BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

32

Friday, 04/10/1995

The sun is warm, the wind is soft. 

It is an oddly good weather day for October and we settle near the black lake with our homework. 

"I don't want to do this anymore," Tracey grumbles frustrated, staring at a piece of parchment covered with her writing partly. 

It doesn't look like she is coming up with anything else. No wonder with Potions. 

"Guys please, let us take a break," she mumbles and slumps back onto her back, "how is anyone supposed to understand this shit. It's fucking brain-deadening." 

I examine my homework critically. I too have been working on my Potions homework and also a bit on this essay for Care for Magical Creatures, but neither of that looks great at the moment. 

"Guys, please. A Friday afternoon that you wanna use for studying? You psychos." 

"We have to," Daphne shrugs her shoulders. 

"You think I want this? Potions? Ugh," I drop backwards onto my back, just like her, looking up at the bright blue sky. There's not a cloud in sight. 

Cloudless and Scotland? 

Weird.

"Oooh I have something to tell you," Suddenly Tracey's voice is all excited. 

"What's the matter?" I sit up. 

"Let's just say, me and Adrian, well, I, you know I like him and so I thought I'd do something. Kind of like the next step?" 

"Great idea," I smile, "so what are you planning to do?" 

"I thought maybe I'd write to him again?" 

"Uhh, what happened to your other letter anyway?" 

"I don't know," she closes her eyes, sunbeams dancing across her face, "whether he got it or not, he never said anything." 

"You didn't say who you were though," Daphne's focus shifts from the homework she's still working on to us, "he probably didn't even realise that 'A' stands for anonymous and not a name." 

She laughs and I join in. Tracey scowls.

"Of course he did, he's not stupid." 

"Whatever, it sounds like a good idea to write to him." 

"But, I'm really scared, what if he doesn't want to and what if then everything between us is ruined, I mean, how am I supposed to do that, what am I supposed to write to him? I still haven't told him who I am." 

"Tracey, he'll be thrilled about you asking him out, I'm certain." 

"Just try it," Daphne agrees, "it'll come out all right."

"Then, at least help me, Daphne, you're the genius one."

"I really need to get some work done," Daphne's brows furrow.

"Please!" Tracey scoots over to Daphne, snatching her quill out of her hand. "I need help from someone intelligent!" 

"Hey!? I'm intelligent too." 

Daphne laughs. Tracey too. I've had enough. 

I take a leap forward, landing on Tracey halfway, tickling her sides. 

"Stop," she laughs, "please, Y/n you're intelligent, you're the smartest!" 

"There you go," I laugh, "Daphne now stop being smart and just help your best friends." 

"Alright," she gives in and so we start writing, bubbling with laughter. 

. . .

Ten minutes pass, maybe more, until I'm satisfied with my letter. Tracey and Daphne are still scribbling on their parchments, more productive than any homework written today. 

"Okay, I'll read you mine now," I giggle, standing up for dramatic purposes. 

Dear Adrian.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I have a heart and so do you. 

Would you consider going to Hogsmeade with me, I wish you'd do, so you could see, 

who I am and that I do, yes I really do love you. 

Meet me in the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at twelve, you'd never regret it I wouldn't myself.

Leaving you love and wishing you well, we'll meet soon enough, I'm under your spell.

Yours sincerely A.

"I'm under your spell?!" Tracey shrieks as soon as I'm done.

"Hey," I sulk, playfully, "why don't you read yours I wanna hear you do better." 

"Okay, sure," Daphne raises her note, clears her throat and reads.

Dear Adrian,

I'd be delighted if you'd meet me tomorrow at noon in Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer. 

Yours, Tracey.

"It has my name in it, it can't." 

"But look," Daphne argues, "if this is what you want -  if you want this date tomorrow - well, he's going to see you when you meet. It's only a matter of time. Just saying." 

"Don't worry Tracey," I try to soothe her worry-creased forehead, "I like mine better anyway, I think it turned out fine. Daphne's sounds like McGonagall wrote it."

"No, it doesn't, you're being mean!" Daphne takes a swing at me, laughing. "But I could have guessed you're more fond of poems than of formality, right, Tracey?" 

"Come on Daphne!" I cackle, taking a seat next to my friends again. 

"She wants to use mine because it's simply the best love letter the world has ever seen."