6th June, 1893 — Hogsmeade High Street

He was living at the Hogsmeade hospital, for the moment. Or was a prisoner. Aubrey wasn’t completely sure. His brother – a man Aubrey did not know much about anymore – had talked about where he might go, but hadn’t offered up his house. Aubrey had not asked. Henry worked at someone else’s house, which he didn’t fancy would suit. He was still getting familiar with lying in a bed again, so living in a house might be too much.

But there was a lot of lying in a bed at the hospital, and it was a shitty turnout when it came to the munchings. No Hogwarts, that was for sure. Aubrey didn’t trust the healers, and didn’t like to be cooped up under this strange new ownership, either.

But for all their tests they were apparently finding him healthy, and generally uncursed, and Aubrey had gained enough coordination on two legs at last to attempt a little jaunt outside.

He had scurried down the hospital stairs and slipped out a side door – wearing a set of robes, today – and breathed a sigh of relief to be outdoors. Except – the world was a lot. A big fucking lot, and he’d only taken one step across the street, feeling giant and free and invincible, when a pair of carriage horses bore down on him.

Aubrey dove into a grand survival roll, tumbling in some sort of acrobatic somersault across the rest of the street, scrunched up in as much of a ball his human shape could muster; and sprawled to a halt, in a terrified cowering, curled up pose at someone’s feet.

---

Ivy was actually having a fairly normal day off, catching up on errands and checking in with her friends. No one was dead yet, so she actually had relatively few complaints — even if she hadn't figured out how to save them all yet. She was heading back down High Street and to her home in Pennyworth when the man rolled in front of her and settled in a ball in front of her feet.

Ivy stopped short. For a moment, she considered turning around and walking away, because her day would continue to be normal. But if this was odd, then she ought to investigate.

She considered nudging the man with her foot, but instead she crouched down next to him. Should she drag him to the constabulary? "Are you... well?" Ivy asked, squinting at the stranger.

---

When Aubrey opened his eyes again, someone was closer than he’d expected: he flinched at her shadow looming over him. But (he understood, as he awkwardly began to unroll himself), he was nowadays the same size as these ‘uns. So she probably wasn’t a threat.

Unfortunately the question, are you well, wasn’t exactly one he felt qualified to answer.

“Damn horses,” Aubrey said instead in a low grumble, getting onto his hands and knees before he could push himself, unsteadily, back onto two feet. He shot an anguished look over his shoulder, back at the street. “They’re bigger than I remember.”

He wasn’t sure he liked them much. Aubrey glanced around, mildly befuddled. What did he like, nowadays?

---

Ivy frowned. She was not particularly good at controlling her expressions outside of work, and her bafflement at this man was difficult to hide. "Should you be in hospital?" she asked, rather bluntly. Ivy wasn't a huge fan of horses, but if this man didn't remember them, then he had been somewhere odd for a very long time.

---

“No,” Aubrey said, firmly, because he was sick of being in the hospital, and he wanted to explore the world again. Horses excluded. “Which way’s the pub, d’you know?” he asked her, glancing up and down the street and finding it altogether disorienting, after he was used to blind pocket-travelling if he went, well, anywhere.

Thinking of pockets made him remember his gapingly empty ones, though, and his face crumpled. He hadn’t thought about this before leaving the hospital. (He wasn’t actually sure his brother had trusted him enough to leave him any.) “Do you... have any money?”

---

Ivy raised an eyebrow at him. "Pub's down that way," she said, pointing in the correct direction down High Street. Either pub, really — although the borderline-mad were usually better equipped for the Hog's Head. (Ivy was also usually better equipped for the Hog's Head, frankly.)

"You don't have any?" she asked. A potentially insane man, without any funds — should she really let him wander about?

---

Aubrey wasn’t much used to reading facial expressions any more – they all looked odd at eye level; even making his own facial muscles move felt strange – but he got vague warning signs from hers. She was suspicious. He really needed a minute of freedom. And hopefully a drink.

So he nodded at her direction, and restrained himself from doing anything that might come across twitchy or weird. He wanted to wrinkle his nose, but he didn’t even do that. “Not on me,” he said, blankly. He’d get some off his brother later. It would be fine. Hopeful, he added: “I’ll pay you back.”

---

Aubrey had been so impressed at his own forethought about the pub, and about needing money for things again, that he had thought he was getting off pretty well – until she invited herself along to accompany him. Aubrey was certain this was not something she had offered out of a desire to spend time with him, or any goodness of her heart.

But if this was a trick or a plot or a scheme, he didn’t know what it was for, and maybe she would actually let him have a drink regardless. So Aubrey didn’t protest, and didn’t flee, just took a tentative pace or two in the direction she had pointed in.

Having to interact verbally with humans again might actually be harder than dealing with horses. He kept side-eyeing her – he couldn’t help it, he was nervous now. Feeling self-conscious and spotting a bit of dirt on his hand, Aubrey lifted it to his mouth to surreptitiously lick it off. Belatedly, he remembered that was an odd thing to do, and gnawed awkwardly on the side of his thumb instead until he thought of something to say. “You live around here, then?” Was that normal? That was normal, right?

---

She was still eyeing him. Aubrey stuffed his hands in his pockets, curling them – if he could not curl himself up again, now that he was standing – into balled fists where she couldn’t see them, for comfort.

Pennyworth. He had no idea where that was.

“Uh... no.” Aubrey decided, because he didn’t have a story ready to lie about and didn’t want to mention the hospital, either. “I – I’m new here. Been... away a while.” Not at Hogwarts, he told himself; don’t say at Hogwarts. He wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t going to think he was crazy. He was being normal, today, at long last: he was going for a drink at the pub.

---

“Yes,” Aubrey insisted, baring his front teeth a little in annoyance. He had been a hedgehog, certainly, but if he had anything left to his name, it had to be his mind. He was as sane as he could be.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he muttered, shifting from one foot to the other. His shoulders were hunching without him meaning to, preparing to ball himself up if he had to. Aubrey could run, or curl up, or even bite her –

But he also really did want a drink. He was scared of the Three Broomsticks too, to be honest, worried about the noises and smells and the strangers who’d be through there – but there was no way he was going back to the hospital now. “I won’t bite you,” he added, helpfully.

---

The pub smelled woody; there was a rich, seeping scent of ale and hot food in the air. Aubrey felt like he might be salivating. “Only if they get in my face,” he said absently, too distracted to modulate his answers. “Or if the kids deserve it.” Was she going to buy him his drink or?

---