My heart skipped a beat as the photo came to life. There we were, Jacob and I, jumping up and down and grinning at Mom. She must have thought it was because we were excited. Mischievous, giggling, and making silly faces at each other. Little did she...
Beer, if drunk in moderation, softens the temper, cheers the spirit, and promotes health.
— Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States
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She leaned even closer, and I caught a whiff of her scent — violets and dungeons. Her whisper tickled my ear.
"I enjoyed Dumbledore's speech this year. How does it feel to be publicly humiliated, huh, Gelider?" I heard a smile in her voice, a sickening, senseless triumph. "Rest assured, I'll get to the Cursed Vaults first."
Rowan, carrying bottles and powders, opened her mouth to respond, but I quickly placed my hand on her shoulder. Not now! Just in time too, as Snape strolled by, eyeing us suspiciously. Arguing with Merula was as futile as trying to catch a Billywig.
"Working together, we can find the Vaults faster."
Rowan narrowed her eyes skeptically, and so did Merula. Even the two Slytherins behind her looked at me as if I were out of my mind.
"Working with you?" Snyde smirked at the corner of her mouth. Only Snape's presence kept her from giving in to loud ridicule. "I won't even allow you to work for me."
There was a supportive giggle from behind Merula — it was those two, her new cronies. The boy, heavily built and towering over me, snorted with laughter. I couldn't help but roll my eyes but it wasn't intentional, truly. Or was it?
"Right," I said, surprised by the venom in my own voice. "I see you only work with the best and brightest."
The boy stopped snorting. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, dimming the faint light that flooded the dungeon. His broad jaw moved, and his bushy eyebrows crept up his forehead.
"Well, yes, that's right," he nodded. "Thank you, Mia Gelider. But beware: if you mess with Merula, I'll vanish all the bones in your body."
What would I be then, a Flobberworm? The girl standing next to him cackled. There was something inherently unpleasant about her. Not scattered pimples on her face or greasy hair, but something else, slimy, peeking through her smile. It was Ismelda Murk, and the other one was named...
"Let's go, Barnaby. Don't waste time on this idiot."
And so we met Barnaby and Ismelda, and from that moment on, they never left Merula alone, roaming the castle together, flanking her on either side like guardians. I often spotted them shushing the first-years or whispering to each other in the Great Hall. Barnaby was the brawn of their trio, while Merula, surprisingly, was the brains. And Ismelda... well, Ismelda was in charge of everything else. Her piercing eye, barely visible through her hair, was inherited from the basilisks.
Aside from that, our days were filled with a slow routine of classes, studies in the library, and rigorous Quidditch practices. I, who had miraculously become a Beater, started practicing — also miraculously — with Rath, the Beater from Slytherin. It was a profitable pact that finally put an end to our rivalry, but Skye, of course, did not forgive me.
"So, you — and Rath?" she said, amazed, taking a step back. Quickly regaining her composure, she grabbed her broom and darted towards the Pitch. "Well, good luck then."
"Are you upset?" I asked.
"No."
Well, she clearly was. Skye was deeply offended, and since then our friendlies seemed stiff as she flew by without a word or a glance. Her own training became more intense, and Orion often remarked that Skye — that very Skye Parkin, a Quidditch prodigy — was unbalanced. She was feverish, stubborn, and extreme, and she lacked patience, and she often considered classes to be unessential, but... I couldn't wait to tutor her in Charms again.
Maybe she would talk to me then?
"Skye has been in low spirits for almost a week now. Do you think she'll accept some Cheering Potion? I brewed a whole cauldron."
