Bittersweet [Hogwarts Fanfiction]

I'm spared? What could George even mean by that? These boys — and that girl, Ivy Law, for that matter — were definitely up to something, but I couldn't figure out exactly what it was. I was almost certain that it had to do with this morning's breakfast. There's no way Fred would have emphasized that he'll see me at breakfast specifically had he not had plans regarding it... Or he may not have. I wasn't sure anymore. Perhaps I was overanalyzing everything again.

"Blackwood."

James had his arms crossed, leaning against the wall across the door to my dorm. He called my name as if waiting for me to come out this morning.

"We need to talk," he said with slight urgency.

I nodded and followed him into one of the Slytherin common room's study rooms, where we typically had our little one-on-one unofficial meetings.

"So, did it work?" I asked, referring to the dittany I had provided him for his burn scar.

"It does," he said. "But it's quite slow."

"Well, it's only been a week," I pointed out.

"Sure, but..." he leaned his head back slightly before revealing his scar by pushing his long bangs out of the way.

I stepped closer to him, trying to have a better look. James was about to place his hair back over his scar, but I held his hand still with mine as I observed his scar, and he averted his gaze. The skin was smooth but still dark red. It appeared slightly paler than last week, but I didn't know if that was just a trick of the light.

"Alright, I think you get it," James said. He grabbed my wrist and removed my hand from his other hand so that he could place his hair back over his scar.

His hand lingered awkwardly on my wrist before he pulled it away and briefly cleared his throat.

"I reckon I'll run out of dittany before my scar can heal completely," he resumed. "I'm concerned the healing process will halt entirely if I can't consistently heal it with the dittany."

"Right," I nodded but frowned as I tried to think of a solution. "I can't steal from Madam Pomfrey again without attracting some serious trouble. I'm sorry."

James cursed under his breath.

"Can't you owl your father and ask for some?"

"No," James responded, the corners of his lips curving unpleasantly.

"Why not?"

"Well, can't you ask your father? He's a potions master, surely he—"

"Yeah...no." I shook my head. "I've already been asking too much from him recently, and he still hasn't answered any of my owls yet. And I can't even ask my mother either since my parents tell each other everything — it's a nightmare, really," I added as I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sure it is," James said.

I pursed my lips uncertainly.

"So what now?"

"I dunno," James shrugged, his bottom lip pushed into a subtle pout.

"How long do you suppose you have before you run out?" I asked, my eyebrows perking up.

"No more than a month."

I rested my fingers over my chin and pushed my lips up as I tried to think of a solution.

"We'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure," I said, although I was uncertain how I would figure this one out. "For now, let's just go eat breakfast."

James nodded, and we left the study room.

Our journey to the Great Hall was predictably a quiet one, but our silence was broken by me right when we reached our destination. I had just remembered every suspicious thing George and Fred were up to last night, and I thought it best to avoid eating breakfast entirely.

"James, let's not..." I trailed off, pulling him back by his arm before he could step foot into the great hall.

"Huh?" he looked at me with intrigue and surprise.

"We should avoid eating breakfast here, trust me," I said, nodding adamantly. James looked at me as if I were being funny, but he couldn't understand why. "You know what? Just come with me."

I tugged at his sleeve, urging him to follow me. Reluctantly, and with one last glance inside the Great Hall, he did.

I guided him to that entrance at the moving staircases, which led us down to a set of stairs into the brightly lit corridor. I quickly found the fruit platter painting from yesterday and pushed it. I tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. James laughed behind me.

He stood patiently, watching me struggle for a few more seconds, before gently moving me to the side, saying, "Let me show you."

He reached over to the pear on the painting and tickled it. The pear giggled and laughed until it formed into a door handle.

"You know this place?" I asked with astonishment. James nodded as he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Merlin, how many secret places do you know?" I remembered the S4 hideout in the restricted section of the library. Of course, none of the Slytherin Four knew that I knew about that place, but I wondered if they'd ever show me one day.

"You'd be surprised," he said. I laughed softly in my hand.

I was back inside the kitchens, and this time, I wasn't being pushed back into the corridor by George Weasley. I was with Jamieson Lancaster instead, and he looked at me with curiosity. His dark eyes implored mine for answers.

"So you dragged me all the way over here for a breakfast date in the kitchens?" James asked, clearly amused.

I felt my cheeks warm up as I stammered a response: "No, not a date. I just thought I'd spare you from potential harm. Trust me, breakfast in the Great Hall today is not safe."

James smiled at me in disbelief with one of his classic eyebrow raise. I looked around at the four long tables extended across the kitchen. House elves were scattered about. Some were preparing food by the ovens at the far end of the tables, while others were snapping their fingers and making plates disappear.

It occurred to me just now that I didn't know what Fred and George had tampered with in the kitchens yesterday. Surely not the food as the elves prepare it the morning of — not to mention that I had no proof that they weren't in the kitchens just for some late evening snacks... But I also couldn't deny that the twins acted very strangely yesterday, and they were known for being mischievous pranksters.

"Miss Maeve Veronica Blackwood!" a voice squeaked, making James and I jump. A small house elf wearing an odd assortment of socks and a large colourful jumper tugged at my sleeve. With his large green eyes, he looked at me in wonder as he always would back when I spent the holidays at the Malfoy Manor.

"Your middle name is Veronica?" James asked in surprise.

"I — well, yes — Dobby!" I exclaimed suddenly. "What—? Why are you here? And what are you wearing?"

"Dobby is a free elf!" he announced proudly, showing off the colourful clothing draped over his shoulders and wrapped awkwardly around his bony limbs. "Dobby is pleased to see Maeve as Dobby thought he would never see her again after Master Malfoy presented Dobby with a sock!"

"Ah... I suppose that explains the outfit," I muttered. It looked like Dobby was wearing a dozen pairs of socks. Some were slipped onto each other, and others had holes made into them so that he could slip them on like gloves. He wasn't wearing that old shaggy pillowcase anymore.

"Dobby excuses himself, for he knows not this gentleman here," Dobby said, his eyes averting to James, who glanced around awkwardly.

"Erm—"

"James. I'm James Lancaster," he said shortly, nodding briefly in Dobby's direction.

"Dobby is honoured to meet Mr. Lancaster!" he enthused, and I laughed sheepishly in my hand. I hadn't seen Dobby since — probably since the Malfoy Yule last year. I had to admit that I missed him.

"Dobby, could you help me — er — us with something?" I asked.

"Of course! Dobby is always pleased to serve Miss Maeve Blackwood," he said with a short bow.

"Well, we're eating breakfast here, so is there any place we could go to...erm, eat?"

Dobby snapped his fingers, and with a sudden woosh, a part of one of the long tables separated itself from its large counterpart and came to rest in front of us. A silver and green tablecloth landed atop the table with wooden chairs on the sides. A flower vase atop a white doily had red gardenias sticking out of it.

"Woah, Dobby — I forget that you're good at conjuring random things... hang on," I stopped with sudden realization.

Both Dobby and James looked at me expectantly.

"Dobby, could you get me some essence of dittany — as much as you can find?"

Without a word, Dobby vanished. James looked at me with his mouth hung open. Before he could say another word, Dobby apparated back to us with five bottles of dittany overflowing from his arms.

"Dobby!" I covered my mouth with my hands momentarily. I hadn't expected him to get so many. "Where did you—?"

"Professor Snape had all of this in his storage," he said with a genuine smile. My eyes widened. If James was caught with all of this, he would be in serious trouble — there was no way Snape wouldn't notice that essentially all of his dittany bottles were gone from his storage.

"Well," I said, my eyes landing on James, who hadn't said a word for a while. James nodded with a short amused huff as he grabbed two bottles.

"You should put the other three back in his storage," he advised. Dobby vanished again. James repressed a grin as he stuffed the bottles inside his bag. "I have never met an elf so eager about stealing before."

Dobby apparated back in front of us and gave us a short and polite bow.

"Erm... let's eat," I suggested.

With a nod, James joined me at the wooden table that Dobby had conjured for us. Two silver tableware sets determined our seats, which were parallel to each other.

Pancakes topped with strawberries and cream appeared on my plate, while rice, tofu, eggs, and an orange cabbage-looking mixture I had never seen before appeared on James' plate. It was like Dobby always had his way of knowing what each person craved to eat at any meal of the day.

"Wow," James said as he looked down at his plate. "It's almost as if my mother cooked this for me."

"What is it?" I asked, pointing at the orange cabbage mixture.

"Try it," he said. He poked a piece with his fork and brought it to my lips, his hand under in case some food dropped.

I instinctively drew myself back. James' eyes implored me to try it. After a short hesitant smile, I drew my lips closer to the orange cabbage mixture until it got into my mouth. The savours swirled around my tongue as I tried to decipher the taste. It was sour, salty and spicy, yet some other taste I couldn't quite describe with words.

"Do you like it?" James asked, his hand still holding his fork in mid-air. I swallowed.

"It's quite spicy," I said, reaching for the glass of milk next to my plate to take a sip. "What is it called? I've never tasted anything quite like it before."

"It's called Kimchi," James said. "Essentially, it's fermented cabbage with loads of different spices."

"Kimchi? I've never heard of it before."

"It's a traditional Korean dish," he said, preparing a new bite of kimchi on his fork. "My mother used to make this when I was a kid."

"Your mother is Korean?" I asked, and James nodded as he chewed. "Does your mother not make those anymore?"

James looked at me quietly for a little moment before swallowing his food. I thought he would answer my question, but he took another bite of the food on his plate instead. I took this as my cue to eat my strawberry and cream pancakes.

"Your father is British, isn't he?" I asked suddenly.

"Yeah," James said.

"How did your parents meet?" I silently chewed on my pancake, awaiting his answer. Although with James, I didn't always expect all my inquiries to be satisfied with an answer. There often were some questions he would rather not disclose the answer to.

I focused on my plate, certain that James would not answer this question. I felt slightly guilty. Perhaps I was overstepping a boundary by asking so many questions. I wanted to apologize for my lack of discretion, but James spoke before I could open my mouth.

"My grandfather was involved in helping Korean witches and wizards overseas seek refuge in England during the Korean civil war. He used his manor as a stay for the wizarding families who had lost everything. My mother was staying in the manor with her family. Naturally, as the son of the man orchestrating this whole refuge affair, my father met my mother when he was sixteen, and she was fourteen years old. He helped her get used to England and integrate at Hogwarts."

I nodded mutely as I chewed on my food, and it was silent between us for a short moment.

"My parents met at Hogwarts," I said. "My mother was an Afro-French exchange student, and my father was... Well, just some white British wizard."

James nodded as he kept eating. I looked over at the house elves, observing what they were doing. There were probably a hundred of them all across the kitchen. It was interesting to see them work. People often took them for granted or didn't notice them, but it was worth noting that the elves cooked and cleaned for all of Hogwarts.

"Dobby?" I called, suddenly realizing something.

"Yes, Miss Blackwood," he gazed up at me with his large green eyes. I reached inside my bag for a piece of paper onto which I had scribbled my missing ingredients.

"Erm, could you — well, I need these," I gave the paper to him. Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished.

"What are you brewing this time?" James asked suddenly.

"How did you know I was—?"

"Well, what else would it be for? That was a list of potion ingredients, was it not?" he said as if it were so obvious.

Dobby apparated back into the kitchens with a fresh adder's fork that had a peculiar glow to it and a ptolemy bottle. I grabbed them both, and Dobby disparated once again.

"Why is it glowing?" I mused, looking at the adder's fork, which was glowing blue inside a bottle.

Dobby apparated again, this time with the six missing jobberknoll feathers.

"Splendid! Thank you so much, Dobby," I said with satisfaction. "Erm, but why is the adder's fork glowing?"

"Dobby cast a spell to keep it fresh," he said. "But Dobby can also remove the spell if Miss Blackwood needs it."

"Oh, well — hmm," I pondered over the steps to make the potion. "I'll need it mid-cycle, so... could you have it removed in fourteen days, Dobby?"

Dobby snapped his fingers. The glow changed to a greenish hue.

"Dobby has set the spell to be removed in fourteen days, precisely," he said gleefully.

"Great!" I huffed a breath of excitement.

"What are you brewing?" James asked.

"Veritaserum," I responded shortly.

"What for?"

"To find out if someone was lying," I answered.

"Well, yeah, I figured that much. I mean, who and why?"

I hesitated. Should I tell him about the thing with Pansy? What if he thought it was stupid?

"Forget why," I shook my head.

"No, tell me," he said.

I sighed, feeling that I was giving in way too easily.

"Well," I began, "last year, someone tampered with my cauldron, and they left it in the common room. Erm, I'm not sure if you recall that time, but the cauldron exploded and got very messy."

"Yeah, I vaguely remember something like that happening."

"Well, it wasn't me, but Snape wouldn't believe it. He had me flush everything I had worked on throughout the year. He also gave me detention until the end of the school year."

"And now, you're trying to find out who did it," James finished for me.

"Yep," I said with a nod.

James momentarily raised his eyebrows as if in thought. I moved my lips to the side with uncertainty.

"Well, I should head off to detention right about now, actually," he said suddenly. His plate was empty, and so was his drink. As he stood up, I took one last sip from my glass of milk. James began walking towards the exit.

"Hang on, I'll come with you," I said, grabbing my bag and following him.

"You're coming with me to detention?" he asked, amused.

"No, I mean, just — well, you know, out of here," I stammered, feeling foolish and flushed.

James nodded, smirking, as he pulled open the portrait door of the kitchen so that we could get out. We quietly ventured down the corridor towards the stairsteps.

Our journey up the stairs was slightly awkward from my perspective. James tended to skip two steps at a time as he climbed the steps whilst I huffed and panted, trying to catch up to him.

"Where were you two?" someone questioned with annoyance as soon as we reached the grand staircases. It was Elijah Hadleigh. He was with Wyatt Nye and Isaiah Ainsley. They seemed to have been heading down into the dungeons until they found us emerging from another set of stairs.

"Kitchens, eating," James said indifferently.

"Why couldn't you just eat in the Great Hall with everybody else?" Elijah inquired.

"She wanted a date, I suppose," James shrugged.

"What? No, that's not why—"

Before I could refute his claim, Wyatt Nye had suddenly leaned over the staircase railway and let out a large belch. His vomit landed on the staircase below. Thankfully, there was no one to receive it down there.

"Oh, Wyatt, what did you eat this time?" Elijah said with an eye roll.

"I didn't eat anything weird — I don't know where that came from, I—" he got interrupted by another disgusting retch coming from his mouth, only this time, puking on our staircase. It was gross — and not rainbow-coloured.

"Oh," Isaiah placed a hand on his chest. "I don't feel too good myself."

"Oh, no..." I put a hand over my mouth in shock, knowing what was coming next. Isaiah leaned over the stair railway and started vomiting as well. James, Elijah and I took a step back almost unconsciously.

"We should probably go to the Hospital Wing, right?" Isaiah proposed weakly.

Elijah, James and I grabbed Wyatt and Isaiah by the arms and moved them up the stairs to the Hospital Wing. I silently prayed that they wouldn't puke again on our way there. Unfortunately, they each did it twice as we hurried to the hospital.

Madam Pomfrey looked distressed. There were a lot of other students in the infirmary, holding buckets, seemingly here for the same reason — and I recognized a lot of them... They were all Slytherin students. So, this is what Fred and George were planning? But wasn't that a tad bit extreme of a prank?

"Gods, I'm starting to feel unwell myself," Elijah said, placing a hand over his mouth.

"Oh, dear, they keep coming in," Madam Pomfrey said as she noticed other students storming in behind us. She motioned for us to go to a bed over by the windowsill. She waved her wand, and five buckets were placed in front of each of us. Before I could tell her that James and I were not sick, she went over to care for other sick students.

But why would Fred and George do this? Wasn't that cruel to Madam Pomfrey as well?

Elijah was seated in a chair whilst Isaiah and Wyatt were stationed on the bed. All three of them were sick with their heads in their buckets.

"Why aren't you two sick?" Wyatt asked, lifting his head from his bucket momentarily before going back in, to puke again.

"They didn't eat in the Great Hall," Elijah pointed out. James and I looked at each other with a knowing look. So, this was possibly food poisoning?

James grabbed my arm and leaned over to whisper something in my ear.

"Did you know that this was going to happen?" he asked in all seriousness. I spun around to look up at him.

"I wasn't sure — I didn't really expect anything to happen—" I whispered back to him.

"Did you do this?" he asked with newfound bitterness, but still keeping his voice low so the others couldn't hear us.

"No, I swear I didn't!" I insisted in a whisper. "But I think I know who did..."

"Who did this, Maeve?" James asked urgently, looking around the Hospital Wing. "Who would do this kind of thing?"

"I—" I hesitated. How could I throw Fred and George under the train like that? "Well, I don't know for sure..."

I looked around the infirmary. It was as if all of Slytherin House were here, sick together. I knew that I had to talk to Fred and George about this. How could they do this? I knew Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't always get along, but it felt like they crossed a line.

I took a step back, planning on finding Fred and George, but James pulled me back by the arm before I could go any further.

"Don't go anywhere," he said in a low voice. His face contorted as if he were thinking about something uncertain. "We should stay here, and pretend to be sick. It would look too suspicious if we are the only Slytherins who aren't contaminated."

"But... don't you have detention?" I asked.

"Forget that. I can't serve detention if I'm sick," he said with a small repressed smirk. "Besides, I'm not leaving these three alone to deal with this."

"Right, right," I nodded in agreement.

"Take a seat here." James had me sit on the bed next to the others. He was holding both our buckets. "Wyatt, Isaiah, I think you two need a bucket change."

James switched our buckets with theirs. He sat on the chair next to Elijah, who was holding his own puke bucket, and handed me a vomit-filled bucket, which I took with reluctance. We were almost forming a circle with Wyatt, Isaiah and me on the bed, and Elijah and James on the nearby chairs.

"Smart," Elijah said, wiping his lips with his sleeve. He instantly knew what James was doing. "So now, you expect us not to rat out this third-year?"

"She didn't do it," James said defensively. "We just happened to be in the right place at the right time."