I always thought Wednesdays were dull—too far from the weekend to care, too close to Monday to pretend. So naturally, the only cure for that kind of boredom is mischief.
We were lounging near the courtyard steps, me, Blaise, Matt Avery, and Mulciber, all stretched out like we owned the place. Technically, we did. No one crossed the Slytherin lot unless they had a death wish or zero self-preservation. Gryffindors knew better. Hufflepuffs stayed underground like moles. And Ravenclaws? Smart little birds—they kept their heads down. Most of the time.
“Oi,” Matt nudged me, “you see that one? The little Ravenclaw thing?”
I lifted my gaze lazily, cigarette unlit between my fingers. She was walking with her books tucked under one arm, head tilted slightly like she was counting the leaves on the stone wall. New, for sure. I would’ve remembered her—round face, thick lashes, legs too short for those clunky school shoes, and that ridiculous soft blue cardigan that didn’t match the uniform.
Pretty. Too pretty for Hogwarts. Or for this side of the courtyard.
Blaise smirked. “You’re staring, Nott.” “Just bored.” “She’s got that wide-eyed, lost-owl look,” Avery grinned, already rising to his feet. “Let’s go say hi.”
I didn’t stop them. I never do.
Mulciber called out something cruel—“Hey, Ravenclaw! You drop your dignity back there?”—before Matt reached her, yanking her bag off her shoulder. She stumbled, tried to hold on to her books, and fell straight onto the stone steps. Her skirt caught on the edge, tearing at the hem.
She looked up, flushed, blinking rapidly—and then the tears came. Fast and quiet. No shouting. No screams. Just the kind of silence that makes your chest feel like it’s caving in.
I don’t know what made me stop walking, but I did.
“She’s crying, mate,” Blaise said casually, beside me. “No shit,” I muttered, watching her pick herself up. She didn’t even look at us as she left, just clutched her bag to her chest and ran like hell toward the Ravenclaw Tower.
“Didn’t peg you for the sensitive type,” Matt joked, elbowing me. “I’m not. I just think your idea of humor is stale.”
They laughed it off. We went to dinner. I didn’t eat.
By nightfall, I was on the Astronomy Tower, back against the cold stone wall, legs stretched out and cigarette between my lips. The wind was sharp, but I didn’t mind. It felt like something I deserved.
I lit the end, inhaled slowly, and exhaled through my nose. Smoke curled around the moonlight.
Smoking’s a terrible habit. Mum used to hate it—said it made me look like my father. I started the week after her funeral.
I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Thought you wouldn’t show,” I said without turning.
Her voice was quiet. “How did you know I would?”
I shrugged. “Ravenclaws love towers. You people are predictable.” I turned my head, taking her in properly. She looked the same, but smaller at night. Paler. Her eyes still red from crying. “Besides,” I added, flicking ash over the side, “I left something for you.”
I nodded toward the small brown bag resting beside me.
She hesitated—probably thinking it was a prank—and then slowly approached, keeping a good two feet of space between us. Smart girl. She opened the bag carefully and pulled out the skirt. Same cut. Same color. New.
Her eyes widened. “Why would you…?”
I stood and rolled my shoulders. “I didn’t want to listen to you sniffling all through dinner tomorrow. It’s pathetic.”
She blinked. “You’re unbelievable.”
“That’s what they tell me,” I said with a smirk, flicking the end of my cigarette. “Look, don’t make this a big thing, alright? I’ll deny everything.”
“I didn’t even thank you,” she muttered.
“Good,” I said, walking past her. “Let’s keep it that way.”
But as I reached the top of the stairs, I paused and looked over my shoulder. Her fingers were gripping the fabric like it was a lifeline.
“Hey,” I added, tone softer, like a secret. “Don’t let people like Mulciber see you cry again. They feed off it.”