The Art of Magical Mayhem

Cotton Candy

September 1935

Lilith let out an exasperated sigh. "Yueng, I swear to Merlin and Morgana this is the last time I'm telling you where the kitchens are. Why can't you just ask your little Hufflepuff friend about it?"

I crossed my arms defensively. "Great, so you know about Emmerson too?"

"My dear little nova, everyone knows about Emmerson," said Lilith, "Don't worry, she's still the most prominent noble to walk these halls since the last Black heir."

"Hey! Only Victoria gets to call me that."

"Victoria graduated two years ago! I can call you whatever I want."

There was nothing I wanted to do more than wipe the stupid smirk off her face. Purebloods... so obnoxious...

Then again, everyone in this damn castle was obnoxious.

We reached the kitchen entrance, a large but unassuming painting of a silver fruit bowl.

"Right," said Lilith, "I'm off then. You'd better have remembered the way this time!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "See you later, Lilith."

Once Lilith was gone, I tickled the pear and turned the revealed handle.

The kitchen was bright, warm, and relatively empty. Lunch had ended an hour ago, and there was still much time before dinner. I glanced at the house elves that lingered about, washing dishes. Their complicity to the whims of wizards was suspicious, but if they were indeed secretly plotting revolution, who was I to judge?

With the help of some overly-eager elves, I acquired a bowl of salad and a glass of water. I sat down at one of the four long, empty tables. It was the one that corresponded to the Hufflepuff table, I realised as I took my first bite.

It was something I'd never admit aloud, but seeing Anemone's face rather disquieted me these days. It had been a couple of weeks since our tiff—if you could call it even that. Nevertheless, we hadn't spoken since. Usually, she was with Moray or his fellow Ravenclaws, not...

I hadn't seen Anemone talk to any of our year mates outside of meals and classes. She was rarely in the commons, and when she was, she sat alone with a textbook and a quill for company. Was Slytherin more loyal to me than to her? It was a self-centred theory, but I couldn't think of any other explanation. Perhaps it was Hemlock's lingering presence, still haunting my every step after two years.

"What are you doing here?" came a vaguely familiar, surprised voice.

I almost dropped my fork.

Armani stood near the entrance, looking just as startled. He walked over and sat down next to me.

The proximity was unwelcome. I didn't know him nearly as well as I did Vanessa. Resisting the urge to shrink in on myself, I stabbed my fork into my salad.

"Performing dark rituals," I said a little sourly, "I'm eating lunch, obviously."

A couple of exchanges with the house elves later, Armani held a plate of sliced fruit in his hands.

"Why haven't you been eating in the Great Hall? Did you fall out with your house or something?" he asked, "Vanessa's really worried about you."

"She worries too much," I grumbled.

"Like a mother dragon," he agreed.

The silence dragged on as we ate. Well, I ate. Armani didn't touch his plate. I fidgeted nervously. His presence was irritating.