoped, would do the trick in its stead.

"You were serving at the staff table on Friday," Nell clarified without actually answering his question, "a detention." The word was weighty on her tongue, as if already a mark in the guilty column.

— Benedict Hunter —

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   Benedict Hunter

The younger girl was annoyed at him? Her scowl said as much and her body language did not seem to be that of the small form in front of him. He raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

"That's right, on Friday, it was a silly thing. I can't see how it's any of your business though?" his tone was mildly confrontational, but tempered by the fact that he was, after all, a polite student and not one to show open hostility, particularly to a young lady. He also began to wrack his brain how she might be linked to his detention or even the crime that had him serving that night.

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Elenora Brierley

  

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"It is funny," Nell continued, a fleeting pause the only indication that she was even vaguely listening to him, "that the day after you served the table—cleared plates, poured wine, so many of us professors woke up decidedly younger than we were when we fell asleep."

With that declaration—that accusation—made, Nell bristled herself up to her full height, hands on her hips and gaze very pointedly that of a professor, not the young girl whose body currently confined her.

— Benedict Hunter —

  

Now he knew who he was speaking to, the clues were all there before, but her body language and the look she gave him, the sort of look she had no doubt used on many a troublesome magical creature, now he knew.

"Professor Brierley, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to speak out of place." It took a second of apologising for his curtness to realise the more serious allegation. "Do you think I?... No! I wouldn't do such a thing professor, a boy could get himself expelled for a prank like that." His heart was racing, he like pranks and japes as much as the next person, perhaps more. But whizzers in the library and a few bad jokes were nothing compared to what he was being accused of.

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Elenora Brierley

  

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She continued to stair pointedly at the Gryffindor, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Benedict Hunter was a good and eager student in her subject, but no one landed detention if they were not open to the occasional misguided action, be that tardiness, a prank, or downright rule-breaking. While he did not quite meet Professor Valenduris' profile of one who might have done this to them singlehandedly—he was not stupid, but he also did not have the advanced potions skills necessary—the witch was reluctant to rule him out altogether—especially as he had had access to the professors the evening before their transformations.

Let him talk his way out of this to her satisfaction—or let his tongue dig his grave for him.

— Benedict Hunter —

  

The professor had not responded, did she not believe him? "Has someone said something Professor?" he asked to her, having no right to an answer but right now in a panic for consequences that might come his way should he not convince her. "If it was Mr. ____ , he has had it in for me since I danced with his sister at the winter ball last year."

Benedict wished he had some way to exonerate himself without a doubt, he did not need something like this to happen, even if Professor Brierley did not have proof that it definitely was him, without a conclusive alternative perpetrator it could ruin his chances of being allowed to continue his COMC lessons into his NEWTS. "Cast a truth spell on me if you have to professor." he offered.

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"I do not hold to magic that affects the wills of others, Mr. Hunter," Nell remarked sternly, gesturing pointedly down the length of her. Alas, her 'stern' tone was rather undercut by her child's voice, but Elenora Brierley was not one to welcome anyone pointing that out.

(She was, under less trying circumsances, generally a good sport. This, however, had been an appallingly stressful weekend!)

A beat, and then she allowed, a fraction more kindly, "You should not be so eager to give away your will, even to someone in a position of authority. Especially—" the professor resumed her previous tone "—those who will find out the truth regardless."

— Benedict Hunter —

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   Benedict Hunter

Benedict nodded in agreement, he hadn't meant to offend the professor by implying she might reach for such a spell, he had panicked and felt it an easy route to proving his innocence.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean... erm." he smiled awkwardly, he had better shut up soon. "I promise it wasn't me, and I have no idea who it might be, I'm sorry and I hope you catch them." he tried to put on a tone that was more calm and simple, not flapping for anything in either direction. He hoped that the Professor would accept this and look somewhere else. Part of him though was curious what the other professors might look like as children after seeing Brierley .

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Elenora Brierley

  

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She wanted to believe him.

She wanted answers.

She wanted things—namely, her damn body—to go back to normal.

Nell realized, rather begrudgingly, that her best bet was on the first of those goals, though it would take a lot of willpower, she knew, to let the matter drop altogether. For now, though, she must take Mr. Hunter at his word. Clearly, her youthfulness had impaired her interrogation abilities: she was unlikely to get any further, at least right now.

With a curt nod, the smaller-than-usual witch bid her farewell. Perhaps she might find answers in the castle's library.