THE CIPHER

He supposed that destroying furniture in an empty classroom was not the best way to spend his prefect patrolling time. He hadn’t even bothered to put up silencing charms to hide his anger. Anger was an understatement. Remus was bitter and defeated and depressed. Each emotion was punctuated by the sound of a chair being thrown across the room. He was relied on to have a cool head, to have answers. All of these things that had happened were getting to him. Doris being tortured. Mary being ruined by it. James and whatever stupid thing he had going on with Narcissa. Lily being lovely as always. Sirius with his hair and his eyes. Being a fucking disgrace for a human being. Two weeks until the full moon. Counting down the days. Remus stuck in the middle, halfway to a panic attack at any given moment. Each of these thoughts was accompanied by his fist slamming into the wall. His knuckles were bleeding.

This wasn’t the Remus he’d seen at the bonfire, this was a creature filled with unspoken anger and swirling chaos. Archer happened to walk in to pick up some things he’d left hours prior, his mind had been everywhere but the class and his mindfulness left him completely out of place. The least he was expecting was to walk into a classroom with a rabid student forcing him out, “I just needed to grab some things I left.” He didn’t want to cause any scenes or make the other angrier than he was, “Mate, are you okay?” His inquiry would most likely be chewed up by the troubled boy, whose demeanor screamed danger to anyone with five feet of distance but he couldn’t help the worry that crept up his spine. “I know you probably don’t want or need any help, but perhaps find a place where you’re not compelled to yelling at random students or teachers. That could get you into some trouble.” 

“I’m also a Gryffindor. Maybe you’ve seen me around in class and the common room.”

His thick left brow ascends, a diminutive chuckle falling right out of his lips at the whimsical sight that was Mary. “Don’t worry so much. I’m not completely offended.” He went for the teasing route, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t exactly made himself the visible creature, too preoccupied with his studies and personal life events to care so much about a social life. He hadn’t always been a hermit, though. Archer was the equivalent of a James Potter back at Durmstrang with his piercing cerulean gaze and messy hair. He’d been training to play for Bulgaria as their seeker before he was transferred due to an unfortunate of events which led to him spending his sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. “Really? Potions can be easy if you stop following the recipes to the letter.” To many, this adviced seem foolish. Then he remembered his friend’s analogy about baking, “It’s like when you bake a cake and you follow the directions. It doesn’t matter how hard you try your final product will never look like the cake on the photo. They didn’t teach you how to make the proper frosting, hell hardly anyone knows how to decorate a cake without magic. It’s the same thing with potions, sometimes you have to alter the way you brew.” His timbre was focused, animate something completely different from his usual behavior. His demeanor drastically changing as he loosened up to his peer, “If you ever need help with it -- I’d be more than happy to assist.” 

Mathilde Delacour.

“Okay,” Had he really not? He would never know, but right now he would pretend for her sake that he hadn’t been curious. His hand shook her hand briefly, sinew countenance showing a new found confidence at the words, “Stranged friends.” The words mimicked hers moments prior, he didn’t have high hopes to be close but he’d been successful at making a friend. That’s all that mattered. It’d been only fifteen hours since he’d last seen the blonde, his mind had been circling around the events in the night’s past. “Oh, come on. She’s not that bad.” Flipper, a muggle dog he’d smuggled into the castle, let out a quiet whimper as he talked non-stop of his new found friendship. “She won’t replace you.” He caressed his furry friend, assuring him (or more so himself) that he wouldn’t allow the circumstances to change his predisposition. He decided to skip arithmancy class that day, his mind wasn’t ready for strenuous thinking and grumpy teachers. Instead, he climbed out of bed, pulled on jeans and a hoodie, snatched his old quidditch memorabilia and headed to the common room. “Thank you, lord,” He muttered at the beautiful sight that the empty fireplace was, the cracking fire already lit and an empty couch waiting to be sat upon. It didn’t matter that his stomach was empty or that he’d needed some grooming. He made quick strides towards the cozy spot that was hardly ever freed and made himself comfortable plummeting into said couch, photos of his glory days as a quidditch player and captain of the Durmstrang team. Granted, Archer didn’t miss them as much as he appreciated the memories. There was a photo, in particular, he’d been wanting to see; him hovering above Sandy on his broomstick and Andrew off to the side making silly faces at the cameras. It was those fond moments he missed, those moments he wanted back more than anything. 

Mathilde Delacour.

Confusion seemed to be a hot topic that evening as his head was clouded with questions. Had Archer offended her again? By trying to be thoughtful? He needed to stop. “I didn’t know it was,” He choked out, “They were my best friends’ favourites and I --” He was cut off, this time, she seemed genuinely concerned about her decision. Was he really so bad? He knew it wasn’t the case, that there was an underlying reason behind all her decisions but he couldn’t help feeling rejected -- even when he hadn’t tried to get with her in any way, shape or form. He’d simply been drawn in, thinking he had a chance to right his wrongs through the blonde. He couldn’t pin his own stigmas on Mathilde, though. He hadn’t expected anything from her, but he figured he would take what he could get. It’d been his first attempt at making friends and his last. He’d only been used to how he acted around Sandy and Andrew, he didn’t know how to be the friend everyone else needed. It was always under terms that they’d set on as a group, but Mathilde? She was keen on keeping him at arm lengths, as if he were poison and she were too tarnished to function properly around human form. “Okay.” Was all he could muster, following a weak smile as he allows the Lily to slide out of his grasp. What else could he do? She had affirmed that every stop he was pulling out was futile, which only fueled him to keep to himself just as he’d started. He’d withdrawn, concealed his own wishes under a poker face and heavy lids. “Mathilde, forgive me if I ever made you feel like you had to try to do something you didn’t want to.” He chimed in, his lips forcing themselves into a small simper to assure her it was okay, “I never expected anything from you. I was surprised you’d shown up to the bonfire at all and the gifts were a thank you, because I knew you’d been trying to step out of your comfort zone to talk to me. I know how that is and I appreciated it.” His voice falters slightly, his hands retracting to his slack’s pockets, “I realize I’ve upset you a few times and I am sorry for doing so. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” 

“If there’s anyone who could change your mind, it’s me. My great-great grandmother was the fabled Seer Cassandra Trelawney and I’m the first Seer in the family since. I have the true Gift. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!” she ruffled herself up proudly, standing taller as she spoke of her lineage, “But unless you’re willing to open your mind to the arts of divination, it would be useless for me to try to perform any readings on you. Non-believers never grasp what I tell them until too late!”

"I’ll hold you to that then,” He shifts to the side, allowing a walking space for the interesting girl. He’d never met anyone quite like Sybill, he’d known of those pretentious seers that would try to scare him into submission. How his life was meant to be glorious and if he didn’t take the right path he would be doomed. She seemed like a person who had good intentions, “I’ll see you around then. Hopefully you’ll have your crystal ball, I’d like a reading from someone who actually seems to know what they’re talking about.” 

The falter in the boy’s voice – Archer, she had now learned – put her quickly at ease. Her lips fell into their normal broad grin, large eyes looking him up and down. “Oh, don’t you dare worry for a second. With what’s been going on recently, everyone’s a bit distracted. All in their heads, you know the like.” She took his hand warmly, eyes scanning his features. There was something familiar about him - the kind of familiar that made Mary wonder if she had met him years ago in passing, though considering his accent, she knew that to be untrue. “You didn’t happen to come to the bonfire last night, did you? I feel like I’ve seen you before. I mean, you say you’ve been here a year so obviously we could have had, ahh, class…” She let her voice trail off, gaze dropping to her shoes. But again, his unassuming words drew her out of herself. “Not to worry, you don’t look any more out of place here than the Grey Lady herself. And it may not be your mission, but you have a friend now, whether you like it or not.” She grinned again, hoping to put the boy at ease. “Where are you off to anyway?”

The Scottish boy was used to being scrutinized, she seemed to be guilty of doing so at first with the uneasy glance and wavering grin. Is she scared? you probably look like a lunatic walking around as though you’re being bloody chased by wolfs. His inner monologue was hindered, however, the moment her uneasy stance perished and she offered him a warm welcome. “You didn’t happen to come to the bonfire last night, did you? I feel like I’ve seen you before. I mean, you say you’ve been here a year so obviously we could have had, ahh, class…” A small blush creeps onto his cheeks at the thought of the bonfire. He’d snogged Marlene under star lights and the faint glow of a bonfire, “Yeah. I was there.” A guttural chuckle leaves his petals at the thought, “We’re on the same house,” He continues, “I’m also a Gryffindor. Maybe you’ve seen me around in class and the common room.” Mary seemed lovely, that’d been his first thought when he’d seen her days prior. She was beautiful, too, but knew that girls were something off limits when it came to boys who weren’t James Potter. “I was off to Advanced Potions, actually. What about you? Were you heading somewhere in particular?” 

Mathilde Delacour.

Archer brought himself to a halt, his ascending hand left stretched out as she explained her morbid ways in poetic rhymes. She’d healed herself, it was common knowledge Veela’s were powerful. In fact, he felt foolish forgetting. “Memories.” He spoke softly, mesmerized at the ease she seemed to handle everything from healing some of her wounds to retracting the smell with just a wave of the hand. Weathered fingertips -- ones that had been plucking at the strings of a guitar without a pick for quite some time, rolled his own memory between them in the form of a flower, a lily to be exact. “I was going to give this to you,” He walked alongside her, but no worries of getting caught crossed his mind as his pace remained steady, “But I’ll keep it because it’s the color of your hair.” The Lily had originally been tucked inside the magazine, it’d fallen out after she’d taken off. He picked it right up, in hopes he would get the chance to explain himself and gift it to her. “You remind me of lilies in the summer.” To obtain her silence in return did not surprise him, it was clear to him she didn’t speak of feelings quite often. Neither had he until he’d met her, it was as though some sort of beast was left uncaged when she was around. She intoxicated his very being which led to being frustrating as he lied in bed at night, tossing and turning wondering why she had such strong hold of him in such short period of time. She was his friend. A real friend. He’s mentally chiding himself knowing at any moment his heart would be grasped, he’d already placed her on a pedestal so high nothing could knock her down because she was so far out of reach. Yet, all he could muster is a smile as he tucks the Lily away. Imparting sentiment has never been his strongest suit. But evidently he has a knack for damnation — and stringing the people, no, the person that matters most to him along for the ride. At this moment, it was her that mattered most and he didn’t understand why. 

Mathilde Delacour.

He wanted to laugh at her horrified demeanor, she seemed genuinely upset about her choice of words. She was endearing and it made it very difficult for Archer to be upset, “Don’t worry about it.” He chimes, a smile now twisting on his lips. Not for long, however, as the second he turned to look at Mathilde she was already a whole flight of stairs down. Instincts called for panic as he hurried down himself, hoping only her ego was bruised after the long fall. “Mattie!” He shouted after her, skipping down as quick as his legs would allow. “Bloody hell,” Without much thought he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the floor where Mathilde was sure to fall on, “Spongify!” He flicked his wrist as he conjured the spell that would soften the surface, making at least the last landing the least painful for the clumsy blonde. “Are you okay?” He was quickly at her side, his cerulean rims examining her tiny frame for signs of injuries. “Oh, Merlin Pants! I thought for sure you’d crack your craneum.” He gently placed her head on his lap, his fingertips traced the outlines of her jaw, “Does it hurt?” She’d face planted on the way down a few times, he had to make sure there were no severe trauma. He hadn’t been thinking much of her personal space, his heart was a rabid dog looking to burst out of his ribcage. “You truly know how to make one’s day full of... something.” He offers her a weak smile, but worry still clouded his scruffed visage. The sight had been scarier than anything he’d ever seen. You’ve slithered your way into my heart. I don’t know how, but I have to make sure that you go unharmed for as long as I’m around. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but the blonde was special. He knew that much and he would make sure he could do right by her. Something he hadn’t been able to do by others. 

“Yes… Archer, right?” Sybill said with a grin, “I do believe our paths will cross again. In the meantime… stay sharp. Beware of girls who talk too much but say little and boys who can’t control their feelings. Either of these would be terrible for you. And if you ever need any help divining the future, come find me!”

Astrology seemed like a far-fetched subject in his opinion, he was never keen on the idea of foreseeing, he didn’t think it was feasible. “I’m not exactly a believer, but maybe I’ll let you change my mind.” He wasn’t sure what he was offering but offered her a nod of his head and a smile, “No one’s truly been accurate when trying to figure me out.” 

To say Mary had been on edge in light of recent events would be an understatement.

“Neither was I,” Icy rims follow her petite form, the girl seeming confused by his presence was to be expected. Archer never prided himself on being the social butterfly, “I seem to be doing this more often than I’d like to.” He continued awkwardly, “I’m Archer Wolff. I’ve been here a year, but never made it my mission to make any friends.” His hand ascends towards the brunette, his lips twisting into a half grin out of nervous habit. It was evident to anyone with a pair of eyes that Archer was a mass of awkward chaos, he stood tall like a quidditch player, walked like an Auror but when it came to social encounters he dismantled and made himself a blabbing fool. “Turns out I’m not as new as I look.” 

Truthfully, Doris didn’t know what to say – the boy was something of a stranger to her. Knowing approximately three facts about him (one: he took Advanced Potions; two: he was weirdly, very toned, even under his robes; and three: his smile freaked her out a bit), she felt in no position to make jests. She swallowed the urge to insult him – albeit playfully – and dug a bit more instead. “Oh, that’s cool. You like it, then?”

He was not expecting that answer, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the thought. “Merlin! No eyebrows?” He croaks between chuckles, his stomach muscles contracting from the unknown action. Archer had not laughed in a whole year, at least not the way he had just now. The strange girl had a sense of humor, he could appreciate that. “I do love potions. It makes me think. I like challenges.” He offers her a genuine smile making his snoke crinkle slightly, “So, what happened? Why do you need to venture into the cold dungeons with a stranger out of nowhere?” 

She had excused herself prior, making some legible reasons about her homework, which was partly true. School events that involved booze and glowing embers would never end well, even more so she had no interest in the extra curriculars they would entail; which she assumed were seventh grade party games. But now, reaching nine in the afternoon, she closes her potions book and reaches for her shall, heading to the lake front and carefully avoiding the view of the open water. It went as expected, very little conversation and a whole lot of juvenile games, until her night was brought to an end by unwanted memories once more given to her in the form of the very magazine that was in her fingers just now. She had upset him, no matter how hard she tried to hide her discomfort by his present and Remus’s persistence. But now, she felt guilty. It wasn’t his fault, but he had taken her departure as though it had been. Mathilde had to fix her wrongs. She could see him walking back to the castle alone after his intimate endeavors with Marlene, catching up to his side and side stepping to cut him off. “Art—” She was out of breath, having run all the way from the bonfire to his side, the magazine still stuffed into her over sized jumper. “Thank you. For the magazine.” She shows him a flash of a smile, one so perfect you would never know it wasn’t real. “I’m sorry about leaving so abruptly. I forgot about this essay I had due and then I got side tracked by someone who wanted to talk about lunar cycles and it was just a big unorganized evening. But, I wanted to say thank you.” She breathes, trying to catch a breath between sentences as she tries to make light of the conversation. “That was quite the snog with Miss Marlene.” She decides to go to his side, an uninvited stroll to the castle alongside him without permission. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

There was something blissful about isolation after a chaotic evening, his brows quirked in confusion, stress overwhelming his lithe frame at the turn of events. The night felt like a brooding beast ready to swallow the stars and the moon who’d only shed some light on the situation, the only beautiful thing for miles and it seemed like darkness seemed keen on making it disappear. He didn’t exactly know what he was expecting, he knew he wouldn’t have fun around drunk students. He didn’t exactly thought Mathilde would actually turn up then leave him again, that hope he was feeling had vanished as she walked away because of something he’d done. He didn’t get the chance to right his wrong. He was once again caught by surprise by silver tresses and piecing blue eyes., “Art,” There was that nickname, his curiosity was peaking once more, “Thank you. For the magazine.” He could only listen, his visage twisting into confusing no longer being able to hide it. “That was quite the song with Miss Marlene.” She’d changed the subject, completely avoding questions about her behavior. He wouldn’t push it. He fgured if she’d wanted to talk about what upset her, she would’ve. “Yeah, it was fun.” He lied. He didn’t want to make her feel guilty, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. It’d been disastrous. He’d been nervous. He’d been ridiculed by drunk students he didn’t even know. “Better Marlene than Evan,” His line of sight shifts back to the castle, slowing his strides and thus accepting her company. Despite the turn of events, she still had been the best company he’d had in a whole year. “I don’t reckon you did though. I doubt a bunch of drunks snogging, nearly shagging is really your thing. The stars thing though -- that does sound like it would be something you’d prefer.” 

“So what is it exactly where you have to go to so urgently?” An amused smile gracing her soft lips Marlene raised one eyebrow questioningly while surveying him from the bottom to the top, “you are new here, aren’t you, honey? I’m trying to figure out who you are like really hard, but I can’t put you anywhere. And as I’m quite informed about the guys especially, you just have to be new her. If not, I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not noticing you earlier.” She gave him a flirtatious wink before she ran through her long, blond hair with her small and from quidditich trained fingers. “But yes, I’m totally fine. I could probably get stamped down by an elephant and still be fine because Potions is cancelled for me today. How can’t I be alright then is the better question, I guess. But no, you haven’t hurt me if that’s what your asking for.” Did he realized that she actually enjoyed teasing him a bit? Okay, not only a bit actually a lot? But if he realized that he shouldn’t take it personally because she did this with almost every other person, too. It was just one of her hobbies. 

“Yeah, of course, you are.” A grin soon sweeps onto his face, cheekbones rising and lips stretched across his face. “Oh? Is that right?” He played along, her teasing becoming more apparent as she spoke, her eyes glimmering with mirth. “I don’t hang out with the popular or the quidditch team. If that’s alright, then yes you are invited.” He nudged her side, remaining playful with the flirtatious female. He’d had a hard couple of weeks trying to adjust, she seemed nice enough. “So, I’ll see you then.” He offers her another grin, his hands slide back into his pockets as he walks along the hallway hoping he wouldn’t be late to class. “See you around, Marley.” A wink followed the simple sentence, his back resting against the wooden door to push it open with his weight, “Unless you’re planning on making it your mission for me to be late to class.” 

He was like evergreens and cherry wood. The signature scents of home that came rushing back to her like a collective scrapbook; and for once she really didn’t seem to mind. She listened to his quizzical speech about his art project from a younger age. Mathilde believed that art should never be judged, never be graded. Art was something to be loved or hated but never ranked. She loved the great poets and musicians, she loved her own string of favourite authors and painters, but she could never look at a piece of work and grade it based on her own knowledge. Her perspective of the world was so different; every ones was. Grade school? He must have attended a muggle school before he came to his school and then here. It made her question if one of his parents was a muggle and what made him decide to leave his old school. But of course she could never ask those questions aloud, it would just lead to questions about her own transfer and Mathilde was not ready to speak about that; and possibly never would be. How could she complain? How could she even muster an ounce of sadness when it was so clearly evident that other people had it so much worse. Mathilde didn’t deserve pity in her own eyes, not when people suffered great endeavors. She could only have courage and be kind.  She opens her icy orbs, keeping her head level and her smile perfectly placed as she whispers the same words back to him like a broken record; but this record was her favourite yet. Her words weren’t meant to vex his, she was so genuine and so entranced by his world that she had almost forgotten abut why they were here in the first place. But here he was, his evergreen and cherry wood, stealing her attention away like very few had before. And for a moment he actually made her forget all of the terrible things she had gone through; he made all of the bad things go away. “Please, keep rambling. It’s the only thing that’s made sense since I arrived.” 

There was something whimsical about this moment, he never pictured himself sitting in a potions classroom with a French student talking about art and past events. All in good natured fun, the mysterious veela wasn’t so dangerous after all. Fear still lingered in the depths of his stomach and heart, but he felt at ease. Funny enough, she was magical. Not in the sense of wizardry, but in the sense of her being completely compelling. She made him feel bold much iike a lion heart as the Gryffindors would say, she was her own breed of magical with her platinum hair braided and folded around her head, diminutive butterflies fluttering accentuating her already mesmerizing nature. Every follicle, every pore accentuated her peculiar persona. “I’ve never met someone quite like you,” He hops off the desk, his feet walking him back to the cabinets so he could finish the task appointed by professor Slughorn an hour prior to their conversation. “There’s going to be a bonfire later tonight,” He didn’t know whether she would agree, whether his request would be crossing an invisible line drawn by the female before he’d ever gotten the chance to break out their respective shells, “I’m not usually up for social events or anything, but seeing as I’ve made a friend -- would it be too forward to ask you to accompany me?” He wasn’t embarrassed to ask her, but there was a tinge of red creeping onto his cheeks. He wanted to shut his heavy lids in hopes to make his surrounding disappears, it’d been too late to take it back. He wasn’t accustomed to rejection, yet he was trained to expect it much like he was expectant for everyone to leave him or push him away. His fear of being alone had pushed him exactly there, he had no friends aside from Flipper who was hidden in his bedroom with a charm so no one could hear him. A well kept secret, or so he thought.