CHAPTER SIX

Lorcan Scamander had always been a bit oblivious when it came to interpreting other people's emotions, especially when those emotions were directed toward him. Whether it was admiration, annoyance, or even disdain, he rarely picked up on the subtleties. It wasn't that he was entirely clueless; he was well aware of his shortcomings in this area, and it often left him second-guessing himself in social situations.

This self-awareness was precisely why he found Ophelia Herr so difficult to handle. Her constant teasing, playful remarks, and borderline flirtatious banter were a whirlwind he couldn't quite navigate. He told himself it was all just a game to her—a way to pass the time and amuse herself. In fact, he had no qualms about bluntly telling her so.

"You just like messing with me," he'd said to her once, the exasperation clear in his voice.

Ophelia had laughed, brushing off his words with a wave of her hand and a grin. "You're not wrong, Scamander, but don't take it too personally. It's all in good fun."

And so, the strange dynamic between them continued—a perpetual game of push and pull where neither seemed to know the rules.

What Lorcan didn't realize, however, was that Ophelia's antics were entirely free of malice. For her, teasing him wasn't just amusing; it was her way of drawing closer to him, of expressing an affection she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge outright.

Alice Longbottom, of course, had her own theories about her friend's behaviour. Over breakfast one morning, she leaned back in her chair, spearing a piece of toast with her fork as she eyed Ophelia knowingly. "I'm just going to say it—again. You fancy him."

Ophelia barely glanced up from her plate. "You just like saying that, don't you?"

Alice smirked, popping the toast into her mouth before replying. "Oh, absolutely. But it's not just me. Everyone thinks it."

She turned to a random Hufflepuff sitting nearby. "Right?"

The boy caught mid-chew, shrugged noncommittally before going back to his food, entirely uninterested in the conversation.

"See?" Alice said, gesturing dramatically with her fork.

Ophelia laughed. "Wow, that was really convincing. You've got the whole castle on your side, clearly."

Alice huffed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine, if you won't take my word for it, let's ask someone else." Spotting a familiar figure heading toward the Ravenclaw table, she reached out and grabbed Lysander Scamander's arm before he could sit down.

"Merlin, Longbottom, what are you doing?" Lysander yelped, nearly losing his balance as she yanked him toward their table.

"Relax, Hot Scamander," Alice said breezily, using the nickname she'd teasingly assigned to Lorcan's twin brother. Lysander, ever the sharper of the two, groaned but allowed himself to be dragged into the conversation.

"Tell me," Alice continued, "don't you think Ophelia definitely fancies your brother?"

Lysander blinked, then smirked as he glanced at Ophelia. "Oh, yeah. Isn't it obvious?" he said without missing a beat.

Ophelia's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? I don't see it!"

"That's because you and Lorcan are the king and queen of obliviousness," Alice shot back, waving her hands animatedly. Her wild gesturing narrowly missed Lysander's face, prompting him to swat her arm away.

"Calm down, woman," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm too young to die."

Satisfied with his answer, Alice released Lysander's arm and dismissed him with a dramatic flourish. "Thank you, Hot Scamander. You're free to go now."

Lysander gave a mock salute to Ophelia before retreating to the Ravenclaw table, muttering something about needing a break from Longbottom's theatrics.

Alice turned back to Ophelia, her grin widening. "Now, where were we? Oh, right—your feelings for—"

"And this is where I leave," Ophelia interrupted, standing abruptly and grabbing her bag.

"You can't run forever!" Alice called after her, entirely unbothered by the attention they were drawing from other students. "It's in your head now!"

As Ophelia hurried down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls, she felt her smile lingering, unbidden and persistent. Alice's words played on a loop in her mind, teasing and insistent. Could she be right? Was there something more to her endless banter with Lorcan?

She tried to brush it off as absurd. The teasing, the jokes, the way she found his reactions so utterly endearing—it was all just harmless fun, wasn't it? But then, why did she feel her cheeks heating at the thought of him? Why did her heart skip a beat when she replayed the look of quiet exasperation he always wore when she managed to fluster him?

Ophelia shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts. "It's just Alice getting into my head again," she muttered to herself, though her voice lacked conviction.

Still, as she turned a corner and found herself in the quieter part of the castle, where the noise of the Great Hall and the bustling students faded into a calm hum, she let her mind wander.

She remembered the first time she'd truly noticed Lorcan—not just as Lysander's quieter twin, but as his own person. It had been during a study session in the library. He'd been completely engrossed in a book, his brows furrowed in concentration, his quill twirling absentmindedly between his fingers. She'd teased him then, too, about looking so serious he might actually scare the parchment into writing itself.

And yet, instead of snapping at her or brushing her off, Lorcan had looked up, his eyes soft but questioning, and simply said, "Some of us have to try a little harder."

There was no malice in his words, just an honest truth that struck her in a way she hadn't expected. From that moment on, teasing him wasn't just fun—it was a way to see more of that honesty, to peel back the layers of his reserved demeanour and catch glimpses of the thoughtful, witty person underneath.

As Ophelia reached the end of the corridor, she leaned against the cool stone wall, letting out a slow breath. Alice's words might have been meant in jest, but they had a way of burrowing deep, forcing her to confront thoughts she wasn't ready to face.

Because if there was even a grain of truth to what Alice had said—if she truly did fancy Lorcan—what then? Would he ever see her as more than the Gryffindor whirlwind who wouldn't leave him alone? Or was she doomed to forever be the girl who smiled too much, teased too often, and hid her feelings behind a mask of bravado?

The thought unsettled her, but the smile lingered, tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe Alice was wrong. Maybe this was all in her head.

Or maybe, just maybe, she wasn't.