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She wished she could smile, but all Stormy did was hum at his joke. Considering how active Bix was, she really didn't want to imagine how bad it could get . . . Gale's description was enough to make her lean towards getting a shower, and she nodded. "I'll try not to take too long," she told him as he left.

And with the click of the door she was alone.

Stormy just stood there for a while, gazing down at her bag and contemplating. Then she flipped the top back and gathered the wigs within, making several trips to drop them all off atop the dresser. To be honest she had no idea how to care for wigs and probably would cause them more harm than anything else; maybe she ought to ask someone about them. At the same time, she doubted she'd ever use them, in spite of the Moon's good intentions. They were too flashy or too long, out of her comfort zone and coupled with the idea that she couldn't pull any of them off anyway. Regular hair was better.

(And yet she kept making sure hers wasn't growing back.)

Even that thought was enough to trigger the new habit. Stormy took her hat off and ran her hand carefully over her scalp repeatedly, checking for uneven spots. After a solid minute of searching, she let it be.

Right, shower. She dug around in her drawers for a new set of clothes, sticking to lazywear still (a shirt, a plain black cap, and old gym shorts), and made her way towards Gale's bedroom. For some reason the idea of borrowing his clothes felt like a little too much, even though she had done so in the past and in fact relished stealing the occasional shirt for use. Maybe it was the journal thing again. Maybe she was being stupid.

Despite not having hair, she took around half an hour to shower, with the water turning on and off occassionally--half from Stormy being aware not to use up all his hot water, half because she kept forgetting the "don't turn the knob too far to the left" part and overcompensating to make the chilly water stop. It was a deep cleanse that required a lot of scrubbing, breathing, and wall-leaning; she kept growing lightheaded and vaguely nauseous and was glad to breathe cooler air when she finished, thankful she hadn't slipped.

After changing and ducking back to the guest room for the journal and pen, Stormy quietly made her way downstairs, following the smell of tea and cocoa. Unwittingly she made her footsteps light like she was trying to sneak up on him, though she wasn't consciously aware. She was busy trying to tame her stomach on the way over, which was equal parts disturbed and craving.

Stormy blinked at his surprise, still unaware of how quiet she had been, and for a moment didn't look so somber. It was an accomplishment to catch him off guard in any regard, and tiny bit of pride briefly flared within her. "Afternoon, you mean. Maybe my invisibility cloak did work," she commented offhandedly to her shirt before tugging at it. It wasn't quite as baggy as her usual clothes were, and it felt strange to wear after spending so much time in them. Clingy, even.

Neither his question nor his compliment received a direct reply. She merely idly adjusted her cap downwards, longing for the full cushion the beanie had provided, and hmm'd as she turned shy. Sunshine didn't feel appropriate, not as a pet name at least, nor did she particularly feel beautiful (and nor did she ever think she would again like this). More like a rag that had been violently twisted to get rid of water.

Choosing to stay in the kitchen for now, Stormy laid the journal out on the table, leaned against it, and wrote as Gale looked for the cocoa powder. Again she didn't answer at first, rather intent on scribbling something on a fresh new page. "Maybe," she said at length. "Maybe. I had shower thoughts I don't remember well and nausea I do, but I'm cleaner." After a few seconds more, she finished her work, sat the pen inside, and gently scooted the journal towards him.

It was open to a few drawings. Around the middle were four animals: a snake, a bird, a lion, and what looked like a strange dog with a striped face. Above them was a pointed, wizened hat with indentions for a face, a small speech bubble with a question mark inside coming from it.

"You do have a lot of hair now," she commented lightly, her eyes trailing over his locks with vague envy. "There must be a lot of thoughts, then. Maybe you should keep a journal nearby?" She liked the idea of getting another peek at his thoughts, even though she still felt a flare of embarassment from earlier.

Bobbing her head at his questions, Stormy lightly crossed her arms and propped herself up over the counter, preferring to stand rather than join Gale sitting; but at least she stayed somewhat close. "Feeling Harry Potterish today." It wasn't addressing the issue, and it was definitely a cover to avoid doing so, but that was how her thoughts wanted to lean for now. It had been far too heavy for far too long--a little idle conversation gave her a breather. Maybe the extra time would let her bury what was still lingering inside so they wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.

Besides, the houses gave insight and discussion was stimulating. Not to mention Stormy always did like picturing things outside of their reality, and the elements of escapism appealed to her.

"Which one'd you go to, you think?" she asked curiously.

She hmm'd again and tilted her head, considering something. "You should," she agreed absently, and then came back to reality, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Then we could exchange? Mind melding made physical sounds fun. I can hold yours and you can hold mine for once." Stormy pulled her arms closer to her body, though, shyness bubbling up. He had brought up protecting hearts before, but it wasn't something she had felt capable of then and still didn't now. A mind, however, was much more flexible and less likely to break at a single touch, while still being one step closer to that complete union she craved deep inside. That and she could actually control what was on the page, as opposed to what came out of her mouth. What almost came out of her mouth.

Mental intercourse.

She . . . really needed some food, Stormy reluctantly decided. At least their drinks would be done soon.

She tilted her head against one of her shoulders as Gale thought aloud, her gaze turning thoughtful as it dropped to her crude drawings. "Hmm . . . Hmm . . . I think . . ." The sentence trailed away as she mulled over this Very Important Question. Even after having taken a variety of house quizzes herself, including the official site's, the varied interpretations of the houses took time to filter through. Stormy gazed at the page for another few moments before blinking.

"It'd depend on who you really are inside," she answered in a softer tone. "To put it briefly, Hufflepuffs are patient and hardworking like you, and they like having things concrete so that they know it's constant and there and can trust it, but they're more passive, too. They avoid conflict. Not that you don't, it's just . . . you're not afraid to engage, like you do with Caelius. Gryffindors are bolder than you are, or, um . . . more active about it, at least. They like seeing things in black and white and can be ruled by that morality, even if they mean well. Ravenclaws have that same drive that you do to know things for the sake of knowing them, and that same need for achievement. But they're even more conflict-avoidant than Hufflepuffs, and they can turn snobbish in certain crowds. I can agree with you about Slytherin, though, if only because while you do want things, you're not willing to sacrifice yourself to that ambition."

It was the most Stormy had said in one go for a long while. She paused and licked her dry lips, her eyes still on the page.

"That is to say, um, I don't know where you'd go," she continued more shyly. "Maybe it'd be like Harry's situation: you put the hat on, he talks and offers you a choice, and you'd just have a gut instinct on where you belong. I think yours tend to be pretty spot on."

It could be far, far more than interesting, but she felt she was starting to edge towards too intense again and kept it inside, then merely nodded at his compliment. Stormy lifted her gaze and watched him fix the tea without a word, contemplative and fiddling with a sleeve, taking a small amount of comfort in the minute movements he made to adjust everything (a place for everything and everything in its place; God, how she envied that). Her crossed arms were tugged closer to her chest as she continued to lean on the table.

Perhaps it had been too much for her to hope Gale wouldn't remember that question. It was so simple to answer, and yet her mind wanted to deviate into darker territory as was its wont now. But they had both just woken up, and she had showered and felt cleaner than she had in literally weeks: bringing them both down now would be just . . . rude, she supposed was the closest word to it. Impolite. Whiny. Pitiful.

Stormy moved the journal closer to her to help make room, more as an afterthought than a conscious motion. Her eyes kept drifting, half trying to think of a legitimate answer, half trying to keep the unnecessary thoughts at bay. Suddenly it was as if "What Hogwarts House would you be in?" was the hardest question in the world, and inwardly she squirmed for taking so long. But then again, wasn't it all just rudimentary character assessment? What you were past the layers made for public and even past some of the things left for private? Who you were at your very core?

She used to be self-assured on some of it, but now that everything had come crashing down on her, she had acquired far too much doubt. Who are you? the cave had asked. Whoever they need me to be, sounded poetic at the time, but all it really meant was Stormy had no idea anymore. Or she was just afraid to face the reality of it.

"I dunno," she replied at length, and she was surprised to hear how casual she still sounded, like there wasn't an existential crisis being revisited. She couldn't stop her thoughtful frown from forming when she looked to Gale. "I've been a lot of things lately. What d'you think?"

She appreciated him trying to keep things light more than she could say, which she supposed was handy since now it felt like it was hard to talk. It always was if the spotlight was on her. Gale, she could talk about forever. Anyone else she could have a good few things at least. But Stormy? Why would she ever have anything to say about her?

Stormy fidgeted at his praise but didn't bother shrugging them off as she usually did, instead passively accepting them without feeling real meaning behind the words. Intelligent people didn't do what she did. Clever people didn't do what she did. Being loyal and kind only set herself up for heartache, hers or someone else's, because she didn't know how to do it right, and that didn't count instances where she let her own morals get bent out of shape. Maybe, then, it wasn't so much a matter of what house she belonged in than it was how long she could manage at Hogwarts before she got kicked out.

"I always did like Luna Lovegood. Both, then: Huffleclaw," Stormy concluded quietly, and that was it. That was the extent of conversation she found herself capable of making with the topic. Lapsing into silence, she tried again to unconsciously fiddle with hair that wasn't there and scratched at skin that was instead, dragging her nails in short sweeps from behind her ear and down the back of her neck until thin, paler after-marks were left behind. It was bothering her, feeling so naked and hiding behind walls to compensate, but she didn't know how to stop either.

Remembering she had to at least try the tea, she reached out with the same hand and grasped her mug. It didn't hit her that she hadn't actually prepared her tea until the hot water slipped past her lips, and then, quite slowly, she lowered the mug atop the open journal, her hand slightly shaky as it reached for the tea bag, dropped it in (a little too high, as some water was displaced and fell onto the page), got a few spoonfuls of sugar to sprinkle in, followed by another spoonful of honey, and began to stir it all with as little noise as possible. Apologetically, even, for not doing so at the same time Gale was, or for not taking as much pleasure in it.

She felt dangerously close to crying again for no good reason.

"What classes would you take?" Stormy asked her cup weakly.

She hmm'd in agreement and with the next few swirls of her spoon mumbled, "Friends, friends, friends..." The scene where Harry and company went into Luna's room had always stuck out to her.

"So you'd be a muggleborn, then? Or have mixed parents?" Harry Potter indeed was serious business, at least serious enough that Stormy wanted to know the whole of these other selves they were exploring. Anything to keep her mind occupied, as an unoccupied one just wanted to sink, and talking about anything real was too hard right now. If Gale was indulging her, then she would take it to his limit.

She then began mulling over the classes, her eyes narrowing slightly in concentration down at her cup. The spoon continued to stir idly. "Arithmancy was...the magic of numbers, right?" she asked hesitantly, trying to think. "I-I, um, can't remember. Defense Against the Dark Arts would be fun, unless the teacher's like Moody and uses students for live demonstration. Don't think I'd be good at Potions, though; I can't really cook, let alone mix magical ingredients...I think I'd be better at Transfiguration. Just...changing something into something else sounds really cool, right?"

There was a little more energy there, a step away from the tears.