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TWENTY SEVEN.
IT WAS the day that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were to leave Hogwarts for good, and Arabella awoke abnormally early. So, at exactly six o'clock in the morning, she promptly decided to sneak into the Prefect's bathroom to clear her head with a warm bath.
She tiptoed from her dormitory bed, wincing when Deanna yawned and opened her eyes. "Where are you going?" The brunette asked, brows furrowed, as Bella grabbed a towel from her trunk and hastily placed her cold feet into her embarrassingly fluffy slippers.
"To have a bath," she replied, looking over at Erin who still lay sleeping soundly. She glanced towards the bed beside her – once occupied by Zoe – and her whole body shivered. "But don't tell Erin where I've gone, just in case she tells Anthony Goldstein. Her lover is a bloody Prefect, remember."
"I thought you two were on good terms now." Deanna pondered, rubbing her tired eyes.
"We are," Bella opened the dormitory door, stopping in the doorway. "As friendly as we may be with each other, I'll never completely trust her." She released the handle, and the door closed quietly behind her.
The redhead was conscious of her pattering feet and the light emerging from her wand, as she tiptoed down the spiralling staircases. The paintings on the stone walls groaned in discomfort when her illuminated wand shone onto them, particularly the portrait of Sir Cadogan of whom profusely threatened to fight the Ravenclaw. She laughed at the knight, smiling apologetically. "Sorry for waking you, Sir."
She approached the Prefect's bathroom, knocking on the door and waiting a moment. When there was nothing but silence, she sighed with relief and entered the room, immediately running the taps until the bath was full and the water was steaming.
Bella undressed and stepped into the bath, sinking amongst a cloud of bubbles and a cloud in her mind. She sat there, eyes closed, alone with her thoughts. A single thought replayed in her brain like it was permanently stuck to her conscience.
It was consuming her; the night that her and Viktor came to that exact bathroom. Consuming her like the bubbles that wrapped around her bare body. She thought of that, too – when they kissed passionately, when his hands roamed her body – and she suddenly found herself imagining that night all over again. And she wouldn't have the chance do it again. She wouldn't even be able to see him or feel him face to face, never, because he would be thousands of miles away from her.
And Bella decided that if she couldn't talk to Viktor in the flesh, then she couldn't talk to him at all.
