Chapter Text
Once more, Pure Vanilla found himself before a familiar tall, imposing door. Its red, pulsating eye staring straight at him, watching his every move. Upon putting his hand on the door, however, the sigil dissolved and a resounding click echoed throughout the empty hallway. With a gentle push, the heavy door opened and Pure Vanilla stepped inside, alone.
The now-familiar visage of the First Headmaster’s study greeted Pure Vanilla once more; Various books and scrolls floating and drifting about. Droplets of milk were suspended in air, twinkling with moonlight. And the Headmaster’s portrait hung high above the magical chaos of the study, his all-seeing eye darting from corner to corner before settling on its unexpected guest.
With a rippling of milk, the First Headmaster materialized before Pure Vanilla, hair a shimmering swirl of colours.
“Why, Pure Vanilla, dear! Come to visit an old memory unannounced?” His eyes crinkled warmly. “All by your lonesome, too. Blueberry Milk didn’t come with you? Eh, what does it matter. Come, come! You can tell me all that you need over a cup of tea.”
With a snap of the headmaster’s fingers, the table and tea set came gliding over to where they were. Pure Vanilla yelped as a chair swept beneath him, scooping him up neatly to where the table floated.
“Careful now, careful,” the headmaster seemed to chide the furniture, righting a teacup that had gotten knocked over. “They do get eager for company, you’ll have to forgive them. Though I can’t say I blame them — it’s been rather lonely here. I haven’t had a wayward student to talk to since you last visited.”
Pure Vanilla settled himself properly, smoothing out the folds in his robe, still seeming frazzled from the sudden ascent. “It’s quite alright, Headmaster. And you needn’t have gone through all this trouble.”
“What? Nonsense! What is trouble to a portrait with nothing but time?” The headmaster plucked the teapot from the air and, with a flourish, poured both himself and Pure Vanilla a cup. “Now, tell me. What brings you back to this humble, dusty corner? Not that I mind the company — I’m more than happy for it! But you have that look about you. The one that cookies tend to have when they’re carrying news of an important kind.”
Pure Vanilla wrapped both hands around his warm teacup, its slight fragrance making a valiant effort in soothing his nerves. He closed his eyes, took a breath, before meeting the headmaster’s curious gaze.
“It’s a matter regarding Shadow Milk.”
The headmaster’s expression remained nonchalant as he quietly sipped his tea, but there was now something else hidden underneath its easy warmth. The headmaster’s glowing eyes remained focused on Pure Vanilla’s. “Go on.”
“I am with child.”
With a hurried choking noise, the headmaster turned his head and spat out his drink.
An unwitting scroll, that had only been silently passing by, stopped dead in its tracks. It did a sweep of its corners across its parchment body, flicking some of the tea onto the headmaster’s face. With a quick, haughty turn, the parchment floated off, continuing its trek.
The headmaster wiped ineffectually at his face with his sleeve, grimacing at how it stained his sleeves, before remembering the handkerchief in his pocket and using that. Still coughing, he wiped the rest of his face hurriedly.
“I’m— sorry—“ he managed, voice cracking, “—you’re what?”
“With child,” Pure Vanilla repeated, patient, though a faint flush had crept up his own cheeks.
“I must be mistaken,” the headmaster coughed, thumping his chest one, two, three times, “you’re pregnant and that’s wonderful and all, but I believe I misheard on who the other parent is.”
“You’re not mistaken, Headmaster, it’s Shadow Milk.” Pure Vanilla said kindly.
At that, the headmaster dramatically collapsed in his seat, letting out a distressed sigh, his form slowly sliding off as though Pure Vanilla’s words had spontaneously turned him into liquid.
“That— Oh Witches—“ the headmaster abruptly sat upright, the tableware suddenly clanking together as he slammed his hands onto the table, leaning as close as he could to Pure Vanilla. “Tell me you’re unharmed, tell me you weren’t coerced! That you hadn’t come here for a spell to get rid of it! If you did, I would completely understand, my dear. You needn’t worry about any judgment from me. I shall do my very best to help you in whatever way you need. Actually, why don’t we do it right now! You don’t need to do it yourself, I know just the spell! It’ll be quick—“
At that, magic seemed to crackle throughout the study — electrifying the air around them — concentrating in the headmaster’s palm. But before he could lift his hand, Pure Vanilla gently placed his over the headmaster’s. The pressure in the air vanished just as quickly as it came.
“I want this, Headmaster.” Pure Vanilla spoke, calmly, resolutely.
Whatever lingering magic that remained in the headmaster’s grasp seemed to sputter completely at his student’s declaration.
“…You want this,” he repeated, slowly, like he needed to hear the words again to trust them.
“I do.” Pure Vanilla smiled such a warm, gentle smile. The corners of his eyes creasing gracefully, his soft grin seeming so tender, his eyes alight with a marvelous joy that the headmaster hasn’t seen on anybody in so very long. “I came here because I wanted you to know. You are a precious piece of Shadow Milk’s, suspended in time and diligently watching over his archive yet unable to experience the current joys that he is experiencing. And that’s so very sad. You, too, deserve to know what it’s like to experience this feeling.”
The headmaster could only really stare at Pure Vanilla, face unreadable to the normally perceptive Pure Vanilla. And after a moment, the headmaster uttered, “I… see.”
The teapot between them, having been preparing to pour more tea into their cups, simply looked between Pure Vanilla and the headmaster, unsure on if it should continue its job. The scrolls and books floating about seemed to slow, as though watching the pair — the headmaster, really — for what happens next.
“You want this,” the headmaster repeated, gesturing vaguely at Pure Vanilla’s being, his tone exasperated and confused as though the situation as a whole simply did not make sense in his head. An echo of a soul, Pure Vanilla thought, with naught its full perspective. The headmaster breathed, “you want this, and you’ve come to tell me in the hopes that I could share in your joy, my dear, as though I’m simply meant to nod along and pour more tea.”
A held breath. Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure how to approach this.
“Well!” The headmaster ran a hand down his face, smoothing his expression over. His braid, which had been resting on his shoulder, was haphazardly thrown behind him, before he leaned over, elbows rested on the table. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You want this, under no coercion from my most riotous self, and so I must say that I am happy that you, my student, are happy.”
Pure Vanilla all but blinked at the headmaster, unsure of what to say. He’s clearly unhappy but putting on a mask to ease Pure Vanilla’s worries. “Headmaster, I apologize if this has upset you—“
“No, no! Do forgive this old fragment for his dramatics. I’m simply in shock, is all.” The headmaster flicked the teapot. It startled, hopped around, before pouring more tea into both of their cups. The headmaster took a sip of his, elegant and very clearly attempting to look unbothered, but Pure Vanilla could see the tension in the way he holds his cup. “I’m quite conflicted, if I’m being honest. You can already see that, I’m sure, but I shan’t rain on your parade. You are happy, and that is enough.”
With that, the headmaster smiled something soft at Pure Vanilla. He could see that the headmaster was still getting to grips with reality but would, nonetheless, be supportive for his student. Pure Vanilla returned his teacher’s smile. “Thank you, Headmaster.”
“Now,” the headmaster beckoned for a book to come closer, one of the books that had stopped to stare. It landed neatly in his awaiting hand, flipping its pages open to a section on pregnancy. The headmaster licked his finger before flipping a few pages more and reading, his finger tracing every word. “Since you are expecting, and this is your first child, you will need to know what to expect. Be sure to eat up lest the child eat your dough instead.”
With another flick of the headmaster’s wrist, jellybeans began piling up high, high, higher on a plate, before settling in front of Pure Vanilla. He could only really look up, and continue looking up, finding that the stack went impossibly high. Books began whizzing by, all settling in front of the headmaster, which seems to have broken the trance the other scrolls were in, resuming their bustle.
“This, this, and that. Oh! And one more. Where are you? There you are.” The book, as though bashful, hid behind some passing scrolls. The headmaster rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I don’t have time for your antics. Come here.” With that, the book obeyed, drifting towards the table.
The headmaster compiled all of the books he had picked out, and Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but compare him to a conductor managing the orchestra that is this hidden study. With the headmaster’s hands flailing widely, purposefully, everything came together in its symphony; a gift wrapped neatly.
Pure Vanilla could only stare, amazed.
“There. Every book you will ever need should you have questions about what is to come.” The headmaster tutted, directing the gift to follow Pure Vanilla. “And if you have any questions that still need answering, well, you have the previous Fount of Knowledge with you, but I hope you’ll consider visiting me again for your queries.”
At that, Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but feel entirely too moved. Here was a cookie, a fragment of the one he loves, alone and tasked with watching over this sprawling library, with nothing but the books and scrolls to keep him company. And with the death of all the students that previously called the Academy its home, the chance that the headmaster will ever see another visitor is slim. Despite that, and his own tumultuous feelings on the matter, the headmaster still chose to care for Pure Vanilla in the ways he is able to.
Pure Vanilla could feel the tears spring from his eyes, flowing forth in a cascade that he’s helpless to stop. He tried, desperately to wipe the unexpected tears with his sleeve, to no avail. Silently, a handkerchief floated towards Pure Vanilla, tea stains clearly visible. Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but laugh, sincerely and wholeheartedly, clutching onto the handkerchief as though it was a lifeline.
The headmaster only watched, quiet, as Pure Vanilla cried, a soft smile on his face.
“Drink your tea, lest it grow cold.”
“Yes, Headmaster.”