YEAR OF DAMNATION
VII.   Lamplighter

✶

     Hogsmeade's streets were banded with streaks of snow and smelled of syrupy butterbeer. Sanyu's cone of candied pecans wafted through steam. The fantasy of a full, warm stomach called to Dion as Sanyu announced that November had never been this cold in all her years in Scotland. And it was true, but Dion could not give it the attention it deserved. She tugged her house scarf further over her head like a babushka and clung to Sanyu's arm for warmth, fretting her rendezvous with Evelyn.

     The Alchemy Club decided that Dorian's list was a good start and delegated the retrieval of books to pairs. Romulus and Antonin managed to shirk out of any strategic planning by announcing they would check out Alchemist's Advanced Handbook from the library, leaving only the restricted books to be fought over.

     Dion was hesitant to scheme at all when it became apparent that they would not all be able to ask Slughorn for such books at the same time. Tom relayed his interaction with the typically lenient professor, telling them that he only weaselled clearance for Children of the Grave out of him. It would be absurd if he made things easy, considering the themes of their texts and lack of answers as to why they needed it.

     Murk allowed Dorian to check out Abyssal Alchemy, which barred him from being asked again and left Secrets of the Darkest Art. The first few days, Dion spotted Evelyn trying to retrieve it herself through Professor Merryweather to no avail until Thaddeus cornered them in their bedroom one evening and insisted they work together. It took him a dramatic kneel at Evelyn's feet before she begrudgingly agreed.

     Dion wondered how a simple club devolved into such backhanded behaviour. The entire debacle gave her an anxious hum throughout her body whenever she thought of it. She could only be partially angry; they entwined her in their scheme, finally included by the Knights. Dion could have only dreamt of it a mere few months prior. Sanyu, clueless to the extent of their rule breaking, constantly reminded Dion that it was nothing but an excursion to them—not a friendship.

     "Bail on her," Sanyu was saying after a swallow of food. Her red and gold scarf looped around her neck over a heavy, maroon capelet, geometric designs embroidered with gold thread around the hems.

     "That would be rude."

     She held out a handful of pecans to Dion. "Serves her right, she's been nothing but an arse to you."

     "She may be lonely. All of her friends are boys," murmured Dion, plucking the sweets from Sanyu and nibbling. They were still toasty and she hastily ate them before they grew cold.

     "Then maybe she should hang out with normal people."

     Dion sighed in the disheartened way she always did when Sanyu became agitated because the Knights were brought up. She hated arguing with Sanyu, so she bit her tongue, half-insulted by her insinuation.

     It would be in vain to understand her stance on the matter, as Alphard stood within their circle and remained in Sanyu's good graces, but Dion could not manage the same. She was hurt, uncertain if it related to the contradiction or the fact that there was something she could not understand about Sanyu.

     Dropped sweets bled into the snow, smeared speckles of blue, red, and green crunching under Dion's shoes. A sea of boys in red whooped and hooted around a set of glossy, chattering teeth on legs when they passed Zonko's. Elementary things amused boys, and Dion imagined they could not come up with a single joke if they collectively put their minds to it. She thought of Thaddeus and his vulgar jests and that maybe they were not as different as she believed, but it fizzled out when they approached The Mug.

     The outside looked as uninteresting as the name, but the knowledge that The Mug was where Evelyn, and anyone of her standards, congregated made it acclaimed. Sanyu peered through the tinted windows and grimaced like she sniffed something sour.

     "Well, here you are," she grumbled, motioning vaguely to the door. "There's still time to back out."

     Although Dion wished to take her up on the offer, to gallop into the sunset instead of facing Evelyn on her own, she shook her head and delicately unlooped her arms from Sanyu.

     Sanyu huffed, blowing a curl from her eyes. "Save a bite of a pastry for me if you get anything, then. I heard it's good."

     "Of course."

     Dion pressed a kiss to each of Sanyu's cheeks while placing three fingers over her heart, coils of her hair that escaped from under her earmuffs tickling Dion's lips and cheekbones, and bid her goodbye. Sanyu's hand lingered on her elbow before falling to her sides as Dion turned around and entered The Mug.

     Smooth jazz, the scent of fresh pastry, and more overwhelming, coffee, flowed throughout the cafe. It was quieter than The Three Broomsticks had ever been, emphasised by the clack of her shoes on the black diamond chequered floor, despite a comparable amount of people inside. Each hunched over tiny pocket novels or engrossed in hushed conversation with no more than three at a table. The tinted windows gave a dark atmosphere, illuminated in warm hues by large upside-down tulip pendants on the ceiling.

       This is the architectural embodiment of a snooze, jeered Kostya. Where's the magic?

     Dion ignored her.

     All of the furniture was black or brown and effortlessly sleek, except for the booth's red cushions. In the cornermost of the booths sat Evelyn.

     Autumnal strands hung messily around her face, as if she twisted her hair into a knot at the back in a rush and fastened it without looking in the mirror. Her scarlet nails drummed against the table and she narrowed her eyes when she spotted Dion, urging her over with an inch of her finger. She already appeared agitated, her triangular, Greek nose turned up, and Dion hoped Thaddeus was right when he said she always pulled a face like that.

     Still pretty despite it.

     Dion slid next to her, easing her scarf from her head and folding it neatly onto her lap. Everyone had to have been staring at her like a bull walking into a china shop and pretending to be a patron, but she did not have the chance to check before Evelyn began speaking.

     "You're always so... timely," she commented.

     Evelyn seemed angry. She sounded angry, too. Dion started to doubt Thaddeus' diagnosis.

     "I like to be punctual."

     Evelyn inhaled sharply, and closed her eyes, a strained smile tugging at her expression. Her lipstick was a deeper shade of red today and her voice held its usual snipped cadence. "Fine. If we must coexist, then I cannot have you constantly looking like a dope."

     She was definitely angry.

     "I do not understand," Dion answered, eyes darting nervously.

     "On time is late."

     "Then, what is late?"

     "Fashionable." Evelyn's lips thinned into a snide half-smirk.

       Backward hoity-toity nonsense, Edora's squeaky voice would taunt and Dion pushed away the inclination to agree. It sounded like the absurd etiquette her mother recited, passed down from her mother who learned it from her mother, too. A self-imposed nicety followed by neglected housewives who had the time to come up with seemingly arbitrary things to busy themselves with.

     She had never met Mrs. Avery, but she did not think she would ever have to.

     Evelyn checked her watch and kissed her teeth, hissing, "In Thaddeus' case it's stupidity. Look at the menu."

     The demand caught Dion ill-prepared and she scrambled to grab the leather slate in front of her. She scanned the menu without registering the words, forcing her eyes to sweep the prices, which gave her a better assessment.

     "Well? What are you getting?"

     "A tea."

     "What? No. Ugh." Snatching the menu from her hands, Evelyn's transparent brows cinched in focus. Her black eyes raked back and forth rapidly, lips pursed.

     "I only have a few Sickles," moped Dion, rummaging in her coat pocket and pulling out a measly amount of coins and a thimble-sized bronze beaver trinket she found on the ground.

     "Obviously it's on my dime. I won't let you make me look ungenerous and poor." Evelyn picked up Dion's wrist between her index finger and thumb and shoved it back from whence it came. "You'll order a French hot chocolate and we'll get a sausage roll to share."

     Sausage. Meat. The butcher house, metallic scent trapped at the back of her throat. A snap and a holler. Dion shook the thoughts from her head.

     "I do not eat meat." It came out too rushed to be casual.

     Evelyn's face settled into an icy repulsion. Dion, fearful that the sausage roll had been hungered for and she went and ruined it all, wanted to be swallowed into the cushion and never seen again. "How chic of you. I've been considering vegetarianism as well." Evelyn gave a once-over to the menu and tapped a line. "Very well—a leek, mushroom, and swiss roll. Ugh, I hate Britain."

     In a moment, Evelyn had hailed the waiter with a snap of her fingers and chronicled their order, her café au lait sounded more like a tongue twister than something to be ingested.

     At this rate, the conversation would start, stop, and stutter its way into embarrassment. Dion searched for common ground. She knew Evelyn liked Flamel, but Dion tolerated him at most, which would eventually back her into an inescapable corner now that there was no one else to buffer her constant neutrality.

       To our left, Kostya pointed out.

     The notorious black snakeskin bag hung on the coat stand next to her white mound of a fur jacket and once Evelyn finished her list, Dion blurted out, "I like your bag."

     Strong features softening minutely, Evelyn replied, "Maman bought it in France. It's a Deneuve—you do know Deneuve, don't you?"

     No. She did not. Many new age designers went unnoticed by Dion, considering she grew far too envious when she remembered there were empty pockets and war rations to be poured over instead. It was not Evelyn's fault, she reminded herself, and lied for the sake of their shared partiality for expensive things.

     "I do."

     "Oh, thank Merlin. It's exhausting being the only one with taste," she embellished, "They're all so English, it's disgusting. Maman is a Rosier, you know, so I expected Dorian to have an ounce of her culture, but no. He dresses like a dementor."

     "Blasphemous."

     "Truly." Evelyn bit her thumb, deep in thought. "And... Dolohov. I can't even begin—just detestable. That awful girlfriend of his buys all his clothes these days."

     It was hard to imagine anything could stay a secret if it had been heard by Evelyn. What appeared to be mindless, malicious gossip, seemed to be an itch she could not help but scratch; these were not things Dion would tell a mere acquaintance. Perhaps Evelyn did not think so low of her, or more likely, the gossip was compulsive, seen as benign conversation.

     Dion had to indulge.

     "You used to be close..." she tried.

     Evelyn laughed in a sharp, unhumorous way, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the booth rest. "We did. I don't consider it a loss. Though—Tom."

     "What about Tom?"

     "He was my hidden treasure first—a useful little thing to have around. Then Antonin decided to trail him everywhere."

     The waiter brought their meal on a steel tray, setting out an array of tiny spoons and knives and sugars and creams that Dion had no idea what to do with. A dollop of whipped cream floated around her mug, sprinkles of chocolate shavings half-melted into the steaming drink. She almost did not want to drink it, for it smelled so sweet she dreaded that once she emptied the mug, there would be none left. Better to have it there than not at all.

     "Thank you," Dion said to him.

     It did not appear that Evelyn noticed the waiter, but she zeroed in on the roll, carving it into quarters while she spoke, "Suddenly, they're inseparable, gone like sand through my fingers. Again, I don't consider it a loss."

     "Why?"

     "He's a bit obsessed with Tom."

     "What?"

     "Don't you know?" smiled Evelyn wryly, "His patronus is a mutt. The sort that follows its owner until it keels over."

     A harrowing disquiet settled in the pit of Dion's stomach and she took a sip of her hot chocolate as remedy. It burned her tongue but the decadence was unlike anything she had ever consumed, thick and bittersweet. Almost too rich to wrap her head around.

     Unfortunately, Evelyn did not let the food distract her. She continued after a bite, chew, and swallow of the roll, "I wouldn't want to be Tom's lapdog. Not that I'd ever be stupid enough to succumb to that fate," she paused thoughtfully, glancing at her nails. "It's Dolohov's parents, I tell you. They raised a British son. Sheep, I tell you."

     Antonin taking to British culture was the least of his issues. The animal Dion saw in him, everyone else saw, too. It was no trick of the light or grudge gone unchecked, but a fact of character exploited for gain, miscalculated to a fatal flaw.

     Dogs were leashed to protect the heedless passersby from their tug, but so easily they could turn around and snap their jaws at the handler. Dion knew this. She recognized that the others did not.

     She changed the subject to distract her uneasy thoughts and carefully took her quarter of the roll. "If you hate Britain so much, why are you not attending Beauxbatons?"

     "Well—I..." She was at a loss for words; inhaling, exhaling, jaw careening. "Maman said if my brothers wanted to inherit Gringotts one day, they had to learn the British way of life, and she happened to give birth to me, so I was cursed with the same fate."

     "Oh, that is a shame."

     "Don't pity me. I will succeed far beyond anything they will ever dream."

     "Sorry," Dion mumbled and averted her eyes, stuffing the pastry in her mouth; the savoury filling cut the richness that coated her tongue.

     "You're excused."

     They were silent for a long while, Evelyn, because she began squinting oddly at Dion, gaze roaming around her face as if she were a subject to be studied; and Dion, because she had no idea what that meant for her.

     Suddenly, Evelyn reached out and grabbed Dion by the jaw, her warm hands indenting her cheeks.

     "You're quite pretty." Evelyn sounded disgusted.

     "Thank you...? I do not know what I look like."

     Releasing Dion, Evelyn wiped her hand off on a handkerchief. "Clearly. Your fringe is too short. Grow it."

     "Oh, but I may accidentally become Evil Dion."

     "What?"

     "When I pin it like this," Dion explained, sweeping her fringe to the side and holding it. "That means I am having an evil day. So everyone knows to not speak to me. But if it is too long, the wind may blow it and people will think I am Evil Dion when that is not the case."

     "Did your mother drop you as a child? Or are you mentally deficient on purpose?"

     Dion blinked.

     A whistle of wind snuck in through the cafe door when it opened, Thaddeus in tow, brushing thick modules of snow from his hair and chesterfield coat. He carried a package of Honeydukes toffees in his mouth as he plucked his leather gloves off finger by finger and approached the table, a cheerful grin warming the reddish wind-bitten features of his nose and cheeks.

     "Ladies, what cheer?" he said once he removed the package from in between his teeth.

     "What's with that face?" questioned Evelyn, eyes narrowing.

     "Hornby stepped on my foot in Honeydukes today, I think we're in love."

     "I suppose that is the closest thing you'll ever get to intimacy. Congratulations."

     "Are you jealous?"

     "Of Hornby or that she managed to escape you?"

     "You wound me." Thaddeus slid into the booth next to Dion and stole her hot chocolate in one fluid movement, bringing it to his lips and inhaling the remnants. Dion merely sighed, realising there would be no point in putting up a fuss now. "What have my little geniuses schemed up?"

     Evelyn glowered. "Perhaps if you came on time—"

     "Nothing, then, or you'd be gloating."

     "Merryweather won't give me the damn note. The old bat says I have no business reading a book like that."

     Reasonable and responsible of Merryweather, considering Evelyn's track record of eager wand handling.

     "Do you think that has anything to do with hexing Armitage's brows off her face?" Thaddeus mused.

     "No."

     "Erm, maybe when you shrank that girl and put her in the toilet..." suggested Dion quietly, hoping to help her understand the issue.

     "No." Evelyn seemed to realise she was the minority. "She could swim—I'll have you know, they deserved it. Armitage said my eyebrows were too sparse, so I showed her the meaning of sparse."

     Thaddeus jostled Dion when he laughed raucously, earning a few sidelong glances that Dion shrunk into herself under. Evelyn hissed a shush, but a smile's ghost twitched on her thin lips. It was hard to find the humour in any of this, Dion could have easily been Armitage or the poor girl floating in the toilet bowl if they shot a spell at her with her back turned.

     For all she felt similar and included, they still remained far removed from the rest of the world. Except now, she could not find the voice she used to rebuke Tom in the comfort of a dark, secluded corridor or the rush of impulse when she defended her family. She could only feel it settle in her throat and branch in white-hot frustration through her chest, then fizzle out into acceptance.

     Her frown betrayed her discomfort and Evelyn and Thaddeus looked at her expectantly, beckoning her to say something, anything. Not a provocation, but curiosity, as though Dion was beyond anything they had ever been acquainted with.

     Anger passed her by and she stared at the useless, tiny spoons with her lips pursed, recalling the subject of their conversation. Merryweather would possibly lend her the note to check out Secrets of the Darkest Art but if word got around to Slughorn, she feared he would think poorly of her if he thought she wished to read it twice. It was not the sort of book anyone needed to analyse.

     "Merryweather will not give me a note," Dion finally said, taking another quarter of the pastry and dropping it into her breast pocket for Sanyu. It may become a bit lint pocked, but she did not have anywhere else to put it.

     Thaddeus snickered. "Seems we'll have to do a little... Peruggia."

     Dion gasped, hands coming to cover her mouth. Neither of them batted an eye.

     "Ugh. How are your disillusionment charms?" asked Evelyn.

     "Brilliant, my love."

     "You will be caught," Dion attempted desperately, glancing between them, "Madam Harpis put spell detection around the Restricted Section."

     She heeded her mistake as soon as it left her lips, warmth rushing to the apples of her cheeks as she snapped her mouth shut. Of course she knew the library's artifice, but they did not need to know that she did. Based on Thaddeus' excitable grin, it only fueled his scheme.

     "Prithee, tell us more."

     The weight of their leer made her chest feel heavy. Dion sighed, nibbling the inside of her lip, "The canaries on the chandelier sing if you are charmed when entering the annex. She is typically gone at night, you only need to... Peruggia the key in her desk."

     "Need I remind you, the corridors are crawling with prefects?" Evelyn scoffed.

     Thaddeus waved her off. "'Tis an issue, but not for us. We have one at our disposal."

     "How could I have forgotten?" The way the words hissed through Evelyn's teeth told Dion that she did not forget in the slightest.

     "Do you think, as prefect, you could escort us?"

     Dion hesitated, weighing her options.

     On one hand, she had read Secrets of the Darkest Art for curiosity's sake and did not use the knowledge for anything unseemly. It was only for reference in their alchemic adventure. Only for academic reference, not to be practised. On the other hand, theft was against the rules and they could get expelled if caught. They simply had to avoid getting caught.

     "I suppose I could turn a blind eye or two," she replied.

     "At least you're good for something," remarked Evelyn.

     "Did my demeanour suggest otherwise?"

     Thaddeus slightly tugged on a strand of Dion's hair like a bell and she grimaced. "You're like an itty bitty church mouse if it was loud."

     The table hushed and they stared at him, blinking.

     "It's a juxtaposition. Have you heard of those?"

     Evelyn spewed a hushed array of colourful language at him ("Slimypestrodent—I'll turn you into the dirt on my shoe."). Their bickering dulled into background noise and Dion realised how the other Knights ignored them with such ease.

     It was almost a comfort; Sasha and Edora used to have the same childish banter over the dinner table, a gamble of fun and true disdain, words carefully crafted to annoy the other. She could hear their fits of laughter if she strained her imagination, then the noiselessness of a statement pushed too far when she stopped.

     They emptied their mugs and cleaned the plate, Dion adding little to their conversation on the potions market and its drastic slip after low exports throughout the year. They spoke of nothing substantial, by the way Thaddeus' eyes drifted around the room, scanning the framed posters of the wizarding world's greatest music artists while he breathed out replies. Then Evelyn grew bored of his boredom and ordered them to leave, dropping a short stack of Galleons on the table.

     Dion waited for Evelyn to ease on her fur coat and grab her purse. When Evelyn thought no one important was paying attention, she slipped her wand from her pocket and discreetly waved it at the couple tucked in the booth next to them. She whispered Obliviate and turned on her heel, ignoring the shocked circle of Dion's mouth and dragged her out of the cafe by her elbow.

     The couple's eyes unfocused to a glassy oblivion before they blinked awake again, minds visibly buffering. Unsettled, Dion tore her fixation away from them and continued to gape at Evelyn.

     Bitter wind beat against their faces and she wished she had another hot chocolate to warm her fingers, but she pulled her scarf around her neck and over her head, tucking her chin under the fabric. The sun had since lowered in the sky, leaving everything a dusky watercolour blue. They hurried through the dense crowds of students lingering on the streets, weaving through the crowded areas until they slunk into an alley.

     "They were eavesdropping from the beginning," Evelyn hissed her explanation coldly, dropping Dion's arm. She fished a carton of cigarettes from her purse. "Learn to keep your voice down, you big oaf."

     "I love an audience," Thaddeus responded. They moved in succession in one another, raising his wand to the tip of her cigarette and lighting it. Its dim orange glow radiant around her face.

     Evelyn brought it to her lips inhaled, sour smoke pluming around her when she released it. These were nicer than the ones Sasha used to waste his pocket change on, but Dion still fanned it away with a scrunched nose.

     "Too much of a good thing will kill you," Evelyn said, a fondness in the morbidity. "I hope it's soon."

     Dion surveyed the dwindling flocks of students, their laughter echoed through the streets and disappeared like every cloud of breath that floated from her lips, oblivious to their presence in the shadows. The vacant look in that couple's eyes replayed in her memory and Dion suddenly felt very cruel for leaving them. Memory charms were too fickle to fling around so carelessly, even if there was reason to use it.

     "Will they be okay?" she asked quietly, glancing at Evelyn.

     Her hair looked almost red next to the cigarette's blaze, and her eyes held a similar fire. "Do you doubt my ability?"

     "No..." That much was true, for all the times Dion contradicted her thoughts today.

     "So they'll be fine."

     It brought no comfort, but Dion let it suffice. There was a heist to be fretted over and she wondered if she would ever have nothing to fret over in her life. Always something to be done. She wished to fall into a peaceful slumber forever, away from such winter weather with no worries tucked under the rug of herself. If she had no frets, she knew there would be no reason to persevere any longer.

───────────

     The other prefects were relieved when Dion offered to take rein of the library duties tonight—when they were not busy dealing with students who attempted to sneak in, Peeves often set up camp above the entrance and pelted dungbombs at anyone who shooed him. Tonight, he was nowhere to be found, better people to taunt elsewhere. Perhaps Dion was no fun to anyone, not even mischievous ghosts. She wished Kostya held the same sentiment.

     Flames in iron sconces lit up the entryway and Dion jumped when Thaddeus came barreling down the stairs in black garb, Evelyn slinking behind. She nearly asked about his get-up but figured it would be better off unsaid. Neither were inconspicuous and she was glad she rid the area of prefects before they went and thwarted their plans before they had even begun.

     Dion motioned the duo to follow, slipping into the corridor and entering the library from one of the flank entrances.

     The main annex was quiet and dark, shadows stretched long and monstrous across the wooden flooring from a single lantern elsewhere in the library. Banners for the Duelling Tourney advertised its end of term date, after the Quidditch finals, but prior to their departure. The Duelling Club participated every year, Dion always lost on purpose so she did not have to partake. If she made it too high in the standings, she worried others would take it as a challenge and target her outside of the tourney.

     Papers shuffled around noisily from the librarian's desk and Dion feared the worst. She was too scared to breathe, chewing her lip raw as they crept through Section H and peered around the bookcase.

     Madam Harpis stood at her desk, wand in hand, library checkout cards sorting themselves into filing cabinets like little hummingbirds fluttering around sugar water. Suddenly, Evelyn yanked Dion and Thaddeus into a crammed huddle, faces nearly touching.

     "You said she wouldn't be here," she hissed.

     "I said typically," Dion corrected lamely to soothe no one but herself.

     Then again, it was her fault. She told them the coast would be clear, but she had not accounted for the chance that Madam Harpis would have stayed for longer than usual due to the weekend. If they went back to the Knights empty handed due to one of Dion's blunders, they would never view her as an equal.

     She had to fix it herself. If she failed when she had gotten so close to the friendships she longed for, she would have no excuses this time.

     Dion stepped away from the huddle and scanned the bookcases, searching for a gap in the tightly packed stacks. When she spotted one a head or two above her, she slipped her shoes off and climbed the shelves. The very tips of her toes balanced on the teeny ledges just like the framework she scaled in The Fens when she wanted to be alone, to lie on the roof and stare at the stars.

     As a child she preferred to hide, whether knees to chest, stuffed in a tiny trunk, or far above heads where necks could not crane. No one ever found her when she did not want to be seen.

     "Merlin, look what you've done, Evelyn. She's gone mad from stress."

     "Me? That's not my fault. She's been mad."

     Her movements were out of practice from neglecting her skill, but lithe with muscle memory. She set her wand in a book's absence and crawled down, landing on her feet soundlessly.

     "Desk. Top left drawer. Go quickly when she is distracted," Dion directed, voice soft. It sounded less bossy than she intended, so she paused and mustered up her best Dorian-esque inflection. "And if you do not move quickly enough, then it is your fault. Not mine."

     "Aye, aye," grinned Thaddeus.

     She shuffled into the open and took a deep breath, hesitating.

     When she and Sasha visited East Kindale, he used to make her distract shopkeepers and well-dressed individuals while he nicked them of food, money, or valuables. Tears always worked the best, especially when she wore her nicest Sunday dress and widened her eyes like a frightened little girl. She supposed she was one, even if she did not feel like it.

     The awful part of her felt like Sasha was watching, waiting with bated breath to slip by and whisk Madam Harpis' pockets—another, worse part of her hoped he would be proud at how fast she forced her eyes to flood with big, wet tears. Tomorrow would be her day of repentance for all the lies she has told in these last few hours.

     "Madam Harpis?" Dion called out, all choked up with emotion.

     The librarian turned around and seized her lantern, pulling the purple horn-rimmed glasses that hung around her neck up to her eyes.

     "Miss Seaver?" she replied, slowly breezing out from behind the desk. Her violet robes fluttered around her when she approached Dion, layered thick for the winter. Everything of hers was a shade of purple, from her lantern to her loafers; all but her dark, greying hair pulled into a top bun. "Are you alright? Where... your shoes—where are your shoes?"

     Evelyn and Thaddeus tip-toed out of the rows of bookshelves and behind Madam Harpis, toward her desk. They made haste, but clumsily.

     "I have had an awful day," Dion explained in a pathetic blubber, dragging the sentence out with hiccups and stammers. Her tears streamed hot on her cheeks, but she felt disconnected from them. She was still thinking of Sasha and imagined his encouraging, gap-toothed grin.

     Madam Harpis' lips pursed in a way Dion knew—that said she had overstepped. "Goodness. Shouldn't you bring this to your friends, perhaps?"

     "I only have one." She paused for a dramatic sniffle. "And she is asleep."

     Thaddeus managed to creep over the desk without a peep, but when he eased the desk drawer open it stuck with a thunk. Madam Harpis went to turn around, but Dion let out a ghastly wail and collapsed to her knees, covering her face with her palms.

     "What if she hates me!" she cried over the sound of him shutting the drawer.

     "There, there. Up you get. There, there," replied Madam Harpis, not sounding too sympathetic as she half-heartedly assisted Dion to her feet.

     Through the grapevine of some older prefects, Dion heard, at one point the madam wanted to be a professor, but dreaded interacting with students. Based on the conversations Dion has had with her, she would not doubt if it were true.

     Obscured by shadows, Thaddeus and Evelyn crept into the deeper annex, out of sight. The Restricted Section was in the roots of the library, fairly straightforward if they clung to the walls and kept their eyes peeled for unwanted attention. Dion prayed they avoided any loose-lipped ghosts.

     "I'm sure there's someone more qualified to help you," Madam Harpis tried again, wrinkled face tense.

     "Well, that is not all—" she hiccuped, "—Peeves has thrown my wand and shoes somewhere in this marvellously ginormous library, and I cannot find it! Even the ghosts detest me..."

     "It's alright, Miss Seaver. We'll find your wand and your shoes. Where did he throw it?"

     "Oh, thank you kindly." Dion paused thoughtfully, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "It may have been Section F... or M, no, perhaps V..."

     Madam Harpis' eye twitched and for a moment Dion thought she may leap forward and wring her by her neck. Instead, she puffed dismally and beckoned Dion alongside her to scour each row of bookshelves in search of the missing belongings.

     Outside, the wind whipped and howled like creatures in the night, dense fog obscuring anything but darkness. It would be the perfect setting for a frightening gothic tale, save for the lack of rain, and Dion was struck with a tinge of gratitude for Madam Harpis' company to ward off any gothic tale happenings from falling upon her.

     She would be the one who braved the frightful things for her sisters. First one out the door, last one in. The final soul out of bed to perish the flame of the candlestick, careful not to walk too quickly and betray her bravery. She never allowed them to see her scared. She needed them to know no amount of fear would keep her from bearing it for them.

     All she ever acknowledged was her fear, these days.

     They found her shoes where she left them, but the librarian failed to look upward for the wand, which gave Thaddeus and Evelyn plenty of time to retrieve the book. Before long, they were slinking through the main annex to place the key back in her desk, avoiding Madam Harpis' path. Close to victory, Dion directed her away from the pair.

     "There!" Dion exclaimed, pointing into Section H. Hairs standing on end, she ushered Madam Harpis with her and scaled the bookcase before she could object.

     "Oh, don't—"

     She plucked her wand from the nook and clambered down. Clutching it like a stuffed toy, Dion mumbled, "Thank you, Madam Harpis. You are so kind."

     Behind the librarian's halo of flyaways, Dion watched Evelyn and Thaddeus escape out of the opposite flank. Relieved, she let out a long, tense breath she kept trapped in her chest for the whole ordeal, shoulders relaxing, and stared into Madam Harpis' eyes.

     "Of course, Miss Seaver." Her bony, aged hands came up to rub the sides of Dion's arms sympathetically, though her annoyed expression did not match her tender actions. "You should visit the hospital wing. Ask for a calming draught, I'm sure they'll give it to you without question."

     "Yes, yes... I will," she murmured to cover up an offended grumble, nose twitching. Despite her performance, it insulted her to be thought of as that hysterical. "Goodnight, Madam Harpis."

     "Goodnight."

     Dion pushed through the main entrance, whinging door hinges causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end like nails on a chalkboard. She shivered the sensation away and circled around to the corridor, finding Thaddeus and Evelyn lingering outside. The latter glanced down the hallway cautiously, expression sour and foot tapping against the cobble.

     "That was brilliant, Seaver." said Thaddeus. He looked skeptical, too, but his attention focused entirely on Dion. "You're quite the actress."

     "It was a bit much," Evelyn grumbled. Though she appeared to want to critique her more, nothing else came out.

     "Thank you..." Dion whispered and scanned their hands. "Did you get the book?"

     Arising from a pocket inside his robe, Thaddeus revealed Secrets of the Darkest Art. Dion's relief was immeasurable.

     Black and dull besides the purple and gold gilded lettering of its befitting title that screamed Dark Arts, it was inconspicuous for its contents. The same as it looked the last time she laid her eyes on it. A morsel of foreboding popped in her stomach the longer she stared and she wondered if Thaddeus felt it, too, because he shoved it back into his throng of robes.

     "Good. Be careful. It screams if you slam it," she informed him.

     Another blunder. Dion had not told any of them she had already read the book, but she could not find it in herself to care, even when Thaddeus' expression grew uncharacteristically analytical. Suspicious, even. She refused to be apologetic, unknown if this feeling was her own or Kostya's. He deserved a fright for all the stress he shouldered onto her tonight.

     Dion refused to mention it, as did he. Memories of a shared heist would mend a deeper bond between them and her slip of the tongue would be forgotten. She did not school her wishful thinking, for it eased her mind.

     "Of course it does. Why would anything be convenient in this school?" Evelyn scoffed, cutting the tension with her ignorance to their shared stare. "Walk us back. My legs are tired."

     And so they did. In the darkness, Dion pretended not to notice the way Thaddeus scrutinised her every move, like she showed him a new deck of cards in her sleeve. For all his folly and suspicion, she cared for him and his terrible jokes, Evelyn too, despite her propensity to pick holes in others. Desperately—utterly audaciously—she hoped they could learn to care the same for her, despite the atrocity that was beginning to bleed from her.

{ ༺✶ }    if you walk into the failduo competition and thaddeus and evelyn are there just leave. you aren't winning. merry christmas, happy hanukkah, happy kwanzaa or just happy holidays to anyone celebrating anything!!!!!!! clicks my heels

wc: 6189
girlpools  /  2024