There once was a girl.
She was sweet like a baby.
But you fucked her up.
Made her think she was crazy.
I'm that girl.
But I look different lately.
Cos now I'm a monster.
The monster you made me.
- Chloe Adams.
Magical Luck has changed, Magical Luck...
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She's low down She don't take no prisoners Go down She gonna give me the business No time Yeah, chained to the rack! Show time Got a dragon on my back
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Down by the lake, Rosalie watches as Neville carefully inspects the vibrant green strands of underwater plants he has been collecting. Sunlight dances across their wet leaves, casting shimmering reflections onto the rippling water. A faint earthy scent rises from the lake, mingling with the cool breeze that brushes Rosalie's cheeks, while Neville's hands are stained with the dark silt and lingering dampness of the shore. "Amazing. Amazing," she heard Neville mutter. A smile glided across her face; she was happy for Neville, seeing the excitement in his eyes for plants.
"Neville! You're doing it again!" Rosalie calls out with a soft giggle.
Neville, his cheeks pink, whispers, "Oh, right, sorry."
"Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs, huh?" Rosalie read aloud, glancing over the book that rested on her lap. The girl was dressed in a skirt and a white tank top, with a leather jacket to bite off the chill in the air. She wore stockings to keep her legs warm and black Converse sneakers. A brisk wind rustled the pages of her book as she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the scents of lake water and fresh earth swirling around her.
Neville looked at Rosalie. "Moody gave it to me. As a sorry for what happened," he said. He glanced behind Rosalie and saw Hermione and Ronald. He waved at them.
A chill breeze drifted across the lakeside, carrying with it the faint murmurs of students heading in for the evening. Rosalie lingered near the water's edge, her thoughts still tangled from the day's earlier conflicts. She spotted Hermione approaching, her steps measured but purposeful. They hadn't really spoken since the awkward exchange in the common room, and an uneasy tension hung between them, thick as the deepening dusk.
Hermione hesitated before stopping beside Rosalie, glancing briefly at the ground as if weighing her words. Rosalie shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest, jaw tight. Part of her wanted to retreat, to avoid yet another cryptic message or second-hand update, but she held her ground, curiosity prickling despite her irritation.
