After a few minutes, the novelty of steam forcing itself from her ears faded. Sariah was reminded of the steam mop infomercials that she'd seen during the Christmas break; she could probably sanitise the entire dormitory with the high-pressure steam currently propelling itself out of her brain. Her headache gradually fading, she sipped the glass of water Asami had left for her, and flipped through the Daily Prophet. The missing dragons held her attention for a time, as did a gossip column claiming that Celestina Warbeck's husband was cheating on her with a warlock. She folded it shut without glancing at the informative muggle articles that were slapped like an afterthought to the back of the paper. The last article she'd read had advised that the Game of Thrones series was a product of a warlock historian, four bottles of fire-whiskey, and a crystal ball. She reached up to scratch her head, yanking her hand away sharply as steam scalded it.

After a much-deserved nap, Sariah lounged about the dormitory, idly passing by her time. The three other beds lay empty, so she enjoyed the rare moment of solitude in the room. Sprawled out on her bed, she scratched out some passable charms homework onto a creased scroll and tried to improve her wand movements by idly folding and unfolding socks. They dragged limply along the floor like kites asphyxiating in absence of wind. Gradually, she convinced them to curl in on themselves. Great, you've got enough willpower to coerce an inanimate object, she thought cynically, summoning them with a quiet, "Accio." Still, she supposed she had to start from somewhere. Just before lunch, Asami returned, declaring her fit enough to resume classes.

Britta flitted into the dorm before lunch. "You're not going to believe it," she gushed. "We've got History of Magic after lunch!"

Sariah looked up. "Who found Professor Binns?"

"That's the best part! Apparently, he's on extended holiday leave. Did you know he hasn't taken a day off in centuries? We've got this new American tutor instead. You should have seen her at breakfast; I would kill for purple robes like that. And there's more-"

Sariah was more disappointed that she would now be missing prime daylight hours that she could use visiting her Anglia. She pulled on her school robes, and trailed out of the dormitory for lunch.

*

As students filtered into the History of Magic classroom later that day, Sariah noticed a young-looking witch gripping the edges of the lectern at the front of the classroom. Her purple robe was silken and styled vaguely like a kimono, with long sleeves rustled behind her as she paced on the worn floorboards. Despite the garment's lightweight material, it reflected light almost like scales. Sariah soon realized why: it was in its entirety a slowly writhing serpent. When she turned around, wings and a snout revealed themselves. No wonder Britta was enamoured with their new teacher. The printed dragon sneezed, and twined itself around their new professor.

Sariah took a seat next to Britta. She glanced around the classroom. Almost three quarters of the class had turned up. It was most people she'd ever seen crammed into Professor Binns' dusky classroom. A hush fell over the class as their new professor cleared her throat. With a flick of her pale wand -that matched the shade of her hair - she inscribed her name on the board. The elegant script had swirls affixed to every letter: "Miss. Goldstein" gleamed in white lettering

"Good afternoon class," she began, an American accent pulling at her vowels. She gestured to the board behind her. "My name is Miss Goldstein. As your Headmistress kindly mentioned this morning, I'm a teacher-in-residence at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am very pleased and excited to be teaching you all. I'll be covering for Professor Binns until he sees fit to resume classes."

Poorly concealed sniggers came from the back of the class.

"Is there some issue I'm not aware of?" Miss Goldstein asked, her blue eyes flashing. Some fierce undertone in her voice silenced them. "Today we're starting a new topic," she said, "I'm told that my content will be somewhat more... modern than what you're used to, but I'm certain you'll find yourselves capable. Colonial to Present North American Wizarding History," she said, tapping the side of the board with her wand. The ornate title scrawled its way across it. She flicked her wand again, and key terms began scrawling themselves underneath it: 'No-Maj, Salem Witch Trials, Rapport's Law, MACUSA'.

The class stared back at her in uninterrupted silence.

"Well?" she asked. "Aren't you going to write this down?"

There was a scuffle as the entire class rummaged into their bags for parchment. That alone was the most strenuous task History of Magic attendees had been required to perform all year. Sariah pulled out her quill and began jotting the notes down, trying to catch up with their lecturer. She grimaced, as her left hand smudged ink across the scroll. The class itself went by almost in an instant. Miss Goldstein's enthusiastic Massachusetts accent filled the dusty classroom from rafter to skirting board. Her robe flowed in a non-existent wind, the dragon sewn within it slowly shifting, as if eternally trying to find a more comfortable position. Sariah caught Britta drooling at it on several occasions during the first lesson, and for the better part of the next fortnight.

As January melted into February, Sariah felt herself pining for warmer temperatures and lighter evenings. The evenings still got dark too early for her to get any real work done on the Anglia, she slipped out to the car only during the weekends. She reserved Thursday afternoons for the clearing. It was the final season of Supernatural, and through some kind of miracle in American time zones, it was uploaded at four o'clock every Thursday. She was more than happy to sacrifice the last hour of daylight for it.

Every Sunday morning she would receive an anonymous owl from Scorpius, informing her of the latest drop point for his homework, before heading out to work on her car. Sometimes he trailed after her, appearing half an hour later by the Anglia, like smoke. The car had stopped growling at him, at least. He wasn't a productive help to her, sitting warm in the passenger seat while she fixed up the car's door hinges. "You know, at least I could stun an Acromantula," he pouted one day, as he copied out her homework on the dashboard. "If I wasn't here, you'd be spider chow." Scorpius had taken to copying it there, despite her initial protestations.

Working under the bonnet, Sariah cringed at the crack running straight down the car's radiator. One too many frosts had split it open. Any water would pour straight out, which would overheat the engine in no time. She cursed herself for not checking it before; a new radiator would be an even more cumbersome thing to convince her parents to strap to an owl. It would probably need two owls. They still hadn't sent her the portable sander, and she doubted that the ever would.

With an unsatisfied sigh, she sunk into the driver's seat and wiped the grease from her hands with a tattered rag. Scorpius looked up from what he was doing, picking the dirt from under his fingernails with a screwdriver head. He frowned at the grease coming off her hands. "That's disgusting,"

"Compared to the delightful things we have to dissect in potions? Or maybe the fire crab stalls you mucked out yesterday?"

She watched him shudder involuntarily.

"Never again," he muttered. "What's wrong with this hunk of rust now?"

"The radiator's shot," she said. "Even if I can get everything else up and running, she'll just overheat."

"Have you even tried fixing it?" Scorpius asked.

"What, with superglue and pixie dust?" she shot back.

"No. I meant, with magic. Why don't you just use 'reparo' and be done with it?"

She scoffed and stared at him, waiting for the punchline. After Miss Goldstein had introduced the class to the idea of No-Maj's -- the American name for a muggle -- and their much stricter regulations on secrecy, she'd fell prey to no less that three trick wands from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that were literally just pieces of wood, followed by a host of No-Maj jokes, the most recent being: "Security breach! The No-Maj knows. The No-Maj knows. Activate obliviate! I repeat! Activate obliviate!" from Rachel Skellis, after she discovered the invention of the walkie-talkie the week prior. If Sariah had been a Beater, she would've taken out Ravenclaw's prime chaser right there between classes.

After a moment of silence, it dawned on her. "Oh, you're not kidding. You know what my magic is like, right? I'd probably melt it, or-"

"Honestly, you've already told me it's broken. I don't think you could damage it any more if you were trying to."

"-But it's plastic, I don't know what the chemical formula is, and what about its melting point?"

Scorpius sighed. "I don't know what any of that muggle rubbish means. You're overthinking it. Just visualize the shape that it used to be: aim, recite, done." He scowled at her indecision. "Saint Merlin above, if you're afraid to, I will." He opened his door on its newly greased hinges.

"Wait!" Sariah said, springing after him. "This is my project, it's mine to do."

She swore she saw a smirk trail over his lips, as he settled back into the car. She reached for her wand and edged slowly over the front of the car, its rust and tarpaulin bonnet held open in front of her like a gaping mouth.

Her wand shook slightly as she pointed to the crack running down the plastic. The rectangular tank had probably been white several decades ago, but now it was the yellow of neglected teeth.

"You trust me, right?" she asked the Anglia. "You don't mind me trying?"

The car creaked, an ineffectual response.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady her hand in the cold air. She cleared her mind and focused on the image she wanted: the crack sealing up like healing skin; a smooth clean finish. She tried to utter the spell, but found her lungs empty. Another breath. You can do this, you know how to breathe, don't you?

Sariah flicked her wrist as she uttered the spell: "Reparo."

Nothing happened.

She blinked and tried several more times with equal levels of failure, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

She felt ready to toss her wand to the bushes when she noticed something rather peculiar. Inside the car, resting on the dashboard where she had left it, was her wand. She glanced at the one in her hand. Her realisation broke the enchantment on the wand in her hand. It returned to its original form, a purple W emblazoned on the grip. Inside the car, Scorpius' eyes were gleaming.

She scowled at him, reaching through the windshield to pick up her actual wand. "That was really mature of you, you underdeveloped constellation."

"Reparo. Reparo! Re-f*cking-paro." He imitated her in falsetto, twitching his finger like a wand. His snicker gave through to a smile, breaking through the usually unreadable expression of his face.

She'd show him. She lined up her actual wand with the plastic crevasse in the radiator, her brow furrowed with determination. As she felt the indescribable buzz of her magic building in her hand, she couldn't believe she'd mistaken a normal stick for it. "Reparo," she commanded. She watched silently as the crack sealed itself up.

Scorpius' door creaked open, and he inspected her handiwork. "Insulting your friends and fixing things with magic, what an auspicious day this must be for you."

Sariah couldn't help the beam that cracked across her face.

*

It wasn't until after she'd made it back to her dormitory, listening to the excitement of her roommates planning Valentine's escapades for Tuesday evening, that she realized Scorpius had referred to her as a friend. Had his blackmailing lead to reverse Stockholm syndrome? She had to admit he wasn't tiresome to spend time with; just hugely vexing. The previous Sunday he'd compared his Uncle's underground House Elf fighting ring to Pokemon training.

She noticed the room had gone extremely quiet. Sabriel and Britta were looking curiously at her, their faces adorned with shimmering makeup, a trial run for Valentine's day.

"Well?" Sabriel asked. "You're staring into space with a goofy smile on your face. Who's your Valentine, then?"

"What?" Sariah protested, nearly falling from her bed in shock. "No one. It's not something I plan on celebrating. I might go to Hogsmeade next Saturday and pick up the clearance chocolate from Honeyduke's though."

Sabriel pulled a strand of her wild red hair taut, unravelling her curls and fixing them straight with her wand. "I reckon it's whoever you spend you weekend walks around the lake with."

Sensing a good story, Britta vaulted herself across the room. "This has got to be good. A forbidden romance, blossoming in our dormitory. Who's your guy? It's not Ethan, is it?" She frowned. "What about Zebidiah, from Charms? He seems like your type."

"Oh, he's really charming," Sariah said sarcastically, trying to ignore the fact that Britta had paired her with one of the few dark-skinned wizards in their year. "But no, I don't have a Valentine, alright?"

"Final guess: Sean Fiertooth?" Britta asked.

"Still no." Sariah frowned and lay back on her bed. Sean was black too.

"But what other males do you spend time with?" Britta asked in exasperation. "It's got to be a small shortlist."

At this stage, Scorpius' pale skin would make him the last person Britta guessed. Not that she and Scorpius were- Sariah scowled. She was fed up with Britta for the evening, so caught the girl's eye and raised her eyebrow in a satirical attempt at seduction. "Who says they're male?"

She heard Sabriel's shocked gasp, as she pulled her duvet cover over her head, and rolled to face the wall.