"𝙊𝙃 𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙍𝙀 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝘼 𝙁𝙊𝙊𝙇 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙈𝙀."
IN WHICH a girl meets a boy, and he sparks a fire deep inside her.
OR, in which a boy meets an absolute enigma of a girl.
𝗕𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗟 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘�...
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Mae liked September. It often came as a shock to the system; early mornings and rigorous school work after months of leisure. But it was calm. It was a beginning. Maeve liked beginnings, too. They were fresh and new. But sixth year wasn't a beginning. Not really. And September rolled along as it always did.
It was getting colder. It was nice, she thought. Do you know what wasn't nice? The death circus that would be travelling to Hogwarts in a matter of weeks. Cedric was determined to enter the tournament. Nova wanted to, too, but she'd had a spat with Lorelei. The girl was a little louder than Maeve about her objections. Then again, it seemed everyone was.
But Mae liked September, so she tried not to dwell on it. The month ran like clockwork. A bit tedious, yet comforting in its familiarity. But this year was different. The Tri-Wizard Tournament, as much as the Slytherin objected to it, brought a buzz of excitement with it. The students of Hogwarts were sick with anticipation. Fred and George Weasley were already devising a plan to enter. Maeve wanted to ask them about it, but she didn't.
In fact, Mae didn't ask them anything at all. She sat next to George in Charms, saw him every day, and their interactions were limited to 'hello's and small smiles and casual nods in busy corridors. Occasionally, he'd copy her notes, or mutter sarcastic comments. And that was it.
He had, however, taken her advice with Marcus Flint.
The horrible boy had woken last week with a head of red and gold striped hair, and so had his dorm mates. Maeve had laughed, she had told Lorelei that she'd told George what to do. She told Nova and Cedric. They had demanded to know everything. And yet, after the small bout of mischief subsided, there had been nothing to tell.
Mae was admittedly disappointed. She was smitten with the boy, and some part of her had tricked herself into thinking that after one day, after one prank, they'd become some odd sort of fast friends. They didn't. They were acquaintances, at best. Not quite strangers, not quite anything more. The whole thing was ugly. Maeve was slightly miffed that he wasn't immediately completely captured by her. What wasn't to like? Other than her persistent awkwardness, unsure demeanour, sometimes badly timed sarcasm and otherwise potentially toxic, somewhat unideal traits, of course. And the fact she was, overall, a little cunty. Perhaps it was the Slytherin in her, or maybe it was just her mother's genes.
Still, it was kind of rude that George Weasley was indifferent to her. And a little upsetting, too. But Mae wouldn't initiate a friendship with him. She didn't really know how to, after all. She'd never really made friends. Cedric picked her, randomly, because he was a bored only child. Lorelei had found her in their first year in the library, and made fun of how completely wrecked her copy of Alice in Wonderland was. Maeve had argued that a good, loved book was always a little ruined. The Ravenclaw had scoffed, and they proceeded to bond over a love for literature. Then, Nova had found the rag-tag trio after they all converged in her common room, and they'd grown on the kind of mean but very loving girl. Sort of like a fungus.
