Tell Morgan about Susan's shattered soul

"Sure, Fay," Morgan says.

"Three times three, mind," you direct her.

Morgan my heart, my dark mirror. Lolo my beautiful flaming love. You tell yourself not to fall in love with anyone else. Or is that how House Beavertail is supposed to work, down deep?

"Yes, my princess," Morgan says.

Damn her, you hate how much you love her. Messy broomstick of a hedge witch with broomstraw hair, pet of Boarbristle's venomous Gorgon of a Nurse. How much she loves you and you can't help but love her back. And how much of you is her work. Soppy bitch wouldn't go away when you cried, when you raged, when you stared at nothing all day. And now you're taking after her. Fay, who are you? What part of you did you lose to the Hungry Ghosts?

Morgan casts the ward, three times three, and ties it off with a flourish of her wand.

"This must be serious business, Fay," Morgan says. "That, or, like as not, a seriously twisted idea for sex magic. Tell me."

"Oh, don't I wish it was the second. You inspire me to heights of perversion, you sweet village girl. Those looks you get on your face that you just cannot hide. I'm mad for you, you know. But it's not that."

Morgan arches an eyebrow. You envy her those strong black arcs above her glimmering eyes.

"Susan Quaffle is a construct."

Morgan listens.

"Tutor knows."

Morgan blinks. "And she's a Prefect?"

"Her Prefect pin is the charm that holds her together."

"How, and more to the point, why?"

"I think, ah," you pause, "I think that someone very much could not give up on her. The girl she was, or the intentions they had for her. I don't know how much of her is still who she once was. And as a person, I think she's about who she seems. But her altar?" You frown. "It was a mess. Morgan. For a prefect in the House of Diligence? She's not all there. She's a ward of the House, who thinks she's a scholar. But Susan is more of a magical servitor, as she is, now."

Morgan frowns. "Tell me how you know."

You spill the whole story, including Susan convulsively kicking you out from between her thighs when you perceived her secret.

"And I think Susan has fallen in love with me."

Morgan holds back a laugh. "Puppy love?"

"Maybe, almost too literally."

"If she's a ward of the Tutor, you don't want to compound the damage. I can be with you. Lolo is a giant inside, we can't but stand in her shadow as she takes flight. Susan? Don't break her."

"Morgan? I don't like her that way."

Morgan stares.

"Fine, what?" you say.

"Do not be alone with her."

You take a breath.

"I'm serious."

"Alright." Soppy bitch thinks she's my mum.

Morgan hugs you. "I couldn't bear it if it was more than arse over teakettle onto the floor. You know?"

Soppy bitch is better than my actual mum.

"You know, Morgan, we have this absolute fortress of a warded circle. Around our bed."

Morgan blinks, looking as convincingly innocent as you've ever seen her.

"And it seems a shame to tear it on down without putting it to a really good test."

Morgan gives her version of a sultry pout, which is neither, but you know what she means.

You have Ambition +2, Bravery -1, Cunning +2, Diligence +0, and 5 XP.
Your FRIEND is Morgan Woodbine, true love, subversively soppy romantic hedge-witch.
Your HANGER-ON is Susan Quaffle, second-year in Beavertail, dishwater blonde, tall and gawky, precociously young Prefect, and magically half-mended survivor of a soul- and body-shattering episode.

You know the Forbidden Spell, LUST.