CHAPTER SIX

Kit couldn't fathom how Headmistress McGonagall had come to the conclusion that she was fit to be a prefect.

The decision baffled her, even after half the school year had passed. Kit had never seen herself as leadership material, especially now. She was emotionally distant, socially withdrawn, and often felt like a shadow of her former self. How could McGonagall, a woman renowned for her sharp judgment, think Kit was suitable for the role?

The thought lingered every time she put on her prefect badge. Despite her self-doubt, however, Kit couldn't deny that she'd been fulfilling her duties. She might not have been the strictest of prefects, but she adhered to the rules and maintained the professionalism expected of her. She wasn't particularly warm or approachable, but she was efficient.

McGonagall, of course, had seen potential in Kit. She always had a knack for recognizing strengths hidden beneath the surface, and Kit was no exception. While the headmistress hadn't explained her reasoning outright, Kit suspected McGonagall saw the position as more than just a responsibility—it was a lifeline.

Being a prefect forced Kit to interact with others, albeit in a structured and detached way. It was an obligation that required just enough engagement to keep her from retreating entirely into herself. She didn't have to worry about forming attachments or confronting her lingering trust issues. It was just a job, and in many ways, that simplicity was exactly what Kit needed.

Still, the role wasn't without its challenges. Kit had been making her usual rounds when she spotted Lorcan Scamander peeking out from behind a pillar, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and curiosity.

Following his line of sight, Kit saw his twin, Lysander, a short distance away, chatting animatedly with a Gryffindor girl. Correction: flirting. Lysander's easy charm was on full display, and the girl seemed entirely captivated.

Kit quirked a brow and stepped quietly toward Lorcan, her curiosity piqued. "So," she began in a hushed tone, stopping just behind him. "Do you enjoy watching your brother trifling with someone?"

Lorcan jumped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Helga's ghost, Kit—you scared me!"

"Sorry?" Kit offered with a faint smirk, crossing her arms.

"And no," Lorcan huffed, glancing back at his brother with a grimace. "I don't enjoy it. I'm just... trying to figure out when he's going to stop."

"Stop what?" Kit asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Messing around with every girl who gives him the time of day," Lorcan said, his frustration clear.

Kit tilted her head thoughtfully. "If it's mutual, does it really matter? No harm, no foul, right?"

Lorcan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Sure, until one of those girls wants more than just a fling. And knowing my brother, he'll bolt the moment it gets serious. The last thing we need is another situation like Nimah Black and Fred Weasley."

Kit winced at the mention of the infamous incident. Even though she wasn't particularly close to the Weasleys or Blacks, she knew the story well—it was practically wizarding folklore at this point.

"Yikes," she muttered, glancing back at Lysander, who was now gesturing wildly to make the Gryffindor laugh. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse," Lorcan confirmed, turning to face her. "Which is why I need your help."

Kit blinked, caught off guard. "My help? With what?"

"With Lysander," Lorcan said, his tone conspiratorial.

"Uh, sure?" Kit said slowly, her scepticism evident.

"Great!" Lorcan beamed. "First, we need to get to the common room. The last thing we need is someone overhearing."

Kit followed him, though her brows were furrowed in suspicion. "I'm warning you now—if this plan is ridiculous, I'm not going through with it."

"Relax," Lorcan said over his shoulder, grinning. "I may not be a Ravenclaw like my brother, but I can come up with decent plans."

Kit snorted, quickening her pace to catch up. "Oh, really? Like that 'decent' plan you had when we were kids? The one that almost got us expelled?"

Lorcan nearly tripped over his own feet, turning to shoot her a glare. "You are never going to let that go, are you?"

"Not a chance," Kit replied smugly, brushing past him with a smirk.

"You were just as bad!" Lorcan argued, trying to keep up.

Kit glanced back at him with mock indignation. "I am not that bad."

As they continued their playful back-and-forth on the way to the common room, Kit felt a shift in the air around her. It was subtle, barely there, but noticeable enough to make her pause for a fleeting moment. The heaviness she had grown accustomed to—the constant weight pressing down on her chest—seemed to lift just slightly.

Lorcan's exasperated huffs and indignant protests reminded her of the banter she used to share with her brother. It wasn't the same, of course, and it would never be. But in some small way, this moment felt... familiar.

She glanced over at Lorcan, who was still muttering under his breath about her unfair teasing. His frustration was lighthearted, free of judgment or pity, and for once, Kit didn't feel like she was walking on eggshells. He treated her like herself—not a fragile version of the girl she used to be, and certainly not as someone broken.

As they rounded the corner and approached the entrance to the common room, Kit found herself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what felt like forever. She wasn't sure if Lorcan noticed, but even if he had, he didn't comment on it. That, she appreciated more than she could express.

The simple, fleeting ease she felt in that moment wasn't a cure-all, nor did it magically erase the pain and grief that had become her constant companions. But it was something—a small spark in the overwhelming darkness. And for the first time in a long while, Kit allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could find moments like this again.

As they stepped through the doorway and into the warmth of the Hufflepuff common room, Kit realized that these moments—however brief or insignificant they might seem—were worth holding onto. They wouldn't fix everything, but they could remind her that not all was lost.

For now, that was enough.