Dandelions

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE CAT'S OUT OF THE BAG?

Autumn was thick and heavy in the air of the dungeons, the crisp cold sinking down into the bones of the castle and putting a shiver in every Hogwarts' student spine. The number of days had been lost on Rory as assignments began to pile up, something he knew was to happen every new school year, but was never quite properly prepared for. When he had been a muggle daydreaming in his room, thinking up magical castles and a fantasy life, he had never imagined there would be so much studying and learning to do. The movies and books had made it all sound so easy, learn spells and cast as Merlin within a week...

The dungeons were just as cold as they always were, though that extra chill from autumn was very much present. Not even the swathes of students

Rory stared with blank eyes into his potion, the steam rising up and warming his nose. Snape's drawl could be heard in the background somewhere, some poor student suffering his wrath for some miniscule mistake, most likely.

"You're sure you're alright?" Maggie asked once more, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he droned, "I'm sure."

"Sure," Maggie repeated under her breath in a somewhat mocking tone, "Well, I'm sure you're lying to me. I don't like lying, Rory."

"Fine," he sighed, "Fine. I didn't get enough sleep. Happy?"

"No," she replied gravely. "I am not. Why are you not sleeping?"

"I had some...nightmares," he shrugged, finally looking up from his pot. "What do you want me to tell you? That I'm a bedwetter? I'm told you don't like lies."

Maggie scoffed, turning to survey her potion quickly before sprinkling something in. His eyes rolled at her obvious disappointment that he wasn't being more forthcoming, and he almost felt it in himself to feel bad about it. There was an odd numbness in his chest, barely curling into irritation that Maggie was asking him at all. His lips pursed as he briefly thought about it, ladle spinning lazily around in his cauldron.

"I was losing a quidditch match," he murmured, seeing Maggie perk up in his peripheral vision, "And Oliver was mad at me."

"I don't think Oliver would get mad at you for losing a quidditch game."

"He got angry this one time and," he sighed, "And now we have an actual match coming up...I just hope we win it."

"You will," she nodded, "You've got the twins, and they're probably out for blood."

Rory glanced away at the mention of the twins, at the mention of George. He'd decided to tell Maggie about his worries, sure, but not all of them. At this point, even he was tired of his own pining and whining. Thoughts drifting back to slow days in their dorm room, where his eyes were constantly drawn to only one person. The only excuse he'd have to stare this much is if Rory was an artist and George his muse.

"What can you even do about that?" Maggie shook her head.

"Nothing I do works at all," he muttered, letting out a sigh and slumping.

"If your approach to today's potion has proved unsuccessful in the past, you would do well to review the instructions on the board Mr. Thomas." Snape's looming tone appeared out of thin air behind Rory, his tall frame blocking the rest of the classroom from his point of view. "They are a possibly endless source of wisdom."

"Right," he stuttered, suddenly sitting straight up in his seat with his palm slapped over his textbook. "I'll do that right away, professor."

Resolved to staring at his potion for the rest of the brewing time, Rory kept thinking back to what he was supposed to do. It was frustrating, irritating, that what he wanted was right there yet he was too scared to try and grab it. Better yet, something just as good was sitting within his grasp and his fingers ached to not hold onto it.