BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

11

Saturday 06/09/1995

"I'm done, I'm done!"

Tracey's face is delirious. She's swung her arms into the air, quill in one, parchment in the other, showing both off victoriously.

"No yelling in the library! Silence!"

Tracey ducks her head, as if that would make Madam Pince forget her rage. "Sorry."

"I believe I have made the rules clear often enough. Everybody is aware of them, yourself included, Miss Davis. That's detention for you. One hour, right now, Filch's office!"

"What?!"

Our - currently fuming - librarian has long since rushed off when Tracey finds her voice again.

"One hour of cleaning for this?! I'm finally done with this bloody potions essay. She should be happy for me, not condemn me to some Filch bullshit!"

"Really sucks." Yawning, I let go of the quill in my hand.

"It's too hot in here," Daphne sighs, "it's awful."

She doesn't, not once, look up from her notes.

"No shit, but, detention is worse than that. I get hungry too, doesn't she know? Why do I have to waste my lunch for this?"

Lunch. Right. God am I hungry.

"You don't understand, she's mad because of it. The heat's bad for her books and that makes her insufferable."

"She's always insufferable, Daphne. That's the thing with her."

"No, she's not. You would be mad too if you were in her place."

"Well, I wouldn't be in her place. Who would choose to be a librarian voluntarily?"

"What are y'all fighting over?"

Blaise has reached our table, carrying a scarily high stack of books and grinning wide, as always.

Tracey snorts at the sight of him, furiously. 

"Why'd she not lock him up yet? That'd look like a crime in her eyes!"

"She's right, you're playing with fire," I nod, yawning again. I'm too tired for this.

"I'm skilled in playing with fire, I guess. A true talent."

Now he's making jokes, but he won't be for much longer. Already I spot Madam Pince emerge from a nearby bookshelf aisle.

"What are you doing?! In this library, no one carries more than three books at once Mr Zabini!"

We all flinch at her shrill yelling voice. So she's allowed to yell?

Her rules are confusing and mostly unfair, Blaise seems to agree with that. He won't have it. 

While Madam Pince is still hastening over to us, making long steps with short legs, he places his well-balanced book stack onto our table and flees. 

None of us can help but laugh at the sight of him running away and her taking up the chase.

"He's doing it right," Tracey giggles, "I should have ran too."

"You can still run," Daphne smiles, "to Filch's office, if you don't want Madam Pince to kill you when she comes back and sees you're still here."

"Rude but right."

Defeated, she begins to pack up her things. We all do. We're ready for lunch as she is, despite the heat and the hassle.

"Give this to Adrian, will you?" Tracey whispers, pushing a small note into my hand as we're about to leave.

I nod, smiling, curiosity bubbling up inside of me.

That she's in love with him is as good as common knowledge.

So it has to be a love letter, right?

. . .

In the great hall, I find Adrian right away. 

He's with Blaise, who apparently successfully managed to shake off Madam Pince, and Draco.

That way, giving it to him in secret wouldn't be possible. And what's the matter when they all know anyway?

Again, it's common knowledge that they like each other. Tracey and Adrian themselves are presumably the only ones who don't know. Yet.

"Tell me what it says, yes?" I ask, plopping onto my seat and handing him her message. "I caught it in the wind and magically knew that you must have it."

Blaise chortles, "A love letter?"

"Possibly."

Adrian has gotten all red in the face in the meantime, so red that I'm starting to worry about the amount of blood in his head. Tracey should have come with us, she should have seen this. It's all Madam Pince's. What a shame.

"I envy you, Adrian," the grin on Draco's face couldn't be more sanctimoniously, "I wish someone would write me a love letter."

"I could write you a love letter."

Hell no. Too bold, Y/n, too bold. Why did I say that?

They laugh, to my relief, and I laugh with them, my face hot with embarrassment.

"Please do, though," Draco remarks, "I'll write back, promise."

My cheeks burn as we laugh once more and my eyes stray to the front of our table. 

To the front where Astoria is sat with her friends, whom I don't pay any further attention to. 

She is the one, the one I watch, the one I suddenly can't tear my gaze off, even if I wanted to. 

I don't know how, but I managed to somewhat avoid her until now. And I was happy doing it. Happy and as good as sure I'd finally reached the end, the next and last stage of grief. I thought, maybe, I'd be ready now, to accept that I lost her. 

But it hurts to look at her, just like it always did. 

I stare, trying to absorb the image of her, addicted. 

I need it and I need her. 

I can't help it, I can't help myself. 

I will always, always love her, and every time I see her, I fear, I'll want to be with her more.