Bittersweet [Hogwarts Fanfiction]

"I don't believe it," Ronald Weasley kept saying two days later at lunch. He and Harry Potter had confronted Hermione about me, and she confirmed everything. When she saw me enter the Great Hall earlier, she waved for me to sit with her. I did so unreluctantly.

"Well, it's the truth, so believe it," I said as-matter-of-factly.

"But Hermione said you aren't friends with Malfoy anymore? How is that even possible? I still see you constantly lingering around him," Weasley said this as if he finally found a way to back me into a little corner.

"It's not as easy as it seems," I responded. "I've been friends with him since... since diapers."

"Maeve really isn't all that bad," Hermione said, and I almost felt like that was a backhanded compliment. "I mean, she never personally harassed us before, right?"

"Yeah?" Weasley scoffed. "Well, she's never defended us against any of her vile friends, either."

I sighed, knowing that he was kind of right. I was still kind of a dick, huh?

"And I'm sorry about that..." I said as I looked away. I thought he hadn't heard me, but he pursed his lips as if he were contemplating my words.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to believe you. Not a witch or wizard in Slytherin hasn't gone bad," he said as if it were a fact. But I knew this was not true.

"What? So Merlin went bad? He was a Slytherin too, you know. And he's the one who created the Order of Merlin, which, in case your big brain forgot, is an organization that promotes muggle rights and made it illegal to use magic against them!" I exclaimed, nearly raising from my seat. I really did not want to hate this boy, but he was starting to irk me really badly.

"Alright, alright, calm down," Ron Weasley exhaled loudly, his upper body pulling away slightly from the table.

"Not all pureblooded Slytherins are prejudiced," I insisted earnestly. "And I'm sorry on behalf of my housemates. I'm sorry for their ignorance and for my ignorance in the past."

I felt like I was fighting for my life. I had to justify my beliefs because, apparently, my house and my family said otherwise. Hermione nodded knowingly, and Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably next to her. I felt like I had just made them all feel uneasy, somehow.

I awaited Weasley's response, but he just stared at me. He wasn't glaring or glowering; his eyes and face held a look of utter neutrality; I couldn't decipher his facial expression at all.

"Ron, I think she's right," Harry piped in. He was silent during most of this discussion, so I was a little surprised to hear him speak up, especially siding with me.

"I do too, Ronald," Hermione added. "Maeve isn't like Malfoy."

"Whatever," Ron shrugged, crossing his arms.

I wanted to ask Hermione to help me find a Veritaserum recipe, but this didn't feel like the right time. Besides, we were surrounded by her friends, and though I had already spilled to Ron and Harry why I needed to talk to her, I did hope they'd have forgotten about it by now, and there was still all of Gryffindor house present. I preferred having that conversation be private between Hermione and me. I didn't need most of Gryffindor house wondering why I wanted to make a truth potion.

I didn't stay to eat for long because I knew I wouldn't be able to get Hermione alone now, and I was tired of continuously trying to find the right time straight away. So, I decided that I would simply talk to her during our next Arithmancy class, even if that meant waiting a whole weekend.

Regardless, I left before any of them. Although I anticipated working on Veritaserum this weekend, I had told Jamieson Lancaster I would try to come up with some magical burn healing ointment or potion remedy of some kind. So, the next thing I did was head over to the library and look for brewing books detailing remedies and cures.

The Hogwarts hallways on Saturday weren't so often crowded. Students usually spent their days off catching up on homework or simply hanging out with friends at one spot of the castle or outside. I doubted that many people were interested in lingering outside the castle nowadays, however, seeing as dementors roamed the castle grounds, and the weather wasn't exactly welcoming.

The Hogwarts library was on the first floor and just close by an exit to the dungeons. Sometimes, you could find a lot more students in the library during the weekends than on weekdays, I noticed.

There were rows upon rows of very tall library shelves filled with myriads of books and grimoires of different sizes and colours. Wooden tables were arranged with chairs of the same wood. And some spots had coffee tables and large lavender armchairs. The lights from the large windows shone through colourful designs, and the yellow flames burned bright on their candles hanging on candle holders on the wall.

Students were generally quiet as I shuffled down the rows of the tall bookshelves. I could hear a few mumbled conversations here and there as some students liked to congregate to study or relax in a quiet area. Others scanned the shelves for books they needed.

Halfway down the rows, it occurred to me that I didn't even know what book I was looking for. Potions? Remedies? Cures? Ointments? Okay, maybe the last one first.

I pranced to the O section and glanced at every book I could find.

Oasis Offsprings. Interesting, but no. Ogres and Others. Nope. Ointments for the Clueless. Yes. Ointments: Simple Remedies and Cures. Yep.

I couldn't find more than two good potion books in this section, but I figured I should also check out C for Cures, R for Remedies, and P for Potions.

I thought my journey to the other sections would have been quick and easy, I couldn't help but notice the vibrant cherry red hair of a metamorphmagus I knew. I didn't necessarily consider him a friend, but I felt like a wave would be polite enough, seeing as we were familiar with each other, after all.

Isaiah Ainsley was seated with a pale-skinned brunette at a table by a large window. I couldn't see the girl's face very well because she was looking down and away from my direction. There was a sheepish air to her.

Ainsley noticed my moving hand and waved back, smiling.

"Hey, Blackwood," he said cheerily. "Studying?"

I didn't expect him to say anything, so I just stood there for a moment, fumbling for words.

"Oh, right, yes," I said without thinking. "Er — wait, no, actually. I'm not here to study."

"Oh," he noticed the books in my arms. "What's that for?"

"A personal project," I said, glancing at the girl seated with him. Now, it seemed like she was trying not to look at me at all, or like she didn't want me to look at her...

Ainsley noticed I was peaking at the girl because he said, "That's Amirah — er — Flowers. Amirah Flowers."

Finally, the brunette looked at my face, and I saw how pink her cheeks were as if she were flushed from embarrassment. I didn't know what for... Maybe I arrived at the wrong moment?

Apart from her pink cheeks, she did also have a lightly freckly face. Her eyes were a strange and mysterious mix of green and brown — a different kind of hazel from my eyes, which were more light brown than hazel, but still had this tinge of greenness to it — and her hair was wavy, ash brown and shoulder length. She had a bright blue streak of colour in her hair.

"Oh, hi," I said. "I'm Maeve Blackwood."

I wasn't sure if we were meant to shake hands or briefly ignore each other.

"Hi," she said quietly, avoiding my eyes as she gave me a small wave.

"Er — nice to meet you," I said quickly. She nodded incredibly sheepishly. Ainsley huffed a laugh at how awkward we were.

"Why don't you sit down with us, Maeve," he said. I wasn't aware that we were on a first-name basis now, so my brain lagged a little for a response.

"NO," I said a bit too loudly. Ainsley — or is he Isaiah now? — innocently raised his eyebrows at me. I wanted to punch myself in the face because of how socially awkward I was. "I mean, no thanks. I have books to look for, and yeah, er — later."

With a rapid and final wave, I dashed out of their sight and tried to shake the awkward memory of that interaction out of my head.

By the end of my library books search, I found a few interesting books about the basics of remedies, how ointments work, and a few potion books that did have recipes for burns cures. Most of these cures were for conventional rather than magical burns, but I figured I would start somewhere.

I sat in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, not brewing anything, but flipping through the books that I had found. Myrtle floated around, babbling about Merlin knew what — I wasn't really paying attention -- I noticed that there were many common ingredients in most healing recipes. Dittany, balm leaves, betony, bitterroot... Oh, and apparently boomslang skin had skin restorative properties. There was so much to discover here. I bad never even thought about venturing down the restorative potion alley, and now that I was here, I feel like it would take months, maybe even years to learn everything.

Well, maybe starting with something small and simple. Dittany. Apparently, this herb could heal any cuts and skin damage as it helped speed up the skin restoration process.

Jamieson Lancaster... His father was quite wealthy. I wondered why they hadn't found a cure yet for his burn. Well, was it his burn? He had insisted that it wasn't for him, but the way he spoke about it was as if he were currently experiencing it. If he was hiding that he was the one who needed to heal some magical burn, then why didn't he want me to know about it? Did his parents even know about it? Maybe he really was asking for someone else? Perhaps for another S4 member? Why didn't he just go to Madam Pomfrey? He said he needed something more powerful than what she had to offer... Did that mean he had tried her potions before, and they just weren't effective?

Well, I had to talk to him about the dittany anyway. Perhaps he would spill something by accident if I asked him about the burn? Meanwhile, the only place I knew to find dittany was Madam Pomfrey's potion cupboard. I didn't recall exactly, but when I went to grab a Blood Restoration Potion for Malfoy on the first day of classes, I was pretty sure I saw some dittany in there.

The Hospital Wing was on the first floor of the Hogwarts Castle, while Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was on the second floor. My trip to Madam Pomfrey's hospital was short and curt, but when I had arrived by the large front doors of the infirmary, I hesitated before entering.

I couldn't just ask Madam Pomfrey for the dittany. I would have to be injured or bring an injured person here with me. But I knew this wouldn't happen, so I stayed hidden in the hallway, my head sticking to the side, looking in.

The matron wasn't there. She was probably in her office. Usually, I would see her at her desk doing Merlin-knew-what with some papers, but seeing as there were also just two students in here, and they were occupied by speaking to each other, I felt that this was perhaps the best time to steal the dittany.

"What are you doing?" Someone's head appeared out of nowhere, right next to me as I was looking inside the infirmary. I jumped in surprise. He simply raised an eyebrow at me, straightening himself.

"Oh, it's you," I said, my hand on my heart, trying to steady my breathing.

"Who else did you expect?" Draco Malfoy smirked at me, and I wanted to roll my eyes.

"Maybe you've forgotten," I said. "But we're not friends anymore, and I'm bloody tired of always having to remind you — And what are you doing here anyway?"

"Owlery," he said as if it were so obvious. "I know you're up to something."

"Maybe, but it doesn't concern you. Please, just leave."

"No, I don't think I will," he affirmed. I wanted to gauge his eyes out. "If we're not friends anymore, then, that would mean we're enemies. And now, I want an excuse to get you in trouble."

"Can't we just be acquaintances?" I rolled my eyes dramatically. "It's a lot simpler, you know."

"No," he answered indignantly. If he wasn't already injured, I would have punched his smug face. Bloody Draco Malfoy can't accept rejection.

"Fine." I shouldered past Malfoy furiously and walked towards the dungeons. I could hear his footsteps behind me.

Draco Malfoy really was a slimy git, this whole time. I just didn't notice before because I was under the protection of his so-called friendship. I was glad I had Hermione Granger to smarten me up over the summer.

"Basilisk," I uttered the new password, and the stone on the wall slid down, shaping the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Malfoy was so close behind me, it was like he was smelling my hair. I stopped in my tracks, and he bumped into me. Spinning around, I crossed my arms, glaring at him.

"Tsk," he muttered, purposefully shouldering past me. It took all of my common sense to convince myself not to tackle him.

I was hoping to see Jamieson Lancaster so that I could at least mention the possibilities of using dittany for him, but I couldn't find him or any of the S4 in the common room. Instead, there was a crowd of students gathering around Marcus Flint. Apparently he hadn't graduated last year and was repeating his seventh year at Hogwarts, all while still being the Slytherin quidditch team captain.

"There he is!" Flint hollered, pointing at Draco Malfoy, who looked pleased to have people's eyes on him. "'Aight lads, we need a replacement seeker seeing as Malfoy is still injured. Come to the quidditch pitch tomorrow at eight if you think you have a chance."

"Eight? Morning or evening?" one young student asked innocently. Fair. Honestly, with Flint, we couldn't always assume.

"Eh? What do you think, genius?" Flint snapped. Riiight, well, I suppose that meant morning, right? "Okay, folks, now get the fuck out of my sight."

I internally rolled my eyes at that last part. The students that were previously gathered around Flint went on their own ways, and I walked towards the dormitories. Two tall boys were walking in the opposite direction of me, and one of them was exactly the guy I was looking for.

"Ja — Lancaster!" I called out. He suddenly noticed me and stopped in his tracks. Elijah Hadleigh glanced back as he kept on walking, but in the end, he left without his friend.

Jamieson Lancaster looked at me expectantly.

"Er — So, have you tried dittany?"

"Hang on," he said, grabbing my wrist. After a quick glance around us, he led me once again to an empty study room on the outskirts of the dorms.

"Blimey," I said once he shut the door behind us. "Is it just me, or do Slytherins never study? These rooms are almost always empty."

"Maybe," he said dismissively. "But what's that you were saying about..." he seemed to be searching his mind for a word.

"Dittany."

Lancaster raised an eyebrow at me, and I nodded knowingly.

"It's a plant with skin restorative abilities. If you use that on your scar for a few weeks—"

"It's not my scar," he interrupted curtly.

"Oh, c'mon, Jamie, I know it's yours, and I don't care..." I trailed off, realizing how I had addressed him, and what I was saying.

"It's really none of your business," he insisted. "I'm your client. You're my provider. Don't ask questions. Just provide."

"See, that's the thing. I wasn't asking any questions. I know you have a secret little scar somewhere on your body, and you're too embarrassed to talk about it. And frankly, I don't care if the scar is yours or not. I just don't get why you keep lying about it."

"Just shut it, okay?" he cut in. I sealed my lips and looked up at him expectantly. "I'm not embarrassed about it, alright? I just don't like where it is."

I covered my mouth, which was forming an 'O' and held back my giggles. "Wait. You don't mean it's...? I mean... down there?!"

Lancaster's eyes closed in disbelief as his face slowly moved to the side, and he failed to hold back a hearty smile. "No, you blabbering elephant."

Before I could even fathom what he had just called me, he added, "Obviously, not there." He laughed as if the thought of that was both excruciatingly painful and unbearably hilarious to think about.

Perhaps this was a little odd of me to notice, but I had never seen Jamieson Lancaster smile before. Not like that anyway. And maybe this was due to the situation at hand, but the way his eyes were wrinkling, the corners of his lips moving away from each other, and his eyebrows furrowing in incredulity, it looked like he had a very painful, yet quite amused smile.

Laughter and good humour was contagious, so, inevitably, I found myself laughing along with him. And when our chortles died down, and our faces went back to their original wrinkle-free and youthful appearance, we just stood there quietly and perhaps even awkwardly looking at each other hesitantly.

"Sorry, I dunno," I finally said, momentarily looking up at him.

Lancaster's dark eyes gazed into mine pensively, and he remained quiet, presumably pondering over something. I mutely awaited his response, but every second felt like a minute.

"If I show you," he finally said, "you have to promise to never tell anyone."

"I promise."

"Do you swear on your life?"

I didn't know if he meant this seriously or not, but without giving it another thought, I said, "I swear on my life."