To the Boy Who Lived | H. POTTER

part nine

            Atticus sympathized for Harry. She knew that he was innocent, but it was awful to hear that others didn't. It was obvious that he didn't want this, it was a damn shame that hardly anyone could see it. Quickly, she grabbed her quill and began to write her letter.

To The Boy Who Didn't Do It,

Harry, of course I don't believe you did it. Ron is an idiot for not believing you either. You have had so much happen to you, why would you want to be in a tournament where the prize is eternal glory? I do believe you have enough glory to last you two lifetimes. (I'm just teasing you.)

Oh, Harry, you will be okay. It will be tough and it will take a long while, but you will get through this. I promise you.

-A

Atticus was walking to the owlery when she heard a familiar light voice. (Or should she say voices?) Behind her, Hermione and Harry were walking down the hall. Hermione looked forward and saw Atticus' familiar brown hair.

"Atticus!" Hermione called, but Atticus continued forward, silently cursing herself for getting caught.

"Atticus, Hey!" Hermione called once again, Harry staring curiously in between Hermione and the unknown brunette ahead of him. Said girl turned around and faced the duo.

Giving a shy smile she said, "Hello, Hermione." Hermione flashed a bright smile.

"Where are you going? Maybe you can join us in the Great Hall!"

Pink flushed on Atticus' cheeks as she looked down at the ground. "Uh, actually, I was just going back t-to the common room. T-Thanks, though." Atticus shyly stuttered out. She quickly turned around and walked as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Oi! Atticus, is it?"

Atticus turned around once more and meet green eyes filled with amusement. She gave him a small nod. A charming smirk filled his face and his eyes shone brightly.

"The common room is-" He pointed to the opposite way. "-that way." Atticus blushed furiously, briskly walking past the two Gryffindors without uttering a word.

Hermione hit Harry's arm harshly, muttering a scold. Harry's eyes still stayed trained on Atticus' retreating figure, a strange warmth filling him. A warmth he only felt one other time; reading "A's" letters.