In January 1979, Deirdre Clarke embarks on her last Hogsmeade trip. She goes with thoughts of backstabbing friends and doomed infatuations; after an unexpected attack and an overheard exchange, she leaves with fresh perspective and purpose.
A Jily Outsider POV. Thank you to @aidanchaser for beta reading! 💙
Trudging through the wet and muddy streets of Hogsmeade in her wide-brimmed hat and blue-and-bronze scarf, Deirdre Clarke can’t help but stare miserably in the direction of Madame Puddifoot’s, where she knows very well that Barry Brown is on a date with Persephone Vane.
Deirdre has never quite dreaded a Hogsmeade trip this much before. While her fellow Ravenclaws were usually content to hole up in the Common Room or the dim library, studying for N.E.W.T.s that were months away, Deirdre was always the one excited to get out of the castle. This year, however, the Ravenclaw seventh-years, who had always been a tight-knit group, seemed to have fractured, and it was only due to her friend Eloise’s insistent nagging that Deirdre was willing to venture out of bed today.
“Let’s go to Scrivenshaft’s, Dee, they released a new quill set last month,” says Eloise, tugging her along by the elbow. “And the weather is foul, Christ.”
“I doubt Scrivenshaft’s will bring me any joy,” replies Deirdre morosely, tucking a brown curl behind her ear. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel joy again.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Eloise sighs. “There are worse things to happen than Barry Brown going on a date.”
She tugs Deirdre along until they arrive at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks, which is predictably packed with Hogsmeade students.
“Since you’re so averse to Scrivenshaft’s, let’s get a drink.”
A drink wouldn’t be too bad. Deirdre could drown away her sorrows in firewhisky. It sounds romantic, at least, even though she knows the hangover will be killer and McGonagall's announced a Transfiguration practical first thing tomorrow...
“I could go for a drink,” she says, mentally patting herself on the back for her rebellion. What’s youth without a few ill-advised alcoholic drinks, anyway?
They shoulder their way into the noisy pub. The bartenders, Rosmerta and Marian, weave through the gaggles of Hogwarts students and Hogsmeade residents, balancing trays of mulled mead and gillywater. A table of young adults whispers in hushed tones to each other; recent Hogwarts graduates, maybe.
Deirdre spots a few of her Prefect friends crowded over their glasses of butterbeer. They call out to her, but she waves them away with a strained smile. She knows what they’ll be discussing, and it’s exactly what she’s been avoiding all day.
The Head Boy on a date with the Head Girl. How very classic. Longbottom and Fawley, Potter and Evans, now Brown and Vane. Anyone could have predicted it. Anyone but Deirdre, clearly, who’s really far too idiotic to be a Ravenclaw or a Prefect. God. Why did Flitwick pick Deirdre to be the new Ravenclaw Prefect, anyway? It was hardly an honour to be second-best to Persephone Vane.
