Of Pranks & Princes

With the champions chosen and the other schools returned home until the First Task, classes were back again in full swing at Hogwarts. Despite some passing whispers and gossip about the upcoming challenge, the excitement over the Tournament began to die down, and Emily finally found some time to herself.

Free time was hard to come by these days, between the prefect meetings and patrols and homework and spending time with Roger, so she was especially grateful to get back to Ravenclaw tower earlier than usual. Though earlier than usual was still pretty late and the girls were already asleep. Emily drew her quarters closed and fell limply against her bed.

She was tempted to relish in another chapter of the indulgent romance novel she'd brought from home and reached for it in her bag, feeling around for its well-worn cover. But her fingers skinned against something else — a harsh hardcover spine with an engraved title.

The book she had taken — perhaps, borrowed — had remained untouched beneath piles of parchment and textbooks since she'd picked it up from the library.

It was heavy in her arms when she grabbed it out of the bag, much heavier than she remembered, and she felt the indent of the words with her fingers along its cover: Defensive Magicks.

She opened the book in her lap and flicked her wand. "Lumos."

The book's table of contents seemed to go on forever, outlining everything from "the art of Animagi" to the Unforgivable Curses, then called the "Sins of Magick." She shuddered at the memory of Defence class. She didn't need anything quite so drastic.

Her eyes skimmed over a pair of words at first, strange and unfamiliar: Legilimency & Occlumency. There were several chapters dedicated to the two, and she flipped to the first of them.

Page 649. About Legilimency. Legilimency is the magickal art of navigating another's mind and interpreting his emotions and memories. It is a complicated and hazardous magick that requires sufficient dedication and training by its user.

The book went on to describe the spell which existed as a bridge between Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts: Legilimens. It described the precise flicker of wand motion required, it explained the necessary frame of mind for performance, and it highlighted in detail the benefit of the information one could receive from its use.

As a skill, legilimency is particularly useful for defensive methods, wherein one might be able to determine an enemy's motivation or action based on his emote or prior action. Many an intelligencer have utilised this complex art in their work.

As she continued reading, letting the spell fall in a mumble from her lips as her wand mimicked the motion, each stroke practiced and precise, the book reiterated time and again that this magic was not to be used lightly or without proper precaution, lest it possibly backfire on an unskilled user. Learning legilimency would require practise and the aid of a knowledgeable tutor, at the very least.

In other words, it was not something she could learn from a book — even this book. Still, she kept reading, each word drawing her deeper and deeper into the subject, its history, its practical uses.

And she read on until the book's gentle whisper guided her to sleep; there was time to come up with a plan in the morning.



Emily awoke the next morning with the weight of a several-centuries-old book on her chest, still open to the fifth chapter on legilimency. The last she remembered, she was partway through its history as a defensive art, somewhere in the 13th century or so. Emily bookmarked the page so she could return to her research later, in the next sleepless night, perhaps, and she slid it beneath her pillow.

She quickly changed out of yesterday's clothes, brushed her teeth and her hair so she looked at least remotely presentable, and rushed up the stairs until she reached the eagle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

As a prefect she was luckily privy to the password: "Pepper imps," and the staircase opened for her, granting entry to the headmaster's office.

She knocked against the door, just beneath its crescent-shaped window. As she waited, she scuffed her heels against the floor, fidgeting in place until the door swung open, and his voice danced into the hall. "Come in."

Dumbledore's office was always larger than Emily remembered it being, the towering circular walls covered from floor to ceiling in books and knick-knacks and portraits of old headmasters. At the front of his desk sat his pet phoenix, perched on a stand, looking young and radiant. Dumbledore's office was naturally fairly dark, though there were slivers of sunlight that filtered in through tall windows. She stepped further inside until she reached him.

Lines of laughter crinkled around Dumbledore's eyes as he caught glimpse of her. "Ah, Miss Prince," he started and set a lemon drop into his mouth, "what brings you this way?"

Suddenly she could feel the pounding of her heart beneath her striped shirt, felt the sweat building into waterfalls on her skin. "Sorry to bother you, Professor; I'm sure you're busy with the Tournament and everything…"

"Never too busy to aid inquiring minds." He smiled, welcoming her to continue.

There was still time to change her mind; she could let out a squeak of 'never mind' and be downstairs in the Great Hall with plenty of time before the carriages left for Hogsmeade. She would be spared any judgement or mockery that her request would illicit, and she'd be free not to worry about it anymore.

But, no. She had come with a mission in mind, so she stayed, though she braced herself for the worst.

"Well, I was just wondering if we had classes on legilimency," she said, and it came out as more of a question from behind her shaky voice. "I was reading about it, and it seems like it could be a really good skill for an auror."

Dumbledore's jaw tensed for a moment. "Well, you would be correct about its usefulness, but it is unfortunately not a subject Hogwarts typically offers." Emily felt her face fall, but she tried to hide the disappointment. "However," he continued, "we do happen to have a skilled legilimens and occlumens on staff who may be able to help you if you request it."

Emily's excitement spread across her face faster than she could contain, and she crossed her fingers that it might be Flitwick or Moody or even Trelawney — professors she didn't mind spending extra time with and who, most importantly, wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Indeed, I would recommend that you speak to Severus as soon as possible."

Severus?!

Well, this would obviously be harder than she anticipated…



The walk down to the dungeons felt twice as long as it usually did, each step Emily took marked with utter dread. Severus was probably the last person she would want to go to for a favour, and as far as spending extra time beyond standard classroom obligations, he was pretty low on that list too.

But there really wasn't any other choice.

She rapped her knuckles hard against the door to the Potions classroom and snuck inside before Severus could object. He looked up at her from his work, and his face hardened.

"Miss Prince," he started, "to what do I owe the… pleasure?" The last word fell as almost a snarl from his curled lips.

She figured the best plan of action was to come straight out with it: "I was hoping you'd be willing to teach me legilimency."

He held back laughter before he responded, solemnly, "Absolutely not."

"Why?" She took calculated steps towards his desk.

"It's dangerous and incredibly difficult," Severus said, not looking at her. His quill pressed a splotch of red ink in the shape of an 'X' across a first-year's test.

"I can handle it," she argued and set her fingers against the edge of the wooden desk; "I'm sure."

"I am unconvinced," he said, his tone uninflected.

She took a deep breath and started again, her hands moving to enthusiastically illustrate her argument. "I learn quickly, I'll practise every day, I'll do extra homework, whatever you want." When he didn't answer, she continued, "It's an immensely rare skill. So it'll give me a leg up for auror training since —"

Suddenly he looked up at her. He stood up from his chair with his hands flat against his desk, imposing as he towered over her. "Surely you're not still under the impression you'll be an auror…"

"I will," she insisted, and he rolled his eyes. "So long as I can learn legilimency, I —"

"I do not teach such subjects," he said.

"But Professor Dumbledore —"

He spoke over her. "Has not included these as part of any Hogwarts curriculum. For very good reason."

Her eyes were pleading when they met his again, and he quickly looked away.

"Why can't you then? Just for me?"

He pulled another test from the stack and continued grading, his quill striking marks at speed. "It isn't a matter of whether I can; it's a matter of whether I will, and to spare you further grovelling, the answer is no."

She finally released a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and it fell from her lips as a huff. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure and didn't look back at Severus as she stormed, without another word, out the door.

When Emily finally reached the Great Hall, she found Violet at the Ravenclaw table and took the seat next to her.

Violet seemed almost startled when she looked at her. "Merlin… Are you all right, Em?"

Emily's cheeks were hot and a slight bit moister than they ought to have been. She probably looked a mess, but she shrugged. "I'm fine. You coming to Hogsmeade?"

"Can't. Absolutely swamped today," Violet said as she pushed a stack of books out in front of her. "But Roger was looking for you before."

Emily raised a brow. "Roger?"

She shrugged. "Something about making plans, I think? I'll admit I wasn't really listening."

As Emily went to thank her for the heads-up, she realized Violet had already gone back to her books, her nose deep in a chapter of Ancient Runes.

The first Hogsmeade trip of term was always a well-attended occasion, and this year, despite all the other excitement, was no different. Dozens upon dozens of students milled about the Entrance Hall, eagerly awaiting the carriages that would take them into the village.

Out of all the places Hogsmeade had to offer, Emily's favourite was the Hog's Head.

In third year during their first trip to Hogsmeade, all Emily wanted was a Butterbeer. The Three Broomsticks was so packed that Emily, Violet, and the boys couldn't even get inside for a taste. She fondly remembered wandering about in the brisk November cold until they stumbled upon the Hog's Head. It was dingy and had an air of menace about it, but when Fred dared her to go inside, she didn't even hesitate. The barkeep for the first-floor pub was polite enough, though brusque, and they had the pleasure of being his only guests for the entire day with enough Butterbeer to fill their fancy.

And, God, could she use a Butterbeer today…

She searched for Roger among the masses, pushing through crowds of overeager third years, until she caught him by Duncan and Cedric. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

"I'm glad you're here," he said once he broke from the group. If he noticed how awful she looked, he didn't mention it. She had wiped the wet from her eyes but could still feel her face, flush and hot.

"I heard you were looking for me?"

Things had been a bit tense between her and Roger lately, though she tried to keep it light and pleasant when they spent time together. She still hadn't forgotten their fight a few days previous, and she hadn't forgotten how long she waited for him in the common room only for him to never show.

"Yeah…" He shuffled uncomfortably in his spot, then took a deep breath and met her eyes with his. "I really owe you an apology, Em. I was selfish the other day, and I should've told you that plans changed, and I shouldn't have brushed you off when you got upset."

Emily blinked a few times, stunned. It was precisely the apology she had wanted, despite being four days too late, and he couldn't have said it any better if she had written it herself. "Thank you."

"I was being kind of a… prat, I guess, and I'm sorry." He paused to take her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers. "And I'd really like to make it up to you, if I could."

She turned a dewy shade of pink in the cheeks as a smile crossed her mouth. "What did you have in mind?"

He set his lips gently against her temple. "It's a surprise. All you need to do is look great — as usual — and I'll take care of the rest."

She kissed him goodbye and rushed back to the dorm to change, pulling a light pink jumper, tights, and a black skirt from her trunk. She fixed her hair and swiped some shimmery gloss across her lips before rushing back down to meet Roger.

They packed with a group of fourth years into a carriage and were soon on their way to Hogsmeade.

During the ride, Roger leaned in to her and put his lips to her ear. "You look fantastic, by the way."

They lingered together in the carriage while the other students filed out, and Roger laced his fingers with hers as they walked hand-in-hand into the village.

"We can start with Butterbeers, if you want," Emily suggested as she headed toward the Hog's Head, excitedly dragging him along. Even the thought of the sweet drink was enough to make her feel comfortably warm in the November air.

"No way," he argued, and pulled her back alongside him. "I'm bringing you someplace special."

Roger took large steps when he walked, something she only noticed when she struggled to keep up with him, taking two steps for each one of his. He walked with a strong determination, like a horse with blinkers on, and all he could see was the mystery destination he had in mind for her.

They walked to the far end of Hogsmeade, past the aromatic decadence of Butterbeer and the surprisingly pleasant ambiance of the Hog's Head, turning down a thin side road, until they reached a small shop on the centre's edge. Roger stepped askance and nudged her towards the door, but she stopped short when she read the sign.

"Puddifoot's? Really?" She tried to cover up her displeasure. Under her breath, she muttered, "I hate this place."

But he had heard her. "What? Nobody hates Madam Puddifoot's." She could see his face faltering in a mix of surprise and disappointment.

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was known for being a couples' hub in Hogsmeade, its exterior painted in clashing pinks and greens with foggy windows and dim interior lighting barely visible upon looking in. She had been there once before — just once — and vowed she'd never go back.

But it was hard to hold herself to that when Roger looked so glum.

"I don't like… tea," she said, deciding it a diplomatic reason.

"There's plenty else you can get." He began rattling off the options before she cut him off.

"All right, let's just go." She fidgeted for a bit with the hem of her skirt.

Roger set his hand beneath her chin and lifted it until her eyes met his. "C'mon, Em, give us a smile; it's a nice day."

She forced the corners of her lips up into a slight curve, which seemed to satisfy for now, and Roger dropped his hand from her face.

He pulled the door to the teashop open, and Emily was greeted by the obnoxious jingling of wind chimes in the entryway, and Madam Puddifoot rushed over to greet them. She was a stout woman, much too wide to fit comfortably in the cramped spaces between tables; her black hair was pulled back in a messy bun atop her head, stretching tight the skin of her face. Her bright white apron was cut out like a lace doily, the fabric billowing in pockets as she moved.

"Good afternoon, lovebirds!" she greeted them, her voice shrill and grating. "What can I do for you?"

"Two for a back booth please," Roger said, shutting the door behind him. Madam Puddifoot eagerly invited them inside and urged them to follow her. As they passed through, they dodged around couples holding hands and kissing and practically shagging in the forefront of the shop.

Puddifoot ushered the two of them to the back corner of the tea shop where Roger's requested booth was waiting. The table for their hidden booth was decorated with lacy tablecloths, a gaudy arrangement of flowers in clashing colours, and more candles than should plausibly have fit on the table top. The booth itself snaked around the table in an unbroken semi-circle, and Roger and Emily sat in the centre.

"I'll be right back with some tea for you," Puddifoot said, and she was gone before Emily could request an alternative.

The teashop was quiet, even though there were a dozen couples already inside, almost as if a silencing charm had been cast on the patrons. It felt even quieter than the Hog's Head on a good day but far more unsettling.

Madam Puddifoot quickly returned with two steaming cups of tea, the spoons enchanted to stir themselves, and she set them on the table. Roger set two sugar cubes into his cup and mixed them in. Emily pushed her cup and saucer to the side.

"Thanks for coming with me," he said.

She tried to be polite. "Thanks for inviting me."

They sat together in silence for a while before Roger turned to her. He snaked his arm around her waist, and her back stiffed in response. His other hand was set just above her knee, his fingers running along her tights.

"Can you guess why I picked a back booth?" he asked with a roguish grin. When she shook her head, he pulled her tight and moved to kiss her, his body leaning over hers, pressed against her in the booth. She swung her head to the side to dodge it directly, and his lips landed squarely on her cheek.

"Here?" She scrunched up her face.

He pursed his lips and stared at her. "Well, yeah, that's what it's for, Em." He paused, his eyes focused on hers, and his features softened. "But if you'd rather not…"

"I dunno; it just feels weird." When she saw the excitement leave his eyes, she was quick to follow with an apology. "Sorry."

Roger shrugged in begrudging acceptance and lifted his tea mug to his mouth, and Emily watched the steam dance beneath his nostrils.

"You know, I really do love this place," he said finally after a long, meditated sip. He set his cup down again and shot her a playful wink as he added, "Even without the snogging."

Emily pressed her mouth into a hard line across her face and tried to contort it into a smile. "Yeah, it's… nice."

"You want more?" Roger asked and then caught sight of her still-full teacup. "Or… something else?"

"No, it's fine." She stood up from their booth. "I'll just go stretch my legs a bit, if that's all right?"

"Sure," he said and downed her tea too, which she was sure had long gone cold by now. He turned to her and moved again to kiss her; this time she met his lips with her own, briefly. "I'll take care of this."

Emily snuck out the door as soon as she could and waited for Roger outside as he paid the bill. She leaned against the teashop's large decorated window, staring longingly at the Hog's Head. What she wouldn't do for even a sip of Butterbeer right now…

Suddenly the door to the Hog's Head opened, and two matching flannel shirts with matching red hair stepped out. She smiled when she saw them and waved them over.

"Oi, Princey," she heard Fred call, "where were you?"

George looked almost sad as they approached. "We missed you for Butterbeers today."

All she had wanted was to go to the Hog's Head, ideally with her boys all together, but she wasn't going to push it. Had Roger asked what she wanted, she would've told him. But he wanted Puddifoot's, so that was that.

"Oh," she started, "well, Roger wanted to take me here, so —"

Fred cut her off, tilting his head toward the painted sign. "To Puddifoot's? You hate that place."

"Yeah." She was surprised he remembered that, and she chuckled, "More now than ever."

As the twins eyed her, she felt suddenly self-conscious in her outfit de choix and flattened out the edges of her skirt against her legs.

"You want to come check out Zonko's then?" offered George.

"I'm… waiting for him." She nodded back towards the door.

"Oh." The boys looked disappointed.

"But maybe we all can meet up at Honeyduke's later?" she quickly suggested, and Fred made a face.

"If it's going to be 'we all,'" he said, his nose scrunched up, "I'd rather not."

"You know, I'm not asking you to snog the guy," she said and crossed her arms against her chest, "just tolerate him. For my sake."

George started, "We know, but it's… Davies, and —"

Fred jumped in. "And I'm allowed to not like the bloke who's snogging my best mate."

His face was flush, and he looked away from her, dug the front of his shoe into the dirt until it stained. All three of them were quiet for a moment, and the bustle of the other students around them was all that kept it from being completely silent.

"Forget it," Fred said finally, and he stepped away. "Let's just go, George."

The two headed towards Zonko's, their steps in unison as they left her behind at the doorway to the teashop.

"Wait!" she said, and they turned back to face her. "He's just shooting the shite with Puddifoot in there. He'll probably take forever."

She rushed to catch up with them, and they headed to the joke shop together.

Going to Zonko's was always fun, but going with the twins was something else altogether. They would comment and critique, navigating the aisles and making mental notes for their own product. They'd be personally greeted by Zonko himself and permitted to sample some of the newer offerings.

Today, the new offerings were unlabelled toffee-coloured hard candies set on a silver plate at the front counter. George tossed one to Emily.

"Give it a go then, Em."

She set the candy on her tongue and was greeted with a delectable, creamy flavour that filled her mouth… and kept filling it, puffing up her cheeks and swelling up her lips until she looked like a balloon.

Emily could see her reflection in the store window, accidentally chasing away some third-years while she did, and she looked horrible. Her cheeks were full, her lips parted, and it looked like she'd been hit with some kind of jinx.

"You'd think by now you'd know better than to eat unidentifiable treats," Fred said, looking smug as he leaned against the counter.

"In my defence, you've never used me as a guinea pig for your nonsense," she replied. Or at least, she meant to. It came out, from her swollen face, as a series of mumbled, squished syllables.

Fred and George laughed, and Emily grew red in the face as she wheezed too, the air sucking in and out of engorged lips with a whistle.

Once the effects of the candy wore off, the three continued around the shop when something caught Emily's eye.

"What this?" She picked up a small black box, illegibly labelled in aggressive lettering. Below, it explained: 'Included balls create fire and ice breath.' She called the boys over. "Oi! This is new."

Fred flipped the thing in his hands, eyes scanning its description quickly. "You want to try it?"

She slapped three sickles on the counter for Zonko before they left the shop, and they tore open the packaging. Inside were two coloured marbles — one bright red, the other light blue — and Fred set them into his hand.

"Dibs on red," Emily said, and before he could protest, she popped it into her mouth. The heat from the marble spread quickly. She could feel the beginning of flames on her tongue as some steam escaped her nostrils.

Fred, in turn, took the blue, and she watched as his face grew pale, his breath an icy cloud as he exhaled.

"Mine's better," she said, challengingly, and blew a stream of fire into the air; Fred wasn't convinced.

So they decided to make a game of it, to see which was more powerful. Winner owed the loser, and George by default, a treat of choice at Honeydukes.

Fred quickly blew a cloud of freezing air at Emily, and when it hit her neck, it elicited a fitful of giggles. He wiggled his brows. "What d'you think of that?"

She went to set her hand against the spot he had hit, and it tingled at the touch, sending a shiver straight along her spine.

"I think that counts as cheating," she shot back, careful not to let the flames fly off her tongue, "eh, George?"

"This is between the two of you," said George with a playful shrug. "I'll be getting cauldron cakes regardless."

"You heard the man." Fred took a step closer to Emily. "Between you and me."

Emily straightened up to be as tall as she could be, though Fred still seemed to tower over her. "You think you're real cheeky, but if I blow when you're not expecting it, I'll singe your eyebrows off."

"Quit bickering and go at it already!" George snapped. When they both turned to him, he regained his composure. "On the count of three: One… two… go!"

At George's word, Fred and Emily blew simultaneously at each other. Fred's was cold as snow, a line of ice aimed straight for Emily's nose, but her fiery breath headed it off. They inched closer in the hopes they'd get more leverage against the other.

Emily pushed her breath from her body so hard she thought for a moment she might pass out. Fred looked like he was getting woozy as well. But she'd be damned if she let him win.

He was staring at her with a look of sheer determination, his brow furrowed, his mouth contorted into a smirk as he blew the ice at her. His eyes glanced from her eyes to her lips and back; hers did the same to him.

She was so focused on his lips, his freckles, his crooked nose, his dark brown eyes that she almost forgot they were playing a game at all, until she felt the chill of his breath against her skin, and it sent gooseflesh across her body. She could almost taste his breath, cool like peppermint.

Within moments, their mouths were barely apart, combatting ice and fire turning to water between them. When it splashed on her lips, Emily stopped, her knees buckling beneath her.

Well, this was new…

Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked on the marble before she coughed it back into her hand. She felt suddenly queasy and took a step back.

"What's this then?" demanded a voice from behind her. She jerked around to see Roger. "I've been looking all over for you, y'know."

"Sorry," she said, residual steam still filtering from the corners of her mouth, and Fred spit his marble back into his hand in one last puff of cold smoke. "We were just —"

"I saw."

George tried to come to her defence. "Listen, mate, it wasn't —"

Roger ignored him, stepping between her and the twins. "I just wanted take you out for a nice date, and then… this?" She could see the redness building in the inside of his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed up. With one last huff, he stormed off, leaving Emily rather stunned behind him.

"'A nice date,'" Fred said, mimicking Roger. He snorted with laughter. "Yeah, right."

"Stop it." Emily said and shot him a stern glare. She ran her fingers through her hair, mussing the style as she pulled through a knot, and glanced with worried eyes behind her at Roger before turning back to Fred and George. "I should go; he's really upset."

Before they could argue, she rushed after him, sending a sorry look over her shoulder to the boys.

The carriage ride back to the castle was sat in silence with Roger stewing in anger, and Emily couldn't stop thinking about what had happened — Fred and the marbles and the closeness and their breath and how it should have been so weird but wasn't…



November flew by in a flurry of exams and excitement, and before anyone knew it, the First Task was dawning.

The Quidditch Pitch, which had been roped off since the Tournament was announced, was set up stadium-style now, the seating opened to spectators. The interior was filled with rocks and dirt and sand which covered the plush green grass beneath it.

Roger and Emily had long made up since the incident at Hogsmeade. At his request, she made a conscious effort to be more 'present' when they were together, and he agreed never to drag her back to Puddifoot's. At least at first, Emily also tried to avoid the twins when Roger was around so he didn't get the wrong idea — maybe so she didn't get the wrong idea either. The last time they had been together, alone, was so close to trouble, and she didn't need any more help with trouble, especially not from the boys who made trouble their specialty. Beyond a polite wave in the corridors, she made herself scarce — for her sake and Roger's.

Though he didn't say anything at first, Emily could tell that Roger was grateful for the effort, and after a while, he even admitted he might have misunderstood the situation and asked that she pass along an apology to Fred and George.

She did not. It was more sensible to forgo the opportunity than to risk reopening the wound. That she owed to all of them.

In the days leading up to the First Task of the Tournament, Emily didn't see much of Roger beyond classes and prefect meetings. They would sometimes sit together at dinner, but otherwise he seemed preoccupied. And when the other schools returned, she saw him, somehow, even less.

On the day of the First Task, though, they sat together in the section of the open-air stands designated for Hogwarts students, finding seats near the centre of the stands. By the time they arrived the pickings were slim with only a small smattering of seat to choose from. With the addition of two extra schools, it felt especially snug. Emily hadn't ever been claustrophobic, but she felt it now.

"It's a bit tight here," said Roger as he adjusted himself in his seat. "D'you mind if I rest my arm over?"

"No, go ahead."

He draped his arm over her shoulder, and she leaned a bit into him. Despite how cramped and ill-fitting the stands were, she felt almost comfortable.

From several rows above them, Emily and Roger heard the twins: "Place your bets here! A silver sickle for Beauxbatons's most beautiful! A galleon on Gryffindor's chosen! Choose your champion."

They pushed their way through the crowd, betting box in tow, collecting wagers as they went.

Emily turned to Roger. "Who do you think will win?"

"I'd bet on Fleur." He scoured the ground near the Champion's tent.

She raised an eyebrow. "The girl from Beauxbatons?"

"Yeah," he said and smiled. "She's real bright, y'know, and clever. We were talking after she got picked, and I think she really might have it."

Roger's sudden unwavering faith in Fleur Delacour was disconcerting, but Emily tried to shake it off, even though it felt a bit like she had swallowed a bowl of rocks. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, buried under the weight of his arm on her shoulder. "I'd put my money on Cedric, but Potter tends to be a lucky sonuva-bitch, so you never know. Either way Hogwarts wins, yeah?"

Roger shrugged and let out a quiet grunt in response. A silence — their seemingly ever-present third wheel — returned to the space, what little there was, between them.

When Emily heard the twins again, she jumped up as if on reflex. Roger didn't seem fazed.

As she walked up the stands, she pulled some change from her pants pocket for an icebreaker. It was unnerving to feel like she needed one after all this time. It was just Fred.

She held the silver coin up to him. "I'll go a sickle on Diggory."

Fred looked past her to another Ravenclaw, wrapped tight in a blue-and-bronze scarf. "Oi! Fawcett, you in?"

Emily moved back into his line of vision. "Really, Fred?"

"Oh, I thought we were still playing the 'ignore each other' game," he said finally and straightened himself. The betting box dangled from a leather strap around his neck. "You know, you were winning 'til now."

"Real mature," she said, her voice teeming with sarcasm. She set plunged her empty hand into the back pocket of her jeans.

"It's nice that Davies let you come over here, though. Real big of him."

"Actually, he didn't say anything about it." This wasn't entirely true — Roger's apology pressed hard against the back of her throat, but she swallowed it again, holding it in place.

Fred's brow furrowed. "Then wh—?"

"I figured it was better… for a while… to…" Emily dropped her sentence. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Sorry." He shrugged off her apology like she never even gave it, so she continued, "I'm just trying to fix things."

"What's there to fix?" He tried to fold his arms over his chest, but the betting box was in the way.

She took a step towards him, temperate and measured. "C'mon, you need to understand —"

Fred didn't budge. "Sure, I understand completely. You'd rather hang out with that obnoxious git than your own friends."

"Maybe I'd rather spend time with Roger because he cares," she mumbled, without realizing it.

Fred let out a haughty laugh. "Oh yeah, cares so much, knows you so well, he takes you to your least favourite spot in Hogsmeade to prove it."

"Well at least he tries," she hissed back at him.

The accusation struck Fred across the face, and he blinked at her in stunned silence. He didn't answer except to let out a deep breath.

In the silence that echoed, she said, "I am still sorry, by the way. Not sure if you heard me before."

"I heard you," he snapped, his eyes glowering. "That why you're here?"

She bit her lip and nodded, turning the coin between her fingers to distract her from the awkwardness. "Um… a sickle for Diggory, yeah?"

For a moment, it seemed like they were okay. There was no trouble. The hurt feelings, though still fresh, seemed to dissipate. Until Fred's lip curled into a sneer.

"Is that Davies's bet too?"

Emily scoffed. Why wouldn't he just let it go?

"No, he's pushing for Delacour." Her voice was a low growl that seemed to catch him off-guard. "But I'm a sickle for Diggory." She waited for him to respond with some kind of snappy stylish comeback, but he didn't. She held the sickle in his nose, so close that it nearly brushed skin. "Now, are you gonna take the money, or what?"

A loud whistle cut through the air to signal the start of the First Task, and everyone was instructed to take their seats.

"Sorry, Princey," Fred said, snapping the betting box shut and thrusting it under his arm, "too little too late."