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Chapter Text

“Do I look like a house elf? NO. Should I be kneeling with a wet rag in a locker room reeking of testosterone and post-match sweat? Also no. And yet, here I am. Wandless and dignity-less.”

Julia growled under her breath and aggressively wiped down another locker, leaving a streak of lemony liquid called “Magic Scrubbio – now with goat beard extract.” She glanced at the label and rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, exactly what I dreamed of - smelling like a goat with a dermatological condition.”

She wore bright yellow rubber gloves, more fitting for a Muggle housewife than a pure-blooded Slytherin. Over that, a Hogwarts-emblazoned apron, clearly made for someone Hagrid-sized. The rag in her hand was disgusting - quite possibly spreading more filth than removing it.

“Oh, delightful,” she muttered, opening another locker, only to be greeted by a pair of sweaty underpants, a cracked quill, and something that might have been a frog - but it was better not to think about that too long.

“Eww, seriously? Have they never heard of trash bins? This is exactly why Gryffindor matches always end in chaos - they’ve got mess coded into their genes.”

“And all because of that pathetic incident in Potions. Well excuse me, it wasn’t my fault the cauldron melted. Clearly it didn’t meet any kind of safety standard if it melted from a simple nettle extract in an invisibility potion, right? Snape looked like he wanted to personally throw me into Azkaban. And of course - punishment. Manual scrubbing of the Quidditch locker room. No wand. No complaining allowed. I broke that rule five minutes in. Okay, fine - probably even before entering the locker room.”

She grimaced and in that exact moment… she heard it.

Squelch. Squish. Squelch.

The sound of wet feet on tile. Someone had just walked out of the showers. Still dripping.

No. No no no no… NO.

Julia froze. Her heart sped up, and her hand instinctively tightened around the bottle of “Scrubbio.” She was sure she was alone! There weren’t even any practices scheduled for today. By Merlin’s beard, no one could see her like this. Not like this.

From behind the lockers emerged a boy in nothing but a towel. He’d slung it around his waist with the casual confidence of someone who absolutely had the right to strut around half-naked in the locker room like it was his personal kingdom.

Shoulders straight out of an anatomy textbook. Droplets of water trailing down his back, which looked like it had been sculpted by Merlin himself.

Oliver Wood.

Julia clenched her teeth and shut her eyes.

“Salazar, please. Turn me into a locker. The smelliest one. Third from the left. I’ll never eat meat on your birthday again, I swear.”

She tried to breathe quietly. Maybe he’d pass. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe he’d vanish. But fate had other plans today.

Oliver narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head.

“You know… for a moment I thought I was alone in here. But then I caught this… very strong scent of goat beard, and saw something bright yellow peeking out from the lockers.” He looked down at her gloves and apron, then added with a smug grin, “Tell me one thing, Slytherin - were you spying on me?”

Julia cracked open one eye.

Oliver was dressed now - grey trousers, black shirt, hair still wet and slightly tousled. And that smirk. That classic Gryffindor smirk - a little too cocky, a little too charming.

Julia straightened up immediately, trying to look composed despite the apron and gloves up to her elbows.

“What?! No! May a dementor kiss me, no! This isn’t... I wasn’t... This is my punishment,” she said, gesturing dramatically at the lockers. “Punishment from professor Snape. I have to scrub lockers by hand. No wand.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, clearly amused and slightly surprised.

“Seriously? Punishment from Snape? Must’ve done something impressive.”

Julia sighed dramatically, leaning against the bench.

“Because obviously, I’m the only Slytherin in Hogwarts history that Snape treats like a psychological experiment. He cradles all the others like a basilisk with eggs, and me? I get docked points for squinting at a textbook. If he could, he’d transfer me to Hufflepuff and burn my school records.”

Julia took a step forward and adjusted her apron, switching to offense and trying to regain some control over the situation.

“Anyway, a close inspection of the Gryffindor athletic facilities shows that the level of cleanliness directly reflects your team’s coordination on the pitch.”

Oliver raised a brow.

“Are you saying my players are uncoordinated?”

Oops.

“I’m just… observing that... the cleanliness of one’s environment impacts team morale,” she said quickly, praying her face wouldn’t reveal just how much she was bluffing.

Oliver gave her a long, amused look. Then smiled even wider.

“Have you ever actually been to a match?”

“Of course I…,” she began, then froze. She remembered that unfortunate match in first year. Bludger to the head. Three days gone. Never again.

Oliver seemed to catch the hesitation and chuckled.

“So no, then.”

“Not my fault Quidditch is a high-risk sport,” she muttered with a grimace.

He shrugged. Then, with a flick of his wand and a muttered “Scourgify,” the lockers sparkled.

“There. All done,” he said cheerfully, heading for the exit. “Now you can go mourn your dignity somewhere cozier.”

Julia just stared, shocked and dumbfounded.

Oliver paused in the doorway and glanced back. Julia was still standing in the middle of the now-gleaming locker room, rag in one hand, face frozen in complete what the hell just happened.

“By the way… that little uniform really suits you,” he added with a grin and disappeared through the door.

Oliver walked down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, hair still damp, a grin plastered across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“A Slytherin girl in rubber gloves and an apron, scrubbing his locker. Bloody hell. What a sight.”

He shook his head, still laughing to himself.

Chapter Text

Julia was absolutely sure she was finished. Done. Kaput. A social tragedy on the level of the Pharaoh’s curse.

Obviously, the whole school already knew she had knelt in the Gryffindor locker room, scrubbing lockers like some house-elf. They were probably gossiping about her in the kitchen right now. They definitely knew.

She couldn’t go back to the common room. Not after this. So she wandered the grounds, hands in her pockets, with a face like she’d just collided with the Hogwarts Express and a head full of resentment toward fate.

“This was supposed to be my year!” she threw theatrically toward the lake. “I was going to get myself together! I was going to start studying for the OWLs! I was going to…” Her voice faltered and she sighed heavily. “Find a boyfriend.”

That last part hurt the most. Not because she desperately needed one. But she couldn’t go alone to her older brother’s wedding. And that wedding was happening exactly on New Year’s. New Year’s - with bubbles, confetti, and wedding rings.

Her social life was officially dead. Funeral tomorrow at eight.

“Well, whatever,” she said, turning on her heel. “I’m quitting school. I’ll get a job as a waitress on Diagon Alley. Or sort mail at the Ministry of Magic. At least then I won’t have to see anyone else.”

On the way, she dramatically said goodbye to the pumpkins at Hagrid’s.

“You were beautiful. Farewell, my orange friends. You deserved better than me.”

It seemed most students were at dinner now. Julia slipped through empty corridors and almost silently entered the dormitory. Her roommate, Lauren, was pulling something from her trunk.

“Merlin, Julia, you’re alive,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to? Girl, what are you doing?” she asked with a tone full of pity, watching Julia dramatically toss a pile of sweaters, three hairbrushes, and a pack of gummy mini-dragons into her trunk.

“I’m quitting school. I’m going to get a job as a toad trainer on the Knockturn Alley,” Julia replied, then theatrically threw herself onto her bed. “Lauren… I’m finished.”

“Come on. It’s just a cauldron, and that explosion was kind of artistic.”

Julia opened one eye.

“Wait. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Never mind,” Julia quickly sat up and hugged Lauren, surprising her with a kiss on the cheek. “You are absolutely wonderful. Ignorance is wonderful!”

“Uh-huh... Good to have you back,” Lauren replied, a bit stunned. “I’m going to make you drink Veritaserum so you’ll tell me what you messed up this time.”

“Go ahead. Make me. But I warn you — the truth will destroy you. It’s a story about a rag and the end of my reputation. Did you leave me anything to eat? I’m starving.”

The Great Hall was almost empty when Julia entered, walking a bit more confidently than she felt. She scanned the Slytherin table.

Silence. No looks. No giggles.

“Wonderful. The news hasn’t spread. I’m not a social corpse yet.”

With joy, almost skipping, she approached the table. She began to serve herself some leftover dinner when out of the corner of her eye she spotted him.

Oliver Wood. Alone at the Gryffindor table.

Their eyes met. Julia immediately glared at him. She grabbed a roll and began slicing it aggressively as if the roll had personally insulted her. Oliver raised his eyebrows and then chuckled when Julia stabbed a fork into something green all the way to the handle.

When he stood up and began gathering his things, Julia almost jumped out from behind the table. She followed him and caught up in the corridor where no one could see them.

“Listen, Wood,” she hissed, stepping so close he had to tilt his head back. “If you tell anyone what you saw in the locker room, I swear on the clogged pipes in the Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom that I will turn your broomstick into a fat weasel. Forever. But thanks for the Scourgify, seriously. Thanks to you I didn’t end up as a trampled cleaning goblin. But that doesn’t save you - one look, one rumor, and I’ll curse you with dandruff that even Dumbledore can’t remove.”

Oliver chuckled as if he’d just heard the best joke of the day.

“Alright, I’m scared now. A fat weasel sounds like a promotion compared to what the last rain did to my broom.”

He leaned slightly toward her, smiling mischievously.

“But if that’s your version of ‘thank you,’ I’m starting to understand why you don’t have a boyfriend.”

Julia raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?” she asked sweetly like a sugar-coated frog, though inside she was boiling. “Because I’m starting to understand why the closest female companion you have is a broom, not a girl.”

Oliver pretended to ponder.

“Ouch, that hurt...” then winked. “Well then… see you, rag-goblin.”

He turned and walked down the corridor, leaving her wide-eyed and slightly shocked that someone still dared to call her that.

Julia called after him:

“I AM NOT A RAG-GOBLIN!”

But he didn’t hear her. Or pretended not to.

Suddenly, a translucent greenish ghost of Peeves flew out of the wall, drawling:

“Rag-goblin! Rag-goblin!“

“Go away, you silly poltergeist!” Julia shouted after him.

The ghost repeated once more, then vanished.

Julia inhaled deeply and suddenly remembered something important.

“Damn, I need to go back to Snape for my wand… get my weapon back and prepare for battle.”

With a determined stride, she headed back down the corridor.

Chapter Text

Snape’s Office, Late Evening

Julia sighed deeply, staring at the closed door.

“Well, perfect,” she muttered to herself. “Without my wand I can’t even properly practice spells…”

She knocked once, softly. Silence. She knocked again, harder.

Crash. The door flew open with force, revealing Severus Snape in his full evening glory: a thick, shiny grey-green face mask on his face, and his hair pulled back with a headband that looked like it belonged to a first-year. His eyes burned with pure rage.

“What do you want, Carpinus?” Snape hissed.

Julia frowned, pretending not to stare at his face.

“Sorry to barge in, Professor, but I’ve just finished cleaning the lockers like you told me. Every last filthy corner… and you know what? I had a lot of time to think. Because when you're scrubbing lockers by hand after a Quidditch players, you really start re-evaluating your life. And… I decided it’s time I take Potions seriously. Like, really seriously. Regular practice. Passion. And, well… I need my wand.”

Snape blinked slowly, as if weighing whether to hex her Silencio.

“You exhaust me, Carpinus.”

He reached for the small dresser by the door, flung her wand into her hand, and slammed the door shut without another word.

Julia stood there in silence for a moment, then shrugged.

“Classic,” she muttered, turning toward the dungeons.

“Everything changes now,” she thought as she walked down the corridor, clutching her wand like she’d just reclaimed Excalibur. “No more distractions, no more nonsense, and never again cleaning lockers.”

From now on, she was going to become a whole new version of herself. Perfect student. Potion prodigy. Spell-casting queen. Note-taking icon. OWLs? She’d crush them so hard even Professor McGonagall might start wondering if Julia was a long-lost relative. She’d be so brilliant the Ministry of Magic would send a congratulatory owl.

And as a bonus - coolest girl in Hogwarts. You know, the kind who could cast Protego and crack a joke in the same breath. Who not only mastered transfiguration but also looked amazing in candlelight in the Great Hall.

“No more embarrassment. From now on, it’s style, calm, and class,” she thought proudly right before tripping over the rug in front of the dormitory.

The room was dim and quiet, but Lauren was already sitting on Julia’s bed, arms crossed, clearly waiting for someone or something.

“Alright, spill it!” she began immediately. “I’ve seen you do wild things, but this time you’ve outdone yourself. I know it’s you Peeves’ singing about! Everyone else is just laughing without knowing who it is, but I’m your best friend. I knew right away!”

Julia flopped onto the bed and shoved her face into a pillow.

“What’s he even singing now?” she groaned. “Something about me being a goblin, right?”

Lauren winced.

“Ugh, I hate to repeat it, but you need to hear this…”

She sighed dramatically and recited with reluctance:

“There once was a Slytherin, cute as a doll,
Scrubbing the lockers, her rag took a fall.
With a Gryffindor watching, she blushed knee to cheek,
Her knees crackled louder than a fire’s squeak!”

Julia shot up from the bed, mouth agape.

“WHAT?! LAUREN! That’s not how it happened!”

“I don’t know,” Lauren raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “The rhymes are… pretty convincing.”

“Lauren, I was just doing detention! Scrubbing lockers for the Gryffindors! On my knees! And Oliver Wood just walked in on me! That’s all!”

Lauren grinned mischievously.

“‘Walked in’ is… quite the choice of words in this context.”

“Oh no…” Julia groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “Okay, yes, I was being dramatic earlier, but now I see the truth was way better than whatever Peeves turned it into.”

“It always is, sweetie. That’s why I keep telling you - tell me everything right away. Thanks to Peeves, this is now officially a school legend.”

Julia burrowed under the covers.

“I just want to be a good, well-behaved student from now on…”

“Can’t you be both a legend and a good student?” Lauren winked.

Julia poked a hand out from under the blanket, pointing it like a wand.

“One more word, and I’ll hex you with Clingy Rags.”

“I adore you,” Lauren said. “But you tell me - what did he say? Wood. He must’ve been thrilled to see a girl - and a Slytherin one - scrubbing his locker on her knees. Literally a Gryffindor boy’s fantasy.”

Julia emerged from the covers with a grimace.

“He said… that I looked good in that uniform.”

Lauren’s mouth dropped. “WHAT?”

“I was wearing yellow rubber gloves and an apron with the Hogwarts crest. I looked like a house-elf with ambition, Lauren,” Julia said, sitting up with a deadpan expression. “If that’s his idea of flirting, I’m genuinely concerned for his… preferences.”

Lauren burst out laughing.

“So what you’re saying is - Wood might have inappropriate interests in house-elves?”

Julia howled with laughter.

“I swear, if I run into him in another corridor, I’ll transfigure myself into wallpaper. Wonder what he’s writing in his Diary of a Happy Quidditch Captain tonight…”

“‘Dear Diary. Today was a miracle. I saw a girl. And she was doing what girls are meant to do - cleaning.’”

Julia sat up, horrified.

“Uhhh. Do you think he has Muggle parents? Maybe that’s the kind of mindset he picked up at home?”

“No idea,” Lauren shrugged. “But apparently, Muggles do have some pretty weird ideas.”

“Yeah,” Julia muttered. “The Muggle world - full of brilliant ‘divine truths.’”

Chapter Text

A new day at Hogwarts began, as usual, far too early.

Julia Carpinus lay still in bed for a moment, staring up at the curtains above her head. Today, everything was going to change. Today she was going to be a new version of herself: diligent, unshakable, and… flawlessly dressed.

With determination, she threw off the covers, got up, and launched into a meticulous wardrobe selection. She chose a classic uniform skirt of modest length and a crisp white blouse with gently puffed sleeves. Attached to it was a small green snake-shaped brooch - an accent she hoped whispered, “I’m ambitious and dangerous, but with taste.”

As she pulled on her tights, a familiar snap echoed through the room.

“Oh, for Merlin’s beard, no…” she groaned.

A ladder ran mercilessly up her leg. She grabbed her wand, pointed it at the tights, and cast a repair spell. Something went wrong. The fabric trembled… and suddenly, instead of sheer, elegant tights, she was wearing black fishnets.

She stared at them in absolute horror.

“Great. Just what I need - Wood thinking I’m trying to seduce him in a house-elf pin-up look,” she muttered, yanking on a new pair. In the end, she looked nice. Sweet. Innocent. Reputation must remain intact.

Lauren, already dressed, raised her eyebrows in approval.

“You look like Student of the Year. Maybe Wood will convince himself yesterday was a hallucination. But… maybe just ignore him today. Be social with others. With him? Zero contact. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Like a centaur in the Forbidden Forest. Let no one associate you with Gryffindors today.”

Julia nodded.

“I’m going to be so neutral I’ll blend in with the walls.”

The Great Hall was as noisy as ever, but Julia didn’t glance once toward the Gryffindor table. She focused on her porridge and pretended not to hear the alternating giggles and hormonal buzzing coming from the far side of the hall.

Terrence Higgs - sixth year, Slytherin, and a certified idiot-in-the-making - sauntered up to their table. He believed schoolwork was optional since daddy would just buy him a Ministry job anyway. He leaned on the bench with all the subtlety of a troll and gave Lauren a grin that screamed “I peaked in first year.”

“Hey, pretty doll. Didn’t think you’d end up the heroine of a Hogwarts ballad, but I gotta say - it suits you.”

Lauren snorted like he’d commented on the weather.

“Terrence, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve been obsessed with me since I beat you at wizard chess in third year. Back off before Peeves writes you into a ballad.”

Julia said nothing, her expression unreadable.

Potions wasn’t much better.

Fred and George Weasley arrived with the full performance lineup. While Professor Snape wrote on the board, they began reciting in hushed, theatrical tones:

“A certain Slytherin, down in the locker room…”
“…with a noble Gryffindor broom…”
“She didn’t speak, just scrubbed with grace…”
“…and stole a Gryffindor’s heart in that sacred space.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the class. Julia froze, holding a vial of calendula essence. For a moment, she was sure she’d die of embarrassment.

Snape turned around. One glance from him obliterated the laughter instantly.

“Enough. Weasleys, two points from Gryffindor for pure stupidity.”

He glanced at Julia.

“Since cleanliness seems to be such a hot topic today… Miss Carpinus. What is the best ingredient for a proper cleansing potion?”

Julia hesitated. Pretend not to know? Play the clueless card? Fade into the background? Or… finally become that perfect version of herself?

She raised her chin.

“Goat beard extract, Professor. Best preserved in wizard vinegar.”

Silence fell.

Snape raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

“Well, since Miss Carpinus is so knowledgeable, everyone will prepare a batch today. Let’s see who else can achieve such… purity.”

Julia exhaled. The whole school might be talking nonsense. Peeves might be composing limericks that would make a Knockturn Alley siren blush. But at least she had the knowledge. And that was the first step. Today she nailed Potions. Tomorrow, perfection across the board.

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts textbook section of the library had none of the magic Julia liked. No mysterious nooks, no forbidden shelves, and no random books that would fling themselves off the shelves as if it were their only chance to be read. Just dust, silence, and the weight of textbooks. But it was paying off. In Herbology, she could now list the differences between oxyleaf and desert aloe on command, and Professor Sprout couldn’t hide her surprise when Julia answered fluently without rolling her eyes.

Charms class? It was no longer just sitting in the back row gossiping with Lauren. Julia started volunteering answers. Once. Then again. Flitwick even clapped his hands with delight.

But there were moments of crisis too.

“If I have to read one more thing about plant growth under a full moon, I swear I’ll throw myself off the Astronomy Tower,” she groaned dramatically, sprawled on the dormitory floor with pages of notes scattered around her.

“Just tell me when so I can bring popcorn,” Lauren quipped, amused, not taking her eyes off the mirror. She was getting ready for the Slytherin common room party to celebrate the start of the school year.

Someone had brought butterbeer – the enhanced kind, with a special potion brewed by Marcus Flint’s grandmother. Someone else brought a music orb that cast silver and green flashes. Young Goyle was waving his wand furiously, shouting Imprezo Totalis, and only managing a weak burst of confetti.

Julia dressed in her most party-ready outfit: a black off-the-shoulder blouse, a short skirt, and the fishnets she had conjured earlier that week. She danced. She laughed. For a moment, she truly believed she could be both the best student and the coolest girl in the whole castle. She even jumped on the table once and danced to the cheers of her housemates.

Lauren was flirting with some sixth-year Slytherin - a boy with an obviously stuck-up nose whose name Julia didn’t even remember, but whose robes were disturbingly expensive and emblazoned with a massive Spellenciaga logo. Lauren tilted her head and laughed at his jokes with that special smile she reserved only for boys.

Young Malfoy, unmistakable as ever, spent the entire party yelling that his father would buy this, fix that, or get someone expelled. Ugh. “Thank Merlin our dads fought this summer - that annoying blond rat didn’t visit us once over the break,” Julia thought.

There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t heard about Peeves’s rhymes. The story was too funny - and too absurd - not to dissect.

“Maybe it’s about Bella Nott?” Higgs asked. “She’s always hanging around the Gryffindors.”

“Idiocy,” Julia scoffed, butterbeer mug in hand. “That ghost is not a reliable narrator.”

Around four in the morning, when half of Slytherin was already slurring and the other half was in the bathroom casting summoning spells for more bottles, the butterbeer ran out.

“Carpinus, you’ve got the prettiest eyes in the whole tower,” slurred Blaise Zabini, barely staying upright. “Go get another crate, I beg you!”

She was sent on a “special mission” to get more butterbeer from the house-elves in the kitchens. Honestly, she didn’t mind. It was a chance to escape the stuffy dungeons for a bit.

Julia turned into the corridor leading to the kitchens, carrying an empty jug with the Slytherin crest, when she caught sight of Oliver Wood. Wearing a sports hoodie, broom in hand, and annoyingly awake. How was he even functioning at this hour?

“Well, look who it is,” he said, stopping. “On night patrol?”

Julia snorted, raising a brow.

“You’ve already woken up, and I haven’t gone to bed yet. Opposites, see? I’m on a morale-boosting mission - another round of drinks,” she said, lifting the empty jug.

“So now you’re a waitress?”

“You’ll be asking me for a bottle someday, Wood,” Julia said, leaning against the cold stone wall and eyeing him through slightly tousled hair. “I know a few potions that would get you back on your feet after a match.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“You? Potions? Wasn’t it you who melted a cauldron the other day? I’d rather not recall how that ended - I fear my broom might turn into a wild animal…”

Julia shrugged with fake nonchalance.

“Minor detail. But once I perfect the recipe… you’ll be begging for a bottle of my Reanimator after every practice.”

“Sounds like an illegal house-elf product.”

They looked at each other for a moment in the still, early-morning corridor, smiling like neither of them wanted the moment to end.

“So… party?” he asked, nodding toward the dungeons.

“Slytherin has its own secret rituals. Not everyone sweats on the pitch before dawn.”

Julia ran a hand through her slightly messy hair and continued on, chin lifted just a bit.

“See you around, Mr. Iron Discipline.”

“Try getting some sleep, Carpinus. Or at least make it back to the dungeons in one piece.”

She turned the corner, then immediately stopped and leaned back against the cold stone wall. The jug with the house crest almost slipped from her hands.

“What the helly…” she whispered, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “That… that was flirting, right?”

She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing. Her heart was pounding like mad - as if she hadn’t overdosed on a vigor potion, but on a conversation with Oliver Wood.

“Merlin’s beard,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Any more of this and I’ll actually admit he’s kind of… charming.”

She shifted her weight. Her legs were, annoyingly, shaking a little too.

“Okay, Carpinus. Get a grip. It’s just Wood. Gryffindors are people too. Probably. Sometimes.”

She raised the jug and kept walking, pretending nothing had happened.

But the smile crept onto her face anyway.

And it didn’t leave her all the way to the kitchens.

Chapter Text

Julia genuinely had no idea what possessed her the night before when she confidently declared to Lauren that she’d get up at five on Sunday to “wake up the body and oxygenate the brain.” It sounded sensible, ambitious, and fitting for her new life strategy. It also sounded completely idiotic when her alarm yanked her out of deep sleep after barely four hours of rest.

If she and Lauren hadn’t stayed up half the night talking about Lauren’s latest crush - Gordon Pummel, a sixth-year - maybe she would’ve gotten up in a better mood. But Lauren, being Lauren, had plenty to say. Apparently, Gordon was an excellent kisser (something Lauren had experienced firsthand in the greenhouse and during the common room party), but unfortunately, he was so convinced of his own uniqueness that he didn’t ask her a single question the entire date. “He talked about himself like I was there to interview him,” Lauren had said indignantly - then shrugged. She’d give him a few more days.

Julia, tousled and face-planted into her warm pillow, only grunted, “Five more minutes.”
And then - because she had a plan - she actually got up.

In the locker room, she threw on the simplest workout outfit she owned - a dark green Slytherin hoodie and black leggings. She rubbed her eyes, tied her hair back into a ponytail, and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Perfect student, perfect figure,” she muttered. “And a perfect idiot who wakes up at five in the morning.”

Outside, everything was draped in early gray. The grounds were still empty, and the cold air bit at her skin. Her breath steamed in the air, and the grass crunched under her soles.

Julia jogged slowly toward the Quidditch pitch. She tried to breathe deeply and steadily, although her body had other ideas - every cell was begging to crawl back under the warm covers. But no - Julia Carpinus was a girl with a vision. A girl who took life by the horns, ignoring sleepiness, the cold, and her rebellious calves.

Was it pure motivation? A desire for self-improvement and a healthy lifestyle?

Well… maybe she also had a quiet, thoroughly unofficial hope that a certain Gryffindor team captain just might also decide to train at dawn. Maybe. No one said motivation had to be completely noble.

Of course, luck wasn’t on her side. Because the one day Julia made the supreme athletic sacrifice of her life, Oliver Wood decided… not to train. Yes, the most Quidditch-obsessed maniac in Hogwarts skipped his morning workout today of all days!

When she finally reached the pitch - more limped than jogged, panting and calf muscles in full rebellion - it was empty. Silence. Not a single soul. Not even an owl had the decency to fly by.

Disgusted, she trudged back toward the castle, feeling her ambitions die one by one with every step. And her legs? Her legs were already completely dead. Her calves hurt so much she briefly wondered if they’d fallen off somewhere along the way.

When she made it back to the dormitory, she collapsed onto the bed with a groan. She had half a mind to write a will - but didn’t have the strength to reach for parchment.

Lauren was still asleep. But when she finally woke up - fresh-faced, glowing, with artistically tousled hair - she immediately asked:

“So? Did you go running?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Julia snapped, lying flat like a corpse in a coffin.

Lauren raised an eyebrow and approached her bed, clearly thrilled.

“No way. You were hoping to run into someone during that morning jog, weren’t you?”

“Please, Lauren.”

“You know, there are easier ways to flirt than near-death by muscle cramps.”

Julia threw a pillow at her. Lauren caught it with grace.

An hour later, Julia dragged herself to the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Only one thought filled her mind: food or death. But when she looked up at all those steps… it felt like her legs began dying all over again. Every muscle begged for mercy.

She leaned against the railing, took a deep breath, and tried to muster strength for the insane climb ahead. And then…

“Truly beautiful stairs,” someone said beside her.

Julia jumped.
It was him.
Oliver Wood. Gryffindor captain, Hogwarts’ resident early bird, owner of the nicest shoulders within a hundred kilometers. He was standing right next to her, leaning on the same railing, looking up as if analyzing a piece of art.

“Nice to stop and appreciate the details of places we pass by every day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, definitely,” she agreed. “Very profound reflections… especially when you feel like you've forgotten how to walk.”

Oliver looked at her with a slight smile - the kind that stirred chaos in her stomach.

“I overdid it at Saturday’s training,” he admitted with a sigh. “Skipped today. Had to take it easy.
But… I do remember hearing about some miraculous recovery potion you’re working on?”

Julia was just about to say something coherent when her brain betrayed her.

“Yes! Of course! I’m working on it. I just need… really rare ingredients. Plants that only grow under moonlight… at a specific hour… in a specific mood…” she started rambling.

“Why am I making this up?” she panicked.

But Oliver simply nodded, like it all made perfect sense.

“If you need help finding them… I could be useful. I’ve got field experience. Quidditch teaches spatial awareness.”

Julia gave him an uncertain smile; her heart thumped harder.

“Don’t tell me you actually want to go chasing herbs with me in moonlight?”

“If the potion works,” he said, amused. “I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“I’ll let you know when the time is right,” she said with mock solemnity.

And though her legs hurt more than ever, she lifted her head, took a deep breath, and started up those damn stairs - a faint smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

Julia was sitting in the library's reading room, surrounded by an aura of complete chaos. She was flipping through potion books with the fury of someone who had just realized she’d gotten herself into something far more serious than she’d ever intended. Seriously, how did she even end up talking about that potion? And then she kept going, as if she actually knew what she was doing. She should’ve just said something like, “Don’t count on anything more than my charm and the mild irritation I bring.” The “fake it until you make it” rule had apparently just been promoted to her life motto.

“Who the hell needs a Potion of Muscular Love?” she muttered, skimming over the absurd title. “Who even wants their biceps to whisper sweet nothings before bed?”

Another page, another idiocy. Madame Muscletooth’s Power Draught. Julia rolled her eyes.

And then - as if someone sent her a sign from above - she stumbled upon the Post-Workout Regeneration Elixir, with a footnote: Supports muscle fiber recovery, soothes tension, accelerates physical regeneration, and enhances strength development.

Julia froze. This was it. Her fingers clenched the edges of the pages like she was holding the key to some ancient incantation.

“Okay…” she whispered to herself and began circling the library with the book. “This is actually doable. A bit advanced, but not insane. I can handle this. I’ll make it. I’ll make it and bring him a little bottle of this miracle. With a ribbon. Or without. Without the ribbon - I’m serious.”

And then came the moment of realization. She slumped into the nearest chair.

“Merlin, what am I doing?!”

She froze like someone had just asked her if she’d like to marry a troll. Was she really planning to brew a support elixir for the GRYFFINDOR CAPTAIN? That was treason. TREASON.

“By Salazar’s beard…” she groaned.

Marcus Flint would kill her. He’d wrap her in the Slytherin banner and throw her off the commentator’s tower. Julia even glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Flint to be lurking behind the shelves.

Was Oliver Wood using her? Were those eyelashes and that stupid Gryffindor grin all part of a plan? Was he wrapping a naive Slytherin girl around his finger just to turn her into his personal potion supplier?

But maybe… maybe this was a chance. A chance to sabotage Gryffindor from the inside. She’d make the potion, but… modified. Improved! Improved with a little side effect… like explosive diarrhea. Yes, now that would be a plan worthy of a Slytherin. She’d hand it to him right before the match, wink sweetly. He might even help gather ingredients for his own doom.

But then… those messy hair flashed before her eyes, those bare shoulders glimpsed in the locker room… No, she couldn’t do it. Not to Oliver Wood. Not to that stupid boy who only thought about one thing – and by that she obviously meant Quidditch.

He was too sweet for diarrhea.

Julia sighed dramatically and smacked herself in the forehead with the open book.

She didn’t notice that someone, a few shelves away, had just smiled softly.

Someone who had been secretly watching the adorable Slytherin girl for quite a while, thoroughly enjoying the show. First she tore through potions textbooks like tomorrow’s Snape quiz would determine her Hogwarts survival. Then she started pacing in circles, sighed dramatically over her fate, and finally gave herself a forehead bruise with a book. A lunatic. He’d give anything to know what went on inside that girl’s head.

Well… potions do drive people mad.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to make this potion completely scientifically. It’s not an obsession. It’s a scientific challenge. A bit of potion-brewing experience won’t hurt me,” Julia kept telling herself, tapping her quill against the parchment.

“What are you scribbling there?” Lauren yawned, stretching lazily.

Julia slid the parchment toward her. She had carefully copied from the textbook all the ingredients needed for the restorative potion. Some names were underlined, and small notes dotted the margins.

Lauren read it once. Then again.

“Wait… this is due tomorrow? For Merlin’s beard, I haven’t even looked at my notes all weekend.”

“No, you dork, this is my science project. I’m going to become a producer of regeneration potions specially made for Quidditch players!” Julia said proudly.

Lauren burst into laughter.

“You… you really want to make a potion for Wood? You?! Poor guy, I hope he’s not the first tester of this concoction!”

“It can’t be that hard. Just prepare the ingredients properly and follow the recipe. That’s it. Full focus, and the potion’s ready.”

“Funny how you can never concentrate that well on potions.”

“It’s all Snape’s fault. I’m sure he’s sabotaging my recipes! He’s hated me since the day I first crossed Hogwarts’ gates.”

“If someone told me a month ago that you’d be brewing a potion for the most handsome Quidditch captain at Hogwarts, I’d have laughed my head off! Watch out Marcus Flint finds out… that’s real Slytherin treason.”

“I know, so mum’s the word. I’m not sure yet what I’ll do with the potion, but one thing’s certain - Wood offered to help me gather ingredients. So I have to invite him for a midnight rendezvous. Let him prove he’s worthy of my potion.”

Lauren grabbed the ingredient list.

“Hm… actually, none of these things really need to be collected at night.”

“That’s purely for aesthetics,” Julia shrugged, wincing. “It’ll just look better. More romantic. I mean, more magical. For the vibe.”

“Sure. That’s why you want to pick a wingleaf you pass every Herbology class?”

“Shut up, Lauren.”

Julia sighed and picked up her quill. She had to let Oliver know. She started writing a short note:

“Meet me tonight. Hogwarts courtyard, right after dinner.
P.S. Bring a warm scarf. It’ll be chilly.
— J.”

“Lauren, can I borrow your owl?”

The next morning

The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter - the clinking of spoons in porridge bowls, fluttering wings, and the soft curses of students who hadn’t finished their charms homework.

Julia arrived early, trying to look completely casual. She happened to sit so she had a clear view of the Gryffindor table. At first glance: indifferent. But her eyes tracked every owl, every unfurled wing, every parchment scroll.

Suddenly, there it was! A fluffy, grayish owl with a slightly cross-eyed look flew in through the great windows, looped an uncertain arc, and began its descent.

Julia leaned forward, heart racing. Perfect landing. Perfect moment. Perfect...

“WHAT?!” she whispered under her breath.

The owl dropped the letter right on the Gryffindor table. In front of PERCY WEASLEY.

“No, no, no, not there, YOU LITTLE BALL OF MISERY,” she whispered desperately.

Percy Weasley. The biggest stickler, the prefect of the year, regulation incarnate.

He opened the envelope with solemn dignity. His eyes skimmed the invitation and immediately grew as round as two Galleons. Percy’s face flushed bright red.

Oliver Wood, sitting beside him, leaned over curiously, glanced at the letter, and choked on his orange juice. When he finished coughing, he looked straight at Julia. Their eyes met, and Oliver shook his head with amusement and disbelief.

Julia froze. Then very slowly, she turned toward Lauren, who was watching the scene over her coffee cup.

“IS YOUR OWL DEAF, LAUREN?”

Lauren nearly spat out her breakfast. Clutching her stomach from laughing, she managed:

“My owl? My owl never makes mistakes. Looks like Percy Weasley is meant for you.”

Meanwhile, Peeves sniffed the commotion near the Gryffindor table and immediately began yelling:

“A Weasley boy, a Gryffindor proud,
received a note that drew a crowd.
‘Meet me at night,’ the paper did say,
A secret date? Oh, what dismay!”

Chapter Text

Oliver stopped her just before she entered the greenhouse. He held his broomstick in both hands - his greatest treasure, polished to perfection, with each twig trimmed evenly. It was so well cared for, you'd never guess it had seen hundreds of hours on the pitch. His hair was still tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed as if he had just flown in from practice.

Julia glanced around for witnesses, as if merely talking to a Gryffindor was a punishable offense.

"Thanks for the letter, J.," he said.

Julia feigned offense.

"You wish, Wood. That letter wasn't for you. It was clearly meant for Percy - the Head Boy himself."

"Sure it was," Oliver replied, leaning his broom against the greenhouse wall and crossing his arms. "Funny thing - Percy brought the Hogwarts Student Registry into the dorm. A massive, dusty tome with names, Houses, and years. Then he made a suspect chart."

Julia raised her eyebrows.

"A chart?"

"Color-coded. With a key and separate columns for 'suspicious behavior' and 'likelihood of romantic interest.' I think Percy's genuinely excited about this investigation."

"Merlin," Julia groaned, struggling not to laugh. "He's relentless."

"Josephine Mallowby, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Angelina Johnson, Peter Jones, Julian Greaves, Joshua Sturton... and you," Oliver counted off on his fingers. "And yes, I know Julian Greaves is a third-year Ravenclaw who lisps and collects Chocolate Frog cards, but Percy said, 'All options must be considered.'"

"I honestly think Justin could pull it off. But I respect Percy. Making a chart... that takes commitment."

"Percy won't rest until he finds the person behind the note. He wants to be fully prepared for tonight."

Julia paused. A breeze caught a lock of her hair and swept it across her face. She took a deep breath.

"We can't just leave the poor guy hanging," she said at last, more softly. "We need to set up a date... one that doesn't actually happen."

"Cold," Oliver said with mock reproach.

"Practical," Julia corrected. "You're free tonight, right?"

"I've always dreamed of organizing a date for my dormmate."

"Then meet me after dinner for Percy's date. I'll come up with something. And good thing you fly well - you might need that broom to escape his questioning."

Julia was about to disappear into the greenhouse when something made her stop. She turned slightly over her shoulder and... winked at Wood.

She winked.

At Wood.

It lasted barely a heartbeat, but long enough for her to see his smile widen a good inch and one eyebrow lift in amusement.

"What am I doing?!" her inner voice shrieked as she turned away again.

"Seriously, Julia? A wink? Who are you - some flirty witch from a love potion pamphlet?!"

She marched into the greenhouse, nearly tripping over the threshold, thoughts whirling like an untended cauldron.

"I'm going to stab myself in the eye with a spiky herb. I deserve that. Maybe then I'll stop making a fool of myself around someone with a voice like a cashmere scarf and arms designed for hugging..."

She inhaled deeply, trying to calm down.

Yes, it was just the greenhouse lamp making everything feel warm. That had to be it.

Before the end of dinner, Julia and Oliver had slipped out to the grounds to scout the perfect vantage point for Percy's date. They hid in the shadow of a large oak tree, where the moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting silver patterns on the ground.

They watched with amusement as Percy Weasley emerged from the castle. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of The Practical Wizard Weekly - hair parted neatly, robes impeccably pressed, shoes polished to a moon-like shine. His steps were stiff, his hands nervously adjusting his cuffs.

He paused near the edge of the lawn, listening, perhaps expecting a soft whisper from the trees.

"Now," Julia whispered.

Oliver raised his hand and released a small owl, a navy ribbon tied to its leg. The creature soared into the sky like an arrow, gliding silently through the night. Moments later, Percy was untying the note.

They held their breath, watching. Percy unrolled the parchment and froze.

"Percy, after the laughter in the Great Hall today, I realized I acted too hastily. I’m not ready to confess my feelings yet. I’m sorry.
– Your J."

He read it once. Then again. His shoulders dropped, like someone had drained the life from him. He stood still for a moment, then took a deep, theatrical breath, turned, and trudged back toward the castle with a mournful, almost funereal gait.

"Oh no," Julia groaned, burying her face in her hands. "He looks like someone just cancelled his wedding."

"I do feel a little bad for him," she added after a moment, watching Percy’s figure grow smaller in the distance.

"I’d look like that too if you stood me up," Wood replied, his voice dripping with faux drama.

Julia snorted.

"Alright, Captain. Now that all uninvited guests have been sent home - ready for our nighttime mission?"

Oliver grinned broadly.

"I was born ready."

Julia adjusted her robes and cast a glance back at the castle - at this hour, students were reviewing notes for tomorrow’s classes, gossiping in common rooms, or winding down for the night. Meanwhile, the two of them - schemers in the moonlight - headed into the night, armed with a jar and a roll of parchment, a shared secret, and a bold plan for a potion.

This was what Hogwarts was all about.

Chapter Text

It was dark and damp behind the greenhouses. The earth smelled of moss and manure. Julia bent low over the grass, furrowing her brow as if searching for gold in the mud. Oliver followed behind her, trying not to step on her heels.

“Are you sure it’s today?” he asked, glancing uncertainly at the sky. “Maybe the alignment of Saturn and Venus isn’t right yet for harvesting wingleaf. What if the leaves aren’t in the proper mood?”

Julia straightened up and turned to him, her face like stone.

“My calculations say this is the only day in the whole year when the wingleaf is in a good enough mood to be picked. Sheer luck.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“Merlin’s beard, thank you for scheduling that before the first match of the season,” he said with mock reverence, kneeling beside her in the grass.

They began rummaging through tufts of moss and tall blades of grass, lowering their voices as if the wingleaf might scare off. Their arms brushed now and then, but neither seemed to notice. Julia reached out, gently moved aside some leaves with her wand, and suddenly...

“AAAAAAH!” Oliver screamed, leapt in place like he’d been hit by a curse, and nearly trampled Julia.

A small, fluffy creature - somewhere between a dust bunny and a pocket-sized house-elf - sprang from the grass, squeaked, and darted toward the greenhouses.

Julia almost fell over laughing.

“That was a pygmy puff, Wood! It doesn’t even have teeth!”

“I don’t trust those things,” he replied, brushing himself off with what dignity he could muster. “One of them crawled into my ear as a kid and whispered for three days straight that I should eat my socks.”

“Did you?”

“No, Mum got it out. Traumatizing experience. Ever since, I don’t trust animals that weigh less than a Golden Snitch.”

Julia giggled again, leaning down to move a fern.

“Good thing your bravery shows up at least on a broomstick,” she muttered. “Because in the grass, you’re a bit... average.”

“You know what? You go first. If something else jumps out, I want it to eat you first.”

The quiet night was filled only by crickets and the soft rustle of their hands sweeping through the grass.

“Got it!” Julia suddenly exclaimed. “It’s here! That’s the wingleaf!”

Oliver leaned closer, inspecting it.

“Looks like moldy lettuce.”

“But magical moldy lettuce,” she said proudly, carefully cutting the leaf with a silvery knife. “Three more and we can go.”

“So that’s three more chances for me to have a heart attack thanks to something fluffy,” Oliver grumbled, but crouched again and began parting the grass with his hand.

Julia snorted.

“And here I thought Gryffindors weren’t afraid of anything.”

“Gryffindors are brave, not stupid. If something jumps at your face, you run. That’s instinct, not cowardice.”

Julia giggled again, then paused as she spotted something silvery by a fern root.

“Oh, here!” She bent low and reached for the leaf, which shimmered in the moonlight like it was covered in dew and glitter. “This one’s good too.”

Oliver peered over her shoulder.

“You sure it’s not a poisonous variant?”

“If you die, I’ll personally organize a Quidditch tournament in your name.”

“I can’t decide if that’s touching or psychotic.”

“There’s a thin line between the two,” she replied, tucking the second leaf into a small pouch slung over her shoulder.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night air was pleasantly cool. Julia felt oddly at peace. Maybe gathering magical plants was her new hobby?

“So, uh…” she began, gently placing another wingleaf into the pouch. “How are you preparing for Saturday’s match?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes, as if she were interrogating him at the Ministry.

“Wait… are you a spy for Marcus Flint?” he asked, mock-serious. “Sent by Slytherin to extract my tactical secrets?”

Julia snorted.

“Yeah, right. Wood, your secret strategies are safe with me because there’s zero chance I’ll remember them - let alone understand them. I don’t even know how many players are in a Quidditch team. There’s a Keeper, obviously, and those guys who whack the... badgers?”

Oliver looked at her like she’d just said brooms were for sweeping floors.

“Bludgers. By Merlin’s beard, Julia. Bludgers, not badgers!”

He buried his face in his hands and groaned dramatically.

“I need to walk this off. I need to walk this off.”

“Oh, come on…” Julia started, but Oliver had already stormed off.

“Come on?! Julia, how is it possible that you’re a pure-blood witch, five years at Hogwarts, and you don’t know the BASIC RULES of the most important sport in our world?!”

“Maybe I had better things to do?”

“Better than Quidditch?!”

“Call me ignorant if you must,” she shrugged. “Can’t be great at everything, Oliver.”

“Do you even know what a Quaffle is?”

“Everyone has their trauma,” Julia muttered, trying to keep up with his long strides. “And yes, I once got hit in the head with a Quaffle. Maybe that’s why I remember nothing.”

“That’s not trauma, that’s sabotage!” he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. “You know what? No. I’m convinced Flint sent you to ruin me before the match. There’s no other explanation.”

He sped up, clearly intending a dramatic exit.

Julia glanced behind her. Darkness stretched out. The damp ground squelched underfoot, and in the distance, something stirred. Something that was definitely not an owl.

“Hey, Oliver?” she called uncertainly. “Don’t leave me, seriously… Hello?! Oliver?”

A sound like a howl - soft, drawn-out, and distinctly unfriendly - cut through the silence.

Julia froze for half a second, then sprinted after Wood.

“WOOD!” she screamed.

Oliver turned around, startled.

“You chasing me, lunatic?”

“No. Something’s chasing us!” she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the castle. They ran in silence, leaping over puddles and roots until the lantern light by the castle doors finally came into view.

They stopped, panting. Julia braced herself against the stone wall and looked at him seriously.

“I’ll learn everything about Quidditch, I swear. Just... please, never leave me that close to the Forbidden Forest again. Ever.”

Oliver looked at her - out of breath, wide-eyed, trembling slightly. She looked like a lost baby deer.

He felt awful. Really awful.

How could he have just left her?

In a quiet, soft impulse, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close like something fragile he’d almost failed to protect.

Julia hesitated for a heartbeat, then rested her forehead against his chest, letting herself breathe. Her racing heart gradually slowed. Oliver laid a hand on her head, gently brushing through her hair.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have. It was... dumb. Really dumb. I promise I’ll never do it again. Not even Marcus Flint’s spy deserves that.”

She didn’t reply, but he felt the tension in her melt, as if those few words had unlocked something.

“And you know what,” he added after a moment, pulling back slightly to look her in the eyes, “you’re a tragically hopeless case. Because of you, I’m going to have nightmares about badgers tonight, Merlin help me... But I’m taking this on. I’ll teach you the rules of Quidditch.”

Julia raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile.

“That sounds like a wildly ambitious project.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” He laughed, then added more seriously: “Come by after practice on Wednesday. I’ll show you the difference between a Bludger and a badger. And that Quidditch can be fun… even for people like you.”

“Ignoramuses?”

“Ignoramuses and wildlings.”

She smiled. If she had to have a teacher… she couldn’t have picked a better one.

Chapter Text

The morning in the Great Hall was like any other - clinking cutlery, the flapping of owl wings over the tables, and the scent of toast, eggs, and coffee wafting through the air. Julia yawned deeply and poured herself some pumpkin juice, barely registering that Lauren was talking to her.

“...and I really hope today’s Nocturne Chic shows up, because there’s supposed to be an interview with Lucas Blackwood. If he announces a new tour, I’m going - even if it means skipping my OWL-s.”

“Fantastic,” said Julia. “We’ll both drop out and officially become groupies.”

An owl landed in front of them, dropping a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper.

“Yes,” said Lauren. “Here it is. New poster of Lucas Blackwood incoming!”

But instead of a glossy magazine, they found an old, well-worn book inside. The title glinted gold on a red cover: Quidditch Through the Ages.

Julia raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe he actually did it,” she said. “He sent me his holy bible.”

She looked up. Across the Hall, Oliver was already watching her. He smiled sweetly and gave her a thumbs-up.

She opened the book. Inside were colorful tabs, bookmarks, margin notes in tiny handwriting, diagrams shoved between the pages on folded scraps.

“He said he’d teach me the basics of Quidditch…” Julia sighed. “But I didn’t think he’d start his educational mission at seven in the morning.”

Lauren snorted and shook her head in mock disapproval.

“You really do throw yourself into the hobbies of your current crush.”

“Not true,” Julia muttered, shoving the book into her bag.

“Not true? Third year, Evan Thompson - you tried to learn the lyre. The lyre, Julia. So you could ‘meet up with him after class.’”

“It was a Celtic harp, and I was going through a folklore phase, thank you very much.”

“Fourth year, Nicholas Avery - you scoured all of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley to find him that commemorative Galleon minted for Bertie Bott’s birthday. I remember it like it was yesterday. And when you found out he was gay, you took it back and started your own collection.”

“Commemorative Galleons are an investment, Lauren. You wouldn’t understand.”

“And let’s not forget second year - Elliot Spikes. You tried to learn wizard chess just to sit with him in the library.”

“And I made it to the quarterfinals of the summer chess tournament!”

Julia sighed, staring dramatically at the ceiling.

“Sometimes... people just inspire me.”

She was reaching for her third piece of marmalade toast when something - or rather, someone -at the Hufflepuff table caught her eye.

“Wow,” she mumbled with her mouth full. “Percy Weasley is branching out into inter-House relations.”

Lauren followed her gaze. Percy had just approached Josephine Mallowby, who was pretending not to notice him.

“This should be good,” Lauren said, resting her chin on her hand. “Can’t wait to see how badly he embarrasses himself.”

Percy, perfectly serious and holding a notebook, said:

“Mallowby, since this is my final year at Hogwarts, I’ve decided to collect commemorative notes from students,” he said with the gravity of someone gathering signatures for a Minister for Magic campaign. “It’s meant to capture the spirit of this educational institution. Would you be willing… to write a few words?”

Josephine stared at him in alarm.

“Me? But... why me?” she stammered. “And... does that mean I’m the first?”

She glanced at his notebook. It was brand new, the pages pristine.

Percy looked mildly flustered.

“Ahem. Yes, no one else has... had the honor. I wanted to start with someone whose handwriting is... particularly aesthetic.”

Josephine flushed bright red.

“Oh... that’s very sweet,” she whispered. She reached for his quill and scribbled something in his notebook.

Julia snorted softly.

“And so legends are born,” she said, raising her glass of pumpkin juice. “It starts with a simple autograph, and next thing you know - it’s wedding bells.”

Between Charms and Transfiguration, Julia tucked herself away in one of Hogwarts’ many secret corridors. She perched on a windowsill and pulled out her gift from that morning. More than the actual content of the book, what caught her attention were the owner’s comments.

She read the first scribble—short, but expressive: “IDIOT.” Written next to the name of a beater who had missed a bludger in a decisive match. Julia chuckled to herself. “Well, that’s some next-level analysis,” she thought, shifting the book on her knees.

“Flint would cry here.”
“Gryffindor rules!”
“Test during practice???”
“Illegal since 1894 - and rightly so.”

It felt like reading someone’s inner monologue. Pure Wood - intense, passionate, dramatic. And absurdly funny in his seriousness.

Next to the name of a player - Kylie Meadows, a Beater for the Australian national team - someone had drawn a tiny heart. Just one, but very clear.

Julia raised her eyebrows.

“Ooooh... Captain Wood and his fluttering heart,” she murmured. “I wonder if that’s respect for technique, or something else...”

She glanced again at Kylie’s portrait. Tall, freckled, red curls, a beater’s bat bigger than her own arm. Julia smirked.

“So that’s your type, Wood.”

Lost in thought, she reached into her bag for a scrap of parchment. She didn’t dare write directly in his book - who knew if he’d put protective charms on the pages - but the message had to be left.

In neat, careful handwriting, she wrote:

“Wood,
Reminder: this is a book about Quidditch, not a thirteen-year-old’s diary.
And since we’re doodling now - page 42, that Bulgarian beater? Kinda hot.”

But then... her eyes drifted back to the actual text. The first mentions of matches on the Queerditch Marsh, how the rules evolved, why the snitch became part of the game. She read one paragraph, then another - at first out of duty, out of curiosity - but before she realized it, she was following every sentence, piecing together the picture of a sport that, to him, was like a religion.

Maybe it wasn’t just about knowing the difference between a bludger and a quaffle anymore.

Maybe... she really wanted to understand why this mattered so much to him.

Chapter Text

"Just the powdered bat wing left..." Julia muttered, counting the ingredients for the regeneration potion on her fingers. "One step away from success."

That night, sneaking into the potions classroom, Julia felt like an auror hunting a dangerous criminal. She slipped through side corridors, avoiding creaky floorboards and patrolling ghosts. The door was open - Snape assumed no one would dare enter without permission.

On the shelves, jars were lined up in perfect order, the labels calligraphed with the professor's typical, infuriating precision. Julia scanned them one by one until she finally found what she was looking for:

Bat wing (powdered)

Her heart skipped a beat... only to drop immediately.

The jar was empty. Spotlessly clean, as if someone had deliberately scraped out every last grain.

Julia frowned. That was odd. Snape was meticulous - his supplies were always fully stocked.

She stared at the empty jar a moment longer, as if sheer willpower could magically refill it.

"Brilliant..." she muttered. "The bat has flown."

Were they near extinction? Or was the national team brewing regeneration potions en masse and Snape had donated his stash?

The next day, Julia decided to ask around. The Slytherin common room was, as always, bathed in a greenish half-light, reminiscent of the depths of the lake. The couches by the fireplace were occupied by students lounging in various states of boredom.

"Um... does anyone happen to have some powdered bat wing to spare?" she asked with feigned nonchalance, perching on the arm of a chair.

"What potion are you brewing?" asked Evelyn Burke, glancing over her shoulder.

Julia waved a hand dismissively.

"Eh, some... beauty thing. For hair. Volume or something," she said lightly, shrugging as if she truly didn’t care.

For a second, silence. Then a few people chuckled.

"Oh, Carpinus, maybe Rosier can help," Evelyn offered, tilting her head. "He always has random rare stuff in his bag. You know, aristocratic first aid kit."

"Seriously, ask Rosier," someone else chimed in from the back. "He collects everything. Might even have a manticore claw if you ask sweetly enough."

Cassian Rosier: an older Slytherin, master manipulator, self-proclaimed prince of darkness, obsessed with blood purity and his own reflection. The textbook aristocratic snake who never did anything unless it benefited him.

"Ugh... I don’t know... I usually try to stay out of his way," Julia replied.

"But he might have the bat wing," Stacey Greengrass added, stretching on the couch. "And you do have hair in need of saving, right?"

Julia’s mind boiled.

"Hair in need of saving?! Excuse me. My hair looks like it came straight from the cover of 'Witch Weekly'. That summer investment in a shine elixir paid off. And this was just a pretense. Of course it wouldn’t be understood among these social dementors."

"You’re right, Stacey," she said. "I’ll let you know when the potion’s ready - might do you some good too."

To survive among snakes, you needed fangs of your own - preferably hidden behind a smile.

As much as she disliked Cassian Rosier, this might be her only chance to get the powdered bat wing. She shoved her hands into her robe pockets and headed toward the library, where Rosier could usually be found nestled among the shelves, suspiciously close to the restricted section. In her head, she was already planning what to say to walk away from the meeting with dignity.

But fate, always eager to trip her up, tossed Percy Weasley in her path.

"Julia Carpinus!" he called out with surprising enthusiasm. "Glad I found you!"

Julia stopped, already sensing a trap.

"Did I forget to return something?" she asked cautiously.

"No! Nothing like that," Percy assured quickly, approaching with a notebook. "I’m collecting farewell notes. I’m graduating and... well, thought it’d be nice to have something from everyone. You know, a personal album."

Julia raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone?" she asked.

"Well... most people." Percy handed her the new notebook.

She recognized a few familiar entries - Fred and George Weasley had written "May your prefect spirit live forever (and may it not strangle you)" along with a drawing of a dragon breathing fire at a glasses-wearing figure. Just below that, she recognized Wood’s handwriting - after all her study sessions on Quidditch Through the Ages.

"Don’t peek!" Percy grumbled, yanking the notebook out of her line of sight. "Here’s a blank page. Write your note."

"Adorable, how sentimental you are, Weasley," Julia said dryly. "Do you want just a signature or a hymn to the head prefect?"

"A note. A keepsake. Just write whatever."

Julia hesitated, then took the quill and wrote, adjusting her handwriting to look more official and less decorative.

"Dear Percy,
Thank you for never catching me stealing butterbeer from the Hogwarts kitchens.
I and the rest of Slytherin appreciate your discreet favoritism toward our house.

May your notebook survive the ages,
Julia Carpinus"

Percy read the note, and his face slowly turned beet red. First his eyebrows furrowed. Then his forehead. Then everything else.

"Discreet favoritism of Slytherin?!" he hissed, glancing nervously down the hallway. "That sounds like an accusation of corruption!"

Julia smiled innocently, adjusting her bag.

"Only if you’ve got something to hide, Weasley."

With a sharp motion, he tore the page from the notebook and crumpled it like evidence of a crime.

"I don’t want any more notes from you, Carpinus."

Julia shrugged.

"Shame. You just lost the most brilliant quote in the whole notebook."

Percy turned away but paused, looking back with a mix of indignation and pride.

"Patrols in the hallway to the kitchens will be INCREASED."

And with head held high, he marched off.

Julia watched him go, barely holding back laughter. But she quickly sobered - she still had a mission to complete.

The library was so quiet she could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she approached the back row - furthest from the librarian’s desk, closest to the restricted section. Naturally. That’s where she found him.

Cassian Rosier lounged in an armchair, one leg casually crossed over the other, twirling a quill between his fingers. An open book lay on his lap, but he wasn’t looking at it - his gaze was fixed squarely on Julia, as if he’d foreseen her arrival. All of Julia’s rehearsed jokes vanished from her mind.

"Well, well," he murmured. "What brings you here, Carpinus?"

"I heard you might have something I need."

"Did you now?" He tilted his head, black eyes gleaming. "I hear that a lot. What exactly are we talking about?"

"Bat wing," she said firmly, folding her arms. "Powdered."

Cassian sighed theatrically.

"Oh, how dull. I hoped for something more intriguing. But as it happens... I do have the last jar." He ran a hand along the spine of his book like it was a pet. "But, as you can guess, everything has its price."

Julia narrowed her eyes.

"What do you want in return?"

Cassian smiled the way only he could - slowly, lazily, like a cat on its throne.

Julia immediately began rummaging through her robe pockets. Items flew onto the table.

"Two chocolate frogs, snake pendant, tiny portrait of Snape signed ‘I’m watching. Always.’, a snore-reducing potion - I think it works," she glanced at him quickly, "and a ticket to the masked ball from two years ago..."

Cassian raised an amused brow.

"None of that interests me. I don’t want things. I want a favor."

"A favor?" she repeated cautiously.

"Assistance. One day, when I decide the time is right. And you won’t ask questions."

"You want me to agree without knowing what it is?"

"That’s what makes it so beautiful," Cassian whispered, sliding the jar across the table toward her. "A Slytherin helping a Slytherin. Trust me, Carpinus. You’ll have a chance to repay me."

Julia hesitated a moment. Then she picked up the jar and closed her hand around it.

"I don’t trust you one bit, Rosier. But I’ll make an exception."

"Just don’t drop it. It wasn’t easy to get."

She gave him a fake smile and walked away, gripping the jar tightly. She didn’t look back, though she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

And though she’d gotten what she wanted... it felt like she’d just signed a deal with the devil himself.

Chapter Text

The Quidditch pitch was empty except for the two of them. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the grass. Julia lay on her back on a wooden bench near the sideline, hands behind her head, eyes fixed on the sky. A green Slytherin scarf hung carelessly, almost touching the ground. Next to her, Oliver Wood was setting down a crate filled with balls eager to take flight.

“Alright, we’ll start with the basics. Here’s the quaffle, bludgers, and...” He trailed off, glancing at her sideways. “Are you even listening?”

Julia lifted her head, gave him a mock apologetic look, and smiled sweetly.

“Sort of.”

Oliver sighed and sat down on the ground, leaning against the bench near her head. He grabbed one of the balls and raised it so it blocked part of her view of the sky.

“This is a bludger. It hits players. A dangerous beast, better not to befriend it. Fast, aggressive, likes violence.”

Julia glanced sideways.

“Perfect date material. A typical bad boy…”

“Julia.”

“Sorry, I forgot these are sacred balls.”

“Bludgers aren’t sacred. Bludgers are to be avoided.” He knelt beside her and slid the bludger in front of her face. “Recognize it?”

“Isn’t it a bit brutal?” Julia asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Quidditch is a sport with character,” he replied, reaching for another ball. “That’s the quaffle. You throw it at the hoops, and I catch it.”

“That one looks like it’s been through a lot,” she said, frowning. “How many people have sat on it?”

“Are you even listening?” he asked, waving the ball above her head.

Then he reached for a tiny golden ball, its wings fluttering as if ready to escape. Julia propped herself on her elbow, taking the golden snitch, admiring it.

“The golden snitch. The most important ball,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off her face. “It’s pretty. Malicious. And hard to catch.”

“It’s beautiful…” she whispered, turning it in her fingers. “How it trembles… like it has its own heart.”

“It does,” Oliver murmured, resting his head on his elbow so they were almost eye-to-eye with the snitch.

Julia looked at him slowly. For a moment, her gaze locked with his in a way that had nothing to do with Quidditch anymore.

“You really are in love,” she said quietly.

“With Quidditch?”

“With all of it. The game, the team, winning.”

He said nothing for a moment. Then the snitch tried to fly away, and he caught it reflexively, never breaking eye contact.

“Do you even want to learn to play?” he finally asked softly.

“If you want to teach me,” she answered, “maybe.”

Oliver swallowed.

“Get on the broom.”

“What about warm-up? Some emotional prep? Maybe tea?”

“Julia…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she sighed theatrically.

Oliver watched as Julia approached a nearby broom with casual grace, as if she did it every day. She threw him a quick glance, a cheeky smile, and swung her leg over the handle.

“Hey, wait, I haven’t even told you how to push off…”

Before he could finish, Julia was already hovering lightly above the ground. Stable, smooth, with no hint of uncertainty.

“You…” Oliver raised his eyebrows. “You can fly?”

Julia lazily circled above the pitch, the wind tossing her hair. She looked down at him, tilting her head.

“Did I ever say I couldn’t?”

“But… I thought you needed everything explained from scratch!”

“I said I don’t know Quidditch rules, Wood. Not that I can’t fly.”

She lowered herself to his eye level.

“I think it’s a sport for slightly crazy people prone to self-injury. But flying? I love flying.”

Oliver opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Julia was simply… good. More than good. She had a natural ease and confidence, as if born with that broom.

“Then why did you let me drag you here like some poor victim who only uses the broom to sweep the common room?”

“Because I like the way you talk to me,” she winked and flew to the other end of the pitch, leaving him wide-eyed.

Julia turned and approached again.

“When you don’t know what to say, you’re actually quite sweet, too”

“You know I have to make you play now. Since you fly like a pro, no escaping.”

Oliver grabbed the quaffle and lifted himself on the broom.

“You say these are your favorite hoops, right?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t have favorites, I defend them all the same,” Oliver corrected, positioning himself in front of the hoops.

He threw her the quaffle, which she caught with a slight wobble on the broom.

“Try to score. I’ll give you a head start.”

“I like challenges. And winning.”

“Prove it.”

Julia started circling the hoops slowly. Her hair flew, and there was something unsettling in her eyes. When it came to proving herself and competing, nothing could stop her. She looked at Oliver, not the hoops - and that made him strangely disarmed.

“Focus, Wood,” he muttered.

“Ready?” Julia tilted slightly, as if just playing.

“Always.”

Then suddenly she sped up. The quaffle flew like a slingshot - fast, powerful, aimed straight at the middle hoop. Oliver dived to the side and, reaching out, deflected the ball. It bounced off the metal ring with a dull clang.

“Nice,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But not good enough.”

Julia already turned back with the quaffle in hand.

“Two more tries. If I score even once - you owe me a butterbeer in Hogsmeade.”

“And if I save them all?”

“Then…” she hesitated. “You get to come up with a prize. But don’t get cocky, Wood.”

This time she launched from the other side. Pretending to aim high, she threw low. Oliver managed again - knocking the ball away with an open hand.

The third attempt. Julia’s gaze was fixed not on the hoops, but on Oliver. She tossed her hair back with a nonchalant flick and straightened on the broom. Then he realized - she wanted to distract him.

With the third try, Julia soared even higher. This time she flew fast and strong, ready to throw a shot that would knock Oliver off his broom - but he read her like an open book. At the last moment, he dived down, flicked the quaffle up with his wrist, and sent it flying far beyond the hoops.

“And… defended,” he shouted triumphantly. “Three out of three. I win.”

Julia landed softly on the ground, brushing hair from her forehead. She didn’t look disappointed.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured. “If it weren’t for the setting sun…”

“Yeah, right, the sun. And maybe the unlucky alignment of planets?” Oliver stood opposite her, arms crossed. “But don’t worry, Slytherin. I’m not going to be cruel.”

“Hmm, I’m listening,” Julia said, straightening up. “If this is something stupid…”

“You’ll clean the Gryffindor lockers before the next match,” he declared triumphantly, as if he’d already won the House Cup.

“Gryffindor lockers?!” Julia hissed as if each word was an insult. “Are you completely insane?”

“We need someone classy to get rid of the leftover sandwiches the Weasley brothers left behind.”

Julia stared at him for a few seconds without a word. Then… she jumped on her broom.

“Take that back, Wood,” she growled, rising a few meters above the ground.

“Never,” he said with a wide grin, mounting his broom too. “Better catch me.”

Julia shot off like lightning. The chase was on - low, fast, with dizzying turns. Oliver flew just above the pitch, laughing loudly as Julia chased him like a Firebolt. She began to catch up when he suddenly turned sharply…

Too sharply.

They collided side to side, both losing balance. Their brooms spun, then crashed onto the soft sand just beside the sideline.

“WOOD?!” Julia scrambled to her knees, sand in her hair and heart in her throat. “Oh no… no… I killed Wood! I really… Merlin, you have a match in two days!”

Oliver lay on his back, eyes closed, motionless.

“Oh no, no, no…” Julia leaned over him, gently stroking his cheek. “Oliver? Can you hear me? Open your eyes. Don’t do this to me, please…”

Then he… lifted one eyelid, with a completely adoring expression.

“Mmm… say that again,” he murmured. “But this time, stroke the other side.”

Julia froze, then slid her hand off his cheek.

“YOU’RE ALIVE?!”

“Or I’m in heaven,” he muttered, stretching on the sand. “If this is your reaction to every fall… I might just tumble some more.”

“YOU SNEAKY, MANIPULATIVE…” Julia slapped his arm and stood up, angry as a hornet. “You’re lucky I didn’t call Madam Pomfrey!”

“I’m lucky you’re here,” he said, getting up with a slight smile. Sand was everywhere, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

Julia blushed fiercely and looked away.

“I’m never going back to clean lockers. Never.“

“Then… maybe we should agree on something less dramatic,“ he said, brushing sand off his shoulder. “But not right now. Because for now, I have to pretend it hurts a lot.“

Julia narrowed her eyes.

“You know what should really hurt? Your pride. Because a Slytherin just knocked you off your broom.“

Oliver chuckled softly, clutching his arm.

“So the regeneration potion is ready? Because, how to put it delicately… I need it immediately.“

Julia fixed her hair and straightened up with theatrical dignity.

“As it happens, I’ve gathered all the ingredients. Although it took huge sacrifices, embarrassing conversations, and potential deals with the devil. Don’t ask.“

“So, can we brew it now?“

“We can,“ she replied with satisfaction. “We just need a quiet place.“

Oliver smiled as if impressed.

“It just so happens I know a place where we can brew the potion in absolute peace. No prefects, no caretaker, no accidental witnesses.“

Julia tilted her head.

“The Forbidden Forest?“

“Almost. The Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.“

Julia’s eyes went wide.

“There?“

“Trust me. Nobody goes there. Well, except Myrtle… but she’s reasonable if you don’t splash water all over the floor.“

Julia was silent for a moment, then shrugged.

“Great. Shall we meet there after dinner?“

They just smiled at each other like two chief conspirators.

Chapter Text

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had been resisting any attempts at renovation, refreshment, or even a proper cleaning for years. The plaster peeled off the walls as if in despair at having to cover them any longer, and the taps rusted with such determination they looked like works of art.

Several stalls were permanently locked - whether due to water damage or sheer horror, no one knew - and the mirrors reflected faces in a strange way, as if asking, “Are you sure you want to be here?”

And right in the middle, floating just above one of the sinks, hovered Moaning Myrtle, her face full of existential disappointment and an unspeakable satisfaction that someone was about to mess things up again.

“Hello, darlings,” came Myrtle’s drawn-out, mournful wail before they even managed to close the door to the decrepit bathroom. “Trying to be a Potions Master? How lovely. The last cauldron exploded so beautifully it left a hole in the tiles. Over there - see?”

Julia glanced over. Sure enough, next to the sink, there were blackened marks left by a failed experiment.

“This will be lovely,” she muttered.

She began laying out ingredients with a precision worthy of Snape. Except there was no Snape - just flies and ghosts playing the role of assistants.

“All right, got everything. We can start,” Julia announced, placing the final ingredient - fresh valerian sprigs picked from Hagrid’s garden.

In the center she set down a brand-new cauldron, sent by her parents after her last potion-making disaster. The shopkeeper had reportedly asked if they’d like to buy three in advance, just in case.

“Step one,” Julia smiled a bit nervously, looking at Oliver. “Pour in two hundred milliliters of water from a crystal spring… well, I think this tap will do.”

Oliver nodded, though his eyes sparkled with disbelief.

“Then we add crushed sage leaves,” Julia continued, pulling out the dried plant from a pouch, “exactly three grams. Not less, not more.”

Oliver stepped closer, watching as Julia meticulously weighed the ingredients on a magical scale. The air smelled of herbs and something faintly sour.

“Want me to help? Hold a vial? Stir?”

She blinked, not turning.

“Oh, please do,” she said sweetly, crushing wingwort leaves in a mortar. “You can stand there and NOT breathe, so you don't throw off my alchemical balance. Potions can sense panic and testosterone.”

Oliver chuckled softly.

Julia lifted a small vial. The powdered bat wings shimmered inside, as if someone had trapped moonlight and a bit of spite in powder form. Just looking at it gave her chills. She remembered that moment - the cool smile, the raised brow, and the promise of a favor.

She shuddered slightly.

“I sold my soul for these damn bat wings,” she said with mock lightness, though something in her voice gave her away.

Oliver, who had been leaning casually against the sink, immediately straightened up. His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, eyeing the vial as if it might bite her.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

Julia shrugged.

“I got them from Rosier. In exchange… I owe him a favor.”

“Merlin’s beard, Julia. You don’t mean that Rosier?”

“How many Rosiers do you know?” she replied dryly. “Tall, always in black, probably sleeps in the library.”

Oliver sighed and ran a hand through his hair, like he could shake off the worry.

“He doesn’t help out of kindness. He invests. And with high interest.”

Julia dropped a pinch of the powdered wings into the potion. It bubbled and sparked with a bright green glow. She smiled crookedly, staring into the swirling liquid.

“If I ever die under mysterious circumstances,” she whispered, “you can bet it was him. Or someone elegantly sent by him.”

Oliver was quiet for a moment before speaking softly but firmly:

“Promise me you’ll tell me when he comes to collect. We’ll figure it out together. I don’t want you to deal with it alone.”

Julia looked at him. Really looked - without irony, without that teasing glint in her eye. For a moment, she looked like someone who had had an invisible weight lifted off her shoulders.

“Thank you, Oliver. That means a lot.”

He smiled gently, barely noticeably. He reached out and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. The potion bubbled, almost more obediently.

“And now the most important part - we stir clockwise exactly seven times… and then counterclockwise five times to give the potion its proper properties.”

Oliver leaned in slightly, so his lips were near her ear.

“And you should know,” he whispered, “five… is also how many times today I thought you looked so good I couldn’t concentrate.”

Julia froze. Her heart began pounding like crazy, as if it were trying to escape her chest. Her fingers trembled dangerously on the stirrer. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

Now she had no idea whether she’d stirred four times or forty-four - the same number of times she’d caught herself staring into Oliver’s eyes.

Usually quick with a witty reply, now she was silent. A blush crept up her cheeks uninvited, and her gaze shifted to the wall covered in old, cracked tiles.

She nearly tipped the cauldron over.

It bubbled. Then the potion slowly turned emerald, began to bubble softly, and finally shifted to a deep, rich purple.

“Perfect,” she muttered - perhaps a bit too quickly to hide the tremble in her voice. She smiled, but not her usual smirk - no sarcasm, no swagger. This smile was uncertain, almost shy. Something entirely new.

Suddenly, the cauldron hissed. The metal vibrated and...

“Bloody hell!” Julia shouted, leaping onto a toilet seat like a ballerina. “It’s melting!”

Oliver jumped back the other way, watching in alarm as dark goo oozed from the cauldron, eating through the tiles. He lifted his robes to avoid the corrosive substance.

“Ha! Again!” shrieked Moaning Myrtle, peeking from behind a wall. “I love it! I love these disasters! You two are an absolute failure!”

Julia slid off the toilet, both angry and embarrassed.

“Sorry, Oliver… I really tried. I wanted this to work. But… we could try again, gather the ingredients...”

Oliver sighed.

“It’s just… the first match is this Saturday.”

Silence fell, filled only by Myrtle’s soft giggling.

Julia looked at him uncertainly.

“You’re not mad at me?”

Oliver stepped closer and looked deeply into her eyes.

“Julia, if I’m being honest,” he began, stepping toward her, “I never once thought the potion would actually work.”

He stepped even closer, and she could feel his warm breath.

“But I really like how hard you tried,” he added with a smile.

Just then, as Julia and Oliver exchanged a glance filled with far too many unspoken things, a loud crack came from behind the bathroom door.

A moment later, Peeves burst through one of the walls - literally through it and through them, sweeping them with the chill only ghosts could deliver. He immediately started singing with mock solemnity:

“A daring young Gryffindor, chasing delight,
Invited a Slytherin for a bathroom night!
Moaning Myrtle saw it and gasped with a shriek,
And ruined his plans in less than a week!”

He flipped midair and zoomed back out through the door.

From behind a stall came a theatrical moan from Myrtle:

“I told him someone was here! But nooo, Peeves always has to stick his big nose everywhere! Oh, men…”

From the corridor came the sound of a suit of armor crashing over, followed by Peeves’ loud, gleeful laughter as his rhyme echoed through the castle, carrying a scandal no one had wanted.

Chapter Text

Since Wednesday, Julia hadn’t had a moment alone with Oliver. It had been… well, too long.
Oliver had buried himself in training, preparing for the season’s first match, scheduled for today: Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. Julia understood, truly she did, though the loneliness weighed on her more with each passing day.

In her chest, a quiet tension had taken root - like the world was holding its breath, promising something was about to happen but refusing to say what.

The Saturday sky was surprisingly clear for October. The grounds were already buzzing with the sounds of cheering students, and the crowd surged toward the stadium, shoving, shouting, selling illicit sweets and scarves in every possible house color.

Julia, clutching a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and a heart beating far too fast, climbed the stands. Out of principle, she sat on the Slytherin side.

It was empty. Well... almost.

Marcus Flint sat in the back row, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the smug look of someone who believed he'd already won the next match. He was there to observe tactics, maybe even take notes to prepare for future games.

“Lost your way?” he muttered, eyes never leaving the pitch.

“I came to watch the match,” Julia replied with feigned nonchalance. “And honestly, I wanted to evaluate Gryffindor's high pressing without distraction.”

Marcus actually turned toward her at that.

“You even know what pressing is?”

“Your Chasers are going to crash right into it if you don't change your formation,” she said, flipping through the book dramatically. “And maybe someone will finally notice that Roger Davies always pushes his passes left when he wants to fake out a Chaser.”

Flint frowned. He didn’t have a snappy comeback. Julia suspected he was analyzing her words like a battle strategy. She was proud of that.

The match exploded into action. The Gryffindor team went on the offensive like a pack of raging manticores. Bludgers zipped through the air like missiles. Ravenclaw’s Chasers tried to form a defense line, but it was no use.

Julia, hands clenched, followed Wood’s every move - he soared with confidence, barking out commands like he’d been born on a broom.

A few times, the Quaffle zoomed in their direction, and Julia instinctively ducked, practically diving under the bench.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Flint groaned.

“I’ve… got trauma,” she muttered.

Wood, in a brilliant move, intercepted the Quaffle, shot upward, and passed directly to Alicia Spinnet.

Goal. The crowd roared.

Julia couldn’t help herself - she jumped up and clapped.

Flint smacked her lightly with his notebook.

“What do you think you’re doing, you idiot?” he shouted. “Traitor!”

“A true Quidditch fan knows how to appreciate good plays. No matter the house colors,” she snapped back.

She wondered if Oliver had noticed her in the stands. He hadn’t looked her way once, but that made sense. Full concentration. Probably for the best. She’d never forgive herself if her presence threw him off during the match.

When the final whistle blew and Gryffindor was declared the winner - 240 to 90 - Julia couldn’t sit still. Her heart was thundering. She watched as Wood landed, surrounded by teammates, laughter, hugs.

She left the stands without even saying goodbye to Flint.

Her ears were ringing. She made her way toward the field, pushing through the crowd. Somewhere in the background, Lee Jordan was shouting into the megaphone, the Weasley twins were tossing someone in the air, confetti rained down, and a first-year was sobbing after taking a Bludger to the ear.

Julia had only one goal.

Oliver.

She wanted to congratulate him. Touch him. Kiss him.

Gryffindors were celebrating. Julia had never seen Oliver look so happy - cheeks flushed, hair tousled, eyes gleaming. He was in his element.

She stood in the shadows, watching the scene like a painting come to life.

This was his moment, his victory, and she didn’t want to interrupt it. She waited, patiently, for her turn to say congratulations.

And then she saw it.

Alicia Spinnet, laughing, ran up to Wood, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Not a friendly peck. Not a “great game” kind of kiss.

A real kiss. Full. Long.

And in that moment, the world shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Text

When Julia saw Alicia Spinnet kiss Oliver, it felt like someone had punched her straight in the stomach.

The crowd was roaring. Wood, still flushed and sweaty from the match, stood there with Alicia hanging from his neck. He was the hero of the day - but not hers.

Their eyes met.

Julia froze. Oliver saw her too. A shadow passed over his face - something like surprise, maybe guilt, maybe even regret. He opened his mouth, as if to say something... but did nothing. He didn't pull away from Alicia. He didn't move toward Julia.

She turned on her heel and walked away, as far from the shouting stadium as she could get. Fists clenched, ears ringing, something stinging hot behind her eyes.

She ran. Not from a Bludger this time, but from something far, far worse.

She had always imagined that one day, after a Gryffindor match, she'd run toward the pitch, straight into Oliver Wood's arms. Laughing, maybe blushing, she'd throw her arms around his neck and he'd kiss her in front of the entire Hogwarts. In that vision, the crowd cheered, but they were the center of it all - the only thing that mattered. Everything else, like snow in a globe, could spin around them, but it always came down to his hands on her waist, to the warmth of their shared moment.

Alicia Spinnet was not part of today's bingo card.

The October sun stung her more than it warmed, and the path from the Quidditch pitch seemed to stretch endlessly. The Quidditch book in her bag now weighed her down like a textbook for a subject she'd just failed.

When she reached the trail leading up toward the Owlery, she stubbed her toe on a rock and kicked it hard.

"Bloody hell!" she shouted at the trees. "What was the point of all this?!"

It felt easier to walk when she could yell into the forest. Like the trees might understand her pain better than any human ever could.

"It was just two weeks," she reminded herself. Two weeks of conversations, smiles, shared potions, and lingering glances. He hadn't promised her anything. But it had meant something.

Hadn't it?

The thought that she could've meant more to him had taken root so quickly and deeply, now it ached like a tooth ripped out without any potion for the pain.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe he'd just been playing around in between practices.

Maybe she simply didn't belong in his world.

His world was made of matches, tactics, girls who could throw a Quaffle hard enough to crack Hogwarts walls. And she? She wasn't on the roster.

Maybe Oliver Wood always chose his teammates.

The Owlery smelled of parchment and feathers. Julia pulled the book from her bag. She flipped to the final pages, the ones with famous players in moving portraits and short bios. She pulled out the page she'd added herself the night before. She'd spent all evening sketching a likeness of Oliver Wood, captioned in loopy handwriting: "The best Keeper Hogwarts has ever seen - no Quaffle gets past him."

Ridiculous. So, so silly.

She crumpled the page and stuffed it into her bag.

Then she wrapped the book in brown paper and tied it closed.

"To Wood," she muttered to the owl. It tilted its head, took the parcel without ceremony, and flew into the golden afternoon sky.

She'd disposed of the material evidence in the case of her own idiocy. Quick. Clean. With that sort of chilly efficiency that only heartbreak and pride can co-author.

Coming down the tower, she didn't take the main entrance to the castle. She slipped around the back. She couldn't handle the celebrating crowds - the laughing faces, the high-fives, the swirls of red and gold scarves. Even the bits of Gryffindor confetti still floating in the air made her shiver.

She wondered whether Madam Pomfrey had anything for a broken heart. A potion, a tonic, a charm to fog the brain. Anything to stop that tightness in her throat.

The dormitory was quiet. Only Lauren was there, stretched across her bed on her stomach, nose in a book. When she saw Julia, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Oh no. What happened?"

Julia didn't answer. She just sat on her bed, kicked off her shoes, and stared blankly at the floor. After a moment, she shook her head and whispered:

"He kissed Alicia Spinnet."

Lauren sat up like she'd been stung.

"No. No. Don't tell me...?"

Julia just shrugged. Quietly.

Lauren tossed her book aside like it had insulted her ancestors.

"For Merlin's sake, screw those Gryffindors. Seriously," she snapped.

She grabbed her mug and sloshed some tea on the floor without noticing. Then climbed onto Julia's bed beside her.

"You know what really pisses me off about them? Everyone worships their bloody 'nobility.' But give them a crowd, some fan attention, and a couple of giggling Hufflepuffs in the front row, and they lose their minds. These are the so-called heroes, right? The ones who'd throw themselves into fire for their friends? But the second you look away, all their attention is on someone else - even though two days ago they were asking what your favorite Bertie Bott's flavor was. But no, it's all 'casual,' right? Because they're too brave to say how they feel, and too noble to break your heart like a decent human being."

Julia didn't speak. But somewhere inside, a piece of her let Lauren's rage settle. Like she was too broken to shout herself - but Lauren was shouting for her.

"It's pathetic. You give your heart to some sweaty goblin from the locker room, you help him, you support him - and then he treats you like he's doing you a favor. A favor! For talking to you. For looking at you."

"It's not like that..." Julia mumbled. "He... maybe he didn't know. He didn't know I..."

"That you were falling for him? Who the hell was supposed to notice if not him?"

Silence. Thick and heavy.

Finally, Julia lay back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm so stupid, aren't I?"

Lauren placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You're not. You just... have a heart. And you shouldn't be ashamed of that. He should be ashamed for not seeing it."

Julia closed her eyes.

For a moment longer, she let herself be that girl - the disappointed one. The broken one. The naive one.

And then she sighed.

And she took a deep breath.

Because tomorrow, she had no intention of being her anymore.

Chapter Text

After the match, Julia avoided anything Gryffindor like the plague.

She steered clear of the corridors leading to the Gryffindor tower. At the sight of scarlet among the crowds, she would quicken her pace. Her own thoughts were already too loud to bear the chatter of exuberant Gryffindors - especially her. The worst of them all. Alicia Spinnet.

Alicia strutted through the castle like it was a runway, still wearing her Quidditch uniform as if afraid someone might have missed the fact that she scored the final goal. Everyone kept stopping her, and she laughed that laugh of hers - one Julia used to think was kind of pretty. Now it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Alicia looked like someone who had just won the lottery.

And maybe, in a way, she had.

Julia began showing up late to meals and leaving early. She always sat with her back to the Gryffindor table so she wouldn't be tempted - even for a second - to glance at Oliver Wood. For studying, she picked the most remote corners of Hogwarts, empty classrooms where no one would think to look.

But Hogwarts had a way of conspiring. It twisted people's paths together as if the very walls knew who needed to meet and when.

Julia was sitting alone in an abandoned Transfiguration classroom, finishing her notes. She didn't expect anyone to find her there. Least of all him.

The door creaked. And there he stood - Oliver Wood, framed in the doorway.

She knew it was him before he even spoke. The air had shifted, thickened, like before a storm. Her body recognized it faster than her mind.

"I finally found you," he said quietly, like he wasn't sure whether it was a good thing. "Can we talk?"

"No." She didn't even look up from her parchment. "But you're welcome to stand there."

He paused, as if choosing his words carefully.

"This is about Alicia, isn't it?"

"No, Oliver," she snapped. "It's about the fact that you didn't bring me tea this morning. Honestly? What did you think this was about?"

His jaw clenched.

"I know how it looked," he said softly. "But you have to believe me - it meant nothing."

Julia let out a bitter laugh.

"Brilliant. So now I know that to you, 'nothing' looks exactly like Alicia Spinnet's mouth."

He sighed, lowering his gaze.

"It wasn't fair to you, I know." He straightened a little. "After the match... everyone was buzzing. She came running, shouting, laughing, and I... I was still high on adrenaline. And before I even knew what was happening... she kissed me."

Julia raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The worst part was knowing how easy it would be to believe him. A few words. A flicker in his eyes. That was all it would take. But she also knew that if she gave in now, if she forgave him once, she'd always be the girl who let things slide. And she refused to be that girl.

Oliver went on.

"I didn't mean to..." He hesitated. "I didn't want to cause a scene in front of everyone. It's not as simple as you think, Julia. Not everything's black and white. Alicia and I were close before you and I started..."

"Started?" she repeated, a frosty smile on her lips. "Oliver, we never even started."

He fell silent.

Julia stood up and stepped close. Close enough that he had to meet her eyes. They glittered, not with tears, but with rage and bruised pride.

"I'm a Slytherin, as you very well know. And do you know what defines my house, Oliver? Pride. Pride that won't let me be humiliated again. That won't let me be anyone's second choice. I'm not going to beg to be part of your world."

She paused but her gaze didn't waver.

"I'm not a spare broom in your locker, Wood."

"I came here to explain. To apologize. But if you already think you know everything... maybe I really don't belong here."

"Maybe you don't," she said.

They stared at each other for several seconds - long, sharp seconds that stretched like glass about to shatter.

"Fine," he said at last, dryly. "If that's what talking to you is like... I'm not going to beg."

"I didn't ask you to," she replied coldly.

He gave a curt nod.

"Right."

He turned and walked away. His shoulders were tense, his steps quick.

Julia watched him go, her breath caught in her throat, heart hammering wildly. She wanted to stop him. Wanted him to stop himself. To turn around. To come back.

But he didn't.

The door closed behind him with a hollow thud.

Julia stood there, unmoving. The silence was louder than anything they'd said.

And then something inside her cracked.

"Idiot!" she yelled, shaking all over. "Arrogant, stupid, self-absorbed idiot!"

She kicked the bench with all her strength. It crashed against the floor, knocking an inkwell down with a loud clatter. Ink splattered across the stone.

Her breathing came in ragged gasps, somewhere between a sob and a scream.

As if the chaos wasn't enough, she grabbed the inkwell and hurled it at the wall.

"Bloody Wood!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "He'll regret this. He will."

The silence that returned felt almost... frightened. As if even the walls of Hogwarts feared her now.

Chapter Text

Sometimes she felt like slapping herself for how little her body seemed to grasp that it really should've stopped thinking about Wood by now.

Their last conversation came back to her like a boomerang. In the shower, she had already played out every possible version of that confrontation.

In one scenario, Julia had the upper hand razor-sharp wit, an icy stare capable of freezing lakes. Wood had to transfer schools after that verbal beatdown. In another - less dignified - she was begging for answers, and he was holding her hands, looking deep into her eyes, saying: "I didn't want to kiss her. She hit me with a powerful Confundus. You're the only one I want."

In the third... hmm, in the third they were kissing, and then he dropped to his knees, apologized, and promised never to even look at Alicia Spinnet again. Naturally, Julia forgave him graciously after delivering a long speech on respect, loyalty, and decency.

In the fourth, they both ended the conversation shouting, slamming doors, and destroying furniture with spells.

And the fifth... well, the fifth version included a bit more nudity and a lot less talking.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said that to him," she told the shampoo bottle, which didn't reply but seemed to know exactly what she meant. "But on the other hand... maybe he could've tried a bit harder. Idiot."

"Although..." she added after a moment of silence, rinsing foam from her hair, "maybe I judged him too harshly. Maybe he didn't mean to... maybe he just didn't know how to react..."

"JULIA!" Lauren shouted from outside the door. "Either you come out, or I'm breaking this door down like a troll! How long can someone talk to shampoo?!"

Julia rolled her eyes.

"At least shampoo doesn't judge me."

She sighed, turned off the water, wrapped her hair in a towel, and looked into the mirror.

"Wood, you really screwed this up... I don't even have the words for it," she muttered to her reflection.

The next day, the Great Hall buzzed with chatter, clinking cutlery, and sizzling fresh gossip.

"Thank Merlin you're here! I was about to stress-eat all the potatoes," Lauren said as Julia sat across from her.

It had become a ritual: sitting with her back to the Gryffindor table. She hoped that if she didn't look at him for three days straight, he'd somehow disappear from her mind - vanish like a botched potion.

"Just tell me one thing," she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Who is Wood sitting with?"

Lauren froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.

"You don't want to know."

"Please, just tell me," Julia sighed. "Let me guess - that stuck-up cow?"

Lauren gave her a pointed look.

"Seriously?" she raised an eyebrow. "You can look yourself. I don't want you to blame me for whatever stupid thing Wood is doing."

Julia narrowed her eyes.

"So he is sitting with her."

"I didn't say that!" Lauren protested, waving her hands defensively.

Suddenly, the distinct clinking of silverware against a goblet rang through the hall. Voices quieted as Dumbledore rose to his feet, raising his hand.

"My dear students," he began with his usual calm, "I bring you news that I hope will stir a bit of excitement. For the next month, we'll be hosting a very special wizard, a Hogwarts graduate who now works with dangerous but fascinating creatures... dragons."

The hall stirred with interest. Julia raised her eyebrows.

"Mr. Charlie Weasley has agreed to lead a series of elective sessions titled 'Don't Get Eaten – Surviving Fire and Scales' I trust you'll make the most of this opportunity."

The Great Hall erupted into enthusiastic applause and cheers, especially from the Gryffindor table. On the Slytherin side, however, there was a noticeable silence.

Low mutters echoed from across the bench.

"Of course, what next?" someone mumbled sarcastically. "Dragon Studies? because I clearly have nothing better to do before my OWLs."

"Guess flying a Hungarian Horntail is the new final exam for Care of Magical Creatures."

Julia heard another snide whisper.

"Apparently Charlie is the best-looking Weasley. That's why the family never shows up with him."

She grimaced, trying to remember who Charlie even was.

"Which one is he again? I can never remember which Weasley is which."

Lauren perked up instantly - ready for gossip.

"He graduated a few years ago. Obviously a Gryffindor - like all of them. Was Quidditch captain before Wood."

Suddenly, Marcus Flint chimed in - clearly awoken from his nap by the magical word Quidditch.

"Wood? He used to practically drool over that guy. Kissed his broom after every match," he scoffed, cutting across the conversation. "This is probably Dumbledore's big plan - bring Charlie back to help Gryffindor, 'cause without him they'll never beat Slytherin. We all know that old coot always roots for them."

Julia listened silently, watching the reactions around her. The voices started to fade, and the chatter turned to more mundane topics.

Something wild and daring stirred inside her.

As the conversation shifted to homework and weekend gossip, Julia took a sip of juice, then looked at Lauren with a glint in her eye.

"So..." she began calmly. "The hottest Weasley, a dragon tamer, is coming to Hogwarts. And he just so happens to be Wood's greatest idol?"

Lauren looked at her warily, setting down her fork.

"Julia, don't you dare."

But it was already too late.

Chapter Text

Julia had a plan.

As any self-respecting Slytherin would - the plan had to be precise, slightly malicious, and dramatic enough to echo through Hogwarts for at least three weeks. Maybe four.

After her morning strategy session in the shower (during which she considered three revenge scenarios, four cutting comebacks, and one dramatic escape from the country), she headed to the library to borrow absolutely everything with "dragon," "fiery breath," or even "what to do when a dragon claw lands on your face" in the title.

Determined, she marched into the Magizoology section, ready to lay her hands on any title that could help her impress Charlie Weasley. So what if she knew about dragons about as much as Filch knew about childcare? You could always learn.

She had just reached for a gold-embossed book titled Dragon Behavior: From Egg to Annihilation, when a voice rang out from the next shelf over. Too clear. Too sweet. Too familiar.

Alicia Spinnet.

"And I swear, that boy kisses like he trains - with total dedication..."

Julia froze.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her palms were so sweaty she almost dropped the leather-bound book.

Spinnet was talking about Wood! And she was in great shape, happily gossiping away, blissfully unaware that her words were hitting someone like a Cruciatus to the chest.

Julia tried to breathe as quietly as possible, just to catch more of it - even if each word stung like hell.

Would Dumbledore, considering the circumstances, excuse her if she dropped an entire shelf of books on Alicia Spinnet's head?

She leaned forward, ear pressed between Dragon Tails Through the Ages and Dragon Courtship Rituals: A Comparative Study. Out of curiosity - or maybe sheer pettiness - she added the latter to her growing pile. You never knew when knowledge of dragon mating customs might come in handy. For example, to destroy someone in an argument.

"...and when we were walking back from practice, he said no one understands his love for Quidditch like I do."

Julia gritted her teeth. Suddenly, she wanted to sneeze (dust! everywhere!), cry, or dive into some dramatic revenge plot.

"When we were in the broom closet... well... brooms weren't the only things that were up in the air."

Her stomach dropped. Her entire face drained of color, and her insides shriveled to the size of a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean in disappointment and second-hand embarrassment.

"Excuse me... WHAT?"

She swore a tiny dragon inside her just woke up and belched fire out of sheer emotional combustion.

"She really said that. She said that. She SAID THAT. Can someone please rewind time? Or me. Or her."

She bent slightly, like Alicia's words had physically struck her. Pressing her back to the shelf, she looked up, whispering a silent prayer to the ceiling.

"This isn't happening. This can't be real. Just hallucinations. Too much butterbeer. I'll wake up soon, it'll all be quiet, and Wood will still be an idiot, but at least an innocent idiot."

Her eyes started to sting. No. Not now. No tears. Not in the library. Not behind a bookshelf filled with dragon mating cycles.

She hugged her books to her chest like a shield, as if the covers could protect her from the pain she was experiencing.

"Alright. Enough. End of showtime. Time to evacuate before my ego bleeds out."

She backed away slowly, silently, like a professional thief.

"Brooms were in the air."

Internally, she curled into a ball.

In her head, a plan was already forming. First, she'd hide in the dormitory. Close the curtains, cast Muffliato in all four directions, curl up in a cocoon, and read about dragon customs until New Year's. Or the next decade.

As she neared the main aisle, she avoided looking in the direction of Alicia's voice. But she could still hear her. Loud. Smug. Unapologetic.

"...and then he told me I'm the only one who really knows how to handle a broom," Alicia giggled.

Julia almost dropped the books.

"This is verbal assault. Someone should report this. Like, to the Department of Inappropriate Innuendo."

At the front desk, she put on her best poker face. No emotions. Total composure. As if she hadn't just overheard scandalous gossip about her almost-ex-almost-boyfriend.

She placed her stack of books on the desk as quietly as possible.

Madam Pince squinted at the titles, as if calculating the likelihood that Julia would truly read all eight volumes on dragon courtship rituals.

"Quite the intense topic," she muttered, checking them out.

Julia didn't answer. She simply nodded with the seriousness of an auror returning from a mission.

Naturally, fate decided that in that exact moment, Alicia would show up at the desk. And place down the exact same book as Julia.

Dragons and Their Secrets: From the Norwegian Ridgeback to the Chinese Fireball, Vol. I.

Madam Pince peered at them over her glasses. One eyebrow lifted a fraction.

"Oh, you're into dragons too?" Alicia asked with a smile - friendly, even warm.

Julia gave her a look that could extinguish a freshly lit fire in the mouth of a Romanian Longhorn.

"You could say that," she replied coolly. "I'm fascinated by creatures that can turn someone to ash in a second... if they get too annoying."

Alicia's smile faltered. Her eyes flickered with a hint of unease.

"Oh. Cool," she muttered, grabbing her book and all but running off.

Julia watched her go.

"So much for improving Slytherin's reputation."

Inside her head, chaos was swirling - and somewhere in the middle of it, the outline of a Wood-shaped voodoo doll was beginning to take form.

Chapter Text

Julia stormed into the dorm like a hurricane - barely visible behind the towering stack of books she was carrying, only the very top of her head poking out from beneath the leather-bound spines, their titles gleaming in gold:

"Understanding Dragons," "Magical Reptiles of Eastern Europe," "Taming Fire: Theory and Practice," and even something that looked suspiciously like "How to Survive a Chinese Fireball Encounter Without Losing Your Eyebrows – An Advanced Guide."

Lauren was in the middle of unwrapping a Chocolate Frog.

"I can't believe this," she said slowly, watching as Julia collapsed onto the bed with a huff, buried beneath the tomes. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?!" Julia gasped, wrestling her way out from under the avalanche.

"Getting a new hobby over some guy. Classic you. And you haven't even seen him yet," Lauren rolled her eyes. "Remember when you tried to learn Swedish because of that Durmstrang exchange student? Turned out he was from Norway."

"I only mixed up a few words."

"Like 'I love you' and 'Get off me,' for example," Lauren muttered, her mouth full of chocolate.

Julia folded her arms.

"This isn't about a guy. It's about knowledge. Knowledge is power. Besides..." she added, starting to arrange the books into strategic piles, "after Dumbledore's announcement, everyone's going to be scrambling for dragon stuff. The library will be picked clean. I had to move fast."

"Of course," said Lauren, watching her line up "Mating Behaviors of the Romanian Longhorn" next to "Dragon Eggs and How Not to Crack Them." "Cunning, ambition, resourcefulness! Long live Slytherin!"

"Thank you," Julia said proudly.

"And this has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to impress Charlie Weasley, get close to him, and make Wood jealous?"

Julia shot her a look that could've made a first-year cry and transfer houses.

"Charlie Weasley is a renowned expert. And I am ambitious."

"Mhm. And his monologue on Norwegian Ridgeback thermoregulation will be so thrilling your lips will just part from pure awe."

Julia ignored the comment, though a slight blush crept up her neck. She picked up the first volume and began flipping through a chapter titled: "Roaring as Communication - A Phonic Analysis."

"What do you think," she asked innocently, "should I start with physiology or dietary habits?"

"I think you should start by figuring out how you're going to fake interest for a whole month when you fell asleep three pages into "Magizoology for Dummies."

"People grow," Julia replied curtly. "Besides... if Wood can pretend to like Alicia Spinnet, I can pretend to like dragons."

Lauren blinked.

"You're not planning a romance," she said slowly. "You're planning a military campaign."

"And every good campaign," Julia stood and raised a book dramatically above her head, "starts with intelligence gathering."

Lauren looked at her with admiration.

"Well. Good luck, General Dragontamer. But if you choke on a note about Hungarian Horntail digestion, I'm not saving you."

Julia made it halfway through the section on draconic courtship vocalizations before her head hit the pillow and the book slid beneath her chin. Her thoughts drifted... somewhere far away.

In her dream, she was... on the Hogwarts grounds? Or maybe in some ancient valley. The air smelled of sulfur... and something oddly familiar - like the Quidditch locker room after a match.

A dragon landed beside her. Massive, black, with gleaming scales and wings so wide they blocked out the sun.

And on its back - shirtless, saddleless, hanging on with just one hand - was Oliver Wood. Hair tousled, sweaty, wearing leather trousers and a dangerous glint in his eye that screamed "I know this is your dream."

"Julia!" he shouted from above, gripping the dragon's neck like it was his favorite broomstick. "Look, I've mastered him! It's a Horntail! Charlie taught me!"

Julia squinted.

"What did Charlie teach you?!" she yelled from the ground.

The dragon roared.

Wood leapt from its back like he did it every day, landing beside her, flushed and wild-eyed.

"Julia..." his voice was deeper than usual. "You know what's hotter than dragon fire?"

"No," she said, stepping back slowly, because something in his eyes was absolutely unhinged.

"My tragic longing."

And then he stepped forward like he was about to kiss her. But Julia backed away... and tripped. She looked down.

A bra. Pink. Lacy. On a rock.

"What the...?"

"Oops," muttered Wood, running a hand through his hair. "Alicia said she lost that out here. Weird, right?"

"WHAT?!"

Before she could throw something at him, the dragon sneezed fire, and Oliver laughed like the absolute worst kind of heartbreaker.

Julia woke with a start, covered in sweat and fury. The dragon book thumped to the floor.

Lauren stirred from the noise but didn't open her eyes.

"Nightmare?"

Julia panted.

"Nightmare... with dragons and erotic undertones."

"Wood?"

"Shirtless. On a dragon. With Alicia's bra."

"Ah. Classic Thursday," Lauren mumbled and rolled over.

Julia buried her face in her pillow and screamed silently.

"I can go with you to Professor Trelawney if you want to discuss the dream."

"No need, Lauren. I've just learned not to eat cheesecake before bed."

Chapter Text

Thinking about dragons and wallowing in self-pity over the fact that Oliver had picked some Gryffindor girl instead of her was finally interrupted by Saturday's Hogsmeade trip.

Honeydukes smelled like sugar, rum, and crushed walnuts. Julia sat by the window with Lauren, deliberately ignoring every lovesick look exchanged within five tables' radius.

"Did I mention Teddy Whittaker from Ravenclaw invited me for tea?" Lauren asked, checking her reflection in a tiny mirror and reapplying lip gloss. She wore a silk scarf around her neck, tied with military precision.

"Five times," Julia muttered. "But go on. I'm happy for you, Lauren."

"Not for butterbeer. Not for a sandwich. Tea in porcelain at Madam Puddifoot's!" Lauren declared proudly. "And he calls me ma'am, do you understand? Ma'am! Like we're in a French movie from the 1930s!" She adjusted her adorable little beret.

Julia snorted a laugh, fond, not mocking.

Lauren was a romantic soul, and Teddy clearly had a weakness for theatrical emotions. It could actually work.

Just then, the bell above the door jingled, announcing new arrivals.

Julia glanced toward the entrance out of habit and immediately regretted it.

Oliver Wood walked into Honeydukes with Alicia Spinnet on his arm. She laughed loudly at something he said, as if it were the funniest joke of the century. And he... smiled. Not as sincerely as when he blocked all the Quaffle shots in a match, but enough to make Julia feel a twinge in her stomach.

She spun back to her butterbeer.

"Shh—he's looking," Lauren whispered, ducking behind a menu.

And indeed. Wood was looking. He furrowed his brow for half a second, then turned back to Alicia and muttered something, leading her to a free table.

The urge to watch them was overwhelming. Julia kept catching herself sneaking glances their way, like some masochist who enjoyed her own suffering. She tried to pretend she was staring out the window, at the menu above the counter, or into the void. Anything to not look like a stalker.

More than once, she caught Wood's eye. Not a random glance - one of those "I know you're looking" looks. Or maybe she was imagining things?

When the happy couple got their butterbeers, the real show began.

Oliver, with theatrical flourish, leaned in and wiped foam from Alicia's lips.

With a napkin.

Julia turned to Lauren in despair.

"He's really... He's napkining her."

"Stay calm," Lauren said, grabbing Julia's wrist. "You can't strangle people... with anything. Especially not in public."

Julia clenched her jaw, watching Oliver, who - Merlin help her - was now tucking Alicia's hair behind her ear.

"Fine. I won't strangle anyone. I'll hex them both with a permanent rash."

Lauren peeked out the window and waved, grinning like she'd spotted a particularly tasty cookie shaped like a human.

"Oh, there's Teddy waiting for me outside. You... just don't kill anyone, alright?"

"Merlin, no - don't leave me here alone!" Julia moaned, grabbing her sleeve. "Please, take me with you! I'll be quiet as a Pygmy Puff on calming draught!"

"I'm not risking it. Puffs are deceptively cute, and you've got murder in your eyes."

Julia collapsed dramatically into her chair.

"See you in the dorm. Hopefully Teddy walks me all the way to the door," Lauren said, and left without waiting for a reply.

Julia grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet from the windowsill and opened it in front of her face. She briefly considered cutting eye holes in it. Spy-style.

A headline caught her eye: "Witch Cursed Her Ex and Vanished Without a Trace! Aurors Baffled."

Julia raised her eyebrows.

"Alright, you have my attention," she thought.

Before she could dive into the juicy details of the Auror investigation, a shadow passed beside her.

"Good morning, drama queen," said a familiar voice, equal parts snark and warmth.

Fred Weasley flopped into the empty chair across from her. George sat down too, on the other side, as if they'd always been there. Their identical ginger hair gleamed in the sunlight, and their expressions screamed mischievous intent.

"We know everything," George said triumphantly, lacing his fingers on the table like a seasoned detective.

"We interrogated Peeves," Fred added, leaning in like they were about to trade top-secret Ministry files.

"Under threat of bottling him up with Polyjuice potion," George muttered.

"Without a straw," Fred said with satisfaction.

"He sang like a canary," they announced in unison.

Julia slowly sat up straighter, looking from one twin to the other. She could feel chaos about to unfold - but something about it felt oddly... liberating.

"All his rhymes were about you and Wood," Fred said with a sigh, as if recounting Shakespearean tragedy.

Silence. Julia blinked. She felt the blood drain from her face - only to come roaring back.

"The one about the locker room, and the one about the bathroom rendezvous with Moaning Myrtle," added George casually.

"And our favorite..." Fred began with flair, like he was about to perform a dramatic solo:

"In the owlery, moans so lewd, 

The owls all fled - how very rude..."

Julia dropped the newspaper.

Her fingers tightened on her mug. The odds of her becoming the next star of the Prophet's crime column were rising rapidly.

"Stop! That never happened!" she hissed.

Fred and George high-fived, eyes gleaming with victory.

"Ha! So the rest is true," George grinned.

Julia groaned and dropped her head into her hand.

"Stupid Peeves," she muttered.

A pause.

"Not that it matters anymore," she said dramatically, elbows on the table.

She swirled her butterbeer, watching the foam spiral. Her thoughts were bitter - like the cheapest laxative potion.

The three of them glanced toward Oliver and Alicia. Wood was now feeding her cake. From a spoon.

"Eww," Julia, Fred, and George said at the same time, visibly recoiling.

Fred pulled a face like someone had just dipped a dirty sock in soup.

"In front of the children," George groaned.

Julia raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Wow. It really bothers you that much?"

"Honestly? We're not fans," Fred admitted. "Alicia gets special treatment from Wood. Skips practice, shows up late, bosses everyone around like some captain's wife."

"We could lose the cup because of it."

A silence fell. Julia took another sip, the drink's sweetness struggling to cover the bitter aftertaste of heartbreak. She looked at Oliver again - searching for something familiar. And found nothing.

Fred leaned in, suddenly all business.

"Which is why we have a proposal. A temporary alliance."

George nodded, adjusting his sleeve with the solemn air of a Wizengamot judge.

"We need an outsider. Someone who could, purely by accident, rock the boat of that sugarcoated love ship."

Julia stared at them for a moment. Then slowly leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

"I'm in."

A pause. Then she added with a smile that radiated innocent menace:

"But if this backfires, my revenge plan is expanding to include both of you."

The twins exchanged a look - a blend of admiration and excitement. Fred clapped his hands.

"To celebrate the beginning of our partnership... a gift."

George solemnly handed her a thick black notebook embossed with a skull and a broomstick.

"This is the Revenge on Your Ex: Deluxe Edition."

"Every time you write Wood's name..."

"...it automatically changes it to That Idiot."

The floor creaked softly as Oliver and Alicia finally made their way toward the door. Alicia's smile was so wide it looked like she'd just singlehandedly won the House Cup. Oliver said something to her - but his gaze drifted sideways.

And then, as if noticing the Weasley twins for the first time, he frowned.

Julia sat relaxed, butterbeer in hand, a smirk playing on her lips.

Oliver stopped in his tracks. His expression said: What the hell is going on here. He looked at Julia. Then at the twins.
Julia shrugged, as if to say: Fate, accident, karma, destiny - pick one, Captain.

George raised an eyebrow challengingly. Fred waved cheerfully, like bidding farewell to passengers on a cruise ship.

Oliver, still staring, pointed two fingers at them, then at his eyes: I'm watching you.

The twins both gave him a thumbs up - cool as ever.

This was just the warm-up.

And now Julia had the perfect allies by her side.

Chapter Text

The Gryffindors were supposed to start practice promptly at two o'clock. Gray clouds hung in the sky, and the air smelled of impending rain.

Julia sat down on a folding chair, placed right by the sideline, near the Gryffindor locker room. Close enough to see the team in action, but far enough not to attract anyone's particular attention. She crossed one leg over the other and held a book in her hands. She looked more like she had come to a fashion show than to watch game strategy.

She took off a green scarf woven with silver thread from around her neck and rolled it into a tight tube. She shoved it deep into her bag as if that would be enough to hide the whole legacy of Slytherin house. After all, a Slytherin girl showing up at Gryffindor practice was already suspicious enough - she didn't want to stand out as Marcus Flint's spy.

The Weasley brothers had convinced her to come to today's practice with the charm of pickpockets on Diagon Alley.

"This is a mandatory part of our plan, princess," George said while they were still sitting in the Three Broomsticks.

"If you skip this practice, everything will fall apart like a house of cards!" Fred added dramatically.

The rule was simple: if someone calls you princess with that sparkle in their eyes, you usually shouldn't listen to them. But she couldn't refuse. She had a feeling today would be... interesting.

The players came onto the field - brooms slung over their shoulders, red robes fluttering lightly in the wind. Leading the group, as always, was Oliver Wood. He looked like he was leading a squad of Aurors into the battle of the century. Upright, confident - not a pose but something natural, something that simply suited him.

Strategist. Commander. Captain.

Even the wind would obey him if he shouted loud enough.

"Warm-up!" he commanded. "Run along the boundary line of the pitch. Katie, this isn't ballet, get to work!"

The players started jogging along the line. A few chuckled, someone tripped over their own laces. Oliver walked to the crate of balls, opening it with a flick of his wand.

Then his gaze landed on her.

Julia.

She sat a little to the side, at the edge of the pitch, bag by her side. Damn. Even now, she looked more like a model from The Witch than a student who accidentally wandered onto the stadium.

Oliver frowned.

A brief hesitation, he glanced at his team as if checking no one was slacking. Then without a word, he strode toward Julia - steady steps, like someone who wants to clear things up immediately.

He stopped just a few steps before her.

"I don't want you coming here," Oliver said. Arms crossed, tone not allowing argument.

Julia lifted her eyes from the book, as if he had just come to ask the time.

"You don't own this pitch," she answered calmly. "So I guess it's not your decision who can be here and who can't."

"Carpinus" Oliver's voice lowered. "This is not a request."

Julia closed her book with a soft snap, stood up from the chair, and faced him. She was a head shorter, but made up for it with her gaze - sharp, defiant, a little cheeky.

"So what are you going to do about it?" she asked, tone balanced on the edge between flirt and provocation.

Oliver leaned slightly toward her. Their faces were only a few centimeters apart.

"I'm pretty sure there's a rule somewhere forbidding students from other houses from spying on Quidditch practice," he said seriously. "Clause fifty-eight. Or maybe sixty-three. I'll check."

Julia, without breaking eye contact, grabbed her folding chair and moved it about two meters away. She sat back down and opened her book.

"Wood, I'm not even on the pitch," she said with an angelic expression.

Oliver sighed, shook his head in disbelief, turned on his heel, and headed back to the team.

The Gryffindors rose into the air. Wood called out shortly:

"Two rounds of three-on-three, then formations!"

Julia only pretended to be interested in her book, but in reality her eyes were fixed on Oliver. And partly she followed the movements of the Quaffle in case it suddenly started heading toward her forehead.

Wood was surprisingly... off.

Balls slipped from his hands, he missed passes, mixed up formation orders. Once he nearly collided with one of the twins.

"Wood, ball!" someone shouted from the team.

Too late. It hit him straight in the arm. He muttered under his breath, caught it, and scowled in frustration.

After thirty minutes of flying in tangled formations and several accurate Quaffle hits, Oliver descended and gave the command:

"That's it for today! Pack up. Meeting on Tuesday at two o'clock sharp!"

The players landed and headed for the locker room. Julia put her book back in her bag and returned the chair to its place.

Wood was left alone on the pitch. He stood with his hands on his hips, his face flushed - either from exertion or something else entirely.

"You're distracting me," he said coldly.

"Oh, really? I was just sitting here reading."

"Don't you have better places to read? Did you mess up and get banned from the library?"

"Fresh air does me good. And the Quidditch pitch atmosphere... motivates me even more," she said, looking at him from under her lashes. "So much testosterone in one place."

Oliver squinted.

"Looks like we found the biggest Quidditch fan."

"You have no idea," she smiled sweetly. "So next practice is Tuesday at two, right?"

"I'll reschedule it just so you don't come."

Julia theatrically clutched her heart.

"Nooo, why do you do this to me, Oliver? I love it when you're on top..."

Wood raised an eyebrow.

"On top?" she repeated with feigned innocence. "On your broom, in the skies, in your element..."

"Hmm," Oliver muttered, but his ears flushed a very Gryffindor shade of red.

At that moment, the Weasley twins emerged from the locker room, perfectly synchronized as always.

"Well, well, glad you waited for us," Fred said, standing on one side of Julia.

"We were in such a hurry we even skipped showering," George added on the other side, with an innocent smile.

Julia made a pained face and rolled her eyes theatrically.

"Simply wonderful."

Oliver looked at them suspiciously.

"Since when are you... friends?"

"We're not friends," they answered in unison.

"We have business," Fred added seriously.

"And very urgent matters to discuss," George added, grabbing Julia's arm.

Fred caught her from the other side and the three of them headed toward the castle.

"By Merlin's beard, don't sell her anything!" Wood shouted after them. "She's crazy!"

Oliver watched them walk away. Three suspicious allies, disturbingly pleased with themselves.

Something about this didn't feel right.

Chapter Text

Julia had no idea where exactly she was - the corridors twisted like serpent tongues, and the dusty staircases led deeper and deeper into a long-forgotten part of the castle. Finally, Fred muttered a few words Julia didn't recognize and pressed a brick in the wall. It creaked and swung open with a theatrical groan, revealing a narrow passageway.

"Welcome to headquarters," George announced proudly, stepping aside to let her in.

The room looked like a secret rebel base. Or possibly the bedroom of an obsessive Oliver Wood fan - depending on how you looked at it. In the center stood a massive corkboard covered in photos of Wood in action: Wood throwing a quaffle, Wood soaring on his broom, Wood in the locker room, tousled hair flying wildly (under which someone had scribbled "starting to question my sexuality"). Alongside the photos: broom sketches, pitch diagrams, arrows, and red strings connecting it all together.

At the bottom of the board, a title was boldly written:

"How to Win Back Oliver Wood"

Julia stared at it like she was seriously considering turning around and leaving.

"No. Please. Don't do this to me," she whispered.

"Sit down," said Fred, pulling out a chair with dramatic flair. "This will be educational."

"And groundbreaking," George added. "Like the first use of Stinkfire Crackers during a Ministry banquet. Daring, reckless, and technically illegal in at least three countries."

Julia collapsed into the chair like someone accepting her fate.

"Mercy. Who even said I wanted him back?"

The twins looked at her with a mix of pity and quiet "seriously?".

"Well then," Fred shrugged. "If you're over him, then... just listen."

George waved his wand and pointed to the board, where a large, handwritten list appeared.

Together, they read aloud:

— Number one: Quidditch.
— Number two: Quidditch.
— Number three: Quidditch.

Julia leaned back in her chair.

"Tell me something I don't know..." she muttered.

George leaned in.

"If you're so clever, why did Wood slip through your fingers?"

Julia opened her mouth to respond, but George cut her off, launching into the next phase of the presentation.

"Right, we've got three plans."

The first chart pinned itself to the board.

"Option one: catch the kuglebor that's taken up residence in our locker room, chewing on leather balls and wrecking gear, then casually drop, 'By the way, Oliver, I love you.'"

"No."

"Could've worked, but fair enough." Another card appeared. "Option two: fake amnesia. Pretend you don't remember what happened at the match."

"Are you serious?!"

Fred nodded.

"And now, the third - the serious one: find another guy and make Wood jealous."

Julia cleared her throat, barely hiding a grin.

"Already thought of that. Got someone in mind, even."

Their eyebrows shot up in unison.

"Great minds think alike!" George exclaimed. "Who? Has to be a strong contender."

Julia looked away and mumbled.

"Charlie Weasley..."

"What?" they said together.

"Charlie Weasley," she repeated louder.

Silence fell. Fred closed his eyes. George leaned against the wall like the world had just ended.

"Well," Fred said quietly. "Didn't think I'd have to sacrifice my own brother to win Oliver's heart."

George sat down, buried his face in his hands, and sighed deeply.

"Oh no..." he muttered. "That was my favorite brother."

Fred smacked the back of his head.

"Watch it, idiot. I'm your favorite."

George looked at him sideways, rubbing the spot.

"Right. But Charlie has dragons. And hair like a shampoo commercial."

Julia groaned and rubbed her face.

"Can we get back to the plan?"

George sighed, then nodded solemnly.

"Fine. I'll sacrifice my brother for the cause. But if you actually land Charlie, I want to be your best man."

Fred was already scribbling.

"Note to self: make a shirt that says 'Best Man - Because Revenge Went Too Far'."

Julia was already regretting telling them anything.

"Plan switch!" Fred declared, pointing his wand at the board, which spun around and revealed a new title:

"How to Win Charlie Weasley"

"Step one: dragons," said George seriously.

"Step two: dragons," added Fred, nodding.

"Step three: more dragons," George concluded before Julia could even speak.

Julia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a quiet laugh.

"All right, you tactical geniuses," she said, adjusting her seat, "do we start with theory or go straight to dragon-riding?"

George extended a telescopic pointer at the board.

"Ready?"

"Never," Julia sighed with mock drama.

"Charlie won't even glance at someone who can't name three dragon breeds by heart," Fred warned.

"At minimum," George added. "Bonus points if you can play the Romanian national anthem on bottles."

Julia smiled wider.

"All right, how do I actually win him over?" she asked, eager now.

Fred cleared his throat, leaning forward.

"You'll need to accidentally bump into him near the kitchens. Charlie's weak for ginger cake... and for people who don't ask about his scars."

Julia burst out laughing.

"So I bake cake and pretend not to see the third-degree burns?"

"Maybe even fourth," George smiled.

"But exactly that," Fred confirmed.

"Charlie doesn't respond to flirty glances," George said seriously. "He responds to danger."

"The less safe it is, the more romantic. Throw a mandrake at him."

Julia recoiled.

"What?!"

"Okay, maybe not a mandrake," Fred agreed. "But show guts. Cast a spell that sets something nearby on fire."

"Or say you once fought a Snidgetclaw in the forest. Barehanded. No wand," George suggested.

Julia laughed and snorted.

"And who's going to believe that?"

"It's not about truth, it's about aura," Fred replied. "No glitter. No sequins. You need to look like you just rolled through ash."

"Charlie doesn't care for glamour," George summed up. "He cares about someone who looks like they know how to swing an axe."

Julia frowned.

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll learn. Starting today - boot camp," Fred declared.

Julia laughed, standing and ready for more madness. She glanced at the board now full of charts, dragon sketches, and hearts labeled "Charlie."

Fred went to a cupboard, and when he turned around, he wore a shaggy brown wig and a hooded cloak. George stuck on some wildly crooked fake mustache that vaguely resembled a goatee.

"All right, Julia," George said with fake gravitas, adjusting his mustache. "Fred - I mean, Charlie - has just walked into the pub in Hogsmeade. You have fifteen seconds to get his attention. Scene: fireplace, butterbeer, you, and the man of your temporary dreams. Aaaand... action!"

Fred, as Charlie, strolled in with dramatic flair, pretending to pet an imaginary dragon on his shoulder and adjusting an invisible axe at his belt.

Julia reached into her mental library.

"Is that... the Ancient Opal-Eyed from the Sun Islands?" she asked, voice full of awe. "Only four of those left in Europe. Rare. Lethal."

Fred-Charlie paused, raising an eyebrow.

"Impressive, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head. "Not many recognize that scale pattern."

"Two central scales reversed, right? Like nature playing a prank." Julia smiled, pretending to sip her butterbeer. "You get all sorts in Hogsmeade, but that one's a beauty."

"One of them once looked me in the eye and said if I fed it lettuce again, it'd burn a hole through my spine," Fred said, adjusting his wig and slumping into a chair.

"I met one in fifth year," Julia mused. "It escaped the reserve. I stayed behind so my friends could get away."

"Excellent! Test two: jealousy. I'll be Charlie, and you flirt with someone else. Hmm... Fred."

Fred raised a brow.

"But I'm also Charlie."

"Now you're Dmitrij, the dashing troll hunter from Durmstrang."

"Can I wear pointy boots?"

"NO," Julia and George said in unison.

Julia leaned close to Fred-Dmitrij and lowered her voice.

"Tell me about your trophies."

"I have a troll skull and three autographs from Professor Snape."

"Sounds dangerous..." Julia smiled.

George gasped and dramatically threw himself between them.

"LEAVE MY WOMAN ALONE, DMITRIJ!" he cried, grabbing Fred's robes.

"Never, Charlie! She loves danger!"

"She loves dragons, not trolls!"

"Okay, okay, stopping now. It's getting weird," Fred announced, pulling off the wig. "But I gotta say - you've got potential."

"I'd even say... fire," George added with a smirk.

Chapter Text

Charlie Weasley arrived at Hogwarts early in the morning. But he didn't just walk through the gate. He made an entrance, trailing behind him a wave of commotion bigger than the start of the English team's run at the Quidditch World Cup.

He was... dazzling.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a statue carved by a particularly passionate sculptor. He wore a leather jacket adorned with runic and a fiery streak along one side - clearly a souvenir from a close encounter with a Chinese Fireball. His skin was sun-kissed, like he spent every possible moment outdoors. His copper-gold hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, fastened with a silver ring. And his eyes? Amber. Warm and wild at the same time. Like they were always analyzing something. Or flirting.

He looked like a dragon disguised as a man.

Julia stood leaning against a stone wall in the courtyard, absently smoothing the edge of her cloak - which suddenly felt far too warm.

She noticed she wasn't the only one. A few bold seventh-year girls, clearly remembering Charlie from his school days, stepped forward to greet him. Back then, he was just "that Weasley who captains the team." Now, he'd become "that Weasley who uses dragon teeth as hair clips and wrestles trolls for fun."

No one squealed or fainted theatrically. But there was that electric air of admiration - and subtle competition - that always seems to appear when an alpha male walks into a room.

One of the girls - a Ravenclaw - handed him a small package.

"I made it myself!" she beamed. "A souvenir."

Charlie smiled politely and thanked her. He didn't give anyone false hope, but he didn't push them away either. A master of balance.

"Having fun?" came a familiar, annoyed voice beside her.

She didn't have to turn around.

That tone. That tension.

Oliver Wood.

He leaned on the railing, and his gaze wasn't just curious anymore - it was suspicious.

"What exactly are you plotting with the Weasleys?" he asked sharply.

Julia shrugged and put on her most innocent smile.

"Oh, just talking fashion. Trying to decide whether your new girlfriend prefers gold or crimson accents on a wedding dress. Lauren says crimson works better with your skin tone, but I think it's all about the lighting."

Oliver narrowed his eyes.

"Julia..."

"What? Scared to open the locker room trunk in case there's a prank inside?"

Oliver's frown deepened.

"Maybe I am."

"Maybe you should be," she said, adjusting her hair and glancing across the courtyard where Charlie still stood, surrounded by giggling admirers.

"This isn't funny," said Wood.

"I'm not laughing," Julia replied calmly. "Yet."

Oliver shifted his weight. He wasn't used to conversations like this. Or to this version of Julia. Or to the feeling that she knew something he didn't.

"The twins won't tell me anything. Nothing. They just smile like they've got a secret I'll never figure out," he said, frustrated. "And you're there with them, laughing at my plays during practice and giving me looks like you've got a plan. And why the hell are you wearing dragon earrings?"

Julia raised her eyebrows. Her voice was soft. Almost gentle.

"So you did notice my new earrings."

Oliver stared at her, like he was waging a silent war with himself. Then he sighed - low and frustrated.

"Please, Julia," he said, lowering his voice. "Promise me one thing."

She tilted her head slightly.

"That no one gets hurt."

He surprised her. Not with the request itself - but with how genuine it sounded.

She said nothing for a moment. Then nodded.

"No one gets hurt," she said. "At least... not physically."

Oliver winced.

"That's not comforting."

"I never promised you'd feel safe around me," she replied.

He took a step closer. Julia's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't flinch. If he was trying to dominate her with a look, he'd have to come up with a better strategy.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly.

Julia looked him dead in the eye.

"Because I can."

He didn't move, but his gaze swept over her face - nose, cheeks, lips. Julia saw it. She knew exactly what was happening. And suddenly everything froze for a second: the courtyard laughter faded, the chatter of students dissolved. Just the two of them and the millimeter of air between them.

If either one moved - even slightly - something irreversible would happen.

"Wood," she said softly. "Admit it. You'd fall apart if I stopped paying attention to you."

His jaw tightened.

"Oliver Wood!"

Charlie had spotted them and was already heading their way. He pulled Oliver into a hug so firm it made him stumble back.

"Merlin, mate, how long's it been? Four years?"

"At least," Oliver grumbled, regaining his balance. "You look good."

"Well, dragons don't let you slack off," Charlie laughed, then turned to Julia.

Oliver opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. For a moment, his expression faltered. He looked for words, like trying to solve an equation without all the variables.

"This is Julia," he said eventually. "My... This is Julia."

Julia just smiled. The kind of smile that bent reality and stole breath. The kind of smile that could make the toughest opponent lose the match before the whistle blew.

Wood's knees would have buckled - if only that smile had been meant for him.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," said Julia, extending her hand. "I'm very much looking forward to your class. I think dragon studies are scandalously neglected at this school. Especially when it comes to aggressive species. I suspect many students don't even realize how critical it is to distinguish between the Norwegian Ridgeback and the Welsh Green - not to mention their vastly different pack behavior."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"Well, now. That's the first time anyone at Hogwarts has said 'Mr. Weasley' to me and didn't finish the sentence with 'why did it explode?'"

Julia's smile widened.

"Well, I did accidentally drop dragon claw shavings into a sleeping draught once. Professor Snape is running out of punishment ideas for me."

"Good to know there are still passionate students around. I hope my class lives up to expectations," Charlie replied with a smile. "So, Oliver, when are we flying again? I heard Gryffindor's doing well this season."

Oliver shrugged - but pride slipped through his nonchalance.

"Skill doesn't rust."

Charlie nodded, amusement in his eyes.

"Good to know. Nice to see not everything changes."

He gave them one last glance before turning and walking off toward the castle.

Once he was gone, Oliver stared after him for a moment. Then turned to Julia.

"Norwegian Ridgeback?"

"Most unpredictable of the European breeds," Julia replied without looking at him. "And highly sensitive to the scent of vervain."

"That true, or are you making it up?"

Julia shrugged and started walking.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just look good when I say clever things. You've gotta know what works."

Oliver watched her for a long moment, brow furrowed.

And he genuinely didn't know what bothered him more - that Julia was good at something... or that he had no idea what it was.

She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. Her smile was lazy and sure - the smile of a girl who'd just played a beautiful checkmate and didn't need anyone to say it out loud.

Oliver stared after her, face twisted with a mixture of frustration, suspicion... and something else he couldn't quite name.

He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.