Buttermilk Chocolate Cake with Caramel and Ganache

It had been a frustrating morning. The work that Alice had been tasked with was challenging, though that she didn’t mind about it. What she minded was that the people she was phoning around for information from had been utterly useless. A lamp post, in her mind, would have been more help than them. Instead she found herself floundering, much to the muted delight of some of the other people in the office that highly suspected that she only had the job because of who she was sleeping with. Regardless, she felt underqualified and decided that she definitely should’ve been a primary school teacher. She certainly dressed like one, according to one of the women gossiping by the photocopier.

Sighing, Alice released the end of her pen from the hold of her teeth and she threw it down roughly onto the desk, shoving her feet back into her shoes as she did so. They were the high point of the day thus far. They were new and shiny and she was certainly in love with them. They made her feel like Dorothy, albeit there was a distinct lack of sparkle. Getting up, she decided that now was the best time to take her lunch hour. She was sick of the giggling and far too close to snapping at one of them. She felt as though she was back at school, only this time she didn’t have Jemma to defend her or Henriette to tell them just how stupid they looked with their sneering faces and dripping disdain. She was alone.

Pulling on her coat, the witch picked up her bag and trounced from the office in a way that was as adult as she could manage, with scarlet embarrassment shining on her cheeks. Once out in the cool winter air she felt relieved somewhat and was glad to go to Diagon Alley. She was even gladder for the walk there, with the London winds running their fingers through her hair and loosing it from the bun she had it up in until the tendrils ran free about her cheeks. The Leaky Cauldron was full with the lunchtime crowd of Ministry workers who had little pleasure outside of midday ale and hotpots. Out in the courtyard there was throng passing through, in and out of the shopping district.

Diagon Alley was hardly quiet, either. It was a kaleidoscopic buzz of activity that hummed about Alice’s ears and dazzled her senses. She found herself smiling, losing her tight-lipped terseness as she knew that here she could spend some gold and then, most importantly of all, go and have lunch with Ollie. This was what was going to tide her through the rest of the day and keep her sane until she could go home and take Lemon out for a run. Once she had all of the negative feelings showered off, she could commit herself to some quality time with Ariel, being mini-chef, or playing with the dogs, or better still: convincing Ollie that he shouldn’t be tippy-tapping away, he should be snuggling with her instead.

A flower stall caught her eye and like a bee ever drawn to pretty colours she drew in, smiling broadly at the elderly witch who returned it, albeit in a sneering sort of way that gave Alice pause. She busied herself with the lilies all the same, wondering if she could change up the office bouquet a little bit to add some much needed vibrancy and improve her mood while there. However, when her fingers touched the staining pigment, she felt something a little queasy settle within her. It was an odd sort of feeling, one she couldn’t place. Suddenly, though, her shoes felt very tight and the flowers seemed further away, she found herself forcing off her rings feverishly, stuffing them into her pocket.

Pain lashed through her and she closed her eyes against it, wishing it away. The witch laughed, a high, cold, shrill laugh. Alice’s eyes snapped open and her hands seized forward to steady herself on the cart. She grunted but the sound was off, making her do a double-take. It wasn’t high pitched. It was low, almost guttural. The witch looked at her wryly and Alice opened her mouth to protest but with the witch, the cart disappeared as though it had never been there in the first place. Without the support, Alice hit the floor, thudding awkwardly onto the cobbles, managing to graze her arm on a jagged piece of stone.

An unfamiliar face came into view above her. “Oi-oi – do you know what you look like, mate?” The man laughed.

Alice scrambled to her feet but the seizing pain and instability made her stumble and she fell against a shop front, bracing herself against the wall. She looked down at her feet, astounded to find her toes poking through the fronts of her shoes. But they weren’t her toes. They weren’t her feet. They weren’t her legs. She looked at her hands: Merlin, they weren’t hers either. The witch hurriedly pulled off her shoes and darted down a side alley, following its length until she was in the quiet. She pressed her back against the cool stone and took a few steadying breaths, her panting tone deeper, as deep as the grunt.

“What’s happened to me?” She uttered, running her hand across her face.

Her hand was enormous, she registered blithely. Only as an afterthought did that concern her but she was more interested in her nose, her firm jaw and, Merlin, her voice. She grasped at her throat, trying to rationalise, trying to make sense of this. Her eyes squeezed shut as dismay poured into her, flooded into her veins. She shook her head and dropped her hand before reaching into her pocket for her wand. It felt small and impractical in her large paw and she did an experimental flutter, transfiguring a nearby bin into a dove which fluttered away. It still worked, at least, even if the dove was an ugly shade of recycling green.

She left the side alley, walking determinedly, albeit barefoot, down through Diagon Alley, somehow blending with the crowd. She needed to find Ollie. She needed him to identify what had happened and then – for this was the crux of the matter – reverse whatever it was. She’d never imagined she was allergic to lilies. The funny looks she was getting made her think she was, though, and her clothes were increasingly growing uncomfortable. She hadn’t put on any weight – though maybe this was part of the swelling. She hoped she wouldn’t pass out from any of the effects. The last thing she needed to do was go to St. Mungo’s when she had all that work to do.

Alice burst into The Fried Newt, the place they’d decided they wanted to try that afternoon. There were no newts on the menu, mind. The waiter at the podium looked up nonchalantly but immediately her eyes widened to gargantuan proportions. She managed to keep her cool as Alice and her broken shoes clumsily made her way up to her, fluttering out her words – something about a reservation under Connolly. Seats for two. A booth or something. By the window? The waiter clarified. Alice exclaimed the affirmative and the waiter gestured across the restaurant. Alice half-ran.

“Ollie!” She exclaimed, falling into the chair opposite the writer. “You have to help me,” she gushed at him. “Please. I just … I was looking at flowers and I was going to get some for work and I touched the pollen and then I was in all this pain and now I’m all swollen and I’m terrified and look at my shoes!” She dropped them on the table mournfully, covering her oddly chiselled face with her scarily large hands, running off a dismayed sob. She wasn’t swollen, though. And none of what she’d become was really that odd. It was quite handsome, actually, minus the dress. But that was it: handsome, not beautiful.

Oliver, the silly duck that he was, had been looking at the desert menu instead of picking out something rational to have as his entree. He didn't really feel surprised that he was early, as it seemed to happen often now that Alice was working at the office and had to get to wherever they had decided to meet. At the very least, he was glad to note that they went to different places most every time. Aside from the place she had first taken him to when they decided to work out their problems, it was typically some place new. If he had to wait, Oliver figured it was nicer to be in an unfamiliar environment.

He was not expecting her to be so unusually late, though. Perhaps she had ended up chatting with someone, he mused to himself. She didn't seem too thrilled with her situation at work, and he knew it was partly his fault. It was a good portion of the reason why he didn't pick her up there, but instead chose to meet her at their lunch locations. The last thing, though, that he expected to hear was a man's voice saying his name. Looking up, Oliver regretting accepting a glass of water while he waited. He inhaled in pure shock upon seeing the man in front of him, nonetheless being addressed by the stranger when they looked so... out of place? He could go for something stronger, but that felt unfair.

The fact that the very strange stranger in front of him knew Oliver's name - nonetheless decided to be informal - made him uncomfortable. This was why he didn't put his name on the covers of his books. Not, he supposed, that anyone probably raved about them in any positive manner. Well, besides Alice. But Oliver wasn't sure he wanted to know, regardless. Still, he did try to listen to what was being said.

He didn't realize until the bloke had finished speaking that his mouth had fallen open. Snapping it shut, he turned his gaze to the shoes, blinking at them. Something told him that Alice would be furious if she saw the state of the shoes. After all, she cared far more for fashion that Oliver or his roommate did. That wasn't to say that he didn't try to look put together or anything. But still. She would almost certainly have a complaint to put forth about this.

"I- Look, mate," Oliver shook his head, hesitating a moment to try and find a way to explain his side of things without sounding harsh or anything else on the offensive side. In the end, he lifted his hands up in a sort of defensive or surrender-esque move. "Right, so, I'm not sure who you're looking for, but I think you've got me mixed up with someone. If this was a prank, I mean... I can help sort you out, man. But other than that... I'm sure it would help to have some coffee. Maybe you had a rough morning and started drinking early? I'm not one to judge on that," he added quickly, hoping to cover all of his bases in one go, "considering my roommate tends to be the type. But yeah, are you looking for someone in particular?"

Where the hell was Alice? She probably would have been far better at this than him.

The Rousseau woman … well, technically speaking Rousseau man gaped awkwardly at her his lover. She had never been called ‘mate.’ She wasn’t really the kind of woman that fell into that role. She’d always been a bit too highly strung and a little too demure, perhaps as a by-product of her breeding, to go to Quidditch and scream that the players and drink dry larger and eat greasy burgers. That’s not to say she wouldn’t, though it would take some coaxing, but it didn’t really fit with the woman who had accented her front room in pinks and made book stairs for her corgi. She wasn’t a mate.

It seemed that turning an ugly shade of tomato red had also passed into her male state. As she gaped at Ollie, merely achieving a fish-like appearance as she tried to clatter her teeth shut and also find some words, she felt that familiar heat lap into her cheeks and down her neck across what had originally been breasts. No longer. Although, now in thinking about it she was hyperaware of the fact that she was wearing a bra, and a thong, and a garter belt and … oh Merlin, very tight stockings. She didn’t know which was the worst. It was all uncomfortable, not to mention itchy.

She grasped at her chest, squeezing uselessly, wishing for the modest handfuls that should have been there but weren’t. She gave a pitiful moan, again one that was terrifyingly guttural, and dropped her head into her hands, making a mental note to never look at flowers ever again as long as she lived. She would make a date with her wardrobe and burn every single floral dress she could find. Actually no, she decided against that, they were far too expensive to be that flagrant and ridiculous. Perhaps she’d give them to charity. Wait, no. Auction. She’d auction them and give the money to charity.

“I’ve not been drinking it’s midday!” She exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Which roommate, Oliver Connolly? Ariel’s far from an alcoholic and if you mean me,” she hit her hand against her chest to punctuate her words, wincing a little bit despite herself, “then you’ve got another thing coming!” Alice crossed her arms in open petulance and glared at him.

Worse. Her day was getting worse. She wished she had been drinking since eight o’clock that morning. She wished she’d not gotten up, thrown a sick day and wallowed on the sofa watching old cartoons with Lemon. Instead, workaholic that she was, she’d gotten up, preened and gone out to puzzle over something she wasn’t willing to admit she couldn’t get her head round only to be utterly and completely thrown and then implicitly told by her own boyfriend that he had no idea who she was. She was looking for him. She’d said his name. She’d said his full name. What more could he want? Identification may help.

Taking her bag off of her shoulder, the chain feeling suddenly breakable in her larger, clumsier fingers, she pulled it open and rifled inside, her fingers quickly closing about her wand again. For the second time she registered how small it felt to her, though somehow it was still comfortable in her palm. She felt as though she could still duel with it or darn socks using the same magic as she always had done. It just felt a bit weird, that was all. It was satisfying, though, to throw it at Ollie and knit her eyebrows together expressively as she willed him to see. She even unloaded the contents of her bag onto the table, mutedly glad it was only a clutch and not her big one.

Nevertheless her makeup bag, pencil case, phone, sweets, old movie ticket stubs, for some reason glitter and an assortment of hair grips, a scrunchy she’d been looking for weeks ago and goodness only knows what else all fell out onto the table and she rounded it off by hurling the bag at him too, opening up her arms as though to say ‘see?!’ She swallowed a gulp of air and ran her fingers through her hair, noting how it seemed to feel thicker and stringier, though that could have been done by the wind rather than anything that had happened to her. It was as she looked up past Ollie that she noticed something.

Across the room, a mirror was mounted on the wall. She could see the back of Ollie’s head. He needed a bit of a trim to the back of his hair and she made a mental note to have a look at it at the weekend. That, though, wasn’t the point though it did give her pause. What she saw was a man and a confused looking one at that. He was sat across from Ollie, his brows drawn together and his lips turned down at the sides, the middle of the bow pursing together as words tried to bubble through. There was a ruby tinge to his cheeks and she despaired at the scruff on his chin and jaw she suddenly felt compelled to want to trim up into something more comely.

Her hand came to her chin in thought and the man mirrored her. She blinked. He did too. She rubbed her fingers up her jaw, rubbing it unmistakably across soft fluffiness. The man did the same. Her eyes widened. So did his. She dropped her hand quickly. He mirrored her. She shot it up into the air. The same. Her mouth opened and she gaped at … herself? The scream that followed was unmistakably manly, even from her own throat, and as she began to flail in absolute despair, she tumbled off of the chair and landed roughly on her bum, the dignified witch long, long gone.

Scrabbling to her feet, Alice tried to dispel the tears beginning to sting at her eyes. She made a grab for her wand that was poorly placed and achieved nothing. Instead she merely had to stand there, as a man, in a too tight dress and coat – clothes that were really beginning to hurt, much less be tolerable to actually wear. All the same she needed to swallow her pride, and her temper. She also needed to go and transfigure her clothes into something wearable.

“Can I have my wand back please?” She asked softly, averting her eyes to anything and anywhere possible now that the shame of her tantrum was catching up on her.

Well. This was certainly a new one, wasn't it? He certainly did not have two male roommates. Frankly, he wasn't even friends with that many folks - nonetheless men - so why did he not remember this one? It did strike him as odd that the person chose to use his first and last name, much like his mother would have if he had done something wrong. Then again, Oliver felt that most people ended up doing that.

It wasn't until they crossed their arms and nearly pouted at him that Oliver's lips parted, and it took everything in him not to just stare. When he realized that he was, actually, looking quite rude, Oliver wetted his lips, the most bizarre image coming to mind. This person, they acted a hell of a lot like Alice when she was upset with him - or with anyone, he supposed. But most often him. As the little bag was dumped, though, he found himself leaning back and gesturing to them in disbelief.

"Right," he murmured, only able to manage a half-hearted nod. "So- So, you're..." His elbow lifted to rest on the table so he could settle his chin in his palm and cover his mouth with his fingers. His expression, all the while, was one of utter confusion. He thought it might actually be- well. But who else could it be? Oliver, however, noted that it was a bit too late to be asking questions, because the man(?) in front of him was staring at the mirror behind his head, and not a minute later it looked like they might pour tears all over the table, leaving Oliver no choice but to mop them up.

As the next question was presented, Oliver looked up at them and nodded, extending the requested object. "Okay," he sighed gently, standing and putting the items back in their bag. "I'm going to ask one question, and if I'm right, we're going to go to my flat and see if we can't fix this." Oliver offered, wanting to lift a hand to their shoulder but not entirely sure if that was.. allowed, or normal. Nothing about their situation was normal. But he did need to have that out so, if he was actually just mad, he could bolt and it wouldn't be his problem. "So... Allie...?"

This was neither the time nor the place to have been airing in such a dramatic way what had happened to her that morning and the sense of propriety that was recoiling at such exhibitionism made her flush again. She was at a loss, though. She couldn’t make him see in hushed tones and tactfulness. She didn’t think she had hushed tones and tactfulness within her anymore. She needed out of those clothes, for a start and then she needed to go home and hug Lemon and eat lunch and maybe have another lunch because nothing could really dampen the thunderstorm in her heart now.

She took a hesitant, crackling breath that was not unlike the kind that people inhaled when they were trying to stop themselves from crying. She took her wand, her fingers closing protectively around it. She had no idea how he was going to go back to work in the state she was in. She could sober herself and focus, of course, but looking like she did … that would be the final straw to break the camel’s back for all of the other girls around the office, wouldn’t it? She’d go from the whore-usurper of positions to utter laughing stock in thirty seconds.

“Ollie,” she whispered pitifully, her eyes falling to him mournfully as she responded. “I really … really need you to believe me because I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and I …” a poorly muted sob rumbled through her and she turned her head away, grasping her wand close to her as though somehow it would serve to dissuade her tumult of feelings from raging any more fiercely within her. It would do no good, she knew. Somehow she’d still succeed in crying when she got herself a private moment. She wanted Lemon, really. Lemon would know what to do – though it’d probably end up in them going for a run.

Home though. They went home. Alice felt odd and misplaced next to Ollie whereas mere hours before she’d been happy and content and well aware that there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be. That feeling stood but there was no happiness or contentment within her now, just shame and abject horror. Moreover, she wanted out of the clothes and she made a beeline for her old room when they arrived. She’d left some things there when she’d gone the first time. Now she was sort of half moving back in, leaving other bits and pieces. The majority of her jewellery, for some reason, was also there and she was forever popping in and out in search of something. Today she wanted clothes. Transfigurable clothes.

The entire contents of the wardrobe ended up on the floor until she found a grey t-shirt that looked to have once belonged to one of her brother’s and a pair of jeans which she widened, lengthened and just generally tinkered with until she felt they would fit her … ‘now’ body. Then it was about stripping out of the clothes she was currently wearing and she more or less cut them off, abandoning them as shreds on the floor before pulling on the new clothes. She absently thought about underwear but it was too late by then and she was dressed, feeling more human somehow.

Rubbing her hands across her face, Alice chanced a look in the mirror again. She drew her fingers up through her hair, wondering how it still managed to be long. She felt for her dressing table and found a hair band, her fingers quickly working with a nimbleness she hadn’t thought she’d retain to plait it and secure the band around the end. She looked like her cousin. She’d seen pictures of him frequently enough in the society pages. He got into more than enough trouble with some of the Krum boys. She scruffed at her cheek. She really did look like him. Like her father, too, what she remembered of him.

“What’s happened?” She heard Ariel’s voice and the clunk of tools as the door shut. He’d just come in, it seemed. “You alright, Ol?”

Alice took another deep breath and turned away from the mirror. She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked some magic at the clothes, sending them into the wardrobe. She hoped to God that she would get to wear them again. She had no idea what she was supposed to do if she couldn’t. If she stayed like this, trapped in a body that was hers but at the same time wasn’t … what was she going to do? She could get on well enough with normal aspects of life, she supposed, but what about Ollie? What about him in her life? Would he be in her life if that was the reality she was looking at as her future and forever?

“Ari do you have any Percy Pigs?” Alice asked softly, moving into the hall.

Another loud clunk sounded as Ariel dropped his tools. He gaped and shut his mouth and gaped again before gradually nodding. Alice turned and shuffled away, rubbing at her arm absently before wandering into the kitchen to the sweets cupboard where, sure enough, she found the vegetarian pigs. She sighed and slumped down at the kitchen table, abandoning the packet before calling a knife to her and slicing it open roughly. The clang of the metal hitting the table as she dropped it resounded through the house and she picked up a handful of the pigs, shoving them into her mouth bitterly, chewing roughly through the rubbery texture.

“Is that Alice?” she heard Ariel ask. “Was that really Alice asking me for Percy Pigs? Ollie what’s going on?”

She didn’t like flowers very much anymore.

Oliver wanted to pull Alice to him, and he would have, in order to hug her and instill some sort of warmth and comfort within her, except she was no longer a she, really. And Oliver wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He couldn't very well hug the man dressed like a woman without drawing even more attention. So he figured it would be best to get them away from the eyes of judgmental onlookers, and into the place that felt most comfortable for - well, if not both of them, then at least for Oliver. There, perhaps, he could be of more help to her.

When they walked in, Alice went off to change or whatever it was she felt needed to be done, and Oliver found himself falling onto the couch seat, confusion pulling at his features as he stared at the television (despite the fact that it wasn't even turned on). Oliver had never been in a stranger situation in his life. And that was saying something, considering the Order meetings lately, having told Alice's father to screw them both over, and his near-death experience. But what the hell was he supposed to do now? It wasn't the same, and he didn't know how to make it feel the same.

Yes, it was still Alice. But there were certain things he didn't know how to overlook or how to handle. Where on earth could he begin? Oliver jumped at Ariel's question, turning over the back of the couch to look at the blond. "Um, it's not me who's got the problem, mate. Just keep your head on, yeah? It's a bit of a mess."

His gaze flicked to his bedroom door when Alice's new voice rumbled out from behind it and Alice came out. Ariel's face didn't surprise him, but a look of slight guilt darted across Oliver's face briefly. "Yeah, so... I honestly don't know how it happened. We were meeting for lunch," he explained quietly, "but... Alice was late, and now she's... yeah. I'm sure there's a way to change her back, but I think it's understandable that she's upset."

Sighing, Oliver ran a hand across the back of his neck, deciding that the least he could do was try and be there for her while she tried to get used to things. It felt... very uncomfortable just to consider it. In truth, a part of Oliver felt like it was nearly like cheating on her, even though he knew it was her. But he couldn't very well just start saying such things before he did all that he could handle to help her.

"Allie, honey," he called, standing and holding a hand out towards her despite the fact that she was on the other side of the kitchen island. "C'mere. Tell us what happened, yeah?"

Peering at the sad looking blonde man sat at the table, fiddling with the sweets that his female counterpart would have happily devoured, Ariel felt something tug uncomfortably in his chest. She was more than unhappy but there wasn’t really a word to do it justice. He found himself stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding his breath and his cap screwed up in his hands close to his chest. His crisscrossing scars were peeking out of the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing that was loose, too big on his skinny frame. With his lower lip caught between his sharp teeth, his wriggling nose screwed in dismay and his brows lifting to wrinkle his forehead, he looked young again.

He swallowed a breath and tipped his head to the side, his gaze trying to alight on the bowed face of their friend. Finally, she lifted her head, roughly pushing the sweets away from us as she did so. They slid across the table, seemingly thinking about tipping over the side onto the floor before they came to a slow halt. Alice took a shaky breath and, with closed eyes, shuddered air past her lips. Lifting her hands from the table top she rubbed them across her cheeks, pressing her fingers into her lids and rubbing at them unforgivingly.

She drooped her hands into her lap and half-glared at Ollie, letting her head loll to the side despairingly. She glanced over at Ariel just as he let a smile drift to his lips and he quickly smothered it, pushing himself off of the door frame before moving carefully into the room. Alice took a while, a few extra moments of staring at hands that didn’t belong to her, a few more seconds of gathering herself, but eventually she got to her feet. She tripped a bit but managed to catch herself on the table before dolefully making her way over to Ollie, quite unable to look at either of the men.

The young woman – well, young man – reached out, wanting to take his hand but as she reached, her fingertips just brushing his, she stole back her hand. She should have been able to glide her fingers into his palm and curl them there for his to close about her hand, safe. She couldn’t, though. She was bigger and more cumbersome. Their hands wouldn’t have fit. They were at odds, weren’t they? In that moment she felt a million miles away from him, trapped and stranded with no one to anchor her anywhere. She was floating around in nothing yet going nowhere.

“I told you,” she murmured, her voice crackling, breaking and filling with exasperated emotion that could only manifest itself in the warnings of tears. “I was looking at flowers at this stall in Diagon Alley,” her eyes lowered, one hand coming to rub at her forearm. She swallowed, her adam’s apple bobbing. “And, I … I wanted some for my vase at work. Some new ones. I touched the pollen on these beautiful lilies and then all of a sudden I was in all this pain and I opened my eyes and the stall was gone and I was like this.” Her voice rose to an exclamatory crescendo and she gasped, drawing her hand back to her mouth, unable to quite believe her own story.

“I’ll make a cup of tea, shall I?” She heard Ariel’s voice, distracted and torn, as it rubbed around her shoulders. The material smack of his cap hitting the table muted the sobs wanting to rise into her throat and she looked around for him just as he took her favourite mug, a white one with Winnie the Pooh on it, from the cupboard. The only consolation was that she was a head and a bit taller now. Hence the reason why, she supposed, her calves hurt. Everything hurt, in fact. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, preferably with a gallon of tea and some ice cream. Ariel went along the middle road, finding some hot chocolate powder instead and soon enough there were a few cups set on the island for them to take.

Alice stepped forward, wiping her eyes in her shirt, and picked up her cup. It was worse, though. It was always worse. Ariel noticed for the first time what she’d always taken great pains to hide. The transformation and her brutal horror had prevented her time to collect herself and to really take stock of what she looked like. What he’d never seen was the heart-rending scar that across her jaw that looked like three finger nails had shorn lines into her skin. It followed down her neck, disappearing beneath the rounded neck of her top. It was pebbled, red, and sore, as though the transformation had ripped old tissue and angered it.

Because, of course, it didn’t just change her. It changed the entire façade. It broke the vision of the woman who was put together, who wasn’t carrying old wounds and old lives. What it only served to prove was that here was the little girl who had been hurt, here was the woman who had tried to smother those memories in glamour charms and healing salve. This she couldn’t swallow and hide, though. It was there, she was there: laid bare for them both to see – and in vain she tried to hide it, hide herself, by scrunching in over her mug and hiding her face, lowering her eyes, stifling her hurt, because it was the only mask she had left.

Oliver didn't have the right to be upset, and he knew that, but when Alice took her hand back, he couldn't help the hurt that anchored itself in his gut. His eyes searched out Ariel's guiltily, wondering if there was some other way he should be handling the situation. Oliver was truly lost and adrift in a way he hadn't been since he had last been so terrified of ruining things for her. Now things were messed up again, but Oliver couldn't imagine going to see her father. Paul definitely didn't need to find out about this until Oliver had found a way to fix it.

"I know you did, love." Oliver cut in quickly, sinking onto the couch again. "But I was confused. I'm sorry."

He listened to the story again, only looking up once she had finished. It wasn't until that moment of silence that Oliver, at his new angle, caught sight of the scar across this new version of Alice's neck. Biting back a noise of surprise, Oliver did his best to keep his expression from portraying his shock and worry. It wasn't the right time, even if he was so concerned by the fact that he had never seen the injury or heard about it before. In part, it tore at him a bit as he found himself wondering why she hadn't felt he could be trusted with it. But, more than that, it made him ache for her. All he could picture was a little blonde, hurt and scared, and then a young woman who didn't think people would accept it - or accept her - because of it.

"Okay," he began finally, making a point of not focusing on her neck. "So, it definitely sounds like dark magic of some kind. And I'm not sure we can trace it. Alice, what do you want to do? If we tell dad, he'd surely let you come into work still. We can come up with a reason. But do you want to wait it out? Do you want to look into it? You know we'll do whatever it takes," Oliver added, glancing towards Ariel.

"Just tell me what you would prefer, and I'll see that it's done."

The witch wasn’t really in the sort of state that qualified her for making any decisions about what they were going to do next – that was Ariel’s professional opinion. As much as it threw him he found himself with his hands upon her shoulders, vaguely aware of the strength in them, pressing her into the living room and down onto the sofa at her end where she belonged. She and Ollie were, to Ariel, like the other bits of furniture. Everything in the flat had its proper place and Ollice’s were on the sofa, nomming, and watching nonsense. That was how Ariel preferred it. There was something a bit weird about Alice being a bloke, though. It messed with the werewolf’s sense of Feng Shui.

Alice handed Ariel the cup to hold and she drew her legs up onto the sofa, cuddling her arms around them. She liked, strangely, how even though she was far too big, everything was still in tune as it had been before. She rested her chin on her knees and her large, sad blue eyes drifted up to Ariel, silently asking for the cup back. He acquiesced without a second thought and then set himself down in his arm chair, eyeing the newspaper absently that had the half-done crossword shining out at them from the other day. Alice cradled the cup in her hands reverently, content in that moment to sniff at the chocolate. She couldn’t find her words, though. She wondered if they’d been stolen from her, too.

“How do I turn back?” She asked, looking between the two men. Ariel bit the inside of his cheek and Alice looked down into her cup sorrowfully. “I don’t want to be like this forever,” she muttered, tracing her finger around the rim in a way that still managed to be delicate and almost pretty. She brought that same hand to her neck and worried the scar, rubbing at it abrasively in a way that made her wince but not enough to make her stop. She sighed, frustration shining through as the sound turned guttural and she dropped her legs down, reaching over to put down the drink. She had no taste for it now.

“I need to go to work I have things to do,” she rationalised, pressing her palm to her forehead, trying to smooth out the worry lines rapidly beginning to form. She took in a shaky breath and got to her feet. She had the whole rest of the day to figure this out. But then, equally, she had the rest of the day to get used to the body she was in, too. It might have been a quick change but it wouldn’t be a quick fix. Ariel raised an eyebrow at the witch who merely sank back down, her face tumbling into her hands as she realised that she didn’t have any reason to be on her feet – she didn’t have anything to do in that moment. What on earth could she do?

“Can I just …” she turned to look at Ollie. “Can I just stay here?” She asked, putting her hands down either side of herself, hunching up her shoulders. At that point, her belly rumbled and she ducked her head, her cheeks lighting up scarlet. Ariel chuckled and got up again, muttering something about getting lunch together before wandering into the kitchen. Alice exhaled softly, closing her eyes tightly against the world. She wanted it to swallow her up whole, really. She’d never felt … well, no. She’d felt much more helpless than this but she’d had her life together for so long she’d forgotten how it did feel to be in this position – to be left to drift.

“What am I supposed to do?” She whispered, reopening her eyes. “What should I do? How can I do anything like this?” She took in a shaky breath. A few dribbling tears began to fall, despite her best hopes to keep them away from her cheeks. Before long they fell thicker and faster and quivering hands rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to dissuade them from tumbling clear down her face. It was an effort in vain, of course. It was in vain.

Oliver was so frustrated. He wanted to hold her, or help or just anything besides sitting there like a jerk. But he was also incredibly confused. What was he supposed to do, really, besides listen to her? The problem he had, though, was that he didn't know how to put together this version of Alice and the one he would have pulled into his arms and held until whatever the problem was passed. It wasn't sensible for him to kiss her hair or suggest they wander off to his room and chat. Or cuddle. But that was beyond weird in their circumstances, and he was not at all confident of what was allowed.

Even the problems with the Order hadn't confused him as much as her predicament did now.

"I don't know how, love," he admitted gently, his eyebrows pulling together. "But we'll figure it out. I promise. Even if it takes some time, you know we wouldn't give you up over a bit of mixed up magic."

Oliver nodded when she decided she needed to go to work despite the trouble, and he understood why she felt that way. The only issue would be explaining her absence, or deciding if she wanted to explain it to Oliver's father. "Well, if you don't want to tell dad, we don't have to. But you'll need to give me an excuse for why you're away and... well, you're filling in. So that could be a problem."

"Of course you can. I'll go get Lemon if you want," Oliver offered, an apologetic frown lingering on his features. At her tears, though, Oliver tensed and sat up straighter to face her properly. "Allie, this isn't going to stick. I swear it. So, please, just..." he faltered, extending a hand towards her cautiously. He wanted to wipe away the tears as they fell, but it felt utterly ridiculous. And he wasn't even sure she would let him, given the circumstances.

"I wish I could fix it right now, Alice. You know I do. But until then, I want to help, so as awkward as this is, I'm here for you however you prefer."