Crown of Choice

There were weekends where Finn was allowed to go home. The official excuse was that she was known to have a troublesome constitution and the countryside did good things to her, but she knew that Hogwarts had remedies for such things, and she was as healthy as could be, even as starved for blood as she was. She figured this was the real reason. Her father, or probably Norman on her father’s bidding, had probably argued that if she did not come home where she could properly feed, she could be a danger to her fellow classmates.

How he could convince them that she was too dangerous to stay weekends at Hogwarts but peaceful enough to continue her schooling there was beyond her. If she got to the root of it, though, she would find the reason was the same it had always been when her father managed to do what seemed like the impossible. The answer to life’s problems had always been money.

Going home was lonely, but at least she was not wrapped up in the anxiety of being discovered. She could feed when she wanted too, and she did not feel like a brute doing it either, hiding in broom closets as she downed vials of blood. Her father was an excellent cook and always managed to serve the blood she needed in a creative way, injecting it into a meat pie or making it into a sparkling drink. Though she was surrounded by crime and darkness at home, she felt all the more civilized.

She was a princess at home. She donned ladylike, modest dresses, slept comfortably, and was awoken to gourmet breakfasts. Her father’s cooking was not to be rivalled, and his company was pleasant too. They played chess that Saturday morning, then decided to go for a walk across the estate. At last minute, Orpheus had discovered he had an urgent matter to attend to and, profuse apologies spilling from his lips all the way up the winding staircase, he ascended into his study with Norman and Arthur in tow, the latter giving Finn a glower that she supposed was meant to be some sort of meaningful look.

She knew that, for now, she could escape and be herself. She could go out onto the grounds of her family home, where she felt happiest and safe and peaceful, and she could enjoy the clear air and the sounds of birds and everything that living provided, even for someone like her, the unliving. But while time was hers now to enjoy and love, dinner would be spent with her father and Norman and Arthur. And after dinner, she was expected to go on a walk around the property with Arthur, before returning to tea. It was the first time she had been asked to spend time alone in his company, as Orpheus would never presume to let them be unattended for too long, for fear of impropriety. But it made Finn nervous. Her sixteenth birthday was approaching. She was on her way out into society.

So even if an escape was temporary, it was needed more than ever.

Finn called to Napoleon, her cat, and carried him under her arm out of Margam Castle, around the great building, and towards the wooded area that lay in the area behind their Welsh home. A beautiful birch swing had been erected on one of the trees that lay about ten yards from the entrance of the wood, and it was here that she deposited her trusted companion. The cat mewed but watched her as she collected flowers from around the base of the wood, before retreating to the swing. She shared the seat with her cat, gently twisting the ropes this way and that was as her fingers worked, creating a flower wreath.

’Fiona, I have built a legacy for vampires. This home proves the power I hold, the superiority of my blood. And that blood runs through you. I am old, Fiona, and I will not be around forever. Do you know what an heiress is? It is very much like a princess. She has a claim to a great position because of her blood, and you, Fig, are my heiress. One day, you’ll be a queen.’

The wreath was done and Fiona stared at it a long time, before straightening her back, lifting her chin, and setting the wreath atop her head. A crown of lilacs and wildflowers. Hardly befitting of a vampire queen, but she was certain that this crown was much more comfortable than one of fangs and blood. Less of a burden as well. She slumped, the ability and grace of a queen proving themselves to being only fleeting in her young body, and a sigh escaped her as well. She toed the dirt with her shined shoes and stroked her cat, turning the swing in gentle circles. Circles, circles, just like the ones she had been going in all her life.

Alisha Merchant had a theory.

Had. Past tense.

Now, she pretty much had a confirmation and a growing itch in her palms to just confront the truth already. Which she already knew. Which is what confirmation of theory means.

.

It began as a niggling suspicion, one that Alisha had no doubt most of their ever expanding circle of friends had entertained at one point or the other, with the possible exception of His Highness, The Royal Duck; because he was remarkably obtuse like that. Okay, Alisha wouldn’t exactly call herself the spawn of Sherlock Holmes or whatever, but she did have some observational skills. Like, she could totally predict breakups before they happened. Maybe because she’d snogged the guy in question the previous night…..but yeah, whatever, hand wavy motions, details.

Point being? Fiona Grimm, Finn dearest, the one whose sad eyes and furrowed forehead could probably launch a thousand ships (okay, more like the collective ire of the entire gang if someone dared raise an eyebrow at her); just like one of those pallid, paper-complexioned, teenage girl version of puppies whom you just had to protect against anything and everything in the world, including but not limited to Dark wizards, tornadoes, other teenage girls and Crumple Horned Snorkacks. Yeah, her. She was hiding something. The sentence was admittedly a little redundant, seeing how her dorm mate sometimes liked to float from room to room hiding her existence from all other occupants- but she was definitely hiding something more. Something major.

Facts supporting this conclusion:

A) Finn was not a good liar. Yeah, okay, maybe Alisha wasn’t the best judge considering the fact that she, y’know, sort of couldn’t lie at all, pretty much literally- but that didn’t mean she wasn’t skilled at obfuscation. She knew how to lie without lying. Knew how to phrase things so that they’d juuuuust straddle the line of truth. But Finn, in spite of being rather unhampered by highly inconvenient Unbreakable Vows (which Ali couldn’t be completely sure about, but it was highly unlikely two girls with the same problem would end up attending the same school, same age, same House, same bloody dorm. Ali had studied probability in Spain.), was a rather crappy liar, as far as she could tell. She’d stammer or stutter or look in the other direction or up above at the sky or at her highly interesting shoelaces- and all those were Tells. Considering that Finn tended to exhibit all these symptoms every time one of her ‘weekend trips’ came up? Yeah. Something fishy was definitely going on here.

B) The ‘weekend trips’. Alisha had a great-great aunt Shalini, who puked when she ate rice and puked when she ate bread, hurled when she had pumpkin pies and hurled when she had pumpkin juice, who detested vegan food and couldn’t keep down meat or cellulose, and for the past twenty years had been seen in reunions only sipping a dark green viscous fluid, probably from the same glass. (There were wagers as to what that mysterious drink was. Alisha’s bet was on bone marrow and grass extract.) Basically….it all amounted to the fact that Alisha knew sick people and rotten constitutions. Sure, Finn got queasy with normal food now and then, picked at her plate like a sparrow, looked deadly pale most of the time, but that was just Finn for you. Alisha never got any indication during the days preceding the trips that Finn was feeling remarkably under the weather or anything. Add to that the fact that Hogwarts was a great old dirty castle right in the middle of nowhere, but could be reasonably called the Scottish countryside if you were inclined to be finicky, and the whole excuse of Finn departing from school to get some ‘countryside air’ fell through like rotten wood. What, did they manufacture different flavours of countryside air now?

C) Finn never returned looking particularly rejuvenated, just the same old ‘please please don’t look at me’ Finn expression that she’d been sporting for over five years now. Sometimes she even looked wearier. That did not look like a girl taking weekend trips to restore her health or see brilliant places.

D) Alisha had had the history of the Second Wizarding War read out to her a million times by now. Her favourite part was about the Marauders.

Alisha Merchant didn’t jump to conclusions. She compiled all her facts, wrote them down behind her Transfig homework with a borrowed pen in a list, and deduced the obvious. Which, honestly, was so damn obvious that she felt like hitting everyone else around her upside the head simply for not seeing it. Honestly, was she the only person with a brain around here? There could be no other possible conclusion.

Fiona Grimm was a werewolf.

(Ali didn’t think about checking if Finn had bruises from her obviously horrible transformations. Or about checking the moon charts to see if Finn’s departures coincided with full moon nights. Or even think about the fact that sometimes Finn disappeared twice a month, which is a bit of an impossible feat for full moons. No, Alisha Merchant’s head worked in very clean, logical, straight lines. Sickly complexion + Mysterious disappearances = werewolf)

Alisha wasn’t hurt. Much. She could understand why Finn had deemed it necessary to hide it from them, what with all the anti-werewolf legislation in the wake of James Blood in the past year. She was just a teeny-weeny bit wounded about the fact that Finn would think that Alisha would judge her. Honestly, like it wasn’t the coolest thing ever that tiny, timid little Finn transformed into a throat-ripping beast once a month. Alisha didn’t even get a chance to step forward and declaim how nothing could get in the way of their friendship, and of course she wouldn’t look at Finn differently, and she didn’t even have to ask Ali about becoming a fierce, gorgeous tiger Animagus in order to help her out and drag all their friends into doing the same and becoming school legends and everything.

Or a lion Animagus. Or a reindeer. Alisha wasn’t picky.

So she waited patiently on Finn to come and confess the truth to them, weekend after weekend, waited to make her own ever loyal, emotionally stirring declaration. It was hard. Alisha wasn’t accustomed to waiting for anything beyond pushing the button on the coffee machine at home, and coffee gushing out of the nozzle. But then summer came and Finn never said anything, which totally stunned Alisha, even though summer had come five times since their time at Hogwarts and everything and Finn had never said a word before. But yes. Alisha was stunned and surprised and a little indignant and compelled to wait for a week at Hogwarts all alone while her parents made the trip from Java to Scotland all alone and highly bored and kind of itching to have an Adventure.

So she followed Finn home.

Okay, she’d have totally loved to don a trench coat and fedora and hide behind garbage bins as Finn made her way through the streets of Boston homewards or whatever- probably humming the title track of Pink Panther under her breath. But the summer temperatures were sweltering, and Alisha had to content her artistic sensibilities with shorts and a sleeveless tee. Portkeys were a little tricky to shadow too, so she solved that by planting a Tracking Charm on the little bead she snuck into Finn’s pocket during the goodbye-see-you-next-fall hug. (It was a very one-sided hug. Alisha was a generous soul though, so she didn’t add that to her list of grievances against the Grimm).

So the morning after the night Finn departed, standing outside the gates of Hoggy-Warty-Hogwarts, Ali clicked the heels of her sneakers against each other and spoke the magic word. A few indeterminable seconds of Determination, Deliberation, Destination something something later, she opened her eyes to see…..huh. Another filthy big castle.

Seemed to be the same size as her ancestral home too, and damn wouldn’t Daadi be annoyed to hear that, the arrogant codger that she was.

Ooh, there was Finn. And a cat.

“Hi Finn!” She waved, with both hands batting side to side. “And cat. Nice crown!”

Finn never had visitors. Not really. Norman was a fixture in her life, and if she hadn't assumed her father was incapable of romantic love, as he had never showed an interest in taking a partner, she might have assumed something between him and Norman, so often her unofficial uncle was at their home. But that was a highly inappropriate thought to have, so she kept it from her mind, bolstered by the evidence of her father's lack of interest in being anything but the elder, handsome bachelor he was. She used to have tutors, but now they were all gone, only brought in to assist her when her interest in piano or Latin struck up again. And now there was Arthur Yorke, who was not at their grand estate a minimum of twice a week.

There was the delivery boy, she had to admit. He had been delivering their mail for three years now. Three years ago, he had looked like a drowned puppy, with scrawny limbs, droopy hair, and big sad eyes, struggling under the weight of crates of fresh produce and useful home appliances. Now, he rarely struggled with their parcels, his broad shoulders flexing, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, dark hair glinting in the sun. He wasn't exactly company, but he was definitely a change of scenery. Finn had only recently begun to receive him, and had even attempted to tip him. He turned it down every time, which was strange, because he had always accepted  when one of her house elves offered.

She didn't know why he didn't accept her money, but, then, she did not claim to understand why the male sex did anything they did. She claimed to understand Ducky Baker the most, and she couldn't wager a guess on why he did half of the things he did. So she tried not to think of the delivery boy, even though he had a strange habit of wandering into her thoughts.

It made sense, she supposed. It was very likely that he was going to be the only company she really enjoyed all summer. She loved her father and faux-uncle, of course, and they had no problem showering her with love and praise. But a girl needed the attention of a society beyond familial ties. Arthur was certainly going to be attempting to give her some attention, if her suspicions were correct, but it really wasn't the attention she wanted at this point in her young, bored life.

No. All Fiona Grimm really wanted was someone to talk to. But she had no idea how something lie that began.

It began with-

"HI-

That was all she heard, for the moment a high-pitched voice reached the young vampire's ears, she flinched so violently that the swing nearly whipped around, her cat sunk its claws into her lap, and the crown almost fell off her head. Napoleon began to claw his way up her front and she wrapped an arm around him, the other arm carefully helping her rearrange on the swing, as she was inches away from falling off. Her cat was nearly at her throat, so she wrapped the other arm around him, clamping down on him as she turned the swing.

Because what had made that almost-human sounding noise? It couldn't be a human, no. Because, with the exception of the delivery boy, humans didn't approach Margham Castle. And there was no way that the delivery boy, soon approaching delivery manhood, could have made such a high pitched noise.

No, it was a human. Well, close. It was Alisha Merchant.

Finn was shocked, to say the least. Two worlds collided and didn't seem to make sense. How could Alisha Merchant be on the grand expanse outside of her home? People didn't know where she lived. People didn't know... much about her. There was nothing Finn had ever said that would be traceable to Margham, Wales.

So what was she doing here?

Alisha complimented Napoleon and Finn glanced down at him, meeting his wild gaze as he tightened his grip on her. She loosened her arms and he sprang from her grip, racing towards the castle - but Finn couldn't stop looking at Alisha. She didn't stop as she adjusted the aforementioned crown, as though her arms recognized the etiquette of at least acknowledging she had heard the Merchant girl's words. But Finn was struggling to do anything beyond gape and blink at her.

Speak, fool, speak.

"I..." No, you need more words than that. "How did..." Okay, c'mon a little more than that. "Why..." You're regressing, dear.

"What are you doing?"

Well that was hardly polite, but I suppose it will do.

Alisha tilted her head and observed the girl barely balanced on the swing opposite her for a while. There was this word she’d read in Famous Five some time…….ah yes, gobsmacked. Finn looked absolutely, utterly gobsmacked. Ali rather liked the word. Very quaint, very British. Suited Finn perfectly.

Finn’s mouth opened and closed, spouting indecipherable sounds at regular intervals. Opened. Closed. She rather resembled a goldfish.

Of course, Alisha didn’t say that out loud. Like…..just because she had to be honest all the time doesn’t mean she should. Common, general politeness, y’know. It was this new….thing, she was trying.

“Trying to catch a mayfly with your mouth there?”

Ah, well. It was an ongoing process.

Besides, wasn’t like Finn herself was putting much of effort into it. Alisha wasn’t the embodiment of grace and courtesy, but even she knew that asking a guest what they were doing in the precincts of the home with an expression that was most decidedly Not Welcoming, wasn’t exactly the done thing. (Popping up at someone’s place without invitation wasn’t exactly the ‘done thing’ either, but Alisha’s mind was beautifully topsy turvy that way). Atithi Devo Bhava was the phrase Daadi liked to use, something about how gods came in the shape of guests, blah, blah, which sounded to Ali like just another phrase for fat aunts and uncles who weren’t really aunts and uncles but ‘family friends’ staying over in their home for weeks altogether. And simply refusing to leave. For six months. In spite of hints. Growing increasingly less subtle, very frustrated, sometimes violent hints.

But she wasn’t going to be like that! She’d actually say that she’d stay six months. Not an imposition. At all.

“Oh, standing, speaking, listening.” Alisha ticked off the things from her fingers, sneakers kicking up the grass as she sauntered over to the swing. “Breathing, that’s a good one. Blinking. Metabolising in general.” Ooh, that was definitely a nice one. It had been years since she’d heard that particular term. Aunt Parvati would be so proud. Or no, was it Aunt Rhea who’d been tutoring her then?

She nudged Finn’s scrawny ass to the side gently, then flopped down, kicking her heels. The steel and wood contraption creaked gloriously, swaying back and forth. “I’m here to visit you of course, you dumbass.” And discover all your Secrets. “My parents are going to be kinda late in picking me up from school-“ for a week or so, “-filthy rich Pureblood cursebreaker dad, art enthusiast Muggleborn mum, gallivanting all over the world blowing money, you know how it is. And I will be all alone in that filthy big castle full of ghosts and trapdoors and trees with homicidal tendencies.” She filed a mute apology to the Willow inside her head- Dottie would understand. Then that stubborn chin went up, eyelashes fluttering, dark, doe eyes wide. “You’ll provide shelter to your friend, won’t you?”

Silence. One second. Two.

“Of course you will!” Alisha threw her hands out to the side in foregone conclusion, a whipping motion that narrowly missed Finn’s head and sent all the birds cheeping around them into a frightful flutter of motion. “Damn-oops, sorry, so I’ll pick up my trunk from the castle later- “ She jumped to her feet again, leaves swirling in the wake, not any less a force of nature. “-to bring it to your castle, which, oh my god Finn, you sneaky little shit, how the hell did you never tell me you had a castle? Do you know how rare it is to find someone to sympathise with my has-an-ancestral-fort woes?” She loomed over the girl still motionless on the swing, index finger perilously pointing at and coming ever closer to the join between Finn’s eyebrows. “Do you? Do you?”

Then in a quick pivot of the heels. “Last one to the door is a moulted flamingo!”

The dust settled almost comically into the place where the girl had been, the girl in question a blur shooting towards the castle in the distance.

Finn had no words for this strange phenomenon, this meeting of two worlds which was threatening to collapse the strange middle ground beneath her feet. She had always been so careful, and fear had flowed through her veins in the place of human blood during her time surrounded by friends, peers, and other threats to her privacy. Summers were the only times she truly felt safe. No one knew where she lived, so she was in complete control of when and where she interacted with people. But Alisha had thrown all of that out of balance with that wide smile and oblivious attitude.

She had no idea the danger she was in. The scary part was that Finn, herself, could not gauge how much danger awaited a trespasser. Her father had always been kind and gentle with her, but his resentment towards regular humans had always been apparent. She had become aware of the fact that the blood at home was somehow more fresh, somehow more potent… and she knew the implications of that could not be good, but it was too scary of a train of thought to pursue. This instant fear at seeing her friend, when she should have been excited and pleased, spoke volumes to the things she instinctually knew about her father, even if she had not faced them head on.

Finn could not answer her question – though she was at least half sure that Alisha was just trying to be funny – and could not respond as Alisha informed her what she happened to be doing at the moment. No. She had not meant that. Of course she had not meant that. Alisha must know that – probably. Finn couldn’t know. Wow. What did she know? She was suddenly so full of uncertainty and surprise and confusion that she would have believed it if someone had informed her that all of her good sense had just leaked out of her ears and pooled around her feet.

Finn was sitting on the swing… with Alisha. No one (besides felines) had ever shared the swing with her. Ever. No one had ever swung on the swing beside her. Even when she got Alisha to leave, the swing would be different, the grounds would be different. Her impenetrable fortress, which had so often felt like prison, would no longer seem safe nor hidden. She would look about the green expanse, trying to see if invaders had approached, no longer assuming solitude or privacy.

She should have been happy to see Alisha. Why wasn’t she happy?

She let Alisha talk, because she had nothing else to say, nor the strength to stop the girl’s persistent train of thought which seemed to be flowing freely from her mouth. But then a question spilled out, hidden amongst the excess information that did nothing to really help Finn, even if it technically helped to explain why Alisha was not at home… It still did not explain why she was here. But wait. A question had been asked, and Finn was still not able to answer. So Alisha was answering for her, and in the affirmative.

Oh no.

And she was off again. Talking, joking, questioning, cursing, and Finn could not say anything to her because the only thing going through her head was the fact that she needed to find a way to get the other Hufflepuff away from her home.

Alisha was right in front of her face, eyes sparkling and lips quirked… and then she was gone. Finn wanted to believe that this had all been some sort of emotional melt down brought on by the shame of hiding a dreadful secret and the emotion distress of living two lives. But it wasn’t an emotional melt down – she wasn’t nearly that lucky. Because Alisha was tearing towards the castle, arms waving as her feet drew her ever closer to all of Finn’s secrets.

And all of her terror came out. Because Orpheus would be back any minute.

“Wait,” the words were barely loud enough for her to hear. “No, no.” She raised her voice. “Alisha. No. Alisha, wait!” She let out a fearful little cry and began running, arms swinging, face the picture of distress.

So, contrary to neither popular expectation nor belief, but rather absolute fact- Alisha wasn’t actually an idiot.

….no wait, that wasn’t how facts worked.

Alisha was absolutely an idiot. But she could sometimes surprise herself and emerge from the sea of idiocy to actual moments of clarity that weren’t misinformed- and this was an obvious one, yeah? She could be oblivious, not blind. And the sheer terror on Finn’s face was kind of unmistakable.

Her short little friend was waddling behind her, shut up Ali, you meanie, crying out desperately all the while- and Alisha stopped. Even though it felt a little bit like a cartoon-y stop, you know, when Wile E. Coyote suddenly slammed to a stop and all- head shooting forward because of inertia, soles of sneakers skidding to a halt over the friction of dry leaves. She felt all jittery and almost lost her footing because she wasn’t blessed with the supernatural balance of aforesaid cartoon animals. But she stopped, and turned, and waited. Because Finn looked and sounded scared. And sad.

And no matter what tales Alisha had refurbished in her head: okay, maybe it would be pretty cool to be the incredibly talented, dashing, adventurous Animagus best friend to a teenaged werewolf; but honestly, all that fell to the side the second she heard Finn’s voice calling out to her.

Finn was scared, and sad, and anything else was of little importance.

“Is there……a problem?” Of course there’s a problem you great big oaf, a beastly, drooling, unwillingly murder-y one. “You just seem a little….distressed.” Oh no Ali, I’m perfectly dandy, losing control of my actions and letting my baby face turn into a raging maw really gets my day pumping. “You should maybe…”

Oh god, this was ridiculous.

Down the two hands came, in much gentler fashion than the previous motions, palms cupping Finn’s narrow shoulders from either end. Alisha established eye contact- she usually always did, with anyone she spoke to, but Finn was notoriously shy of it. Too bad, this was important.
“Look, we’re buddies right? You, Nora, Ducky, me, the rest of the crew. We look out for each other. We,” and the stress was absolutely required here, “-get worried for you. I know you like crinkling up your pretty forehead with lines and don’t want anyone to pay notice- and we can usually respect that, but then you up and disappear at odd times with the oddest of excuses and- we just need to know that you’re okay.”

Which again was stupid, because she clearly wasn’t if that expression on her face was any indicator at all- for heaven’s sake, she was looking at Ali. The Ali in question almost felt like taking offense- she’d been told by dependable sources that she had a pretty comical face. Or at the very least, a pretty one. The least Finn could do was appreciate that and not look like she was about to- about to lose her freaky shit and possibly transform-

Oh my god, could that happen? Could Finn transform right now, in broad daylight? (Could Alisha annoy her into transforming?) Okay, everything that she knew about werewolves said not- but then she’d learned more from Van Helsing than Care of Magical Creatures class.
And okay, Alisha was magnanimous enough to admit her minor weaknesses: she wasn’t the biggest reader. Or the most well-informed brain on the planet.

Shit, could Finn transform? Or at least have enough latent rage to rip off my face?

Alisha squinted at the moon-like face opposite hers, the drooping eyebrows, the big wide eyes. Her hands were kinda locked into position on Finn’s shoulders- no sudden movements.

Okay, even I’m feeling a little disgusted at this level of stupidity now.

Don’t part-wolves get frisky though, even when they don’t transform and its simply around moon time? Rarrr.

…imagine if she did get all wolfy though.

.

.

So cool.


Aaaaand off she went on another self-absorbed tirade. This was so not the important bit right now.

She let the corners of her mouth rise as naturally as they always did- less of the thousand watt grin and more of the warmth of a steady, crackling fire. “That’s why I’m here. Like…..you do know you can ask us for help at any time, right? I mean, I may not look like much. But I- I work out, you know?”

((Just realized we had this set during summer, but that doesn't work with Ilvermorny. We could keep it as is and put it at Easter break or we can go and edit it all to be a Hogsmeade weekend?))

Fiona had never felt fear like this, which was more than a little disconcerting. She had a million little heart attacks a week - when she was called on in class, when approached by a stranger, when a carefully planned route or phrase did not work out the way it had in her head - but nothing like this heart-stopping dread that had drained her of all casual thoughts and light feelings. Finn never did anything she wasn't supposed to do, and somehow felt like letting a friend into her lonely, companionless castle might be the worst thing she could do.

That was what was so nerve-wracking about this flood of fear. Her father had never told her she could not invite someone over. She had never seen him react to someone who was not invited. She had no context for what would happen if Alisha entered the castle... but her instinct was that it would be bad. Really bad. And that certainty was not a comforting realization.

She had no reason to feel this way. No reason. No reason.

Was there a problem?

Yes. Big one. I'm not sure why though.

Alisha pressed on, just as Napoleon caught up to Finn, mewing and catching her sock in one of his curved claws. She glanced between them, her mind tripping over itself. "Not-not a problem, it's just... it's just my dad..."

Alisha's hands came up and Finn flinched, only to find her shoulders caught in her kind, if firm grasp.  

Ali kept at it, and Finn was able to come back to her usual baseline of general anxiety, the terror subsiding as her mind took ahold of the situation. This was her home and her father wasn't here yet, so she had time to get rid of Ali. And she would be able to get rid of her. This was her house. Alisha couldn't just... refuse to leave. Could she?

Oh, Merlin, what if she just refused to leave?

Alisha had been sort of just... staring at her, before she finally broke the silence. Finn tightened the muscles in her back and lifted one of her shoulders, asking for release as subtly as she could. "Thank you, Ali," she said, her voice polite, just as had been drilled into her, the smallest strain in it simply because she had never practiced for this sort of conversation. "That's very kind. And if I ever need your help, I'll let you. I'm just trying to enjoy the break from school and- and my dad is very strict about visitors. So you- you should probably just go... go back." Wherever that was.