Winger and Walker

One: Curse-Breaker

Do you ever feel like the world is out to get you? I mean, everyone does sometimes, but I mean really, really against you, and you can never catch a break, never take a breath. Even your calmest days are dedicated to overthinking and planning and plotting.
The universe has never liked me. And though they call me the Curse-Breaker, it seems my luck is one curse I just can't break. And today's struggle? The usual chaos that is a mountain of homework, O.W.Ls to study for, and a completely unmotivated best friend.
"This is stupid," Merula Snyde hisses at my side, her quill laying long forgotten. "If I study for this any longer, my brains are going to explode."
"Yes, and McGonagall will give you detention in your afterlife," I quip, smoothing out my parchment. I'm almost inclined to agree with Merula when I realize I still have quite a few inches left of my essay to write. I groan and grab my face. "She hates us. I'm convinced— she hates us."
"You're telling me," she says. Her essay isn't nearly as full as mine. "She tolerates you, but I'm dirt under her feet."
"Shhhh!" Madam Pince's face is bright red, a finger to her lips, and I remember suddenly that we're in the library. Whoops.
I drop my voice to a low whisper. "Maybe we should take this to the common room? Or our dorm?"
Merula rolls her eyes. "Then we'll have to wake this lug up, and good luck with that." She gestures towards a softly snoring Barnaby Lee sitting across from us, and I wince. I had forgotten he had come with us— it's not like he did any studying. He's just nice to have around.
Merula is staring across the library, her fingers playing with the feather on her quill. I know better than to say anything about it, but I know exactly what she's looking at, and exactly why. Three girls are studying across from us, and, just like us, very little studying is actually going on. Despite the fact that a Ravenclaw is among them, the three have their heads together, whispering, and I can tell it's rather juicy gossip judging by the looks on their faces. I press my lips together. "You could go and talk to them, you know," I say.
Merula snarls, not meeting my eyes. "Shut up, Wisty, I don't want to talk to them, or to her. What business would the greatest witch at Hogwarts have with a lousy, happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff?"
I smirk, seeing right through her act. Merula loved to play tough, but I've known her too long to fall for it. "Strange, I didn't mention any specific girl, and yet you mentioned one," I tease her.
Her face heats up, and in a classic Merula rage, she starts packing up all of her things and shoving them into her school bag. "Shut up, Walker." She always likes to resort to calling me by my surname when she's upset, and it never ceases to make me giggle— it's as if we're old school enemies, all the way back to our first year of Hogwarts. "I don't like Haywood. She's likely an airhead. Too girly for my tastes. Very weak. You can deal with Lee, I'm going back to the dorms to find Ismelda."
I only shake my head as she stalks off, highly amused. Still, she can't help but look back at the table of girls before she goes, as if looking to see if they had noticed her. When the library door shuts again, the girls giggle, earning them a warning from Pince. Penny Haywood, blonde and perfect, flips a falling braid over her shoulder and blushes to her roots, before motioning to her friends to quiet down. I can watch Penny Haywood all day— anyone could, I'm sure, she isn't the most popular witch at Hogwarts for nothing.
I force myself to tear my eyes away from her and her friends, knowing that if they notice me, I would only be roped into their conversation. Penny is too sweet for her own good, and rather enjoys seeking me out, even if our Houses find the slight friendship rather strange. The green on my robes and the yellow on hers do not mix very prettily, a fact that Merula has been known to moan about every now and again.
No, now my problem is Barnaby Lee, looking softer than usual in sleep, his cheek squished against his arms. I sigh. I'm going to have to wake him up, hopefully without angering Madam Pince again. I poke his squished cheek, and he doesn't move. Great.
I move to sit in the seat next to him, pulling him close and shaking his shoulders. He grunts once, and an arm moves to rub his eyes, but they still remain shut. I'm not sure what else I expected, in all my years of him being my best friend, he has never been easy to wake.
I stare at him for a moment, contemplating ways to wake him up as quietly as possible, but none of them are worthwhile. One arm is now draped across the table, the sleeve of his sweater riding up his arms, and his green Slytherin tie is somehow lying across his arched back, not even tied right around a very loose shirt collar. No, there is only one way I'm going to get Barnaby up and walking, and though it isn't ideal, it seems I have no other choice. I move to sit across from him again to give myself some distance, and then position my foot under the table. I hesitate a moment too long, and then kick right into his ankle.
Barnaby jolts awake, arms slamming into the library table, knees against the wood underneath, and now he's yelling. "I'M UP! What's going on, where am I?"
"SHHH!"
"I'm sorry!" I moan, hitting my head with my hands, before slapping Barnaby's shoulder. He instantly quiets down, but only in classic Barnaby fashion. That is to say, he's still tripping over himself. Madam Pince stares daggers at the two of us, and Penny Haywood and her friends giggle again. One more noise and I'm certain Madam Pince will explode.
"I'm sorry, Wist, didn't mean to fall asleep," Barnaby whispers, if you can even call it a whisper. His chestnut hair is sticking straight up, looking more disheveled than usual. I can't stay mad at him long, it's not like he means any harm. I've never known anyone as purely innocent as Barnaby.
I smile at him, and he seems to relax. "Don't be sorry," I whisper. "Just, shhh." He understands, making a motion with his hands as if to zipper up his lips. I giggle, and the look in his eye as he searches mine is strangely unreadable, as I can usually always tell what Barnaby is thinking. His too-green eyes dilate, and I squint, taking him in. It takes me too long to realize his hand is on mine, as we both had reached for a book to pick up at the same time. A shudder runs down my spine.
Stupid, I think at my thoughts, as suddenly my insides are churning, and my hand where he touched me is burning. He hands me the book, which I quickly shove in my bag. He quietly helps me with my quill and parchment, rolling up my essays and placing them gently in my bag, too considerate to be true. Too considerate, or he is only helping me because his own supplies never once left his bag.
"Thank you," I breathe, oddly serious. He isn't catching on, and his goofy smile showcases his usual oblivion.
"Anything for my bestie," he giggles. He giggles, like a little schoolgirl, high pitched and full of joy, and I understand very quickly. I push my thoughts away even quicker. Barnaby is very attractive, and very fun to be around. So fun, so soft, that I'm unsure he even understands what a crush is. Does he even think long and hard enough to understand when he might like someone?
I snap out of my Barnaby-filled trance when the library becomes oddly silent, even more so than usual, and I realize Penny Haywood and her friends have stopped talking. A boy has walked into the library, and I wonder how I missed the doors opening to admit him. The strangest thing is, I don't think I've ever seen the boy at all. And yet, he looks to be a fifth year like I am, and he wears Ravenclaw blue and bronze.
He stops next to Penny, strange hazel hawk eyes avoiding the other girls, who start to open their books as if the boy isn't even there. He whispers something in Penny's ear, and the girl frowns. Their conversation is brief.
I nudge Barnaby. "Hey, who is that? I don't think I've ever seen him before."
Barnaby spins around, following my eyesight, and it takes him a minute to see who I'm talking about. It's almost amazing how easily the Ravenclaw boy falls under the radar— but of course Penny knows him. "The Ravenclaw with the slicked hair?" Barnaby asks. I nod. "I think I've seen him. Out near the forest I think." He is straining to remember, I can tell, his face screwing up in concentration. I can almost see his brain struggling. "Oh, I dunno, Wist, you know I'm bad at this. I can remember the names of like... three people, max, and one of those is me."
It's too tempting, I have to test him. "What's my whole name?"
He only hesitates for a moment, to his credit. "Wisteria Walker."
I beam at him, and he looks genuinely proud of himself. "D'you know Merula's?"
He takes too long to answer. "Ah... er..." He scratches the back of his head, rubs his chin. "Merula... Does it start with an R?"
I laugh, looping my arm through his. "Not even close." I push thoughts of the Ravenclaw boy out of my mind as Barnaby and I exit the library— why does some random boy matter anyway? Just because I don't know who he is? It's strange, I have to admit, as I've assumed I know just about everyone in my year, from all houses. How can I have managed to miss one?
It doesn't matter. Perhaps I'll ask Penny tomorrow, to satisfy my curiosity. It's nearly curfew now, as I give the password to the Slytherin common room that Barnaby couldn't remember. Safely inside the common room, Barnaby looks at me, his arm still wrapped around mine. Merlin knows he would have gotten lost on the way here if I hadn't been leading him.
"Thank you," he tells me, and I frown.
"What for?"
"For being nice to me," he says, and he's looking me right in the eye, as sincere as he can be. "You're always being nice to me, and doing nice things for me, and you're not a jerk because I'm slow sometimes. I really like that about you, Wist."
I have no idea where this all came from, but now my limbs are numb. "Oh," I say, and I curse myself for my lack of response. But what am I supposed to say? "Oh, Barnaby, I—"
"Wisteria! There you are." My words are cut short as fellow Slytherin Liz Tuttle comes running towards us from the girls dorms. I breathe a sigh of relief— I genuinely had no clue what I was going to say to Barnaby, too terrified of messing anything up with him.
"Hey Liz," I greet her, and Barnaby waves cheerfully. It's like he doesn't even understand what was just interrupted.
"I've been looking all over for you, and so was Charlie Weasley," Liz says.
I blink. "Charlie Weasley? What does he want?" I haven't spoken to Charlie Weasley since the beginning of the year, when we were both assigned Prefects. I had always rather enjoyed Charlie's presence, and he was always a great friend, but House pressure on both sides making talking to each other difficult sometimes. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor were not supposed to get along.
"He told me to give this to you, when he couldn't find you around. Reckoned you'd be with Merula somewhere." Liz holds up a black quill feather, and my heart drops in my chest. Not again. Please, not now. "He told me it's probably important, that he found it in that Artefact Room people like to hide in. He told me to tell you that, just in case."
With shaking fingers, I take the quill. "Thanks Liz," I whisper, and she walks off, likely back to the dorms. I'll have to talk to Charlie later. Tomorrow. But for now, the quill.
Barnaby remembers. As he should. He's almost died, dragged along with me on these past adventures. He frowns, touching my shoulder for comfort. "Is that...?"
"Yes," I confirm. "Yeah, I think it has to be. One way to find out."
I pull my wand from my robes and set the quill on a nearby table, whispering the spell under my breath. The quill begins to transform into torn parchment, and though I expected it, seeing the note still tears me apart, a wrench in my gut, and I'm reminded of my quest, of my brother, of my Curse-Breaker title all over again. Barnaby squeezes my hand as we both read the four letters written in clean ink on the transfigured note:
"I'll be watching you."