So, it was much more comfortable to study in the common room, but a few of his housemates had decided the night before an assignment was prime time to have a wizarding chess tournament.  Granted, Fred would’ve liked nothing more than to have stayed and watched while chewing on some licorice strings, but alas.  Here he was, in a stiff backed chair in the library with no licorice strings and a fat textbook and a very empty parchment.

He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute for this.  He thought it’d be his easiest, being muggle studies and he put it off.  Now he was staring at a chapter on his book about electricity and his head was swimming.  Muggles just… plugged things in?  Or they had portable power?  Batteries, that did not, as it turned out, fly - were baffling. 

Scratching his temple, he dropped helplessly onto the book.  Fred Radley valued his sleep and at this rate… he’d never come up with ten practical applications for electricity, especially when they weren’t allowed to use the book’s examples.  This was horrible. 

So, as he heard stomping sort of footprints approaching, the miserable boy lifted his head.  Though, he instantly regretted it.  Hattie Woolfolk was stamping toward him and even if he didn’t you know, always care for her, she was… well… his mouth went dry and he braced his hands against the table.  Maybe she would pass…  he wasn’t her targ- oh snapping whizbees she stopped. Right in front of him.  He was already going clammy as he yelped in a voice an octave higher than he intended, “Hattie?”

Hattie Woolfolk strolled through an aisle of Potions texts, peaking into the rare vacancies in the dark wooden shelves to keep on eye out for the librarian. Unlike her cousin, Hattie had no desire to bump into the pinched wizard every time she prowled for a new mystery novel. Or, less excitingly, an herbological text. For such a slimy class, the books always proved dry.

No, she would much rather sink her teeth into a political thriller. The teen had a penchant for picturing any tall, blonde heroine as a doppelgänger of Primrose— and liked to imagine that the very same aforementioned sister might one day be the star of some real Ministry scandal. (As the mystery-solver, the celebrated protagonist, the smiling centerfold of every article, of course. Not some rubbish line in a gossip piece.) When she wasn’t imagining Prim in a role, Hattie envisioned herself as the sultry, dangerous love interest of many a lead wizard. She could wrap a sleuth around her pinky finger, she was sure of it.

Sighing, her fingers latched around the hard leather of a potions book that looked promising(ly boring). She yanked it from the shelf, adding to the single book that was already weighing down her other arm. If this wasn’t some sort of prison, and the sheer weight of textbooks weren’t corporal punishment, Hattie wanted her (parent’s) money back. Primrose truly didn’t understand what it was to be a kid today.

At the mouth of the aisle, a recognizable profile came into focus. The Slytherin sauntered to a standstill, sized him up. The yellow tie affirmed it from the distance. Hattie rearranged her stack of books so that they sat between the crook of her arm and her chest. With her free hand, she raked back her hair and smoothed the strap of her school bag. It was a brief tread.

“Freddy!” Despite the library’s rules, Hattie was cheerfully loud. She pointed her wand at him as if she were ready to cast a jinx. Cheeks tugged upward in a fiendish grin. “Just the man I was looking for,” she said in a voice that was as virtuous as her smile was not.

Inviting herself to sit beside him, she sunk her books onto the table, shoving one of his just a couple of inches to make room. “Do you think we could work on potions together?” Her eyes were bright as one of Marigold’s stupid Milanese Christmas baubles. But as she took in the tired, nervous aura of Fred Radley, there was also a genuineness in her entreating stare. He looked like he could use some company. (And if Hattie knew that hers was anxiety-provoking, it only made her want to stick around longer.)

“I’d ask my cousin.” She wouldn’t. “But she can’t read.” An obvious lie, which did not come with the least bit of sheepishness. Neely did want to work at a magazine, but. “She can’t spell orange, anyway.” He had to understand her hurtles. “And,” she added. “You’re sort of really brilliant at potions.” It was Merlin’s honest truth. Vaillancourt was always going on about how his draughts were the perfect color, or how the steam was spiraling off his cauldron in precise counterclockwise corkscrews. Things like that, which Hattie found far more tedious than the draw of Charms. It irked her that potions didn't come as naturally.

Her eyes, after combing his face, fell to the table top, roaming for an explanation. The obvious defeat of whatever he was working on was almost endearing. Hattie felt a little bad that she didn’t feel bad about crashing his party. “Do you have a test tomorrow?” She didn’t, thank Merlin.

This had to be a joke. 

Fred could not have imagined a world in which Hattie Woolfolk proclaimed he was the man she was looking for.  He had to make that up.  That happened sometimes, when he stared for too long, his mind put words they’d obviously never say in their mouths.  That had to be what happened. 

She plopped down next to him and if he bolted straight up, not even turning his head.  Instead he looked at her out of the corner of his very wide eyes, feeling the warm splotchy rash already spreading up his neck and toward his face.  His ears were already hot.  This was terrible.  He felt like he was splinching and he wasn’t even trying to pretend to apparate. 

Work on potions? His mouth dropped open a little and he didn’t know how to respond.   Sure, he was good in potions but… he didn’t think Hattie – revise: he didn’t think anyone except Professor Vaillancourt noticed.  And, obviously he helped some younger years out in the class – it was really difficult, after all, but Hattie Woolfolk was smart.  She liked silly things, sure, and she was totally loud and dressed like a human-cupcake sometimes, but she was a bright witch.  What did she need his help for?  “I’m… uh… sure she’s not that bad,” he managed to say, even if he had no idea.  The other Woolfolk girl was a seventh year and if he never imagined talking to Hattie, Neely Woolfolk didn’t even really enter his mind.  She could probably read though… it’d be difficult to pass classes without that…

He was going to mention it but, she proclaimed he was brilliant and his ability to speak further disappeared.  He closed his mouth only to open it again, feeling the dryness settling in like a dehydrating spell on his tongue.  Did she move closer?  Merlin, he was sure she moved closer.  He could smell her.  She smelled good.  That made it that much worse. 

She was asking about his work and he looked back at the textbook.  Suddenly it made a little more sense that it talked about electricity as a shock, something that could kill you.  Did humans make electricity?  He was certain girls were made of it.  Maybe he could put that in his parchment.  “A parchment,” he admitted sheepishly, “from Muggle Studies – the electricity one.”  He paused and flexed his hands, wishing his palms would dry.  “Have you – I mean, did you – finished it yet?” he fumbled lamely. 

Oh, Fred Radley. Neely, 'not that bad.' Ha. Hattie’s face was the picture of that single, sarcastic syllable.

“A parchment? Go on,” Hattie insisted, waltzing straight through the door he’d left wide open for teasing. Fred Radley was a smart boy— and an accomplished one, if one considered that badge on his sweater— but Merlin did he make it easy sometimes. How adorable and convenient for Hattie. And maybe a little ill-stared for Fred. (If he was into Astronomy.) She can began to wiggle out of her cardigan, and whipped it around like a lasso, letting it land unceremoniously atop his schoolwork. “Studying always makes me hot.”

“Do you already have hair dryers and speakers?” She leaned closer to peak at his work. And perhaps (definitely) brushed her cardigan dangerously close to the table’s edge without a care, its soft wool teetering toward Fred’s lap. She looked down at his thorough hand. “I used those. Hair dryers seem very practical compared with a lot of it. But have you noticed how obsessed muggles are with antiperspirant?” She looked up. “There’s a whole aisle of it in every corner store in London. I bet they could make that with electricity. They’d be unstoppably dry by then.” Hattie waggled her brows at him, perhaps not totally lost on the truth that poor Fred was currently clammy. “I guess sweaty humans and electricity might be a dangerous mix… Oh, have you tried those other sorts of dryers? The ones for hands in the loo?”

Hattie waited expectantly before going on. “I mean, we’ll both need to scrub down if you’re going to help me with Potions.” Her grin was glittering wildly again, banking on his help without any affirmation. “We’re sort of a dream team, Freddy. You’re diligent and conscientious and I’m…” Hattie. “What would you call me?” Ponytail spilled over her shoulder as she questioned him like an auror. Her fingers danced across the table top and tapped at the hardback atop her small stack. “One use for electricity, for one good potions reference? Did I even get close with this one?” Her eyes finally let him go as they moved back to the table to assess her damage. But they were quick to pendulum back up. “Have a lolli, Freddy, you look a little peakish.” Hattie reached into the depths of her bag and drew out two Honeydukes sweets: one cherry red, one swirly peaches-and-cream.

There was no explanation for why this was happening to him.  Frederick Radley had clearly offended someone so deeply in a past life that this was the form of his karmic retribution.  “A parchment,” he said in a strangled voice with an uncertain nod, rubbing his hands against his knees under the table – oh gosh his palms were clammy.  Was it actually getting hot in the library? 

He certainly felt it.  Hattie said she felt hot.  It wasn’t studying that was making him sweat though.  Looking at her bare shoulders and eyes glancing downward, Fred must have turned bright pink.  That was her stomach.  Wasn’t that against the rules?  If he could remember the rules he definitely would have said something.  Instead, he kept his lips buttoned and tried not to focus too hard on the fact that he could totally see way more skin than was normal for a day at Hogwarts. 

And when she leaned closer… was that flowers?  Really? She smelled like flowers?  This was just… He couldn’t even focus on the fact that she was trying to help him with ideas.  Latching onto the first word he could actually pull out, he blinked: “what’s a speaker?”  It didn’t matter. 

He could pick up his quill and start writing.  Hattie seemed full of ideas and she just didn’t stop talking, voice lilting in the way that girls’ voices did and his hands shook as he tried to write – thinking that hand driers would have been exceptionally useful for him right now.  He jotted it down with a sentence or two to explain.  “You uh… know a lot about muggles,” Fred commented with a shaking voice and laid down the quill on his parchment.  He could really use some of that antipersperant right now.  Hopefully Hattie couldn’t see the stains that were surely soaked through on the white shirt under his sweater. 

At least with Hattie, he had a few more ideas than he started with. And since she helped him with his assignment, he guessed it was only fair that he help her.  He knew better than to answer the question she posed though.  There was no winning when a girl asked you what you thought about her.  Freddy was nervous, but he wasn’t stupid.  Gulping, he shifted in his seat and he nodded.  “O-okay,” he nodded, “I can uh… help with potions,” he agreed ignoring the hair that brushed against his cheek when she flipped it over her shoulder.  Was she doing this on purpose?  She had to be. 

He gripped the edge of the table and glanced at the lolli, shaking his head, “n-no thank you,” he stammered and cleared his throat, trying to sit up straight.  “We’re… uh… not supposed to eat in the library,” he added anxiously.  “M-maybe we should get to potions, huh?”

"A parchment,”

“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up,” she summarized with jolly sarcasm. She stared at him unblinking, painfully devil-may-care.

It didn’t prevent her from complaining about things like the temperature in the library, but such pronouncements were all in the same matter-of-fact voice, as if she didn’t notice Fred’s tension.

As if she were wearing a McGonagall-approved set of robes and not a crop-top-turned-weapon, Hattie twisted so that her back faced the library’s main thoroughfare. “A speaker, you know, like an Amplifying Charm made of electricity.” Hattie was proud that she learned the word so expertly; it was integral to Muggle life, and she liked to throw it around at the dinner table back home when she wanted to impress her parents’ friends. “It’s all contained in a box that plugs into a wall and has a screen that filters the sound.” She spoke as casually and confidently as if she had invented the thing. Glancing down at her nails— which were painted a clean, gleaming white— she grinned. “I heard the ones at their festivals are so huge and loud that they can knock you over.” She looked back up Fred. “We could take a field trip in the summer, if you want. The professor would probably praise us.” Her family would not.

Hattie shrugged and her knees knocked the tiniest bit into Fred’s thigh. “You sort of have to know about them these days, especially if you’re going to trot around London.” She waited a moment to gauge whether Fred Radley did a lot of trotting through the city himself. “When I stay at Neely’s, she takes me shopping in Bond Street. You can’t go to Bond Street if you don’t know about taxis and blow-outs.”

But enough of admitting that Neely had taught her something. It was better if Fred believed she couldn’t read. It made Hattie the smart Woolfolk, the one whose back to scratch if he wanted his scratched, too.

She sat up in her seat, grinning hazardously quick and big. The little gap between her two front teeth seemed to promise trouble. “Really?” But she was already pulling a book toward them, nudging it into the table real estate occupied by her sweater so that poor Freddy’s personal space was overly crowded by all things Hattie. At the same time, she popped the red lolly into her mouth, giving it a good, thoughtful siphon and ignoring Fred’s warning.

“Yes, let’s get started on Potions,” she agreed, as she pulled the sweet away from her lips. She pointed it at the chapter she’d opened, gestured exasperatedly at the picture of a core ingredient in the Invigoration Draught. “This one seems like a lot of effort for something you could do on your own. I can think of a million ways to invigorate someone,” she said, as if he might want to add them to his list for Muggle Studies. With another little smile, she licked at the lolly. “Have yours, it won’t bite. No one’s going to care at this hour. They keep you awake.” And anyway... “I guess we can't brew here and now, though, can we?”

Hattie Woolfolk sure knew a lot about muggles.  He was actually surprised.  He didn’t think purebloods cared that much about muggles, his family certainly didn’t and they were just half-bloods!  Sure, according to his mum these things didn’t matter as much anymore and blood status was more of a… technicality than anything, but sometimes the stereotypes held true and Fred had never considered that he could go to her for help. 

Of course, he wouldn’t have done that for a lot of reasons.  Hattie was terrifying.  Not only was she smart but she was really pretty.  In your face pretty, really.  Like he couldn’t escape it.  Not with so much skin and eyes and -- was he sweating?  He was definitely sweating.  But if he took off his jumper he would have sweat marks… that would be embarrassing.  This whole thing was embarrassing. 

Instead, he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and scribbled down what she was saying, “That sounds… um… I’d have to… I’ll let you know!” he was able to finally squeak out, knowing that he would never even dare ask.  Not because he was afraid his mum would say no, but the terror that if she said yes he would have to go.  It’d only be okay if Bastian or Connor or Alistair were going as well, and even then they would probably do something mortifying.  Why was it that all of his friends – and girls – were a recipe for disaster? 

He didn’t have time to ruminate on that deep, existential question before Hattie was going on about London and Fred found it difficult to concentrate.  He just wrote down things that she was saying and hoped that the jumble of words would be suitable for the professor.  He shoved the parchment out of the way and figured he’d go over it later and worry about whether or not it made sense. There wasn’t a kneazle’s chance in a three-headed dog’s cage chance he was going to get through it right now. 

At least potions was something he was good at.  He could summon the confidence to do this, even if Hattie was trying to kill him with that lollipop.  It wasn’t a sweet as much as it was a knife that was expertly wielded against him.  The Invigoration Draught.  “It’s actually a lot less work than it looks like,” he stuttered and pointed at the directions, “you have to let it sit for a while – you don’t even stir it.  It’s really all about the preparation steps.” 

He gulped and shoved the book a little closer to her, so he wouldn’t have to have her crowding over him.  That was oppressive.  It made it hotter.  “The fresh peppermint leaves need to be crushed four times, not three,” he handed her his quill, “mum says that works better.  And you want to juice half a lemon.”  Citrus and peppermint were perfect for waking people up.  Though, he coughed and reached for that lolly that she had offered him (it gave him something to do) and popped it into his mouth with a tight lipped and anxious (gassy baby) smile.  “Did you…” he mumbled, the lolly taking away from his ability to annunciate words, “want to practice?”

The more Fred squirmed like a flobberworm, the more Hattie appeared to make herself comfortable in the Hufflepuff’s personal space. The cardigan, the stretching of her ever-lengthening limbs, the blissful disregard for the snack ban.

If Freddie got this worked up about vague summer plans, she wondered what he’d do if she threw a rager in the Astronomy tower to celebrate the aforementioned summer. Or, you know, helped someone older and more experienced do it, mostly to avoid the detention or owls which Primrose might see. She had a reputation as favorite sister to keep.

Hattie smiled with seeming patience and understanding— mostly because she had plenty of both when she was up to something. “Yeah, no problem. I know mums can be wet blankets about that sort of thing. I’m glad mine has three other daughters to worry about. You’re an only child, aren’t you, Freddie?” She asked, as if she were not only an expert on muggles, but promising in the art of divination. “Not the selfish kind, though.”

Freddie seemed less on the verge of collapse when he started to explain the draught. Hattie wondered if it was a sign that he was going to be a good teacher. She knew he’d tutored others before, so the sweat and nerves had to melt away eventually. She leaned over the page, ignoring a strand of blond that added color and style to the otherwise drab picture of ingredients, and let her eyes fly from the text to Freddie and back again. They were suspicious, but keen, as if she were willing to reframe the task on his terms. Or half on his terms. “Ok, but,” She began, and pointed at a rather straightforward line on instruction, the red of the lolli an accusatory thing. “I swear I’ve followed things like this to a T—” Not for Troll. She wasn’t that bad at potions. “A thousand times, and it’s never perfect.” It was decidedly less than perfect, when it was Hattie’s potions work.

Her lips parted in mild exasperation as he continued. Hattie held the sticky treat at bay and took the quill with her other hand. She swished its feathery end at Freddie’s prefect badge in argument. “If it’s that simple, why are we correcting the genius who wrote this?” Her brows frisked up in interrogation, even as she turned her cheek sharply and began to mark up the instructions. Hattie’s neat, governess-impressed hand seemed somehow indignant at the very idea of the book’s author precluding a round of peppermint leaf crushing. Four, you fool, it seemed to say. She finished the note with a brisk, upward flourish of the quill’s point and cocked her head at Freddie. This time there was a little smirk. “I mean, if you’re not too busy…” She didn’t glance down at his homework. “A visual might help. This one’s a little flat.” She tapped the quill atop the picture in the book before shoving it back at Freddie. “I can quiz you on toasters and blenders on the way to the dungeons,” she grinned, grazing the sweet across the promise of her smile. “You’ll be a certified electrician before Vaillancourt catches us.”

This was entirely too much for Frederick Radley.  He had just come to the library to get his work done and now here he was, sweating and stammering next to Hattie Woolfolk who seemed to be unaware of what she was doing… or worse… did not care that every time she got close to him he probably turned another shade of red darker.   It wasn’t like this with all girls, but Hattie wasn’t exactly his friend… and their interactions were limited.  It was much harder to ignore how pretty someone was when you hadn’t seen them burp or fall on their face or anything.  He just nodded at her question about being an only child and sighed. 

He could focus on school if he couldn’t conjure an image that made Hattie seem more human and less girl bent on destroying his life.  It sort of helped that she seemed to have no idea what she was doing in potion’s class. That definitely made things easier.  Clearing his throat, he nodded when she indicated she had done everything to the recipe, but that wasn’t necessarily true. 

“Have you considered your timing?” sometimes, he found, when classmates were reviewing the directions they missed some crucial moments.  “Besides, he might have been a genius but that doesn’t mean it’s the be-all-end-all.  There’s always a way to do things better.”  Godric, he sounded like a right nerd.   With a sigh, Fred lifted his eyes from the book to see the smirk on Hattie’s face. 

Immediately, he was a little regretful of the whole looking up thing.  He wasn’t sure how Professor Vaillancourt would feel about finding them in the dungeons.  He was a prefect… he didn’t want to break any rules… Gnawing on the inside of his lip, he didn’t know what to do.  But, she was smiling like that and she could probably use the help… shirking his shoulders, he felt himself inwardly die.  He was going to regret this, he just knew it. 

“Okay,” he squeaked before regaining control of his voice.  “I mean, I am part of potions club… so it’ll be fine…”  I hope, went without saying.  Tucking his papers into his book, Fred packed up in what he hoped was more grace than he felt like he was exhibiting.  Nope, not even close.  His history of magic book tumbled to the floor.  “Fizzing whizzbees,” he grunted and pushed his chair out to fish the book off the floor.  When he straightened back up, he mumbled an apology before reaching up to run his hands through the closely cropped curls atop his head. 

“I’m not sure I want to be an electrician though…” he added, trying to lamely fill up the quiet because it was important to do so.  “For the sake of everyone involved, I think.”  He chuckled awkwardly and swung his pack up and stood.  “Ready?” 

Hattie didn’t have to be told twice to take Fred up on his reassurances— to himself. If it comforted him to tell himself he was in Potions club, he was a Prefect, blah blah blah, she’d let him have at it. They needed to get down and dirty if she was going to improve her marks for this assignment. Besides, it was always more fun, adding a bit of bite to an otherwise tedious assignment. She was plenty good at many of her lessons, but potions managed to get all the dirt with none of the excitement— usually.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said, already tugging at his sleeve with a few fingers of the hand that held the lolli, and using her free arm to collect various belongings and shove them into her bag. She used her wand to tidy up the remaining book and parchment. They packed themselves away and Hattie slung the thing over her shoulder, tying her cardigan at her waist.

“Trust me, you’d be a brilliant electrician,” she added, as they trotted out of the library. She looked over her shoulder at him as they crossed the threshold. “Are you good with ladders and sparks?"

Probably not.

“By the way,” she added, once he caught up to her in the corridor outside of the library. “My timing is not the issue.” She was smooth as a song on the Wireless! She’d grown up riding horses! She knew how to jump when it was called for. “Are you really advocating ignoring the book and breaking the potion guru’s rules?” Hattie tilted her head at them, not bothering to look where she was going as they made their way down a set of stairs that led to a series of winding shortcuts to the dungeons. She effortlessly skipped the invisible step that had trapped younger students and clumsy ones aplenty. “You, Freddie? Where do you get your timing if you’re just throwing the book out the window?”

Probably from another book. He was the sort of boy who said “Fizzing whizzbees” outloud. Hattie nearly began to laugh at this thought, caught herself, and splayed a hand across her neck to temper the grin on her face and the tickle in her throat. “Come on, I know a shortcut to the shortcut.” She waved her wand, and suddenly a tapestry threw itself back, revealing an exceptionally narrow, untrustworthy spiral staircase that plunged into darkness.

It was half a second before Hattie was declaring that they should leave and Fred was so surprised that he didn’t really have a moment to even consider saying no.  Standing immediately, he tucked his books and papers into his bag – messier than he would ever considering do so if he was alone and followed her and her very tiny swinging skirt out of the library. 

Next to her, he felt rather like a dwarf because he had to take what seemed like two steps for every one of her long-legged strides.  His cheeks were hot and pink as he trotted at her side.  Her question took him off guard and he laughed, almost out of breath.  “I uh… no, I don’t think that’d be good for me,” he smiled awkwardly, “though I do fly!” he felt the need to point that out.  Probably because there were two modes he was operating in at this moment:  say everything or say nothing.

Once he felt his ears starting to turn pink, he moved into the saying nothing phase.  It was so much easier to follow along and keep up if he wasn’t worried about talking.  Honestly, who had given Hattie Woolfolk legs like a unicorn?  Who?!  They needed to be punished because their choice was certainly hurting Fred. 

Right no, don’t start at her legs.  No, no.  Not her bum either.  Oh Merlin. Fred coughed into his hand, trying to remind himself that he could breathe and stare upward, but then hattie was asking him questions and he flushed again.  She would totally know he was staring at her bum for like two full minutes in the hallway.  His mum would have smacked him upside the head.  Obviously Hattie had been talking, he hadn’t listened at all. 

This was horrible.  He just smiled meekly in response and shrugged.  “Lucky, I guess,” he chuckled and hope that was good enough for her question.  Whatever it was.  Oh Merlin, he was horrible.  Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gnawed at the corner of his pointer finger’s nail.  Hattie was talking about shortcuts and then there was a passage and Fred’s eyes went wide.  “Uh… Hattie…?” he looked at her (fizzing whizbees, did she have to be pretty?  Of course she did.  It was a thing girls did.  Be pretty. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” he poked his head into the small passage and glanced over his shoulder at her.  Neither of them were necessarily giants, but the passage was small and Fred found he had to be on a sort of angle to get his shoulders through.  “You’ve used it before?” he clarified, taking a step inside.  She could be sure it was safe but never have survived it – like a healer or something (Fred had a distinct distrust for healers).  The light was already seeming to disappear and it was damp.

He imagined this was what the inside of a nose had to feel like… but cold.  The steps were also kind of slippery.  “Be careful,” he looked back toward her – light from the hallway illuminating her from behind.  Fred fumbled for his wand - remembering he had it in his waist band - and cast a quick lumos.  The stairs were small and something moved out of the corner of his eye.  Was that a spider? Ugh.  "Better?" his voice shook slightly, despite his effort to be brave even though it looked like the spiral stairs would never end. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to fly under a ladder. It’s bad luck,” she countered authoritatively, puffing a bit as if she were trying to rile Primrose into a mock debate in the Wizengamot. (She’d always wanted her sister to land there, so that she, Hattie, might sneak a prime seat and watch her eldest sister destroy the competition.)

The more Freddie looked like he’s swallowed a Weasley-spiked punch, the more Hattie was tempted to prod him— literally— with her sticky sweet. Would he collapse? Melt? Trip them down a moving staircase? Her hair swished as her head turned deftly away from him, eyes anchoring themselves to the mouth of a favorite shortcut, legs beckoning Fred Radley to join her.

The irony, that Freddie, of the two of them, should be the lucky one, was not lost on the youngest Woolfolk. He was lucky and suffering both, but she could sure use a dose of the former where Potions was concerned. The latter was highly entertaining, a little endearing, if Hattie were honest with herself.

She popped the lolli back into her mouth and waved a dismissive hand as she teetered forward, looking over the railing into the abyss. “Why wouldn’t it be? This is Hogwarts.” The safest place in the wizarding world, if her parents were to be believed. Try as she might to convince Primrose it was a prison, she was still stuck safely behind its walls.

Hattie turned, finally, her eyes catching Fred’s as her hand took hold of the treat again. She smiled, her teeth now unoccupied. “Magnus Snagley told me about it.” The broad-shouldered seventh year with an endless supply of pet names for his schoolmates and himself. If he wasn’t the most glowing advocate, being a blood relative of an infamous scooter accident victim, he was eighteen, and a Slytherin.

Hattie stepped aside with an exaggerated air of gentle nobility, allowing Fred to pass first. She squeezed in after him, shoulders brushing in the cramped, disused cavern. She was sure if she had a prefect along with her on her descent into darkness, he would serve as a reliable shield should anything go wrong.

“I’m fine,” she promised, hovering just behind him, as if she might go flying over his shoulder or topple them both. But Hattie had been raised in a household that demanded grace— at least the appearance of it— and so they made it down a pair of steps without Fred being barreled forward prematurely.

He thought to light his wand, and the little space flooded with a warm glow that made the damp feel less… well, damp. “Much,” gushed, grinning. Hattie slipped past him, planting a foot solidly upon the wet, narrow stair just below him. She reached back blindly and grabbed at his wrist, tugging him along, implying he should quicken his pace. “See? Magnus wouldn’t lead a girl wrong.”

As they continued to descend, the wand’s light seemed to be less useful. The warm air from the corridor above all but disappeared, and dusty stone stretched high overhead, a blank, dreary canvas without even slumbering portrait for company.

They were halfway down when Hattie felt it, something crawling over her shoe. She let out a screech and jumped.