You're better off with friends, y'know?

The grass was dewy and slippery underfoot; no help to soles without grips. Yet such a slick surface did not hinder the sprightly limbs of those who held an enviable youth in their bones. The wind whipped in delight of them as they scrambled down the hillside, thundering as fast as their feet could carry them towards the Whomping Willow; the eternal tree that thrashed and writhed through the air as though it were still a young sprout that rarely tired.

There was a chill about despite the humidity of a week that had brought untold sunshine and promised a further seven days of torrential rains and blustering storms. The whistling, winding breezes that lapped from the surface of the water set about goose bumps on her forearms. The adrenaline in her veins and the tight grip she held on his hand kept her warm and her laughter left her weightless, believing her body incapable of bending to the will and reality of fatigue.

Upon grounding herself to slide into the tunnel that separated root from the earth, a great slick of mud, grass and spring weeds coloured buttercup and cream struck out at her thighs, colouring the porcelain in the tones of nature. Landing in the dusty, root exposed corridor gave her a moment to brush herself down and tear the muck from her legs. A cleansing spell aided her further and once her wand had been pocketed once more and the sleeves of her plaid jacket rolled down she took a moment to brush her hands against the walls, feeling the thrumming heat of the ground and the vibrations of the tree above that fought with all that dared near it.

The walk was brisk; the wind unforgiving as it plunged into the cavern, making her shiver and wonder whose idea it was to go on such an adventure. Oh, hers. Certainly, she was beginning to regret the shorts. Yet the pair persevered on and paused to capture their easy breaths once more when they emerged into the groaning, aching structure that was the Shrieking Shack.

Any furniture that had been left behind had long since been covered by great sheets that, had they been cut up, would have made for excellent ghostly costumes; though granted they perhaps only would’ve scared Muggles.

Reaching out, Cordella fingered the coarse material that rubbed roughly against her soft fingers. In a fluid movement she pulled the sheet from the object and took a step back to take in the spectacular piece that was the grand piano; something which was indeed dilapidated, to match the rest of the building, but still enough to make her wonder why such a thing had not been stolen.

Portraits also still clung to the walls, obscured from view, where ones once were mounted, that had been torn down by thieving hands, their shielding abilities were seen stark against the aged wood, the pale rectangles in far better condition.

Covering the piano once more, Cordella stepped away moved carefully through the building, careful not to stray too near cracked walls or splintered bits of wood panelling.

The chills were absent out beneath the open skies and within the glow of Hogsmeade. With a slight smile, Cordella looked over at Padril. She took a moment to observe him in the moonlight that dipped down over the village and found that she was glad to have him as a friend. Certainly, Gisele wouldn’t have followed her on such a wild goose chase.

“Where to, cap’n?” Cordella inquired good-naturedly, the first words she had spoken to him since they’d stormed down the embankment towards the tree that had not gone without leaving its marks; though had thankfully missed their faces, it seemed.

Padril tumbled along after Cordella, breathless as the girl pulled him along, laughing. The Slytherin seemed to find her steps easily on the dewy grass, but Padril struggled to keep his footing. Something about Della's attitude was infectious though, and the air of broken rules and adventure filled his lungs. Moving with adrenaline, raced behind the girl, and slid down into the tunnel inelegantly. He began to regret his choice of clothes. The black polo jumper with a dark blue collared shirt had seemed like a solid choice, its colour allowing him to hide in shadows if they needed to escape from the Caretaker or any wandering Professors. But the expensive material dirtied, and he had to move carefully to avoiding tearing it. At least his jeans were holding up okay.

He gasped when they entered the Shrieking Shack. He had actually never been in the building before, despite Della's urgings, and wandered through the dilapidated building. He was examining a worn photograph when Della led the way out of the Shack, and he he obediently followed his friend. The village looked pretty in the moonlight. This whole journey would've been worth it just to explore the Shack and see this sight, but the night was young yet. He turned to look at the Slytherin, not for the first time wondering about what an unlikely pair they were.

If he had sat in another carriage on that first train to Hogwarts, they probably wouldn't have met properly for years. He would've found her too loud, too energetic for his sensibilities. But there they had sat, quickly becoming friends and remaining so despite being sorted in different Houses. He enjoyed her adventurous nature, her bravery. He wasn't sure what exactly she liked about him, but it must been something because, well, here they stood. When she asked her question, he looked bewilderedly at her.

"It was your idea. Did you have a plan? I don't really know any place in the village that would be open this late," he told her, waving at the village as he spoke to emphasise his point. Well, the Hog's Head was probably open, but he doubted he could get in. He looked quite young.

It most certainly was not unusual to find the young Della Quinn wandering about the grounds at night. The Slytherin had never found sleeping alone palatable; something which had always set her apart from her family members who abhorred other people sharing bedclothes and mattress space; her parents in fact had separate beds. As a child she’d found she could slip into her brother’s bed relatively unnoticed and she’d sleep there, comforted by the fact that someone was nearby, without issue or complaint. It was something they’d both gotten used to and it was a difficult transition to have to make for a girl used to another person’s presence; another person’s heat.

As a result she would often lie awake and more often than not she would tear from her bed and walk the corridors, better acquainting herself with the castle. Then, when she felt as though there was nothing left to see, she began to venture out into the grounds. Of course rarely a night would go by without her running into a Prefect or a Professor on rounds but after the Christmas holidays of her first year she was sure she had cracked the pattern of their rounds; and sure enough she was right. The rules changed with the coming and going of staff but the core stayed the same and, armed with this information, Della was able to sneak out under the noses of anyone and everyone in a position of authority; such information had insured that she and Padril had escaped without a hitch.

But once she had arrived with Padril, Dell was honestly at a loss of what it was they could do.

The girl made a show of checking her watch. She dropped her arm afterwards but soon brought her wrist back up to her face to check again. Then she dropped her arm, brought it back, checked the time ...

“I don’t know!” Della complained miserably, pulling the watch from her wrist and stuffing it into the breast pocket of her shirt. She grumbled a little bit under her breath but said no more, finding the light of the Hog’s Head much more interesting, suddenly.

Her father would take her there if he was in Hogsmeade, visiting. They’d have lunch which usually consisted of strange, gloopy meat pie and he’d take her to the sweet shop before making a final trip to the bookshop to pick up his order. He’d pay in coin rather than parchment from Gringott’s; the books that way a better kept secret from his wife. Part of Della wanted to tread that same path. Yet, as well as that she wanted to do something else; something she never would have done. But what?

Della’s hand found the pocket of her shirt again and she tugged a half-empty packet of cigarettes from inside. She turned the box over in her hand and pushed up the lid with clumsy fingers that scraped on the cellophane still clinging to the body of the box. She took one from the packet and replaced it back in the pocket of her shirt before bringing the cigarette to her lips. She hummed an absent-minded tune as she patted at her pockets in search of a lighter and paused to light the cigarette once she’d found the lighter before putting it away and resuming her little song.

“Honeyduke’s is closed,” She mentioned airily, after a while. “I don’t doubt if we jimmied that window we could get inside.”

Padril clicked his tongue, placing his hands in his pants pockets as he surveyed the village. They had drugs and drinks, he knew, but they were a sacred supply. They couldn't simply start the evening off using their precious, and hard-fought for illicit substances. They would need to make their own fun, then they could relax. But what to do? The village was completely silent except for the Hog's Head, only the owner knew by now Padril definitely wasn't seventeen.Besides, that was boring. Unimaginative. Della had probably thought of it and dismissed it already anyway, so it definitely didn't have her approval. They needed something new, that would make a good story.

Padril raised a hand out of his pocket and clicked it, his face lighting up. "You remember that terrible clothes store? Griffon's Robes for Boys, Girls, and Children At Heart?" he asked Della, perpetually annoyed at the stupid store name. "The building's pretty dreadful, and that Griffon fellow didn't look too bright, or too wealthy. He probably couldn't, and can't afford, good security spells. I bet there's a way for us to slip into there." He looked down at the village, getting his bearings. Griffon's Robes was toward the end of the village, on the side away from Hogwarts. The Hufflepuff grabbed Della's hand and raced towards the building, trying to stick to the shadows. They darted from building to building until they stood behind the clothes store itself.

Griffon's Robes had been painted in a god-awful array of rainbow colours, but they had since faded. It had been a regular village building, but the years of incompetence had really worn down at the poor thing. There were cracks on the window, bits of wood paneling looked like they were coming off, and there were a number of fallen, smashed roof tiles lying forgotten in the back. To make matters worse, there was a padlock on the backdoor. A padlock. Jesus, this guy was desperate. Padril tilted his head as he realised Griffon was probably just a squib, and a very sad and incompetent one at that. Making fun of him suddenly seemed a lot less funny. But Padril was still resolved to break into the store; they just wouldn't steal or wreck anything, it'd be like they were never there. He looked at Della for directions, unused to leading one of their outings for such a long period.