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"Being an Animagus would be the best," Stormy agreed, and for one moment it almost seemed like she could make a little smile. "I'd be a bird if I could. Just so I wouldn't have to rely on a broomstick, in case I was bad at those." The ability to soar at will spoke to her in a language she couldn't describe, the swoops and dives and perches and views all opportunities she found herself longing for. At least she could get away from the hungry earth for a while.

The light in her face dimmed at the patronus question, however, trading it for something thoughtful as she slipped her spoon out with the teabag in tow and tested her drink with a sip. Stormy hummed softly, finding it a little too sweet but relieved that it was something at all aside from bland water, like she had tasted before. Slowly, slowly, she was getting better.

"I dunno. Sorry," she added softly, feeling it was awful for her not to provide this crucial detail. "I could use one, though. Feels like dementors are on me." She said it as mildly as possible, but her hands held the teacup close and reverently, as if it was exuding an aura just like a patronus. her eyes flickered from the tea to his face, somewhere between apologetic for continuing to completely avoid talking about real issues and curious about his answer.

"What about wands?"

The idea of a kiwi bird was so quirky and out of the blue that she blinked confusedly at him. But it was that and the smile and the idea of a sniper-sized wand being wielded around that finally made Stormy crack a soft chuckle and a small smile in return, the absurdity of it all snowballing and making a crack in her walls. It felt strange and familiar at the same time to finally wear a smile at all after weeks of anything but.

"Muggles," she tried to say dismissively and failing, shaking her head. "Maybe you'd have a dragon heartstring core, though, if Jinhai Weasley doesn't mind donating." It wasn't the best joke she could make, but it was the first one she had made in a long while as well and was as rusty as she felt herself.

She was trying. God, she was actually trying. It was a false sense of security just talking about Harry Potter and nothing else, but Stormy would take it for what it was: a way to get her to keep talking, even if what she had to say fell flat. Her posture slowly relaxed, her arms a little less pulled towards her.

"You could absolutely make kiwi birds impressive," she tried to say with a straight face. "Just put on your serious face and waddle around--" She broke into another chuckle before she could finish.

"D'you really? Aww . . . Yeah, let's make him an honorary Weasley," Stormy decided with a nod, sipping her tea some more. "Next time he's in a golem, we'll dye his hair? He's already got some kind of freckles, and he's pale. I think he could totally pull it off." With little attention given to her recovering state, it was easier to do so; the spotlight was on the conversation, the common interest of the magic in another world, literally and metaphorically, the quiet animation conducted between two fans. Normalcy had never felt like such a good balm against the reality of the world.

Stormy found herself picturing Kiwi-Gale some more and chuckled into her cup, a little less rusty sounding than before. "I think they'd smell like disgruntled little poofballs more than anything else," she replied, hiding her smile behind the cup. "But you'd smell nice at least. Maybe like vanilla or cinnamon." Pausing, she grew inspired and set the cup down, pulling the pen and journal to her. The stain from before was used as a starting point for her little doodle. Her smile grew a little more, this time trying to hide behind her other hand as she worked diligently to make a masterpiece.

"I call it 'Deathbutt the Super Kiwi'," she stage whispered between her fingers. "The very best Head Boy Hogwarts ever had."

Her face lit up a little more at his praise, though she couldn't directly look into that brief, affectionate expression. Everything was still lighthearted to her, like she had inhaled helium and saw the world through a different high--and she didn't want to come down. "One Hogwarts scarf, coming right up~" In seconds Stormy finished the request and displayed the new piece.

It still felt unfinished somehow, and she considered her drawing before, giving a small "oh!", scribbling one last addition.

"My most majestic piece of artwork must be of you, of course," Stormy explained, her smile easily visible despite the cover of her fingers as she glanced at Gale. "It's only fitting."

His laughter was contagious. Stormy did her best to stifle it, but eventually giggles slipped out of her like joyful prisoners escaping the bars of her teeth, the pen slipping from her hand until she was tilting against her arm and half buried into it, shaking slightly with mirth. It was still relatively softer, not quite like her usual bursts of unmodulate laughs, but it was happening nevertheless, and her legs almost wanted to give out from under her because of it.

Surprisingly, she felt a few tears being squeezed out while doing so and hsatily wiped them on her arm, swallowing as her fit began to fade. She was feeling something, by God, and even though it was only for a moment, it was warm and radiant and ridiculous and worth pursuing, a reminder that life was not just the endless sorrow she felt out on the fringes, waiting for her to stumble.

Her cheeks slightly darker than before, Stormy tilted her head until she could look at him proper and for a moment just gave him shy, half-hidden smile, a grateful smile that made her look more like her old self. "You would make the best," she agreed softly, more content to admire and gaze and photograph this moment than to talk this time, to remember what it looked like when that smile appeared before she forgot again. "You always do."

I appreciate that felt so sedate in comparison to the brief and vivid snatches of emotion that she almost laughed again. Instead, Stormy closed her eyes as he ran his knuckles down her face."And I appreciate you," she said softly, "and everything you're doing. Everything you've done."

In spite of herself, the smile gained a hint of sadness. A moment of magical indulgence was just that; it did nothing to actually help solve her problem, even if it did remind her that other things lied beyond herself and beyond the veil she had put up. It was a breath of fresh air, something precious and necessary and welcoming after being stuck down below, but it was also only one step. It was so easy to look at it, isolated, and believe it couldn't accomplish anything once it passed.

(It was a step in and of itself not to get stuck on that theory, however easier it was to accept.)

Stormy pulled herself off the counter with a wince and finally joined Gale by sitting down, her legs stiff and welcoming the break. She scratched beneath the lip of her hat self-consciously. "What now?" she asked, only glancing at him this time, her hands clasping each other in her lap.

Always. For once, she could actually see that and felt a small flutter of something in her chest, color rising to her cheeks again.

"I asked first," Stormy replied with gentle petulance, though she did have something in mind after a little thought. In little jerks she scooted her chair until his and hers were almost touching, and then, cautious and slow, she looped her arm under his and came back around to her cup. Once linked, she took a long draft of tea and closed her eyes.

It wasn't quite as sensitive as her hands, it wasn't fingers interlocking and squeezing and stroking and tickling and holding and tugging and teasing and grasping--but the pressure of skin-to-skin contact was still a wonderful jolt, a treat she had been restricting herself on so much that it was pitiful how good it felt now for even arms to brush. But it was warm, all of it: not a life-giving sun burning, but fresh brewed tea between her hands, gentle and soothing and familiar and maybe, maybe, reachable. Smiles that uplifted rather than blinded. Eyes that were steady and focused. Something, someone human, rather than angelic.

She exhaled with satisfaction at the feeling, hoping it could last.

"Were you serious before?" Stormy asked him curiously, her eyes still closed and her cup now seated in her lap, their arms still entwined. "About the mind melding thing, I mean, exchanging thoughts whatever way we can."

Stormy gave a thoughtful hum of her own. "I'd like that," she understated. "I think it's possible, or that one day it will be if it isn't yet. One day, the lines between two people can be blurred so much that for a moment they can just be one living being without losing themselves in the process. I think it's already possible with our weapons."

She hesitated, remembering the cavern below and the feeling of cold, cold bones, the pops of joints, the lack of breath at times even, seemingly. We endure.

Stormy opened her eyes to look at him. "If...you want, we could try a journal exchange," she continued mildly, tapping a finger against her mug as if still a little unsure herself despite the hidden depths of her longing. "Just, um, maybe page for page or something, doesn't have to be the whole thing. I left them in my room, though, so we'll have to make a trip."

Not "I", but "we".

Then rather belatedly, she gave a bemused blink and commented, "What on Star Trek?"