Rhapsody of a Veela

Part 50 - The Serpent

Hogwarts felt different, it became clearer than ever as more and more students were withdrawn from school by their families. Every morning with the arrival of the daily prophet by owl mail, there was an uncomfortable stillness haunting the great hall. Muggle-killings on the headlines, disappearances, shops closing down in Diagon Alley. All of it made you miss Fred even more terribly than before, knowing that just his presence in the castle alone would have made such a great difference in lifting people's spirits. It also made exchanging letters even more important than ever, just for the sake of displaying signs of life. You would gladly write him about the most mundane and boring things he was missing out on, writing out detailed descriptions of how the Quidditch matches were going even if you actually had no interest in Quidditch yourself. Detailing every notable and silly moment that had captured your day, of all the students that were trying hard to gain the title of Mischief Makers now that he and George were no longer there.

Fred however, would surprisingly write you with the greatest excellence – the cheesiest and most cliché love letters you had ever seen. It was clear he must've had great fun with it, knowing with guarantee it would make you laugh. His little packages were usually filled with dry flowers, glitter bombs and candy. On a few notable, and mortifying occasions – fireworks and such. You had come to realise after a few mishaps that it was wiser to open them while you were on your own, preferably outside.

"Dear Fred,

Know that I miss you terribly, and that Hogwarts will never be the same without you and George. Give him my regards for that. Thank you for your letters, the Peace Disturber fireworks were a nice, if not Mortifying touch, as I unknowingly unleashed it into the great hall at breakfast the other day. It seemed to amuse most of the other students, I reckon we are all rather desperate to have something to smile about these days.

Oh, and I never imagined you could actually stuff Weather-in-a-bottle into a letter, that one especially seemed to please Professor Dumbledore.

I now however, only open your letters while outside under open air as a precaution. In the meantime, I suggest you get wary for the day I find a way to pay you back, with an equally as interesting letter. Or perhaps you have not been careful enough my love, I hope you enjoy contact poison.

JK, yours always, Y/n "

You always wrote Fred on the lavender tinted parchment he had given you, it calmed you down writing to him before you went to bed so that you could go to the Owlery first thing in the morning to send it to him. Along with this, you had a nightly ritual of re-reading his letters. Your dreams meanwhile, were not as pleasant nor romantic. You had to endure horrifying nightmares that something terrible would happen, you had often awoken covered in sweat and tears thanking the universe that none of it had been real. That it had only been a dream.

That you of course, left out from your sweet letter exchanges.

The days of September passed by to October just as quickly as the leaves of all trees yellowed to scarlet before they fell, their remains crunching under your feet outside on the school grounds pleasantly. Nothing notable had seemed to happen for a while, no mercenaries, love-potion attempts or werewolves. You were not living in the moment at all however. Dreaming of the first Hogsmeade Weekend of November, every single moment of every single day, it was strange when you snapped out of it as Professor Slughorn called out your name after a potions class one morning.

Now you had never been any particularly excellent at Potions, but not bad either. All in all your performance had shown that you did not really care for it at all. When Slughorn had called out for you to remain after class you had expected it to be about your grades, or perhaps about you not listening when he was teaching in class. But as the dungeon emptied itself of students, and you walked up to his cluttered desk he simply slid a forest-green envelope into your hand.