PAPER CONFINES.
15. / To Be Loved or Not

✶

       Hogsmeade's streets were slicked with rain, scattered with sweet wrappers and hard on Nadya's sore feet, but she was happy to be here with company for once. Colette was tearing through a bag of toffees from Honeydukes, turning her nose up at the liquorice ones and proclaiming such a flavour should never have been made. Nadya, in turn, ate one just to be contrarian and hated them the same.

"I told you," Colette said, turning the doorknob to The Three Broomsticks.

"They're not that bad," Nadya answered, her hair tucked messily into a white cloche hat Colette insisted she wore in the cold.

"If you must disagree about everything, yes."

They entered the pub and closed the wind behind them, the old door rattling as the cold air struck the hot. Colette crouched in her heels to avoid hitting her head on the slanted beams stretched across the ceiling. Lights were strung along them, gleaming orange and violet for Halloween tomorrow. The windows were foggy with steam where the varied clientele cupped their hot drinks with both hands and dug into oversized plates teeming with food. As usual, the crowd in a magical pub was varied.

A man at the nearest table was as tall as a decent tree, skin a greyish hue, and made the candelabra above rattle and swing as he stood to get another drink. His friend was every bit as eccentric, dressed in a silken brocade and a green velvet cloak and twin cufflinks that glittered when he took a sip of his mead. His ears were shaped into slender tines like an elf from one of Banks' retellings of her father's bestiary. Not many lingered in little towns like Hogsmeade, but Nadya was fascinated by the aggregation nonetheless, and grateful she had her own sylphlike companion to stand tall at her side.

Nadya and Colette were seated by a barmaid with hair shorn to her ears, strong forearms peeking out from a men's button-down shirt, sundry rings pierced through the soft points of her nose and ears and—as she smiled, her tongue—and most shockingly, a well-worn face that seemed unbothered by how she drew attention. And she must have drawn attention. There was even a scar threaded through her brow, like the one on Nadya's father's mouth from his time captaining the SS Loyalty, twin to the golden stitching on his epaulets. They both seemed to wear them like badges of honour.

Nadya took off her hat and shook her hair loose, watching as the barmaid returned to the counter and shot an order at a man tending tumblers of whiskey and ice.

She had never seen a woman who looked like that.

Nadya sunk hazily into the banquette beside Colette and nearly fell onto her lap, her eyes elsewhere. She was almost overwhelmed by the desire to run up to the woman, like little children did to any sort of person they'd never seen before, with wide-eyed curiosity, and ask her every question as it struck without thought of offence. Do your parents know your hair is that short? Do they mind? (Of course not, Nadya answered herself, she must be in her forties and doesn't ask permission for haircuts.) I admire the nose, but why is there a jewel in your tongue? Has anyone ever told you it's unladylike to dress that way, and if so, what's your preferred method of punching?

"Ow!" Colette cried.

Nadya shuffled away frantically, instead taking the seat across the table—the croaking treen chairs that nobody liked. "Sorry," she mumbled, "sorry."

"You're not paying attention."

"What? You're the one who slapped me the other day. I just slipped."

Colette scowled, and did it again—smacked a gentle hand over Nadya's mouth. It didn't hurt, like it hadn't the first time; Nadya was shocked only by the softness of her palm and her glare as she lifted it away. "That is not a slap."

Nadya licked her lips and tasted vanilla. "I was being sarcastic. You're spending far too much time around me."

Colette shrugged, fishing out three textbooks from her bag big enough that Nadya wondered if she'd used an Undetectable Extension charm.

"What are those for?"

"Studying purposes."

Nadya nudged away the urge to correct her—research, not studying purposes—and flipped one of the books open to a random page. The small text was littered with magical jargon she couldn't be bothered to read. "You know we don't need all of this, right?"

"What—why? I was at the library for two hours to find them. I sent Alex to the restricted section to find information on..." she lowered her voice, "dark magic. Nearly all the books on that topic were taken already."

"While I'm impressed by your eagerness, we don't need to ritualistically slaughter anyone to get into Dippet's office."

"They aren't for that!" Colette said disconcertedly, and went quiet again. "They're to find more about what Tom was doing."

"Oh. Good idea."

Colette looked pleased.

"Still—let's not resort to back-up plans when the first one hasn't even failed yet."

"Yet?"

"Well, my success rate hasn't been the best recently, in case you haven't noticed."

Colette shut the book and flipped through her menu nonchalantly. "So... we can get help."

"No. Absolutely not. Not who you're thinking."

"He could help!" she exclaimed.

Zippel. Somehow he became more of an annoyance with each passing day.

"Help what? Play dead? I could poke him with my pinky and he'd collapse."

"He's my friend!"

"Everyone is your friend!"

Colette shook her head. "Nadya, tell me your plan, because I will not listen to this."

Nadya drew circles on her thigh with her thumb. She'd almost forgotten her and Colette likely wouldn't be speaking right now if it weren't for Banks' disappearance. "Fine. But Zippel? Not going to work."

"Why not? He was almost prefect, his parents work for the Ministry, and every professor likes him. He is useful!"

"I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone!"

"Almost prefect isn't good enough."

"That is not an answer."

"Colette, we need someone with a better in than a Ministry family and a few good grades. You said it yourself, if we're not prepared, Dippet would be happy to have me expelled. We need someone who can get into his office without getting in trouble. We need someone who could be invited. Or I'll brew a Polyjuice Potion and do it myself."

"That would take a month. Alex could get in."

Nadya rolled her eyes. "If he needed to lie? If he needed to put himself at risk of drawing the attention of the Knights of Walpurgis? If he thought it was dangerous—for him or for you?"

"What does that mean?"

She huffed. "I'm not having this conversation."

"You started this conversation."

"Great, I suppose it's mine to end then."

"You are insufferable, Nadya."

Nadya crossed her arms, but her foot tapped under the table and her jaw felt stiff. She hated arguing with Colette, and yet demanded it every time she was near: to twist a pleasant conversation into something accusatory. Maybe because she'd gotten so skilled in antipathy she feared what it meant to be around someone who made her feel anything else. Maybe she feared letting herself revive something long dead.

"So I've been told," she said in an attempt not to sound bothered.

The door chimed open. Colette tucked her hair back as the wind blew in, and little white flakes followed. Her eyes seemed to pull toward the figure entering—tall, richly dressed, accompanied by a girl whose arm crossed through his. Claude Ozanich and Lillian Brown, a red-haired Ravenclaw who shared a room with Banks. But Nadya's gaze clung to the small dots in the breeze, stuck to Claude's coat, Lillian's hair, scattering the entry mat. Snow. She couldn't see it, here, in Hogsmeade, and not think of that night two years ago. Her eyes strayed back to Colette. I don't want to be insufferable, she thought; to everyone else, yes, but never to you. And Colette smiled, and Nadya imagined nonsensically it was because she could hear her, and her smile was peach-pink, sweet and full. Pretty enough to kiss.

"Claude!" Colette greeted.

His gaze found her and he grinned, tugging Lillian closer as they approached.

"Colette," he said, pulling her into a hug, one of the few people Nadya knew who could tower over Colette even when she wore heels. "How are you?"

"Very well! And you? Lillian?"

Lillian nodded. "Fantastic. I was hoping to find a costume at Gladrags today. It's last minute, I know, but things have been so busy, and Madame Codde declared me invalid last week. I've only just been let out."

Nadya wasn't sure how any muggle-born student could be feeling fantastic in a time like this, but she was annoyed to look at her and think it was true. Lillian looked perfectly content.

"You're both dressing up tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not," Claude laughed.

Lillian nudged him. "Yes, he is. It's improper for our head boy not to show school spirit."

Nadya's eyes narrowed. She'd almost forgotten his promotion after practically being knocked in the jaw by Augusta Rosier's.

"Fine," Claude said, "you can throw a sheet over me and call it a day."

"A sheet wouldn't fit over you, half-giant."

"Don't say that in front of Hagrid—he'd take offence."

"How is it being head boy?" Nadya asked abruptly, chin in her palm.

The three turned to look at her as if realizing again she was there. Colette's eyes darted between her and Claude. So distrustful; it was as if she always suspected Nadya was plotting something. She was, of course, but nothing so sadistic to deserve that constant wariness.

Claude cleared his throat. "More stressful than being a prefect, though I didn't know that was possible until now."

"Oh, I've heard Banks' horror stories," she said. "Nothing could shock me now."

His face fell almost imperceptibly, but what form of sleuth would Nadya be if she couldn't see it?—the twitch at the corner of his lip, the almost-blink, the centimetre of a step he couldn't help but take before his words tumbled on an exhale—"I hope they find her soon."

But Nadya faltered too, because Banks tended to have that effect. A silent grind of her jaw. A twinge of remorse in her gut.

"She'll be fine," she forced. "Always is."

Colette sat down again, and Nadya could feel the barest brush of her knee under the table. "Claude," she said, "Could you meet me in the music room tomorrow? My dormitory?"

"Of course." He glanced at Lillian. "I have a free period after Charms."

"Perfect."

Nadya caught her glance, a moment of breath, a quiet recognition, and there was a dot of snow in her brow. Her mouth, smallest chip in her perfect white teeth earned in a winning game of quidditch in France, relaxed from a smile. Nadya's chest burned with something, buried under fear but demanding to rise anyway. Colette was a petal she yearned to pluck, but she feared the truth lining each blossom of the perianth: to be loved or not. She'd have to accept the equal possibility of the second to ever know the first.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Claude said, and took Lillian's arm again. She waved goodbye as they greeted a waitress, and were steered to a table far in the dim corner of the pub.

Nadya wondered if they'd asked for it. "Are they together, do you think?"

Colette watched them with a finger looping her hair. "I... don't know. They suit each other very well as friends."

"Mhm," Nadya answered, flipping her menu back on the table and staring where the barmaid disappeared behind a wall.

"Claude is trustworthy, and he cares for Banks. I think we have an ally in him. Head boy—it's what you wanted, no?"

"We'll see tomorrow." Colette looked dismayed, and Nadya added quickly, "Thank you."

Her hazel eyes lifted. "You're welcome."

Nadya leaned back, full of sweets, and cold still from the breeze. "I miss my mum's cooking," she said, eyes on the shepherd's pie being placed on the next table over.

"Hm?"

"Most English food tastes like mush if it isn't enchanted, and then it's not really English is it? It's just house elf magic."

"I know," Colette said, demanding no elaboration. "I miss mine too."

"Don't your aunt and uncle cook?"

"Sometimes. Nothing like my parents. Mostly they like fruit and vegetables. Just plain, but in pie or stew otherwise. Many dirigible plums, too, from the yard."

"Dirigible plums?" Nadya laughed.

"You must try them. They're the only thing I like there."

"Do they make for good wine?"

She made a face. "I wouldn't know."

"Sorry. Guess you don't like wine much anymore."

"It was different with the vineyard—sometimes I would help my father with the pressoirs, even though I wasn't very strong. But, no, I prefer not to drink it now."

"Most people grow into the taste, not out of it."

"It is not the taste, Nadya, it's the effect. And," she continued after a sharp inhale, "it's all gone now. So maybe I was not meant for wine."

"There are greater things to be destined for."

"Mhm. Like what?"

"Uh, probably... literally anything. Piano? Baking? Peacemaking? I can attest, Hogwarts is lacking in that department."

Colette laughed, but her face was solemn. Thin creases lined her forehead, and she wiped the melted snow from her lash.

Nadya took a long breath, and chose to keep the conversation pleasant. "You're better at what you do than all the sops at this school combined, anyway."

"Maybe," she mumbled. "It's just... all of the things I love remind me of the things I lost. I taught Luc the piano, and Vivi was much better at baking than I will ever be."

"And Nathalie? I find it hard to believe anyone could one-up you in people skills."

Colette looked off, as if remembering. "You would have hated her at first, I think. She was the kindest person I've ever known. She would have knocked sense into you."

"She would have tried."

"Well," she said sweetly, "I will have do it for her then. She'd be unhappy with me if I didn't."

The barmaid returned with a mug of butterbeer and spiced tea, beaming through the years on her face. Nadya wanted those rings, scattered across her ears. And the hair, and the clothes, and the confidence, above all. She wanted them without thought.

One day, perhaps, she would dare to take them.

Nadya breathed in the hot caramel-rhum steam, and raised her glass to Colette. "To you and your siblings and knocking some sense into me."

Froth spilled from the rim of Colette's glass as she raised hers back. "Santé."

They drank.

━━━━━

       The next morning, Colette drew the new sigil onto the Hufflepuff common room door and sighed at the notion of relinquishing one of three free periods that week. In the midst of the mission to find Banks, there was still school to be dealt with, and Colette appreciated every break she could get. But she crossed her favourite yellow sofa and led Claude to the music room regardless.

"I hope you know my artistry is strictly on paper," he said. "I can't hold a tune to save my life."

"Oh, I know." Colette smiled with her teeth, as if the bigger it was the more it would make him listen upon entry. She imagined she looked a bit unhinged, but then again, she likely was—at least a little bit.

She opened the door and saw Claude's own smile slant.

Nadya waved her small, glittering hand from the bench at the piano. "Boo."

Colette did think Nadya was frightening enough without any costume, and on any day of the year.

She shut the door after Claude, who looked between them both hesitantly. "Is there a reason I feel like I've just walked into a scolding from my mum?"

Nadya cracked her neck. "My nurturing aura, I'm sure."

Colette gave her a look.

She sighed. "Well, I didn't prepare a speech."

"That's good," Claude said, taking a seat at the harp. "I hate speeches."

"We were really hoping for your help," Colette said. "We would not pull you into this if we didn't have to, but—"

"We think Tom Riddle kidnapped Banks," Nadya finished.

Claude only turned his head up, like he was going to nod and decided otherwise, and Colette reminded herself that he'd been on the prefect council for two years and had likely mastered the art of concealing his thoughts.

"Elaborate."

Colette nodded at Nadya to continue, and she did. "Dippet brought me to his office the day everyone found out they were gone. He wanted me to know first, probably so I didn't burn down the school and everyone in it. Apparently he's gotten old, because he made the mistake of sharing with me that the lavatory where Myrtle was killed was flooded, and he forgot to tuck away a sopping wet book on his desk."

"A book?"

"We don't know what it is," Colette said, "but it is the only clue we have, and we need to get it before he sends it to the Ministry."

Claude's eyes moved between what Colette assumed were his darting assumptions. "They've been missing for a week now. You have to have considered the possibility that Dippet's already moved the book."

"I don't think so," said Nadya. "Don't you find it odd? The Minister of Magic has only spoken in one paper, we haven't had Elisabeth Hopkirk wandering around interrogating anyone—or any press for that matter—whatever Dippet is doing to fix this, he's keeping it as quiet as possible. He's afraid the school will be closed."

"You think he'd keep the only evidence just to protect himself?"

"You don't?"

Claude sighed. "I don't know."

"Either way, we need to make sure. If he does still have it it could be the way to find Banks," Colette said. Her conversation with Nadya yesterday had clung to her through the morning, into Defence Against the Dark Arts where she sat distracted by it, doodling love hearts on her parchment. So much in Colette's life had been decided for her by outside forces, things taken more often than they were given, but Banks was one of the few she had left. And it was in her hands, for once, to get her back.

"Do you think," Nadya tried, "as Head Boy, you could manage getting into Dippet's office without drawing suspicion? If not to take the book, then to at least tell us whether it's there."

"Of course I could. Dippet has me running errands for him every day. I'm in there all the time. But if any part of your plan relies on having someone with power, know that if Dippet even begins to suspect me, you can throw it out the window. He's bound to be cautious now, and I want Banks back too, but I can't help her if I lose my position."

"And Dolohov is next in line for Head Boy."

Colette held her face in her hands. "That cannot happen."

"So be careful," Nadya said to Claude.

"Thank you, I was going to suggest being blatantly obvious and getting caught."

She turned to Colette. "You said he was charming."

"You are intimidated by anyone as quick as you. That isn't my fault."

Nadya gaped.

"She's spending too much time around you," Claude said, but he was starting to smile.

"Well?" Colette asked, her leg jumping nervously.

"Oh, I'll be damned if there's a plan to find Banks and I'm not a part of it."

She sighed in relief.

"So when can you go?" Nadya asked.

"I'm supposed to meet Dippet tomorrow, actually. Discussing the inevitable disaster that will be left behind after tonight."

Colette beamed. "Brilliant!"

Nadya, reluctantly, met her gaze and smiled too. "All right," she said, "go throw a sheet on and show some spirit, Head Boy."

"Was that a pun?"

"No."

"I love a good pun."

Colette clasped her hands together excitedly. "I think you two are going to get along."

[ . . . ]  Claude Ozanich *loud cheering* + projecting my obsession with masc women onto nadya because like... the adolescent realization that you can just do that? and they just exist? revolutionary.  /  word count. 3383

©  Crierayla  ✶  2021