𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂'𝓈 𝒜 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓃'

November 21st, 1994

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝒪𝓃𝑒

The week leading to the Hogsmeade trip had... certainly been a time to be at Hogwarts. The illustrious journalist Rita Skeeter had dropped a masterpiece of an article after interviews with the four champions of the Triwizard Tournament.

And masterpiece is a very subjective term, of course, only to be considered one if you needed some ammunition to throw at Harry Potter.

Somehow interviews about four fascinating people, from a girl of Veela descent to a world-famous Quidditch player, had been turned into a three-page masterclass in bullshit about none other than the boy who lived himself... Harry Potter. It certainly was no help to the boy's reputation, which had already been damaged by convincing everyone his ego was so large he had found a way to join a death tournament to really show off.

And when the article dropped with his face taking up half the front page and the crafted words of Rita Skeeter to really help... it was horrible for Harry.

From quotes such as "Yes, at night I sometimes still cry about them..." about his parents and "...like Harry, is one of the top students in the school," which is an absolute lie. Harry couldn't go down a single hall without some form of insult.

And Hermione Granger had been mentioned more in the article than any of the other actual champions. Painted as a "stunningly" pretty girl with whom Harry had at last found love. Pansy Parkinson liked to screech about that quite a bit, to the point even Jane had snapped at her once.

As the week went on with the endless stream of teasing Harry that not even bystanders could escape, the anticipation for the fast-approaching first task grew, which just added to the energy in Hogwarts.

An energy that was quickly wearing on Theodore Nott specifically.

Peace could no longer be found anywhere in the castle. From Draco Malfoy spouting off the article any chance he got, even in the common room. To Viktor Krum and his crowd of admirers always in the library. To the French scoffing at every meal. To the growing excitement between classmates for Cedric Diggory. To Dante fucking Marcella following everywhere like a shadow.... It was all so much. And as the weather outside grew colder and everyone was trapped inside.... There was no escape.

So, in the strangest twist of the century. No one. Not a single soul was nearly as excited for the Hogsmeade trip as Theodore Nott was. He was ready to go pick a nice little table in the Three Broomsticks, order his butterbeer, and spend the day reading away.

And when Iris walked down for breakfast with her own book and a notebook in hand... maybe his excitement rose a bit. An involuntary happiness when he realized she, too, was opting for a relaxed day... an involuntary happiness at the idea of just the two of them and their peace for one full, undisturbed day.

An involuntary happiness that would die at just the beginning of the walk to Hogsmeade.

Dante pushed Theodore from Iris' side, sending back a smirk as Theodore gave him the typical loathing look.... It was just the audacity of it that beat away at Theodore's patience. Constantly being pushed away from his seat at the table, pushed away from his spot in the group to walk, pushed away from his spot at her side... pushed away from his friend. And then being smirked at by the one who does it.

It was frustrating. But Theodore just kept it to an eye roll as he moved to Iris' other side. Mood quickly turned sour as Dante opened his mouth.

Standing tall, Dante shot his usual troubling smile at Iris, the girl's own energy evaporated as she stared ahead, "My father has been sending me letters regularly to keep me up to date. Still trying to lock me into an engagement with Edith Highmore... hard not to tell him that the original plan is back on."