Otillia had been extremely bloody nervous since her slightly voyeuristic encounter with Fred Weasley. Although comforting Cho had helped her forget the affair momentarily, when it was just her, her bed, and her thoughts, she was pestered again by obsessive worry. She realized full well that it wasn't so much a question of if he would tell, but rather one of when and – most dreadfully – how. Trying to fall asleep, she envisioned schemes of how the freckled prat would make public her unbelievably improvident and disgraceful behavior. Including fireworks, amplified volume so that the entire Great Hall would hear or, Rowena forbid, magically generated holograms? Otillia, exasperatingly, was fearing the worst. Alternating these feverish visions were, even more plaguey, snapshots of a slightly disarrayed redheaded hairdo and the contours of a pair of mischievously grinning lips. But whenever she let these images land long enough for her to register their content, she snapped out of the snapshots and scolded herself mercilessly.
The following morning, Otillia, whose sacked eyes betrayed her tiresome outlook, had purposefully skipped breakfast. Since she often substituted breakfast in the Great Hall with studying in the Library – on the condition that her friends would take something with them to their first class – her doing so had not looked out of the ordinary. Although she accomplished nothing but a stay of execution, still she deemed such reprieve incredibly worthwhile. At least her mental health gained a temporary win. But now that the end of her rather peaceful library session was visible on the horizon, and her first class, Potions, was dawning, distress settled throughout her neural network, wrapping her again in a state of fright.
Trying to walk as slow as she could, she tried postponing the dreaded event of her arrival in the Dungeons. Though worried she was, her punctuality demanded her to arrive properly on time, which she did before Professor Snape himself had even surfaced. Desperately wishing to remain completely unnoticed, she inspected the classroom from the doorway. Projecting her inner anxieties on the scene laid out before her, the slightest movements and the smallest gestures pronounced the worst of signs.
Yet no one did as much as look up due to her entry.
"Stage fright?"
Otillia jumped at Duncan's words, her heart palpitations suddenly subduing her tranquil reasoning.
"You've spent the entire morning in the Library, if anything, Snape should reward you with points, not anxiety," the boy laughed, pushing her gently into the room.
"I do not suffer from aphonia," she bit amicably at Duncan, feeling somewhat reassured by his extra-ordinary behavior and the physical touch interconnecting them. He held his hands at her back, guiding her all the way to the front desks they were accustomed to sitting at.
"Here's your breakfast," Cho said after they had sat down, handing her some wrapped eatables.
Taking hold of her food, Otillia looked suspiciously at her friends. She felt strangely alienated from them, a mist of secrecy clouding their otherwise transparent friendship.
"Didn't poison it, don't worry," Duncan laughed when he noticed her reticence.
"Such an assurance in fact increases the suspicion." She returned him, with all her power, a weak smile, whereafter she, heart still beating forcefully against her sternum, looked sideways towards the Gryffindors seated next to her and Cho. Upon her stare, they spun their heads, returning her gaze in a joyous but confused manner. She inspected their facial expressions microscopically, but their blunt earnestness showed plainly that they weren't au courant of anything Weasley-related. Cormac MacLeggan nudged his chin while grinning at her before the Gryffindors, somewhat laughingly, resolved to their own businesses again.
Otillia was positively puzzled.
Weasley hadn't told a single living soul. Why in Merlin's name did he forsake this exceptional opportunity at humiliating me?!
oOoOo
Fred lay awake and stared at the red curtains enclosing him. A strange mixture of emotions was pulling him in various directions, obstructing his sleep.
Spreading through his thorax all the way to his abdomen, there was, most overwhelmingly, the thrill and adrenaline of anticipation, commonly caused by his involvement in either dangerous, illegal, or secret activities. Fred felt like he had stolen something, or rather, like he was in the act of stealing something, the potential of persecution stirring his muscle tissue. The feeling had not left him since he had caught Ottilia Burdett's voyeuristic gaze, her obvious infatuation stroking his ego.
Somewhat to his sides, a tickling curiosity was barely touching his skin, increasing thereby the excitement of the sensation. Burdett's unblinking, piercing blue eyes had opened a new sphere of forbidden fruit; hanging above him, tantalizingly out of reach, an undiscovered dimension of suspense promised new tools to play with in a novel arena. Tapping his fingertips on the matrass beneath him excitedly, he tried to emit the energy stored in his entire body. He was aching for action.
All the way at his toes, guilt tried to climb up his legs. He wiggled them, fighting the guilty feeling off with the humor mobilized on his chins. It had been too good to be true to watch that perfect Ravenclaw prefect Otilia Burdett watch him with eyes clouded with Pearl Dust, anxious like a little deer. Invited by her fearful but eager eyes, he could not but growl his inner lion. Fred was a sweetheart, sometimes.
His head was a rally of rousing inspiration. Schemes including howlers, holographic fireworks and gigantic, floating loudspeakers passed each other in rotation. These were replaced by images of Burdett's ombre hair mingling with the raven-black he had held in his hand, stretching the vision to uncharted territory. A grin rose on his lips when he remembered Otillia's failed (and unwilling) escape to get out of the vestibule from where she had been watching him.
He had plan.
Admittedly, he shouldn't have played with her. Correction: he shouldn't have played with her while Angelina was there. He blamed the exceptional situation for luring him in, provoking his risqué behavior. One must be a bloody idiot to not take advantage of such a tempting circumstance.
Still, his amusement should not have been at the expense of Angelina. Although he and her weren't really a clearly framed 'thing,' but rather a fleeting phenomenon of fun, Fred had a lot of respect for his girly friend. It was for this reason that, the moment Burdett stormed away, he had stopped his flirtation, hugged Angelina, and, embracing her, jokingly said that the ancient, dusty classroom wasn't really helping his erotic mood. Plus, he'd expected the Peeves to fly through the chalkboard just any minute, which was not really a turn-on. It wasn't anywhere near the truth, but Fred judged it millions better than 'I feel slightly awkward because when I was just leaving a bitemark in your neck, I was locking eyes with Otillia Burdett, that Ravenclaw prefect who's always up everyone's asses.'
Fred realized full well that the complete absurdity of the happening, combined with his concern not to hurt Angelina's feelings, necessitated him to keep affair to himself. Meaning: he'd have to ignore his tauntingly tingling lips who where the verge of spilling over.
Oh how he would've loved to pester that uptight Ravenclaw prefect.
Burdett, Burdett, Burdett. There was absolutely nothing enticing about the young witch. Objectively, which is to say, according to George – the angelic voice sometimes trying to counter his own devilish thoughts – she was uniquely beautiful. This was also the reason why his younger twin tried to retain such an illustrious sweet image in her eyes. Something he'd necessarily fail at as long as George was tied so tightly to him, as long as Fred, to the dissatisfaction of his dear brother, had made it his duty to taunt her endlessly.
Although normally he could seamlessly understand his brother, guess his thoughts, and think his guesses, they diverged entirely with regards to Burdett. The girl reminded Fred of Percy, which was the actual worst thing one could think about a female. It was as if, with the leaving of Percy after his graduation, she had purposefully taken in the vacated space. Thereby taking over his pain-in-the-ass characteristics as well. Just like Percy, she was the complete opposite of fun and drained any room of its humoristic potential simply by her being present in it.
Worst or all, it seemed like she was always too damn close whenever Fred was on the verge of activating one of his antics, watching him geared up for the subsequent point deduction. Like a ghostwriter, wrongly translating his comedic actions into a tragedy.
Fred blamed her, not himself, the amount of points his House had lost due to her puritanical attitude.
Yet, although he would never admit this to himself, Otillia Burdett's antagonistic attitude motivated him enormously. His inner trickster depended directly upon the properly ordered heroine; he needed a suiting adversary, he needed her. He needed her to chase and chastise him because only then did his antics transcend the mere sphere of laughter. Only then did they become unforgettable, persistently pestering, accomplished pranks.
But there was a deeper, hidden reason why Fred depended on Otillia's agony: it individuated him. Since George had, miraculously, developed some sort of fondness for the Ravenclaw prefect – Fred suspected this had something to do with Burdett's Chaser talents at Quidditch; George had a definite weakness for such sportsy, ambitious females – and since Burdett presupposed, rightly, that Fred was both source and cause of most of the mischief she encountered, Fred had entered a domain in which he, for the very first time, was separated from his twin. Otillia's abhorrence regarding him rendered him properly unique. He had become special to Burdett. But conversely, so had she for him.
Unlike Percy, and his Burdett' proxy, who were easy and inviting victims, Umbridge, however, was a downright Behemoth. The High Prohibitor was increasingly making life in Hogwarts impossible – the fun, livable type of life that is. And she was definitely hot for him and his brother, but not in any particularly sexy way. Since he and his brother were not ready yet to find out if the Dungeons really house those cellars rumored to be there nor to give their dear mother a heart attack by their sudden suspension, they had resolved to seriously reduce their prankishness. In the open, at least.
For this reason, Fred had secreted his illegalized activities. It was why he had been present in the abandoned classroom where Burdett found him in the first place. And Burdett had given him the perfect motivation to utilize his profound knowledge of Hogwarts' secret places in a more challenging way. George, though, angelic he was, had firmly objected to Fred's newly conceived aspirations. But his objections were to no avail. Fred recounted part of the conversation in his head.
"Hey Georgie, guess what."
George looked questioningly at Fred, who had, with a lot of commotion, entered the Common Room and pulled his brother aside, talking to him while pushing him towards their dorm.
"Actually, no time for silly guesses. Or, if you insist, make it a good one. You won't believe it though mate, but I'll let you try."
George seemed to think for some seconds, allowing himself to be moved into the Boys Dormitory. The door fell behind them and Fred continued his flood of words.
"Chop, chop, Georgieboy. Use that mastermind of yours. Time is a precious thing."
"Uhm–" George thought out loud while trying to recollect some of the yet to be executed schemes the two of them had come up with.
"Let me think…"
"I can't hold much longer, dear brother of mine," Fred intercepted
"Uhm…uhm…Umbridge is eaten by her cats?"
"Utopic, but no. Also, quite on the silly side."
"You didn't give me much of a timeframe!"
"It's called improvisation, something you're normally quite apt at it."
"Dire circumstances, I can't perform under such pressure," George laughed.
"Your ass is going to fall off your butt…"
"Spill it already."
Fred grinned so widely, his brother for a second suspected him to be under the influence of a Cheering Charm.
"Should I beg?" George asked him.
"Please." Fred replied his brother.
"That's my line…"
"We're getting off topic!" Fred urged.
"Please, tell me. What happened?" George said dramatically slowly, syllable per syllable.
"Otillia Burdett happened."
"Oh no, Fred, what did you do this time."
"This time, Georgie,I was innocent. Well, relatively speaking I was. It was predominantly Burdett's doing."
George's facial expression mirrored one big, bolded question mark, a hint of concern hidden in his eyes.
"She–" Fred burst out in laughter, taking a moment to recollecting himself again.
"The linguistics to narrate this story in are really lacking," he continued chuckling.
"It's called improvisation, something you're–" George mimicked his twin.
"Touché, touché, as the muggles like to say," Fred intervened.
George tapped his foot a couple of times, indicating his impatience. Raised brows, head slightly titillated, he looked at his older brother questioningly.
"So, I took Ange to that hidden classroom on the fifth floor, romantic gestures very much intended."
"What has Angelina got to do with this?"
"Patience brother, it is," Fred let out a laugh again. "Quite a key element of the story."
"When I was in the middle of caressing her, my fingers tightening in her hair–"
"Also a key element of the story I suppose?" George replied sarcastically humored.
"Vital."
George raised his eyebrows mockingly, disbelieving his brother.
"Guess who walks in?"
"No…" George eyes enlarged, an expression shock starting to appear on his face.
"The one and only."
Fred halted a moment, recollecting the scene, shaking his head unbelievably.
"At first I didn't realize, I was quite… absorbed in Ange as you might understand. But then, looking over Angie's shoulder," Fred pulled his brother closer and wrapped right arm around him to stage his previous embracement with Angelina, pointing with his free left arm over George's shoulder at some remote place in the room.
"There she was, that uptight heron, staring at me like an owl."
"You mean… Burdett walked in on your romantic rendezvous with Angelina? And you live to tell the tale? Did she give you a proper scolding? How many points did your hormones cost our House?" George chaotically blurted out the questions out of amusement.
"Nothing of the sort. She just stood there, watching us. Me specifically. Her blue globes watching me fixedly while I was kissing Angie's neck."
"You're having a banter. This is a joke, right?"
"I swear on dad's battery collection, this is NOT a joke."
"I don't believe you."
"Ok. Then I swear on Ginny."
"On Ginny's what?"
"Body, soul, person, limbs, you name it. The whole package."
"That's serious."
"Bloody."
"Blimey, that's really–"
"Lucid right?"
"Bloody lucid."
"But what about Ange?" George suddenly
"Didn't notice a thing. Although, I admit, it wasn't the pinnacle of gentlemanners, this opportunity was so Goblin golden!"
"Invaluable."
Fred hung against the doorframe as George inspected his twin's amused face.
"You're going to make her pay for this aren't you?"
"Actually, I was thinking of a mutually beneficiary bargain."
oOoOo
Otillia stood in front of the notorious magical wall that stood in between her and the secreted classroom. Her heart palpitations disclosed to her that she lacked the courage to go in again. She didn't actually understand what exactly she was doing there or was hoping to accomplish, but, as if moved by an invisible hand, she couldn't refrain from returning. Fierily hoping that no one, on neither side of the wall, would detect her motions, she yet again traced the magical pattern in the wall.
I should have obliviated my memory. Or his.
Otillia stood motionless in the vestibule. Before making her way to the classroom, she listened carefully if she could detect any breathing – or kissing – noises. It was silent; the light radiating from the classroom was dimmed. All signs that seemed to indicate the absence of any presence. Hesitantly, she stepped forward.
No one.
Although immediately the specter of Fred's and Angelina's bodies returned on her retina, the classroom was empty, the desk Fred had been leaning against unoccupied. Relieved, Otillia exhaled loudly. Although she had wanted to return to the classroom to rectify her failed prefect's behavior of the day before, she had not actually prepared herself for a confrontation with the redheaded ferret. She thought it would come naturally, chastising him. Even if her previous encounter had proved her otherwise.
Strolling through the classroom, Otillia let her hand slide over the desks, feeling their old but polished wooden surfaces. She wondered what classroom this would've been and who would have sat at these very desks. Envisioning a brigade of options, her eye caught the sight of what looked like a rolled up small piece of parchment left exactly where Fred's back had hovered the day before. She looked around, expecting spot the owner of the forgotten piece of paper.
Don't open it!
Her left hand had already quickly grabbed the parchment and she rolled it between her hands, undetermined what do to. No doubt in her mind that it was Weasley who had left the parchment. No doubt also there was an 80% chance it was therefore hexed. Still, the curiosity of her inner Ravenclaw overruled the also Ravenclaw-like virtue of prolonged contemplation. Eagerly, she unfolded the paper.
Couldn't stay away could you?
Find me where it's always winter.