Harry Potter and the Lost Half-Bloods. *1*

Annabeth

I'm distracted and a slightly inconsiderate friend

ANNABETH:

"Hazel, I'm so sorry." I rushed up to Hazel who was sitting alone by the window in the common room. She looked slightly annoyed but immediately shook it off and put in a smile. "I had forgotten I had corridor duties tonight with Jackson, ugh. Believe me, I would've much rather been here than spent another five minutes with that brute." Hazel laughed half-heartedly.

"Kind and genial as always, Annabeth. How was your day then? Things as a prefect going decent?" She asked.

"No. Get this, McGonagall assigned me duties with Jackson every weekend! Doesn't she know a workable pair when she sees one? Percy and I are not that pair! He's obnoxious, big-headed, and obsessed with Quidditch to the point where I think he had a serious medical condition. Tell me Hazel, is there a such thing as Quidditchitus?"

Hazel snorted, her laugh was always bubbly and full of life.

"If anyone had such a disease, I'd think it was you, Miss Head Captain. Speaking of which, have you arranged a practice schedule yet? I know you wrote me over the summer saying you had to do that, along with organizing your extra classes and tutoring. Honestly, how do you keep up?" I exhaled sharply. The number of things I still hadn't gotten done continued to build up in my mind. It was only a matter of time before it all toppled over and I would be left with an avalanche of uncompleted duties that I couldn't even sort through.

"Honestly, I don't keep up. Now, atop of all of that, I have to help put together this stupid dance."

Hazel nodded. She was always an excellent listener when it came to me spilling all of my worries onto her. I was grateful to have her.

"I can help you, you know that. Sometime this weekend we can arrange a time to meet and I'll help you with your organizing. I know it's probably adding up to be a lot, but you can manage. You always do, after all." Hazel reassured me.

"You're the best, Hazel. How has your day been?" Hazel looked like something was on her mind. She shook it off.

I knew her well. She hated to complain, and she preferred helping others than asking for help. When something was bothering her, it always took ages to get it out. She always declined help, but I was stubborn. I never stopped at least trying to help her like she always helped me.

"Everything is excellent!" She exclaimed. Her bright smile had dimmed from how radiant it had been upon the start of our conversation. It dimmed and continued to dim the longer we talked.

"Are you sure? You seem a slight bit off," I pointed out. "Is something bothering you?" She shook her head.

"Nope! Everything is just peachy. I'm excited for this school year. Fourth year, finally! I feel like I'm finally catching up to you!" I smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Sometimes I forget how much younger you are than me. You're barely fourteen, and I'm sixteen! You're like my younger sister, Hazel." Hazel laughed again.

"I'm not that much younger than you! Fourth and sixth year aren't all that different. I'm still better than you at herbology, so I have that going for me!"

I scoffed. "All Hufflepuffs are good at Herbology, same as all Slytherin are good at potions. School stereotypes!"

Hazel stuck out her tongue, mocking me.

"At least my house's stereotype isn't to sit around and worship books. I've heard that for first-year initiation, your house forced the first years to make a ritual sacrifice to the magical gods of literature."

I laughed, Hazel's imagination was childish. I loved that about her.

"And at least my house's stereotype isn't hug obsessions and oversize sweaters." I pointed to Hazel's own sweater, which perfectly matched the stereotype.

"It's the end of the summer. It's only the first day of September! Why are you wearing a sweater exactly?" Hazel hugged the loose collar to her chest.

"What? It gets cold in here sometimes." She insisted. "Just disregard the fireplace in the center of the room. It still gets cold!" I smiled and took a seat beside her.

"What are you drawing, anyway? I never took you as much of an artist. You like to draw?" She nodded, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Annabeth, I've loved to draw my entire life!"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, embarrassed. "I guess I wasn't aware. Anyway, what is it?" I asked though it was really a stupid question. The drawing had what appeared to be a woman trapped in a cage. You could see the pain in her expression and the desperation. She clearly wanted out; she needed out. She seemed to be calling out for help, but no one was there to rescue her.

"Rather dark for your personality, don't you think?" I questioned. Hazel shrugged.

"Dunno. Just thought it up one day." She seemed slightly offended by my comment.

"Not that it isn't good, I mean. It's a brilliant sketch! You're really talented. I was just curious as to what it meant." She shut her sketchbook and set down her writing utensils on the end table.

"Like I said, I just thought it up." She looked up at the clock ticking above the slowly dying fireplace. We were the last ones in here.

"One minute to curfew. You should be heading back."

I gathered up my things and went for the door. Before I left, I turned to Hazel one last time that night.

"I am sorry about forgetting. I promise tomorrow night we can meet up. My common room, free period. Is that okay?"

She shook her head in disagreement.

"Annabeth, we've got different free periods, remember?"

"Shoot, uh..." Forty seconds to curfew. I needed to leave, now. "I'll think of something, and I'll talk to you at breakfast about it tomorrow. Okay? Goodnight Hazel!"

She still looked like she had a lot more to tell me, but the door closed before I could ask.