Chapter Text
Anne breathes a quiet sigh of relief when her feet catch against the awning of the window just below the classroom, grinning triumphantly to herself as she plants both feet firmly on the stone below.
She’d misguided the distance between the windows in her haste to get Cole’s sketches back, and Anne’s relieved to discover it’s not as far down as she’d originally thought. In fact, despite her slightly shorter stature, Anne finds that she can still easily reach the awning above her even while standing on the windowsill below.
Perfect. she thinks to herself as she carefully lets go and slips down the side of the castle so she can duck into the miniature alcove the depth of the window provides. It’ll make pulling myself back up later so much easier…
Diana’s voice cries out to her from up above, laced with worry, slightly muffled from what Anne imagines must be her hands covering her face. “Oh my god— I can’t look!”
“Don’t worry, Diana! Everything’s fine!” Anne calls out as she moves to lower herself onto the ridge beam just below.
She chances a glance up toward the Divination classroom and offers what she hopes comes off as a confident, reassuring wave at Diana and Cole, who are peering down at her from up above. From there, She keeps her back firmly pressed against the exterior of the castle wall until the nervous thrill of what she’s about to do settles down from a rolling boil to a gentle simmer. And then, once Anne is positively sure she’s got her balance down, she puts one foot in front of the other and begins to walk.
“Slow and steady, Anne— and don’t look down…” she mutters to herself. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint….”
She keeps her eyes steady on the horizon up ahead, confidence growing after she takes her first few steps.
Anne reaches Cole’s sketchbook in no time, finding an odd sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that Billy (despite consistently boasting about being the best chaser on the Slytherin quidditch team) hadn’t managed throw Cole’s book all that far out. In fact, the small sketchbook had landed only about a fourth of the way out onto the ridge beam.
As she gingerly lowers herself down so she can take hold of her friend’s prized possession, Anne finds herself thinking it’s probably for the best that Billy’s arm wasn’t much stronger— she wouldn’t want to push her luck.
She heaves another sigh of relief once she’s successfully tucked the sketchbook deep into a pocket on the inside of her cloak. Her triumph is short lived, however, because in her haste to stand back up, Anne does the very thing she’d been trying so hard not to do and casts her eyes downward. Suddenly, she becomes incredibly aware of just how high up she really is, and an uncomfortable feeling that’s impossible to ignore drops like a dead weight low in the pit of her stomach.
Anne takes a moment to steady herself before she makes to stand again. She stops when she feels a light breeze catch both of her braids, causing her plaited red hair to flap about her ears.
“It’s just a friendly little breeze…” Anne says aloud as she takes a few calming breaths.
She thinks perhaps it might be better to stand quick and in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, Anne doesn’t account for the way the swift motion affects her ability to maintain her balance.
She sways as one of her feet slips on the edge of the ridge beam, and though Anne tries her best to regain her balance, it’s no use. She stumbles for just a moment, teetering on the edge, before completely losing her footing altogether.
Anne yelps as both of her feet go sliding off one side of the roof, hands scrabbling for purchase on anything she can reach, fingers gripping so tight on the edge of the ridge beam her knuckles go white from exertion.
She hears someone scream, and a few others shouting— one person yells at someone else to go and get help, but Anne’s not too sure who it was that sprang so quick into action because she’s too preoccupied with trying to get a better grip on the ridge beam above her.
“Hang on Anne! They’ve gone to get Professor McGonagall!” cries out Diana.
Anne wants to tell her bosom friend not to worry, but she’s too busy trying to do as Diana says and hang on tight. She tries to catch her footing on the roof, but the shingles prove slippery and unforgiving. She manages to get a better grip on the ridge beam though, and counts her blessings for that. And then, because she’s got nothing better to do but wait around for help to arrive, Anne gives herself purchase to feel embarrassment over causing such a scene.
She thinks briefly about what Marilla would say if she could see her now. Imagines that after getting over the shock of seeing Anne dangling so high up above solid ground, her very prudent adoptive mother would, after ensuring her safety, tell her off for letting her foolish pride get the better of her.
And then, as if the universe itself had been looking down upon the scene unfolding and decided that Anne hadn’t suffered enough already, she hears it— the voice of the very last person she’d ever want to show up just in time to see her in a predicament such as this one.
“Fancy seeing you up here, Anne.”
Gilbert Blythe’s voice is so close, Anne half expects to look up and see him standing above her and balancing on the very ridge beam she’d just slipped off of. He’s not there though, instead, she finds him floating just to her left, looking quite comfortable on the broomstick he’d clearly flown over on.
“Gilbert,” Anne says curtly, nodding in greeting. “I could say the same to you.”
Her eyes take in his windswept curly hair and the crimson and gold practice gear he’s got on in place of his normal school uniform. “Aren’t you a bit far from the quidditch pitch? Or have you lost your way after taking one too many bludgers to the head.”
“Very funny,” Gilbert laughs. “I was in the middle of practice, but I couldn’t help noticing that it seems as though you could do with a bit of saving.”
“You really shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of coming. I’m perfectly fine just where I am,” Anne says as lightly as she can manage. “You can head on back to practice now— I’m sure the Gryffindor team is missing their captain.”
“Look, Anne. I know you’ve got this whole thing about saving yourself— which I’m fully in support of by the way,” Gilbert says this last bit quickly, as though to get ahead of whatever smart reply Anne’s got waiting on the tip of her tongue. “But in this particular case, I think it’s clear you could use a helping hand.”
“I’m serious, Gilbert— go back to your team. Besides, McGonagall is on her way, so you’re really of no use here,” Anne replies. “I’m perfectly fine with just waiting until—“
Anne gasps, the rest of the words dying in her throat as she feels one foot slip when a collection of shingles beneath it detach themselves from the old castle roof.
“Come on, Anne. Just…just take my hand and we’ll both get down from up here together…” Gilbert says gently as he reaches out toward her.
Anne wants to let her sharp tongue get the better of her, as it tends to do whenever Gilbert Blythe is involved. She wants to turn her nose up at his offered hand yet again and say something ridiculous she’d likely regret later like, I’d rather drown in the Great Lake than let you save me so you can lord it over my head later.
She can’t quite bring herself to do it though— not when Gilbert’s looking at her with so much fear in his eyes as his eyebrows knot together furiously.
Anne only needs one hand to count the number of times she’s seen noble, chivalrous, Gilbert Blythe look afraid, and the fact that he’s looking rather fearfully at her right now is enough for the reality of her current situation to fully sink in.
They stare at each other for a long while, Gilbert with his hand desperately outstretched toward her, and Anne gripping tightly onto the roof. And for the first time in all the years she’s known him, Anne realizes that Gilbert’s eyes aren’t brown like she’d always thought they were. It seems like a silly thing to be thinking of at a time like this, but she can’t help the way her mind curiously zeroes in on all the colors the afternoon sun lights up within the depths of his warm gaze— shades of gold and green and gray that swirl together in a way that makes Anne feel more than a little bit dizzy…or maybe she just feels a bit dizzy because she’s minutes away from falling to her death…
A sense of desperation washes over her and suddenly Anne wants nothing more than to reach out and take the hand Gilbert’s offering her, if only so she can get the hell down as fast as humanly possible. But her muscles are frozen in fear, and they’re not listening to her brain, which is currently screaming at them to just let go, reach out, and meet Gilbert halfway.
“Gilbert...I…” Anne starts, her voice quivering slightly at the end.
“I know.” He whispers, eyes never leaving hers. “You’re not going to fall, Anne— I promise I’ll catch you— but first, you’ve got to let go...okay?”
Slowly, Anne feels the fingers of her left hand loosen their grip, and then she’s letting go, arm shaking as it reaches out toward him. Gilbert grasps tightly onto her forearm, surging his broom forward as close as the roof will allow, before he tugs her arm around his shoulder and pulls. And then, Anne’s sliding swiftly onto the back of his broom. She can’t help the way her arms move to wrap tightly around Gilbert’s middle, or the way she presses her chest tightly to his back, as though her body craves the feel of something solid to ground itself after all she’d put it through up on the rooftop. If Gilbert notices that she’s clinging to him in a way that would give the Giant Squid and all its tentacles a run for its money, he doesn’t say anything. In the back of her mind, Anne feels as though she knows she’ll regret this little moment of weakness later, but she can’t quite bring herself to care at the moment. She closes her eyes as Gilbert flies them steadily toward the entrance to the school, and tries to steady her breathing as she wills the last dregs of dizziness to leave her body.
The breeze that gently tickles her face as they fly carries a curious scent her way. It’s warm and comforting. It smells earthy and woody, and Anne breathes it in slow and deep as she wills her heart to stop racing. It takes her a minute to realize why it smells so familiar. And then she remembers— it’s the mystery scent from the amortentia spill in the dungeons. The one she couldn’t quite place.
For a moment, Anne thinks perhaps it’s coming from somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds. But then Gilbert shifts, and turns his head toward her to say something about how she should brace herself for an earful from McGonagall, and Anne’s nose ends up pressed close to the curls at the nape of his neck. That’s when Anne realizes the smell isn’t coming from the grounds at all— it’s coming from Gilbert.
Her eyes snap open at the revelation as her body jerks away from the boy in front of her, her momentum making the broom wobble slightly.
“Whoah!” Gilbert says, steading the broom with one hand while the other grasps one of her arms and pulls it back around his middle. “Best to hold on tight while we come in for the landing.”
Anne does as he says (begrudgingly) but she’s itching to put some distance between them, so much so that as soon as Gilbert’s hovering about four feet from the ground, Anne attempts to dismount and ends up tumbling onto the grass below.
“Maybe next time wait until the broom has come to a complete stop?” Gilbert suggests from where he’s grinning up above her.
Anne ignores the hand he holds out to help her up, and grumbles something about how there won’t be a next time that Gilbert doesn’t quite catch. She feels her cheeks begin to burn as a blush creeps over her face— half from embarrassment, half from the fury she feels over the amused expression playing across Gilbert’s features. The one she wants nothing more than to wipe swiftly off his face.
“Miss Shirley-Cuthbert! What in Godric’s name were you thinking? Climbing out the North Tower window like that? You’re lucky you didn’t fall to your death!”
Anne winces at the sound of Professor McGonagall’s shrilly voice— the one her head of house tends to use whenever she’s especially furious.
“Professor, I was only trying to—“
“Not another word!” McGonagall says, cutting Anne off. “The headmaster and I awarded you the position of prefect at the start of the year because we felt as though you possessed the leadership to handle the responsibilities. I do hope you have no plans of making me second-guess my own judge of character?”
“No, Professor,” Anne says glumly as she hangs her head in shame.
“Now, I understand that you felt as though you were acting nobly in attempting to retrieve Mr. MacKenzie’s book, but surely you must realize in hindsight, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, that there are other, much safer ways, you might have gone about that?” McGonagall says briskly. “In the future, you’d do well to figure out how to stop yourself from succumbing to every whim of impulsivity that crosses your mind. Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor for your severe lack of judgement, and for your reckless behavior.”
“Yes, Professor,” Anne says as the white hot sting of shame makes her eyes water.
“In addition, you’ll report to the kitchens tonight for detention. I should hope this punishment will serve as a reminder for you to think twice about your actions next time,” Professor McGonagall continues. “You’re lucky Mr. Blythe was here to save you before anything unthinkable happened— fifty points…will be awarded to Gryffindor for your quick thinking, Mr. Blythe.”
Anne’s eyes shoot up in shock just in time to see Professor McGonagall purse her lips after she decrees the awarded points. Of course it wasn’t enough for Gilbert to save her from literally falling to her death— he had to go and save her from the wrath she surely would have endured from losing Gryffindor so many house points as well…
“Thank you, Professor,” Gilbert says slowly. “That’s very generous of you….I wonder…if I might ask you to reconsider Anne’s punishment? Surely fifty house points is more than enough without assigning her detention duty as well?”
“No, you may not, Mr. Blythe,” McGonagall bristles. “And I’ll not hear another word from you on the matter either— unless, of course, you wish to join Miss Shirley-Cuthbert in serving out her detention duties…?”
“No, he doesn’t, Professor— thank you!” Anne says quickly before Gilbert can say any more on the matter.
“Good. Now, back to class— the both of you.”
Professor McGonagall turns and walks swiftly back in the direction of the castle, and Anne follows quickly behind her (albeit at a distance). She doesn’t dare look back at Gilbert, and she’s relieved that he doesn’t follow her. She also doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until she’s safely inside of Hogwarts gasping for air, mind whirling with confusing thoughts about why on earth she finds the smell of Gilbert Blythe so incredibly comforting.
Cole’s words echo in her mind as Anne makes her way up the grand staircase.
“Amortentia smells differently to everyone. Its aroma is meant to remind you of everything you find most attractive— even if you’re unaware of what, or who it is you’re attracted to…”
She shakes her head at the memory as though trying to will it out of her brain altogether as she takes the staircase steps two at a time, pushing the reality of what it all might mean away for now as she hurries back up to the Divination classroom.
Anne spends the next few days rather successfully avoiding any sort of contact with Gilbert. She can’t exactly get away from the idea of him though. Word of his heroic efforts to save Anne from falling off the roof spread like wildfire across Hogwarts, and Anne quickly loses track of how many times she’s been asked by some giggling student about what it was like to be rescued by Gryffindor’s resident golden boy.
“You could have been nicer, Anne!” Diana scolds after Anne accidentally takes her frustrations out on a poor Hufflepuff first year who mucks up the courage to ask about what it was like to fly on the back of Gilbert’s broomstick.
“I knowww,” Anne bemoans, already regretting how wretched she’d been. “I’m just so sick of it, Diana. I think I could go my whole life without ever hearing Gil— his name ever again!”
“Can you really blame them all for asking? Even you can’t deny Gilbert’s pretty dreamy— objectively speaking, of course.” Cole goads.
“If by dreamy you mean my own personal nightmare, then sure,”Anne groans.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Gilbert and his ridiculously woodsy aroma had in fact been haunting Anne’s dreams for the past few nights— a matter she was firmly resolved to ignore whenever her brain inconveniently reminded her of the fact that he smelled so wonderful. Or the fact that on more than one occasion, she’d found herself thinking about his rather marvelous profile.
Stupid Gilbert and his stupidly splendid chin…and his stupid swirly, dizzying eyes...
“Well, you’d better figure out how to deal with your demons because we’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts next,” Diana says as she waves goodbye to Cole and ushers Anne down the corridor and in the direction of the classroom in question.
“Don’t remind me…” Anne says as she drags her feet behind her friend.
Of all the classes Hogwarts offered, Anne had been especially excited to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts…that is until she’d discovered exactly what sort of teacher Professor Phillips was.
She thinks she’d enjoy it more if it didn’t seem as though Professor Phillips had it out for her specifically, or if he’d put more of an effort into making the classes a bit more enthralling.
There was also the little matter of the fact that Phillips insisted all his students sit alphabetically, which meant that Anne had the misfortune of sharing a desk with none other than Gilbert Blythe. She’d once tried to get Professor Phillips to sit her next to Charlie Sloan, arguing that she should be alphabetized by S for Shirley-Cuthbert. It had gone rather disastrously, with Phillips taking ten house points away for her cheek, before reminding Anne that he was the professor and if he wanted to alphabetize her under C for Cuthbert, then he’d do just that.
Once inside, Diana takes her seat near the door, and Anne makes a show of blowing her darling kindred spirit a kiss before trudging over to her own desk across the room. She takes her seat next to Gilbert just as Professor Phillips waltzes in from his back office, teacher’s robes billowing behind him as he makes his way to the front of the classroom.
They’re studying Patronus Charms today, and Anne’s hand shoots up high when Professor Phillips asks if anyone knows what they’re used for. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Gilbert raise his hand as well, though perhaps not as eagerly as she does. Phillips bypasses them both in favor of letting Prissy Andrews answer instead.
“It’s one of the most powerful defensive charms in existence. Each Patronus appears unique to the wizard who conjures it,” Prissy answers from her place at the front of the room. “One must concentrate on a very happy memory to make it work. When cast correctly, it can ward off Dementors and Lethifolds.”
“Very good, Miss Andrews!” Phillips says, unable to hide how pleased he is by her response. “Five points to Hufflepuff for your thorough explanation.”
Anne resists the urge to roll her eyes, wondering what the point is anymore of even trying to participate in Phillips’ class if he hardly ever calls on anyone but Prissy.
“Now then, has anyone ever seen a Patronus Charm cast?” Phillips inquires.
For a moment Anne thinks no one’s raised their hand at all— she wouldn’t be surprised. As Prissy said, it’s a fairly advanced charm, and it’s not as if Dementors and Lethifolds just pop around out of the blue.
“Mr. Blythe!” Phillips says, unable to hide his surprise. “You’ve seen the charm cast before?”
“Yes sir…by my father, and…” Gilbert pauses for a moment as though contemplating whether or not to continue. “And by myself. My dad, he taught me before he…um…well, he just felt as though it was something he should teach me how to do.”
Anne’s heart lurches on Gilbert’s behalf. She knows what he stopped himself from saying. That this must have been one of the last things John Blythe had felt compelled to teach his son before he passed.
“Well…that’s fairly impressive Gilbert,” Professor Phillips says in response. “Would you care to come up to the front of the class to demonstrate?”
Gilbert collects his wand and dutifully goes up to the front of the classroom, and Anne watches with rapt curiosity as he closes his eyes. She wonders if perhaps he’s thinking of his father. For a split second Anne swears she sees Gilbert’s gaze flick in her direction before he casts, but the idea quickly flits away when a beautiful silvery fox bursts from the end of his wand. Anne watches in delight along with the rest of the students as Gilbert’s Patronus does a lap around the room before it bounds back up to the front of the class. She assumes it must be going back to reunite with its owner, but instead, the fox curls itself around her shoulders once before it disappears into thin air.
Anne thinks there’s a bit of irony to be found in the idea that despite all her best efforts to avoid Gilbert, even Gilbert’s magic won’t leave her alone. But she’s still too enchanted by the beautiful display of charm work she’s just witnessed to be angry about it for long, and the irritation she might normally be prone to feeling melts away as quickly as the silvery fox had just done mere seconds ago.
It takes a moment for Professor Phillips to get the class to settle down after Gilbert’s impressive display, and a collective groan escapes from the students in the room when their teacher tells them to put their wands away, take out their books, and start reading the chapter on Patronus Charms.
“I’ve got to take these files over to Professor Binns,” says Phillips as he shuffles some papers on his desk. “I expect you all to stay quiet, read your books, and behave yourselves in my absence. I won’t hesitate in executing punishments if I catch any of you breaking the rules.”
For a while, the class does as Professor Phillips says, but it’s not long before the sound of pages turning is coupled with that of chatter as the students talk among themselves. Many are voicing what Anne herself is lamenting in her mind: that it’s a shame that Professor Phillips doesn’t seem to put much stock into actually letting them try their hand at most of the curses, spells, and incantations he teaches them in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Anne tries her best to ignore Billy Andrews, who’s currently holding court at the desk in front of the one she and Gilbert share. Her patience runs out when Paul L. leans back onto her desk and almost sends her inkwell spilling onto her text book.
“Do you mind?!” Anne exclaims as she clutches her book to her chest. “Some of us are trying to study!”
“I don’t see why you’re bothering,” Billy says loudly. “I doubt an ugly orphan like you has very much to celebrate— why I bet you couldn’t even think of a memory happy enough to conjure a Patronus anyway.”
Anne is used to Billy Andrews throwing insults her way, and she’s usually quick to give as good as she gets. But without being aware, Billy’s struck a particularly tender nerve and vocalized the quiet fear that had been whispering in the back of her mind as she’d been trying to complete today’s reading as assigned— a voice that had been quietly wondering if her dark past prior to being adopted by sweet Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert had damaged her much more than she ever even realized. That perhaps the darkness that still lingered around the edges of her usually bright persona meant that she might, as Billy had cruelly alluded to, never be able to think of a memory happy enough to even come close to producing a Patronus of her own.
Her spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Billy crying out as he crumples to the floor. Anne puts two and two together quite quickly when she notices Gilbert standing above the blond Slytherin inspecting his knuckles, which look as though they’re already starting to bruise— though not as bad as Billy’s left eye, which is already starting to swell from the blow Gilbert had just clearly delivered to it.
“You’ll pay for that, Blythe!” Billy snarls before he pounces, tackling Gilbert to the floor.
Anne watches both boys roll around and fight for dominance in horror for a moment before she regains control of her senses. She pushes her way through the throng of students that have created a ring around Gilbert and Billy, clearly caught up in the spectacle of the melee. Billy’s on top of Gilbert once she reaches them and there’s a fury in his steely blue gaze that makes her fear for Gilbert’s wellbeing. So Anne does the only thing she can think of to get him to stop before he does any permanent damage and points her wand straight at him.
“STUPEFY!”
A flash of red erupts from the tip of her wand, hits Billy square in the chest, and sends the boy flying off of Gilbert and crashing into a blackboard clear across the room. Anne rushes to Gilbert’s side when he doesn’t immediately get up off the floor.
“Are you alright?!” Anne cries desperately as she shakes his shoulder furiously. She doesn’t like the way his eyes are screwed shut tight, or the sight of all of the blood trickling down his mouth, over his chin, and onto his neck below.
“I’m fine, Carrots…“ Gilbert starts as he makes to get up.
Anne doesn’t even have time to be angry over Gilbert resurrecting the old nickname she despises— in part because she’s so relieved that he’s conscious enough to recognize her, and in part because Professor Phillips has clearly returned to his classroom just in time to witness the grand climax of the brawl.
“What part of wands away did you not understand, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?!” Professor Phillips bellows after he yells at her for raising her wand at another student.
“And you two— fighting like animals on the floor— this is unacceptable behavior!” Phillips seethes, rounding on the boys.
Phillips flicks his eyes back to where Anne is standing sheepishly next to Gilbert, takes another look at Gilbert’s bloody nose, and casts his eyes upward while letting out an exasperated sigh.
“I’ll deal with your punishments later— Cuthbert, take Blythe to the hospital wing before he spills any more blood on my floor.”
“Yes, Sir…” Anne says quietly as she takes Gilbert’s arm and leads him away.
“I’ll bring both of your things back to the common room,” Diana says when she catches them at the door.
Anne nods, smiling at her friend in thanks before she ushers Gilbert out of the room.
“Don’t worry, Anne-girl— it’s just a bloody nose,” Gilbert says when he catches Anne shooting worried glances up at him.
“Well...tilt your head back then—- and stop talking!” Anne bristles. When Gilbert doesn’t do as she says fast enough, she reaches up to grab his chin herself so she can push his head back until he’s staring straight up at the ceiling.
She tugs him along, quickening their pace when she hears him coughing beside her, likely from the blood that’s now trickling down his throat courtesy of the bloody nose Billy gave him.
Madam Pomfrey takes one look at the state of Gilbert’s face and ushers them in, shooting a pointed, questioning look at Anne as she leads them over to a cot toward the middle of the hospital wing.
“Fist fight,” Anne says in answer to the nonverbal quandary.
“Well, I guess that’s better than last year when he took a bludger to the ribcage,” Madam Pomfrey huffs as she motions for Gilbert to sit on the bed. “I’ll have to set that nose for you though— and treat that hand. You two wait here while I go get some supplies.”
Anne had been intending on excusing herself after leaving Gilbert in Madam Pomfrey’s capable care, but it’s clear the Hogwarts matron is having none of that. Instead, she shoves a cold compress into Anne’s hand and tells her to hold it to Gilbert’s bloody nose until she returns.
Anne stands between Gilbert’s knees and does as she’s told, as a heavy silence settles between them after Madam Pomfrey retreats to the supply closet.
“Why’d you do it?” Anne asks after a moment when she can no longer stand the quiet.
“Would you believe me if I said I punched Billy in the name of orphan solidarity?” Gilbert asks. He shoots a rueful glance at her, and Anne’s sure if she could see his mouth, she’d have seen a similar expression pulling across his lips as well.
“No,” Anne says through a small smile.
“Why do you think I did it then?” Gilbert asks quietly.
Deep in her heart, Anne thinks she knows the answer— but she’s too afraid of the way it’ll sound coming out of her mouth if she dares to vocalize it.
“I don’t know,” she mutters, their close proximity causing butterflies to sprout and flutter around in the pit of her stomach. “You’re a mystery wrapped in a riddle to me, Gilbert Blythe— I’m still trying to figure you out.”
“Funny…I’d say I’m a bit more of an open book than a riddle,” Gilbert shoots back playfully.
“Really?” Anne whispers, looking up at him with a wide-eyed expression.
“Really.” Gilbert whispers back, ducking his head lower so he can meet her gaze full on. “At least it feels that way…when it comes to you…”
Slowly, he lifts his uninjured hand from his lap, brings it up, and places it gently over the hand Anne’s currently got holding the compress to his bloody nose. And all of a sudden, Anne feels like maybe she’s the one that needs to go and lie down on one of the many empty cots the hospital wing provides.
“Oh…” she breathes out, heart thumping wildly away in her chest as Gilbert drags his thumb back and forth across her knuckles.
Madam Pomfrey picks that exact moment to return, waving her away from Gilbert’s side so she can administer the handful of potions she’s brought out from the back room. Anne takes the opportunity to make a quick getaway, calling out that she’ll see Gilbert later before rushing out of the hospital wing.
She doesn't stop until she's reached the Gryffindor common room. She also doesn't realize she's been absentmindedly tracing the path Gilbert's thumb had been brushing across the back of her hand with her own fingertips until Diana brings it to her attention, asking her if she'd somehow hurt herself there while trying to break up the fight. Anne assures Diana that her hand is perfectly fine, but she keeps the fact that her skin feels as though it's burning in all the places Gilbert had been touching her to herself.
Gilbert catches up with Anne the next day, calling out to her just as she’s about to make her way into the Great Hall for breakfast.
“I heard about your detention sentence,” he says breathlessly. “Two weeks in the kitchens? Phillips should have gone easier on you. You were only trying to help.”
“I heard about yours too— two weeks scrubbing cauldrons with only Professor Slughorn for company? At least the house elves are much more fascinating company,” Anne replies. “I’m sorry you’ll have to endure it. I feel like it’s sort of my fault.”
“You didn’t force me to punch Billy Andrews— I did that all on my own,” Gilbert says shaking his head. “I feel like I should be the one apologizing. If I hadn’t have done it, you wouldn’t have had to step in at all.”
“Well…he had it coming,” Anne says, smiling mischievously. “It’s about time someone put him in his place.”
Gilbert lets out a hearty laugh, his right hand instinctively flying up to run through the curls at the back of his head.
“Perhaps I can make it up to you by buying you a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?” He asks hesitantly. “There’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up in just a few weeks….”
“That sounds less like a peace offering and more like cruel and unusual punishment,” Anne jokes before she can stop herself, finding it all too easy to slip back into their penchant for verbally sparring against each other.
She regrets it as soon as she says it and notices the way her words make Gilbert’s face fall.
“Do you really find my company to be all that torturous?” Gilbert asks before Anne can figure out how to take the words back. He tries to keep his tone light, but there’s no hiding the pain laced between the playfulness, and it makes Anne feel as though someone’s stabbed her right through the heart.
“You’re never going to give it up are you?” She says suddenly, voice alight in wonderment.
“Give what up?” Gilbert asks curiously.
“Trying to be my friend— despite…despite how awful I can be sometimes,” Anne says quietly.
It’s not an apology by any means, but the smile the blooms bright and wide across Gilbert’s handsome face makes it feel as though that’s exactly what Anne has just offered up.
“Never— we’re going to be the best of friends,” Gilbert says jubilantly. “We were born to be good friends, Anne— you’ll see. You’ve thwarted destiny long enough.”
Anne rips her eyes away from Gilbert’s when she feels a blush creep across her cheeks at his words, butterflies back in full force as they infiltrate her stomach. She’s not quite sure what to say in response to his declaration, so she opts to change the subject when she takes notice of a small jar Gilbert’s holding in his hand.
“Is that honey?”
“Oh yes! Bash just sent it over— freshly harvested from the Blythe-Lacroix property back home,” Gilbert says proudly as he holds the jar of golden syrup up between them. “Here— you take this one. He’ll be sending more along soon enough.”
“Oh…I couldn’t!” Anne says, as she tries to push the jar back toward Gilbert.
“I insist,” he replies, pressing it firmly into Anne’s hands.
He catches sight of the Gryffindor keeper then, and quickly excuses himself, offering Anne a rushed goodbye as he hurries off to catch up with his quidditch teammate.
Anne stands there dumbstruck, holding the jar of honey in her hands, frozen in the middle of the corridor for a moment before she slowly makes her way into the Great Hall herself.
“Is that a jar of honey?” Diana asks a short time later once Anne has joined her two best friends at the Gryffindor table for breakfast.
“Hmm?” Anne responds dazed, as her eyes focus on the friend sitting across from her. “Oh…yes. Yes it is.”
“I thought you said you didn’t even like honey all that much,” Cole adds.
Anne makes to slide her gaze over to the boy next to her. In the process, she locks eyes with Gilbert, who’s sitting at the far end of the table. He shoots her a soft smile that makes Anne feel warm and fuzzy inside, and she beams back at him in return.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” She replies. “But I think I’ve recently had a bit of a change of heart.”