Title taken from Part I, Chapter 10 of Black Beauty.

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Taking Audrey’s advice, Primrose had decided to surprise her sister (not really a surprise, given she intended to see her and told her so in a letter) during the Hogsmeade weekend.  She’d been writing home frequently and demanding all sorts of ridiculous things – and threatening all manner of others – so it was probably best to check in with her and see just what was wrong. 

She didn’t want her sister to buckle under the pressure or decide that school wasn’t the place for her – but she also didn’t want to shove her sister’s unhappiness to the side, despite Hattie’s propensity toward the melodramatic.  She didn’t want to assume it was nothing and have it turn out to be something serious…

At least Prim came prepared for whatever it was.  Hattie wasn’t a simple girl, but she was easy to please.  Chocolates (originally intended as part of a parcel for Grigory’s sister – he informed her she didn’t like chocolate) were stashed away in Prim’s bag and although she decided against bringing Odette to Hogsmeade.  The poor thing shook when anyone but Hattie handled her, bless it wouldn’t get through apparation alive.  She had a few pictures for her.  Additionally, a picture of Wild Flower and Honey – she deserved a place on Hattie’s Hogwarts wall as much as the others – may have snuck into the pile. 

Armed with her gifts, Prim managed to steal away from the rest of the world to take what she might consider a little trip to the past (sans time turner).  She’d forgotten how packed the village got on these weekends.  Groups of students darted about, house scarves, pins, and indicators emblazoned across their cloaks and accessories.  She remembered these days well, not that she had ever really darted. Even now, she had to weave rather expertly between the children who seemed wholly unaware of their surroundings or that other people in the world existed.

Depending on how this went, she already had her parchment out on the desk in her room. She sent up a silent hope that, if something did go wrong her current distraction (and perhaps favorite person outside of her family) would be available.  Maybe even if nothing went wrong, actually… she considered as she stood in front of the Quill shop – just where she’d told Hattie she would be.  Perhaps they’d go to the Three Broomsticks, even if it promised to be full of teens with raging hormones and questionable hygiene whilst away from their parents. 

Lipwitch-coated fingers were crossed at the small of her back, stowed safely behind escapee strands of yellow-gold. A owl-shaped ring glinted as said fingers bent toward a suit of armor. The charmed bit of jewelry (a London fair find) ruffled its tiny feathers, apparently opposed to the idea of plodding off in the daylight attached to the finger of a girl who was more concerned with smuggling bunnies than tending her trinkets.

As the caretaker counted them off, muttering their names as the quill found them on the list, Hattie offered an alluring grin. She was up to no good, and so she had to look her most virtuous.

Her fingers tightened, annoying the tired owl. A nod of approval set her free, and the girl swung her arm forward, skipping out of the hall with a fellow Slytherin fifth year and a laugh about someone who was still stuck in the queue. Heads bobbed dangerously close to one another as they capered down the lawn, short skirts and unconcealed stares promising conspiracy.

By the time they passed through the gates, Hattie was bragging loudly about getting to spend the day with her sister: older, long-graduated, polished. Harbinger of gifts and experience.

“I’ll see you later,” she called, darting off as she spotted a patent blonde head in the crowd. Primrose had a slightly sharper jaw, tamer hair, and a comparably sophisticated wardrobe. Otherwise, she was Hattie’s duplicate. A fated mirror-image.

“Primrosieposie!” The moniker bounced upon the cobbles like a smooth stone skipping on water. Hattie’s arms flung wide— the owl had given up, exhausted, and was now hiding beneath one wing— and she flung herself recklessly toward her sister. “Ahh, you’re here, you came, you’re rescuing me. Did you bring Odette?” She managed to get out in the same delighted breath as her arms encircled the older witch.

She pulled back, holding her sister’s forearms. “Can we have butterbeer? I’m good with firewhiskey if you’d prefer that.” All said casually. Hattie canted her cheek, whisking her hair back insouciantly. “We can go to the menagerie for rabbit food and then find swimsuits.” She dropped Prim’s arms abruptly, forming a sort of W with her own. Questioning, affronted. “I need a tan. Wild Flower won’t even recognize me. Maybe Papa won’t even recognize me. Maybe I’ll be able to climb out of my window now.” Onto the back of a boy's broom. She grinned, huge and childlike.

There was only a brief moment when Primrose saw a group of Gryffindors strolling down the walkway toward Honeydukes that she felt a distinct pang of nostalgia, maybe laced with a little regret that she hadn’t ever really taken advantage of her time at Hogsmeade.  She’d always focused more on academics at school and blamed her lack of socialization on priorities instead of poor social skills and a desire to prove herself, often at the expense of others.  Now, however, she wasn’t looking so much to relive those days as ensure that they didn’t end for her little sister. 

[i”Primrosieposie!”[/i] she heard the familiar (and saccharine) nickname and instantly turned her head toward the direction of the sound.  Sure enough, her little (well not so little, actually) sister was barreling toward her and caused her to lose her footing as she flung into her arms.  Primrose opened her arms and squeezed tight.

It was like a breath of fresh air in springtime.  Hattie was all smiles and warmth – she might have thought softness, but the voracious nature of her hug made it an ill-fit descriptor.  “Of course I came, and sadly I didn’t bring Odette – she hates my purse,” she gave her sister another squeeze before placing her hands on her shoulders to separate them just a little bit.  Thankfully, Hattie seemed to have the same idea, and Prim smiled fondly. 

Even though, as the oldest sister, she shouldn’t have favorites, she absolutely did and Hattie was hers.  Her cheek did not surprise Primrose and instead, she rolled her eyes.  “Butterbeers sound wonderful,” she wisely ignored her sister’s request for something harder and hooked her arm around her elbow, lightly patting Hattie’s hand as she listened to her bemoan the situation around her supposed lack of tan. 

To be truthful, the Woolfolk family had never taken very well to the sun and Primrose didn’t know if they so much tanned or burned… but she kept her comment to herself and nodded empathetically.  “Why don’t we just start with the butterbeer and I can give you the present I did bring,” she grinned deviously – a look she had only started to perfect (while her sister was already an expert).  “Though,” she added in a singsong voice, turning her eyes upward and away from Hattie’s smiling face, “if you decide you’re too old and mature for presents now, I’m sure I could find someone else to give it to… maybe Amaryllis… though she’s not short on presents…” she pretended to think, tapping her finger to her chin and pursing her already full lips.  “And that probably means you’re paying for those butterbeers.” 

She paused and grinned again, speeding up her steps, “I’m enjoying this visit more and more!” 

“Maybe we should buy you a new purse,” Hattie declared, furrowing her brows and letting her eyes drop from Prim’s to the bag in question. It was cute, perfectly sized to conceal Odette, and she was sure the bunny would be at home snuggled up inside. But if Prim was going to give her a bit of an in— however small a sliver it was— Hattie was going to take it and fly. “There are a couple of shops Neely would call Acceptable.” The word was said in her cousin’s tone, like a professor stamping an A on a practice OWL. Hattie thought Neely could only hope for A’s in most of her subjects; Hogwarts didn’t offer any courses on accessorizing.

But Hattie was good at arguing, Prim too had a politically-gifted tongue— and Ministry experience on her side. (Plus age, seasons of networking and hobnobbing, and that painfully unfair Big Sister wisdom.) Her neutral, pleasant agreement made Hattie’s eyes narrow, but only for a moment. “OK!” Her answer came bright, an Apparater’s turn from the look on her face. She grinned. She couldn’t very well say no to butterbeer.

Or gifts.

Her arm looped through her sister’s, Hattie puffed up a little as they meandered down the high road. She loved showing off Primrose to her classmates. She knew they were envious, wished they had sisters as brilliant. Ones who snuck in contraband and gifts, could be forced to talk about those witch problems that one wished to avoid with one’s mum, and who represented something that Neely herself didn’t have.

Hattie drew in a breath, clearly offended. “Amaryllis doesn’t need it!” She didn’t even know what it was, but Amaryllis was the sweet, agreeable one. The selfless one. She could live without Hattie’s gift. “No one is too old for gifts, Primrose. Even you,” she pointed out accusatorially. She wisely avoided the bit about her having to pay— for the moment. “I’ve seen you under our Christmas tree, remember?” And Hattie had always been the self-designated composer of gift-opening, much to Marigold’s dismay, she knew the infectious spirit of the holidays couldn’t escape even Primrose. “Have you received any good ones lately?” She added, now wiggling her brows. “Has mum bought you a new bra? Any eligible wizards showering you with jewelry?” She  inspected her sister’s ears for glints of precious gem.

Matching her sister’s step after a fraction of a second— and trying to wring her in with the arm she’d attempted to keep tangled with Prim’s, she was forced to confront the terrible possibility of the day: “Just because you brought me something doesn’t mean I’m flush with galleons! I can’t have a job in this prison, remember? I don’t even have a sister who will help me reunite with my bunny.” It was said in the same tone one would use to stick out a tongue. Hattie’s own bright pink one was just on the edge of doing so. But she would wait until after the bill was presented and paid.

The door over the Three Broomsticks jingled merrily as they ushered themselves through it. Hattie peaked over Prim’s shoulder, looking for a table. “You should have brought one of those Ministry bodyguards. The ones in the really imposing robes with the ties.” Her head shot sideways, her hair falling like a Shield Charm to prevent Prim hexing her. (Not that she would.) “Have you met any of them? Their hands are massive.”

It was like clockwork.  As soon as Primrose mentioned one of their other sisters getting a special treat or surprise, it seemed like a new life sprung out of Hattie and she instantly had something to say.  This time, of course, it was to pronounce Maree was not in need of a gift, the suggestion that Hattie was worthy, of course, went unspoken.  Primrose smirked and walked alongside her sister and tried not to laugh as she conjured images of Christmas. 

The amused smile turned nostalgic.  This past Christmas had been lovely, better than Prim expected.  It’d also brought a new old friend into her life, once she resisted the urge to despise him on principle, anyhow.  Now that was it’s own amusement, though not the kind their parents or the tabloids speculated it was.  Primrose had another entirely wonderful distraction in that department.  And though sometimes she wanted to tell her sisters, she knew they were far less able to keep things to themselves than she was. 

Not that it was a secret, really, anymore.  But, Primrose wasn’t ready to let her family into something so new.  Getting to know them, that seemed far too big of a step at this point.  Right now, Prim was content with letting their closest friends know and trying to fit into something from there.  While she had once been concerned about Irina’s role in Grigory’s life (a moment streaked with panic that she was back to house wrecking), now she was getting to know her and was content that she was so very wrong. 

Almost as wrong as Hattie’s questioning.  Giving her a cross look, Prim waited a moment before turning up her nose and trying to avoid blushing.  “You are ridiculous,” she avoided the question, “and I’m sure if you wrote mum she would tell you.  You know how fond she is of sharing everyone’s business.” An unfortunate truth.  Prim knew far more about her sisters than she ever needed to know and she was sure they probably felt the same way after a conversation with their mother. 

And like a flash, Hattie was onto something else – the prison thing again.  She remembered what Audrey had said and her throat felt a little scratchy.  Was something really, truly wrong?  Looking at Hattie, Prim wouldn’t have thought so.  She was rosy cheeked and as feisty as ever.  “Yes well, that’s true.  From the sounds of it, you might want to contact the muggle government and get state assistance.”  Her sister was proficient in muggle studies, she assumed she would get the joke as they walked through and into the Three Broomsticks. 

Hattie was in the business of telling jokes of her own and Primrose raised her eyebrows at her, “And how would you know that?” she queried with just a hint of accusation in her voice.  “I hope you didn’t convince Mum to take you to the old office without my knowledge and then sneak off to stare at hulking boys,” a little too close to home, Prim realized and then quickly edged around a group of mixed house students. 

“Outside of missing Odette terribly,” Prim looked back at Hattie, “has everything been alright?  Your letters…” she licked her lips, unsure of how to say this, which was exactly why she settled on just being plain, “Are you really considering dropping out, Hattie?” 

“I wrote her!” Hattie defended, taking on the expression a little girl might wear when she was standing about with hands on hips. Only Hattie was ushering her sister toward the pub, trying to beg off bits of Prim-approved scandal (and perhaps barter an alcoholic drink out of the deal, too.) “Three weeks ago.” She’d been busy since, especially because she knew her mother would never fall for the Odette scheme. She’d had to try her luck with Prim. “Anyway, you’re right— she loves telling all of your secrets. I don’t need to ask her for her to tell me whether she bought you lingerie.” She just needed to be Hattie. “Which means that’s a no.”

Honestly, did Hattie need to teach her sisters everything about womanhood? Wasn’t that Prim’s job?!

“So what’s it gonna be? Black and lacy, or red— deep red, not cherry red—” She lifted her hands to her chest, where they hovered in animated cups that bounced along as she did. “In crushed velvet.” She looked back up at Prim, her hands still miming.

“Yes well, that’s true.  From the sounds of it, you might want to contact the muggle government and get state assistance.”

Hattie’s face fell. “My own family would turn me over to the other Ministry before helping me out with a mid-semester visit with my only daughter.” Wild Flower notwithstanding. “What would your father say?” (Hattie knew what she would say: Papa!)

Once in the pub, she began to expertly detangle her coat from her sprouting figure, turning it inside out in the process. “How wouldn’t I know that? Do you remember the last holiday party where they let kids attend?” She grinned, reminiscing.

A table emerged before them, miraculously empty of ruddy cheeks and schoolboy games of parchment quidditch. Hattie followed Prim, nearly missing her question as she dodged a bludger from another table. “What?” She asked, processing it and then realizing. “Primrose.” Hattie’s lips parted and her cheeks pinked in the first glimpse of humility anyone had seen of her all day. “Do you really think I would? I mean—” She gestured at the other blonde even as she dropped her coat nonchalantly over the back of her chair. “I am your sister.”

As if on cue, the elusive snitch whizzed past her ear, and Hattie turned to grab at it. But paper ball buzzed toward the ceiling before her fingertips could graze it. Brow furrowing, the fifth year whipped out her wand and hissed Incendio. If her fingers weren’t fast enough for it, her charms were. The paper trinket burst into flames and turned to ash before the barman could spy it. Embers hit the ground like bits of a discarded cigarette, glowing once and then dying.

“Like I said, your sister,” she said proudly, turning back to Prim. She flopped into her seat. “I have a promising future ahead of me. I can't possibly quit school and disappoint all of those Ministry officials who are going to work for me one day.”

Hattie swung back swung back her hair, and gave the Three Broomsticks’ scene a quick scan. No one important seemed to have arrived yet (including, luckily, the barman), which meant all of her attention was for Prim. It would have been, anyway.

When a barmaid surfaced, she beelined for them, clearly glad to serve an actual adult. In no time at all, a pair of butterbeers were levitated over, including a piping hot one with all of the garnish for the younger Woolfolk, who had not been able to talk her sister into something stronger. Hattie planted her elbows before her, leaning forward both childishly and without modesty. “You know, Prim,” she drew it out, tracing her finger through the peak of whipped cream atop her butterbeer and tracing it across her lip pensively. “If you’re embarrassed to buy a bra, we could pretend it’s for me. I bet they’d believe it, if you let me in the changing room with you.” She popped her finger in her mouth, smiling around it.

If Hattie didn’t have aspirations for government work, Primrose could absolutely see her gracing a stage.  Her proclivity toward the dramatic in the Woolfolk household could hardly be rivaled, even by Marigold.  Even then, it was completely endearing when it was Hattie pretending she had large breasts and invoking their father in a ridiculous string of scenarios that were not happening – at all. 

Prim laughed along as they continued to walk and shrugged as she slid her cloak off of her arms.  Hattie was much more frantic in her movements, as she was in most things, really.  Prim watched her fondly as she danced around the edges of tables and blessedly, they were able to find something that didn’t have other teenagers loitering about it. 

“You’ve always been allowed to attend the holiday parties, Hattie,” she rolled her eyes.  Even when she was the youngest, all decked out in frills and bows, Prim had always volunteered to watch her and take her around.  She had always liked showing off her baby sister, and then she became old enough to show herself off – still with frills and bows, mind.  Some things never changed. 

But, that wasn’t really the point of this meeting, was it?  Big hands and parties aside, Prim was more concerned with Hattie’s academic career and where it was going.  It was like a weight lifted off her shoulders when she indicated that it was not in her plans to leave Hogwarts forever.  “Good!” she breathed out, resting her hands on her stomach as she breathed out. 

“Mum would have been terribly disappointed,” she added with a smile as the butterbeers were promptly delivered, dollops of cream on the top – the only proper way to enjoy a butterbeer.  It made her miss her school days, to some extent.  She wrapped her hands around the cup and sighed with relief at the warmth, lifting it up. 

She practically choked when Hattie brought it back.  She never forgot a thing.  Prim wouldn’t be surprised that when she could conjure a patronus it would be an elephant.  “Hyacinth,” she hissed over her cup and placed it down, “don’t be ridiculous.”  This was not a conversation she wanted to have with her sister.  Especially considering she’d just purchased several of the garments in question and none of them were fit for discussion with Hattie.  Nor would she ever find them. 

Despite Hattie’s insistence on rifling through her dresser drawers, Prim always had her secrets and was exceptionally good at keeping them by now.  “If you are in the market for such a garment though,” Prim raised her eyebrows and sipped her butterbeer, “you will have to owl mum.  I cannot be coerced,” evidenced by the very non-alcoholic drink in front of her. 

“Besides,” the corners of her lips quirked into a smile, “If it were up to me, it’d be enchanted to stay on forever.  Positively glued to your skin.”  She paused and tilted her head, eyes wandering upward, “You know,” she met her sister’s eyes again, “on the other hand, if you’re interested, I’d be happy to purchase that for you.  Consider it your staying in school present!” 

“But not the cool ones,” she huffed. “Only the ones with more sweets than wine.” Or equal amounts.

Alright, there was probably more wine in her father’s collection than Christmas pastries on the sweets buffet, no matter the occasion. (And that was saying something, given the elves’ effort with sugar when the Woolfolks held a party.) “I’m not allowed to wear anything slinky or have more than one champagne or dance with anyone but Papa or nerdy boy cousins or that Ministry undersecretary’s son, the one with the spots.” A hard pass. “Why can’t I come to the ones you throw when school is back in session? With the ambassdor’s sons and the Moscow Flying Mules?”

Hattie had heard someone order one at the last family party, but she imagined the true adult parties had punch bowls full of them. Where one didn’t even need Connor Todd to spike it for everyone. Life was truly unfair.

Still, school had its merits.

“Mum would have gotten over it,” Hattie lied flippantly, not knowing the full extent of her own lie. She knew Mum was the scarier of their parents when it came down too it, but she also overestimated the matriarch’s love in this situation. If Hyacinth Woolfolk had truly resolved to quit Hogwarts, there would be no pretty petals left on her flower when her mother was done with her.

Despite her casual tone, Hattie glowed in her sister’s relief. The only thing better than driving Prim mad with worry was making her proud.

It didn’t stop her from delighting in Hogsmeade’s poor offering of negligees and garters. “Oh, come on. I’ve outgrown all my training ones, you know?” Something else to be proud of. “Everyone needs a good strappy bra, Prim, and Mum isn’t my size.” Already, she was thinking of the next gift. She grinned into her cup. “Besides, she’d pick something ugly.” (It wasn’t true: their mother had taste, and was probably more edgy than her oldest daughter.) “Share bras with me, Primrooooose.” Hattie tilted her cheek into her head, her grin morphing into a pouty plea.

“You can’t just cop out with glue! I’m a growing girl. That would end disastrously. What would the elves think?” The six-foot something elves with intense eyes and cheekbones, quidditch-callused hands, and contraband cigarettes. It wasn’t a lie: servants were servants.

 “You’re making things up again, Hattie,” Primrose rolled her eyes, albeit lovingly, at her sister.  The idea that Primrose threw any parties was ridiculous.  That was definitely more of Marigold’s idea of a good time – and sounded more like her type of party that was being described as well.  Even Amaryllis would throw a better get together than Primrose: she actually liked people, and strove to make sure they had a good time.  Prim was not like that at all.  “Talk to your other sisters about that,” Prim deadpanned. 

There would be no chance it would work on her anyhow.  As much as she loved to spoil her sister, she certainly wasn’t going to allow her to partake in alcoholic beverages or dance with certain older wizards who had no business even being near a sixteen year old.  Honestly, Primrose didn’t blame their mother for the rules she imposed upon Hattie. 

This past Christmas, Prim had promised to keep her eyes on her sister for their mother, just in case… not that she would admit it to Hattie.  That was about as likely as admitting that she and Hattie were probably in a place now where they could share undergarments.  This was an accomplishment for Hattie, no doubt, but not so much for Prim who could claim the proportions of a teenage girl. 

That did not mean she wished to share though.  Not while Hattie was still a child.  “Ask again next year,” Prim replied haughtily and lifted her drink to her lips, trying to maintain the high ground against her naughty little sister.  Licking a bit of foam from her upper lip as gracefully as she could.  “The elves wouldn’t think anything of it, Hattie,” she assured her, “they needn’t ever know.  Gingy certainly wouldn’t,” she lifted her chin and looked at Hattie down the slope of her nose. 

“What’s brought all this on?” she asked, feeling very suspicious of her little sister.  She was generally cheeky, and that was to be expected and she liked to rib Primrose in any way she could, but the insistence of it all… She turned her chin and looked at Hattie with a piercing, inquiring gaze.  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Hattie wrinkled her nose, clearly offended by Prim’s (correct) presumption. If it were true that Marigold threw better parties and that Hattie would have better luck at them, she was not about to give any credit to Marigold.

Luckily, boys and bras and butterbeer were plenty to brighten up about.

“So what you’re saying is…” Hattie began tepidly, drawing out the words for effect— and so that both sisters might brace themselves, “If a bra happens to find its way into your drawer, or out of it, I won’t automatically be confined to the wine cellars until I’m eighteen.”

Not that the wine cellars would be the first choice of jail cells for anyone imprisoning Hattie. She’d been relegated sparkling ciders and grape juices for far too long, and she had a feeling that wasn’t going to change with Primrose. She giggled into her disappointingly non-alcoholic mug as her sister did her best to Disapparate the foam from her lip.

Hattie set her mug back down, far less inconspicuous about the foam around her own mouth. “You might have Gingy in your pocket, but I have Odette... and rabbits multiply, Prim.” Hattie’s eyebrows jumped in challenge, but it was a loving one. She’d never been especially bitter that Gingy seemed so loyal to her eldest sister— even if she’d taken a page from Marigold’s book and milked the point over the years. Really, Gingy was sweet, and discreet where Hattie needed her to be. So far.

Hattie swished her finger quickly through the still-thick foam atop her butterbeer, looked up coyly, and added, “Only apparently not in The Three Broomsticks.” Popping up in her seat, she stretched across the table, tapping a perfect dollop of sugary foam on the tip of Prim’s nose. Hattie lurched back with similar zeal. It was worth the impending need for a Shield Charm, to see Primrose looking like Odette.

“No!” She disclosed brightly, defensive but not especially so. Her teeth flashed in a grin, barely holding back the laugh. “But have you seen Paper Bag Jr. lately? He’s not looking quite so paper-baggy. Plus, he’s eighteen now.” Still, he was a little too much like Marcus to overlook it. (A lot too much like Marcus). Hattie lifted her mug, holding it out like a wand— just in case Prim got any ideas. She gave a little gesture with the warm drink, indicating the place at large. “There are so many boys at Hogwarts, but there aren’t very many candidates right now. Is it too much to ask, to find a cute one who worships me and lets me run my fingers through his thick hair while I’m wearing his leather quidditch jacket?"

 “I’d never do something that would make you so happy,” Primrose scoffed as she sipped her drink, nose turned upward.  Beside, Hattie would be sorely disappointed if she tried to steal anything from her older sister.  They were endowed quite differently, in that Prim had precious little in comparison to the sixteen year old.  When she was younger, she might have been jealous, but these days she didn’t find the implications for such a thing quite so troubling… on her own behalf. 

Her sister, however, she was cause for concern. 

She wouldn’t be half surprised if she were nicking things out of Marigold’s closet.  Godric knew that despite the fact that Marigold was a massive pain, she did have decent taste – and she and Hattie were far more physically similar than Primrose was to either of them.  It was practically unfair.

Almost as unfair as having foam put on her face.  Gasping, Prim felt frozen in her seat.  “I’ll make sure Gingy definitely makes you pay for that,” she admonished her as she grasped frantically for a napkin at the table.

Dabbing at her face, she gazed down at the cloth, her heart pounding: she didn’t want any of her foundation wiping off.  Thankfully, she escaped an uneven face for the time being and there was just a foamy splotch looking back at her.  “See if you get to do anything this summer,” Prim threatened (as empty as it was) while lying the napkin down beside her cup. 

She did not trust Hattie and her reassurances.  She loved her sister, but she had a rather wild imagination – and worse, a proclivity toward bad decisions, particularly regarding the boys she liked to mention to her sister.  It might not have even been true, but Prim didn’t know one way or another, especially if truth resided in how she spoke.  Against her better judgment, Prim decided to attempt and act like it didn’t bother her, even as her cheeks pinked up and hands shook just slightly as she lifted her cup. 

“I just want to remind you that he is your cousin,” Prim put forward in response to Hattie’s mention of the elder and younger Flint.  “Perhaps it’s best not to focus on boys for the time being.  If you really want a leather jacket, I’m sure we could arrange that.  Providing your OWL scores are good enough, that is,” she glanced up over her teacup.  “After all, an outstanding academic record is more likely to last than some silly school dalliance.”