Dandelions

PEACE AND QUIET

The period of time after examinations, but before the end of the year, was always a bit of a tricky thing to navigate in Rory's experience. He constantly was caught between wanting to hang out with his friends every moment, spending his newfound free time surrounded by others--and desperately wanting nothing more than to slip into a light coma of fourteen years.

This delirious, extroverted battle bounced around in his head for the brief week of time that followed examinations, only allowed reprieve in the few hours after he awoke at roughly ten in the morning. The end of second year was tumultuous to say the least, a confusing end to a climactic year indeed.

Rory was still reeling from everything that happened to him in the past year, anything from puberty hitting him like the Hogwarts Express to every single humiliating experience it brought him. He'd hoped this year might've been a fluke, and found himself hoping next year would bring back the magic of Hogwarts--without all the, you know, weird stuff.

The weird stuff that seemed to ramp up exponentially as the year came to a close, like the universe knew it had to shove every single awkward happenstance it could into the few days before the Leaving Feast. Like it knew Rory wouldn't see George for a solid two months.

The terrible 'bathroom incident', as Maggie had dubbed it, had slowly become a crippling embarrassment that only appeared at the front of Rory's mind when his brain chose to remind him of it. Like a faint memory, it would pop into his head while he tried to sleep, and when he zoned out in class.

Lee hadn't been too much help, but at least Rory was somewhat pleased to find he wasn't the only clueless boy helplessly stumbling around pretending he had the slightest idea what he was doing. It did feel oddly comforting, though, to have confided in someone that wasn't Maggie.

Speaking of the girl herself, Maggie had shoved the romance book into Rory's hands briefly days before the Leaving Feast, giving him a knowing look before skittering off to meet some friends at the library. With steaming ears and a jittery chest full of butterflies, Rory had skimmed through the entire thing in three days, quietly returning it to Maggie during a meet up at the Three Broomsticks.

"Well?" She quietly mumbled, "Was it informative?"

"Unfortunately," Rory had grumbled in reply. "I'm still not quite sure how she...well how she, um..."

"Mm?" Maggie hummed. "How she what?"

"Your teasing is unappreciated," he murmured through pursed lips before taking a quick sip of butterbeer, "She was rather flexible, you know. I guess it was a little startling."

"I imagine quidditch players are also rather flexible," Maggie's eyebrows rose, her comment accompanied by Rory choking on his drink and feeling warm butterbeer slip out of his nose. "Ooh, careful now."

"What in God's name do you mean by that?" He seethed quietly under his breath.

"Oh, you do think I'm blind, do you? You know I sit right beside you in study hall, and I see every single victim of your staring, Roland Thomas."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about Oliver Wood, of course."

"Nonsense."

Rory would have liked anything other than to be called out on his multitude of crushes, even if one was so obviously worse than the other. It had seemed nearly preferable to coyly talk about the terrible, horrible novel he'd been force fed. And it was terrible indeed, even if Rory did take the sequel Maggie slid back under the table.