LAWS OF THE STARS / h. potter

𝟏.𝟎𝟕, no stronger duo

"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" Melody had asked, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' slimy throats. "I'd rather look after the giant squid. At least that would be exciting."

Excitement, Harry had noted, casting himself into the past for the briefest of moments. She's always longed for excitement, no matter the consequences.

She did, of course, prove it countless times over the first few weeks of term — sending a Howler to Snape after he didn't give her an "O" on their Undetectable Poisons essay, "accidentally" Transfiguring her grandmother's spectacles into bedazzled black sunglasses during a lesson, and, most notably, being on the receiving end of a massive surprise party for her fourteenth birthday on the twenty-ninth of September.

Harry had never seen a larger bash — confetti was everywhere, people were screaming, food was being thrown, and in the middle of it all was Melody, seated upon a levitating armchair in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.

There was music blasting at a volume that was illegal in forty-two countries, and it wouldn't fall silent until two in the morning, when Professor McGonagall stormed in and threatened to expel every student in the House if they didn't go to bed. ( "She would never," Melody had said to Harry, "we keep her young." )

It was quite a night, and when Harry plopped down beside his best friend in the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, she barely seemed to remember English.

"You awake?" he yawned, running a hand through his tangled black hair.

She took her time to formulate an answer, leaving him in anticipation for a few moments, then: "Think so."

Harry grinned, eyes half-shut, and reached for the nearest Daily Prophet. "Take your crossword puzzle, it'll revive you."

She took the newspaper lightly, and glanced at the headline. "Thanks, Ree—"

"MELODY ROSE PREWETT!" 

Whatever she had started to reveal, it was cut short: the Weasley twins were sauntering into the Great Hall with tired eyes and immortal spirits. They had stuffed triple the pep into yesterday's breakfast greeting, and somehow they had a bit left.

"First full day being fourteen!" Fred exclaimed, cramming messily into the seat across from Melody. "How do you feel?"

"Debilitated and burnt out, thanks for asking," Melody muttered, rubbing her forehead. "At least I finessed some stellar gifts."

"You have got to stop making so many friends," agreed George, raising his goblet in toast. "Your favorite present?"

Melody furrowed her brows in thought. "Well, your Fanged Frisbee was marvelous, but probably this bracelet," she responded, flashing them quickly with the gold chain sitting on her wrist. "Don't know who sent it, but it's gorgeous."

Harry took a sip of juice, and in an absentminded, almost unexpected way, wondered, "Petar, maybe?"

Melody looked at him: those eyes seemed to have hands of their own, strangling tightly around any fool who dared to encounter them. She was assessing his intentions, probing his spirit — then, as quickly as the ice storm had come, it softened into fluffy cumulus clouds.

"Maybe," she hummed softly, turning back to the Daily Prophet and ruffling through the pages.

Just like that, Harry was queasy.

He lingered over Melody's unassuming expression, wishing he could go back to sleep instead of dealing with this again — Petar's name made him feel distant and disconnected, but at the same time, he was in the back of Harry's mind like a flat echo rebounding for infinity.