Task #2: In the three-rune cast, the drawn runes can be read two ways. Write about a two-faced character.

Gringotts Prompt Bank:

Daredevil

Rabbit In A Snowstorm

Dialogue: Josie: [to Karen] You could do so much better, love.

Dialogue: Vanessa Marianna: People always ask me how can we charge so much for what amounts to gradations of white. I tell them it's not about the artist's name or the skill required, not even about the art itself. All that matters is "How does it make you feel?" / Wilson Fisk: It makes me feel alone.

Alice in Wonderland

Dialogue] "But you're not properly dressed."

[Dialogue] "Is it not better to be feared than loved?"

[Dialogue] "And who is this lovely creature?"

[Dialogue] "Nothing's ever accomplished with tears!"

The last present

"I don't make the rules." / "Then who does?"

New girl

(dialogue) "I spent six years trying to figure you out, but all you are is a guy with really beautiful hair."

Mother daughter book club

"Don't touch my things."

"You're not happy to get a letter?"

"Look, I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Apology accepted."

He hated the smells of Christmas, but even the season of pine needles, pumpkin pie, apple, nutmeg, cloves, and baked ham; was not as disagreeable to him as the smells of fall.

Fall came with the return of students to the school, just as he was returning to be Head Boy for his final year, their bag packed with scented cinnamon love potions – or candles – ready to go.

Then there was ginger.

Frankincense.

Oranges, why anyone found it to be associate with Fall was beyond him.

Sandalwood, fused with herbs.

The smell of a freshly crackling fire – he didn't mind so much; when it wasn't being bottled and sold as part of some underground ring within the school.

Any number of these potion ingredients were suddenly used in perfumes, aftershaves, hanging room decorators – as if normal people had suddenly lost sight of why these plants existed to be used in the first place.

Then he had to deal with those students who believed sunflowers to be the best flower in the whole world. People with moon earnings and moon rings.

Already he had seen – and confiscated - more items related to the typical fall than the year before.

The sound of the door opening startled him briefly, and he looked over and smiled. "Gwen, I was wondering where you were." His eyes trailed over her body, adding oversized muggle-styled sweaters to his list of fall things he hated, leaning in. "What's wrong?"

She said nothing as she placed her bag on the seat across from him, dark circles under her eyes and visible tear stains on her cheeks that she was trying to hide. "Have you called the meeting yet?" she asked, her voice was flat – as is she wasn't excited to be Head Girl alongside him.

"No," he replied, standing, getting closer to her. "But you aren't properly dressed."

"Thanks for stating the obvious." She snapped, pulling her robes from her bag.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he felt the electricity run through them both, he tightened his grip.

All this waiting, planning; plotting – here they were.

Head Boy.

Head Girl.

He could not figure out why she looked so terribly sad. "Nothing's ever accomplished with tears." He whispered, eyeing a stack of letters in her bag, reach down.

"Don't touch my things," Gwen hissed, moving her shoulders to loosen his grip, sniffling. "Nothing is ever accomplished with tears! You really are heartless Tom."

There it was again, this side of her he didn't understand – the part of her he couldn't reach.

"Look," he cooed, "I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what else to say."

She thought for a moment, turning her head to study him, meeting those dark eyes carefully. "Apology accepted." She said finally, closing her bag.

He smiled, touching her hair in an overly familiar way, leaning on the window. "You're not happy to get a letter?"

Gwen shook her head, trying to suppress the tears as they rose up; he wouldn't understand. How could he? Tom didn't know, couldn't know, what it was like to have your family disappear to a madman like Hitler.

To have all your letters be returned because your family didn't exist anymore.

"Are they from a boy?" Tom asked, and Gwen's head snapped up.

"What?"

"You do have a boyfriend, don't you?" he purred, raising an eyebrow as she swatted away his hand. "You could do so much better, love."

"That is none of your business," Gwen stated coldly, shaking her head at him, trying to shake this new understanding. "I spent six years trying to figure you out, but all you are is a guy with really beautiful hair."

Tom laughed, feeling his angry coiling around his stomach like a boa constrictor, gripping her shoulder once more. "But you do care for me Gwen, I can see it. Why fight it? Who cares what the world sees in me, or what they think of my hair? Is it not better to be feared than loved?"

"No." Gwen replied, startling him for a moment. "But then again," she took a breath, knowing she was trapped – with someone whose mask was too well made for anyone else to see through. "I don't make the rules."

Leaning in, he asked, "Then who does?"

A knock came at their compartment, the door sliding open a moment later. "Hello Tom," Edmund Potter dipped his chin to Tom's presence, turning his eyes quickly to Gwen. "And who is this lovely creature?"

"Potter." Tom smiled, letting Gwen go, noticing how she recoiled to the door. "Something you need?"

"I need to steal Gwen," Edmund said. "Just for a moment. Girl issue in coach seven."

"Of course." Gwen nodded, taking her robes with her, not turning back.

As he watched, Tom felt the levels of his distaste rising at an alarming rate.

She always shied away from him, even when he chose to comfort her, even when he made it clear that he chose her to be his companion – his friend.

I hate fall, he thought again, I hate it.

Gwen moved down the corridor, tucking into compartment thirteen with Edmund and burst into tears at seeing Tessie.

"Gwen," Tessie jumped up. "Are you alright? We've heard the most terrible things, but we can't believe it's happening."

"They just disappeared," Gwen managed through her tears, her shoulders shaking, "My letters were barely getting through for a while, but all of last year they were returned."

"I brought you this," Edmund said softly, handing her a package. It was a painting. "People always ask me how can we charge so much for what amounts to gradations of white. I tell them it's not about the artist's name or the skill required, not even about the art itself. All that matters is 'How does it make you feel?'"

Gwen bit her lip, thinking it was somehow fitting. "It makes me feel alone."