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TWENTY-FIVE FEELINGS

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       THE DEFENCE AGAINST THE Dark Arts classroom looks a lot different to what it did the year before, Holly thinks as she walks into the classroom after an hour of messing about in the back of the Divination classroom with Pansy. She and Pansy sit down at one of the desks, Pansy still smiling at Holly from the lesson before, in which Pansy — so bored out of her mind that she had resorted to whispering and giggling things to Holly — started to lovingly tease Holly and whatever she feels for Harry. Which was all well and good, until Pansy said Potter too loudly and he turned around, and then, Trelawney asked what they had predicted from their dreams, and out of panic, Holly made something up about volcanoes erupting.

       "Well, good afternoon!" says Umbridge, as the other students sit down. Holly glances to the other side of the room, where most of the Gryffindors are sitting, far away from the Slytherins. She mumbles a good afternoon, and Umbridge makes that awful noise, that terrible, tut, tut. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

       "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."

       Holly feels a shiver slither down her spine. She doesn't like this, not in the slightest.

       "There, now," says Umbridge. Holly and Pansy exchange a look. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

       Holly tries her best to keep her emotions hidden, as she places her wand in her bag, and takes out her quill, ink, and parchment, like the rest of the class. She looks up, finding the blackboard covered in neat handwriting.

Defence Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

       For a minute, Holly expects the worst, before she remembers that her basic principles are far different to those taught here. Holly's version of basic principles include the Unforgiveable Curses, perfectly legal in Durmstrang and therefore perfectly acceptable to practice and perfect.

       "Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" says Umbridge. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year." She locks eyes with Holly, who freezes. "Of course, Miss Lippincott, I have been made aware of your educational past, and of course, if you need further support, it will be there."

       Holly forces herself to say, "Thank you, Professor Umbridge." 

       Umbridge looks pleased with the response from the class. Holly and Pansy look at each other. "You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

       Course aims:

       1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

       2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

       3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

       Holly looks down at her parchment, at the 'course aims' and she makes sure she keeps a straight face, even if this looks like a load of bollocks. How stupid can Umbridge be, thinking that now is the perfect time to not actually practice spellcasting?

       "Has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

       There's a murmur of, "Yes."

       "I think we'll try that again," says Umbridge. Holly can felt her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn't like the sound of this. There's something off about her. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

       "Yes, Professor Umbridge."

       Holly hates this.

       "Good," says Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

       Holly opens her textbook. Halfway through page six, she looks to the other side of the classroom, and she manages to catch Harry's gaze, who looks just as bored already by the chapter. At least it isn't just her.

       She continues reading, and she can't help but think how ridiculous this is. Basics for Beginners? For Holly, that's not this stupidity, it's the Unforgiveable Curses. If the O.W.L. is like this textbook, then that's great for Holly, she could pass without attending any lesson.

       Her posture slouches a little, the more she reads the chapter. She looks up, after a few minutes, and she sees Hermione sitting with her hand up, and her textbook closed. Holly would smile, if she wasn't trying to keep a straight face, wary of what Umbridge is like.

       "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" says Umbridge.

       Hermione shakes her head. Both Holly and Pansy sit up straight again, both a little intrigued by this. "Not about the chapter, no," says Hermione.

       "Well, we're reading just now," says Umbridge. Holly wants to roll her eyes. We're reading just now. This isn't nursery, where they all sit down on the carpet and the grown-up tells a lovely little tale about Little Red Riding Hood. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

       "I've got a query about your course aims," says Hermione.

       "And your name is—?"

       "Hermione Granger."

       "Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," says Umbridge. She sounds like she's trying to keep her voice sickly sweet. Holly stops glancing around, wanting to roll her eyes. She feels like she's slowly being transported to Durmstrang — just the way that Umbridge is looking at her.

       "Well, I don't," says Hermione. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

       "Using defensive spells?" says Umbridge. Holly feels sick. She can feel her stomach twisting and knotting. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

       "We're not going to use magic?" says Ron.

       "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr—?"

       "Weasley," says Ron. 

       Umbridge keeps on smiling. Holly's gone still, watching the teacher closely. She sees her gaze rest on Harry, as he raises his hand, before she turns to Hermione, who's hand is also in the air. Holly feels sick.

       "Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

       "Yes," says Hermione. She has a frown on her face as she speaks. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

       It's a good point.

       "Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

       "No, but—" 

       "Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is," says Umbridge. For once, the Slytherins don't make any noise of amusement, seeing a Gryffindor getting told off, her cousin especially. They're all just watching, frowning. "Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"

       "What use is that?" says Harry. Holly keeps an eye on Umbridge, who looks a little less sweet when Harry speaks up. Odd. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a—"

       "Hand, Mr Potter!"

       Harry puts his hand in the air.

       The back-and-forth continues, of the Gryffindor students raising their hands and pointing out some error in the course. Holly's side of the classroom doesn't speak. Most of the Slytherins are her friends, and by this point, they've almost all agreed that for them to get through whatever's going to happen is through silence. She can the frowns on her friends' faces, disagreeing with Umbridge, but what else can they do?

       "I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"

       "And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" says Harry, his hand still in the air. Holly sees Draco look down at the desk. She hears Pansy breathe in. Part of Holly wants to tell him to shut up, he doesn't know how bad Umbridge could be, there's no point provoking a teacher, you never know how bad they might be. Another part of her has a strange sense of pride. At least he's standing up for something. She isn't.

       "This is school, Mr Potter," says Umbridge. "Not the real world."

       "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

       Holly can see the look on Umbridge's face. She isn't as nice as she tries to present herself. Holly can see it, in the way she keeps the smile on. She's known enough evil teachers to recognise another one. And she wants to shout at Harry, to tell him to shut up before he gets hurt, but she can't, she can't. She feels like she's lost her voice.

       "There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

       "Oh yeah?" says Harry.

       "Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

       "Hmm, let's think..." says Harry. If Holly wasn't frozen stiff, she would drag him out of this classroom, and tell him to stop. He's not helping himself, she can see it on Umbridge's face.  "Maybe Lord Voldemort?"

       A lot of the students reacted, one way or another. Holly doesn't move, but she can see Draco still looking at the desk, Pansy quietly gasping, Blaise frown at thin air. And then she watches Umbridge, who doesn't move in the slightest.

       "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter," she says. Holly feels like she's back at Durmstrand. She doesn't like this, she doesn't like this— "Now, let me make a few things quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

       "He wasn't dead," says Harry. "But yeah, he's back!"

       "Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," says Umbridge, quickly, her gaze moving across the room. Holly's heart's pounding. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

       "It is not a lie!" says Harry. "I saw him, I fought him — ask Holly, she was there!"

       Holly's heart stops.

       Umbridge's gaze falls onto Holly, who's frozen in her chair. She can't take her eyes away from Umbridge's. Holly's heart's pounding again, her stomach's twisting and turning into knots. Everyone's staring at her.

        "Do you agree?"

        "I—"

       Holly isn't in Hogwarts anymore. Instead she's in a cold castle hidden in Scandinavia, where the castle walls are a dark grey and the flames on candles are never warm enough, never nice enough to make the place seem comfortable, a school for children. Instead she's in a classroom that still rules her dreams, and her eyes are focusing on the younger student that forgot to do homework, and holding onto her wand, she uses all of her strength to say the word, "Crucio." And she's in her old Dark Arts classroom, watching the person writhe on their floor, their back contorting into the pain, forcing herself to romanticise the way the student reacts. It's the only way to do it; you have to find some way of enjoying the pain you cause, to feel an anger so piercing you can say that word, and Holly's forced herself to enjoy watching the way different people react. The anger part is easy, but it's the desire that she struggled with.

       And she watches the student, their eyes squeezing shut, their tears pooling onto the floor. She feels an intense joy at this, and later she feels sick because of this, but in the moment, she can feel it. Look at her, look at what she can do. She's strong, she's powerful.

       "Miss Lippincott?" says Umbridge.

       Holly isn't in Hogwarts anymore. Instead she's still in that cold castle hidden in Scandinavia. Her gaze is focused on the little girl with ginger hair — the sort of ginger that turns gold in the sunlight — standing in front of her. She looks into the girl's bright blue eyes, the ones she saw the day before, reddened from crying into the robes of an older girl, and she can't bring herself to feel the desire to hurt her. She feels a desire to protect her, to stop this from happening to the younger students, but she doesn't feel a desire to hurt. Not anymore.

       And Holly shakes her head, refusing. She can see the look on the girl's face, the sort of relief that produces tears. Karkaroff grabs her by the collar and pulls her into the Dark Arts professor's office, waving his wand to produce a desk, a chair, a quill, and some parchment.

       "There isn't any ink," says Holly.

       "You won't need ink for this quill," says Karkaroff, a cruel smile plastered across his face. He sits at the desk, and he watches Holly write the words, I must not defy, her hand beginning to burn. Holly looks at her in panic, and for a second she locks eyes with Karkaroff, who looks overjoyed with her fear.

       Holly doesn't want to get into trouble. What Umbridge said last night at the Start of Term Feast — it reminds Holly of Karkaroff. Holly isn't getting into any trouble. She can't. She isn't going through that again. She barely thinks she survived Karkaroff's nightmarish reign. And when she looks up at Umbridge, she feels the same dread she did when she saw her old headmaster.

       "No," says Holly. Umbridge gives her this awfully sweet smile, and Holly sees Harry looking at her, in complete shock, and she can feel her heart pounding. "But — but Potter hit his head in the maze, it isn't his fault, there's no need—"

       Umbridge turns around, walking towards Harry, who's still looking at Holly with this awfully hurt expression. Tears gather in Holly's eyes, as she mouths, I'm sorry.

       "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office," says Umbridge, to Harry. He looks both angry and hurt. Holly feels terrible. She doesn't want him to go through anything on his own, and she knows that detentions at Hogwarts aren't as bad as they were at Durmstrang, but she doesn't like the look of Umbridge. Umbridge makes Holly feel uneasy and she doesn't know what to expect, and if she's being honest, Holly's frightened by this.

       Holly tries her hardest to stop herself from bursting into tears, but she can't, she can't. How has she gone from feeling joy at the expense of others, to this? She used to be this girl with power laced into her fingertips, so scared of her school that she was able to turn to into their perfect student. And now, look at her. She's so scared of a school she doesn't even go to, of a headmaster that's presumed dead, that she can't do the right thing, she can't bring herself to it. The idea of getting a detention makes her insides squirm in fear; the cruel smile Karkaroff gave her when she saw the words appear on her hand haunts her.

       And then there's this. How she cares so much for this boy that she's brought herself to tears. She hates this. She knows she should've said the truth. She wishes she could go back in time and change what she said, but she panicked, she was genuinely scared. For a second she thought she was back in Durmstrang and she knows that she didn't make the right decision, she made the easy one, the terrible one, the one that's caused Harry to be all on his own.

       Pansy grabs onto Holly's hand underneath the table, and Holly holds tightly onto Pansy's hand. She isn't going to cry, no, she is not allowing herself to cry. She closes her eyes and she blinks the tears away, her hand still squeezing onto Pansy's.

       "So, according to you," says Harry, standing up. His voice is shaking. Holly's grip on Pansy's hand tightens. "Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"

       Holly sees the emerald lighting up the gravestones. In front of her, she sees Draco look over his shoulder at her. She looks away from him, and she remembers the conversation from the end of last year. 'Get on with it... If that's what the Ministry believes, it's safest for us to go along with it.' This is safest for them, for the children and nieces and nephews of Death Eaters. Holly desperately wants to stand up for Harry, but she can't, it's not safe for her, the only reason she would've survived the graveyard was because of Margo and Atticus. She can't risk that, she can't, she can't trust the Order's going to save her. She needs to look after herself, just like she did at Durmstrang.

       "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

       "It was murder," says Harry. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

       There's silence. Holly's grip on Pansy's hand loosens, watching Umbridge closely. Her expression's blank, and Holly's stomach knots.

       "Come here, Mr Potter, dear," says Umbridge. For a split second, Holly forgets that she isn't at Durmstrang, and her immediate reaction is she's going to use Crucio and she almost moves to stand, but Pansy grabs onto Holly, keeping her in the seat. Holly watches Harry walk up to the front of the classroom, as Umbridge begins to write a note, handing it to Harry. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear."

       Harry leaves the room, avoiding everyone's glances. The door slams behind him, and there's this brief pause, where everyone looks at Umbridge, waiting to see if she's going to say anything else, but instead, she gives them all that awful smile. "Now, let's return to chapter one, shall we?" she says.

       Holly's hands are shaking, when it gets to the end of the lesson. Ron and Hermione hurry out of the classroom, in pursuit of Harry. Quickly the class leaves the room, eager to start talking about what happened, and quickly, the only people left in the room are Holly, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Umbridge.

       "It was a good thing you did there, Miss Lippincott, dear," says Umbridge, from the desk. Holly wants to cry again. She exchanges a look with her friends, who look wary of the teacher. "It takes a lot to tell the truth, especially when there are people like Mr Potter in the world, saying otherwise." She pauses for a minute. "I'm sure this talk about the tournament is affecting you, dear. You did seem to be upset."

       Pansy's brows furrow, and she turns to Umbridge. "Well, you see, Professor, Holly's mother, as I'm sure you know, was a Death Eater and Holly never got to meet her," says Pansy. Draco and Blaise gives Pansy an odd look, not quite sure where she's going with this. "All of this talk about You-Know-Who is reminding her of her mother, and I'm sure you can understand how hard it is for her, especially — like you rightly said — with someone going about and making up lies."

       "I see," says Umbridge. "I think you've got potential, Miss Lippincott, dear, what with the way you stood up and told the truth."

       Holly wants to video-tape this conversation.

       How ironic.

       "Crabbe and Goyle have saved us seats," says Draco, after a minute of silence. The other three nod, and they leave the room in silence, confused expressions across all of their faces as the classroom door closes behind them.

       Pansy pulls Holly into a hug. "Are you all right?"

       "I feel like shit," says Holly.

       "But you did do the right thing! Remember that, Holly," says Pansy, as they begin to walk down the empty hallway. "We've got to pretend, haven't we?"

       "Yeah," says Holly.

       Blaise frowns. "I don't like her," he says, and Holly nods in agreement. Already she cannot stand Professor Umbridge. She doesn't know if it's because she gets the creeps at the thought of her, or the way she was to Harry pisses her off, but she does not like her, not in the slightest. She doesn't care if she was sympathetic to Holly after the lesson. She doesn't like her.

       "She's with the Ministry, we need to be on her side," says Draco. Holly narrows her eyes in confusion, and turns to look at him. He gives her a look. "At least pretend it."

       Pansy nods. "It's safer."

       Holly reluctantly nods. It's cowardly.

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       SATURDAY MORNING ARRIVES and Holly walks down to the Quidditch pitch with Draco, nerves swarming in her stomach. The evening before had been spent with Holly worrying about whether or not she'll get onto the Quidditch team — and then, every time she's doubted herself, frowning. How on earth is she getting worked up over getting on the Quidditch team, when she's done it before, and, she's won the Triwizard Tournament?

       "You'll be fine," says Draco.

       "You have to say that," says Holly grumpily. "You're my cousin."

      They walk onto the Quidditch pitch, where she sees Montague and the rest of the team standing around. Another girl's standing next to Montague, her arms crossed and an annoyed look painting her face. She nods at Holly, as Holly stands next to Draco.

       "I think we've already found our two Chasers," says Montague, to the rest of the team. Holly frowns. She doesn't get to try out? What? "Because I was already against these tryouts, and you want to know why? Because no one works as well as they can, because they're nervous and they're being watched by the actual players. So I thought, right. There are two Slytherins that we need on our team. My sister, Florence — Flo, I mean—" He gives his sister a look, after she coughs loudly when he says Florence. "She's one of the best Quidditch players I've seen in a long time—" He gestures to her. "And then we've got Holly Lippincott, who you all know."

       He gestures to Holly.

       "I think we've got our players, so we should take this time to practice as a team," says Montague. Holly's heart sinks. She doesn't want to be given the role. She wants to earn it.

       The other Quidditch players grunt and nod. Holly sees Flo frown at Crabbe and Goyle, which makes perfect sense to Holly, if she's being honest.

       The Quidditch practice proves to be eventful, to say the least. At one point Crabbe and Goyle accidentally bash into each other and fall onto the field below, and whilst Montague laughs at how hilarious this is, Holly's close enough to hear Flo grumble, "This team's a joke."

       And it's true. There's a point where Holly watches Crabbe and Goyle get hit on the head by the same bludger, and she realises, they're only on this team because of strength.

       By the end of this so-called practice, Holly's annoyed, tired, and cold. She leaves Draco talking with Montague about whatever, trudging back up to the castle on her own. She doesn't know if she wants to be on a team that terrible, but then, if she isn't on the team this year, she can't swoop in next year, and become the captain. There are two things Holly wants to do whilst at Hogwarts, and they're become the Slytherin Quidditch team captain and Head Girl. But she didn't want to be handed the position. She wanted to earn it, she wanted to be told she's on the team, and she wanted to feel like she deserved to have it.

       But she doesn't. The only reason she's on the team is because of the Tournament. And sure, she's aware that she was arguably the best champion, but still. That doesn't mean she wants everything being given to her on a silver platter. She wanted to work hard and get on the team. She feels like she's cheated.

       She walks through the hallways and in the direction of the library. She doesn't want to see her friends right now. She wants to be on her own. She knows she's in a bad mood, and she doesn't want to be agitated and accidentally get into an argument when she doesn't mean it. So, she figures she'll read a book... or sit in an aisle in the library and glare at the books until she feels better. The latter seems more appealing.

       It's still early in the morning, and Holly frowns, deciding that she may as well go to the Owlery and post the letter to her dad. She wants to avoid her friends for a while, this is another thing that'll do that.

       Holly walks into the Owlery, and she spots Harry, who turns around as soon as he hears footsteps. He looks at her. She goes to find Owl, choosing not to acknowledge him. She knows that he's angry with her — he probably hates her, and she knows that she deserves it. She should've stuck up for him in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but she didn't, and now he hates her. Ignoring him makes it less painful for her. She knows it's selfish of her, but she knows there's no way he's going to want to be her friend after that, she may as well just ignore him and pretend they were never truly friends, like her friends believe.

       She doesn't know if she fancies him. She doesn't know if she wanted to kiss him at Grimmauld Place. But she does know that she cares about him, and that he was genuinely hurt when she didn't stand up for him against Umbridge. She knows that he won't forgive her and although it hurts, she knows she's got to accept it, it's her fault this happened. So she keeps her head down, placing Owl next to the window, willing him to fly off and send the letter to her dad, avoiding any actual communication with Harry.

       Until she sees his hand, and the words written into his skin.

       Holly grabs a hold of his hand, looking at the words. I must not tell lies. She looks up at Harry, frowning, and she says, "You used a blood quill in detention?"

       "So we're talking now, are we?" says Harry, pulling his hand away from her. Holly expects this, and she knows he has full right to be angry with her. "Are we friends again, or what? Because that seemed to stop, didn't it, as soon as Umbridge asked you—" Holly opens her mouth, and he gives her a look. "I'm not finished."

       Holly looks at him in disbelief. She can see the anger on his face, his eyes glaring and his brows furrowed. "I know that you don't want your friends to know that we're friends, but I needed you to say something to Umbridge! Everyone thinks I've gone mad and everyone knows you were there in the graveyard, and yet, you're not saying anything!" he says. Shouts, more like. "What, were you too busy cosying up to Umbridge, like Malfoy and the others? Who cares if you're not helping out your friend, right, when you benefit at the end?"

       "Have you finished?" says Holly, raising an eyebrow at him. Harry nods, his teeth gritting together in such a fashion that his jawline becomes more prominent. She steps closer to him. "I should've stood up for you, I know, and I'm sorry." Harry looks surprised, as if he didn't think she'd own up to it. "You have the complete right to hate me. I should've been on your side but I wasn't — I was scared, I'm still used to the teachers at Durmstrang, and Umbridge reminded me of them. But that isn't an excuse, I still should've been there for you, so if you hate me, you hate me, I'm fine."

       "I don't hate you—"

       "I'm not finished," says Holly, giving him a dark look. Harry's still glaring at her. "Do you seriously think I'm trying to cosy up to Umbridge? And answer me honestly — do you seriously think that I'd ever do something with the intent of hurting you?"

       "No," says Harry. His hands are shaking, like they did in Defence Against the Dark Arts when he got angry. "I hate this, you know that? I hate how you have to pretend to hate me. I hate how we can't be near each other when others are around because of your friends—"

       Holly narrows her eyes. "I would've been killed in that graveyard if I didn't pretend to hate you," she points out. Her voice is shaking. In the past couple minutes they've moved closer. Holly ignores the memory of the last day of the holidays. "You saw the way You-Know-Who laughed when you said my name. He would've killed me, on the spot, if he knew anything. The only reason I was spared and Cedric wasn't is because of my mother — and I know how this is all terrible, and I hate this, too, I hate how we've got to pretend to not be friends, because this isn't just school friends, is it? You're the boy wonder and I'm the daughter of the Death Eater. That goes far beyond this school — he'd kill me, if anyone found out about us."

       Harry's looking at her oddly, listening carefully, a little frown on his face. Holly calms down a little, taking a minute to catch her breath from throwing her arms about. "I wish we didn't have to keep this secret," she says. "Because I really care about you—"

       "Holly?" says Harry.

       "Yes?" says Holly, frowning.

       "Don't laugh," he says. 

       "What? Why would I laugh—?"

       "I fancy you."

       Holly stares at Harry. She doesn't know to say. She remembers what she was saying to Pansy at the start of the week. I don't know, he's actually really really nice. Or every single time she's had this strange fluttering feeling in her stomach — were they butterflies? Was she actually that infatuated with this boy that she felt butterflies flitting around her stomach? Because it makes sense — she's never fancied someone before (she isn't counting that boy in primary school, that was because his hair was curly which she thought was badass) so obviously she's not going to know what if feels like. But she does. She does.

       Holly fancies Harry.

       "Aha!" The door into the Owlery flies open, revealing the caretaker, Mr Filch. Holly grimaces, as Filch steps towards Harry. "I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"

       "Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?"

       Holly sees Hedwig sitting to the side, and she carefully stretches her arm out, coercing Hedwig to stand on her arm. She steps towards one of the windows, and Hedwig jumps off her arm, flying out of the window.

       "I have my sources," says Filch. "Now hand over whatever it is you're sending."

       Holly, who's now standing behind Filch, gets Harry's gaze for a second, and points at Hedwig flying over the forest. Harry nods once, trying for once to be sly, and he turns to Filch. "I can't," he says. "It's gone."

       "Gone?" says Filch.

       "Gone," says Harry.

       "How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?"

       "Because—"

       "I saw him send it," says Holly. Harry's eyes light up as she smiles back at him, Filch turning around to face her. His cheeks are a dark shade of red, like he ran up the stairs to get here. "It was a few minutes ago now, I think..."

       Filch glares at her. Holly smiles back.

       She knows that her little smile's making him angrier, but she doesn't really care.

       He turns back to Harry. "If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb..." he mutters, before he stalks off, his cat following. The cold wind catches the door, and closes it slightly, the descending figure of the caretaker disappearing behind the door.

       Holly looks at Harry. "Were you—?"

       He shakes his head. "Sirius."

       "Ah," says Holly. There's a pause. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, looking a little nervous about what he had said before Filch appeared. She doesn't know whether or not the moment's gone, but she looks down and sees his hand, and she frowns. "So you got that in detention?"

       "Yeah," says Harry, a little confused. "Why—?"

       "They used them at Durmstrang," says Holly, and she gives him her left hand, where the scar lies. Harry frowns at her, holding onto her hand. "I must not defy... I got it right at the end, when I refused to perform Crucio on this little girl..." She pauses. "You know I'm meant to be left-handed? They thought it was a sign of rebellion, so they forced me to write with my right, instead."

       She pauses again. She knows that wasn't what she was meant to say. She was meant to reply with a long speech about how much she likes him, how she never realised it, but she doesn't know, hasn't the moment gone now? But then, has the moment gone? She never replied when he said it, and the lovesick look on his face makes Holly think she needs to reply, just because the moment's gone doesn't mean he won't be worrying about this — and she knows her response, there aren't any I don't know's anymore.

       "What I'm trying to say is that I fancy you, too," says Holly.

       "You do?" says Harry. 

       Holly nods. "I really do."

       And then there's another pause, where she smiles softly at him and tells him that her friends will be wondering when she's gone, and she leaves him in the Owlery, with a small smile on his face. Holly sits down with her friends at breakfast, the little smile still on her face.

       She fancies him. He fancies her.

       Holly can't stop smiling.

—✧—✧—✧—✧—

I HOPE HALLY WAS WORTH THE WAIT