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 figure out 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 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 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?!

Because, of course, nothing could be too easy...

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? 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's beard… 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 have fun with Roger."

Emily raised a brow. Roger?

She suddenly remembered the plans he set up, their date in the village, how excited he'd been when he told her.

Emily was not dressed for a trip to Hogsmeade, especially not one that included a date with Roger.

Before she dared let anyone else see the mess she looked, she ran back to the common room, sneaking in with some dejected third years without signed permission forms. She changed into a light pink jumper, black tights, and a dark corduroy skirt from her trunk. She swiped on some eyeliner and lip gloss, pulled her hair back with a butterfly clip, and rushed back down to where the students congregated in wait.

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…

Even with the other schools leaving that morning, Hogwarts felt crowded. She searched for Roger among the masses, pushing through crowds of overeager third years, but he was nowhere to be seen. She waited by the Entrance Hall like they agreed, and she watched as Fred and George passed her, loading into a carriage for the trip.

Emily stood waiting for a few minutes more as students filed in, with still no sight of Roger. Maybe he'd already gotten into a carriage?

She glanced around in a minor panic as they final warning bells rang. This was it; if she didn't go now, she didn't go at all.

Fred and George's carriage was still half-empty, so she took a shot and jumped in. When she closed the door behind her, the twins looked stunned. 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.

"Fancy seeing you here," George said.

Fred added, "Yeah, figured you'd have plans with that boyfriend of yours."

"I do," she said, and Fred's face went hard. "But I figured maybe we could all meet up afterwards. Y'know, go to Zonko's and Honeydukes like old times."

"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, "Yeah, but it's… Davies, and —"

"Still don't know what you see in that git," Fred mumbled.

"I like him," she said. "Can't that be enough?"

"But why?" George prodded, glancing briefly at his brother.

"Why do you care?"

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

His face was flush, and he looked away from her. All three of them were quiet for a moment, and the sounds of the carriage clicking its way to Hogsmeade was all that kept it from being completely silent. When they arrived at the village, their carriage jerked to a stop.

"Forget it," Fred said finally, and he stormed out the door. "Let's just go, George."

Emily was left at the sign for Hogsmeade Village as students passed her in droves. She didn't see Roger among them.

"Wait!" she called out, and the twins turned back to face her. "Care if I come with you?"

"What about your boyfriend? Your date?" Fred sneered.

She pulled a stray curl back behind her ear. "I want to come with you, if you'll have me."

"And Davies?" he prodded again.

"Do you see him here?" she shot back. Neither boy had anything to say about that, so she rushed to catch up with them, and they headed to Zonko's 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 marbles that let you breathe fire and ice.' 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 him." 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 hit you 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.

She jumped up to her tip-toes for an edge and grabbed Fred's arm to steady herself. He flinched for a moment but didn't let it distract him.

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. Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked on the marble before she coughed it back into her hand. She suddenly stepped back.

"I win!" Fred called out and high-fived his brother. Emily paled as he wrapped her in a hug and spun her around. He set her back down and smirked. "You owe me now."

Over his shoulder, she saw Roger — and she was unlucky that he saw her too.

"What's this then?" Roger demanded, storming over to her. "I've been looking all over for you, y'know."

"I was waiting for you," 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. "And we 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.

"And where the devil was he, anyway?" George said. "Some nerve…"

Emily pulled a handful of change from her pocket and handed it to Fred with a sympathetic smile. "Whatever you want from Honeydukes, on me."

"I want you to come with us," Fred said. He looked at her, his face shaped in hard lines.

"I can't." She watched his face falter and doubled-down. "You know I can't."

There was a second where none of them moved, like they were frozen in time until Fred thrust the change back to Emily. "Then keep your money. We're not some bloody charity case."

"I —" 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.

"Just go."

She wanted to say something else, but there wasn't anything else she could say. So Emily turned on her heel and ran off to find Roger.

He was sitting on a bench on the far side of the village, across from the Shrieking Shack when she came across him. His arms were folded against his chest, and he faced away from her. She sat next to him and waited in silence.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and when she nodded, they got up together.

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.

"We, uh, can go for 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. "I'm not sure what you had in mind…"

He pulled her back alongside him. "We've got a reservation."

There were few places in Hogsmeade that even took reservations. For the most part, the village was a bit of a free-for-all of food and shopping. That was the beauty of it, after all.

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 aside and nudged her towards the door, but she stopped short when she read the sign.

"Puddifoot's? Really?" She looked askance, trying 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 with Malcolm Preese third year — 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.

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

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 grinned, eagerly inviting them inside and urging 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 here," 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, pressing her against 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.

"Well, yeah, that's what it's for, Em." He paused, his eyes focused on hers, and his body stiffened beneath her rejection, his features growing harsh. "But maybe you already got that out of your system…"

She bristled against the accusation. "That wasn't —"

"Don't worry about that. It doesn't matter." In silence, he lifted his tea mug to his mouth, and Emily watched the steam dance beneath his nostrils. After a long, meditated sip, he set his cup down again. "You know, I really do love this place."

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

There was a window across from their booth that offered a clear view of the Hog's Head, and she couldn't help but think about how much she'd rather be there. She imagined the warmth of a Butterbeer between her hands, the smell of smoke that permeated the pub from Aberforth's pipe. She imagined sitting with her boys, laughing and joking, thought about the feeling of leaning back against Fred with his arms draped over her shoulder, with her back pressed against his chest, and hearing his voice in her ear and —

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

"No, it's fine." Through the window, she could see Fred and George leaving the Hog's Head and starting back towards the carriages. She turned away to obscure her view and glanced back at Roger. "What were you up to this morning?"

He downed her tea too, which she was sure had long gone cold by now. "Hm?"

"I was waiting for you at the Entrance Hall up to last call, and I never saw you," she explained, though she was sure he knew what she meant.

"Oh." He shifted in his seat. "Well, the other schools were leaving, and Duncan and I waited to see them off."

"I wish you would've told me," she said, her arms folded tight to her chest.

"You wanted to come?" he asked, obliviously.

"No. I was waiting for you."

"Sorry," he said and shrugged. "Guess it slipped my mind."

There was a part of her that wanted to challenge the claim that it 'slipped his mind', but she knew it would lead right back into her with Fred and George, and she'd already tried to give him an explanation for that.

"I'll take care of the bill," Roger said as he turned to her and moved again to kiss her; this time she met his lips with her own, briefly, politely, "if you want to wait outside."

Emily headed out the door, its tingling bell echoing obnoxiously behind her. She was glad to be rid of the place.

The air in Hogsmeade had a brisk cold to it, but she revelled in it, despite her shivers. Puddifoot's was too warm, too lit, too stuffy. She missed the Hog's Head.

She peeked in through the window at Roger who was shooting the shite with Puddifoot. Surely, Emily had some time to spare.

The Hog's Head was just across the way, and she rushed in.

"Oi, Ab," she started, almost before the door was fully open. "Butterbeer with a shot of firewhiskey." She quickly corrected herself, "Actually, make that a double shot. Triple if it's legal."

Aberforth let out a laugh that shook his grey beard. "You sound like a drunkard, Prince."

"And you sound like a barkeep who doesn't want a tip," she teased and sat herself on a dingy barstool at the counter. "Seriously, I'll do anything."

"Rough day?" He grabbed a less-than-clean mug from behind the counter and wiped it down with a wet rag.

Emily chortled. "You can say that, for sure."

"Missed you before, by the way," he said as he filled the now-spottier mug with Butterbeer. He added a shot of liquor, hesitated, and then added another before he set it down in front of her. "Weasleys were here without you."

"I know."

Aberforth wasn't much of a conversationalist, not usually, and this topic in particular didn't open him up to talking with ease. He sensed her curtness and left her to enjoy her Butterbeer in silence. For that she was grateful.

The ambiance of the Hog's Head was, frankly, disgusting — but at least it was usually quiet. The regulars tended to avoid the pub, and the entire village in general, on Hogsmeade days so they didn't have to dodge teenagers all day. Today, Emily was the pub's lone customer.

She watched a spider crawl along a dust-covered web at the corner of the bartop and sighed. On any other day, the sight would have evoked mild terror within her, but today she wasn't feeling much of anything.

She eyed the table in the back where she usually sat with Fred and George. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and sat in the corner where the pub smelled most of farm animals, but it was their spot.

With one last, long chug of her Butterbeer, Emily left a Galleon on the bartop for Aberforth and went back out to wait for Roger and the awkward ride back to Hogwarts.

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.

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.

She didn't see much of the twins either — and not by choice. Well, not entirely.

It was hard to swallow what happened at Hogsmeade, and rather than try, it almost seemed an easier solution to just avoid the problem altogether. Roger felt better to not have to worry, and Emily kept herself distracted with schoolwork and prefect duties and everything, anything, else so she didn't have to think about it. It seemed, at first, like an acceptable compromise... until Emily realized it meant completely forfeiting her best mates.

On the day of the First Task, though, Roger and Emily 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 nuzzled close to her. The stands were cramped and ill-fitting, but she tried to pretend that it 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 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 jeans 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."

"I'm not sure where you get off thinking he owns me."

Fred's brow furrowed. "Because you let him."

"No, I just thought… maybe it would be easier if…" Emily dropped her sentence. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "I'm 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, Fred, 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 actually 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.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fred snapped, his ears going red. "Bare minimum effort, if that? He knows nothing about his own bloody girlfriend!"

"That's still more than you've got to show for anything."

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 at 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."