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'I believe in poems as I do haunted houses.
We say, someone must have died here.'
[Rosa Alcalá]
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January, Hogwarts.
"How'd it go with Dumbledore?" Hermione asked Harry as he sat on the carpet in front of both herself and Addie sitting on the couch. Light chatter filled the Gryffindor common room with students talking amongst themselves, cramming late-night homework and gossip in small groups. Addie fiddled with a loose thread on her thin sleeve as she studied his face, and Hermione closed the open book in her lap.
"There's this memory of Slughorn's that's apparently been tampered with." He said, shrugging. "Dumbledore wants me to get the real memory from him somehow cause without it 'we leave the fate of our world to chance'... or something deep like that, anyway."
"How does he expect youto get the real memory?" Hermione's brow furrowed, sitting straighter in her seat. "You barely know him."
"That's what I said!" Harry expressed, his back warming from the fireplace behind him, smiling a little as Addie, in jeans and a long-sleeve top, stood from the couch and sat beside him. "I tried approaching him before I came back here, but he got all mad at me and walked away."
"I'm gonna turn in, now," she gave them a tired smile, standing, giving him a look. "Don't stay up too late, you two."
"Has Ron already gone to bed?" Harry asked, ignoring her last comment. She nodded.
"A while ago, yeah." Hermione grabbed her bag from the floor and swung it over her shoulder, holding her book close. "Night, Harry. Sweet dreams, Addie."
"Why don't I get a 'sweet dreams'?" He called after her as she walked away, to which she rolled her eyes playfully at in response before disappearing up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.
Turning to Addie, his grin faded a little as he eyed the paleness to her cheeks and the way she wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the floor. "Hey," he nudged her shoulder lightly, and she met his eyes, leaning in closer so their arms were touching. "You okay?"
"Cold," Adeline mumbled, and although he didn't believe it was the whole truth, he didn't mention it. She sensed his concern and managed a small smile. "Can I borrow your Quidditch sweater, please? The wool one? It's the warmest thing I've ever worn."
"Sure, Ads," he said quietly, matching her level, standing up and offering her a hand, pulling her up slowly, as he knew she got dizzy from standing too fast. Feeling how cold her hand was, he kept hold of it as they walked, trying to push down the urge to wrap his arms around her and stay like that, stuck in time forever, so that the end of June would never arrive, and she'd never have to let go, and he'd never have to lose her.
