Chapter Text
She's not sure how she got here.
Gryffindor brought home the Cup today, that was expected. They'd practiced their freezing asses off for months for this day, and they knew that there was no way in hell the Reese-Carter duo was graduating this year without taking home the win. Sure they'd stepped down as co-captains last year and handed the reigns over to Shaw so they could focus on their OWLs and NEWTs, but still. This was their swan song.
Plus there was no way she was passing up the opportunity to hit Martine and Lambert as many times as she could. Lambert dropped the Quaffle at least thrice with just a look from her from across the pitch, and that was already a win for her.
Typical post-win festivities started at the pitch, went on until the Cup was sitting proudly on the common room mantle and a portrait of the team had been taken by Daizo, and whatever charms are placed on portraits to memorialize that moment are being worked on it as we speak. That's also expected.
Because of stupid rules, of course, they had to wait and sneak out of their own victory party to make their way to the Great Lake, where the real party starts.
It used to be a small gathering, just the core group, but without her noticing, they've grown in numbers over the years. Reese had taken in the initially questionable Fusco; Finch, against all odds, started dating and before she knew it, Grace was sitting with them during meals and walking with them to and from classes. This new kid Mike she still wasn't sure of, but if Carter trusted him, then of course everyone would follow suit. Nathan wasn't a fan of Quidditch but he was a fan of Finch, so here he was.
Even George made the effort to weasel his way out of Control's — sorry, Professor Diane's — thumb to stop by and congratulate her with a bottle of firewhisky, so yeah, no one's going to complain about the arrival of a professor at that.
Shaw was never really sure how Root became a fixture in their small company though. She thinks maybe it was her weirdly strong bond with Finch, or the way she and Reese worked surprisingly well together at Duelling Club, or how Carter respected her, how she was always a good match against Elias at Wizard's Chess, or how even Fusco — Fusco! — got used to Root's dark sense of humor.
But here they were.
Here where Shaw finds herself looking, wondering, not for the first time, if Root has always looked this good underneath the moonlight, or if that was the shot of firewhisky getting to her head.
Of course, no one knows she's having these thoughts at all.
No, to everyone, she's the girl entirely unaffected by Root's constant flirting and innuendos and the occasional sweet comments and genuine concern that has Shaw smiling to herself at night when she thinks back to the highlights of her day.
To everyone, she's the girl who shrugs these off with a scoff and a shake of her head, who has eyes for a Slytherin boy — that Tomas boy she once pointed out to Zoe and hasn't heard the end of since.
To everyone else, she tolerates Root's presence and accepts her teasing in stride.
Of course, they don't hear Shaw's comebacks when Root says something particular that ignites something in her; they don't see the smirks she sometimes shoots Root when no one else is looking. Especially not the silent talks they share at the Astronomy Tower past curfew, or the ones in their nook in the library, the ones exchanged over a cauldron of popping newts or fairy wings.
No one knows Shaw knows how to get into the Ravenclaw Tower because Root once told her there was a pattern to the riddles the knocker asks, and knowing which book and which section to check in the Library that week helps, so of course when she's tired of getting in trouble with Reese or Carter's extra-credit assignment of the week, she hides out in Root's room, her presence a somehow well-kept secret among the other Ravenclaw girls she shares her room with.
Not that those mean anything.
But it's nice, having something that she's able to keep just between the two of them.
That is until her feet bring her right in front of Root. Root, whose carefree laughter at something Casey was saying felt so inviting that Shaw just had to be in its orbit. Whose smile when she turns to greet her with a "Here's our champion" meant so much more to her than the chants of her name on the pitch.
Root, whose lips had the telltale taste of alcohol and vanilla chapsticks, stilling at the sudden contact before they reciprocate.
It's a very brief kiss, too quick to escalate, but long enough for Shaw to savor the moment before the deafening silence that follows is broken by John's barking chuckles-turned-coughs.
Shaw stares up at Root after, simply says, "I won."
Root blinks. "I —" She clears her throat and grins. "I saw."
"Yeah..."
In a way she hopes she of all people could pull off, she turns, stares down her friends, daring anyone to say anything, and leans against the wall next to Root. She takes a sip straight of her drink and George catches her eye and winks, which she only responds to with a sneer, and soon the party continues like nothing happened.
Except something did happen, and Shaw feels it in the air, in the way Root settles against the wall just a hair away, fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand.
Shaw told herself it didn't mean anything.
Shaw's convinced herself that she doesn't feel; never has, never will. Not when her Muggle-born mother left them when she found out about them; not when her father — powerful, skilled, possibly best of his generation — died a Muggle death while trying to drive away from the life they both knew.
Turning to Root, watching her profile look iridescent as it is, blocking out the moon, letting the light reflecting off of the lake surround her like a halo. She's so beautiful, even the combination of the just-barely full moon and the twinkling of the stars and its counterparts in the lake pale in comparison, and she realizes — accepts — that she feels so strongly.
She's dug deep enough, has let Root burrow her way into her life, and she finds that she doesn't mind.
She didn't know how to feel, much less love.
Now, she's not so sure.
But she's sure of one thing.
She's never going to hear the end of this.
And maybe she doesn't want to.