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“What are you doing here? I thought you had Arithmancy at this time,” Arnold asked as Rishe slid into her usual seat beside him in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Rishe.”
“Well my schedule says that I have Defense Against the Dark Arts right now, so I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Arnold eyed her skeptically, but made no further comments. At least with her around, the class wouldn't be nearly as dull as it was looking to be. Still, even if she wasn’t lying about her schedule, there was something that didn’t line up.
Arnold clearly remembered her writing about the “agony” of having to choose only a single class. She had told him that her parents had demanded that she focus more on business and finance, and thus she would have to take arithmancy instead of the advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class she had wanted to take. Yet, here she was, pulling out a second-hand textbook and rolling up her sleeves with an eager grin.
He doubted that her parents had changed their minds, so had she gone against them? But despite her house, she was too afraid of disappointing them to even think of doing so. It was improbable.
Until he could gather more information, though, there wasn’t any real point in pursuing it further. Frustrating as it was to simply wait, Arnold flattened down that irritation and focused on the lesson.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of these strange occurrences. Only a few days later did the next unexplainable event occur.
Arnold had just wished Rishe farewell after their usual study session in the library after classes, but when he glanced out the window he spotted a head of familiar pink hair returning from Hagrid’s hut, where the last class for Advanced Care of Magical Creatures was now returning. But considering Rishe had been with him for the last two hours, it made no sense that she would be even close to that group. She couldn’t have even made it to the gates in such a short time even if she had run at her full speed.
A few suspicions came to mind, but there was no one to tell them to. Arnold came to the decision that he’d ask her about it tomorrow.
____________
“Rishe? Yesterday—”
“Not now Arnold,” Rishe mumbled distractedly. “I have to get to quidditch practice.” She brushed right past him. Arnold spun around, almost panicked, as the entrance to her dorm closed behind her. A strange feeling bubbled up in his gut, something pushing him to step towards the window. Looking out a blur of pink rushed out the front gate and joined the Gryffindor quidditch team on the pitch.
Even if she could apparate, it was impossible for her to have changed into her uniform that quickly. How on earth was she already there?
____________
“Rishe, what on earth are you brewing?” Before she could start and waste her effort, Arnold pulled away her cutting board and the wythas roots on it.
“Huh?” Knife loosely held in her right hand, Rishe blinked down at her workspace, and then up at him.
“Those are the ingredients used to make a Wideye Potion, we’re supposed to be brewing Exstimulo.”
“Oh…right. Sorry, I don’t know what got into me…”
There was little to no inflection in her words. A chill went down his spine. Wordlessly, he slid over his prepared ingredients and went to go fetch new ones.
His mind went to the worst possibilities, as a reflex: she was cursed, she was hexed, she was struggling through poison. Arnold tore apart a ferasker viper’s skin with more strength than was strictly necessary: the grating sound cut through his thoughts. Those didn’t line up with the past few weeks’ incidents. Briefly, he wondered if they were unrelated.
Beside him, Rishe nearly turned the heat too high: Arnold reached out and stopped her from causing a mild explosion. “Don’t be distracted,” he said. “What are you thinking about?”
“Hm…? Muggle Studies homework.”
“I wasn’t aware you had that course.” She’d never mentioned it to him.
“Oh.” There was a stilted moment of silence, accented by the soft hiss of their cauldrons. “I do.”
They probably were related after all.
It was a strange thought, but not one that couldn’t be justified. It did have precedent. And hadn’t Rishe always wanted to be the greatest student in Hogwarts? Wouldn’t it make sense, more so than a mysterious curse?
Time travel. If there was any person who would want to use that artifact, and somehow convince faculty to let her, of course it would be Rishe.
A year ago, Rishe had not hesitated to find and pin him down in order to bully him into getting his shoulder treated. Arnold figured that it was well past time for him to return the favor.
Before Arnold could catch her, Rishe darted out of the classroom, hitting her shoulder painfully against the doorway in the process.
Gritting his teeth Arnold followed after her in a hurry. But by the time he followed, she had disappeared.
Damn it.
He’d have to catch her in the act if he stood a chance in stopping her self-destructive actions.
___________
It wasn’t hard to catch her in the following days. Where before she must have been overly cautious and careful, in her tired state Rishe had grown sloppy and reckless.
So when he followed her down a hidden passage—too tired to sense his presence as she normally did—she pulled out the small necklace hidden beneath her robes.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Arnold demanded, snatching the small device from Rishe’s hands before she could use it.
“Arnold! You—give it back!” Rishe snarled, teeth flashing. She leapt to try to take her Time-Turner back, forcing Arnold to hold it above his head so she couldn’t reach.
“No!”
Rishe looked—to put it bluntly—awful. There were bags beneath her eyes so dark they looked like bruises, striking against her pale, waxy skin. Her irises were tinted red as a result of hours spent reading under dim light and a lack of sleep. Her hair—which she normally took great pride in maintaining, brushing it each morning and working it into various styles—had become a frizzy, tangled mess of knots. Her pale wrists were practically swallowed up by her sleeves, and her robes seemed to hang off her frame rather than fitting comfortably against each limb.
“You’re hurting yourself, Rishe,” Arnold growled. When she flinched, he hastily corrected himself, relaxing his expression and being gentle in pushing her away, as she attempted once more to jump up and grab the small artifact. ‘You weren’t meant to be angry with the injured’, Rishe’s voice echoed in his head.
“You don’t understand! I need to do this!” Rishe cried. Her eyes began to water. A blotchy flush spread over her thin cheeks.
“You don’t ‘need’ to do anything.”
“This is the only way I can continue doing what I want! If I can’t do this—“ Rishe gasped—“then I lose everything! Without that Time-Turner I’d never be allowed to take any of the classes I love again!”
Her outburst might have been more intimidating if she had the strength to carry it through. Visibly frustrated and obviously exhausted, tears began streaking down Rishe’s cheeks. She took a clumsy step back, and harshly scrubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands, shoulders hunching. It struck him that he had never seen her cry before: come close, maybe, but never something so undone. Arnold froze, the Time-Turner still held up high, unable to do anything.
“Please, Arnold,” Rishe pleaded, voice thick and broken. “Please give it back.” She dropped her hands and stared up at him, begging him to understand.
There wasn’t a need for her to beg: Arnold had understood the moment he figured out she was using a Time-Turner.
Slowly, he pocketed the device, taking a step towards her as he did so. Each movement felt strange, but it would have to do. Recalling how Rishe would interact with her other friends, Arnold held out his arms and carefully wrapped them around her small frame, easing her close. She was trembling and stiff as a board, but she didn’t push him away and she didn’t try to get her Time-Turner back either: it was a good sign.
“If you keep going at this rate,” Arnold murmured, “you’ll fail no matter what you do.”
“That’s not…” Rishe hiccuped, tilting over into his bicep. Her brows were furrowed into an exhausted glare. “It’s… You don’t have to do this.”
“What did you say to me last year? Ah yes, ‘Because you’re my friend… And I can’t stand the idea of you having to suffer alone when I can help.’” He rubbed her back. She had likely been forcing herself to keep up with brewing his medicine as well. The thought made his stomach twist into knots.
Rishe grimaced. “I’m not suffering,” she muttered.
Arnold gave her a flat look. “Would you like me to escort you to a mirror?”
“I’m not!” Rishe insisted. She twisted against his hold, then sagged with a tired sigh only a moment later. She should have had more energy to be struggling, she should have hugged him back or she should have danced away from his arms while laughing. Instead, she was limp. “I knew it would be tiring,” she mumbled against his shoulder, “so it’s not a big deal. I’m the one who requested the use of a Time-Turner.”
“Rishe,” Arnold sighed. “Exactly how many classes are you taking with it?” He wasn’t sure he truly wanted the answer, but it was necessary for him to help his friend.
“...15,” Rishe admitted, though it sounded more like a question. At that, Arnold sucked in a sharp breath before letting it out slowly. He was careful to maintain some semblance of calm before talking again: getting mad at her while she was in this state wouldn’t help anything.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. We’ll worry about that later, for now you need to eat something and rest.”
“But I don’t have time to sleep! Besides, I can’t eat until I finish all of my work.”
“Is it that you can’t, or that you won’t?”
“...I can’t.” Rishe choked. Loosely, she grasped his sleeve, tears soaking into the fabric of Arnold’s robes.
Curse her family. He’d hex them if he ever received the chance.
“Let's compromise, then.”
“Hm?”
“I’ll help you with your homework-“
“But-“
“No, listen. I’ll stay with you. For every assignment you finish, you have to eat something. This way you’ll finish your work, you’ll eat, and since tomorrow is Sunday you’ll have time to rest too.”
Rishe blinked a few times. “If that’s it, you don’t have to be there with me,” she murmured.
“Yes I do, otherwise you’re going to spiral into work and not follow through,” Arnold sighed. At some point, he had started untangling some of the knots in her hair. He paused so that he could rub her back again. “Goodness knows that you’d only exhaust yourself further.”
“It’d be too selfish. I can’t-I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
“Well it’s a good thing I’m offering then.”
That seemed to do it. With the little strength Rishe had left, she hugged him back, curling into him. “You spoil me too much.”
“Consider it my retaliation for last year.” Beside himself with relief, and unwilling to admit it, Arnold kept Rishe in his embrace so that she couldn’t see his expression. “When you’re ready, we’ll… go…”
Ah. There was an issue with that plan, and it was that Rishe had already fallen asleep, head resting against his shoulder. Carefully, Arnold sank down and rested his back against the wall behind him.
What was he supposed to do now?!
Today was Saturday, which meant there was no fear of missing any classes, but he didn’t know how comfortable this position would be for Rishe. Yet he didn’t want to risk waking her by moving, knowing that she desperately needed this rest.
So he sat there, carefully laying Rishe so that her head rested comfortably on his thigh. With careful maneuvering, he was able to place his robes atop her body like a blanket, just in case a cold late-autumn wind blew past.
She looked softer in her sleep, her face completely lax, smoothed over from any tension. He wondered if he’d ever seen her this peaceful before; though with the way she always pushed herself, he doubted he had.
Time passed by slowly. The grey autumn sky was unchanging and the lake surface was as flat as a sheet of glass. There was nothing to do but wait. Arnold was content with it nonetheless, happy to help Rishe when she had given so much of herself to him. It felt only right to finally give something back.
It could have only been a few minutes or it could have been several hours when Rishe finally stirred, furrowing her brows. Her breaths shallow. Arnold ran his fingers through her hair, allowing his nails to gently scratch against her scalp, soothing whatever pain she may have had. Her expression smoothed out once more, a content sigh leaving her lips. She settled into the touch like a cat.
Then her eyes shot open. Abruptly, she had a firm grasp on his hand, pulling it away from her hair. In a flurry of movement, she shoved herself up onto her knees, bright eyes wide with panic.
“Wha-where…Arnold?!”
Arnold squeezed her hand once. “If you need to rest a little longer, you should do so.”
“What?!” Rishe squeaked, cheeks quickly flushing a deep red. She slumped down, shoulders drooping, rubbing at her forehead with the palm of her free hand.
“Are you okay?” Arnold asked, concern noticeable in the furrow of his brow. “Are you feeling ill?” He wouldn’t be too surprised if Rishe had, in fact, worked herself into a fever: it wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it’d be the last.
“Fine! I’m fine!” Rishe declared, pushing herself up to her feet, swiftly removing her hand from his own. It was far too fast, considering she had just woken up: Rishe stumbled slightly, forced to lean against the wall for support.
“Be careful.” Arnold scolded, as he stood up and took a step back, giving her space. His legs tingled slightly, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.
“H-how long was I asleep?” Rishe stumbled over herself in her flustered state. It was a strange sight: his friend was normally so level-headed, only cracking under the most extreme of circumstances, be it his pain or her own. What was new was always risky, but if he was being honest, he rather enjoyed seeing her like this, causing him to wonder what else he could do to garner this reaction from her once more.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s not helpful.”
Arnold merely shrugged, picking up his robes that had fallen to the floor after she had leapt up. Rishe followed his movement, cheeks turning an even darker shade of crimson he never thought possible without a curse of some sort.
“Not that it matters very much. You definitely needed it.”
Rishe opened her mouth to protest, but Arnold continued on before she could. “But now that you’re up, let’s head to the secret kitchen.”
Rishe had discovered it late last year, during finals week, when the library had been overflowing with students cramming for their tests last-minute. Knowing that Arnold hated crowds, Rishe had followed the instructions of one of the ghosts she had befriended: tickle the painting of a pear in order to open up a small, secluded kitchen with a quaint fireplace that was always lit.
“My work is in Gryffindor Tower,” Rishe mumbled, ducking her head slightly in embarrassment. The blush had not faded.
“Then we’ll simply stop there first. You’re not getting out of this, Rishe.”
“I’m not trying to!” Rishe exclaimed, hands fisting the ends of her sleeves and yanking them down at her sides. “I just-never mind. Let’s just go.”
Pushing ahead, a spark of determination returning to her eyes, Rishe moved swiftly through the halls toward her common room with Arnold following quickly behind.
Arnold let out a soft sigh at her antics, but couldn’t help the fond smile that fell upon his lips. He’d pay her back for all the help she’d given him one step at a time.
It was then that Arnold came to the sudden realization that he quite liked these moments, even when his friend was being completely nonsensical: that if all his life was a loop of this day, being able to know her for the good and the disastrous, he might be content. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to be beside Rishe as much as possible.
However, with the way Rishe was now stumbling up the stairs—breath coming out in short bursts, refusing to look in his direction—that was a thought for another day.