𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄

𝟓. 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲.

The forest on the outskirts of Hogsmeade was silent. And that was exactly how I liked it.

It was one of the last trips before the Christmas holiday and Hermione dragged us out of the Gryffindor common room by our ears. I had no intention of going out. Why trample miserably through the snow for hours at a time when I could be sitting in front of the fire with the map open in front of me, watching your name weave through the hallways and corridors as you skipped throughout the castle on your daily walk?

Not knowing exactly where you were or who you were with made me ache.

I narrowly escaped my friends right before they went inside the Three Broomsticks. I needed air. I needed a walk. If I couldn't be close to you, I would be as far away from everyone else as possible.

Apparently, I hadn't learned from my previous mistakes. The only thing I wore over my threadbare sweater was a thin cotton hoodie. I didn't mind the cold anymore because it reminded me of that day you stopped me on the trail to warm my hands.

Even now I can feel your soft breath fanning against my skin and the hatch of butterflies that erupted in my stomach, flapping up into my throat. I remember choking on their wings and sputtering my words.

You eventually found the letter I stole from you. Silly you, leaving it on your bed after leaving for classes that morning. Drowning in relief, you never noticed that the envelope was a different color or that the letters that spelled out your name were slightly askew. And as you mailed it out from the Owlery, you barely even realized that there was no letter in the envelope at all -- just a blank cut of folded parchment.

I wasn't going to try and mend my actions, but the thought of leaving you worried made me physically ill.

"Hermione bought an extra quill by mistake," I had lied, holding out a brand new hawk-feather quill. "She offered it to me but I don't need it."

It actually took me ages to find a spare quill in my room. Hours of digging through trunks and under beds. I even considered stealing one from Neville (he would understand, surely) but I did it. I found you exactly what you needed.

You smiled and looked between me and the quill in the air between us disbelievingly. "Do you mean it?"

You sweet little thing. So trusting. You made it all too easy.

"Sure," I shrugged, allowing you to take it—gingerly—from between my fingers. "I don't need it. Figured you might."

I was obsessed with how your face lit up at the sight of the new quill and how you twirled it between your fingers, feeling up the sleek black feathers. I want to spoil you more. I want to give you every quill in the world if it would make you happy. If it made you think of me just once.

"Don't mention it," I whisper. You parade it back to your seat, to a confused Pansy who whispers in your ear for a few moments after you sit down. I swell with pride when you dip it into your favorite inkpot — enchanted to sparkle like the night sky up until the very moment it was turned into a teacher.