12th December, 1888 — Inside A Warm Sock Bed, Slytherin Boys' Dormitory
Sometimes Aubrey wondered what the point of counting the days was, any more. Precisely nothing to him: he didn't work any more, didn't have half-days off, didn't get to go home and see his family. He'd go home and see the Urquart family over the holidays. He supposed. Master Urquart didn't run his plans past his hedgehog.
Strange twist of fate, it was, that he'd always wished to have had more schooling than his lowly year - he'd wanted more for his sisters too, Henry most of all - and here he was, imprisoned in that very same castle, doomed to be here for another long four years.
But Christmas was coming, one of the few signs of the passage of time. Aubrey could pass for a pine cone, sometimes, if he curled up in the decorative piles of them on the hearth or hung himself from the Christmas trees in the Great Hall. (Huh. Hang himself. Best never rule that out, lest Master Urquart was made more of a monster by his puberty.) He remembered his last Christmas, though, more desperately than ever, his last as a human, the only ones that counted - and the last real occasion his family had been together.
He wondered how the Davis family spent Christmas now. As they'd used to, probably, though which of his siblings would still be how he remembered them? Henrietta had only been a kid, eleven years old and eleven years ago: she'd been a sweet kid, even then.
Aubrey had lost the lion charm she'd given him. He'd used to wear it on its string, but he didn't know what had happened to everything he owned after the transformation - only knew he had nothing with him, any more, save... his own skin, he'd say. IF HE STILL HAD HIS OWN SKIN, BLOODY HELL.
So, maybe he was down to his distant memories of his former life, down to stubby legs and tiny paws and a useless fucking wet snout. But he had a bottle of ink he'd been hoarding, some scraps of parchment he had squirrelled away over the months, and even a little Gryffindor lion pin that had reminded him of the charm he'd once worn, which he had discovered when he'd gotten stuck down the back of an armchair in the Gryffindor common room one day last week.
And Christmas was coming.
He had a present to send.
Strange twist of fate, it was, that he'd always wished to have had more schooling than his lowly year - he'd wanted more for his sisters too, Henry most of all - and here he was, imprisoned in that very same castle, doomed to be here for another long four years.
But Christmas was coming, one of the few signs of the passage of time. Aubrey could pass for a pine cone, sometimes, if he curled up in the decorative piles of them on the hearth or hung himself from the Christmas trees in the Great Hall. (Huh. Hang himself. Best never rule that out, lest Master Urquart was made more of a monster by his puberty.) He remembered his last Christmas, though, more desperately than ever, his last as a human, the only ones that counted - and the last real occasion his family had been together.
He wondered how the Davis family spent Christmas now. As they'd used to, probably, though which of his siblings would still be how he remembered them? Henrietta had only been a kid, eleven years old and eleven years ago: she'd been a sweet kid, even then.
Aubrey had lost the lion charm she'd given him. He'd used to wear it on its string, but he didn't know what had happened to everything he owned after the transformation - only knew he had nothing with him, any more, save... his own skin, he'd say. IF HE STILL HAD HIS OWN SKIN, BLOODY HELL.
So, maybe he was down to his distant memories of his former life, down to stubby legs and tiny paws and a useless fucking wet snout. But he had a bottle of ink he'd been hoarding, some scraps of parchment he had squirrelled away over the months, and even a little Gryffindor lion pin that had reminded him of the charm he'd once worn, which he had discovered when he'd gotten stuck down the back of an armchair in the Gryffindor common room one day last week.
And Christmas was coming.
He had a present to send.
Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.