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chapter eleven: a speck of flour

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DRUNKEN MEMORIES — BY ALL MEANS — are not pleasant memories for Avery Carmichael. She remembers groggily sitting up in her bed, having no clue of how she suddenly got into her pyjamas when the last thing she remembered she was wearing was that short tube top and the really comfy cardigan and the fact the eyeliner Dominique had so carefully sketched her face with had gone, a cup of water drenched of its contents and her favourite book Pride and Prejudice laying haphazardly on her bedside table.

     And then she remembered. Everything. Nico fucking Valdez. Their bet. The fact she lost. Dancing in the party, playing daunting games of Truth or Dare, and being dragged back to her dorm by Dominique and Charlie Weasley. Charlie Weasley.

     She remembered everything with him, too... And she wished she didn't. That morning, when she'd trudged her way into the kitchen with the most throbbing headache if ever there was one, she stumbled across the boy himself, his ginger hair standing up on its ends having just woken up, wearing a maroon hoodie and grey joggers. In that moment, he had been leaning with one elbow propped up against the counter, the other with a mug of coffee at his lips. He gave her a knowing smirk; she narrowed her eyes at him, and he stopped smirking. Then he pushed a second mug towards Avery with two fingers.

A few weeks later, and Avery is seen leaning against a counter in the Hogwarts kitchens, her elbows propped up on the dusty marble furnishing. House elves were bustling around her with their own occupations preceding them. Dominique and Rowan were both sitting on counters adjacent wearing running gear, Dominique with a fresh and warm brownie held to her mouth while Rowan had a protein smoothie in hand. All three had a free period that Friday morning and while Avery had Halloween Ball prep to get on with, her other two friends went for a run in the freezing cold around the quidditch pitch.

(Or rather, Rowan had compelled Dominique to join her, even after the latter feigned sleeping before the blonde had dumped a cup of freezing cold water on her face and Dominique had to practically defrost herself with her wand. At least, that's what Dominique had told Avery with extended dramatics, while Rowan stood at the side with an impassive gaze.)

     "Great smoothie," Rowan commends the house elf scuttling by, her own legs dangling off of the counter. That particular house elf gave a sheepish bow to the quidditch captain. The house elves worked all around them except for the half patch of marble counter Avery, Rowan and Dominique occupied themselves on. Another house elf came and slid a plate of stroopwaffles Dominique's way. Mouth still full with brownie, the redhead jabs an encouraging thumbs up towards the house elf in thanks.

     "You're having more?" Rowan looks at Dominique with her eyes popping out, in disbelief at the girl's eating capabilities. "We literally just went for a run."

     "You mean you forced me to run with you," Dominique corrects. "I have no obligation to eat like you, so don't even try to force me to drink your stupid seaweed smoothies."

     Rowan lets out an offended scoff, "For one—it's a kale smoothie— and two— you can't possibly expect to keep your body in good nutrition like that!"

     Dominique shrugs. "But it tastes good."

     "Your teeth are going to fall out one day."

     "Like my parents haven't told me that one a million times already."

     "You're gonna get diabetes."

"Just look at the carameeeel...!"

"I don't want to look at the caramel—!"

"Because you're afraid you're gonna fall in loooove with the caramel," Dominique grins through a mouthful of waffle after having dangled one in front of Rowan's face, aiming to tempt the girl.

     She slides the plate towards Avery, who'd been conversing with another house elf regarding food arrangements for the Ball. Avery wasn't looking up even then, too engrossed, so Dominique picked up scrapped tinfoil, scrunched it in a ball and chucked it at Avery's head.

    "Earth to Avery, report any sign of life if possible," Dominique drones out. Avery's head shoots up, furrowing her eyebrows in a scowl at Dominique.

"Hey," Avery frowns, yet still without a clue of what her friend said as she rubs her forehead. "What's your issue?"

"That my best friend has become a fully-fledged zombie," says Dominique, rolling her eyes. "I'm offering you a stroopwaffel. Unless you'd like to be a clean freak like Rowan and have shitty grass smoothies, then be my guest."

Avery pretends to ponder. Then her hand reaches out for a waffle on the plate. "I'm not nearly deluded enough to think seaweed smoothies are better than stroopwaffels. The caramel."

"Kale smoothie," Rowan seethes through gritted teeth. She stares them down with dead eyes. "You two are gonna die a rotting, painful death."

"Because of waffles?" Avery raises an eyebrow. "I'd love to try my luck."

"Besides," says Dominique, "You didn't seem to have that much of a problem with our eating habits the morning after the Ravenclaw quidditch party. I counted at least six croissants and three coffees you claimed would fix your hangover."

     "Jokes on me, because I still felt like absolute shit afterwards."

     "You just insulted yourself," deadpans Dominique.

     "Like you insult your body everyday."

     "I happen to love my body, thank you very much—and food, too—!"

     "Guys," Avery cuts in. She wave the round waffle between them as if it were an interference separator. "I have something to tell you."

     "What is it," asks Rowan, looking wistfully at the waffles on the marble counter.

     "The party," says Avery, "that day. I messed up."

     "You damn right did!" Dominique huffs. "Completely going against our agreement and getting drunk, what a waste..."

     Avery raises an eyebrow. "You're forgetting the part where you blackmailed me in the first place because of how desperate you were?"

     "Yeah, whatever. What else happened, despite you betraying my trust, or whatever."

     Avery mentally prepares herself for what she's about to say. She takes a deep breath. She drops her quill down and places her hands flat against the counter.

     "Okay," says Avery. "You know Nico Valdez?"

     "That Slytherin guy?" Rowan's mouth perks down curiously.

     "Uh-huh," says Avery.

     "What about him?" questions Dominique. "Despite him worming himself into our party, must be clever enough to answer a few riddles."

     "Or he blackmailed a first year to do it."

     Rowan and Dominique shot Avery perturbed looks.

     "Never mind," Avery clicks her tongue. "So. Yes. Nico Valdez. You guys know who he is."

     Avery opens her mouth, then closes it. She sighs.

     "I—I messed up, guys—at the party—with Nico—we made a bet, whoever was able to finish the Firewhiskey first would ask Hannah out on a date —for Nico, can you believe that guy, he just couldn't ask her out herself —and I went along with it because Nico seemed desperate and I love Hannah and what was the harm?— apart from having Charlie have to brush my hair but we ignore that, anyways, I went along with the bet, and, well, I'm so embarrassed to say but... he won the bet."

The two girls blink at Avery, in-sync.

Avery looks back at them, eyes wide.

"God, Avery." Dominique was the one to break the silence. "You are so dramatic."

It was Avery's turn to blink at the redhead.

"So what, you lost a bet?" said Dominique. "You'll have to organise this date. Big deal. Hannah won't mind. Sure, Nico is a bit of a prat. And yeah, you messed up a bit—no, a lot, I will never forget your betrayal— but Hannah's more laid-back than we know. You did this for her anyways, right?"

"I suppose so..." Avery trails off.

Rowan says, "Since when did Nico Valdez fancy Hannah?"

Avery shrugs. "Can't blame him, can you? I get where you're coming from. Hannah doesn't seem like his type."

"Definitely not," says Dominique. "There was that one time I stumbled on him snogging a girl in the prefects bathroom—since most people have gotten wind of the password by now—and I swear, his hand was so far up her—"

Avery clears her throat. Dominique halts, eyes wide.

"Now do you understand why I'm nervous about setting Hannah up on this date?"

"Yeah, okay." says Dominique. She thinks hard for a moment, searching for a diverting topic to replace the one at hand. "How's Valerie?"

Avery furrows her eyebrows for a minute. "She's... fine?"

"How fine?"

"Finer than usual?" She looks at Dominique, confused. Rowan is sipping slowly on her smoothie. "She's mentoring some kid at Gringotts, training him to be a Curse Breaker like herself. Feel bad for the guy. He has no idea what he's in for. I mean... it's a violent business. I'm surprised Mum hasn't contracted some vicious curse yet."

"And Jem?"

"... Jem is fine too? I mean, he's studying in Copenhagen, he has two more years until he's a fully qualified Alchemist, and him and Alice seem to be doing good too. He's supposed to be spending the Christmas at her family's cabin in Folgaria in Italy."

"Has Alice proposed to him yet?" Rowan asks, recalling the prediction Hannah made previously.

"No," Avery grins, "not yet. But it'll happen. This is one prediction of Hannah's I don't disagree with."

"I can't wait for their wedding," Dominique says, releasing a hopeful sigh. "You in a pretty dress, your mum, oh, my—Baby Abi as a flower girl!—that's the cutest thing ever."

Avery smiles. "Well, you don't have to wait until then. The Ball is in three weeks, if you have the patience to see me in a pretty dress by then."

"Now that, I definitely can't wait for." Dominique wags a finger in Avery's face. She holds her hands close to her chest, staring reminiscently at the panel lights lining the kitchen. She sighs. "God, the Ball is gonna be amazing. Have you got a date yet?"

"Eric keeps asking me," says Rowan.

"But you haven't said yes."

"No, I haven't said yes."

"God's sakes, Row," Dominique groans, "Just say yes. You can't keep torturing the boy."

"He's the one that's so desperate!" Rowan retaliates. "If he toned it down a little—"

"Then you wouldn't be able to notice him," Avery cuts in, her gaze tender despite her manner being abrupt. "We all know how this sort of thing works. He likes you, but the only way he can get you to notice him is by being that extra. Maybe if you kinda just... gave him a chance to talk to you without all this added hostility, then you two can... get somewhere. Doesn't have to be romantically."

Avery drops her head to jot something down in her notes, then looks back up to see Rowan and Dominique with that same perturbed glance as before.

"How did you get all wise?" asks Dominique.

Avery shoulders flop in a limp shrug. "Blame Jem. He makes me watch too much Star Wars. I've adopted a Yoda persona now."

"Okay." Dominique looks back to Rowan. "She has a point, though. Just give him an actual chance and he might not be as annoying as you perceive him to be."

Rowan purses her lips. "Maybe."

"Fine." Dominique holds a prodding finger towards Avery. "And you? Who are you going with?"

Avery rolls her eyes.

"I told you," says Avery, "I don't need a date. It would be pointless and boring for my date to have to deal with me disappearing constantly. It's not like I won't have fun. I will, just... without a date."

"See, you think that now," says Dominique, her lips pursed in a manner that gave a complacent hint to most, "But I just know for a fact that Charlie Weasley has no date either and that the deities are practically screaming for one of you to ask the other out."

"What does Weasley have to do with this?" Rowan frowns.

Avery sighs. "Dom thinks I should get laid... with him."

"Oh." Rowan was at a loss. "But they're Head Boy and Head Girl? Not to mention, he's the captain of the rival team—"

"Exactly!" Avery claps her hands together in an enthusiastic smack. "It would be unprofessional—"

"On the other hand..." Rowan continues, "They would look cute together... he's a bit taller, so he can put an arm around her shoulders and it wouldn't look odd... he's also one of the better gingers out there, he pulls off such a hair colour, not many can—"

"I'm a ginger!" Dominique frowns.

"Yeah, and you're drop-dead-gorgeous. Many others aren't that lucky." Rowan deadpans. She looks back, nodding her head slowly, "Charlie and Avery could... work."

     "I'm gonna pretend like you didn't just say that," Avery says with a groan. "Moving on in the domain of people who could be compatible... I think Mum is seeing someone."

     "Oh?" says Dominique. "How come?"

     "Right." Avery sets her hands down flat on the counter. "Obviously I don't see her as much as I would since, you know, boarding school and all of that, but lately, during any kind of break or something, she seems kinda... cryptic. But not really. She says she's going out to meet someone, but she never says who. And sometimes she comes back looking really happy and bubbly out of one of these "meetings" and it just makes me think. What if she's been seeing someone but she hasn't told us yet? Also, this one time I could've sworn I heard Mum talking to someone at midnight at our front door. So I decided to go get a "midnight snack" and they kinda just... disappeared. And my Mum gave me that smile. The one where she's hiding something."

     "Huh," says Dominique. "I mean, it's good she's finally getting out there. Finally."

     "Well, of course," Avery admits. "I'm glad she's putting herself back out there. I didn't expect my mum to stay single forever. I'm just waiting on how long it'll take before she tells us. Me, my Mum, Jem... we don't exactly keep secrets from each other."

     "Perks of living in a small family," quips Rowan. "Juliet could never compare."

     Avery grins. "I mean, Jem would beg to differ. Being sandwiched between two females at home and with a girlfriend when he's away on his own... He gets overjoyed when Uncle Douglas pays a visit and he's no longer the only guy."

     "Hopefully he's a nice guy," says Dominique. "Or woman. Whoever your Mum is seeing, if she is seeing anyone. Sadly, Aves, I don't think your detective skills are as polished as mine."

     "You try living in the Carmichael residence for a day," remarks Avery. "Bet you'd be able to suss my mum out."

     "Gladly." Dominique heaves a defeated sigh. "Anything to get out of the arguments between my parents and my sister."

"They've gotten worse?" asks Rowan.

"Don't even ask. It's a neverending repeat of my parents and Sierra getting at each other's heads, and for what? Sie didn't come out of her room the entire day? Put her washing in the wrong basket? I have no idea how I'll be able to constantly witness their arguments when I leave Hogwarts, but I don't blame Harris for moving all the way to Glasgow for Uni."

"Just come over to mine," Avery nudges Dominique. "You'll play the part of a Carmichael more than me and Jem, anyways. The hair makes you the perfect candidate. No one would ever think you weren't my mum's daughter."

Dominique shoots Avery a appreciative smile.

"What ever did happen between your parents, Aves?" asks Rowan, curious. "How come your Mum has to be the single parent? Are they divorced or something?"

"Kind of..." Avery trails off, "but not really."

Here's the thing. There was never full proof that Valerie Carmichael had divorced her husband. They always said that Valerie and he had separated, but that was it. No documentation, no right of custody, no nothing. Almost as if the man that fathered Jeremiah and Avery Carmichael had just vanished. He obviously hadn't, because Jeremiah remembered him and though Valerie hated to show it, she remembered her once-love too. And it was difficult for Avery to not know this man existed when she carried so many of his traits. A mix of his hair colour, his eyes... her love for art. (They say it came from Valerie, but it obviously was a natural attraction to creativity gained from her father.)

But the world had never answered the questions Avery had about her father, and she was doubtful they would ever come.

"They all say my parents have separated," Avery elaborates. "But no one has ever confirmed that they were, well, divorced. My dad's name was Oliver Hearst. And I was three when he left. I don't really know much. Neither would Jem, he was seven, he'd only know the bare minimum. And it's kinda suspicious, but they always avoid questions to do with him. So... I don't really know what happened."

"Aren't you, well, curious in the slightest?" Rowan asks. "You know his name, and you have a vague idea of him... he's your father. You could just as easily seek him out. You have every right to."

(Rowan also frowned saying she could've sworn she heard the surname Hearst somewhere.)

They watch Avery honestly ponder the idea suggested to her before she'd dropped her shoulders in a shrug.

"I couldn't do that to my mother," she says, "Mum has went above and beyond to take care of me and Jem. She's risked it all and has still made it to be successful in life. And... I dunno, she might still be pained by it all. She was with him for a reason. And then... yeah. My Mum is one of the best people I know. I didn't need a father because I had a mum and a dad in one. I certainly don't need one now."

"You still think about it sometimes, don't you?" Dominique perks her lips into a quaint smile. "Him. Your dad."

"It's hard not to." Avery admits. "I mean, I try, I try and move on from whatever curiosity I held from my childhood, but it's hard and downright frustrating that I have no memories of a man who had been there for me as an infant. Jem managed to humour me for a while with what was left of his seven years of juvenile memories but we never really got to a good place with those. Its just me, that picture I sneaked and a whole lot of questions that will probably never be answered."

It's true. Part of Avery wished that she did have a father that stuck around. It's the part of her that she hates, because she had an absolutely amazing mother in Valerie Carmichael. But she couldn't help it. Since primary school and all the way to Hogwarts, she's seen people and their fathers and just imagined what it would be like if he had stayed. Would he be firm and disciplining? Or would he have a coffee mug saying "NUMBER ONE DAD" that he'd keep glued to his hand at all times? Would he be the one to pick her up from school and encourage McDonalds runs? Would there be room for, perhaps, another sibling...? Avery always yearned for another sibling. A younger one. Charlie had many. He once said he'd be free to share.

Avery had all these questions and more. Curse her mind for filling itself with all the possibilities of something impossible.

Dominique and Rowan look in deep thoughts at Avery's words. She looks up, taking a silent breath. She smiles. Her voice crashes the two girls out of their thoughts.

"Enough deep and revealing chats for one day, yeah?"

"Sure, whatever," says Dominique. Avery has to stifle a laugh when the redhead throws a curious glance to the smoothie laying by Rowan and without consent, attempts to try what the blonde seemed to adore. She wasn't impressed. Immediately, Dominique gags, and Rowan's head turns and scowls at the redhead, snatching back the smoothie. Dominique remains disturbed.

Dominique faces Rowan with an unimpressed, nauseated glance. "What person tortured your tastebuds at a young age and why does your PTSD force you to drink such horrid concoctions?"

"We'll see who lives longer," Rowan huffs in return.

"Evening, ladies."

All three heads turn in the direction of the kitchen doors, where a Gryffindor with the resemblances of around three other redheads in the school strolled in. Charlie Weasley's bright red hair was unceremoniously tousled and he wore a sleeveless black sweater on top of his white shirt and red & gold tie. There's a haphazard, clumsy smile on his face as he dodges the house elves all around him—the height difference severe—his body swerving in all sorts of directions to leave the petite house elves unscathed. He released a relieved breath once he reaches the counter with the three Ravenclaws, dropping a hand on the marble beside Avery.

"Hey," he says.

But Avery is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "We're nowhere close to evening. Lunch has literally not even happened yet."

"Oh, same idea," Charlie waves a dismissive hand. "How are we all?"

"Recovering from the taste of a horrendous smoothie, but, surviving," Dominique presses her lips together in a smile. She pushes the diminishing plate of waffles his way. "Stroopwaffel? Or are you like Rowan and live off of a cow's diet?"

Charlie peeks his head over, surveying the plate being offered to him. He scrunches his face up, shaking his head. "No, thanks. I have quidditch practice tonight. I'll get killed by my teammates if they found out I've eaten this when I've been keeping them on such a strict diet."

Rowan's face lights up. "See? Finally someone here who's sensible."

"Yet this is the guy I have hot chocolate with every night. With all the cream and marshmallows too." Avery cuts in. Charlie holds a halting finger up.

"Ah—but we have switched to green tea the last few weeks since quidditch season's started. And because of the silently mutual agreement that finishing a whole pack of marshmallows a night isn't the most sustainable way of life."

"Touché."

Avery flashes Charlie a grin, one he returns.

"So, Head Boy," Dominique begins, "Care to join us in some deep, meaningful chats? Or do have an actual productive reason to be here?"

"Not that I don't love having deep, meaningful chats," He laughs, "It's the latter." He leans on the counter in the direction of Avery. "Minnie wants us to make a list of prefects to basically "promote" to a separate team. For the Ball. She wants us to carry less tasks so that we can focus on our school subjects. Unnecessary, if you ask me."

     "Easy for you to say," scoffs Dominique. "You're great at Arithmancy. Professor Vector absolutely loves you. He gives you all the help you want."

    "Hey, that's not true!" Charlie says with a pout. He reconsiders. "Well, maybe. But he's been going easier on you. Less... public ridicule."

     "Whatever."

     Rowan frowns, "Wait... Minnie?"

     "McGonagall," Avery answers for Charlie, chagrined yet amused.

     "Oh," says Rowan. Her shoulders slump, somewhat disheartened. "For a minute I thought Minnie Mouse and got really excited remembering the time I got her autograph in Disneyland."

     "Minnie Mouse?" Charlie questions.

     Rowan nods. "Only the most iconic Disney character to exist."

     "Peter Pan is offended right now." Avery deadpans.

     "As if that shadow-stealing, children-coaxing creature could compare. Hasn't he ever heard about a curfew?"

     "What about Mickey Mouse?"

     "As if. Women always did do it better."

     Avery purses her lips. "True."

Charlie and Dominique have never looked so confused in their lives.

"Anyways," Dominique claps her hands together. She gives a pointed look to Avery. "Aves, didn't you have something to ask Charlie?"

"No, I didn't?" Avery frowns. But Dominique wasn't very happy with her answer, and Avery wasn't sure what the girl wanted from her. Rowan apparently knew judging by the way she snickered into her shoulder. Charlie's face was blank and confused all in one.

"Are you sure?" Dominique continues to hint, her teeth gritted, growing more exasperated with frustration as the seconds ticked by with Avery staying still with her eyebrows furrowed.

Still completely clueless, Avery turns back towards Charlie on her other side, not before she mouthed a flummoxed "the fuck?" to Dominique. Avery stares at Charlie, still with no idea what she was being provoked to say. She scratches her eyebrow in thought.

"Um, we have this prefect thing to sort out, right?" She eventually lets out, not sounding sure in the slightest. Charlie is beginning to catch on. He nods. "When are you free to work on it?"

     Dominique sighs defeatedly.

"Er—can't do tonight, I have quidditch practice." He replies. "But I believe there's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow?"

"I believe you're right," Avery presumes. "How's meeting at The Three Broomsticks at two?"

"Morning, or afternoon?" Charlie inquires, his false question scratching a grin up his lips. Avery wasn't fazed. "Okay, afternoon, got it." He gave in. "It's a date."

Avery narrows her eyes. Charlie gives her a thin smile.

"Work date." He corrects.

"Plan." Avery confirms.

"Perfect." Charlie claps his hands together. Avery is slightly confused when his deep gaze lingers on her for an extra moment, and she almost withdraws a breath when a knuckle reaches out to brush the surface of her cheek, his faint touch leaving the most delicate of traces against her skin. Everyone else was still, as was Avery.

     And she had been holding a breath when his knuckle drops from her face, the faintest patch of red tickling his neck. He brandished the tip of his knuckle when they all gave him curious looks, and they could see faint white markings decorating the top, ones which had previously been on Avery's face.

     "Speck of flour," he mumbles. He clears his throat as he looks across at all three girls. "Nice chats, but Roy is waiting for me. I gotta go."

"I saw him sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest the other day," Dominique comments to Charlie.

     Charlie smirks. "Where do you think I'm off to?"

     "Head Boy, breaking the rules?" Rowan raises an eyebrow. "What are the chances."

     Charlie laughs, leaning against the counter beside Avery. The unimpressed stare from Avery was burning into his side. "I'm only going so he doesn't get himself into any unknowable messes. The creatures in the Forest like me. And besides, if he dies, I'll die with him."

      "Well don't die, please," Avery remarks, "I'll have a hard enough time dealing with your Head Boy replacement."

     "Don't count on it," Charlie smiles, but only Avery is able to feel and acknowledge when he taps a knuckle gently against her side. The touch lingered for a second, before he removed it as if it were never there in the first place. But tissue has memory.

     Avery clears her throat. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

     "See you," says Charlie, and he starts limboing between the elves again.

     "Don't die!" Dominique yells.

     "Wait, no, actually, if he dies then Ravenclaw have more of a chance at winning the quidditch cup!" Rowan whispers.

"Okay..." Dominique glances afar, half not-knowing how to react. "Don't stop yourself from dying!...I guess?"

But Charlie had already left the kitchen by then. Which lead Dominique to give Avery a sharp smack upside the head.

"Ow!" says Avery, clutching her head. "What the hell?"

"You're an idiot." Dominique spat before taking a fervent bite from the last waffle.

"Okay, no, what was that?" Avery demands. "You literally just acted like the most mentally deranged person I have ever met and I still have no idea what you were trying to tell me."

     Dominique lets out a large, overemphasised groan, her face in her hands. "God, Avery, you are so smart but sometimes you're just absolutely thick." She looks up, and sighs. "I was trying to hint for you to ask Charlie to the Ball."

     "Wha—oh."

     Now it made sense.

     Dominique needs to stop.

     "Not happening, Dom," Avery dismisses, sounding certain in her entirety. "I already said that I'm perfectly content without a date. Let alone Charlie."

     "I love you, but one day I'm gonna slaughter you. Can't you see the chemistry you two have? Practically read each other's mind. Finish each other's sentences. And that smile he gives you—"

     "Is the same one he gives everyone else." Avery cuts off.

     "And you're going on a date with him tomorrow."

     "Work date."

     "Still classified as a date."

     "I hardly think discussing perfect positions would be date-worthy material."

     Dominique sighs, a pleading droop to her eyes. "Can't you just see that there is something between you two? Something more than just a school acquaintance? More than being Head Boy and Head Girl?"

     Avery exhales, setting her jaw. "Charlie treats me exactly how he'd treat a friend, and so do I. That's all we are. Friends."

     "Bullshit," Dominique scoffs.

     "Like the way he took that flour off of your cheek said anything but friends," remarks Rowan.

     "Whatever," says Avery, glancing at Rowan and Dominique still seated upon the counter, the latter in a grump with her arms folded. She gathers her work from the marble counter and clutches it to her chest. "I need to go talk to Professor Sinistra about the star charts for the ceiling during the Ball."

     The Head Girl leaves without another glance to her exasperated friends, but she's still able to hear the enthusiasm in Rowan's voice talking to Dominique.

     "Hey, it's better than the stubborn claim she made a while back... Remember when she said they wouldn't even become friends? Look at them now."

     Avery doesn't want to think over what Dominique is saying to her. Or Rowan. There's nothing to think over. At least, that's what she's trying to tell herself.

———

ONCE UPON A TIME—so, three weeks ago, Valerie Carmichael had berated Avery in a letter that she needed more creativity within her Hogwarts subjects and that any sort of employer or recruiter would search for the applicants with the most variation within their applications. At the time, it didn't strike Avery too much but she figured her mother might be right. And it was only the start of October, so she'd probably be able to catch up from whatever she'd missed in the subject she chose.

     (Because most people just know that the NEWT work done in sixth year isn't taken nearly as seriously as that in seventh year. The only obstacle standing in Avery's path at picking up an extra subject was the minor hurdle that was her being, well, the Head Girl.)

     So, Avery can thank her mother for her being the reason she was now sitting within this peacefully natural Art classroom. Avery's natural and inherited aptitude for anything artistic had not gone unnoticed by Valerie, and she was on good enough terms with Professor Dumbledore to be able to get Avery a place within the class of late. It's not like the numbers were overflowing. Asides from Avery, the class only consisted of seventh years Amaya, Lorelai, Kylian and Nico Valdez himself.

There was also Professor Lowa-Davis, the art teacher. In terms of conventional, ordinary teachers, Professor Lowa-Davis certainly wasn't one of them. But art was never a conventional subject. Avery remembers before when she had a "test" to determine her artsy capabilities. Professor Lowa-Davis had given her a blank canvas, a piece of black charcoal and a pair of scissors and told her to draw it. No explanation, elaboration, or reason at all. Avery was just told to draw a pair of scissors for whatever reason there was. She didn't know how she was supposed to draw it or if she was supposed to use tone. Nothing.

     (Nico didn't make things any better, he kept coming up with daunting remarks about the significance of this picture, trying to scare her. Avery learnt to stop believing him after he included her mother's garden rake in the equation.)

     So she did it. She sketched a pair of scissors using only her sight and a single black charcoal pencil. Avery's nerves took the passenger seat in this scenario since she still had no idea what or why she had to do this for. She can't have been getting assessed this early. But she did what felt right to her mind and even more so, what felt right to her hand. And in seeing the poker face of Professor Lowa-Davis when she handed in her piece, Avery knew there was nothing more she could do.

     Then her art teacher, rather than saying anything or commending or criticising Avery, had gone into her desk drawer and brought out some more sheets, all which Avery was eventually able to see, were drawings of scissors. Many of them. Each different in their own ways, regardless of the object. And that's what Professor Lowa-Davis said. That while they may be in the same classroom, and while she may have the same subject of attention as others from time to time, that regardless of it, their work would always be different.

     And Avery's initial impression was changed. Professor Lowa-Davis was quite laid back. Dresses in a plethora of floral layers and dangling necklaces, feather earrings just as well—she was one of the least known teachers at Hogwarts. Mostly those who took art were surprised to hear that they even had a teacher for the subject since she hardly ever showed face. She was slightly kooky (definitely not as much as Professor Trelawney) and often went on tangents completely unrelated to the course at hand, but Avery found herself enjoying the subject, even more so having caught up with the coursework. Her teacher gave her as much support as required in completing it, so Avery's opinion was growing more and more positive.

     (Professor Lowa-Davis also did happen to be heavily pregnant at this moment in time, supposed to give birth during the Christmas break. So maybe now people in Hogwarts were taking more notice of the woman in bohemian styles of clothing and a massively oversized woman heaving along the corridors. Perhaps.)

     Today's lesson was slightly more different to the others—then again, it was Art so every lesson was bound to be unique. Avery, her four classmates and teacher were situated in the outdoors, where the sweet sound of chirping birds reverberated in the crisp air and beneath a small marquee tent, five canvases laid accompanied by five patient stools on top of five very impatient birds.

"I hate this stupid bird," Lorelai grumbles under her breath, making firm attempts at hovering her hands around the bird so as to not let it veer away from the stool. Professor Lowa-Davis wanted the Art students to learn control and patience with their paintbrush technique.

"Shh!" says Amaya. "Mine's been still for at least six minutes. That's a record for me."

"Hey, mine just did a shit on the stool." Kylian adds. "Should I include that in my painting, just for a laugh?"

"Technically you wouldn't be doing anything wrong." Avery grins, dropping her paintbrush back onto her palette. Her bird hopped from the stool, pecking at a rock embedded within the grass. She takes a slow descent, crouching on both feet, casting a careful hand out to the bird, who looks up at the Ravenclaw for a moment with it's beaded eyes. It takes the bird a second of thought (however birds do think) before it hops onto Avery's palm with its twigged feet. She smiles as she cups a hand around the back, rising once more to her feet.

"How'd you do that?" Nico frowns from the easel beside the Head Girl.

"Do what?" Avery asks, placing the bird onto the stool before resuming her painting.

"Get that bird to abide without causing you to bleed? What are you?"

"Animal whisperer," says Avery, in a somewhat taunting, teasing manner. She grins. "It's not that hard. You just have to... be a bit patient. Make the bird come to you on its own terms."

"Easier said than bloody done," Lorelai huffs. "Not all of us are gonna become Magizoologists."

"Relax, Lor," says Amaya. "Not all of us are lucky enough to win dates with the Head Boy."

     Avery's head shoots up.

     "No way did Lorelai get a date with Charlie Weasley." Kylian says, incredulous. Avery lowers her head, still keeping the smallest hint of a glance upon the Gryffindor that was Lorelai as she flicked her paint-ridden brush into Kylian's eyes.

"Don't act so surprised, Kylian," says Lorelai with a short eye roll. "It's not that big of a deal. It's one date."

"With the Head Boy."

     "His name is Charlie, in case you've forgotten."

     "He's also the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team," urges Amaya.

     "One date—"

     "And he's gorgeous. Definitely a nine."

     "What happened to that last one?" Nico raises an eyebrow.

     "The hair deducts a point. Too ginger."

     "Hey, that's not fair!" Kylian exclaims. "Avery's mum is pure ginger and she's fit. Like, mega fit."

     Avery halts, not knowing what to say. "Thanks?"

     "You're welcome," Kylian was nonchalant. "Wasn't your mum really young when she had kids?"

     "Um, I guess," Avery gets out, unsure of when this became about her mum and her maternal journey. "Mum had Jem when she was eighteen—" Lorelai and Amaya practically swoon at Jeremiah's name, and Avery thinks she saw Nico's blush too. "She had me when she was twenty-two. So, yeah, I guess?"

     "No dad in the picture?"

Avery shakes her head. "Not for a long while." And their small space goes quiet for a moment, and all they can hear is the chirping of the birds accompanying them.

"You share a dorm with Charlie , don't you?" Lorelai breaks the silence. "You know, with you being the Head Girl and him being Head Boy."

"Uh, yeah." Avery says.

"What's he like?"

"He's, um... nice."

     Lorelai narrows her eyes. "We know that he's nice. What else?"

     Avery shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say. He works hard, he loves dragons... makes a mean cup of hot chocolate."

     "Have you and him ever... you know." Amaya looked at Avery suggestively. Avery's eyes widen.

     "Um, no, definitely not," Avery mumbles, her cheeks reddening.

     "Why not? You're hot, and so is he. You spend a lot of time together. Just because—"

     "Just because they're both attractive doesn't mean anything romantic has to happen to them, Amaya." Lorelai cuts in. "That's not how it works. Looks aren't everything."

     Avery wasn't sure if thank you was a correct response. But Avery didn't know why this news... bothered her. Charlie was free to go out with whosoever he wanted to. He and Lorelai were both Gryffindors. They probably got to know each other through that in the last few years. It was just a date. It didn't have to progress any further. They could just as well be going out as friends—

     Avery didn't know why she was acting like this.

     Up until two months ago, she didn't so much as want to befriend the guy. She didn't know why she could still remember the connection of them both that day, in the Gryffindor common room, when he saved her from an abysmal crash. Why every time they got to spend time together, it would be something she would look forward to more than she could handle. (Even if it was to do with Head business, and don't tell Dominique, but Avery was still really excited for their "work date" the next day.) Why his charming, saccharine smile could inspire the highest of emotion on the lowest of days. Everything he did was all subtle, and natural, and pure, and she didn't know why part of her just... adored it all. She didn't know the answers to these questions, and that scared her.

     "Me and Charlie have only known each other a short while," says Avery, "We don't know each other that well for... we're just friends, is what I'm trying to say."

     In the midst of a reinforced silence, Avery doesn't know why the ghost of an amused smirk haunted Nico's face.

     Before anyone else can induce anymore of that strange conversation, uneasy footsteps trailed to the front of the marquee, the wind whooshing in as the door flapped open. Professor Lowa-Davis stood in the entrance, long, dirty blonde hair in a descending braid reaching her waist, a magenta braid interlaced within. The floral maxi dress expanded where her enlarged baby bump clung, a loose thin shawl draping around her arms. She stood in the doorway catching her breath from the cold outside, one hand encircling her bump while the other arched behind, supporting her back. Her eyes were dead-set as she looked at her small class.

"I'm beginning to think you guys are more hormonal than this kid will eventually be." Professor Lowa-Davis sighs, ridden with exhaustion as she drops herself on a spare stool with her legs bent out, hands on her knees in an enduring stretch.

     "Know the gender yet?" asks Avery.

     "Nope," says the teacher. "My husband and I agreed the first kid would be a surprise. But I feel like it's a girl."

     "You're implying you want more kids, then?" Amaya says, carefully guiding her bird onto the stool with wobbling hands.

     "If I get out of this pregnancy alive, then yeah. More kids are the plan. How are these birds coming along?"

     "It'd be better if you gave us something that would actually stay still," Kylian made a fuss.

     "That's the point, Kylian, it's all about—"Professor Lowa-David groans in pain, and before they saw her hands encompassing her stomach, her class had been worried for a moment. "God, this child knows how to punch—Kylian, it's all about zeroing in on the details and using—aaah—landmarks on the item, or bird, keeping that as a rough guide. You have to—excuse my language, fuck—tune yourself in with the bird."

     The Art class had came to the conclusion that they couldn't really do much for her and her pregnancy agony and that the best thing was to endure Professor Lowa-Davis's colourful language with straight faces, often failing.

     "You know what you should name your kid?" Nico had taken a seat on the chair behind his easel and abandoned his paintbrush. He'd only made the outline of his portrait, and although it was a good one, it still appeared quite empty.

     Professor Lowa-Davis raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

     "You should name it Nico," says Nico.

     "Of course you would say that," Lorelai rolls her eyes.

     "I'm not naming my kid Nico, Nico," the Art teacher release an exasperated sigh.

     "Why not?" Nico frowns.

     "Because she just said she thinks she's having a girl!" says Amaya.

     "Then she should name it Nico."

     Professor Lowa-Davis wasn't amused.

     "I'm not naming my kid Nico," she says.

     "How about Nicola," Nico suggests. "It fits. Or Nicholas. Avery always calls me that for some reason."

     Avery frowns. "Because Nicholas is your name?"

     "... It's not?"

     "Oh."

     Avery internally smacks herself.

     "So," Nico folds his arms, "You should definitely name your kid after me. It'll be destined for greatness that way."

     Professor Lowa-Davis purses her lips, unimpressed. "I'll mention it to my husband."

     Chuckling, Avery turns back to her half-finished portrait of the bird—who had actually taken to... sleeping? Either that, or it was dead. Kylian did threaten to kill her bird earlier on in the lesson. Maybe he sneaked up on it and made good on the promise.

     Something hits against her ankle.

She turns to the side and is faced with Nico's imploring face, snuggled into his Slytherin scarf. He retracts his leg before finding purpose in kicking Avery's leg again.

"What's up?" says Avery.

Nico comes out with, "You owe me a date, Carmichael."

"What? Yuck, I'm not going on a date with you."

"Not you, dumbass." Nico rolls his eyes. "Hannah. Remember? Three weeks ago. Our bet. I won. You lost. Therefore, you have to organise a date between me and Hannah, because—"

"You're too much of a wuss to ask yourself?"

"Okay, that's—"

"Relax, Nico," Avery sighs, giving in, "I'll get you that date. Just... leave it to me. I have something in mind."

"You angel." Nico expresses in gratitude.

As Avery features flashed him amusement, Nico turned back around, a satisfied grin charming his lips. And as her teacher rambled on about balance and nature and all things the child in her womb was doing to her, Avery wondered what her date with Charlie would be like tomorrow.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

omg hey guys long time no see... i'd like to say there was a reason for me neglecting this fic this long but there isn't other than me being unmotivated to write this😭😭😭 let's blame it on school too cos school sucks x

i'm trying to get in the swing of writing this again... but i've also had some mega brainwaves and plottwists in mind for this too so be prepared, i'm still updating my harry potter fic so make sure to give it a check if you haven't!!! it's my proudest work so far <3

(also i changed the layout of this fic AGAIN but this it for good now i hope omg)

thank u if you read this chapter and i hope you're all keeping well ily all <3