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I’m one of them, those who die when they love. — Mahmoud Darwish
Gillig, please don’t think me cold. I’ve been dead since I met you.
I find the first note tucked into my cauldron. I was going to pour a cup of boiling hot dragonfly wax into it before I saw the crinkled bundle of paper.
I steadied the cup of boiling dragonfly wax with one hand, fished the crumpled note from my cauldron with the other, and slipped it into my pocket to read after Potions class had ended.
Now, I sat in the middle of the library, hiding behind bookshelves trying not to melt, all because of a copied quote. The entire thing was only ten words, plus the sender’s own thirteen. Twenty-three words was all it took to turn me into a hopeless romantic. Not that I wasn’t already one. But for as long as I’d been alive, I thought I had that fact about myself locked down. Buried under an impenetrable cage called logistics.
You see, I reasoned, romance between young people almost never turns out to be genuine lifelong companionship. Lust-driven teenage boys didn’t have the capacity to see further than their own sidetable of tissues and lotion. I was looking for something with longevity. I had observed that I likely wasn’t going to get that at Hogwarts. I’d seen enough returned Valentine’s Day gifts and booming Hogsmeade break-ups to know that much.
A book hovered around my head, then promptly landed on my crown.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed, looking around for the perpetrator.
Adrian Pucey grinned at me, “Gillig, you must have been hitting the books too hard.”
“No such thing,” I argued, then spat, “Pucey.”
He raised his hands in the air, faking a tremble, “Oh. No. I’m so afraid.”
“How can I help you today, Adrian?”
He wasn’t here to solely chide me with his horrible sarcasm, it was because he wanted something from me. Our relationship had been functionally transactional since first year, and it worked out great for the both of us. Wonderful even.
“Little kelpie told me you got a note in Potions. I’m inclined to know what the nature of such frivolity has in store for you.”
I rubbed my crown, trying to ease the sting of the stray book away.
“Ask me again, normally.”
His Victorian-era linguistics grew tiring any time after eight at night.
“Your Potions partner, the Goldy boy, let it loose that you got a love letter, apparently. Lemme read it.”
Of course, Anthony Goldstein would have blabbed to our mutual friend Adrian about the note.
I handed it to Adrian, “I’ve no idea who wrote it.”
Upon getting the letter, his shoulders stiffened.
“Must be a Slytherin, look at this handwriting. Ancient,” Adrian chuckled, “You’ve caught the attention of someone who loves theatrics apparently.”
He tossed the note back to me, carelessly—as if the note was worthless. It floated in the air before landing on the table again. In the low light of the library, warm beige made the letter look much more worn than I expected. The creases were soft, the edges faintly worn, as though the note had spent a long time folded in someone's pocket before it ever reached my cauldron.
“Or it’s a fake,” I said, "In your own words, I'm, quote, 'unfuckable' and 'undesirable’ to the maximum extent."
Adrian slumped into the chair beside me, “Undesirable, yes. Unfuckable, arguable. I’ve thought about it once or twice.”
I gently kicked his shin, “Gross.”
“Gross, but I’m not ruling it out yet.”
“You here to bring me back to prison?” I asked.
“Yes, the prefects are asking after you. Wondering where their Head Girl disappeared to.”
I groaned, “One night—one night where I’m unbothered by social climbing drama is all I ask for.”
Adrian leaned forward in the chair.
“Should’ve thought about that before being so bloody clever.”
He pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.
He’d never done that before. Odd. But, it was Adrian.
I made a sound of disgust.
“Cruel,” Adrian shot at me before tucking his hands into his pockets.
I walked with him to the Prefect’s Meeting Room.
Once we got there, Zichen Hong immediately sighed with relief.
“Took you long enough, Gillig.”
I waved a hand at him, “I don’t have time to banter with you. Adrian sucked up all the romantic tension I could provide for you today.”
Zichen’s face scrunched.
Adrian threw himself into a chair, right next to where Zichen was sitting.
“Tough loss, mate,” Adrian patted Zichen’s arm, “Round buddies tonight?”
“No way in hell,” Zichen answered. “You reek.”
“Primary insults, Hong. Come back to me when you've developed a secondary school vocabulary,” Adrian scoffed. “Gillig, Hong’s being mean to me again.” He whined.
The fifth and sixth year prefects failed at hiding their amused faces at Zichen and Adrian’s nightly lovers’ quarrel. If they weren’t at each other’s necks, they were at mine instead.
“Hong, it’s your turn with Adrian.” I reminded him.
“I refuse,” Zichen said, directly, with a side eye at Adrian tipping his head backwards on the chair and his feet kicked out on the floor.
Inside my brain, a very small and angry woman lives. In there, she had a pillow. She was currently hitting that aforementioned pillow roughly against a crudely done drawing of Adrian Pucey and his milk chocolate hair. Curse him and his inability to form normal friendships with anyone we knew.
I put my reading glasses on, scanning the chart posted near the back wall of the Meeting Room. The only person who was listed as a back-up for night rounds, to check for students out of bed, was me.
I raised my tie in the air, “You know what colour this is, Hong?”
“Green and silver.”
I dropped my tie and clapped.
“Correct,” I cleared my throat, “My nobility only goes so far. But for tonight, I’ll spare you an Adrian Pucey Dickens’ specialty recitation.”
Adrian made an incredulous look, “I am not a monster. Despite you and Hong trying to make me out to be one.”
Zichen smirked, “Maybe she’ll kiss you better. If I don’t get there first.”
A fifth year prefect from Hufflepuff pretended to gag.
I adjusted my Head Girl pin, “What’s everyone waiting for? Be back at ten, then we’ll do some charting and everyone can be off.”
The pre-assigned pairs march off to check that students are in their dorms. They go about checking corridors, empty classrooms, and other nooks for lingering students. I tried to sort the pairings to be boy with boy, and girl with girl. However, extenuating circumstances did occasionally ask for a mixed-gender pair. If I did, I’d pair seventh years to do that.
And since Adrian was a seventh year prefect, and unfortunately one of my closest friends, I allowed us to go as round-partners for the night.
Adrian and I took the long route around the winding path surrounding Hogwarts. We’d be the last ones to return to the Meeting Room because of the lengthy nature of the assignment.
“What are you going to be doing after we finish school?” Adrian asked, kicking a small stone with the tip of his shoe.
We walked a little farther before he kicked it again.
I rolled the dice in my mind.
“It’s either to sell my soul to the corporate beast of the Ministry of Magic.” I grimaced.
Adrian gave me a short laugh.
“Or I run away to live with my aunt in America. Did you know they call Muggles No-Majs over there?” I said, stealing the next kick from Adrian with my own loafers.
The smooth stone bounced too hard against the cobblestone path, hit a patch of moss and flew away. I expected Adrian to comment on it, or start to bicker about me stealing his toy.
Instead, he finds a new stone and kicks that one forward instead.
“Do you really want either of those futures?”
My fingers went to touch the note in my pocket, brushing against the worn down paper. I had half a mind to re-read it right then and there.
I glanced at Adrian, who was focused on the stone. His hair had gotten longer, falling into his eyebrows. He usually slicked it back into a neat middle part. Today, it had escaped him entirely, curling around his ears.
“You didn’t do your hair today,” I commented.
“Ran out of pomade,” he replied. “Gillig, you’re avoiding my question. Your future? What are you going to do?”
I scratched the back of my head, “I’m still working it out. My Aunt Liz did send me an Owl though. I’ve never been to America. She said there’s a cafe near her house that’s always hiring. I might go the slow path for a while.”
“You’d hate that,” Adrian remarked, “You thrive with things that require a ludicrous amount of effort.”
“Maybe I want a change of pace. Try out being calm for once in my life,” I mused.
“You could always accept my father’s offer for you to come and intern at the International Liaison office with me.”
Adrian's father had Owl-posted me the same offer weeks ago. An internship at the International Magical Hub in Rome. I hadn't answered. The Puceys had moved to Italy two years earlier after his father's promotion, and somehow everyone assumed I'd follow Adrian there too. His mother was eager to marry Adrian off to a Slytherin, and she also wanted grandchildren sooner rather than later.
“Are you saying that because you want to pawn your work off on me?” I teased.
Adrian shook his head, suddenly serious.
“I’m saying this because I want…” his voice trailed off.
He stopped.
I prompted again, “You want?”
“We’re a good team. It’d be productive. We’re productive.” Adrian assessed out loud, for me to see the vision he’d clearly been setting up.
“Pucey-Gillig continuing their reign of terror,” I hummed, “We just go from Hogwarts to the International Magical Hub in Roma.”
I threw on an accent for the nameplace.
Adrian’s mouth quirked.
“Gillig-Pucey.”
I scoffed, “My name has to come after Pucey. We both know people always drop the first name in a hyphenated last name.”
“Gillig-Pucey.”
I laughed, “You’re in a daze now? Come off it, Adrian.”
He picked up the scuffed rock, tossed it in the air, and caught it again.
"Gillig-Pucey," he repeated, almost to himself. “It has a better ring to it.”
“Alrighty, let’s go back now. Before the winter-cold freezes your family jewels as it has your brain cells.”
Adrian bumped his shoulder with mine as we went back to the Meeting Room.
His hand twitched when mine brushed his.
***
The sun was warm despite the frost in the air. And Adrian was flying around the Quidditch pitch languidly, doing loops and circles. He’d quit the team two years ago, but still needed to fly to think properly during exams. It was only halfway through the mid-year exam season and he already needed fresh air. He should’ve lasted until at least the final two days before needing to escape to the pitch.
I couldn’t help the stretch that was brought on from the way I’d been sitting on the stands for so long.
Adrian yelled at me, “You know your shirt's going to ride up if you keep stretching like that?”
I shook my head.
He would always glance over to me during his lazy flight runs. Every lap, he’d check on me. Sometimes I'd be reading. Sometimes asleep against the bleachers. Once I'd spent forty minutes trying to teach a crow to play Gobstones. I found ways to keep myself entertained while Adrian flew.
Ultimately though, he flew by me to make sure I wasn’t too terribly bored with sitting outside and waiting for him to finish up before we retreated to our next class. We had Charms in about an hour or so anyhow.
I raised my arms up and out from my body, arching my back to release the tension in my spine. I bent to the side, pulling my elbow over my head with my other hand. The sensation was so relieving that I sighed, limbs going loose.
I smiled at myself.
Adrian had swung by for another lap and he was smiling too.
“Big stretch there,” he teased, coming precariously close to the stands so he didn’t have to get loud.
“It felt good too,” I said, “The sun feels nice.”
“Don’t pull anything,” he instructed. He readjusted how he was sitting on the broom.
Saluting him, I replied, “Yes, ‘Drian.”
He rolled his eyes at me. He always got amused when I called him by his nickname. It wasn’t a special nickname, it was just a more childish way of saying his name.
He laughed under his breath, and banked into another lap, picking up speed without thinking.
I kicked my feet out, and leaned my head back to let my face get more of the sunshine.
My bra strap had slipped off my shoulder, so I hooked a finger beneath my collar and nudged it back into place. I cupped underneath my chest and pushed my bra up to adjust the position of everything a little more neatly.
I lifted my head back up.
Adrian was already looking at me.
His smile left his face.
For a heartbeat, he forgot he was flying.
His eyes went wide, and he whipped his head away. The broom dropped into a nose dive.
A harsh thud came from the goal posts.
I was on my feet before my mind caught up.
“Adrian!” I screamed, leaving all my stuff on the bench as I rushed down the stairs.
He’d slammed into the post and was tumbling straight to the ground.
I ran across the pitch faster than I'd ever run before, lungs burning before I'd crossed half the distance.
His nose was bleeding. It had bled so much that pink saliva bubbled at the corner of his mouth. I knelt down and my hands were frantically trying to do something, but they landed on nothing instead. His left eye was bruised purple and green, shut from swelling. The right eye was also closed, twitching slightly.
I lifted his head into my lap, and started to coo.
“Hey, it’s okay, Adrian.” I stilled, “Can you hear me?”
He had fainted.
All the cuss words I knew evaporated.
The Ravenclaw team walked onto the pitch, and I yelled at them to get someone to help. The Seeker turned on her heel and bolted. Cho always had been a quick girl, from what I had observed.
I used the corner of my jumper to wipe at the blood, but even after the fabric soaked it up, more spilled from his nose. Panic cinched around my ribs like a belt pulled one notch too tight.
Adrian’s broom lay cracked in half on the ground. He’d loved that broom so much too. We’d carved our initials into the tail end of it when he got it for Christmas three years prior. And now it was shards on the grass and sand of the Quidditch field.
I caressed his hair, “Adrian,” I paused, “Hey, I’m going to fix your broom okay?”
A wave of anger rushed me.
“Why the hell did you fly straight into a goal post? What are you? An idiot?”
I regretted the words immediately.
“Sorry ‘Drian.” I smoothed his hair again, “I—I’m worried. Please be okay.”
His head lolled to the side.
Bloody hell.
***
Adrian Pucey was relegated to wearing a bandage over his left eye and a pair of metal spectacles. After his three day stint in the Hospital Wing, he’d been diagnosed with impact-trauma to his left eye.
“Stop staring, Gillig.” Adrian huffed, “It’s making this worse.”
“Sorry that I’m still anxious about you,” I replied, curtly.
“Don’t stare at me, it’s weird.”
The library was mostly empty, leaving only Adrian and I, and then a batch of Ravenclaws near the windows comparing pieces of stained glass their dragons had helped them melt into ornate displays to hang. I had bought one of the pieces, it was hanging from my ceiling like a mobile.
Adrian flipped another page in his book, squinting his right eye to look at the sentences. His jaw tightened and he slammed the book shut. He rubbed the edge of the bandage where it tapered off at his cheek.
“Does it hurt? ‘Drian?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
His ears reddened with what I assumed was anger.
“No. It doesn’t.”
My hand reached out on its own. I grazed the plaster above his eyebrow before brushing a few strands of hair back.
“Still don’t have pomade?” I asked, tucking some of his hair behind the arm of his glasses.
Adrian shook his head lightly. He had money, so I don’t know why he didn’t go out and buy more of it.
“I think I have some hair gel,” I offered, “Do you want mine?”
The hair gel had been a gift from last year, from a seventh year girl who was now working at the French Ministry of Magic.
“No. I don’t,” he swallowed, “Does my hair really look that bad when I don’t push it back?”
For once, it appeared to be a genuine concern.
Adrian’s hair always looked good to me. If it was pushed back, let down, short, long, permed or not. His hair was one of his best features.
I stopped my thoughts.
He didn’t care if I thought his hair looked nice. That was something boys only cared about if it was someone they fancied.
“I don’t think you really want my input on that,” I chuckled.
“Why do you say that?” Adrian huffed.
I retracted my hand, rubbing the side of my neck. His right eye, his only working eye, followed the motion.
“It’s not like I’m a girl-girl to you.”
He gave me a look.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” he asked.
I leaned my head up, giving myself some time to think about it more.
“I’m not someone you think about in the shower,” I hoped he’d understand, “You know?”
He scoffed, going back to his book. He opened it back to where he’d been reading only four days earlier.
He used a finger to follow the words, to no avail.
I leaned in, “I can read it for you ‘Drian.”
He shut the book again, “I can’t even read anymore, this shit is worse than that twat Hong.”
Adrian stood up roughly, shoving his chair behind him with a grating sound against the smooth flooring.
I recoiled, “That’s a bit…harsh? No? Adrian?”
“You might be friends with him, but I am not.” Adrian shoved the book into his bag. A piece of paper fell out. Adrian didn't seem to notice it slip free, but I most definitely did. “I’m under no obligation to care for him.”
I set my foot over the paper. Then slid my foot back to me under the chair.
“Zichen is kind at his core.”
Adrian’s lips tightened.
“He’s a git,” then he added, “I’m kind. He’s a nuisance hiding behind politeness.”
“Hong has been nothing but kind to you, and to me.”
“Is that why you let him make jokes about you?” Adrian remarked.
I paused, suddenly confused.
“Jokes?”
“Call it teasing, if you want. ‘Maybe she’ll kiss you better. If I don’t get there first.’ Don’t forget ‘I like that V-neck on you. Better access to your neck.’ or even last month, during New Year, ‘I’m free all night for you, Gillig.’ He’s bloody flirting with you all the time.”
Adrian put on an awful imitation of Zichen's heavy Scottish accent.
He’d quoted the comments almost word for word. I only recalled them now because Adrian brought them up. Zichen was a jokester, he liked to be dramatic. Oddly, he was similar to Adrian with his dry humour and sarcasm. Whatever Zichen did, I reasoned Adrian would also do. Maybe their similarities are what drove them to be at a head with each other.
My lips opened slightly, “Adrian, what’s going on? Why are you so upset?”
It came out as a whisper, even though I'd intended it to be my normal speaking voice.
“I’m not upset.”
“Aren’t you?”
He clenched then unclenched his fists, “No. I am not upset.”
“How long do you need to keep the plaster over your eye?” I asked.
Adrian sneered, though the movement only made his dimples appear.
“You just changed the subject, Gillig,” Adrian pointed out.
I nodded slowly, “Yeah, but it’s okay if you’re hurting.”
“I’m not in pain.”
He sounded far less convincing than he seemed to think.
“Pain is perfectly normal, Adrian. Madam Pomfrey said your left eye might be sore for a long time. I’m here for you Adrian—”
“I said I’m not angry!” he exclaimed.
I flinched away from him.
I closed my mouth.
Madam Pince at the counter made a shushing sound, going back to stamping books with the multicoloured ink and Hogwarts coat of arms.
The glasses on his face inched down his nose and he pushed them up. The irritation was prevalent across his face. Then it smoothed out to guilt.
“Sorry for yelling,” he offered, “I’m…leaving now.”
Adrian left the room, nearly running into the doorhandle on his way out. His depth perception wasn’t as good because of the plaster interfering with his sight. The glasses were supposed to correct the issue, but they only served to cause Adrian frustration.
I sighed and went to rub the side of my neck.
Then I remembered I still had the paper from Adrian’s bag.
Picking up my foot, I peeled the paper from my shoe. I’d left grime marks in the shape of my shoe’s tread on the note.
I have so much to say to you that I’m afraid I shall tell you nothing. — Fyodor Dostoevsky
Gillig, I would give you every word I know. And it still wouldn’t be enough. I say nothing instead. It’s unfortunately, much safer.
I reached into my pocket and unfolded the first note beside it.
I set the two side by side.
Identical paper.
The only difference is that the one I’d just gotten from Adrian’s bag has worse handwriting. More slanted, scribbled, and much less patiently written. Like it had been done in a hurry instead.
I scratched the back of my head and exhaled sharply.
Adrian must have written them.
I folded the thought away as neatly as I’d origami-ed the notes.
No.
Even if every piece of evidence pointed toward Adrian. It was easier to believe in conspiracies than Adrian Pucey loving me.
Neither of the notes had a signature, or even an indication of who wrote them. For all I knew, someone could’ve borrowed Adrian’s stationery and written the notes themselves. Anyone could have wanted me to think Adrian Pucey was in love with me.
If Adrian was in love with me…
I don’t know what I’d do with that knowledge.
I neatly folded both notes and put them in a secure zippered pocket in my school bag.
Even though the notes still had an unofficial sender, they still managed to make my heart flutter.
I had always imagined myself as someone's partner, a lifelong companion. Not a fickle temporary plaything. Girlfriends were temporary. Which made anonymous love notes a dangerous thing to receive.
I stayed in the library until Madam Pince chased all the remaining students out. By then the corridors had emptied, and I'd convinced myself not to read too much into the stationery.
***
“I found this…I think it’s for you Gillig,” Adella Pucey, Adrian’s little sister, handed me a note.
The same cream paper as the other two notes resting safely in my bag.
“Where did you find this?” I asked.
She shrugged, sitting beside me in the Astronomy Tower. We sat on two small wooden stools beside the large brass telescope. Rust clung to the tuning gears—it was the oldest telescope in the tower—but it was also my favourite. It was the most reliable.
I was trying to see if I could see the Ara constellation this early into February. Setting the dials one click down, I turned my attention to the note.
You and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught. — Boris Pasternak
Gillig, perhaps you’re still an angel. I’m waiting for you on earth.
Heat rose to my ears.
“Who did you get this from?”
“It was in the bin of the common room. I saw it was addressed to you, so—I brought it to you,” Adella grabbed the viewfinder and held it against her brown eyes. Adrian’s eyes.
I tucked the note with the other two.
Now I had three love notes addressed to me, and no official sender.
I wasn't ready to believe it was Adrian.
I couldn’t.
“Thanks…for the note ‘Della,” I said, resting my elbows on my knees.
Adella hummed.
“Adrian keeps asking me to fix his hair,” Adella mentioned. She moved away from the telescope to look me in the eyes. “You have any idea why?”
I gaped at her, “No, no idea.”
“My next question, Gillig, is if you’re going to come to Rome with us. Father sent another letter, asking if you’re going to take the internship. He doesn’t want to press, but—well—it is starting to become pressing now.”
I hadn’t decided about Rome.
My Aunt Liz had sent another Owl to me about America.
According to Professor Snape, I'd fit in with the Ministry's Administration staff.
“I’m not sure yet, ‘Della,” I mumbled, “What do you think? What should I do?”
Adella pondered it, only briefly.
“I think you should ask Adrian.”
I cleared my throat, “He and I talked about it once before—but we didn’t exactly get anywhere.”
Adella put her face to the telescope again, “Ask him what he wants.”
“He’s too busy with the injury.”
Adella laughed.
“The opposite actually, he’s been struggling with what to do with all his free time. Pomfrey is making him take lots of breaks and stuff.” Adella giggled, “You should've seen him. He took off the plaster last night after you'd gone to brush your teeth and went absolutely off the trolley.”
“Is—is his eye okay?” I asked tentatively.
Adella frowned, laughter fading away like it had never existed between us.
“It definitely looks different. Pomfrey said it might never go back to normal when I went with him today.”
“He—”
He’d gone to see Pomfrey today.
While I sat in my dorm doing homework.
The thought of him going with Adella to Pomfrey, and getting news like that, without me there was crushing. It hurt my heart to know that I wasn’t there for Adrian, when I should’ve been. Not that Adella didn’t give great support…I just—Adrian’s my closest friend. I should’ve been there. To hold his hand, offer encouragement, condolences. Anything.
I continued, “Why didn’t he invite me to go with? I was just in my dorm. He could’ve sent you to get me.”
Adella chewed her bottom lip.
“He’s embarrassed, Gillig. Don’t tell me you can’t tell?”
“Well, I knew he was being more awkward than usual—”
“You’re a lost cause, Gillig,” Adella stands to leave, but not before shooting me one last comment, “Adrian’s being mopey in the pumpkin patch by Hagrid’s Hut.”
“You’re telling me to go to him?”
Adella stood in the exit, “I’m telling you to stop pretending like the notes aren’t from him.”
I froze.
“We both know that you know they’re from him. He’s done a terrible job of keeping them from getting loose. They fall out everywhere.”
I walked with Adella out of the Astronomy Tower, and made a beeline to the pumpkin patch.
He wasn’t there anymore.
***
When I got back to the common room, it was a flurry of energy. Adrian was standing near the stairs to the boys dormitories fuming. Adella was sitting on a sofa with her girlfriend, kissing her.
The rest of Slytherin House turned their heads to me when I stepped through the heavy tunnel entrance. Perhaps I'd grown a tail. Or maybe, it was something else. I was hoping that I'd grown one, because everyone was giving me a particularly judge-y look that I wasn't fond of.
“Yes?”
A second year boy pointed at the glass wall that allowed a solid peer into the Black Lake. Like he was pointing at a monster behind the glass.
It was pieces of paper, taped on the glass. All directed at me. I knew it because it was all the cream coloured pieces of parchment, same handwriting. It matched my notes. And there had to have been at least forty posted on the glass. My throat became parched.
My stomach sank, deeper than the depths of the Black Lake.
I glanced at all the students hovering and whispering amongst themselves.
Draco Malfoy, the nastiest little boy I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, strode forward and ripped one from the glass.
“Gillig,” he called, loud enough for the entire common room to hear. He cleared his throat with exaggerated importance. "Shall I read this one for you?"
I froze in place, my bag sagging down on my shoulder and landing in the nook of my elbow.
Draco coughed into his hand dramatically.
“This one, it starts with some quote,” he announced, “If I don’t have you with me, I’m alone.” He shrugged, “Some Muggle poet.”
Draco looked up at me.
“Gillig, I keep thinking about Rome. Truthfully, I don't care where I end up so long as you end up there too.”
I lurched forward. Undeniably Adrian. The note was his. They all had been. I couldn’t look over at him or else I’d crumble entirely before I resolved this issue unfolding before me.
Draco danced back with a grin, the parchment held beyond my reach.
"Don't be selfish, Head Girl," he drawled. "There are plenty to go around."
Pansy Parkinson, stepped forward next, picking one of the notes off for herself.
“I call next,” she shot me a smirk. “Again, a quote. You have a place in my heart no one else could ever have. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Another Muggle writer, I believe.”
Pansy adjusted her tie at her neck, tipping her head side to side before continuing, “Gillig, you rub your neck as you focus. Let me be your Atlas.”
Draco’s nose wrinkles, “The one makes no sense.”
Pansy rolled her eyes.
"He's offering to shoulder her burdens, you berk. Honestly, Draco."
Blaise Zabini, another piece in the squad Draco Malfoy had accumulated, was already on top of the next note.
“We were together. I forget the rest. By Whitman, apparently.” Blaise raised an eyebrow, “Gillig, when you’re near, I wish to pause the world. Then again, I suppose, we’d have been frozen in time since first year.”
Pansy swooned, “Aw! That one's sweet!”
Daphne Greengrass picked another one.
I rushed forward and started taking the parchment off the glass barrier.
Daphne backed away cautiously.
“Give them back.” I demanded.
No one moved.
Blaise and Draco both failed at muffing their laughter.
“I’m serious,” I said.
Again, no reactions from anyone.
“Don't any of you have work to do? Essays? I know Professor Snape would be awfully interested to know why Slytherin is in second place for the House Cup.” I heaved, holding as many pieces of paper as possible to my chest. My voice cracked, “It's nearly curfew too. By the way.”
Draco picked a paper that had fallen around my feet, “Oh, this is—”
A sharp voice, deep and gravelly rang out.
“Enough.”
Adrian kicked off the frame of the dormitory entrance.
The entire room seemed to choke up. Side eyes were being thrown from every direction.
I went for the note in Draco’s hand, but Draco kept it out of my reach.
None of these kids were loyal to me in this instance. Romance got involved and suddenly everyone became a child.
I started begging Blaise to hand the one he was holding hostage back over to me.
Adrian caught Blaise by the sleeve and plucked the note out of his hand. Blaise scurried back to Theodore Nott on the couches.
Adrian’s face was entirely flat. Cold. Even I was feeling the frigid change in air around him.
He’d taken off the bandage on his face. His left eye was devoid of the earthy brown colour, gone cloudy grey instead. If I looked harder, some of the brown was peeking through. The glasses had left an indent on his hair near his ears.
Adrian pulled the letters off the window, letting them fall to the ground.
I knelt down and picked them up, shoving them in my pocket. Draco dropped his, and Pansy begrudgingly gave hers to Adrian.
Adrian turned around after the wall was clear of the notes, facing the common room.
No one was hiding their stares.
“Bugger off.”
All it took was two firm words from Adrian and the entire house was trying to elegantly scramble to their dorms.
I glanced down at my hands.
Then I took in the mess around me.
Some of the notes were torn in half, others had been smudged from the condensation on the glass.
I was sitting down with my legs folded under me.
Only when I finished sniffling did I glance up at Adrian, my eyes slightly welling with tears.
“I’m—’Drian,” I whined, “They ruined it ‘Drian.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
The notes were mine. They were meant to be private and personal. They were my little romance, that I was intending to keep preserved and honoured in my special way. And now, these kids were throwing it all over our common room.
Adrian waited until the last pair of footsteps disappeared up the staircase. Only then did the rigid line of his shoulders break.
I had never seen Adrian so forlorn before. He was looking down at me on the floor, trembling and shaking.
I needed a hug.
I held my arms up.
Adrian stared at me for the briefest second, as though asking permission one last time. Then he pulled me to my feet and wrapped both arms around my waist. He let out a stuttered breath.
I closed my eyes tight and tucked my head under his chin.
His hands were shaking.
“Hey, what can I do?” he asked, “How do you want me to make it better?”
I leaned back enough to look at him. Adrian couldn't meet my eyes straight on, turning his face to the side.
Without thinking, I said, “Will you look at me please, ‘Drian?”
He shook his head, "I can't look at you right now. My eye's... it's doing something weird. Fuck. I'm not crying."
I reasoned that if his left eye was the problem, then I'd simply cover it. I took one hand and used it to cover his left eye, dipping under his glasses, trying not to smudge them in the process. Using my cupped hand on his face, I guided him to look at me with his good eye.
“Can we sit on the couch together like in fifth year? I just need you right now,” I said.
I can tell his right eye’s vision is still blurry, because it kept scanning my face, trying to take in my features.
His voice comes out small and ruined, “Okay.”
The common room was cleared out by now, but the fire was still kindling its own dying embers. Adrian sat down on the end of the couch and laid his legs out across the cushions.
In fifth year, I would've sat on the other end, and rested my legs over his.
Instead I settled into his lap, curling my arms around his middle and closing my eyes tight while I listened for his heartbeat.
“Gillig.” Adrian whispered, “Where do you want my hands?”
They were stiff at his sides.
“Around me,” I answered.
He hovered his hands over my back.
“It’s okay ‘Drian,” I reminded him.
His fingers flexed once against my robes before he stopped fighting himself. One hand settled firmly between my shoulder blades, the other at the small of my back, pressing me gently into him.
***
When I woke up, Adrian was on top of me. His hair was a mess. And his head was on my chest, while one of his hands had fisted my jumper. His other hand was hanging off the couch. He was cutting off my air supply, I realised. Blame the fact he’d swapped our positions in the middle of the night.
I put a hand on the top of his head.
He nuzzled further into my chest, his hand gripping my jumper tightened. I could swear I saw his eyebrows twitching in a way I’d never seen before.
And there was most definitely something poking me in the thigh.
“Adrian,” I started off quiet. He didn’t so much as stir. “Hey, ‘Drian, buddy.” I tried again.
He muttered my name.
Adrian rustled instinctively, his hips giving an involuntary little roll, and my own hips jolted forward on their own. Too much. Entirely too much of him on me.
“Ah—” I yelped.
Adrian’s head jumped up.
The other one did too.
“Dammit!” he screamed, scrambling to get off the couch.
Instead, his fist was still tangled in my jumper.
He launched himself off the couch.
I came with him.
We hit the floor in an undignified heap, Adrian catching himself on his hands just before he crushed me.
“Are you okay?” he heaved.
I nodded, “Yeah, I’m good.” I tried to meet him face to face. “Adrian,” I called out.
“Please,” he held his head down, “Do not look at me. That—I can’t.”
I could feel him pressed against my inner thigh, which definitely wasn’t convenient.
It was normal. Natural. Involuntary. Morning blood flow. That was all. It didn't mean attraction. A perfectly ordinary biological phenomenon. I intended to continue believing that until someone physically wrestled the opinion away from me.
He needed a distraction.
He’d said my name in his sleep.
“What were you dreaming about, ‘Drian?” I queried, trying to be normal—more so buying us more time for his dignity to recover.
“I’m not answering that,” he responded, “Uh—how much—are you feeling—shit.”
Curiosity was always one of my better qualities. Being an annoying friend also ranked highly in that regard.
“Was I in it?” I asked, mostly teasing.
A part of me did genuinely want to know. I knew about the notes. I wanted to know everything else now too. When he fell, how he fell for me. If he dreamed about me often or not. The notes were intimate enough for me to crave an understanding of their depth.
Adrian sighed, “Gillig.”
“Technically, that’s not a no,” I said.
He buried his head in my chest, attempting to hide. His hair tickled my exposed collarbone. His glasses had long fallen off. He was still getting used to managing the spectacles. I spotted them forgotten on the side table by the couch. He must have taken them off after I had fallen asleep last night.
Then, his entire body went rigid.
Mine did too.
I tried to stop breathing.
He'd hidden in the wrong place. A bosom wasn’t exactly the best hiding spot for a teenage boy. If Adrian would’ve been maybe ten years younger, it could’ve worked. But instead, he was eighteen and pressed against me at the worst time of day.
"I somehow made this worse," Adrian whispered into my jumper.
I laughed awkwardly, “The only thing that could make this worse is if less clothes were involved.”
The silence that followed was enough.
That had achieved precisely the opposite effect.
Oh, brilliant.
I squeaked, “Sorry ‘Drian.”
Adrian shut his eyes tight.
“I’m going to need you to stop talking to me.”
“Alrighty ‘Drian.”
He winced, “And no more ‘Drian. For the next five minutes.”
He had twitched when I called him the pet name. His body wasn’t being very kind to him at the moment. I had half-a-mind to let it go.
“You like when I call you ‘Drian?” I asked, “I always thought it annoyed you.”
He let out a rough exhale.
“Right now it isn’t exactly annoying,” he kept his head in my chest, I can feel his throat working against me, “If you keep talking, I swear to Salazar, Gillig.”
I put my hand on his head, running my fingers through some of the knots that had built up over the night. His hair smelt like oranges and limes, Adrian’s favourite citrus combination.
His entire body shivered beneath my hand.
I stopped moving my hand.
Oops.
“Sorry ‘Drian.” I said sheepishly.
We stayed like that for what felt like three minutes.
Adrian remained determined to wait out his own biology.
My spine, unfortunately, had other opinions. The stone floors were less forgiving than Adrian’s attempt to stay still and not rub any part of him against me. I was convinced the situation had invented a new kind of arrhythmia just for me.
I moved, just arching my back slightly. Enough to get my back off the cobblestone. Slytherin got the bad end of the deal when it came to common rooms. It was always so cold in the dungeons.
I bumped right into it.
It was warm.
I withheld a scream.
Salazar’s bloody snakes.
Adrian made a sound somewhere between despair and prayer. A low grunting sound I had never heard him make. Not even during the time he was a dedicated Quidditch player and took bludgers straight to the wrist or shoulder.
We made eye contact.
He knew that I’d touched it.
I knew what I had touched.
We each knew what the other knew.
Then, someone came through the dormitory tunnel. I couldn’t place if it was a girl or boy, because my heart was pounding so hard that sounds were muffled.
“Are you two dry humping over the new carpet?”
Adella.
My saviour.
“We were cuddling, and then we fell,” I explained from under Adrian.
Adrian lifted his head, tilting it to the side. For a moment he reminded me of a puppy, “We were cuddling?”
Adella bit back a laugh. She was still in her striped white and pink pajamas. Her hair was done in two messy pigtails. And she was eating up every single second of what she was watching. I should’ve planned in advance to charge interest on the entertainment she was getting for free, at Adrian’s and I’s expense.
I raised an eyebrow, “That is what we were doing. Unless you have a different name for it ‘Drian.”
Snuggling?
Cuddling suited it better though.
I slowly, slowly, shifted from under him. Careful not to knock on anything.
Adrian stays lying face down, his hands going to the back of his head.
I went to Adella’s side.
“Happy Sunday, ‘Della.”
She scrubbed the back of her short black hair, “Happy Sunday to you too Gillig.” She crouched and then patted Adrian on the calf. “Happier Sunday to Adrian though.”
"Adella," Adrian groaned into the carpet, "if you tell Mother, I'll kill you and hide your body in the Colosseum."
Adella laughed, “Mum’s gonna be so glad to hear you finally got some, Adrian. Little snake babies on their way.” Adella glanced at me, giving me a once over, “I give it six months before Mum starts asking what colour to paint the nursery."
I patted Adella on the shoulder, “Adrian and I are friends.”
Adrian clambered up.
“No! We are not.”
He reached to the sidetable and fumbled for his glasses. He put them on lopsided.
“We are…”
Adrian stopped himself.
I was certain my face had forgotten how to be a face. Blank. Empty. The sort of expression only a complete dunce could produce.
Adella gave me a wink and disappeared through the tunnel.
Adrian didn't even notice Adella had left. He didn't even try to go after the mischievous fifth year. That would have been one of his normal reactions to a total take-down from Adella Pucey. Their sibling rivalry was intense. But now, he seemed at a loss.
Instead, he just stood there in crooked glasses, staring at me as though he'd accidentally said something he could never take back.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled. Eyes not leaving mine.
I didn’t know how I was looking at him.
More footsteps came from the tunnels. More students are waking up hungry and ready for breakfast.
Adrian raised a fist close to his face, then his face produced a steely stare, “We will be talking about this. All of this. Preferably today. Just—later. Meet me at our spot after breakfast.”
My tongue peeked out to wet my lips.
“Okay.”
It came out meek. Mouse-like.
It had Adrian wiping his face with one of his hands.
***
Our spot was a small sectional tucked beneath the Quidditch stands. There were always the open-air benches above, but underneath sat a row of sheltered seats, protected from the elements, with narrow cut-outs in the wooden wall overlooking the pitch.
When I arrived, Adrian was already there. His knees bounced wildly, both hands buried in his hair. Every brown strand, threaded with faint caramel highlights, stood in a different direction, as though he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times while waiting.
Dust drifted through the air between us. The morning sun caught each speck, turning it into a tiny floating crystal.
I sat down beside him.
I leaned forward until he finally looked at me. One eye was cloudy grey. The other was still that warm chestnut brown I'd always known.
“Hi Adrian,” I began, “You okay?”
He shocked me with the thing I least expected from him.
"You're coming to Rome with me after school," he said, as though it had already been decided. "You'll take the internship."
His jaw tightened. Adrian sat up straighter.
"We're staying together."
I didn’t react.
“Is there room for me?” I asked, “At your house?”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
“You’ll stay in my room.”
My lips quirked.
“Your room?” I questioned.
“Our room. I've already got a wardrobe you can have, for your jumpers. And I have a large vanity. I don’t even have stuff on it. You can put all your perfume and brushes and knick-knacks on it.”
I hesitated, then asked, “And if I don’t have perfume?”
“I'll buy you some,” he sighed, “Honestly, you can’t poke holes in this. I’ve been thinking about it too long.”
Too long?
How long is too long for Adrian Pucey?
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Mother already assumes you'll come for holidays. Father keeps asking whether you've answered the internship letter. Adella says I’m terribly dull when you aren’t around. I've..." He swallowed. "I've planned this."
“What exactly?” I pressed.
Adrian turned to me. His knees had stopped bouncing a while ago, I barely noticed.
“Making sure you fall in love with me.”
The wind whipped in, ruffling Adrian’s hair.
“Because I've wanted you for too long. It shouldn't have taken waking up in your arms, after everything that happened yesterday, for me to finally tell you.”
I pointed at myself.
Me?
It made my entire heart bloom with gooey-gushy warmth.
“I’ll take Pucey then,” I said.
Adrian furrowed his eyebrows.
“What?”
"Pucey," I clarified. "As my last name. No need to hyphenate."
Adrian slid closer to me, so there was no more space between our thighs.
"No take-backs," he warned, studying my face as though searching for the joke, "You've said it."
His voice became almost impossibly quiet.
"There's no going back now."
“I’m good with that,” I said affirmatively.
Adrian’s throat bobbed.
“I’ve got too much love for you, and I don’t know where to put all of it.”
“I can take it,” I smiled at him. At the boy, who had stopped looking like a boy since his eighteenth birthday. At Adrian who slammed into a Quidditch post and now needed vision correcting lenticulars. “You can give it to me.”
His eyes flickered with something new.
I was seeing a lot more of Adrian Pucey. All the rough edges, the incomplete sentences. Everything he held back for himself.
He cupped my face in both hands and pressed his mouth to mine.
I inhaled sharply, and the kiss deepened—not because he'd taken it, but because neither of us wanted to be the first to pull away.
One of his arms went behind my back and tugged me closer.
And closer.
Until he was practically pulling me into his lap.
The kiss was, truthfully, a mess. Too eager, too relieved, too many months (or years) of unsaid things trying to fit into one first kiss.
Our noses seemed to keep knocking together. His spectacles slid crooked between us. And there was no consensus on which way we should tilt our heads.
Every time we pulled apart to laugh, we only ended up kissing again.
Adrian slowed for a moment before kissing me again, this time with quiet confidence. He’d slipped his tongue into my mouth. I opened my eyes only to find he'd already opened his, watching for mine. He grinned and took my bottom lip between his teeth.
My ears were burning.
And his face was flushed.
He spoke into my mouth between fervent kisses, “This is what I dreamed about.”
"You." A kiss.
"Are." Another.
"My." A softer one.
"Love."
I broke away from him. But his face tried to follow mine, before I rested a hand to his chest to maintain the breathing room.
“Do I still get love notes?”
He gave me a dazed smile.
“All the love notes.”
***
TEN YEARS LATER
The first thing I noticed that morning was another folded piece of cream paper sitting beside my teacup.
It was ridiculous.
We'd been married for nine years.
There was absolutely no reason for Adrian to keep sneaking anonymous love letters into places I'd eventually find them.
There was once a king, and he had a queen; and he was the manliest of his gender, and she was the loveliest of hers. They had nineteen children, and were always having more. ― Charles Dickens
My love, maybe not nineteen. But…number four? Please? I'll be exceptionally well-behaved.
-your husband
I kissed the note.
Sliding out of bed, I was immediately met by eight-year-old Arlo sprinting through the hallway in two completely different socks.
"Breakfast waffles!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Hot on his heels came five-year-old August, "I'm first!"
"No, I'm first!" Arlo argued.
And finally, padding after both of them with all the determination his little legs could manage, came three-year-old Asa.
"Waffle," he chanted, “Waffle…waffle.”
Adrian had given me three sons.
Or, more accurately, three additional Adrians. All with his hair and eyes, and incorrigible personality.
The eldest already narrated his own life with complete confidence. The middle one argued over absolutely everything, even objective facts. And the youngest had inherited Adrian's habit of following me everywhere as though there were an invisible string tied between us.
It turned out one Adrian Pucey had always been hopelessly in love with me.
Four Adrian Puceys, however, was becoming statistically significant.
I’d given up on personal space the second I had moved into the Pucey house after Hogwarts graduation.
Adrian was balancing August on one hip while Arlo stood on his tiptoes, trying to peer into the waffle maker. Asa sat on the floor next to Adrian, chewing on a strawberry and getting it all over his chubby face.
"Is Mummy up yet, boys?" Adrian asked.
I stepped into the kitchen.
“She’s up.” I announced, folding my arms.
Four heads turned toward me at once.
Adrian’s cloudy left eye never quite focused the way it used to.
His right one, however, found me immediately.
It always had.
He smirked, “I like your outfit choice today, love.”
His old Quidditch shorts, a dark green tank top, and an obvious lack of a bra.
I rolled my eyes at him, sitting down at the island. I pulled the note out of my top, holding it between two fingers and waving it around.
"Did you write this?" I asked.
He doesn't even pretend anymore.
"Maybe."
I smiled, "You signed it."
Adrian blinked.
"I did?"
"You've never signed one before,” I commented. Asa tugged on my trouser leg, begging to be held.
I picked Asa up, and he slumped into my chest, already trying to sleep.
Adrian looked positively horrified at the fact he’d signed the note.
"I've lost my touch."
I thought it over, "You've become soft."
"I married you," he says, as though that explains everything.
He had spent half his life trying to hide how much he loved me. The other half had been spent making sure I never forgot.
Adrian reached over and brushed Asa's strawberry-stained curls out of his face.
"I have not become soft," he muttered.
I replied, "You absolutely have."
"I am exactly the same man."
I raised an eyebrow.
"The same man," I repeated, "who cries every Quidditch Day."
"I do not cry."
I laughed.
"Oh, Adrian."
He abandoned all pretense of dignity, came around the kitchen island and wrapped one arm around my waist, careful not to wake Asa where he was sleeping against my shoulder. His chin rested on the top of my head.
"I was a perfectly respectable man before you," he murmured.
"You were writing anonymous love letters quoting Russian novelists at eighteen."
"I was respectable."
He said it like he was meticulously reviewing his past. He lowered his head so his chin was on my shoulder. His hair tickled my ear.
"You crashed into a Quidditch goal post because I adjusted my bra."
I put a hand on his cheek and kissed the other one. He still closed his eyes on impact, trying to savour the kiss.
The silence was deafening.
Arlo looked up from the waffle maker.
"Dad?"
Adrian pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then looked to Arlo, "Yes?"
"Were you always this embarrassing?"
Adrian shook his head.
"I used to be mysterious."
August frowned thoughtfully.
"What happened?"
Adrian looked at me.
"Mummy happened," he answered simply.
There was no dramatic confession this time. No hidden notes tucked into cauldrons. No pretending they belonged to someone else. No wondering whether the other person might ever love him back.
Now it was a husband who still looked at me with the same expression he'd worn beneath the Quidditch stands all those years ago, when he'd finally found the courage to tell me the truth.
Adrian put his mouth close to my ear.
"As for names," he whispered, "I was thinking Amos or Atticus."
I held his face close.
"What if I get my baby girl this time?"
Adrian laughed.
"Yeah...no."
I pouted.
"You don't think we can make a daughter?"
"I think we can try," he admitted, with an amused grin. "Repeatedly."
I snorted.
"No," he continued, brushing his thumb over my cheek. "I just think that since she's mine, she'll somehow still come out looking exactly like me."
"That is not how genetics work."
"Our children would disagree."
Arlo turned around immediately.
"I look like Dad,” he said with a raised hand.
"I know, sweetheart,” I cooed.
August frowned, pointing at himself, "I look like Dad too."
"You do," I encouraged.
I liked that my boys never questioned who their father was.
Little Asa lifted his sleepy head from my shoulder and mumbled something suspiciously close to ‘dada’.
Adrian spread one hand triumphantly.
"Exhibit A, B and C."
I narrowed my eyes.
"My contribution was carrying each of you for nine months."
A very small contribution apparently.
Arlo thought very seriously about that.
"So...you made us?"
His face cringed in disgust.
Proudly, I said, "I did."
He looked at Adrian.
"So what did you do?"
Adrian didn't miss a beat.
"I asked very politely for mummy to make the baby."
I laughed so hard Asa woke up just enough to giggle because I was laughing. Adrian nuzzled his face into my neck and I scrunched my nose at how cold he was.
“Are we calling begging and whining, asking politely?”
Adrian shot me a wicked look.
August looked suspiciously between Adrian and I.
"I…I don't think that's true."
"It isn't," I said.
Adrian looked deeply offended, “Hey, I made waffles. And I write mummy love letters.”
"I know," Arlo sighed dramatically. "You leave them everywhere."
August nodded.
"I found one in the biscuit tin."
"I found one in Mummy's gardening gloves," Arlo added.
The two of them were comparing receipts for what they’d found.
I looked at Adrian.
"You've escalated."
I hadn’t known there was one in my gloves. I’d abandoned the garden weeks ago because I found out I didn’t have a green thumb—at all.
He shrugged, "I have a reputation to maintain."
The boy who once believed loving me would kill him.
The man who now filled our home with children, laughter, and folded cream paper tucked into impossible places.
He had never stopped writing.