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chapter six: youngest seekers, a troll
and new friendships
word count: 4.8k
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note: i wrote this chapter purely from memory bc i was too lazy to watch the movie... ignore the parts where i went wrong, would you?

.  .  .

"OLIVER WOOD. MARCUS FLINT."

Professor Quirrell didn't seem all that joyous about two of students leaving class, but no one spoke against Professor McGonagall. 

Especially not Stuttering Quirrell. 

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Malfoy, this is Marcus Flint." McGonagall held excitement in her voice as she looked at the kids and then at the team captains. "I have found you both Seekers! Though, Flint, it is not my job to meddle in Slytherin affairs, I have heard you were looking for a Seeker and Malfoy seems to be competent for the role." 

The kids looked at one another, one masking the look of confusion, the other, of pure joy. 

. . . 

A SLAP ON HER BACK MADE HER AWARE THAT THE WHOLE SCHOOL KNEW ABOUT HER ORDEAL. 

"Wood's just told us!" Fred (she assumed) grinned down at her, his twin slinging an arm around her shoulder. Ron, who was beside her, mumbled, "Fred and George are on the team too, — Beaters." 

"Our job is to make sure you don't get bloodied up too bad." George (again, she assumed) spoke with nonchalance, "Can't make any promises, of course! Rough game, Quidditch." 

And that made her want to withdraw from the team. 

"Brutal." Fred's over-exaggerated gestures assured her that they were only messing with her. "But no one's died in years. Some will vanish occasionally. . ." 

And with that, Fred and George took their leave, allowing Azalea and Ron creative liberty to end that sentence. 

"Is it really as bad as they say?" Azalea looked at Ron, hazel eyes wide. Ron shook his head, "Only the big, professional tournaments. Nothing happens in the school. The bloodiest injury you can get is a broken limb." 

Maybe Ron noticed her hesitation, because he continued, "Oh, go on, Azzie! Quidditch is great — best game there is! And you'll be great, too." 

They continued walking, Azalea voicing her doubts, aware of Hermione's presence, "But I've never played Quidditch! What if I make a fool of myself?"

They neared the staircase, walking up the rickety stairs, Hermione now pitching in, "You won't make a fool of yourself. It's in your blood." 

As if on cue, the trio stopped near the big trophy case they'd often seen Mr. Filch or the children in detention clean. Lo and behold, there were big golden plaques with names imprinted on them in big, clear fonts, and one stood out the most (at least to Azzie) : James Potter, Seeker. 

And next to him, McGonagall. 

"McGonagall played Quidditch?" Castor had the ability to appear out of thin air as he stood beside Azalea, gazing at the trophies with them. 

"Yeah, and so did Azzie's dad." Hermione rolled her eyes, gesturing the the main point of them being there. 

"Woah, Azzie, you never told me your dad was a Seeker too!" Ron exclaimed, blue eyes widening at the new information. 

"I—I didn't know." Azalea shook her head, eyebrows pulled together as they continued to walk together. Hogwarts was crazy. 

Hermione paid no mind to the three trailing behind her, eyes trained on the pages of her book as she moved through the moving staircase without flinching. 

Ron kept his eyes on the bushy haired girl in front of him, "I'm telling you, it's spooky. She knows more about you than you do." 

"I still can't imagine McGonagall on a broom," Castor mumbled, still out of the blue with the entire conversation. "Oh yeah, you're the new Seeker, aren't you?" 

"Yes, Castor, hence the Hermione-taking-me-to-the-trophy-case incident." Azalea rolled her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath out of fright and maybe a little bit of surprise as the staircase changed again. 

"Oh, that makes sense!" Castor lit up, nodding in agreement. "Also, you were great on that broom. Also, what happened with Malfoy?" 

"I. . .don't know." Azalea shrugged, aware that Ron was curious too. It just now hit her that McGonagall had dragged Draco with her too, who seemed way happier about the whole ordeal than she was. "McGonagall recommended him to the Slytherin Captain. Maybe he's the new Seeker for Slytherin." 

"Now, won't that be something? Two friends competing against one another?" 

Suddenly, the staircase moved again, abruptly, this time, because even Hermione gave out a little gasp. 

"What's happening?" Ron looked ready to throw up his cookies. The staircases weren't supposed to change so quickly. 

"The staircases — they change, remember?" Hermione tried to sound calm, well aware of the fact that this was unusual. 

"Let's go. . ." Castor sighed, having been the only one beside Hermione who'd read Hogwarts: A History, and knew that this wasn't supposed to have happened. "Before these staircases change again." 

Funnily enough, these four were the only ones on that staircase. What was more funny, was that the corridor they were led to clearly screamed: Do not continue, danger ahead! or something similar to that corridor Dumbledore warned them about. 

It was dark, spooky, poorly lit something like, "This is where people in horror movies come to get murdered." 

Castor got deadpanned looks from the girls, and a small whimper from Ron. He raised his hands in defense, pursing his lips and choosing to remain silent for the rest of their little. . . rendezvous? 

"Well, he's right, we're not supposed to be here. It's the third floor — it's forbidden." Fear settled in Hermione's chest, — she never broke any rules!  

They took maybe three steps forward before a flame lit up on the statue, causing the teens to jump back in fright and let out startled gasps and whimpers. And Mrs. Norris making a dramatic entrance didn't really help with the jumpscare, either. 

"Filch's cat." Castor raised his eyebrows. Normally, he loved cats, but right now, this meant Filch was around the corner and they could get in big trouble. "Run!" 

All four of them made a run for it, all of them panting since neither of them (except Castor) were used to such physical exercise. Soon enough, they found a door, and just to their luck, it was locked. 

"It's locked!" 

"That's it, we're done for." Ron shook his head, frown creasing between his eyebrows, and Castor watched the two panicked friends with amusement.

Hermione wasn't so amused. She rolled her eyes and pushed through the two, "Oh, move over!" 

Wand pointed confidently at the latch, she flicked her wrist, "Alohomora." 

Though she'd never admit it, she felt a little bit of pride bubbling in her chest when she saw the surprised looks on her companion's (well, she considered them friends) faces as the rickety, big heavy door swung open.

"Standard Book of Spells, Chapter 7." she shook her head and reminded them, quickly walking through the door to hide herself in there, the others following after. 

They remained pressed against the door, baited breaths and sweaty foreheads, as they waited for Filch to go away. And he did, soon enough. 

The Gryffindors walked into the room, but two steps in and all of them saw the big, hairy, three headed dog that was meant to guard Hell look at them through its (their?) beady eyes. 

It was as if they all lost their voice for a good half minute, before loud shrieks pierced the air in the room, the growl of the dog (creature?) following soon after. 

And just as before, they scurried to safety, this time opting for their warm, nice, common room.

Ron started whining about the dog, explaining his concerns about keeping a bloody Cerberus locked up in a school, where kids didn't just study, but also lived. Hermione kept bickering with him and the duo took up the job of keeping a conversation on their way back to the common room.

"They're gonna get together someday." Azalea nudged Castor's shoulder. 

"They just met. How d'you know?"

"I'm told I have Apollo's gift of prophecy." Azalea remembered Calantha's older sister, who bickered just as much with a friend of hers, and well, they tied the knot jut three years ago.

"Well, if you're right, they're going to burn their house down, Lea."

They'd reached the stairs leading to the dorms, which meant, they would now have to separate paths and unfortunately, still see each other tomorrow. 

"Now, if you three don't mind, I'm going to bed before either of you can come up with another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled."

.  .  .

"QUIDDITCH IS EASY ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND," said Oliver Wood. Maybe for him, Azalea rolled her eyes, facing her captain's back. Hands rubbing against each other to generate some warmth, she glanced around her and finally noticed that hey, it was autumn, and God did the field look pretty now.

"Each team has seven players," he continued, unbeknownst of the little voice in Azalea's head annoying her to no end, and maybe generating a sliver of fear as the twins' words from yesterday came ringing into her ear. But no one's died in years. Some will vanish occasionally. . .

Maybe she'd be the first one to die after a long time. Maybe in her first game too. 

"Three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker." he finally stopped pacing around, opening the big trunk they carried out at bloody six in the morning. On a Saturday, nonetheless. "That's you." 

He held a red, heavy ball in his hands, throwing it for her to catch, which she did, thankfully. Heaven knew she'd at least break her nose if she missed. 

"Not bad, Potter." Oliver raised his eyebrows. "This one, is called the Quaffle. Now, the chasers handle the Quaffle and try to put it through one of those three hoops. The keeper, that's me, defends the hoops. With me so far?" 

Azalea nodded in acknowledgement, then noticed the two, smaller, squirming balls that were chained down, "What are those?" 

Oliver licked his lower lip, then sighed, handing her the small bat he was carrying, "...You'd better take this."

He released one of the balls, both of them squinting at how far it flew away, as if a caged bird having a taste of freedom after a long, long time. Slowly, it started becoming bigger and bigger, indicating — "Careful, now, it's coming back."

Azalea held in a squeal as she hit the ball with a loud crack!, watching it fly away, once again.

"Eh, that was good, Potter." Oliver gave her an impressed smile. "You'd make a fair beater."

Azalea, who stood with her shoulders bunched and bat in front of her protectively, thought he was bluffing. But then again, it was a good shot, wasn't it?

"Uh-oh." the Gryffindors looked at the ball, angrily zooming back towards them. Oliver managed to catch it as it came crashing down, and somehow, the two got it back into the box. Oliver huffed, "Bludgers, nasty little buggers. But this one. . ."

He bent down towards the box again, and this time, held a small, winged golden ball in his hands. It shone brightly in the soft sunlight, and Azalea felt an itch to hold it in her palms. Oliver started explaining again, "This is the only ball I want you to worry about. This is the Golden Snitch."

"I like this ball," Azalea murmured, a small grin tugging at her lips when he let her hold it in her hands. 

He chuckled, "You like it now. Just wait, it's wicked fast and damn near impossible to see."

"So, what do I do with this?"

You eat it. Dumbo.

"You catch it, before the other teams Seeker does. You catch it, Potter, and the game's over. We win."

The ball started fluttering its wings, almost as if in agreement. 

"Woah."

.  .  .

"DIDN'T YOU SEE WHAT THAT DOG WAS STANDING ON?"

"I'm sorry, I was a bit preoccupied with its head. Or maybe you didn't notice, it had three!"

Castor could've hugged Azalea for interrupting Ron and Hermione's bickering by joining the conversation. 

"What's up?" a chocolate shoved in her mouth, making up for the breakfast she missed for the sake of her morning practice, ever the epitome of grace, Azalea Potter looked at the group with wide eyes, the fear she had of Quidditch and messing up long gone.

"We were talking about the dog—"

"Dogs!"

"—we saw last night." Hermione completely ignore Ron, her focus on Azalea and explaining her theory. "It was standing on a trapdoor, which meant it wasn't there by mistake. It's guarding something."

Professor Flitwick decided that enough chatter had been talked, started the lesson for the day.

A levitating spell, supposed to be easy. Supposed to be.

Azalea figured that winning the bloody Quidditch match come Saturday might be an easier task than attempting the spell. She decided to pause, looking around the classroom. Draco, on the opposite end of the classroom seemed to be okay. He'd got the feather to levitate maybe half an inch —perhaps the wind might've helped him— but at least he knew how to handle the wand, thanks to his parents. Hermione seemed completely and utterly concentrated, determined frown creasing her forehead. Ron looked tired with life, and Castor had given up, doodling on parchment with a pen that he'd sneaked in. Because as fun it was to write with quills, drawing just wasn't. 

She huffed. Call it genetics, call it Mrs. Emma's sister's influence. She hated being bad at something. If she wished to do something but she couldn't, well, she'd love to throw a tantrum but her 'family' never liked that, did they? 

So, she tried again. And just as she almost got it, Flitwick's squeaky announcement got her attention, "Look at that, everyone! Miss Granger's done it!"

He clapped, and so did she. Because if not her, at least her friend was good at charms. She'd find something else to master. 

BOOM! All eyes on Seamus Finnigan, who somehow managed to blow his feather up, a sheepish smile on his soot-covered face.

Azalea looked at him with wide eyes, wiping the soot off of her robes since she was sitting between Seamus and Castor. 

"I think we're gonna need another feather here, Professor."

.  .  .

"IT'S LEVIOOSA, NOT LEVIOSAA! HONESTLY, SHE'S A NIGHTMARE."

Clearly, Ron disliked sitting next to Hermione. And he made it apparent to anyone and everyone who walked with him. Unfortunately, that group included Azalea, who was too in her head, thinking about what Hagrid could've possibly wanted from that vault at Gringotts, and Castor, who knew Ron was wrong to belittle Hermione when all she did was try to help him, and the only reason he was being so bitter was because his ego was hurt, and neither noticed Hermione right behind them. 

"No wonder she doesn't have any friends!"

This snapped both of them out of their daze, and they shared a look. Regret shadowed their faces when a sniffling Hermione bustled past them, hurried footsteps and low head, a vivid contrast to the happy and confident girl in Charms. 

Castor huffed, "That was taking it too far, Ron." 

He tried to follow Hermione, all in good spirit, because after all, it was his friend who made her cry. And though it'd make sense for Ron himself to make it right, he knew if someone said something like that about Azure, he'd want to make sure she was okay. 

And just his luck, Hermione ran into the girls' washroom. 

He met Azalea and Ron at lunch, the latter too busy in talking to his friends, the latter reading a book on Quidditch that Wood had given her. She looked up when she felt Castor slide in next to her, "Well, is she alright?" 

"Dunno." Castor shrugged. "She ran into the girls' washroom." 

"Let me go check on her—"

Azalea started to get up, but Castor pulled her back into her seat, "Shut up and eat, you didn't have breakfast either." 

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. God knows if anyone but her, especially that Slytherin, Parkinson, found Hermione, all they'd do would be bully her. Which wouldn't make things all rainbows and sunshine.

"C'mon, you're the people's princess, the Girl Who Lived," he spoke of her title in a deeper voice, making her snort. "I've got to make sure you eat enough."

"You're the bloody prince of this country." 

"Eh, it's overrated."

.  .  .

TURNS OUT, HERMIONE STAYED IN THE BATHROOM ALL DAY LONG.

Azalea didn't have a chance to see Hermione. As soon as lunch was over, she got called over by Wood just to know that there was practice the next morning, 6 a.m. again. This time, with the entire team. Katie Bell then came over to congratulate her and Angelina joined her in saying how happy they were to finally have another girl on the team. 

And then it was off to Transfiguration, Herbology, and Potions, this time with Ravenclaw. Snape, for the first time ever, congratulated Azalea on her success in 'not wasting ingredients'.

And then it was dinner, and Hermione had become quite the topic for the night's gossip. 

Ron appeared somber, quiet and guilty, when he found out she'd been crying in the bathroom all afternoon.

Just as Azalea finished off her dinner, asking (threatening) Castor to get her some pudding because she finally would go to check up on Hermione, who had missed classes and lunch, Quirrell came running in, "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!"

Quiet (before the storm) settled in. Just before he fainted, he concluded, "Thought you ought to know."

And then there was chaos. 

The kids screamed their throats out, panic settling in once cheery atmosphere the Halloween dinner had created. Teachers glanced at one another anxiously, just before Dumbledore did something that would scar the students for life. 

He bellowed, "SILEEEEEEEEEEENCE!"

And once again, there was silence. With the hopes of no upcoming storm.

"Everyone will please, not panic." Dumbledore continued calmly, as if he hadn't just silenced an entire hall full of anxious kids without using magic, violence, or a microphone for Merlin's sake. "Prefects, you will lead your Houses back to the dormitories. Teachers, follow me to the dungeon."

"But Professor!" It was Calypso. "The Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeon."

Dumbledore gulped, but thankfully, his beard covered it. Azalea let out a breath of relief when Dumbledore declared that the Slytherins would be staying in the Great Hall for the while, until something could be arranged. 

But of course, relief was never her friend. Hermione didn't know about the troll now, did she?

"Hufflepuff this way!"

"Stay together!"

"Gryffindors, keep up please! And stay alert."

Amidst the chaos, Ron, Castor and Azalea managed to stay together. And thankfully, Azalea remembered about Hermione, "She doesn't know!"

"What?!" Ron, who was positive that Hogwarts would be the reason he'd be getting grey hair in his teens, looked at Azalea as if she'd grown three heads. Just like that damned dog. 

"Hermione," Castor realised, "doesn't know about the troll."

"Bloody hell!" Ron whined, stomping his foot. Then, he let out a breath through his teeth and decided, "Let's go get her."

.  .  .

"HOW, IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND PURE, CAN OUR LUCK BE SO CURSED? HE'S GOING IN THE GIRLS' BATHROOM."

"Think of it this way," Azalea huffed. "At least now, when we study about trolls, if we study about trolls, anyway, 'Mione would have a thorough idea of what they look like."

"Christ, you both can't shut up, can you?" Ron mumbled, leaning on the doorframe to take a look at the havoc inside. 

"HELP! HELP!"

They burst into the bathroom, for a moment feeling as if they were those dramatic heroes making an entry to save the damsel in distress, but then it dawned upon them that Hermione was in trouble, and great danger. 

"Hermione, move!"

The troll kept thrashing his club blindly, smashing into the stalls and breaking the toilet seats and sinks, ceramic flying everywhere. 

The three of them felt petrified, because, well, the troll was way bigger than they imagined it to be. And there might not be anything they could do about him. 

Hermione covered her head and hid underneath the sinks, screaming in fear everytime the troll came close to her. 

Azalea, in a moment of adrenaline rush and perhaps something that was simultaneously brave but so, so stupid, grabbed onto the troll's club when it got close to her. 

So Castor and Ron were now responsible for keeping both the girls alive. 

"Are you a bloody idiot?!" 

"I'm sorry, I require three to five business days to reply— Woah!" the troll hurled her up, over his (its?) shoulders, and just her luck, she had her wand in her hands and it went up its nose.

"Ew." all of them scrunched their noses, the troll forgotten for a split second. 

"Help," Azalea squeaked, being hurled around as she held onto the troll's shoulders for dear life. 

"Let me just— Oh, dear Lord—" Castor whipped out his wand. . . and dropped it, causing it to roll dangerously close to the troll's dancing feet. 

"Ronald Weasley! Help, please." 

Ron shut his hanging jaw, wiping the sweat off of his brow and gulping down, gripped his wand tightly. 

The troll now held Azalea by her right arm, swinging her around wildly as if she were a pendulum. 

"Do something!" Azalea would've begged right then and there. 

"Like what?" 

"Anything." Castor looked at the only capable contender left. "Hurry up, Ron!" 

Ron licked his lips and held his wand higher, trying to think of something,—

"Swish and flick." Hermione did the movement, looking at Ron, confident in his abilities. Ron nodded, and just as she taught him, 

"Wingardium LeviOsa!" 

The club was snatched out of the troll's hands, and it hovered and hovered the way Ron moved his wand, until it stopped over the troll's head. 

"That was great!" Azalea grinned, proud of Ron. 

"Yeah!" Castor nodded, but then it clicked that Ron was gonna drop the club over the troll's head. "But careful, because Princess Lea's still in the troll's clutches."

"Hey! I'm not a princ— Jesus Christ, Ronald!" Azalea was dropped down, her left leg trapped under the troll. "Thanks." 

Hermione crawled out from under the sink, just as Azalea crawled out from under the troll. Both the girls exhaled heavy breaths, mostly from adrenaline. Silence dawned over the quartet. 

"Is it. . .dead?" Hermione was the one to break the tension, glancing around at her group.

"Probably just passed out." Azalea shrugged, then winced. Yeah, that's a dislocated shoulder. Then, she pulled her wand from the troll's nose, and a grimace settled over her cherry lips. "Troll boogers, eugh!"

As if this mess wasn't enough, Quirrell, McGonagall and Snape walked in on the crime scene. 

"And now, it's a party." Castor muttered under his breath. Thankfully, the teachers were in enough shock to ignore him.

"My—My goodness!" McGonagall was now positive that the spawns of her ex-student's would give her a heart attack. Hand over her heart, she tried to calm herself down. "Explain yourselves."

"Well—"

"You see, Professor—"

"What happened, was—"

"It's my fault, Professor." Hermione knew well and good that McGonagall wouldn't punish her, not as severely as she would her friends, at least. "I went looking for the troll. I'd read about them and I thought I could handle it.  If Ron, Azalea and Castor hadn't come here. . ."

The three teachers looked mortified at the idea that picture perfect Hermione Granger could do such a thing, though the Gryffindor's Head of House had a hunch that the bright witch was only protecting her friends. 

"Be that as it may, it was an extremely foolish thing to do!"

Azalea noticed the discomfort on Snape's face, and then, the large cut on his leg. Snape, after realising his would wasn't covered up, looked around to check if he were in trouble, and just his luck, Potter had seen it. He gave her a glare, to which she didn't respond as he had wished she would. 

"I would have expected more rational behaviour on your part, Ms. Granger. 5 points will be taken from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgment." McGonagall shook her head. She then turned her attention towards the other three, "As for you three. . . well, I just hope you realize how fortunate you are. Not many students could take on a full grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. 5 points...will be awarded to each of you."

McGonagall contemplated continuing, "For sheer dumb luck."

She then noticed how wound up all of them were, especially Azalea. All but Castor, who had taken the least of the fight.

"And Walker, take Potter to the infirmary."

.  .  .

"SO PRINCESS LEA, HOW'S THE SHOULDER?"

Azalea rolled her eyes. Perhaps Castor was one of those who wouldn't let this nickname go even after she was married and had kids, "Just amazing. I could beat you at doing pull-ups right now, that amazing."

She had her arm slung over his shoulders, his holding onto her torso, because turns out, the troll weighed a lot! They were walking slower than they normally would, limping slowly in Azalea's case, and stairs were tricky, but they were almost there. 

"You're challenging me?" Castor feigned offence an over-exaggerated gasp that led to the paintings on the wall asking him to stop with the dramatics. He ignored them, obviously. "You're on, Potter. Just lets get your broken body fixed before, yeah?"

"It's not that bad!"

Castor gave her a look, then let go of her waist. She winced and immediately held on to him again, pouting as she said, "Okay, maybe it does hurt a bit."

"Well, good news— we're here, Princess." 

Madam Pomfrey tsked when she saw Azalea's state, immediately getting her on a bed and rummaging through her racks to get potions and spells and whatnot. 

"How in Godric's name did you get banged up so bad, at such a time?" Pomfrey frowned and glanced at Castor accusingly, "Did you push her off of a window or something, Walker?"

"No!" Castor feigned offence, again, raising his hands in defense. "As if I'd ever wish ill for someone else." 

"We went hunting for the rogue troll, Madam Pomfrey," Azalea explained, wincing at the dark, purple color of the potion she poured in the cup. "I got the worst of it." 

"Dearie," Pomfrey sighed and shook her head. "You Potters and your recklessness...can't stay away from trouble, can you?" 

"You said it yourself, it's genetic." 

"Then curse your genes for this and not me, and drink these up." Madam Pomfrey went to attend the Ravenclaw who had to stay overnight because of a Quidditch injury. 

Castor chuckled when he saw the look on Azalea's face. Three cups, filled to the brim with potions, their colors quite concerning. 

"Are you quite sure it's edible, Azalea?"

"Do I really have a choice?" Azalea sighed. "The green one, then the purple one, then the orange one. If I die because of how bad they taste, play Queen at my funeral, will you?" 

"Ladies and gentlemen, she has a great taste in music." Castor nodded and gave her a mock salute. Then, he squeezed her shoulder. 

"Also, if I don't die, we're sneaking into the kitchens to get some food for me and 'Mione." 

Thirty minutes later, and a battle about whether they're going to the kitchen or not, a battle which Azalea won, they stood in front of the painting that was also the way for them to get into the kitchen. 

"So. . .what do we do now?"

"Tickle the pear."

"What?"

"Tickle the pear."

Castor looked at her incredulously, but followed her instructions anyway. And she was right, again, because the pear tickled and the door creaked open.

"Huh."

"Welcome, to the kitchen!" Azalea opened her arms wide as she strut into the kitchen, immediately getting greetings from her favourite elf ever, Carrot. 

"Hello, Carrot! This is Castor." 

"So you've been here before." Castor nodded, waving at the elf. "Nice." 

"It is, isn't it!" Azalea smiled, cheeks fluffing cutely as her mouth was stuffed with the pumpkin tart. 

"You look like a chipmunk, Lea." 

Azalea gulped her treat down before speaking, "Chipmunks are cute, so thank you."

"You're most welcome."

"And what would Mister Castor have? Or Prince Castor?"

"Prince Castor!" Azalea grinned. "Call him Prince Castor." 

"Noooo, it sounds so...presumptuous." 

"Big words for a pea-sized brain, Cas."

"Speak for yourself."

It was quiet for a while as they both indulged in leftover pumpkin tart. Carrot packed some treats for Ron and Hermione, and soon enough, they both were on their way back to the Common Room, hiding from prefects.

"Well, good night Cas. Thanks for helping me out."

"'Night, Lea."

Azalea left the bag of treats on Hermione's bedside table. She knew Hermione would wake up in an hour or so because she was hungry, considering she would often go hours without eating the days before tests then wake up in the middle of the night, only to find a chocolate or energy bar to satiate her hunger. In the one month since Hermione had swapped dorms with the fifth years residing in the bed perpendicular to Azalea's, Azalea had learnt enough about Hermione. 

It wasn't until she turned the lights out and glanced at the full moon that she realised: 12 years ago, today, her parents died.