Year 3 | Rewarded

The cold late summer breeze blew on my face as I walked out of the Owlery. The fresh September air smelled of leaves and damp grass. I had just sent a letter home and was now marching towards the Castle. The West Tower (where the Owlery stood) was always quite the hike to get to and back from the Castle. I never understood why they didn't connect the two from the start. Regardless, I found my way back to the Great Hall to eat supper.

As I walked down between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, a hand grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back. I faced my right to the Ravenclaw table, where Amirah Flowers was smiling sweetly at me.

"I have a few things for you," she said, reaching down inside her bag. She pulled out two large dark-coloured, and old-looking books. One of which was hard-covered and another of which was soft-covered. Amirah gave them both to me.

Moste Potente Potions read on the hard-covered book and Complex but Possible Potions on the soft-covered one.

"Amirah," I said, incapable of stopping this stupid grin from spreading on my face. "Thank you so much!"

"We can talk about how I got this later," she said, smirking with pride. "We've got some eavesdropping Ravenclaws around here, so... toodles."

I wasn't sure what "toodles" meant, or if I had even heard correctly, but judging by Amirah's wave and her suddenly turning back to her plate, I understood it as a "see you later" and went on my way.

Jamieson Lancaster sat with his friends, his fellow S4. I felt a stronger urge to sit with them than anywhere else near Malfoy, right by the end of the table, so I did. I flumped into the seat next to James, placing the two large books next to the plate where no one was seated or eating.

James glanced at me dismissively but then looked at me again with urgency, seemingly realizing who I was.

"You've got it?" he asked in a hopeful tone.

"Yeah, but it's in my dorm," I said, filling my plate with food. "Hey, don't touch that."

Wyatt Nye was seated across from me, reaching for my potion books on the table. He ignored my telling him not to do so and grabbed the Moste Potente Potions book on top.

"How'd you get this?" he asked, flipping through the pages. "This shit is fucked." I reached forward and snatched the book out of his hands.

"Doesn't matter," I said and placed both books on the empty seat next to mine instead of the table where he could reach it.

"But you can't steal from the restricted section. Madam Pince has this spell thing, " Wyatt insisted. "Trust me. I've tried it."

"I didn't steal it," I said.

"So, you managed to get a teacher to sign a permission slip? For a book like that?"

"Stop asking things," I rolled my eyes but still wondered how Amirah had managed to get these books.

"Can I have a pick from those books for the potion you're brewing for me?" Wyatt asked, pointing at the seat beside me where the books lay comfortably.

"You're selling him another potion?" Elijah Hadleigh, who was seated next to Wyatt, interjected.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Isaiah Ainsley piped in as he leaned over the table, looking past James in my direction.

I was suddenly bombarded with everyone's gaze. Wyatt's gaze was full of insistence and determination, whilst his friends' gazes were full of concern and uncertainty.

"She most definitely is not," James answered in my place after I spent a hot minute with my mouth silently gaped open.

"Not all my potions have negative effects — the one from that day was just a prototype, remember?" I responded though I knew they wouldn't be convinced.

"Your potions aren't the problem," Elijah said as-matter-of-factly. "He is." Elijah pointed at Wyatt with his fork. The latter rolled his eyes very dramatically. "He's prone to addiction."

"Addiction?" I repeated. "What happened before for that to be a known fact now?"

"It's none of her business," Wyatt interjected before Isaiah could chime in. "Looks, guys, I'm not ''prone to addiction'' or whatever. That other time was just an accident — and don't even start, James." James, who had opened his mouth to comment, remained silent at Wyatt's pointy finger in his face. "I know you're buying potions from her too."

"What?" James chuckled innocently but awkwardly. "No, I'm not."

"You're a terrible liar, James," Elijah laughed.

"So, what are the potions for?" Isaiah inquired, laughing along with Elijah.

"Yeah, can't you just ask your father or something?" Elijah went on. "Surely, he knows people who are a lot more qualified than some third-year-bathroom-brewing chick."

Before I could ask Elijah how he knew I brewed my potions in the bathroom, James abruptly stood up from his seat and contemptuously pointed his finger at Elijah's face.

"Don't you dare bring my f—" James began firmly. He glanced at the other nearby students at the Slytherin table and me. Regaining his cooly quite rapidly, he said, "Whatever. I'm out of here."

James mutely hoisted his bag over his shoulder before storming into Entrance Hall.

"Well, I have to go too," I announced suddenly, grabbing my books and bag as I stood up.

"Off to have a brew with Myrtle?" Elijah asked innocently as he smirked deviously at me.

"No, I'm—" I halted momentarily. "Hang on... How did you even know about that?"

"Followed you," he said as if it were obvious.

"But why?"

"Didn't trust you," he shrugged.

I didn't stay to ask why he didn't trust me. The answer to that question was quite evident. I mean, I did help one of his best friends poison himself. Hmm, but Elijah did say he didn't, as in...before. What about now? Did he still not trust me? Oh well. I was now already out of the Great Hall, so it was too late to ask.

At the end of the first-floor corridor, I noticed the black hair of Jamieson Lancaster bouncing as he hurried down the stairs into the dungeons. I realized I could get the dittany from my dorm with him now. I was about to call out his name to get his attention, but two Gryffindor boys blocked my way right before I could gather any speed or utter any sound. They smiled mischievously at me.

"Thought we forgot about you, eh?" said the slightly shorter one of the twins. I quickly recognized this one as Fred.

"Not quite," I said, trying to look past the two to see if I could still see James, but I couldn't see anyone.

"Well, we noticed you are an awful lot close to those, erm, what do they call themselves, Fred?" George pondered.

"The Slytherin Stupid, I believe," said Fred in a convincing tone.

"Oh, those guys? Yeah, no. We're not close." I said, shaking my head.

"Well, nonetheless, we're not here to shame your selection of friends, little Maeve," George resumed calmly and reassuringly. I hated that he had just called me little, but I didn't comment on it and allowed them to speak.

"No, after all, you did decide to befriend us, didn't you?" Fred added with a cheeky grin.

"I have to ask because, honestly, I don't know the difference," I said suddenly, interrupting them. "Are we friends or fake friends?"

"Yes," they said in unison.

"What?" I said, bewildered. "What does that even mean?"

"Anyway," Fred said, raising his eyebrows with a sharp inhale.

"If you find out anything interesting about these Slytherin Simpletons, feel free to share any time you like," George continued.

"Okay, got it, but erm, I have to go," I said quickly, remembering I should have been chasing after James about a minute ago.

Without waiting for an answer or approval, I pushed past the Weasley twins and ran to the end of the corridor where the entrance to the dungeons was.

I still hadn't seen James when I reached the Slytherin common room. He wasn't seated at any of the couches nor could he be sighted anywhere near here. And so, without considering the consequences of my actions, I rushed to the boys' dormitory and tried the handle to the door that read Fifth-Year Slytherin Boys. It wouldn't budge. Did I have to be a boy to open the door?

So, I knocked politely. No answer. I knocked on the door again, loud and clear.

I heard shuffling inside and a familiar groan of annoyance. When the door swung open, it did not reveal Jamieson Lancaster.

"Maeve?" my brother Aiden asked. He was in his PJs, and his hair was already a mess. I supposed he was trying to sleep until I came knocking. "What do you want?"

"I, erm, I came to er..." I peeked past my brother's arm (he was holding the door with his hand) and quickly scanned the room.

There were six green four-poster beds, and they were all placed in a symmetrical circular way. The dorm was almost identical to mine, with an open door leading to the bathroom and black wooden drawers in front of every bed. There was nobody else in the room, only my brother.

"To see you!" I said suddenly, quickly realizing it would be a little awkward if I asked my brother to tell me where his popular, handsome, rich classmate, Jamieson Lancaster, was.

"Why?" Aiden looked so tired, and it was only around 6-7 pm on a Monday.

"Well, er, I sent an owl home earlier, and erm — Well, you should owl mum and dad too, you know, once Iris returns," I stammered. That was a pathetic excuse, but seeing my brother's tiredness, I figured he wouldn't think twice.

"Okay, good night," Aiden said dismissively before shutting the door in my face.

I stood there, blinking, for a moment, before shaking my head and walking over to the Third-Year Slytherin Girls Dormitory at the left end of the hall. Perhaps James was taking a shower — but I didn't recall hearing any water running. A bath? Well, regardless, I might just lay low in my dorms for a while, maybe do some homework, and browse through my new books.

I entered the dorm lazily, about to walk over to my four-poster bed and lay my bag and books on the floor, but then, I saw the back of a boy with dark hair who was looking at something he held in his hands. He stood in front of my bed.

"Who—?"

James looked behind his shoulder. He pursed his lips as he turned his body around to face me. 

James was holding the bottle of dittany liquid, which he had found on my bedside table. His demeanour was a lot calmer and more composed than it was when he momentarily got upset at Elijah earlier.

"How does it work?" he asked, moving the bottle to eye level. "There are no instructions."

"I have them," I said. "Memorized."

"Right, well, how does it work?" he asked again. I let my books and bag fall to the ground before my bed. When I approached James and reached for the bottle in his hands without permission, he didn't object and allowed my hands to grab the bottle.

"Sit," I said, gesturing at my bed. James sat on my bed, looking up at me expectantly.

I unscrewed the dropper, still keeping it inside the bottle, and then moved James' hair to the side, exposing his secret red scar. He flinched under my touch, but I kept my hand on his fringe, holding it back.

"Erm, maybe lay on your back, actually," I suggested, realizing how much easier it would be to drop the liquid that way.

Reluctantly, James lay on his back on my bed with the bottom of his legs and his feet hanging over the edge of the bed. His hair moved to the side naturally without me having to hold it. I climbed onto the bed, leaving my flats on the floor. On my knees, still holding the bottle, I leaned over James to get a better look at his scar.

"Okay, don't move," I said as I removed the dropper from the bottle. I placed it above James' scar and let three drops fall onto his burnt skin. He winced.

The effect was nearly instantaneous. The redness on his skin lightened a little bit, and the roughness of the burn softened. His scar was still there, but it was a bit lighter, and I was starting to think that applying it every day could heal it completely after a few weeks.

"Does it work?" he asked. "Cause it stings."

"Yeah, let me show you," I said, slipping down the bed to get my pocket mirror from my bag. James sat up and grabbed the small mirror, examining the burn on his face.

"It's..." He felt it with his fingers.

"Lighter, right?" I said, sitting down next to him.

"And softer," he said. "It feels much softer now."

"Mind if I touch?" I asked, smiling keenly with my hand raised nearby.

James hesitated, pressing his lips against each other before finally saying, "Sure, go ahead."

I softly moved my fingers around the redness above the corner of his left eye, feeling his burn under my fingertips. The skin was surprisingly soft, despite its rough-looking exterior. It felt slightly damp due to the dittany liquid, but the potion was effective.

I caught James' eye awkwardly, looking down at me. Before I could react or comment, he grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away from his face. His dark hair loosely fell back onto his licorice-black eyes.

"I think you get the point," he said as he pulled my hand back down to my lap.

"Aww, you two are so cute!" Daphne Greengrass suddenly emerged from the hallway. She was beaming at me with excitement. James quickly pulled his hand away from mine and adjusted his hair over his scar. "Don't let me ruin this moment. I just have to get something..."

We mutely watched as Daphne quietly tiptoed to her dresser to grab a pink notebook before dashing out of the dormitory. James stood up, spinning around to face me, his lips pressed against each other with uncertainty.

"I'm sorry about Daphne — she says stuff like this about anyone," I said quickly before he could comment.

"I'm not concerned about her," he replied. He gestured at the dittany bottle in my hand. "Not much of a procedure using that thing. I think I'll put it on by myself from now on."

"Right, okay," I nodded and gingerly handed the bottle to him. "So, you just have to put a few drops on your scar every day, and after a few weeks, it should be okay."

"I figured much," James said.

"I think this is going to work," I went on. "You won't need me anymore."

I felt disappointed as those words escaped my lips and conceptualized in my brain. James wouldn't need my help anymore. Wasn't that a good thing? Shouldn't I be happy for him that his problem was nearly done and dealt with already? Why was it a little bit upsetting?

"Yeah."

James held the bottle with both hands and looked down at me silently. I awkwardly moved my lips to the side as I looked up at him.

"If you need anything else, I'm here for you, James," I added thoughtlessly. I wanted to slap myself in the face for saying it like that. I didn't mean to make it sound so personal.

James gazed at me for what felt like minutes but was probably just a few seconds. The quiet between us was so awkwardly painful that I wanted to hide my face in my pillow.

"Maybe," he finally said. I couldn't read his expression. I couldn't tell what he was feeling. Was he satisfied with my help? Or perhaps, he wasn't happy about it? I just couldn't seem to read him.

James nodded briefly at me and, without another word, left the dorm, the dittany bottle in his hand. When he stepped out of view into the corridor, I felt disappointed somehow. I couldn't quite explain why, but that was how I felt.

The next morning, I sat with Daphne and Tracey in the Great Hall. Fortunately, Draco Malfoy and his goons were not there yet, so I wouldn't have to worry about hearing his obnoxiously loud voice. Not yet, anyway. All good things did come to an end, eventually.

I was having oatmeal when the usual swarm of owls swooped into the Great Hall for mail. I didn't expect any mail because I wasn't subscribed to any magazines, and I had only owled my parents yesterday, which didn't give them much time to reply. So when a grey-feathered eagle owl landed in front of me with a book-shaped parcel, I was more than confused. As soon as I grabbed the parcel, the eagle owl flew off with a hoot.

I knew the eagle owl did not belong to Malfoy. I could easily recognize Klaus after all those years of him bringing sweets to Malfoy. But to whom did it belong? Did it come to me by mistake?

"What's in there?" Daphne asked, pointing at the parcel.

"I dunno," I said, reaching for the attached note.

It read in black ink:

Blackwood,

Don't open it at the table.

Otherwise, you might get it stolen.

"Who's it from?" Tracey asked.

"I dunno."

I looked around the table. Maybe someone here was playing a joke on me. But no one was looking in my direction or paying attention to me.

At that moment, Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall. He swaggered over in our direction with Crabbe and Goyle by his side. Conveniently, I lost my appetite when he reached us and sat down. I stood up, the parcel in my hand and my bag over my shoulder, ready to leave, but the blond prick opened his mouth.

"What is that?" Malfoy pointed at the parcel with his chin.

"Cookies from my auntie," I lied quickly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to eat them all by myself. Thanks."

Daphne and Tracey cocked their head to the side dubiously, and Malfoy sneered at me in disbelief, but I ignored them all and darted out of the Great Hall.

I was most curious about the contents of this parcel, and sure, I had a class in half an hour, but I just had to know what was in there. Surely, opening it would give me a hint as to whom sent it.

I sprinted to the Slytherin common room and into the girls' dormitory. I was out of breath and probably sweating too, but I didn't let that stop me from tearing open the parcel.

Inside was a flat and rectangular wooden chest. Impatiently, I open it up. Its contents glimmered in my face, and my mouth gaped open. No way!

What looked like a hundred Galleons were stored inside. I was surprised that I hadn't heard the coins moving around in the parcel.

Suddenly curious, I closed the flat chest and shook it. I couldn't hear any of the coins hitting each other. It was as if the box was soundproof.

But who could have sent me so many Galleons? Could this be meant for me? But what did I do? Maybe this was meant for Aiden, and the owl got confused and gave it to me since I'm a Blackwood. Or maybe it was for my father, and somehow it ended up here.

OH.

James. I had just forgotten that I helped him with his scar. But I didn't expect him to send me such a large amount of money. And we didn't know how long this dittany thing would work for. I thought he would pay me when his scar was fully healed and when he would be entirely satisfied.

Before I could ask myself any more questions, I realized another note was attached to the bottom of the chest's lid. It said:

There's supposed to be 90 Galleons in there.

45 of them are what Wyatt owed you.

The rest is what I owe you.

-James L.

Hang on. James thought a mere dittany bottle I stole from Madam Pomfrey was worth 45 Galleons. Was he insane?