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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Back in the library that evening, Arabella and Draco sat at a table at the back, both of them writing the essay for Professor Snape that was due on Thursday. Or rather, that's what they had gone there for, but instead, Draco sat back in silence as his girlfriend ranted about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"'Study hard and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be severe,'" Arabella mocked Professor Umbridge. "How are we supposed to pass our O.W.L.s when we're not allowed to practice magic? She expects us to study the theories... as if theories are going to help us against You-Know-Who and his followers!"

Unbeknownst to her, Draco briefly looked away at the mention of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters.

"And then that cow had the nerve to tell us that You-Know-Who isn't back and that Cedric's death was an accident. You would think that as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, she would be telling us the opposite and wanting us to be experts at defensive spells so we aren't killed as soon as we step out into the real world! But of course not, she works for Fudge. Stupid, naïve, power-hungry Fudge. You know, he's ruined fudge for me. I used to love it, but now the thought of it makes me sick. And that is so sad, because my mother's fudge is fantastic!"

Arabella should have known better than to be talking so loudly in the library. Within seconds, Madam Pince had shuffled over and glared at her from the other side a bookcase. "Quiet down!" she scolded the girl.

"Sorry," Arabella muttered.

Madam Pince continued to glare for a few more seconds before walking away.

Arabella shifted her gaze from the place the librarian had been standing to the parchment in front of her, which was blank except for the title of the essay.

"Now I have to figure out what a damn moonstone is," she grumbled, getting up from her seat to find a book on the potion ingredient. "Of course lovely ol' Snivellus has never mentioned them before."

"Snivellus?" Draco questioned the nickname.

"Oh, never mind."

On Thursday night, Arabella sat alone in the Gryffindor common room, trying to finish all of the homework she had been assigned throughout the day before she went to bed. If she wasn't so focused on her assignments, she might have felt lonely. It wasn't common for her to be by herself; she had lots of family and wasn't short on friends by any means. But at that time, all of them were off somewhere else. She and Seamus still weren't on good terms, and Dean had already given up on the homework and gone up to bed. Hermione was off somewhere knitting hats for unsuspecting house-elves, Harry was in detention with Umbridge, and Ron had disappeared to Merlin knows where. Fred and George were experimenting on first-years and Ginny was off somewhere with her friends; the girl had grown quite popular recently.

While trying to remember what she dreamed about the night previous to write down in her dream diary for Divination as she had been too sleepy to remember to do it when she woke up that morning, Arabella felt someone sit down next to her. She looked and saw Olivia.

"Oh, hello Liv," she greeted the girl.

"Hello, Bella," Olivia responded. "So, Quidditch try-outs are tomorrow after dinner. Should I be expecting you?"

Arabella set her quill down and thought about it for a moment. Finally, she answered, "No, I don't think so. Only because I know Ron is going to want to try out and if we both try out, I'm obviously going to get it and I don't want that to come in between us, because it will. So far this year is his year and I don't want to be the one that ruins it for him."

"I see. That's very sweet of you to do."

Arabella shrugged. "Eh. There's always next year. There's going to be plenty of open spots when you all leave and I've always thought I'd prefer to be a Chaser before anything else."

Olivia was quiet for a moment. "That just made me realize that as of now, Harry is the only one on the team that isn't a seventh-year."

"He's also the shortest on the team."

"I think he and Alicia are pretty close in height."

"Eh. He's still a midget."

[word count: 765]
[written: 6/25/20]
[published: 7/10/20]