Chapter 21: Hogsmeade

"Memories are dangerous things.
You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner,
but still you'll find an edge to cut you."

- Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns

Without a word, Oliver crossed the room and pulled Madeline to his chest.

"Hi," she said weakly. As she stood leaning against him, eyes closed, Madeline felt as though she had transferred all of her weight to him.

"You're exhausted," Oliver said, scooping her up and laying her on his bed. She removed her boots and dressing gown and crawled under his sheets.

"Yesterday was long," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I just want to sleep all day."

"So let's sleep. Stay with me, right here, all day."

"That sounds wonderful," said Madeline as she laid her head next to his.

Thankfully it was Sunday, and rather than studying for the N.E.W.T.s, Oliver and Madeline spent most of the day in his bed. Oliver was exhausted from the Quidditch match and complained of many sore muscles, but Madeline knew he relished the dull pain of exercise just as she did. She spent a while loosening some of the knots in his back, and they both slept a great deal. All morning and well into the afternoon, she and Oliver lied in bed sleeping, snogging, or talking. They joined their friends at dinner, but Madeline didn't feel refreshed; resting for so long had left her groggy and grumpy. The next day was Monday, and no one was looking forward to the new week less than Madeline.

On Monday, Transfiguration went well (for her), but in her Charms lesson she received a disappointed look from Professor Flitwick that made her stomach squirm uncomfortably—she hadn't practiced performing the summoning charm nonverbally, and therefore couldn't properly summon a pillow without opening her mouth. Nicolas kept shooting worried looks at her, which only frustrated her more. She left the lesson feeling irritable. After a rather boring Ancient Runes lesson, Madeline trudged up to the library with Claire to start working on another Potions essay. She was so sick of writing essays for Snape that she threatened to throttle him.

Her Potions lesson on Tuesday made Madeline absolutely livid—Flint kept thrusting at her suggestively, and while he was neglecting his potion, his cauldron exploded. Though it was satisfying to see Flint fail again, she and Oliver were both fuming as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. For once Madeline didn't stop him from ranting and cursing, as she was equally furious.

"He's a bloody bastard," said Oliver, his voice shaking. Madeline nodded her assent and unclenched Oliver's fists by taking his hands. Claire, Richard, and Nicolas all seemed unaffected by Flint's actions.

"He's foul, that's for sure," said Richard, shrugging. "I just wish he'd fail already. He's not going to pass any of the N.E.W.T.s."

At this, Madeline and Oliver exchanged a furtive look—Oliver had kept his promise and hadn't told anyone about the conversation she'd had with Malfoy at the beginning of last term. The year was almost over, and Madeline didn't feel her friends needed to know. Flint was still being punished for his stunt at the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor game, and since he was usually occupied with detentions or Quidditch practices, Madeline didn't believe she was in any real trouble.

By Friday, the hype of another Hogsmeade weekend was upon them, but Madeline was too busy turning into a nervous wreck to notice. That evening, she could be found in the Gryffindor Common Room studying with Nicolas. Though he and Margaret were still happily dating, Nicolas had taken to helping Madeline remain calm in Oliver's absence—as the Gryffindor/Slytherin match approached, Oliver was often at the pitch with his team. They were working on Charms, Nicolas' favorite subject, because it had been giving Madeline fits lately.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong!" Madeline said to him. "I've said the incantation correctly, I'm concentrating properly—bloody hell, Nick, I don't have time for this!"

"You're stressed, is the problem, Maddie," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her into a seat. "Which means you're not concentrating properly. What're you thinking about?"

"Charms! I just don't understand why this is harder for me than Transfiguration! It's supposed to be the other way around!"

"Stop, stop, stop," said Nicolas, frowning. "You're one of the brightest witches at this ruddy school, and if you'd stop second-guessing yourself, you'd be fine."

Madeline ran her hands over her face and through her wavy hair, which was more tangled and wild than usual. After spending a few moments trying to extricate her fingers from her waves, she decided to put it in a bun to get it out of the way.

"Face it, Nick, I'm never going to be as good as you at Charms. I'm just not," she said as she struggled with her hair.

"Madeline, you've been just as good as me at Charms for six years now."

Madeline flailed and slumped in her chair. Nicolas nodded as if he had predicted this behavior.

"Feeling melodramatic tonight, are we?"

"Perhaps a smidgen."

"Rubbish," he said, lips turned upwards ever so slightly.

"Perhaps a lot."

"Look, you'll just have to keep practicing. It's as simple as that."

"I'm sick of practicing," she replied, moaning.

"And I'm sick of your whining, Madeline Mae."

Madeline's eyes, which had been closed, snapped open in a glare.

"How do you know my middle name?" she hissed.

"What do you mean, 'how'? I've known you for six and half years, Maddie Mae—"

"I never told you my middle name! And for Merlin's bullocks' sake stop saying it!"

"My living with your boyfriend all these years couldn't have anything to do with it, could it?"

"Oliver told you?!"

Madeline was too preoccupied to hear the Gryffindor Quidditch team walk in, and Oliver was standing behind her as she yelled at Nicolas.

"What did I do?" Oliver asked, and Madeline stood and turned to face him. His hair was disheveled, his Quidditch garb sweaty, and his eyes were lit up in a way Madeline knew to mean practice had gone well. She couldn't help but smile at the sight before her eyes.

"You told this git my middle name, is what you did," Madeline said, her tone a notch below irritated.

"Madeline has a middle name?" asked Fred Weasley, who was carefully taking a seat nearby, a large purple bruise visible on his right arm. He slumped and closed his eyes, looking as though he was ready to pass out. George Weasley had crossed the common room and had gone straight to his dormitory, as had Harry Potter, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet.

"'Course I do," she said, crossing her arms. "Fred, you're supposed to hit the Bludgers before they hit you."

At this, Oliver grinned, rubbing his neck and saying, "George had a good practice."

"Why did you tell this prat my middle name?" Madeline asked, rounding on Oliver. He shrugged.

"I don't remember telling him," Oliver said. He looked over at Nicolas, who was reading his notes, trying to look blasé. "What've you two been working on?"

"Charms—"

"Nothing. We've gotten nothing done," Nicolas said, cutting her off. "Maddie Mae's being difficult."

"Stop calling me that!" Madeline cried, making an angry move towards Nicolas, who smirked.

"Whoa—" said Oliver as he caught her by her arms.

"Maddie Mae—that has a nice ring to it, actually," said Fred, his eyes closed, and a lopsided grin stretching across his freckled face. Angelina, who hadn't yet gone to her room, sat next to Fred.

"Let me see that arm of yours," she said, her voice tenderer than Madeline had been expecting. Fred opened his eyes, sat up, and let her tend to his bruise. Madeline turned her attention to Nicolas.

"Nick, stop calling me that. The whole damn school will start saying it if you don't shut it," said Madeline.

"Maybe that's the plan," he said, smirking still, a challenging look in his eyes.

"Hey," said Oliver, placing a hand on Madeline's waist, "c'mon."

She packed her things, shot Nick a glare, and followed Oliver to his dormitory. When she reached his bed, she plopped down face-first.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuurghghhhhhhhh."

"You've not had a very good week, have you?" asked Oliver, his tone sprinkled with amusement. Madeline turned over and watched as Oliver pulled his shirt off.

"It just got a little better," she mumbled. He shook his head in disbelief but closed the distance between them all the same. "This is literally my favorite part of every day."

"Every day, hmm?" he asked, standing over her.

"Yes, every day. Some day I'm going to make you go around naked all day, and then the whole day will be my favourite. Tomorrow, for example, would probably be more fun without clothes."

"Well there's just no avoiding it, is there? I'll have to go starkers, then."

"To Hogsmeade, you mean? That would be fun, except I don't want all those other girls thinking you're a free agent," said Madeline, who had sat up.

"I like being your agent," he asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She was kneeling on his bed while he stood next to it. "What's been going on with you and Nick lately?"

"I dunno," Madeline said, throwing her arms around Oliver. "He's been such a prick."

Oliver gazed at her carefully for a few moments, his expression concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Me? Sure," she said, shrugging. "Nervous, anxious, and stressed at every hour of the day, but sure, I'm alright."

"Madeline," Oliver said with a sigh. "You have to stop worrying."

"Nick is stressful."

"I'll talk to him," said Oliver, placing a kiss on her forehead. Before Madeline could respond, he kissed her eyelids and then her cheeks.

"You're the only thing that isn't stressf—"

Oliver placed a kiss on her lips and pressed her closer to him, and Madeline ran her hands down his chest, breaking their kiss to watch her gliding fingers.

"Madeline," Oliver said, his voice nothing but a whisper, "you're testing my self-control again."

"One day I won't be testing it; I'll be breaking it."

Oliver's fingers dug into Madeline's waist, her eyes snapping up to his, and she kissed him before he could say anything. In response, Oliver deepened the kiss, joining Madeline on his bed, and Madeline welcomed his weight on top of her. Without much thought, she decided she was wearing too many clothes, but as she began unbuttoning her shirt, Oliver's hands wrapped around her wrists and pinned them to either side of her head. He broke the kiss to look at her, his brown eyes dark with something she wasn't familiar with, and her chest was rising and falling quickly.

"Maddie… I want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

Madeline felt like her lungs had frozen.

"What?" she asked, sitting up on her elbows. Oliver swung his legs over and stood from the bed.

"I want you to be happy. You're… you're happy... with me, right?"

"How could you ask that?" asked Madeline, feeling like someone had stunned her. Oliver shrugged, and the light that had lit up his eyes earlier was completely lost. "What's on your mind? You can tell me, remember?"

Madeline sat up completely and pulled Oliver back to his bed, where he sat, and she ran her hand up and down his back.

"Nick still has feelings for you," Oliver said, closing his eyes as though he had said something foolish.

"So? He's with Margaret."

"It just… I suppose it scares me."

"Ha!" cried Madeline, pointing a finger at Oliver in triumph. She clambered off the bed and turned to point at him. He stared at her, torn between hurt and amusement. "Ha, ha, ha! You told me there was nothing to worry about, that I was being silly, and here you are—worrying. What was it you said to me? Oh, yes. 'As long as I have you in my life, nothing else matters.' Isn't that about right?"

Oliver fought back a smile as Madeline's hands found her hips.

"And I distinctly remember being concerned about all of this just disappearing, and what did you say to me? Hmm?" she asked.

Oliver could fight the smile no longer.

"It won't disappear," he said.

"Oh, Oliver, how could you be sure?" Madeline asked, throwing her hand up to her forehead in a bout of theatrics. Oliver tugged her over to him and held her close.

"I'll never give up on you," he said.

"Nor I you," she replied, her hand on his warm cheek.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, but…"

"Yes? Get on with it," said Madeline, eyebrows raised.

"You're beautiful."

The smile drifted from her lips, and her eyes widened. Had she heard him correctly?

"I've decided I don't compliment you enough. You always rebuff anyone's praise of your beauty," said Oliver, smiling. "It's rather sad, actually."

"But I'm not—I don't—"

Oliver shushed her, kissed her again, and then asked her if she needed to leave.

"Unfortunately. Perhaps we could just stay in all day tomorrow?"

"That sounds wonderful, but maybe we should get a few butterbeers first," said Oliver.

They kissed once more, both wishing to stay with the other, and eventually Oliver walked her back to the Hufflepuff Common Room, where they shared yet another kiss.

"Saying goodnight is annoying in our present condition," Madeline said, pouting. Oliver nodded his agreement, kissing her again. "I've lost count of how many times we've kissed tonight."

"You were counting?" Oliver asked, laughing.

"For the days I don't get a kiss," Madeline said, looking at her feet. Her hands swung awkwardly at her sides, hitting her hips and swinging out again. She hated how her words left her mouth, how they sounded pathetic, as if she wasn't strong enough to go a single bloody day without a kiss from her boyfriend. Even the thought made her feel stupid.

"I kiss you every day, don't I?" Oliver asked, sounding upset. He took her chin and made her look at him, his maple brown eyes dark with something that looked like regret. "Don't I?"

"Some days we're both so busy, I don't think—"

Oliver interrupted her by kissing her again, and Madeline's heart fluttered.

"It won't happen again," he said, his voice low.

"What?"

"It won't happen again, I promise. You deserve to be kissed every day."

"You're being silly. I'm not a child; I don't need to be coddled—"

"No, you're right, we're not children anymore. I'm a man in love with a woman, and I plan on kissing her every day, even if it's just because I can."

"Oh, Oliver," she said, and they kissed once again.

Saturday morning dawned to find Madeline awake and writing a letter to her parents, who she sorely missed. She included the details of the last match, and told them about how excellent Oliver's playing was, and ended up writing so much about Oliver that she had to scrap the first draft and try another. When she finally finished the letter, in which she conveniently left out information regarding the second Hogwarts break-in, she got dressed and began the long trek to the Owlery. The sun was up, but barely just, and Madeline was in a great mood for the first time all week. She was glad to be sending a letter, as she felt as though she had been neglecting Augustus something terrible, but she never really had mail to send or receive.

Once in the West Tower, Madeline made her way up all those stairs, thinking worriedly of her mother. The Owlery wasn't a place frequented by students, and no one ever took to cleaning it, which meant that there were rat skeletons and owl droppings everywhere. Madeline carefully made her way to Augustus on her tiptoes, making sure to avoid fresh droppings. While tying the letter to Augustus' foot, Madeline decided she would go straight to the Great Hall for breakfast. Augustus was thrilled to see her, or perhaps he was simply glad to have something to do, but either way he hooted and nipped at her with pleasure.

Just as Augustus was flying away, Madeline heard footsteps falling on the steps outside the large, circular stone room. She turned around to see Marcus Flint, and fear immediately prickled her skin. She was alone, far away from her friends and the professors, and though she had her wand, she had never felt more vulnerable.

"What a pleasant surprise," he said, a smirk crossing his face. "Madeline Palmer, alone in the Owlery."

"Flint," Madeline said with a curt nod. She refused to acknowledge the fear bubbling in her stomach, and she was even more wary of letting him see how afraid she was. If he knew, he would think he had the upper hand. She didn't reach for her wand, as she didn't want to spark an attack—she had no idea how fast his reflexes were, but something told her that his stupidity didn't extend to his dueling abilities.

You're smarter than him, she told herself.

Flint moved towards a school owl and began latching a letter to its leg, glancing at her every few seconds, as if expecting her to be on the offensive. Madeline's heart was pounding, her instinct for flight overwhelming—if she didn't make a run for it, he would surely stun her.

So with her heart pounding madly, Madeline dashed for the exit, hoping she could outrun a troll.

Nicolas crumpled the letter in his hand and cursed. His father always managed to piss him off, even if it was simply by wishing him well—

It has come to my attention that your N.E.W.T.s are drawing near, so to that I would like to say good luck, but I do not want you thinking luck can carry you very far, so please do study hard and make your father proud. You have a legacy to live up to, never forget. The Tennants are well respected throughout all of Europe, and soon you will have this responsibility on your shoulders. Your mother would have wanted you to do well. Though I will be in Spain for the next few weeks on business, my well wishes shall be with you, son.

This had only been part of the letter. Ever since Nicolas' mother had passed away, he and his father had grown distant, and Nicolas didn't like pretending he and his father were close. He preferred ignoring their relationship altogether, actually.

Fist clenched around the letter from his father, Nicolas wound his way up the stairs of the West Tower, his thoughts swirling around his family name and legacy. He came from a family of purebloods, a family of respect, dignity, and old gold—though he wasn't sure what his father did on his "business trips," Nicolas knew he would find out soon enough. A slew of curses fell from his mouth, as this was not what he envisioned for himself—he wanted to have an exciting job in the Ministry, as an Unspeakable or even an Auror; he wanted to do something worthwhile, something meaningful… something that would make her proud.

Nicolas' jaw clenched as his thoughts found their way to Madeline Palmer, the one person who had made him forget about familial duties. His "crush" on her had been neither slight nor fleeting. When he fantasized about his future, she was always included in some way—whether it was as his girlfriend or wife, Madeline Palmer was always there, bickering with him about something stupid, her bright hazel eyes tearing away the sarcastic, audacious walls he built around himself.

Though he had already declared his approval of her relationship with Oliver Wood, his feelings were gnawing at his chest, gorging a huge hole in his heart. The more he saw them together, the more he saw his imaginary future dissipating—he had unknowingly made a connection between Madeline and a future of happiness, and now that she was truly in love with someone else, he felt this future slipping through his fingers like water. Even Margaret Bradbury's constant attention and affection couldn't lessen the weight in his chest.

Nicolas had been putting off writing to his father all week, and after pissing Madeline off in the common room last night, he decided to draft a response. He wrote about everything, deciding that he didn't have anyone else to talk to, and told his father about Madeline (albeit vaguely) and his troubled heart. The thought of divulging his feelings to his father made Nicolas uncomfortable, but he didn't have anything to lose, so he was off to send the letter regardless.

Cursing the distance he had to traverse in order to send the stupid owl, Nicolas trudged along a corridor that led to another corridor that led to another flight of stairs, but stopped sharply when he heard a high-pitched scream and shouting. It sounded as though it was coming from the next corridor, so Nicolas took off running; when he turned the corner, a bolt of light missed his head, and he fumbled for his wand just as he dove for the ground. Before he could stand, another flash almost hit him, and he rolled over and stood, his wand at the ready.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted as he cast his wand in the direction of his opponent. The spell was on target, and two wands came hurtling his way. He lunged and caught them, his breathing heavy, and finally got a good look at who he had disarmed.

Marcus Flint was standing next to a girl whose hands were pinned to the corridor wall, her shirt ripped open, her dark, reddish-brown hair hanging over her face—Nicolas' heart nearly stopped beating.

Madeline.

A fury such as he had never known flooded his veins, and he drew to his full height, his eyes darting to Flint, who had turned and was running away, fumbling over his own clumsy feet. Without a second thought, Nicolas raised his wand, stunned the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, and strode over to where he was crumpled on the ground. Too furious to be concerned about Madeline, Nicolas began kicking Flint in the ribs with all the force he could muster. It wasn't until she whimpered that he turned and saw what damage had actually been done.

Her hair was messy, but that wasn't anything unusual—it was the bruises blossoming on her arms, the torn blouse, and the ripped trousers that made Nicolas' fists clench. He turned and punched the unconscious Flint a few times for good measure.

"Stop, please," she said, her throat hoarse and voice shaky. Nicolas halted at her words, though he was still shaking with rage, and walked to her. He performed a counter-curse, releasing her from her bindings, and she fell into his ready arms but stumbled onto the floor. He lifted her from the ground and began carrying her away from the West Tower.

"I… I thought if I ran I'd be a-able to get a-away," she mumbled after a few minutes, and he gritted his teeth with the effort of trying to remain calm. "But he disarmed me. I guess he was faster. I just wanted to o-owl my mum."

Hearing Madeline's voice falter, Nicolas stopped walking, taking deep, even breaths. This was not a time to lose his head—Madeline was safe, she was in his arms, and nothing serious had happened. Nicolas tried stopping the next thought from entering his mind, but it was like trying to stop the wind from blowing—if I hadn't been sending a letter to my father, if I hadn't been furious… Flint would have had his way with her. The image of Madeline's clothes being torn from her body left Nicolas shaking, a cold, precise fury still washing through him.

"Nick," Madeline said, "are you alright?"

A bitter laugh broke from Nicolas' throat.

"You've just been nearly…" he couldn't finish the sentence, and instead continued with the next thought, "I should be asking you if you're alright."

"You're shaking," she said, her voice quiet, almost tender. "Nick, I'm fine."

"Now, perhaps," he said. "But you weren't a minute ago, and you certainly wouldn't have been fine if I hadn't turned up."

To this, Madeline seemed to have no reply. He continued carrying her, even though she seemed fully capable of walking, and soon they were nearing the Gryffindor Tower.

"Malfoy warned me not to go anywhere alone," Madeline said suddenly. Her words were quiet and tired. Nicolas felt her shake her head against his chest, which seemed to ignite a fire there. He tried to ignore the warmth spreading through his body.

"Malfoy warned you? When?" asked Nicolas, shocked to hear that the third year Slytherin brat would care enough to warn her about Flint.

"When we were stuck in the Hospital Wing together," she said.

"But that was…"

Nicolas stopped walking, realisation hitting him like a Bludger. She and Malfoy were only in the Hospital Wing together at the beginning of the year, when he was attacked by the hippogriff and she was sick….

"We were dating then," Nicolas said, the words sounding odd to his ears. Madeline nodded, and he looked down at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Madeline didn't reply, but he could see the guilt flooding her hazel eyes, which always looked green when she was upset. She was on the brink of tears, and Nicolas was shaking again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, his voice much harsher this time. At this, the tears burst forth from their dam, and Nicolas felt a wave of guilt flow through him. He hated upsetting her, but damn it!

Thankfully they weren't far from the Gryffindor Tower, and once they were there, Nicolas carried her to his dormitory and laid her on Oliver's empty bed, setting her wand next to her. Percy was gone from their dormitory as well, but Nicolas knew he was rarely there. Once she was lying down, he turned to leave.

"Where're you going?" asked Madeline, her eyes puffy and nose tinged pink. Though he didn't relish the idea of leaving her alone, he needed to take care of Flint once and for all.

"I'll be back soon," he said.

"Nick," she said, her voice wavering. He turned and looked at her, his walls falling upon seeing her in tears once again. "I'm sorry."

In two strides, Nicolas crossed the room, took her in his arms, and nearly kissed her. Right before his lips met hers, he stopped and wiped the tears from her cheeks instead. She began crying harder. With her still in his arms, Nicolas extracted his wand from his pocket and tried to recall a happy memory.

"I can't believe we're playing Truth or Dare," Madeline said, rolling her eyes. There was a light breeze stirring her loose waves, and an easy grin crossed Nicolas' face. They were sitting next to each other out near the Black Lake with most of the other sixth years.

"All exams have been cancelled, Maddie! What else should we be doing but lounging by the lake, especially with weather such as this?" said Claire.

"Quidditch sounds like a reasonable alternative," said Oliver. At this, Nicolas noticed Madeline grin.

"I like that plan," she said pointedly to Claire, who rolled her eyes.

"It's my turn anyway, that's why you're panicking. You think I'm going to make you do something ridiculous. But I'm not. I choose Mr. Tennant as my victim, actually," said Claire.

"Me? What could you possibly have me do?" he asked, his eyebrows twitching together. He had always underestimated Claire Denson.

"Does that mean you choose a dare, Nick?" asked Claire, grinning wickedly.

"Yes, fine, get on with it," said Nicolas, waving a hand impatiently. "What'll it be?"

"Ooooo, what is it?" cried Kendra Hurst, who had always been easily excited.

"I dare you, Nicolas Tennant, to..." with this, Claire stalled, looking around the lake and at her friends, stalling.

"Get on with it!" shouted Elaine.

"I dare you, Nicolas Tennant, to... kiss Madeline Palmer," said Claire, her words clear and determined. There were many reactions all at once: Madeline's soft, pink lips fell open in a wonderfully attractive 'O' formation, a smile curving the corners; Murray, Oliver, and Peter nearly busted a gut laughing; Elaine and Kendra shrieked loudly; and Richard smilingly shook his head at his girlfriend, who was still wearing a wicked grin.

Before Madeline could cower or run away, as Nicolas knew she would undoubtedly attempt to do, he threw his arms over her and pinned her down. She grinned up at him bashfully, a hand covering her lips, and she was already blushing.

"I think I'll be needing those uncovered," he said as he took her hand and pulled it away from her lips. He leaned over, their lips meeting….

Nicolas then performed the Patronus Charm, which he had been practicing for a few weeks, and produced a great silvery stallion that bucked its head and shook its mane. It cantered around the room, its silvery light a little eery, and stopped near Nicolas and Madeline.

"Oliver Wood," said Nicolas, ready to convey his message and staring at his Patronus, "Madeline's been attacked. She's in our dormitory. Come quickly."

Nicolas then pointed his wand in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, where he knew Oliver would be.

Once the Patronus was gone, Madeline slumped to the bed and passed out. Nicolas checked to ensure that her pulse and breathing were normal before leaving her alone. He knew Oliver would come as quickly as possible, potentially flying straight to the window of their dormitory, so he didn't worry. He had a Slytherin coward to take care of.

Chapter 22: A Gryffindor's Grudge

"There's a way of going about things in this House, and this is certainly not one of them."