Heat, Lorelei's cheeks are burning with it. Fire roars eternally in the Common Room's hearth, crimson flames swirling and flickering. There's solace to be found in its transfixing dance. A sense of tranquility not often felt by Lorelei, especially in this castle. The amaroidal scent of burning wood with its pungent, acrid aroma—if she knew herbology, she could place the smell to a name—and the puffs of smoke billowing upwards through the limestone chimney, it's all familiar.

     Closing her eyes, she can almost smell the ginormous marshmallows crisping over an extravagant bonfire scorching in Nana's backyard. She can feel the sweet oozing down her fingers as she smooshes it between two cookies. And if she tries hard enough, there's shrieks of laughter and nostalgic tales shared through the flames.

     Once she blinks, the moment's over. Gone. Coldness returning to plunge its glacial talons through her throat.

     Lorelei lazily gazes into the fireplace as she's been doing for the past hour. Disregarded parchments stretch across the table she now rests her legs upon, and a plate of snacks sits right near the edge. Only halfway eaten; she's been struggling with her appetite recently. The momentary comfort she receives each time she blinks is an addicting substance. The placidity of the castle doesn't help either. Everyone's attending Hogsmeade and she's resolved to numbly staring at fire.

     There's many things she could busy herself with, like venturing down to the Black Lake to see if its surface is icy and stable. Or she could trek to Hagrid's hut and enjoy a nice conversation with the half-giant, a cup of soothing tea as well. She could take a walk through the courtyards or—oh wait, Lorelei can't do any of those activities. Enjoying a midday journey through the castle is strictly off the table, not without adequate protection from the prying eyes of her uncle.

Eagerly, she's been awaiting the responses of her family. Nana's letter was delivered ages ago, yet she's not received a reply, which is rather odd. Normally, despite the unfamiliar communicative device, her family's quick to respond. Lorelei thinks they've just been busy—it's almost Christmas after all! The holidays are exceptionally hectic.

     Lonnie provided his own suggestions, yet they were infinitely more boring. Utilize the peace to practice spells, complete her overdue homework, assist the house-elves with dinner preparations (she does enjoy this one, she'll give him that), help him reorganize his office for the umpteenth time. Her uncle is full of fun!

     Lorelei places her feet on the cushioned rug once her ankles begin to go numb. As the blood returns, she glances down at the cracked watch beside her. She can't tolerate the feeling of the leathery band squeezing her wrist, yet with her chronic lateness, she needs to know the time. Harry always asks why she even bothers if she won't wear it, but he simply doesn't understand. It's scratchy and cold, and honestly quite ugly. She knows it's a hand me down, but does it need to be so garishly hideous?

     Hours. She has hours before everyone returns. Lorelei's surprised more time hasn't passed; it's felt like an eternity staring at this blazing abyss.

     A yawn escapes her lips. A heavy sort of expulsion that has her eyes fighting to stay open. Lorelei lightly taps her cheeks—she needs to stay awake. Sleep has been a faraway concept. She's too scared to close her eyes. Not for the melancholic dreamlands or treacherous nightmares, not even the arching shadows glaring through midnight sky, but for the cruel, wistful hope. What she sees, a foolhardy thought, is her mother.

Beautiful, like Lorelei's seen in pictures. Brown curls elegantly scooped into a fluffy ponytail, two pearl earrings delicately clipped onto her lobes. She recognizes those same ones on her Nana. Through the heavenly haze of blinding light, the scent of citrus and confectioners sugar greets Lorelei. Yet, she can't quite see her face. It's odd. She knows what her mother looks like, but her mind can never place the face, like a stranger she's met in passing.

     Memories she channels from the deepest parts of her soul, the most vulnerable and forlorn. Lorelei's fingers brush the warmth of her mother's, until she's ripped from the delusion. Alas, she awakes to a darkened room utterly alone and cold, always cold nowadays. Her Nana's garments never seem to satiate her frigidity. The outcome is always the same, ever since the library; she's suspended, close but not enough.

     "Lori!"

     The Common Room door slams open, edge crashing into the stonework. Lorelei startles and whips her head to an out of breath Harry sauntering through the threshold. With a rushing heart, a frown forms. Isn't he supposed to be at Hogsmeade?

     "Harry? What're you doin—"

     The boy interrupts by slamming a piece of parchment down upon her unfinished homework. "Look!"

     Lorelei does in fact look and what she sees is . . . nothing. A blank page that appears weathered by age and stained by some sort of brown liquid (she hopes it's coffee). Perhaps it's a prank? If it is, it's certainly not very good. She's sure she's given him plenty of tips.

     "I-I don't—"

     Again, Harry interrupts. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" He rushes out, smiling excitedly.

     All at once, words and symbols dance across the parchment. Ornate designs spelled perfectly—pure craftsmanship. Harry unfurls the leaflets to reveal a map. Not an ordinary map like the ones Barry used to poorly navigate roadtrips, a magical one with moving names and disappearing rooms.

     Astonished, Lorelei follows the little ink trail of footsteps belonging to her uncle (He's pacing in his office, as per usual). "This is amazing," she breathes, glancing at Professor McGonagall traversing the first floor. "Where'd you get this?"

     "The twins," answers Harry. "They stopped me in my invisibility cloak."

     Lorelei abruptly looks at him, confused. "Why would you need that? I thought you left with Ron."

     Harry's smile drops, replaced with a straight line. Habitually, he runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh . . . my dad said I couldn't go—to Hogsmeade."

     Safe to say, the two have been . . . disjointed recently. Ever since that frightful Halloween, literally she might add, and her library investigation, things have been awkward. There's no animosity nor some grand falling out, merely a quiet separation, a distance slowly growing. Inseparable during classes, now apart in separate groups, each preferring different company, sharing laughs and smiles with others. Lorelei finds it torturous, yet she's far too stubborn to admit it. Once Harry comes clean, she'll greet him with open arms.

     Her mouth opens in understanding as she nods.

     "My mum said she's worried about the, er, dementors," Harry adds. He doesn't hold her gaze. Seems he still can't. "In case I'm attacked again, which is a load of rubbish."

     Through her peripheral, Lonnie's name moves from his office and down the hall (A miracle!). She's tempted to focus and follow his trail in case he provides answers unknowingly, yet she doesn't. Information has been discovered in droves, she deserves a break.

     "So you were sneaking out," Lorelei states matter-of-factly, pushing strands of hair behind her ears. Two tyrannosaurs dangle from the lobes (courtesy of Dorian).

     ". . . Yes."

     "Without me?"

"You said you didn't wanna sneak out anymore!"

"Well, why'd you come to me?"

At this, Harry freezes. He drops his mouth open, then closes it. Words refuse to coagulate. Lorelei is curious to hear his response because she finds it fascinating this is what calls him to her, a random magical map and not a craving to apologize.

"I . . . I thought you'd might like to come with," mumbles Harry, increasingly slow. "To, er, get out."

Silence.

Lorelei stares long and hard at Harry. He shifts uncomfortably under her firm, unwavering gaze, and she's glad for it. She analyzes him. Tousled hair, leisure outfit messily layered, a dark line drawn under his lids. What does he see when he prepares to venture dreamlands? Wistful hope, obscene nightmares? Would he tell her?

     There's an aching presence in her heart, the one yearning for her best friend. A return to normalcy. The practice session in charms would've been the first instance of interaction between them in weeks, yet she could barely give him an afterthought. Denial is where she thrives. Perhaps if they stay apart, no harm shall befall them. And yet, gazing upon her friend of three years, she aches.

"I'll go," Lorelei finally replies, offering the smallest of smiles.

     Harry's mouth pulls into a smirk. "I was hoping you'd say that."

     Heat burns on her face, the kind of warmth she's been striving for.

     "Ouch! Harry, you stepped on me!"

     "Sorry! Maybe stop getting over to my side—ouch! Okay, sorry!"

      Maneuvering under the guise of Harry's cloak is a shockingly arduous task, Lorelei's concluded. The thing's unusually heavy atop her shoulders, and she can feel the friction building in her hair. Stuffy, too. First year, she remembers not being fond of it, mumbling distasteful things she's not proud of. Above all, however, is the painstaking realization that she's unseen to the eye, or lack-there-of.

     Lorelei likes to think she's an exceptionally qualified ballroom dancer. Her childhood was riddled with competitions and classes. When Nana asked if she'd like to play little league football, tiny Lorelei held up a flier for riverdance. A compromise was struck. Awards decorate her walls, she's renowned for her featherweight steps, yet Lorelei keeps clipping Harry's shoes. How is she supposed to be stealthy when he insists on jerking to a full stop at every intersection?

     She can't be blamed for his lack of spatial awareness.

     Despite knowing Lonnie's tucked on far side of the castle engaged with Professor Snape, Lorelei still fears the possibility of being caught. Sneaking around has never been her forte; it's rather tedious, unnecessarily so. It's not irrational to hold her breath as they pass knights of armor, thinking her uncle might be stored inside. Really, it wouldn't be the craziest thing he's done. Guarded by fear, Lorelei insisted on wearing the cloak in the hidden passageways.

     A revelation was discovered down in those rayless corridors. Cobwebs sprouted from every crevice, the light from Harry's wand illuminated skin-crawling insects, and unsavory crunches sounded from beneath her boots. Terrifying, yes, but the perfect cover. These labyrinthine hallways coiled below Hogwarts, below a haven previously deemed safe. Now, Lorelei knows how Black managed.

     This epiphany is inconsequential in hindsight, bordering obviousness. Of course, Black utilized decrepit, starless passages, prowling with cimmerian eyes lusting for vengeance. Lorelei feels like an ignoramus for discovering so late. No doubt all the professors came to this very conclusion, though none as bold to venture in the predator's keep. Fear remains a daunting figure ever present in her life, but, for a moment, Lorelei wasn't afraid. Perhaps she's grown tired of this knotted mystery only tightening or she's become jaded by insight.

     Lorelei held her wand like she's seen Harry do in countless situations—tight, at the base, never unfurling her fist. She held her ground, if only for a brief moment.

     "I think that's it."

     Friction grinding atop her head, Lorelei glances upwards at a tiny bead of light streaming through what appears like wooden floorboards. Rusted nails curving at the ends and splinters hang from the venerable lumber. Harry's glowing wand points at a trapdoor and staircase. She does not appreciate how rickety it seems.

     Harry squints at the map, struggling to read in the dimness. Her shoulder bumps into his as she leans into him, gazing down at the parchment. Rigidly, he angles it to her vision. They're right below Honeydukes. She's surprised his navigational skills didn't fail.

     "Mischief managed," Harry mumbles and the once blooming map returns to a blank state. He turns to her. "You have to say that or else anyone can read it."

     Lorelei nods. The information's useless, she won't be using the map, but it's polite.

     The staircase is, in fact, very rickety. Discordant, grating squeaks echo down the hallway with each step taken. Lorelei winces, hands ghosting Harry's shoulders. He outstretches his hands and pushes open the trapdoor but with such a force that it cracks against the floor. She lightly smacks him, and he grunts in annoyance.

     Saccharine smells flood her senses. Lorelei inhales deeply. Honey, citrus, cacao. Not artificial, fresh. They appear to have entered a storage room full of barrels of sugary delights. It's reminiscent of her diner, except increasingly less organized (It needed the touch of Nessie Yates).

    "A box of jelly slugs as well, Horace. We're nearly cleared out."

     Lorelei and Harry's gazes meet in panic. Quickly, she shoves Harry behind a crate and stumbles after him. Thunderous footsteps crack upon the flooring, beating to her pounding heart. Once down, the boy gives her a nasty glare and silently gestures to the invisibility cloak covering them. Lorelei sheepishly shrugs, mouthing an apology.

     The man, presumably named Horace (Fancy name, she thinks), descends down the same stairs, whistling a merry tune. He's quite good—Harry latches onto her forearm and yanks her upright. Lorelei stumbles, until a warm hand clasps her own. She looks down as Harry leads her through the exit. Beyond it is a dream Lorelei could never imagine. She is sure this is what heaven looks like.

     Shelves full of the most mouth-watering sweets, all stocked high. The store is packed with students crowded on every aisle. Sleuthing is rather hard when people are constantly bumping into objects invisible to the eye. To her left, Lorelei glimpses a bin of the fluffiest looking cotton candy, seemingly floating like actual clouds. It's pearly white, sparkling with crystallized sugar specks.

     Lorelei nearly reaches through the cloak to grab one, but Harry slaps her hand away. She goes to tell him off when he puts a finger to his lips and gestures to the door. Huffing, Lorelei follows. She did promise to stay off the candy.

     However, she'd be back for those.

     Bells jingle as they push open the door and stumble into a frosty wasteland. Lorelei is thankful she chose to layer, unlike Harry who shivers. I told you to bring a warmer coat, she sings. Her boots sink in the freshly fallen snow, and her rosacea deepens from the frigid air. She experiences momentary sun-blindness, though Harry acts as her guide and leads her from the tumultuous shop.

     As Lorelei rubs at her eyes, Harry stops in the alleyway beside Honeydukes. With one great pull, he yanks the cloak off. Immediately, the breath is sucked from her airways. He could've at least given a warning. The nerve!

     "Here." Harry hands her the messily folded cloak. "Put it in your bag."

     Lorelei's teeth chatter as she takes the fabric and stuffs it inside her satchel. All those times he's made fun of her preparedness . . . well, he certainly appreciates it now! Frost nipping at her nose, she pulls free several winter garments, all homemade (Everyone say thank you, Nana!). She passes a dark green checkered scarf to Harry followed by an identical set of mittens.

     The boy hesitates.

     Lorelei sighs. "Just take it, Harry. It's a disguise."

     "But it's green." His nose shines like a Christmas light. "Slytherin green."

     A gust of wind carries particles of delicate snow off the ground and around her exposed flesh. She shivers. "That's the point! No one's gonna recognize you!"

     With a grumble, Harry relents and wraps the scarf around his neck. She can see the visible relief on his face for a second before he's scowling again. His bad attitude is covered when she throws a beanie in his face. Blue, instead of green. Boys and their pickiness.

     For herself, Lorelei packed dull hued garments. Grays, blacks, and browns. No one on earth would ever expect Lorelei Yates to don neutral colors. It's even hard for herself, yet the chilly breeze prickling her skin like pine needles is enough to have her wrapping the beige scarf as tight as possible.

     "Wow," breathes Harry, breath puffing in a cloud.

     (Reminds her of the sweet. She swears she'll get it).

     Lorelei buries her mouth in the warm fabric and rubs her mittens covered hands together. "What?"

     "Nothing," he shrugs, "just never thought you'd wear, you know, normal colors."

     "Then my plan is working perfectly," she beams proudly.

     Harry moves to lean against Honeydukes, shoving his hands in his pockets and placing one foot flat against the stone wall. She raises an eyebrow at the action. "Are we waiting for something?" Lorelei questions, words slightly muffled.

     He glances down the alleyway at the passing people. "Ron," he answers. "I told him to meet us here."

     Lorelei goes to the opposite wall and mimics Harry. "Huh," she shakes her head with a delicate laugh.

     "What?"

     "Oh, nothing."

     "No. No, what's so funny?"

     Their gazes lock. She smiles—no, smirks.

     "Surprised you had a plan s'all."

     Harry scoffs, and she'd think him annoyed if not for the tangible clouds of air puffing around his mouth. He laughs, and Lorelei realizes she missed him more than she thought.

     Then, two figures stop at the entrance of the alleyway, faces buried beneath their heavy scarves, but Lorelei recognizes Hermione's poof of hair and Ron's brightly colored jacket anywhere.

     "'Bout time," chides Harry, still standing by the wall.

     Ron trudges through the snow. "Yeah, yeah. Not my fault Hermione wanted to stop at Forch's Fables."

     The girl in question flushes. "They were having a Christmas sale!"

     Lorelei softly laughs, and Hermione's gaze softens as she looks to her.

     "I hope you know what you're doing, Lori." Hermione crosses her arms, tipping her nose up. "If someone catches you—"

     "No one's going to. See?" Lorelei points at the beige beanie atop her head then drags her hands down to gesture at the similar colored clothing. "Disguise."

     "I told Harry not to involve you."

     "I did it all on my own," smiles Lorelei, yet not even her silver braces gleam; it's tight lipped. She loves her fiery friend, more than herself, but it's coming face to face that Lorelei recalls those devastating moments in the library. They've yet to return, and she doesn't know if she has the stomach for it.

     "Can we go now? It's bloody freezing!" Ron complains, rubbing his hands along his arms. He lacks the proper winter wear as well—what is it with boys?

     "Actually," starts Hermione, and Ron nearly groans, "I want to take Lori to Forch's. They have a marvelous section on herbs, which I know you've been considering for Lonnie."

     Lorelei tilts her head. Maybe they'll have Carmine's recommendation; he did give her a full review the other day, said he savored every bit. The topic of books is an instant bore for Harry and Ron. Collectively, they groan.

     "Whatever. You guys go be with your books," says Ron snidely. "Harry and I'll actually have fun."

     In a way, he's right. Lorelei can't remember the last time she's enjoyed something, not without nuisances. Hallowe'en? No, the attack. Not her classes, not the Express. Everything's tainted. Ron and Harry'll stuff their pockets full of Honeydukes' finest sweets, venture through all the various shops to laugh at knick knacks, and, this she knows, sneak into the Three Broomsticks. Lorelei isn't sure she remembers peace.

     Hermione rolls her eyes. "Books are hardly boring, Ronald."

     The Weasley refrains from another disparaging comment, which is very unexpected. Perhaps the cold is the inhibitor they all need (Lorelei notes this for future use).

     Speaking of, another bleak gust of wind disperses through Lorelei's frictional hair. Hermione extends her hand and Lorelei takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be gently pulled along (Take notes, Harry!). She uses her free hand to wave at the boys. To no one's surprise, Ron's the only one who returns the gesture. And even though it was expected, Lorelei still felt a pang in her heart.

     Now a part of the moving crowd, Hermione's grip tightens. "You're uncharacteristically quiet, Lori." She casts a side glance at Lorelei. "What happened? Did Harry say something?"

     "Nothing's wrong, 'Mione," she breathes and attempts a reassuring smile. It comes only halfway. "I needed an escape."

     Hermione hums.

     The two indulge in silence. Snow hugs their boots as they trek through the heaps. Lorelei's grateful to finally partake in outdoor activities, even if she's feeling a tad bit under the weather. One day, far out, she'll return to Hogsmeade and take in all the festivities. She'll enjoy the shops lined with blinking lights and the tall trees decorated with glass ornaments.

     "We don't have to go to Forch's by the way. I only offered because you looked uncomfortable."

     "I've yet to buy Lonnie's gift," admits Lorelei. Snow dusts on her coat. She's eternally grateful for her friends. "Forch's Fables sounds fabulous."

     "You know I don't condone rule breaking," Hermione pauses as she tightens her grip. These words have to be a struggle. "But I am glad you're here. All Ron ever wants to do is meander in Zonko's! Honestly, it's like no one appreciates literature these days!"

     "Carmine Weatherby does." Burying her face deep into her scarf as a group of Ravenclaws pass, Lorelei mutters," Cadence too—well, romance mostly. Still literature."

     "Weatherby? That's odd." Hermione frowns. "I'd never peg him as the type."

     The boy's an enigma no doubt. Truthfully, the only good thing to come from the Express incident. Lorelei learns a random fact from Carmine everyday; he calls it the 'enlightenment,' in which he enlightens her with a factoid from various books in the library. He told her it was his aspiration to devour every one. An impossible feat, she'd refuted, but he was not deterred.

     "I saw Cadence by Scrivencraft's earlier—can't imagine what she'd be doing there."

     Lorelei hides a snicker. The day their petty feud comes to a close, is a sunset she'll never see.

     "Why not find out?" Suggests Lorelei, curiosity getting the better of her. "We could all go to Forch's?"

     "Weatherby I'll oblige, but if Cadence calls me Hermes one time . . ." Hermione balls a fist as she trails off.

     Oftentimes Lorelei wonders what her life would be like if she hadn't received her letter. Peace might've been a common theme. She'd have the normalcy she's been seeking. Yet, she would always feel lost. Hermione, Cadence, even Carmine—Harry, if he'd apologize—they complete her. She is made whole by them. In these thoughts, Lorelei is reminded, despite all the hardships, that she wouldn't trade anything. Not for the world.

     It took the great part of an hour to locate the Bluewin girl. She wasn't by Scrivencraft's like Hermione said nor down by the Shrieking Shack, thankfully. They looked down every alleyway and peeked behind all the bushes with secret areas leading to quiet nooks. Cadence was wearing a neon pink coat and they still could not find her. That was until they spotted her and Carmine Weatherby of all people chatting on the bench outside the Three Broomsticks.

     In both their hands were two glasses. Depending on who's asking, the answer changes. Lorelei chooses to believe they were butterbeers, for her sake.

     "So what's this about?"

     Atop Lorelei's bronze head is a spattering of white. From the view of a bird or perhaps a hippogriff, she'd appear like those speckled mushrooms littered throughout the Forbidden Forest. Lorelei huddles beside Hermione as the three girls—plus a bored Carmine—resume their trek to Forch's Fables.

     "Books, I'd imagine," offers Carmine, hands in his pockets. Unlike most of the boys, he is properly dressed for the weather. His coat is long because he's a rather tall boy, and it's a deep shade of blue that compliments the silver in his irises. That was another thing she admired—he understands style.

     Cadence rolls her eyes. "Obviously."

     "Christmas shopping, Bluey. For Lonnie."

    "Oh, I've got a gift for him," mumbles Cadence, causing everyone except Hermione to snigger.

     Lorelei knows her uncle can be . . . difficult, as Remus says, and he's a heavy, somewhat commanding presence, but she wishes everyone got to experience the vulnerable, quiet side. The one who spent hours charting constellations on her ceiling to get the precise locations; the one who fed her left over Hallowe'en candy for dinner the first night he babysat alone (He is still haunted by this). Her uncle is a man who wears a facade of many faces. Deep within, he's scared and he's unguarded. He's imperfect, she knows this.

     White flakes dust in Cadence's eyelashes. "As long as we end up back at the Three Broomsticks I'm fine."

     "Underage witches and wizards aren't permitted," snaps Hermione.

     "Cool it, Hermes."

     What happened next was Carmine stepping between the two girls for the remainder of their journey. His placid demeanor acted as a coolant for the tension, and his natural fluidity to engage in thought-provoking conversation kept everyone at ease. All he had to do was mention Divination and Hermione was off on a tirade. Lorelei allowed someone else to be the mediator for a change.

     Forch's Fables is everything Lorelei desires in a bookshop, if not more. It reminds her of a gingerbread house. Two bushes stationed by the entrance are topped with snow, oozing like icing on a gumdrop. The thatched roof is peaked and layered with snow and a bricked chimney billows multicolored smoke that has the faintest hint of roasted chestnuts. Instead of square windows, they're circular and outlined by evergreen wreaths. A cobblestone walkway leads to the arched doorway where a gilded bell hangs.

     Amongst the dull keeps of the village, Forch's Fables is a sight meant to be beholden. The exterior is painted in pastels—yellows, greens, and blues, even a smidgen of pink. Clearly, the owner couldn't decide, and Lorelei adores it. Her friends watched in amusement as Lorelei's face dimpled in wonderment. Inside, it was no different. Shelves of books, ranging from anywhere and anything; knickknacks decorating every square inch. Lorelei felt like she'd wondered into her Nana's home.

     Lorelei rubs her mitten hands together. She stands outside by the gumdrop bush with a bag containing Herbs Without Borders: A Comprehensive Guide. All she can hope is that Lonnie'll discover something new in it; he seems to know everything. Glancing at the slowly darkening sky, she hopes Hermione and Cadence quell whatever argument was keeping them.

     "I think it's a jarvey."

     "Hm?" Turning to him, Lorelei arches a brow.

     Carmine angles the porcelain figurine in her direction. "Jarvey," he iterates. "That's what this is. I've finally figured it out."

     Instead of buying a book (he doesn't need any books when he has the library!), Carmine opted to buy one of the strange knickknacks instead. He'd been trying to identify the creature for ages. Of course, she's no help.

     "Oh." Lorelei's mouth parts. "I thought it was a ferret."

     He laughs, and she no longer shivers.

     "They're pretty similar, but ferrets aren't—"

     Something moves behind Carmine.

     Lorelei's gaze narrows on the caliginous alley directly across from the kitschy bookstore. It's a far cry from the exotic hues and patterns utilized on Forch's Fables. Snow becomes swallowed in the darkness, but she sees it—something small. Like a polished jewel in sunlight, the mass has a sheen and there's a glint, like the flash of a camera if she moves an inch to where the light catches it. It's familiar, yet she isn't sure how.

     "You alright?"

     Carmine's looking down at her, concern furrowed in his brows.

     She swallows, taking her gaze from the alley. "Um, there's something behind you—in the alley."

     Alarmed, the boy turns. Lorelei watches his posture straighten and his left hand slightly move to his side, perhaps where he stores his wand. The frosty breeze spins through his tousled hair, and she notices the tips of his ears flamed pink. She should ask Nana to make him a hat, red perhaps? Red would—

     "I don't see anything," announces Carmine after a minute.

     Lorelei peeks from behind her friend and squints at the swirling snow disappearing into the alleyway. Nothing. No glinting like two watchful eyes. Has her mind played yet another trick? Like the clawing in the stairwell? Paranoia is driving her mad, she concludes.

     "I'm sorry. I guess I made it up," Lorelei breathes, crestfallen.

     "No," he denies. "If you've seen something, I believe it."

     Should it have almost made her cry to hear those words? No, maybe not. And yet, after an onslaught of lies from those she considered trustworthy, to hear reassurance that she isn't delving into lunacy, means more to her than any pitiful apology concocted by those closest to her.

     Right then, Hermione and Cadence exit Forch's Fables. In their hands, two hefty bags piled high with books, and they wear friendly smiles? Delusion must really have a firm grasp on Lorelei. Cadence Bluewin and Hermione Granger laughing . . . getting along?

     Lorelei breaks into a wide grin. She looks up at Carmine, but he's already mirroring her mirth.

     "You see that?"

     "This time, Lorelei, I'm afraid I can't believe my eyes."

📍 Teddy's Corner ;

ok this is a total slog i'm sorry.
fumbled hard with the filler. it
is NOT my strong suit clearly.

i genuinely think carmy might
be the best character i've ever
created in the history of ever.
he is my bbg. the light of my
life. he's just so sweet.

forch's fables i made up in five
seconds so pls be nice.

lil mention of someone at the
end, but i had the worst
description so sorry abt that.

i wrote this on 3 hours of sleep
and a java monster (pls don't
buy those, they're nasty).

also, next chap is juicy asf.

love to hear ur thoughts <3 !!!

ฅʕ•ᴥ• ʔฅ
© TEDDY 2024