Chapter 2
The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.
— Plato
They sat in a dark, secluded corner of the library; Emmeline at one end of the table, Caradoc at the other. Emmeline let her eyes slide over the letter, her eyebrows creeping further and further up on her forehead as she read.
Dear Mary Macdonald,
I think you’re really beautiful. But even if you were a minger, I’d still want to know you. Because you are smart and kind too. It’s hard to find a girl that is all those things in one. But even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into you. But you’re all three, just to be clear.
She looked up from the letter, confused. “What is this?” she asked Caradoc in a whisper, pointing at the first paragraph.
“Well,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “she’s like… all three.”
Emmeline shook her head. “Thanks for clarifying.” She turned her attention back to the parchment.
About me. I’m very handsome. Some people think I’m the handsomest one in the entire school, besides maybe that Sirius Black bloke. Anyways, that doesn’t matter. All I’m trying to say is that I like butterbeer and pumpkin pasties. I especially like to dip my pumpkin pasties into my butterbeer. Is that weird? It’s proper scrummy. Would you like to try that with me sometime? At the Three Broomsticks?
Owl me back. If you want. Whenever.
Cheers, Caradoc Dearborn.
This was the worst thing she’d ever read. “So,” she said, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth, trying to figure out how exactly she was supposed to voice her opinion without gravely insulting Caradoc, “what you’re trying to say is—”
“—I’m in love with her,” he said. He looked at his hands, suddenly shy.
Emmeline was a little taken aback by that. “Oh, er— right, well… have you ever even spoken to her?”
“I’m not great with words.”
“But you know you ‘love’ her?” She raised her hands, putting air quotes around the word ‘love’.
“I know I think about her when I wake up, and when I’m playing Quidditch, and when I’m eating in the Great Hall, and when I’m falling asleep and when I’m—”
“—That just means you’re stubborn. Not that you’re in love,” Emmeline countered, watching him with a sceptical eye.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it’s love. Love makes you screwy. Don’t you get screwy?”
Yes. “No.” She went back to the letter, skimming it. Her eyes flew over the parchment as she muttered to herself, “This whole section needs— that butterbeer-pumpkin thing could work… maybe?” She crossed out a few lines and circled some words. “This desperately needs a dangling modifier.”
Emmeline felt Caradoc staring at her, taking her in. She looked up from the letter. “What?”
“I get it now,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Get what?”
“You’ve never been in love.” He crossed his arms victoriously, cocking his head.
She glared at him, screwing the top back onto her ink bottle before standing up and shoving the letter into his ribs.
“Ow!” he whined, staring at her with puppy eyes as he reluctantly took the letter from her.
“You want a letter about love? I’ll write you a bloody letter about love,” she said, trying to disguise her irritation with a forced smile.
“One that’ll make her fancy me, please. Not one that’ll make her storm off all huffy like you’re doing right now!”
“Yeah, yeah, Romeo. Got it,” she said over her shoulder.
“And who is this Romeo person you keep talking about?!”
After Prefect rounds with Benjy the following evening she returned to her dorm worn out and exhausted, ready to collapse onto her bunk and sleep for days. Just before her head hit the pillow her eyes fell onto her parchment and quill, and the promise she’d made Caradoc came floating back to her.
“Fuck’s sake,” she sighed, running both of her hands over her face and swinging her legs out from under the covers.
She spent a good portion of the night on the letter, scratching her quill along the parchment with such force it would tear. Usually words came fairly easy to her, but for some reason this time they hadn’t. Maybe it was because of the late hour, or the person she was writing to, but it took ages for her to write even a somewhat competent sentence, let alone something nice and romantic. After six failed attempts and eyelids so heavy they felt like lead, she’d finally written something she was satisfied with.
“Here you go,” she said the next morning as she sneakily handed Caradoc the letter at breakfast.
“You sealed it?”
She gave him an exhausted look.
“I’m sure it’s good,” he said hastily, noticing Emmeline’s tired eyes. “Thanks.”
She nodded, stood up, added: “Twenty sickles,” and walked back to her designated spot at the Hufflepuff table.
He saluted her. “Will do!” he exclaimed from a few seats over, cheeks filled with toast, spewing crumbs everywhere.
“Who’s that?” Benjy asked her as soon as she sat down next to him, swaying in his seat so he could get a better look at Caradoc.
“Caradoc Dearborn,” said Hestia, who was sitting next to a very downcasted Amelia. “Emmy’s boyfriend.” She winked at Emmeline.
“No. No, he’s not,” she countered immediately, giving Benjy a fleeting look. “I’m just— helping him with some homework… tutoring him, if you will.”
“You’re tutoring him?” Benjy asked, his eyes flickering back to Caradoc and his friends, who had now proceeded to chug sausages at one another.
“What?” Emmeline said in a mocking tone, “Are you jealous, Benjy? Do you, maybe, want to tutor him?”
“Wha— No.” He pulled his eyes away from Caradoc and shook his head vigorously. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she grinned, giving him a nudge.
“Hmpf.” He rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention back to his breakfast.
Emmeline stifled a laugh.
She was the only person who knew about Benjy… and, funnily enough, he was also the only person who knew about her. They’d told one another last year, during the Christmas holidays. Ever since a rumour had started going around Hogwarts that the two of them were dating, a pit filled with guilt and panic had opened up in her stomach, growing by the day, trying to swallow her whole. So, on Christmas morning, after breakfast in the Great Hall, she’d told him; nervous and scared, crossing her fingers that he’d understand.
He’d been quiet for a moment — after she’d told him, just staring at her with a blank look before bursting out laughing. She’d been incredibly frightened and confused by his reaction, convinced that their friendship would be over; that he’d never wanted to speak to her again. Until, in between fits of laughter, he’d told her that she didn’t need to worry about him, since he was, in fact, also gay.
After that conversation they’d only grown closer than they already were, which, ironically, had only sparked more dating rumours.
A day went by without a response from Mary and by the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around Emmeline had grown so anxious she’d started biting her nails again, a nasty habit she’d had as a little kid. Then, that evening, when she was studying for Transfiguration, trying to figure out how in Merlin’s balls she was supposed to transform a feather duster into a ferret, Caradoc came storming up to her.
“She wrote back!”
He was met with a lot of shushing and angry stares from surrounding students.
“Oops, sorry!” he whisper-yelled to them, which only made them shush harder.
She waved him over with her right hand, putting her left index finger up to her lips to signal him to be quiet.
“She wrote back!” he said again, excitement pouring out of him.
“All right, all right,” she said softly, “be quiet. Pince is going to throw us out if you keep being so noisy.”
“Oh, right.” He quietly tip-toed over to her and sat down on an empty chair. “She wrote back,” he said for the third time, though this time barely a whisper. He handed her the letter, his grin so wide and vibrant he seemed to be bursting with liquid sunshine.
She quickly unrolled the parchment. Mary’s response was short, just one sentence:
I like Aristotle too. Wouldn't have plagiarised him though.
It took a second or two for her response to sink in, even though it was right there, in front of Emmeline’s eyes, larger than life. Then, without consciously noticing the shift, her lips stretched into a grin and her eyebrows arched for the sky. She read it again and again, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Who was this girl?
“Who’s Aristotle? And why’d you cheat off him?!” Caradoc’s voice snapped next to her.
She didn’t look up from the letter, still wearing the same smile. “I didn’t cheat off—”
“I know what plagiarism means,” he said indignantly, as if she was questioning his vocabulary. Caradoc stared her down, the silence filled by the occasional coughing or flipping of pages from nearby students. “What did you say to her?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.
“I— I kind of cheated off of him,” Emmeline admitted sheepishly, eyes travelling over Mary’s curvy handwriting again. “Though I’d say I quoted him, not plagiarised him.”
“What did you say?!” he pressed on.
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies,” she quoted, “But I didn’t think she’d know—”
“I paid you!” Caradoc exclaimed, cutting her off.
“This is good, though,” she said, ignoring the deadly glare a nearby Ravenclaw student was shooting at them.
He was a little taken aback by that. “What?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “How?”
Yeah. How? “Er— it’s like… a game. She— She’s challenging us,” Emmeline explained, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth, trying not only to convince Caradoc, but also herself.
“She’s… challenging us?” He gave her a confused look, repeating her own words back to her.
She nodded. “Yes. She’s challenging us… in a good way.”
“So we’re still in… the game?”
“Yes. Mhm. We are. So, yay,” she smiled nervously, offering him a weak fist bump in a desperate attempt to appear excited instead of anxious.
He gave her a once over before slowly bumping his fist against hers. “So, twenty sickles?”
She nodded, shoved the letter into her robe pocket and turned her attention back to her studies, attempting to read the same passage for the twelfth time, hoping that Caradoc would take the hint. He didn’t.
“You can go now,” she said after a little while, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she looked up at him. “We’re done here.”
“Oh, right. I just— I thought… maybe we could hang out?”
“Oh,” Emmeline said, sitting up straight and folding her hands in her lap, suddenly very self conscious about her attitude. “Er— yeah, sure. If you want.”
He beamed at her. “Great!”
“But no fuss! I really need to figure this thing out,” she said, pointing to the Transfiguration textbook that was sprawled open before her. “I can’t seem to get it.”
“Oh,” said Caradoc, cocking his head and giving her a curious look. “I thought you always got high marks for— well… everything.”
She sighed, letting her forehead rest in the palms of her hands. “Yeah, no. Maybe when we were first years, but now? With our O.W.L’s coming up, Prefect duties, Quidditch, band? I just— Nowadays I need to work my arse off to get a passing grade. And my parents…” she trailed off.
Silence drifted back around them, charging the air with whatever silent thoughts they were working on alone.
“Er, well— Join the club, eh?” Caradoc said eventually, in an attempt to cheer her up.
It didn’t, but she appreciated the effort.
He gave her a warm, genuine smile and pulled out the chair next to her, closing more than just the physical distance between them.
Wednesday night’s rain had washed the castle clean. Nowhere was the wetness more noticeable than in the verges of the cobblestone-layed courtyard, and when the early morning sun streamed its light onto the puddles it was as if the earth was lightning up from within.
Emmeline was perched against an open arch, her back to it with her legs straight out in front of her, ankles crossed. She had her notebook in her lap, but her head was turned to watch the hustle and bustle of students moving about in the courtyard, on their way to their first lessons of the day.
“All right, see you at lunch?”
Emmeline followed the sound of Amelia’s voice and watched as her friend waved a goodbye to a certain Slytherin girl she knew to be Emma Vanity, before crossing the courtyard to make her way towards the greenhouses for their Herbology class.
Ever since Emmeline had walked in on Amelia and Emma she’d started picking up on these small exchanges between the two of them; the longing stares, fleeing touches and even the occasional wink or comment as they passed each other in the hallways. It was as if the two of them had stepped straight out of a romance novel; all warmth, glorious smiles and butterflies.
She was happy for Amelia, grateful that she’d found her person. Even if that person was someone as high-struck and rigid as Emma Vanity.
“Guess opposites really do attract,” she murmured to herself as she lowered her eyes to her notebook, suddenly inspired.
Dear Mary,
Okay, you got me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, those people are published. For another… I know nothing about love.
The bell rang and Emmeline closed her notebook, swung her bag across her shoulder and followed Amelia down to Herbology.
She joined the group of chatting Hufflepuff and Gryffindor fifth-years that were waiting outside the greenhouses. “Whatcha reckon we’re gonna have to deal with today?” asked Erwin Prosser, a blonde-haired Gryffindor.
“Dunno, but it better not be more of those Venomous Tentacula’s!” someone responded. “One of them foul plants bit me last time! Madame Pomfrey had to sew one of my fingertips back on, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Lucky you, then!” came the upbeat voice of Professor Sprout from behind. “We’ll be working in greenhouse six today, chaps, so no Venomous Tentacula’s.” A murmur of relief spread through the yellow- and red-robed students as Professor Sprout took a large, brass key from her belt and unlocked the door, ordering the students inside: “Four to a tray! There is a large supply of gloves here— Compost is in the sacks over there.”
As the students piled inside the greenhouse, Emmeline caught a whiff of the familiar scent of damp earth and fertiliser mingling with the heavy perfume of the giant, umbrella-sized flowers that dangled from the ceiling.
Doris Purkiss and Daisy Hookum, the two other girls Emmeline shared a dormitory with, had already taken their place next to Amelia at their assigned tray. A prickle of nervous energy crawled up the back of Emmeline’s neck at the sight of them.
“Hi,” she said in a small voice as she slipped onto the wooden stool.
“‘Morning!” Daisy said enthusiastically. “What do you think today’s class is going to be about? I really hope we’re going to cover Flutterby Bushes. They smell so wonderful.”
“Hm, sure. That’d be great,” Emmeline muttered absentmindedly, her focus entirely somewhere else. Amelia shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to her, eyes set strictly to her hands.
“Good morning class! Notice any particularly enticing smells today? I know what you're thinking, but no, I'm not trying out a new perfume. What you're smelling is the subject of today's lesson... the Flutterby Bush!”
Daisy let out an excited squeal.
“So, let's start with a practical overview of caring for the Flutterby Bush," Sprout continued, grabbing some tools from the workbench next to her and explaining how these could help them take care of the plant.
Emmeline promptly turned to Amelia. “Amelia, I—”
“I’m sor—” Amelia started at the same time as Emmeline. They both stopped abruptly and made small, incohesive gestures for the other to continue.
“Well, I—”
“I was—” They both stopped again, grins working themselves onto their faces.
“You go first,” Emmeline said eventually.
Amelia gave a small nod. “I’m just really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been— or, be so cold towards you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t ready for anyone to find out about… well, me.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, brows knitting together as she let the last word escape her lips.
Emmeline felt her heart jump to her throat. “Oh, Ames,” she said quietly, just now noticing the deep purple circles under her friend’s eyes. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days. Craters lined her lips from all the hours spent biting on them, her skin was pale and her hands unable to stay still; constantly fidgeting in her lap or with her sleeve.
Until now, Emmeline had only noticed the positive; the blooming love that was growing between the two girls, while her friend had been drowning in fear.
“Em?” the other girl asked, interrupting Emmeline’s train of thought, her voice sounding right and panicked, like it had outgrown her throat and was about to break into two.
“Right, sorry,” Emmeline said, figuring that Amelia must be feeling positively queasy after trusting her with such a personal secret. “I’m just… figuring out how—”
“Oh, all right,” Amelia interrupted her, “I— I understand why you wouldn’t—”
“What? No! That’s not— no.” She shook her head. “No,” she said again, hardening her voice. “That’s not it.” Dread rolled up in her throat, thick and solid as cold gravy fat. She took a large breath, forcing herself to be brave, and said: “I know what you’re going through. I understand. I understand on a personal level.”
Amelia didn’t respond, but her face said everything she couldn’t: her eyes widened and her eyebrows raised, lines disturbing her smooth forehead.
“We’re the same, you and I.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
A quietness settled over them, a quietness that wasn’t the absence of sound, it was its own living thing, bouncing in between the two of them, muting the chatter of surrounding students.
“Are you okay?” Emmeline asked eventually, practically whispering, anything else would feel too loud in the fragile space that was built up around them.
“Yes,” she responded softly, turning to smile at Emmeline, eyes glazing in that way they did.
“Okay. Good.” She returned the smile, not knowing what to say without sounding like a total mush, so she pivoted back to their Herbology lesson, heart settling comfortably back into her chest.
A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbed the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors headed in the other direction, down the sloping lawn for Care of Magical Creatures.
“Emmeline, wait up!” Someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned and was greeted by Caradoc’s toothy smile. “Hiya,” he said, enthusiastically pushing himself in between Emmeline and Doris, who scowled at him as she let herself be strayed sideways, making room for the flamboyant boy.
“Oh, hello.” She slowed to a stop, signalling to her roommates that she’d catch up with them in a second. Daisy and Doris exchanged a confused look before being ushered along by Amelia, who simply nodded at her.
“So, er— what’s up, Caradoc?” she said, stepping out of the way so a different group of Hufflepuffs could make their way up to the castle.
He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair and said: “Can we talk?”
Emmeline quirked an eyebrow. “We’re talking right now?”
“Well— yes, but I mean in private. About, y’know…” His honey-coloured eyes darted nervously around the grounds before leaning forward and whispering “Mary Macdonald,” into her ear, his warm breath tickling her cheek.
“All right, all right.” She chuckled and gave him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “How about one of the empty classrooms on the fourth floor? During lunch?”
Caradoc nodded eagerly, smiling so broadly the corners of his mouth seemed to reach his ears. “Cheers!” he said as he sprinted off to join his friends Edgar Bones and Dirk Cresswell, who were waiting for him at the top of the steps. The boys embraced him in a friendly manner when he caught up to them; slapping him on the back and grinning madly.
“This is such a downer,” Caradoc said as he lowered the parchment, giving her an unimpressed look.
“It’s not a downer!” Emmeline exclaimed, crossing her arms defiantly. She was actually rather proud of what she’d written.
“Yes it is! Just ask her to hang out or something.”
Emmeline paused. “What exactly do you mean by ‘hanging out’?”
“Y’know… hanging out,” he responded, raising his eyebrows at her as if she was asking the dumbest question imaginable.
She huffed. “Ugh, you know perfectly well what I mean.”
“Oh!” he said, chuckling. “No, no. I’m not talking about—”
The door to the abandoned classroom swung open with a loud *BANG*, making both Caradoc and Emmeline jump. Two people stumbled into the room, woven tightly together in a passionate kiss. Emmeline cringed slightly. They obviously hadn’t checked to see if the room was occupied before storming in and aggressively attacking one another’s mouth, making this into a very strange situation.
She raised her eyebrows at Caradoc as if to ask “What do we do?”
He murmured an “I don’t know,” to her, shrugging, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
Emmeline grumbled. She wasn’t just going to sit there and watch the two of them deepthroat one another with their tongues. Caradoc however… he seemed to be enjoying himself greatly, the caramel skin around his eyes crinkling with laughter as one of them started moaning.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered after a few minutes. This was excruciating to watch. She’d rather be tortured by the bloody cruciatus curse than endure another second of this misery.
“All right, that’s enough,” she said loudly, raising her hands and shaking her head.
The couple stiffened, one of them let out a high pitched shriek as their eye fell on Caradoc and Emmeline, the other simply froze. Caradoc waved sheepishly at them, still smiling.
“You’ve made your point,” she went on, “you desperately want to strangle each other with your tongues — which is fine, I applaud you, even — but please do so in private.”
They quickly let go of one another. Now that they were no longer feeling each other up Emmeline recognised the two people almost immediately. One of them had black hair that curled graciously to his shoulders, piercing grey eyes and a nose ring. His tie was undone and he’d missed a few buttons on his shirt.
His counterpart had shaggy, wavy brown hair, freckled cheeks and golden eyes that matched the colour of his skin.
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.
Caradoc had also figured out who the snogging strangers were. “Wait! You’re that Sirius Black bloke!” he practically yelled, jumping up from his seat in the corner of the room and walking towards them.
“Er— yeah,” Sirius said, quickly buttoning his shirt and redoing his tie.
Caradoc gave him a quick once over before cocking his head. “Everyone’s overreacting, you’re not that handsome.” His gaze shifted towards Remus, who looked like he wanted to commit murder and die at the same time.
“Lupin, however…”
Remus’ eyes widened with pure disbelief while Sirius let out a disapproving grunt.
For a moment no one spoke until Emmeline couldn’t take it anymore. “All right, bye now. Lovely meeting you. See you around. Bye, bye, then.” And she shoved the two boys out of the classroom.
“Well that was a bit rude,” Caradoc commented as she closed the door in their faces.
“Yeah, well maybe they can exchange some more saliva. That ought to make them feel better.”
“I thought it was quite hilarious.”
“I figured that much.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain a smile. “So, about this letter…” she sighed. “I’ll try to make it less melancholic.”
Caradoc smiled broadly at her. “Yes, yes! Thank you!”
“—But,” Emmeline added quickly, “I’m not promising anything. I am a deeply melancholic person, being optimistic is not in my nature.”
“I’ll take it!” Caradoc leaped forward to hug her, but just before he reached her he faltered, staring down at her with a puzzling look.
She chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Come ‘ere.” And he flew into her arms.
Dear Mary,
Okay, you got me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, those people are published. For another… I know nothing about love.
I hang out with my friends. I play Quidditch. I’m a simple guy… Which is to say… If I knew what love was I would quote myself.