Reciting Cupids
Soon, January turned into February. Hogwarts was covered in pink fluttering decorations due to a certain Defense teacher. Don’t take it wrong, you enjoyed pink here and there, but Lockhart went ham on Valentine’s Day decorations.
It was lunchtime when you sat at the Gryffindor table, finding a snug spot between the twins as they munched on crisps from one of the bowls there. You stole a few and listened in on a prank they were aiming to pull in honor of today. Valentine’s Day.
In the feeling of festivities, Lockhart had thought it a good idea to redecorate all of Hogwarts as a morale booster in these tragic times. It could’ve been a good idea, had it not been for the obnoxious amount of pink and elaborate decorations. He had even managed to recruit dwarves and dressed them up as cupids, free for the students to use so that they could send each other romantic poems.
It was a load of bollocks, but luckily for the four of you, this meant entertainment. You, Lee, and the twins had rounded up quite a few cupids and framed each one with poems for certain victims, many of them written so cheesy you could drown in it.
“Did you manage to get a hold of a dwarf?” Fred asked, a sparkle in his eye as he watched you.
You couldn’t hold back a smile as you nodded your head. “Took me a while to find one we hadn’t recruited, but I gave him the poem, it’s just a matter of when he’ll find our victim.”
George couldn’t help but scoff playfully. He was busy writing some notes down on a journal as he reached for another handful of crisps. “Wonder how he’ll react.”
“He’ll probably assign us detentions… or just me,” you said while resting your chin on your palm. “When is he — I think this is it!”
You bumped the boys with your elbow and watched as the cupid-dressed dwarf approached the Potions professor at the high table. The professors joining for lunch looked perplexed and Snape’s face was priceless: pure horror. The cupid pulled out its harp and struck an inharmonious chord before it recited:
Black, piercing, and cold
Heed warning for his glaring eyes scold
Stern, he is, in class where students are
Wicked his hair would be, whipping while playing guitar
Dramatic he moves, he walks, he sways
With a flick and a twirl along the lone castle hallways
Careful should he tread if he is unable to shake from his tail
The four pranksters that hide, for no one knows the mischief that will entail
Some of the professors giggled at the poem, amused by the message in it. It read like a warning, a playful warning from the Scarlet Fiends that pranks would only increase from now on.
His face remained stoic, not allowing himself to reveal just how much the poem truly amused him. It was well written, however, he did not find it amusing how he was mocked for the way his cloak floundered about behind him. The softest of smirks played coy on his lips, but he covered that up by taking a sip from his goblet.
“Hilarious,” he drawled, his dark eyes finding yours. It wasn’t difficult really, the only ones laughing hysterically were you and the scarlet trio (a few Slytherins chuckled and a few braver Gryffindors did too). Snape pursed his lips annoyingly, a small twinkle in his eye evident. “In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I do believe a detention is in order.”
You wiped a tear from your eye, finally catching your breath. “I’ll take it, but just because I got you good.”
“You’ll be receiving half a week's detention,” he said as he rolled his eyes, but made sure he could be heard by the students in the Great Hall. “And five points from Slytherin. Don’t ever send me anything quite as repulsive as this ever again.”
- - - - -
Later that day was the Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match. At the moment, you were with your team, changing into uniform and doing a few warm-ups before entering the field.
“Lupin!” Flint’s heavy words dawned from the other side of the tent. “Where’s Pucey?”
You give him a quizzical look. “Adrian’s not here?”
At that, he returns the confused look. “You don’t know where he is?”
“He’s probably at the Slytherin trophy case again,” you explained, “he likes to take a stop there before every game, says it’s good luck.”
Flint shook his head, annoyed at the tardiness of one of his players. “Well he better show up soon or else he’ll owe me double the warm-ups next practice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said dismissively.
You were pulling on your protective gloves when a loud voice boomed outside of the tent. It sounded squeakishly similar to that of a certain Charms professor. The other Slytherins watched each other as his voice continued to echo. No one could quite hear what he was saying, but you didn’t have to wonder for much longer.
Clad in black as always, Snape walked into the tent. The moment he pushed aside the tent’s curtain Professor Flitwick’s voice echoed out loud “— this match has been cancelled.”
As soon as you heard those words, you knew something was wrong — terribly wrong.
Before anyone could ask him anything, he spoke. “The Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match has been cancelled. I’m here to escort you all back to your dormitories as soon as possible.”
Flint watched him carefully, ready to respond, but Corry beat him to the punch. “Cancelled? You can’t just cancel our match, we’ve been working hard for this game!”
Snape’s piercing eyes met yours for a split second, something in them almost seemed… apologetic? You didn’t know if it was because he quickly snapped his eyes towards Corry. “I’m afraid I can cancel your match. Students are being escorted back to their common rooms. Another student’s been attacked.”
The Slytherin team tensed in shock but didn't ask for more details. They know that they’ll be debriefed soon and should follow their head of house back to their dorm. You’re about to leave with the others when you’re stopped by Snape. His arm in front of you keeps you steady and leads you back inside the tent. You stare at him in confusion.
“Professor? Is something the matter?”
He says nothing for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating whether to tell you then and there or wait. He decides to tell you now. He decides to rip it off like a bandaid, quick and perhaps painful, but —
“The student who was attacked was Mr. Pucey.”
The world drains of color and spins quickly, then slowly. It felt as if you’d been smothered by a pillow or tossed into the cold depths of the Black Lake — you didn’t know how to react. You stumble but quickly regain your footing. “What do you mean Adrian’s been petrified?”
He hums softly, wondering how to approach the topic. “He was found next to the trophy display, petrified. I know this comes as a shock, but you need to —”
“Can I see him?” You asked painfully. The burning in your throat worsened as you tried not to cry.
“I advise not seeing your classmate under such circumstances.”
“Please, professor! I need to see him — does Solaris know?”
The look in his eye told you all you needed to know. She wasn’t made aware yet, Snape was probably hoping for you to tell her, he doesn’t do well with emotional teenagers and Solaris was a whole other kind of emotional.
You ground your teeth before hurriedly running out of the tent, still clothed in your quidditch robes. You didn’t have the time nor the patience to change out of them. You just had to run to the hospital wing as quickly as you could. In your haste to leave the tent, you nearly bumped into someone — Solaris.
Solaris was at the entrance of the tent, her eyebrows knit close from confusion. “Hey, I heard the match got cancelled — what happened?”
“We need to go to the hospital wing,” you said without sparing another glance at her. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t look her in the eye.
She followed you, not skipping a beat when you told her where the two of you had to go. “Infirmary? Are you okay — are you hurt?”
You shook your head. “No — no, I’m fine, but —” You couldn’t formulate much more after that, even as Solaris hounded you to explain what in Merlin’s beard was going on. “Adrian — something’s happened to Adrian.”
A second passes and you realize that the two of you are sprinting towards the castle. The run towards the infirmary felt long, winding, and treacherous. Every step that sounded from either of you echoed emptily in your mind. How could this have happened? Adrian wasn’t muggle-born; sure his mother was a muggle, but his father was a full-on wizard — that made him a half-blood. So why was he attacked?
The doors to the infirmary opened without a sound. Even if you had thrown them as hard as you could, Pomfrey had charmed them to do so in order to not disturb her patients while resting. Of course, she had her own way of knowing who entered and exited out of the room, but that wasn’t something on your mind at the moment.
The infirmary was quiet. There were a few beds that were curtained off and isolated. There were three of them: one for Colin, one for Justin, another one for Sir Nicolas, and the last…
You ignored her comment but beckoned for her to follow you. From scent alone, you knew which curtain he was hidden behind. Carefully, you peeled back the curtain. There, laying solid as stone, laid Adrian; his arm outstretched as if he had been peering into something. Knowing where he was at the time of the attack, he was probably looking at the trophy inside the display case. A sharp gasp sounded beside you.
“Adrian!” Solaris shouted as she approached the rigid body of the third member of your trio. She grabbed hold of his shoulder and immediately cried at the contact.
He was rigid — stone cold.
He looked dead… almost.
You gulped, your throat having gone dry from the sight. This shouldn’t have happened, none of this should have happened.
- - - - - -
You awake with a soft shake from your shoulder. Unbeknownst to you, a growl escaped from under your breath, tired and stressed from the situation at hand. The person seemed to have heard it. Their hand retracted for a second but was cautiously placed back. You sheepishly shrugged the hand off of your shoulder and were about to go back to sleep when you heard a familiar voice.
“Y/N? Wake up, it’s evening,” you heard George say as he shook you softly.
Evening? But last time it was a few hours shy of noon. You blink the dimming light of the sunset out of your eyes as you register where you were. The hospital wing… You were still holding onto Adrian’s wrist. The faint heartbeat was the saving line keeping you from falling into a spiral. Fred’s voice snaps you away from your thoughts.
“Dinner’s almost over, maybe you should come down and grab something before it’s late.”
“I’m not hungry,” you said defensively. The severity of all of this suppressed any kind of hunger, even if your stomach growled (which it was) you couldn’t stomach the idea of eating while your friend couldn’t.
“Y/N.” George’s voice was soft yet stern. You were already dreading the talk he was going to give you. “You have to eat, we know you don’t like eating much before matches so you must be starving. Please, even if it’s a small bowl of roasted potatoes or something,” he cooed as he rested a hand on your back, “for Adrian’s sake, he wouldn’t want you skipping meals because of him.”
This was unhealthy and you knew it, so you nodded without much more of an argument and slowly let go of Adrian’s wrist. George guided you away from the bed and closed the curtain before leaving for the hall. You couldn’t help but loop your arms around the twins’ arms as the three of you continued to walk. Their comforting senses helped you take your mind off of Adrian’s cold and muted one. The entire infirmary stank of it and you were desperate to get rid of that scent. Luckily for you, the twins didn’t complain about your taking of their arms, they just let you.