𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 | 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

A Scottish Porridge Girl

authors note: merry christmas! copyright to jane austen for her beautiful words.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Christmas Day, 1993

Christmas at Hogwarts had to be one of the most beautiful times of the year. Soft white snow lined all the stone rails and green hedges, and faint carols could always be heard playing from the great hall.

Hagrid brought 7 magnificent pines from the forest, and all the teachers decorated them in baubles and tinsel and golden stars.

Best of all, though, was the 20th, when most students took the Hogwarts express back home, and the ones who didn't were left to their devices.

Elodie loved the quiet; it was so infrequently found at school. Snape had requested that she stay at school over break to aid him with another wolfsbane potion: the full moon was on the 28th.

She had stopped questioning the frequent brewing of this particular potion: either he knew a werewolf, or was a werewolf-and Elodie had studied the register long enough to know that if he was, it was better she stayed out of it.

The unfortunate side of this deal was that she was the only one of her friends staying at Hogwarts, so she would be completely and utterly alone.

Christmas morning was cold, and lightly raining-the kind of rain that turned snow into sleet. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, per-say: she received gifts from her friends, and shared breakfast with a nice Hufflepuff girl and Forrest Fortescue, who's parents were off traveling in Rome.

"You didn't strike me as an eggs benedict type of gal, Elodie." Forrest remarked as the three of them sat at the Hufflepuff table. There were a couple of other people there; some Slytherins, but they seemed keen on keeping to themselves.

Elodie shrugged. "Creature of habit."

What she would never tell anyone, was that some part of her, deep down, hoped that maybe mimicking her father would make him feel like one, just a little.

The Hufflepuff girl, Lacy, giggled. "What does an eggs benedict type of girl look like to you, Forrest?"

Forrest laughed. His was a deep, throaty laugh like one you'd think belonged to a movie star. "I don't know, not Elodie?"

Elodie crossed her arms, smiling. "What kind of breakfast person do I look like to you, then?"

Forrest watched her carefully, like she was an interesting and complicated diagram.

"A Scottish porridge girl." He decided finally.

"And Lacy?"

"A strawberry toast girl." He smirked.

Lacy scrunched her nose. It was adorable; she was the perfect archetypal love interest in every story, with flowing brown hair and soft fringe.

"You can't say that, it's cheating." She said, glancing down at her toast of which she was currently spreading with strawberry jam.

"Well, you do!" He laughed.

The three of them had been eating every meal together, as none of them wanted to eat alone, and Elodie found she quite liked them. Maybe inter-house unity wasn't so bad, after all.

"Elodie, I'm studying for my potions exam today, would you be a doll and help me out?" Forrest asked, snapping Elodie out of her thoughts.

Forrest had taken to calling her doll, or maybe he just called everyone that, but either way, it made Elodie wildly uncomfortable. But indulging him was the least she could do, really.