eight — seven of cups.

upright: searching for purpose, choices, daydreaming.

reversed: lack of purpose, disarray, diversion.

( alternatively: imogen is sick of stairs! )

|

IMOGEN FAWLEY DIDN'T break her stride once despite the thick crowd of students in her way. She'd long since trained herself into an unflinching storm of a girl; chin tilted up just enough to be considered confident but not enough to be condescending, heeled shoes hitting the ground with a satisfying click-clack! as she moved with the timing of a trained soldier, her lips schooled into neutral indifference.

Imogen always looked as if she was going somewhere important and as if she was important, which managed to spur the majority of her slow-moving peers into motion, a small jagged pathway forming as they moved aside just enough to let her breeze past.

Most of the time, she wasn't actually going anywhere of importance, but no matter what she walked the same way, having found that if she simply acted as though she had somewhere to get to, then everyone would subconsciously respond and let her pass much easier than if she was just meandering through the halls. However, this time she was walking with a destination in mind.

The letter from her parents felt as though it was burning a hole in the pocket of her robes and urged her forward as she prowled through the castle, searching for her best friend.

Best friend. That was a phrase Imogen hadn't planned on using during her time at Hogwarts. She'd been raised in a family that valued truth and that had translated into her having next to no filter when she'd started school, which had then resulted in a plethora of problems that were only enhanced by her last name.

The Fawley's were technically considered a Pureblood family (though it was likely she had some Half-Blood and maybe even Muggleborn relatives somewhere in her extensive family tree). Not to the prestige that the Malfoy's or Nott's were, but enough that there was no surprise when she'd been sorted into Slytherin. But the Fawley's had gained a reputation during the First Wizarding War by refusing to take a side, instead adhering to their family motto strictly.

Supra Omnem Sanguinem; Blood Above All.

It was a motto that was loosely shared by other Pureblooded families, having been watered down and twisted to fit their narrative best, but one could trace the roots of this particular saying to the Fawley family.

For the Fawley's, this saying boiled down to one simple thing; family first and foremost. So it shouldn't have been a surprise when the Fawley's closed their doors during the war, refusing to bow to the Dark Lord or give up their resources to the organization dedicated to taking him down. Self-preservation was deeply ingrained in them and they would always, always make sure that a Fawley was safe before even thinking of extending that help to someone outside the family (and even then, the chances of them helping were very, very, very slim).

So, like all Slytherins, Imogen was ostracized by her classmates for her house (children are stubborn and it was only around fifth year that she noticed students of other houses finally casting aside their prejudices towards her green and silver tie), and her refusal to sugarcoat her words had quickly earned her the disfavor of her dorm mates and housemates alike.

Except for one.

If there was one student who was met with the same amount of fascination and disscontempt as Imogen, it was Verity Finch. Her quiet nature had resulted in her becoming an oddity; a wallflower who moved silently through the castle, observing with green eyes that held more than one secret in their depths. Even back then, her gaze had been unsettling. She'd gotten better at hiding it over the years, but back then she did little to conceal the sharpness in her eyes and though one couldn't tell what exactly she knew, you could still tell she knew more than she was letting on.

Add in her aunt and father and well, it was no surprise that the two ended up pairing together in their classes and keeping each other company. It wasn't friendship, not really, for the two mostly just sat together in silence, each doing their separate thing. But there was strength in numbers, and they had discovered they were more likely to be left alone if they were together (and if there was one thing they shared, it was their love of personal space) so they got used to being around each other.

It wasn't until second year that the two finally edged past vague friendship and into actual friendship. To this day, it had been one of the oddest conversations she'd had with Verity (which was saying something, Verity was quite odd and Imogen loved her all the more for it).

They'd been alone in their dorm room, Imogen painting her nails with a new polish her mother had sent her. According to Witching Wonders!, it was all the rage and her mother had thought she'd like it. Imogen did quite like it, the polish was enchanted to showcase a glittering night sky, the occasional comet streaking across the inky backdrop.

Verity was sitting cross legged on her own bed which was next to Imogen's, her back against her headboard. She was staring down at a book in her lap, not really reading any of the words, just gazing at the page.

"Did you know that there are over one hundred subspecies of dragons?" Verity comments idly.

"Nope," Imogen responds absentmindedly.

"Do you like dragons?"

"As much as the average witch," came her dry reply.

Silence. A flick of a page. Another coat of nail polish.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

Imogen doesn't glance up from her nails, "Obviously."

"Do you think I'm a Death Eater?"

That got Imogen to look up, her eyebrows furrowing, "What?"

Verity was looking at her evenly, head tilted to the side, "Do you think I'm a Death Eater?"

"Why would I think that?" Imogen counters her.

The small girl shrugs one shoulder, "Alfie Peters thinks I am, heard him talking to a few others about it. I was just curious to see if everyone thought that too."

"Alfie Peters is a prat," Imogen states in the tone of voice that didn't leave any room for argument.

"So you don't think I'm one then?" She's rubbing at that black band she always wears around her forearm, something she'd had since she'd started first year.

Imogen scoffs, "No. You're too tiny to be a Death Eater," she then pauses, "but are you?"

Verity stares at her with those too-knowing eyes, "Am I what?"

"Don't act stupid, that's beneath you."

Surprisingly, Verity smiles, "No I'm not. Thank you for asking."

Thank you for asking? Imogen stares at her before shaking her head, "Yeah sure, whatever."

Twelve-year-old Imogen had turned her attention back to her nails, finishing up her last pinkie and watching as the polish shimmers, constellations blinking up at her.

Her lips twist in thought and she glances over at Verity, finding her dorm mate still staring down at her book and not reading it, just on a different page. While she didn't know much about Verity, she wasn't surprised by the random facts she'd sprouted at her. It didn't happen often, but enough that she wasn't going to find it peculiar. It was just something that Verity did.

"Do you know anything about stars?"

Verity looks up, "Every star you see in the sky is bigger than the sun."

Imogen remembers pointing at the empty space in front of her, "I'll paint your nails if you tell me more about stars."

Verity had smiled broadly, setting her book aside, "Deal."

And that had been that. Five years later and the two had long since bypassed the awkward mutual acquaintanceship they'd had their first year. Not too much had changed; Imogen still blunt and Verity was still odd, and despite the two sharing many differences they'd found a common ground to build a solid friendship upon.

After checking their room, the kitchens, and the Prefect bathroom (yeah, yeah, she's not supposed to have the password but between Verity and Aidan she'd managed to weasel it out of the two), Imogen finds herself scouring the students clumped together in the hallways.

The first person she finds is Cedric Diggory. He's surrounded by a small cluster of people, listening to them talk with an attentiveness that makes Imogen almost hesitate to approach him. Key word, almost. It's a fellow sixth-year that notices her approach and is watching her with enough curiosity that it draws the attention of the other students.

"Hello Imogen," Cedric greets her in a very Cedric fashion; kind, open, and enthusiastic enough you'd think he had missed her dearly. He had this way of talking that made everyone feel equally important to him, never making anyone feel hesitant for approaching him.

"Cedric," she tries to keep her tone amicable, but Imogen had never been a very amicable person and her greeting comes out in a very Imogen fashion; sharp, precise, and a weird combination of apathy mixed with something no one was ever able to put their finger on. The way she talked made everyone question whether or not she actually was happy to see them or if she was only seconds away from tearing them down (so, unlike Cedric, people were very hesitant to approach her).

"I'm looking for Vera." Is all she says, watching as his eyes grow distant with thought.

"I haven't seen her since breakfast," he replies, "but I think she was going to help Niko and Ana with finding a few books in the library."

She nods curtly in lieu of a thank you and walks off, this time searching for the Durmstrang students. She finds Viktor first as he's exiting the castle, their interaction short and concise ("'Ello." "Seen Vera?" "'Fraid not, sorry friend." "That's alright, goodbye." "Bye.") and she then tracks down the remaining two Durmstrang students in a quieter corner of the library, surrounded by a mountain of books.

"Oi! Niko," Imogen hisses as she nears the table, the black haired boy startling awake from where he'd been fast asleep on top of a textbook.

He blinks rapidly up at her, yawning widely, "Mo, hi."

One thing she'd learned quickly about Niko was that he seemed incapable of calling someone by their full name. Anastasia became Ana, Verity became Vera (though that one wasn't a surprise), Viktor became Vik, and so Imogen had become Mo.

"Have you seen Vera recently? Either of you?"

Anastasia is rapidly reading a textbook in a foreign language— Latin? Spanish? Italian? Imogen couldn't tell —and she just shakes her head, dark red hair echoing the movement a second later, lips moving slightly as she mouths the words she's reading.

Niko rubs at one of his eyes, his hair a catastrophe of black strands, an indent of pages lining his cheek in flushed intervals, "She vas helping us until... one hour ago, yes? Yes, that's right. Then guy with lots of hair," he holds his hands out from his head as though to show the sheer amount, "approaches, says got a minute V? and they leave."

Lee Jordan.

"Thanks Niko," Imogen says, "enjoy your nap."

The boy smiles sleepily at her before laying his head back down, much to the vexation of Anastasia who immediately slaps his shoulder and whisper-shouts something to him. Imogen leaves the two (Niko waving Anastasia off as she shakes his shoulder), frowning as she leaves the library.

Likely, Lee had sought Verity out on behalf of the twins, so all she had to do was find one of the three and she should be set. The problem was where they might be. Hogwarts was just so damn big and there were a thousand nooks and crannies the lot may be hiding out, and Imogen knew that the twins and Lee had a better understanding of all the best places to stay hidden than even the Headmaster did.

Imogen may be impatient, but she was also stubborn. So she takes a deep breath and continues her search.

She scours the hallways surrounding the library before moving upwards, searching, searching, searching. She nearly does a double-take when she sees a shock of red hair, only to realize that it's not the particular redhead she was looking for. Nethertheless, Imogen headed over to the staircase where three students were sitting (What is it, she thinks, with students traveling in threes?).

Two sat on the second to the bottom step, on opposite sides of the stairwell. The third sat a few steps above them, long legs resting between his friends.

"Ron Weasley?"

The teenager in question looks at her with comically wide eyes, "...uh, yeah?"

Imogen props her hand on her hip looking at the fourth year who's sitting in the middle, his two friends also looking at her. Harry Potter is sitting on the left, fidgeting with his wand, a thoughtful look on his face. The final member of their tragic trio (named that not because they were tragic people, but rather because the lot collected tragedies like it was some sort of Muggle card came) Hermione Granger, closes the book on her lap at her approach. All of the fourth years are looking at her with mixed emotions.

"Where can I find your idiotic brothers?"

"Fred and George?"

Imogen raises an eyebrow, "Who else?"

His gaze flickers from her face to a little below and Imogen knows he's staring at the colors on her tie. Typical young Gryffindor, she thinks bitterly. She counts to ten silently, waiting to see if he'll give her an answer. She knows she should probably give him longer, but Imogen was never a patient person, so once she reaches ten she just huffs.

"Forget it." She turns on her heel to continue her search when a wavering voice sounds out.

"I saw them headed towards the upper East Wing not too long ago," surprisingly it's Hermione who speaks up and Imogen looks over her shoulder at the younger girl. Her inquisitive brown eyes remind her vaguely of Verity's; always searching, never satisfied. She reaches up to tuck a piece of bushy brown hair behind her ears, a distorted reflection of Imogen's own kinked hair, "They were with Verity. That's why you're looking for them, right?"

Imogen nods, "Thank you."

Then she's gone, strides becoming closer and closer to a jog. She curses the Founders for the moving staircases, her thighs burning as she hurries from one end of the castle to the other.

It wasn't a new thing for Imogen to have to track Verity down (her best friend was always busy whether it was with school work, Prefect duties, or something personal) but never before had it taken this long. By the time she's gotten to the East Wing, she was out of breath and she has to pause at the top of the stairs, one hand against the wall for balance as she closes her eyes, breathing heavily.

"Rough day, Fawley?" One voice asks.

"Or rough date?" Another voice finishes with a snicker.

Imogen opens her eyes, annoyance already pricking at her skin. She didn't particularly like the Weasley twins (then again, Imogen didn't particularly like ninety-two percent of students at Hogwarts), mostly because she'd been caught in the crossfire of their pranks one too many times throughout the years.

Disappointment flares in her chest when she doesn't see Verity with them and she drops her hand from the wall, straightening up, "Have you seen Vera today?"

"Vera?" One parrots, tapping his chin in thought, "Vera, Vera... oh you mean miss perfect Prefect? Shortie-mcshorterson?"

"Teeny tiny Finch? The itty bitty witch?" The other one adds in, and by Salazar's beard, Imogen has never wanted to hex someone so badly. It's clear they're messing with her and as her face dissolves into a thunderstorm, cheshire grins spread across their faces.

"Yes or no, I don't have all day." She snaps at them.

"I believe we did see her, didn't we George?" The one on the right says slowly.

"I think we did, Fred." The one on the left confirms.

Imogen waits for a moment before looking at them incredulously, "Seriously?"

The one on the right, Fred apparently, laughs, "You're too easy to rile up, Fawley."

"Look, I don't have time for your games, I need to find her."

They exchange a look before moving in sync, hands sliding into pockets, heads tilting to the left, "And what do we get if we help you?"

"For starters," Imogen says, wand sliding into her grasp, "you'll get your height back."

Confusion flashes across their face at the same moment the jinx hits them before dissolving into horrific understanding as they shrink rapidly, going from 6 feet to 6 inches in a manner of seconds. Imogen crouches down and looks at the shrunken twins with a wicked grin, "How's the weather down there?"

"Fuckin' terrible," Fred squeaks up at her, flipping her off with a tiny hand, "change us back!"

"Not until you tell me where she is."

"You just missed her," George says calmly, looking up at the ceiling and turning into a slow circle, "you've got to tell me what this spell is. It's fantastic!"

"Do you know where she was headed?" She addresses George this time, amused as she sees Fred points his miniature wand at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Erh," Tiny George scratches the top of his head, "owlery I think? I'm not sure to be honest, she just mentioned something about seeing if her father sent her a letter."

Baby sparks fly out of Fred's wand and Imogen calmly brushes them off of her boot. She straightens up and reverses the jinx, grinning as the twins crash into each other as they shoot back to their normal height, the pair dissolving into a tangle of limbs and curses on the floor. 

"As always, terrible time talking to you." She's gone before they can get to their feet, descending rapidly.

Imogen doesn't go to the owlery, like George suggested, and instead heads outside. She shivers violently as cold winter air slams into her, quickly casting a warming charm over herself as she weaves through one of the many courtyards and onto frost crusted grass that crunches underfoot. She can see her breath streaming in an opaque fashion from her mouth each time she breathes and she tucks her hands inside her robe pockets as she treks across the grounds.

She finds Verity sitting underneath a familiar tree far away from the castle, and really everything else, her friend staring down at her hands. As she grows closer she can hear the familiar flick-woosh-click of a lighter opening and closing, a tiny flame appearing and disappearing with the sound.

Imogen sits down next to Verity, her friend looking up from the worn lighter as Imogen bumps her shoulder against Verity's.

"You're a pain in the ass to find these days."

Verity grins wryly, "And you're surprised?"

Imogen sniffs, "Not in the slightest."

It's quiet for a moment, the two watching the flame flicker into life and gutter out of existence at the behest of Verity's apt fingers.

The lighter had once belonged to Eleanor Finch, Verity's mother, and Imogen was positive Verity never went anywhere without it. For a witch it was rather useless, after all it was easy to conjure fire, but Imogen knew she kept it for sentimental reasons.

Both girls rarely delved in too deep when talking about their families. For instance, all Verity knew of Imogen's family was that her mother is a fashion designer that splits her time between Italy and England, her father works at the Ministry in Foreign Affairs, and her baby sister is homeschooled due to poor health. Likewise, all Imogen knew of Verity's family was that her mother was murdered when she was three, her father is a high-ranking Auror, and she has a batshit crazy aunt who Verity hates with every fiber of her being.

Imogen had met Alexander Finch a handful of times, each meeting shorter than the last, and even if she hadn't known that the two were father and daughter, she would've been able to put it together by the enigmatic air that cloaked them both.

Even the way they communicated was enigmatic. Verity's father never sent letters to the owlery, but instead to this very tree they sat under. Imogen wasn't sure why he did that, only that it was something Verity was accustomed to and so Imogen had become accustomed to it as well. Even if she wasn't expecting a letter, Verity tended to come out here just to think, away from the always present chaos in the castle.

Verity's legs are drawn to her chest, her uniform skirt having been swapped out for plain black pants, her chin resting on her knees as she continues the soothing motion. The charmed dragon Cedric had given her (named Atlanta but commonly called Sparky) is curled on her shoulder, fast asleep, blue sparks flickering out of its nostrils every time it breathed.

Flick-woosh-click.

"Any particular reason why you were looking for me?" Her friend asks softly, gaze trained on the wavering flame.

The letter in her pocket suddenly weighs much, much more than it should as Imogen looks at Verity. This close she can see the bruised crescent moons under her eyes from lack of sleep, shoulders curled inwards, lips tilted down as though that was their natural state now.

For a split second she considers lying, but Imogen hated lying and Verity hated liars.

"Yes."

Flick-swoosh-click.

"Are you going to tell me?"

Imogen doesn't respond right away, weighing the pros and cons of sharing the letter with Verity in her mind, "Not today. Tomorrow, maybe."

Because the last thing she wanted to do was be the reason Verity finally burned out. Her friend was already stretched fairly thin and Imogen wasn't. As much as she wanted to talk it out with someone, she could shoulder this burden alone for the time being if it meant giving Verity a much needed break.

Flick-swoosh-click.

"Did your father send you a letter?" Imogen asks.

"Not yet," Verity replies softly, "I'm still waiting."

"Dinner is soon," Imogen reminds her.

"I'm going to get something from the kitchens later," she pauses, then, "are you hungry?"

Flick-swoosh-click.

"Yes," Imogen answers honestly, "but I'll wait with you."

"You don't have to do that." Verity says, as if she doesn't already know it's impossible to get Imogen to do anything she doesn't want to do.

"I know. I want to."

The ghost of a smile brushes across Verity's lips.

Flick-woosh-click.

Imogen settles back against the tree, crossing her legs on top of one another, tilting her head back to stare up at the space between the barren branches criss-crossing overhead. The sunset burnt sky stares back.

Side by side, the girls wait underneath the vibrant sky that is slowly swallowed by inky jaws of night.

Flick-woosh-click.

A letter never comes.

thanks for reading!

let me know what you think :)