The Art of Magical Mayhem

The Arithmancy Aisle

August 1934

Stepping into Flourish and Blotts felt much like stepping into a circus. Bodies squeezed past shelves. Families bustled about, crying children in tow.

I felt my heart squeeze with claustrophobia. Oh the "perks" of being an only child...

Damn me for not doing my shopping earlier.

Luckily, I knew this shop like the back of my hand, having never once failed to spend my allowance on miscellaneous books.

Now for the first book on the list...

One glance at the aisle had me backing out immediately. I could've sworn eleven-year-olds were quieter than that.

Right. Maybe... maybe I could try arithmancy?

The arithmancy aisle was thankfully empty. It wasn't anything I hadn't expected—witches weren't well known for liking numbers.

I wasn't entirely alone, however.

Vanessa Emmerson stood in the middle of the aisle, looking thoughtfully at the shelves.

What was she doing here?

"I didn't think the upper class did their shopping so late. And aren't you a second-year?"

Emmerson swivelled around at such an alarming speed, I couldn't help but fear for the life of her round spectacles. Her eyes widened, posture becoming defensive. She looked like she'd smack me over with a hardback if I wasn't careful.

"What do you want?"

Well. I certainly hadn't seen that one coming.

"Wha-"

"I'm not stupid, you know!" Emmerson spat, backing away, "Don't play dumb—I saw you hanging all over Victoria at school-"

"Hey hey hey!" I held my hands up in surrender. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today... "Our 'friendship' is questionable at bes-"

"Don't lie to me! You're just another sycophant, like all the rest of you green-ties."

The Hogwarts motto seemed to flash in my vision. What was it again? "Never tickle a sleeping dragon?" More like: "Never tickle a sleeping pureblood family drama-"

"Well there," came a familiar voice, "If it isn't spitfire and supernova!"

Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear. Hemlock emerged from behind me with a flurry of swishing, elegant robes. I squinted at her, trying to decide if she was a hallucination or not.

Hemlock leaned into my ear, as though trying to imitate a gossipy Gryffindor first-year.

"Isn't she just beastly, Star?" she stage-whispered, all the while keeping her fire-blue eyes fixed mockingly on Emmerson.

This was it. This was officially the most surreal, most chaotic day of my life.

"I thought you graduated, Victoria!" I asked, lilting my voice to sound welcoming. Maybe Emmerson had a point. I did sound a little sycophantic. Not my fault, though. Sucking up was an important aspect of the social world...

"What, and I can't drop by to greet my favourite little third-year?"

But by golly did I choose the worst person to suck up to, pompous b-

"As for you," Hemlock continued, turning towards Emmerson and still utterly ignorant to the havoc she was wreaking on my mental stability, "I didn't know dogs could read... my bad."

I could practically see the steam pouring out of Emmerson's ears.

"I didn't know pigs could talk," she said with all the scathing a twelve-year-old could muster, "My bad."

"Oh, look at her—yipping like a puppy-" Hemlock smiled sharply. Her back straightened, chin lifted. "I could tell her, you know? I could tell everyone."

Unable to stand any more posturing—if this could even be called that—my mouth moved before my brain could catch up.

"Hey now, I've got just about five more books to pick up before my parents hunt me down. Why don't we all just... go along our separate ways and get our shopping done? This is a store, after all."

To underline my point, I picked a heavy book off the shelf and let it fall into my arms with a thud. I peeked at the cover, curiosity winning over my need for dramatics.

Hemlock huffed. "You ruin all my fun, Nova darling. Fine, fine... have a good school year!"

Hm. Maths and Magicks: The History of Arithmancy. Not what I'd been gunning for, but it looked interesting enough.

I looked up, only to find Hemlock gone and Emmerson staring at me.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you help me?"

Good question. Very good question.

"I- well- it's not right, is it? What she does."

It wasn't a lie—Slytherins weren't generally well known for their good deeds—but it wasn't an answer either.

Emmerson averted her gaze. "...Thank you. And sorry."

There was no other way to say it. Emmerson looked constipated. Hah! That's what she gets for calling me a sycophant-

"Sorry for what?"

Had I known she was so painfully awkward...

"Sorry for accusing you earlier of- well- yeah. Sorry."

"It's alright." I smiled. Smiling was good, right? Right.

Emmerson smiled back.