Serpentarium

DRAGON BREATH
The next three weeks pass with much of the same. Lucy spends every moment possible with the Slytherins, cataloging every conversation and sifting through the memories as she lays in bed at night, searching for clues and signs. She tries to find it amusing when her presence seems to drain the Gryffindor common room of all mirth, which they have plenty of thanks to the tournament buzz. Tries and fails. She avoids George in every way possible, not even able to meet his gaze on the many occasions as she feels it bore into her.

Oftentimes, when she can’t sleep after hours of thinking, she remembers how tightly he held onto her and how insisted that she is not alone. That is how she is finally able to fall asleep, imagining that he is holding her and repeating the words he spoke over and over.

And over.

The morning of the first task in the Triwizard Tournament, Lucy makes her way to the Forbidden Forest, icy hands tucked into her coat pockets. A Gryffindor-colored scarf bundles her neck in warmth, but still the late November air holds a chill that her tired bones can’t seem to shake. She is painfully aware of her Gryffindor-ness as Snape passes by, scowling at said scarf. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as disapproving if he knew how good of a show she had put on the day before during a weekend trip to Hogsmeade, in which she seemed as much as a part of Slytherin as Draco Malfoy. She had even found a small window of access into Malfoy’s life by slightly befriending the untrusting Pansy Parkinson, offering a greatly needed tutoring session to the concerned girl.
Sensitive to cold, she decided to brave wearing the Gryffindor stripes rather than suffering through however long this Triwizard Tournament task would take. Still, she hopes that her black, fitted, turtleneck jumper and chunky black boots will offset the cheery colors.

Before returning to Hogwarts, she had used a small allowance of the money her parents left her to buy casual clothes more fitting to the persona she is trying to achieve. Because of this, gone are her cheery, patched dungarees and multicolored knitted jumpers, the latter given graciously by Molly Weasely. Gone are the muggle graphic t-shirts and muggle mood ring that her mother had gifted her for her 16th birthday. They rest with her photo albums and muggle vinyl record collection in a trunk at Snape’s residence in Spinner’s End.

Students from all houses, some still dressed in their school robes, some in muggle clothing, and some in non-Hogwarts robes, bustle past. Lucy focuses on her footsteps and on the crunch of crisp leaves underfoot and she finds herself wishing she could pile them up and crunch them under her booted foot; anything to let go some of the tightness in her limbs. The satisfying sound along with the air of excited chatter around lulls her into a daze.

She lets herself zone out and takes a sharp breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. The cold air stings, but she doesn’t mind. The sensation is a welcome distraction from the sound of Fred and George’s voices bellowing out amongst the crowd, taking bets and selling sweets and noisemakers from the boxes attached to their shoulders by leather belts. A small smile forms on her lips when she considers how angry Mrs. Weasley would be if she knew that they had repurposed their belts in such a way.
Lucy glances around, feigning a purposeless gaze before seeing her new Slytherin friends far up ahead. As if she had sensed Lucy looking, Mary turns and waves in that frantic way she does, beckoning Lucy to join her. She pastes a smile on her face as she walks briskly past Fred and George, crossing the fingers in her coat pockets in hope that neither says a word. Alas, the latter hurries behind her and stops her with a hand on the small of her back. Standing between Lucy and the waiting Slytherins, just as he always is, he removes his hand and gestures to his dwindled collection of magical sweets that fight back against the consumer or allow the consumer to briefly breath fire.

“Fancy a Pepper Imp? I highly recommend it. Especially after you see what the first task is,” he winks and offers that infectious smile that she adores.

Something in his eyes is just...wrong, though. Even with not seeing him in person for an extended amount of time, Lucy could never forget how his face lights up when he smiles, how tiny lines would appear in the corner of his eyes. She used to imagine him as
an adult with those lines deeper and with her standing at his side. But she can no longer dwell on such fairytales.

She wants to ask what is wrong. She wants to be helping him peddle his Pepper Imps and Sugar Quills and Licorice Wands. Instead, she stares up at him with as blank of an expression as she can muster.

“You know what the First Task is? How did you manage that?” she asks, hoping her voice holds an admonishing tone.

“Well, let’s just say Charlie is in town,” he replies, giving a wiggle of his eyebrows and a conspiratorial lean that makes the corner of her mouth tilt up.

Lucy, with her sharpening sneakery skills, already knows that the task will involve nesting dragons. There were a number of people poking about the Forbidden Forest, spying to find out what the First Task would entail. She had been simply another set of eyes amongst the adults and Harry Potter as they went searching for clues. As soon as she laid eyes on the magnificent creatures, she wanted to run to George and tell him all about their flames and horns and awe-inspiring fierceness. Instead, she retreated to
Gryffindor Tower and told no one.

George still stands there, looking directly into her eyes with unwavering attention.

“Got to go. See you,” she murmurs, maneuvering around him and catching up with Mary, Jessica, and Susan.

She forces herself not to look over her shoulder, but she doesn’t need to to know that George is watching her walk away.

“That Weasley bothering you?” Jess asks, waggling her eyebrows after weaving her arm into Lucy’s.

“Just trying to sell me something,” she answers nonchalantly, worrying that she talked with him too much, that she was seen with him too long.

“Stop your teasing, Jess,” Mary admonishes, “Lucy can still talk to Gryffindors. She is one, after all.”

“That she is,” says a dark voice from behind them.

The trio of girls jump at the sudden noise, but Lucy stays still, having already noticed Draco Malfoy standing close enough to hear their conversation.

“Must you always be sneaking up on people?!” Susan whines and huffs in Draco’s direction.

The group slows to a stop and Lucy surveys Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Mancer all standing like a posse of funeral goers, decked in blacks and expensive furs. Malfoy even sports silver rings on his fingers and matching silver buttons on his inky coat.

“Starting a boy band, are you?” she teases and Mancer, who she still thinks of as Gecko from time to time, is the only one to blush.

“And what on earth would that be?” Draco sneers, clearly not understanding such a muggle reference.

“Don’t worry your pretty little heads about it,” Lucy answers, saccharine-sweet, and pulls Jess along after turning her back on the boys.

Despite Snape’s warning to not get on Draco’s bad side, something about the way he carries himself, leader of a gaggle of future Death Eaters, slithers under her skin and rids her of better judgement.

Lucy can hear the boys whispering to Draco, but can’t make out the exact words over the sound of the excited crowd with their whirring and buzzing noisemakers. When they find seats in the stadium, Lucy feigns rapt interest in the girls’ conversation while scanning the crowd. She rubs her hands together to warm them, blowing warm air into them when the friction doesn’t help.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a hand to hold to warm us right up?” Susan sighs dramatically.

“Oh, please, Suz. You have had seven years at Hogwarts to find a nice Slytherin. Even with you fancying boys and girls you haven’t managed to stay in a relationship for more than a month,” Mary teases, nudging Susan with her shoulder.

“Ah, this is true. At least you two have stuck with me all seven years,” she grins and Lucy’s heart pangs with longing.

Being around them is nicer than she thought it would be, but sometimes their connection only makes her miss Fred, George, Angelina, and Lee even more.

“Hey, you alright?” Lucy hears Mary ask, but her voice is carrying to Lucy as if through a thick fog.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about my dad,” she answers, the lie feeling traitorous on her tongue.

The trio says nothing at that, only gazing at Lucy with such pity in their eyes that she cannot bring herself to meet their gaze for more than a moment.

“Well, who needs a hand to hold when you have this,” Jess flourishes her wand, casting, “Focillo!”

Lucy holds her hands closely to Jess’s dogwood wand and sighs at the warmth cascading lazily from the tip. The other girls follow suit, and soon they all are huddled together against the wind. Still analyzing, still calculating, Lucy’s eyes scan the stands, identifying the various clusters of people. Even with the student body all huddled so closely, the division is still obvious. And yet, two certain redheads weave through the crowd, selling wares to them all despite their houses or outfit choices. The only ones they seem to turn away are those sporting “Potter Stinks” buttons. As loyal as ever. Lucy watches them for a bit too long, piquing Jess’s apparent need to tease.

“So, you got a history with one of the Weasley twins? Or both of the Weasley twins?” she asks, giving a sly grin.

It takes no small amount of self-control to answer in a steady voice.

“We used to be friends, before I left for the States. It’s all ancient history now,” she explains, fighting the urge to gulp.

“Ancient history doesn’t look at you like that,” Suz whispers, pushing conspiratorially close to avoid anyone else hearing.

Lucy doesn't need to look over her shoulder to know what Suz means by “like that.” Though she can’t explain how, she can feel his gaze skimming over her body, but it doesn’t make her angry or annoyed. Instead, she daydreams of sitting next to him, huddled close against the chill with her arm woven in his until the action begins and they are jumping and cheering together, maybe even holding up a banner that was made for Harry. She can imagine him at her back, wrapping warm arms around her shoulders and resting his chin atop her head.

Lucy curses herself for taking too long to reply, lost in the daydream. Trying to regain composure, she takes a gamble on spilling a small part of her secret.

“He was my first kiss. Right before I left for America. I guess he expected to just pick up where we left off, but I’m not interested,” she lies with a sprinkle of truth, but that sprinkle isn’t enough to assuage the guilt.

“Uh-huh,” Jess answers, smirking.

“Look!” Mary squeals, her face lit with excitement as she points to the makeshift arena below.

Lucy can just make out a mop of red hair on a sturdy man amongst several men with outstretched wands, guiding a real-life, fully-grown dragon into the arena. She can’t help but gape and cheer along with the rest of the onlookers. She had already seen the fantastic beasts, but in the light of day, they are even more wondrous, even more of a juxtaposition of pure power and breathtaking beauty.

The sight of each Champion fighting through their tasks is single handedly the most exciting thing that she has ever seen. Residual heat from the dragons’ flames has her cheeks warm and pink. She cheers and claps indiscriminately alongside Mary, Jess, and Suz, letting the overwhelming noise wash over her senses. The four do not bother singling out support for Cedric Diggory alone, which at least half of the Slytherins are. Instead, they scream until they are hoarse for all of the Champions as they face dragons. Actual dragons. And when Harry Potter completes his task and the crowd is roaring with applause, she breathes deeply the smoky scented air and sighs, wishing that the moment would never end.
Lucy and her new little posse linger in the stands, watching as tents collapse down into neat piles of canvas and as Hagrid talks animatedly with a gaggle of dragon handlers. Dougal seems to keep sending chaste looks in her direction and just when she thinks that he might approach to say something spiteful, he surprises Lucy by stumbling up to Suz.

“Hey, Susan,” he smiles awkwardly, his sharp gaze cutting over to Lucy for only a second, as if he wishes he could stare her out of existence.

“Dougal! Hey,” Susan smiles warmly.

Lucy looks to Jess for some kind of nonverbal explanation and she only smirks before pulling her away from the pair.

“What’s that about?” Lucy asks, curious not out of need for intel, but rather as a friend.

“Well, our Suz apprenticed at the McTavish’s bakery this past summer and I think they had a little fling,” she whispers, weaving her arm through hers.

“Oh?” is all Lucy offers in response, considering that Dougal’s mother may not be his only weakness.

“Yeah. Suz won’t say anything about it, but I think that they were extra close, if you know what I mean.”

“Ohhhh,” Lucy answers, wondering why a Slytherin from an ancestral family would be allowed to work in a non-pure blood family’s bakery for an entire summer.

The giddy expression on Jess’s face falters a fraction, so Lucy tilts her head in curiosity and waits for more.

“Suz’s family is...uppity. They expect a lot from her. She’s never hidden who she is. Her parents don’t like it though. She has a lot of older siblings, so she mostly gets away with it, but during school breaks,” Jess’s voice trails off as Suz approaches.

“During school breaks my family enjoys finding somewhere else to be or somewhere else for me to be. I usually try to find somewhere to go to avoid their idea of a ‘constructive summer.’ I like baking, so I explained my situation to Mrs. McTavish and asked if I could work for them over the summer. So, I did,” Suz explained after catching the sheepish-looking Jess speaking of her.

“I’m --- I’m sorry that they feel that way,” Lucy offers, imagining how her own Mum would move the moon itself if it made Lucy feel happy and accepted.

“It is what it is. Soon, I’ll finish school and I’ll be able to leave all the shit behind,” Suz smiles warmly despite the glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

Lucy can only offer a nod as she takes Suz’s hand in hers and squeezes it gently before releasing it. Mary begins to chatter about Fleur’s charred skirt and how she hopes that Cedric’s face doesn’t scar, so Lucy lets her distracting chatter lull her away from the haunted look of sadness in Suz’s eyes.

When they reach the castle, Lucy mentally crosses her fingers, hoping that any of them will invite her to their common room. Only this time, it isn’t for spying purposes. The last thing she wants is to return to the Gryffindor common room, where she worries that her presence alone might dampen the festivities that she is sure Fred and George are planning. Alas, no one offers an invitation.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, she can hardly hear herself think over the boisterous merriment that fills every inch of the space. Grinning Gryffindors heave Harry onto their shoulders, chanting and raving, jostling him about. A small, eager boy with a camera has the room constantly alight with flashes while Fred and George spread around no small number of sweets and snacks.

Every bit of space in the common room is cluttered with cheering bodies and tables piled with food and drinks. Her eyes widen at the countless cakes, the flaggons of pumpkin juice, the trays of jam tarts, the mouthwatering custard creams, and the steaming sausage rolls. The common room had always smelled of cinnamon and woodfire to her, but now there is an extra sweetness in the air; perhaps the sweetness of victory.

She wonders for a moment if someone discovered a food replenishing charm, but it is simply that great of a volume of food. Not wanting to ruin anyone’s fun, Lucy attempts to stay unnoticed in the outskirts of the crowd, drinking in their happiness and wishing that she was jumping and laughing at their sides. She can so easily imagine being part of the swarm; can imagine writing a letter to her parents describing every little detail from the heat of the dragon’s fire and the smell of singe that filled the arena.
One of Lee’s Filibuster Fireworks buzzes by her head, making her jerk to the side to avoid the red sparks singing her hair. She can only grin, though, as she watches the rest of the fireworks light the ceiling of the common room like twinkling, night stars. Her eyes are drawn to Fred, who is wildly waving about his arms, retelling the events of the First Task as if everyone in the room hadn’t already seen it. The sight of him sends a pang of sadness through her that tightens in her chest.

Will I ever be able to look at them without feeling this?

Lucy is growing tired of it all; the avoiding, the lying, the things that she says and does to become this other version of herself. And she had only been at it for a few weeks. The mirth of the room wears off then and she yearns to be anywhere but there, anywhere but where she is constantly reminded of the intentional division from those she loves. Deciding to make her way to her dorm, she pauses at one of the tables and grabs a particularly delicious looking custard creme. Just as she is bringing it to her lips, a freckled hand reaches out and steals it.

“Hey!” she huffs in outrage before realizing that George is standing at her side.

“You don’t want to eat that, trust me,” he offers a sheepish grin and carefully places the treat back onto the tray.

“And why is that?” she asks, crossing her arms and forcing sourness into her tone.

His face falls slightly in response before he speaks.

“It’s a Canary Creme. Fred and I invented them. Just ask Neville over there.”

Indeed, where Neville had been standing moments ago, there is now a rapidly molting, yellow canary.

“Ah. Well...thanks,” she murmurs and turns to leave again, only to have her path blocked by George.

“Leaving the party already? You haven’t eaten anything, and Harry’ll open that egg soon,” he explains, speaking of the golden egg that Harry and the other champions procured during the dragon task.

Lucy avoids his pleading gaze for a moment, pretending to be enthralled by the painted banners hung about the room, before replying.

“How did you get all this food, anyway?” she asks.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten that secret passage that we found in our 2nd year. The one to the kitchens?”

“Ah, how could I forget,” she finds herself smiling at the memory, despite her faux devil-may-care demeanor.

Of course she remembers the hall of paintings and the fruit bowl portrait featuring the pear that gives way to a door handle when tickled. Of course she remembers that when they were younger, Lucy and George would sometimes sneak away together when Fred was annoying him. They would gorge themselves with hot chocolates and pastries, playing Exploding Snap or Wizard’s Chess until curfew came upon them or Fred appeared, whichever came first. They would laugh themselves silly in a way that only children can. Many a secret had been shared between the two during those late-night meetings.

“Stay for a bit. Have a little fun. You are always studying and tutoring. I won’t tattle to your new Slytherin friends,” he offers softly, reaching towards her only to stop short and bring his hand back to his side.

“This party is dull and the noise is annoying,” she bites out as coolly as possible, wanting to apologize immediately for the rude tone.

“Then why are you even here?” Ron asks, having approached without her realizing it.

Harry, who Lucy noticed had reconciled with his Weasley, stands nearby, looking as if this conversation is the last thing he wants to be involved in.

“Good question,” she answers before turning on her heel and ascending the stairs.

She despises turning her back on them, making them feel like they are inconsequential when they are so far from it. Even though her heart is racing and guilt is riding her, she doesn’t turn back, only rushes to her room and collapses into bed. She doesn’t
bother changing her clothes or grabbing a quick shower. She simply curls up under the covers and reminds herself of what Dumbledore said.

“This is your chance to make a small change towards the light.”