Kjærlighet Verbrennt

II.

Dicken Fairfax and Gaiter Hippolyta were in the Hole of the Hufflepuff common room, scribbling madly onto their scrolls, or at least, Gaiter was. Dicken was chewing on his quill, contemplating Gaiter's hair as it caught the light and refracted it back into his eyes. She kept shoving it out of her face with her empty hand, and it kept flashing at him like a bright light, so distracting, and confusing -

"Crikey, Dicken, what is it?" She glared at him from under her locks.

"Your hair," he said, watching her expression change from bothered to absolutely frustrated. He smiled, shifting a few pillows that were leaning dangerously close to the inkpot. "It's just so - "

"Pink! It's just so pink! I know!" she finished angrily.

"And it's not - "

"Dyed, it's natural! I know I have pink hair! I know, I know, I know!"

Dicken laughed, leaning back so his face was illuminated with the sunlight from the window above. The Hole was not really a hole, but a tiny spot hidden in a wall of the common room, where the only entrance and exit was through a scarcely used wardrobe in a corner of the common room. The ceiling of the Hole was actually the floor of a deserted, doorless room, and there was a sizeable gap between the two so one could climb up from the Hole into it. An entire wall of the room was windows, so Gaiter, whose specialty was Herbology, had turned it into a greenhouse to rival Professor Sprout's. As far as the three who frequented it could tell, the only way into the room was through the Hole, but none had any idea as to why, since they rarely ventured up there, except to water the plants, preferring the snug and coziness of the pillow-filled Hole to the bare walls and chipped tile of the unusual room.

"I just don't understand how your hair can grow pink. Mine's brown, Rotis' is blonde, but yours is. . . " He paused, knowing he was having entirely too much fun antagonizing her over this, but doing it nonetheless. "Pink."

"Oh, shut up," she said, going back to her scroll. "I don't know either, and I've got a 22 inch scroll to do for Snape by tomorrow."

"Is he picking on you again?" asked Dicken, pushing a wayward Nocturis Bloomascious vine back up to the makeshift greenery.

"The pink-haired Hufflepuff," she sighed, mocking his voice as she dabbed her nib in the inkpot. "Doesn't help that Waverly and his gang are in there, either. But really, hush, I've got to finish this."

Just then the wardrobe door opened and Rotis pushed her way in, wearing fresh robes and with combed hair, just returned from the showers.

"Morning, Rote," said Gaiter, still intent on her scroll. "How was practice?"

Rotis kicked her shoes off and tucked them under a pillow. "Fine, I suppose. Tolken's mad and bruised, but Pidge's a damned roadrunner in the air, so we should be fine for Saturday."

"Gryffindor, right?" asked Gaiter.

Rotis nodded. "Can't waited to see Pidge in action against Mr. Potter. Should be one hell of a game." She smiled, thinking of the upcoming match. "Fred and George are wicked Beaters, but Paisley and I should be able to take them," she explained. "And if Pidge catches the Snitch, someone bring a camera, cos I want Potter's face at that moment forever. No one realized," she said, pushing her hair back up, her mind still out on the pitch, "these last few years, when Oliver and Harry were on the same team, that Harry's just ridiculously lucky, and that the real skill was. . . " She trailed off, hearing herself rambling. "You're awfully quiet, Dicken."

She glanced up at him as he traced his eyebrow idly, studying her bare toes, her callused palms from years on a broomstick, the light on the scar under her eye. Gaiter noticed the silence and looked up, silencing her quill scratching, watching the same vine as it crept back down to Dicken's face. She glanced at Rotis to see if she had seen this, but the Beater was very blatantly not paying the boy any mind.

"I'm just," he said, and Gaiter gaped as one of the vine's flowers, which were only supposed to bloom under full moonlight, suddenly opened its petals by Dicken's face, "thinking."

A sudden rapping came from the wardrobe door, and Rotis leapt up to answer it.

"It's me," said Pidge once the door had been cracked open. "We're almost late for dinner, just thought you should know, okay?"

Rotis reached out a hand and scratched the boy's head like a faithful dog. "Thanks, Pidge. We'll be right there."

Rotis could feel his exuberance radiating outside. "Right. See you!"

She turned to her accomplices, hardly noticing the set of flowers that had accumulated around Dicken. "Shall we go?"