Of Pranks & Princes

Emily awoke the next morning to Violet’s shadow hovering over her. She jumped upright and let out an involuntary yawn, stretching until she heard a tell-tale crack.

“Roger’s downstairs in the common room for you,” Violet said, flashing her teeth in an excited smile.

“Already?” Emily felt her stomach toss, felt her breath catch in her throat. She brushed a trembling hand through her hair, wincing when she caught a knot. “Oh, God.”

“Lemme help you.” Violet bent down into Emily’s trunk and pulled out a pair of denim jeans and a dark purple jumper. As she set them on the bed, she said, “This one brings out the green in your eyes.”

Emily grabbed the clothes, shot her friend a grateful smile, and rushed off to the girls’ lavatory. When she came back, her nerves were on fire. Was her jumper too tight? Was her hair frizzy?

“Stop panicking,” Violet said as she brushed some gloss onto Emily’s lips.

“I’m not,” Emily tried to argue, but it was no use; Violet saw right through her.

The two walked together down the stairs and into the common room. There, Roger sat on the middlemost sofa, a book in his hands; Emily saw the phrase ‘Triwizard Tournament’ on its cover. He was so still he could’ve been mistaken for a statue with the whole common room moving around him. Violet prodded Emily towards him, despite all silent protestations.

As she took a seat on the sofa, Emily was able to spit out a quiet ‘Hi.’

The space next to Roger was colder than she expected when she sat, and she snuggled further into her jumper to keep warm. She shot an imploring glance at Violet, who ignored her.

“Oh, hi,” Roger said suddenly and snapped the book closed, as if her presence startled him. He tried to recover with the shot of a charming smile.

Emily stopped herself before she pulled out her schedule. “Is now a bad time? ‘Cause I can always come back…”

“No, no, this is good,” he replied and picked up his timetable from the side table, setting his book down in its place. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She pulled hers from her pocket and set it on her lap, tapping her fingernails against it anxiously.

“Good.”

As the room began to empty, Emily could feel her own breath starting to strangle her in her throat. Though it was surely ephemeral, she felt a pulsing need to fill the silence before it suffocated her.

She turned to Violet and then back to Roger.

“You know, I’m sure Violet’s got some classes with us too,” Emily said, her voice shaky. The sound of it caught Violet’s attention and pulled her around until she met Emily’s pleading eyes.

Violet pursed her lips in an apologetic frown. “I’ve got plans. But you know my schedule, Em, so you can just let me know later.”

And with a wave, she was gone.

It was just Roger and Emily in the common room. Alone.

Alone — even just the word ignited her nerves.

She tried to rationalize with herself: this was no big deal, just two friends comparing schedules; that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.

A gentle nudge to the arm brought her back to reality, and Emily passed her timetable to Roger, taking his in return. Each studied the other’s for a bit, comparing to the memory of their own.

After a moment of reviewing her class list, Roger turned to her and said, “Divination? Really?”

Her hair fell over her face as she looked up at him, saying, “Yeah, why?”

He shrugged. “Just didn’t realize you were the sort.”

“What d’you mean ‘the sort’?”

“Nothing!” he said, but she maintained her gaze until he broke. “Just… I think Divination’s rubbish, is all.”

“It’s not rubbish,” Emily argued, turning to face him more fully on the sofa. “It’s fun!”

“I’d rather sit through History of Magic again all year than go to even one more Divination class.” He shuddered at the thought.

“It’s not that bad,” she said and smiled without realizing it. “Actually, nothing is that bad.”

Roger began to chuckle. “Fair enough, I guess.”

Emily could feel the impending brew of awkward silence bubbling around them and headed it off before it could infiltrate their conversation. She glanced back down at his schedule quickly. “Looks like it’s only Potions and Charms.”

Roger leaned back against the embroidered throw pillows and groaned. “I was hoping for more.”

Emily didn’t look up and instead focused on his schedule. “You’ve Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms with Violet though,” she said, her voice the slightest bit shaky as she rattled off from memory. “Potions and Charms with Fred and Herbology with George, but you had Herbology yesterday, so you already knew that…”

“Yeah,” Roger said and repeated, “But I only have Potions and Charms with you. That’s bollocks.” He leaned closer to her, and she felt her body straighten.

She had finally begun to feel somewhat at-ease until Roger moved toward her. Why was he sitting so close? She tried to set the thought in the back of her mind, but it kept nagging at her.

“You know,” Roger said, now wearing a playful grin that covered up his dejection, “none of this would’ve happened if you took Herbology instead of Divination.”

She giggled in response, let her muscles relax a bit, and sarcastically said, “Yeah, like I ever had a choice.” And when he looked at her confused, she explained, “I’m rubbish at Herbology.”

“I could’ve tutored you,” he said and leaned forward again, closer still this time.

“George did last year, but… I really am that bad.”

“I think you and I could’ve managed,” he said, and Emily swore she saw him wink.

She set her hand on the side of her leg, fingers tapping anxiously against her body. She tried to play it cool. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I shouldn’t be in Potions either, so consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh, I do.”

The conversation moved from school and schedules to Quidditch and books and friends and family, though she kept herself rather guarded for the last. They talked about patrols, and Emily told him about getting caught in the twins’ prank the night before. She looked back on it, laughing, but Roger seemed less than enthused. He moved on to the Tournament — another topic Emily rather tried to avoid.

Suddenly, the door to the common room opened, and Ravenclaw students poured in by the dozens. Emily checked her watch — 10:04.

“We missed breakfast,” she pointed out and showed Roger the time.

“Damn,” he said, and though he sounded like he was joking, she couldn’t quite tell. “I was really looking forward to eggs today, too.” Then he chuckled. “But this was more fun.”

“It was.”

Emily’s eyes scoured the crowd for Violet, and when she couldn’t find her, wondered if she was still in the Great Hall.

“We should do this again,” Roger said as he set his timetable down on the side table next to the sofa where they sat.

“Schedules?”

“No, this. Hanging out,” he said, and though Emily tried to play casual, her insides were screaming so loud she was just about certain Violet would hear from wherever she was and come crashing through the common room door. Roger shuffled his weight on the sofa, turning his body more to face her.

A smile crept across her lips, and she curtained her hair in front of it to shield her blush. “Oh.”

A deep, calming breath flared his nostrils before he spoke again. “You know, I’m getting a bit twitchy from lack of Quidditch.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Guess I built the season up so much in my head that now it’s like I’ll explode if I don’t get out on the pitch…”

“Can’t say I completely understand, but —”

“You wanna come?” he offered, and she nearly melted under the pressure when his eyes met hers. “I know you don’t usually play, but I could show you how.”

Was he asking her on a date?

She stuttered through her quick reply. “I’m not sure when I —”

“It’s no rush, really. Just sometime. Y’know, something to look forward to.”

“Maybe once term settles in a bit. A couple weeks?” Her voice was more hesitant than she meant it to be, and she watched as Roger tried to catch his face before it fell.

“Whenever you want,” he said with a smile.



The Great Hall was nearly empty by the time Emily got down the stairs, bag in hand. Breakfast was long gone, and with there being no classes, many of the students were spending their time outside.

The grounds were much warmer than Emily thought they would be, and she basked for a moment beneath the sun’s rays, pushing her sleeves up to the elbow. A temperate breeze, uncharacteristic of Hogwarts weather in September, blew through her hair.

For a moment, Emily just stood on the bottom stair and took in the view. There were students everywhere — some playing games, some studying, others still even taking naps in the shade of the trees. She could see the mountains in the distance, and in front of them, the Black Lake with the sun reflecting a garish glow off its surface.

And at the edge of the Lake, Emily caught a glimpse of flame-red hair and squinted to ensure it wasn’t either of the youngest Weasleys. But when a matching head appeared, she knew it was her boys. That had been their spot de choix for nearly five full years now, and it was generally understood that no one but Fred, George, Lee, Violet, and Emily were permitted to sit there, with a few choice exceptions. Not that many people wanted to sit that close to the Black Lake anyway — they knew about the Giant Squid, after all. But Emily knew about him too, and she knew that the Squid didn’t much bother with students, though he was quite a sight to behold when he did.

The boys and Violet sat grouped beneath a tree. Lee leaned against its trunk, looking half-asleep, while Violet was buried nose-deep in a book to his left. Fred and George stood at the Lake’s edge, skipping rocks across its surface as competition and threatening to throw each other in.

They had all agreed to meet for Potions studying — at Violet’s behest, of course, though she was the one who needed it the least — to prepare yet again for the O.W.L. The twins were begrudging, and Lee came because he had nothing better to do. Emily was determined to be prepared for the exam; she’d be damned if she didn’t earn her O this time around.

“Oi!” Fred called out when he saw her heading towards them from the castle. He squinted against the glare of the sun to watch her. “Where were you this morning? No breakfast?”

“Roger and I were hanging out in the common room,” she explained and wondered why they hadn’t asked Violet earlier.

“Davies? Really?” Lee asked suddenly, now sitting straight upright. His face scrunched up as if he had gotten hit with a dungbomb.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Violet, as if in Emily’s pre-emptive defence.

Lee shrugged in response and leaned his head back against the trees trunk, closing his eyes against the sun’s glare. “Just didn’t see you as the sort to drool over him, I guess.”

George agreed with a nod. “That’s mostly just…” He searched for the right word, ultimately landing on, “bimbos.”

With a surprised scoff, Emily spat the word back at him. “Bimbos?”

“Well, he’s kind of a prat, to be honest.”

Almost out of nowhere, Fred let out a throaty laugh and threw his arm over Emily’s shoulder. Between the surprise and the weight of her bag, she nearly collapsed. “But then again, George, he is her type.”

“My type?”

Violet was pensive for a moment before jumping in. “You know, I do see it. Tall, dark hair, charming in a roguish sort of way…”

“No, no,” Fred cut in, wagging his finger. “Chaser on the Quidditch team. That’s all. That’s her bloody criteria.”

Emily hadn’t seen the pattern — though she’d rather consider it coincidence, really — until it stared her in the face. Her first boyfriend was Malcolm Preese in fourth year. He was a Hufflepuff boy, and they had met while paired up together in Care of Magical Creatures to care for a baby blast-ended skrewt. They were together for a week when Malcolm first brought up his desire to try out for his House Quidditch team. Though he was hesitant, Emily had wholly encouraged him. “You’d make a great Chaser,” she said.

Oh, God.

Then last year, she dated Adrian Pucey for a good portion of the term. He was a Prefect too, and he was already, much to the twins’ distaste, a star on the Slytherin Quidditch team, a Chaser of course. For the boys, his saving grace — and the only one, at that — was that he wasn’t “a cheating git like the rest of his House,” though poor Adrian did find himself dodging more Bludgers than usual when Slytherin played Gryffindor.

And now Roger had her eye — Ravenclaw Chaser and Quidditch captain.

Emily’s eyes narrowed at Fred, much more menacing than her stuttered reply. “S-so what?” She pursed her lips, tightening the seal with her clenched jaw.

Fred stood over her. He was nearly five inches taller than she was, but she didn’t notice as much until he loomed over her, drowning her in his shadow. His mouth contorted to the side in a warped smile as he spoke. “So you always get your knickers wet for a Chaser, right? Any one will do. But surely you’ve got to round out the set before you circle back for seconds, so who’s next? Katie? Alicia? Angelina?”

In the silence that followed, his eyes frantically searched her face for response, but she had learned quickly, as best she could, not to betray much reactionary emotion in front of Fred and George. So instead she drew in a thin breath through her teeth. “What, you jealous that I haven’t expanded to Beaters yet?” she said, and Fred looked as if the words had slapped him upside the face. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I hardly give a rat’s arse about Quidditch.”

His eyes gaged her face again but more paced this time. His brows scrunched up in confusion, painted with the slightest bit of hurt. “But you always come to the games.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Emily asked, and Violet nodded.

The Quidditch games always filled the stands on weekends at Hogwarts. Nearly the entire school showed up. Emily always brought her homemade House pennants — red, yellow, and green — when she went. She had made the first of them, in scarlet and gold, when Fred and George made the House team as Beaters in second year. She made the yellow for Malcolm the year later and, most recently, the green for Adrian the next. No matter which teams were playing, Emily could always cheer, and the twins could always spot her in the crowd — decked in blue from head to toe, except for the red-striped banner.

“Yeah, but you cheer when it’s not even your House playing.” George made the observation this time, almost as if in defence of his brother.

“I go for my friends, whether they’re in my House or not,” she said and studied them both as they turned red in the face. “The way I understand it, friends are supposed to be supportive of each other.”

“Guess so,” the twins mumbled in unison; both looked down at their feet.

And she growled, “So I damn well expect the same from you.”

Violet chuckled as she grabbed Emily’s arm and started pulling her away. Over her shoulder, she called back, “Pick your battles, boys.”

Emily was taken aback by Violet’s grip on her. “What’s this about?”

Violet let her go but didn’t ease her gaze. She had a hawk-like focus into Emily’s eyes. “How’d it go?”

Emily shuffled in her spot, dug the tip of her trainer into the dirt. “He wants to hang out again.”

“That’s great, Emmy!” Violet said and threw an arm around her friend. When Emily didn’t respond, she added, “Isn’t it?”

Emily suddenly sprung forward, and her head jerked up to match Violet’s face. “Oh, yeah… definitely.”

Violet raised a brow. “I feel a ‘but’ coming…”

“But it’s all just so weird!” Emily started and threw her arms up. When she realized how loud her voice was, she was careful to whisper. “I mean, all of a sudden, out of nowhere… he likes me? And how can I possibly date someone all my best mates hate?”

“I quite like Roger,” Violet corrected with a pointed finger.

Emily let out a scoff. “Yeah, well, you’re outnumbered.”

“They’re being ridiculous, and you don’t have to give into it.”

They boys’ dislike of Roger did seem a bit ridiculous. They never even spoke with him. What did they know of him? To call him a prat? Their disapproval seemed senseless, and yet…

“But —” Emily started, but Violet stopped her.

“I’ll take care of the boys, Em; you worry about Roger.”



The first Monday morning of term opened with Defence Against the Dark Arts. Emily was sat at the fore of the classroom — by her insistence rather than Violet’s this time. She organized her textbook and quill on the desktop, trying to ignore the desperate churn of anxiety brewing in her stomach. Although more students had arrived since Emily sat down, the professor’s desk at the front was still empty.

Violet glanced down at her watch and whispered, more to herself than to Emily, “Class starts in two minutes…”

As if on cue, the door swung open, and everyone expected to see their mysterious new professor in the doorway. Instead, they were all greeted by the sight of the Weasley twins.

“Excellent work, Fred,” George said, turning to his brother with a grin.

“Right on time, George.”

“Only seconds to spare.”

They high-fived before snagging the seats directly behind Emily and Violet, lamenting that they were so close to the front.

Emily had been very deliberate in her choice of seat for this class in particular. She recognized their professor’s name upon his announcement, but it took her until this morning to realize why. In all of her research over the summer, in the pamphlets and books, it was there: Alastor Moody. The man was a renowned Auror with a remarkable number of dark wizard captures over the past several decades. Surely, there would be none better to teach her how to be Auror material.

Violet’s eye flickered from the door back to her watch again, and she grumbled, “Can’t even believe it; late for his own class.”

“Late for my own class, am I?” a gruff voice called out from the front of the room, and Professor Moody stood in front of the blackboard. No one saw him come in or from where he did. With each step he took toward the middle of the classroom, his wooden leg echoed against the floor. “You’re the official Hogwarts timekeeper then, Miss Briggs?”

Violet stared back at him with wide-eyed panic. “No, sir.”

“Then maybe we ought to pay more attention to class and less to the clock.”

Violet turned a deep magenta and slunk down in her seat. Meanwhile, Emily was sat next to her trying to hold in bursts of laughter. It was so unlike Violet to get in trouble — and on the first day of class, no less.

“Great start,” Emily whispered, her words separated by breathy sniggers. “First impressions and such.”

“Shut up.”

Moody’s introduction to the class was brief. “I’m here,” he said as he wrote his surname out on the blackboard, “because Dumbledore finally wised up about hiring a professional. And so I plan to teach you what I know.” He paused for a moment, his back still to the class, and then resumed. “There’s an old saying: ‘the best offence is a good defence.’ And I believe that. But in order to have a good defence, you need to know what you’re up against.”

He proceeded to talk about the “current state of things” — about Death Eaters and Dark Wizards and what he had seen in his time as an Auror, including a sort of magic Emily didn’t even know existed. He called them “the Unforgivable Curses,” and she bristled when he demonstrated them. One to control. One to torture. One to kill.

As the class sat in stunned silence, Emily couldn’t help but think about the Killing Curse — its incantation reminiscent of the muggle “magic spell her father used to jokingly cast. And she wondered, was that how he died?

She suddenly regretted sitting in the front.



If there was anything that stuck with Emily about Moody’s Defence class, it was this:

A good defence. Know what you’re up against.

Moody was pretty fair, in explaining their curriculum for the term, in detailing the types of magic they would learn. Advanced magic, defensive magic, and even dark magic, if he thought it could be important for them to know. Most of the class was adamant about not wanting to know at all.

But Emily was smart enough to see the advantage. Know what you’re up against. And if she, of all people, was going to be an Auror, she knew she’d need all the help she could get.

That was the thought that brought her to the library on a Monday night, long after everyone else had cleared out. That was the thought that slipped her past Madam Pince and her harsh glares. And that was the thought that directed her to the Restricted Section.

Emily wasn’t much one for breaking rules, and the Restricted Section was, as its name implied, restricted for access to students. Even prefects, even seventh years, were not permitted.

There were books upon books lining the wall of the Restricted Section — books about death and dark magic, books too dangerous to be housed in a school where they could be accessed by prying eyes. Like Emily’s.

But she was there for a different type of book. Like Moody had said: the best offence is a good defence. So she started with that.

Each breath Emily took was laboured as she dove further and further in, trying to remain as silent as possible. Each step she took was calculated, measured, so as to be undetectable in the quiet of the library.

The shelves were filled from floor to ceiling, but only one book among the thousands caught Emily’s eye. It was old with a mahogany-coloured binding that was faded by time. Its simple title was embossed in gold letters along its spine: Defensive Magicks. On the cover, Emily saw a reddish stain and tried her damnedest not to think about its source.

Still, she was drawn to the book like a moth to a flame. It was heavy in her hands, more so than it looked, as she lifted it from its place on the shelf, and she was quick to shove it deep into the depths of her bag.

“Whatcha got there?” came a voice from behind her, and she swore that she stopped breathing, the excess air building up in her ears. She couldn’t hear anything beyond her rushing pulse.

“Hello?” the voice hissed, and a hand waved in front of her face. When she finally worked up the courage to turn around, she came tête-à-tête with Fred and George.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. She folded her arms across her chest, blocking access to her bag.

Fred smirked. “Could ask the same of you.”

Emily could feel her face begin to pale as she racked her brain for response, clever or otherwise.

“I’m doing research,” she said finally with a deep breath, the slightest bit indignant. “Nothing wrong with a little innocent curiosity.”

“Yeah, real innocent,” said George as he tore a page from the back of a book. Though tempted she was to chastise him, she decided it was better to ignore it. “In the Restricted Section and all…”

They had her there. This was certainly not so prefecty. It would do no good for her reputation were it to get out that she was sneaking into off-limits areas of the castle after hours. But then again…

She said, “Might I remind you that you’re both here too.”

“We’re doing ‘research’ too,” Fred said, his fingers air-quoting the word. “Bit of a personal project.”

“So is mine.” She maintained eye contact with him despite the pressure of his gaze.

“Well then… looks like we’re at a bit of an impasse.”

Emily let out a huff of air and waited for them to continue with whatever inevitable proposition they had up their sleeve.

“So let’s trade — silence for silence.”

Emily pursed her lips. She wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to the twins having dirt on her. Then again, she wasn’t much used to being dirty either. But most of all, she didn’t like the look of power that sparkled in their eyes.

“Fine.”

“Don’t sound so sorry,” Fred said and gripped her body in a side-hug. “It’s more for your benefit than ours.”

George grabbed her from the other side. “Yeah, nobody would bat an eye if they found out we were here.”

“But you?”

“Imagine they could revoke Prefect status for that.” Their arms were draped over her shoulder, criss-crossing over each other. “Maybe even expulsion.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” She shook them both off. “So what’s the catch?”

Fred and George looked to each other and then back at her. In unison they smiled and said, “We’ll let you know.”

And as they all snuck out of the library past dark, the fear of her debt loomed over Emily’s head…