poison ivy; tom riddle

vii | lavander

My cothurnus flower is fading. The once pearly blush glowing through the petals have reduced to a mere 'baby pink' (as Luis is calling it).

I'm utterly embarrassed.

How can something so beautiful wilt into such a monotone colour as baby pink? How can my flower turn so bland? So boring? So basic?

It looks like the flower of someone who takes NEWT level Herbology because they're too thick to be accepted anywhere else.

Bloody Hufflepuffs.

I bet one of them did it.

Poured a strange potion into my impeccably moist soil that is now dry as sand, oh Merlin!

Professor Shirley, my cothurnus flower has been sabotaged!

You think someone did this? Over a flower? Luis says next to me, a frown creasing his face.

Annoyance creeps through me like honeydew. I'm not usually one for getting into a temper, however, my plants are my second favourite thing in this world.

Second to you of course.

If I could grow you a thousand gardens I would. With the most elegant flora decorated with statues and fountains and beauty.

But I cannot do that if someone is out to kill all of my flowers.

Of course! I have nurtured this flower with my life, the only other option is sabotage. Professor Shirley! I turn toward the rest of my class. Someone wants the top grade, and you all know that I will get it! Professor Shirley!

Ivy, my dear, what is the problem? Professor Shirley looks at me solemnly. The wrinkles in her face look like pastry.

What is the problem? Look at my flower. My voice breaks like snapped glass.

Oh dear, it looks fine. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it! Professor Shirley says as she caresses the tip of a leaf with her finger, her other hand swinging a pair of secateurs like they're a windmill. See, nothing wrong!

But it was perfect yesterday, you must have seen it! Luis, was it not perfect? I basically seethe.

Luis sighs and then swallows, It still is perfect.

Luis may call himself a badger, but he is nothing less than a snake.

I would bet that he did it.

I don't even look at him. He needs to know that I am annoyed. More than annoyed. I am angry and I never get angry? I don't know if I like being angry.

It's like my blood has been transfigured into lava, flowing through my veins and ready to burst through.

I'm about to argue when a voice sings through the door like a feather gliding along the wind, Professor Shirley! I hear your sixth-year class has been growing cothurnus flowers- a key ingredient for Amortentia! Now students-

All anger melts away like candle drippings when I spot you.

The lava turns back to warm carmine pumping through my heart that you possess.

The glare carved into my face forms into a smile you will call too sweet as my feet move across the greenhouse without my permission.

I only saw you a few hours ago but it feels like decades. My heart cannot stand to be apart from yours, you are what keeps it beating.

Now go pick a few petals for your Amortentia! Slughorn bellows as he waves his arms like a bird, you stand next to him, Head boy.

That smile is too sweet, you say as you look along the greenhouse.

I knew you would say that. Did you know some heathen has sabotaged my cothurnus flower! I grip your hand and you don't pull away, which surprises me. You hate affection in public.

Did you want me to kill them for you?

I don't know whether that's a joke or not.

I choose to ignore it somewhat. Of course, I don't. The colours flattened out, you should have seen it yesterday. The colour, it was uncanny to an akoya pearl. And I know it wasn't my doing. My soils have gone dry, my leaves are too soggy and the petals are baby pink!

You need some Veritaserum and then ask who did it.

And how am I going to get that? I don't do potions. I was never good at it like you are.

I'm good at everything.

You know what I mean. I'll show you.

I lead you to my working station, your hand still entwined in mine like tangled thorns. I notice people watch us as we walk across the room.

They know that I belong to you and that's the way destiny wrote it to be, in perfect prose.

As we get closer to my bench, I watch my cothurnus flower droop like a teardrop. Look at it, Tom, absolutely pathetic.

I look up at you, assuming your eyes would be to my flower but they are not. They look at the boy in front of us, Luis Hale.

And he looks back.