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Saturday in early October, Echo was leaning against the tomb of the dearly departed Headmaster Dumbledore–ever since Chadwick Knapp had sliced her hair off in second year, the White Tomb had been Echo’s place to hide out for a couple hours when she needed a break. This year, it was quickly becoming her place to go just…be.

Late afternoon on Saturday was usually Art club. Which meant Milan and Yari would be safely at Art club, working on their creative projects and drowning their grief in their work. They didn’t need her. Echo had been about to drop art after her scandalous E in the class, and it had only been because Milan hadn’t wanted to take Art alone that had convinced her to stick it out for another two years. (Not that she didn’t enjoy and excel at the Art History aspects of the class and things…she just…had wanted all Os more. Well, screw that.)

Spread out around her were a variety of study materials. Her sketchbook was laying open to a doodle she’d done of Hermione Granger–recognizable only by the bushy hair and the note at the bottom labelling it “Hermine Granger, Outfit 03 for Werewolf Protection Act Debates”. The rich voice of Morgan Freeman was reading a chapter from Modern Magical Law: Concepts, Cases, and Controversies while Echo herself looked through Wizard Law: Opinion and Interpretation, marking it up with details from the case in the other chapter.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

Echo snapped her books shut and head up on instinct when a voice announced themselves. An excuse sprung to her lips: ”It’s for the Dragon–”

That was useless, Syd was an artist for the Daily Dragon and he certainly knew from yesterday’s meeting that there was no wizarding law article or piece planned this or next issue– at least not related to the Werewolf Protection Acts.

For a moment, Echo narrowed her eyes at Syd, as though trying to extract his brains out and analyse it for trustworthiness. Echo Angharad Wellbelove did not “work hard” like a plebian. She was gorgeous and fashionable and spent her time doing fashionable, exciting work: modelling her quadruplets’ works, reading the latest rags, playing seeker for Slytherin Quidditch, and organising the Daily Dragon. Her work was simply always done just like she simply knew things. Echo certainly didn’t need to study like an average, desperate student for her grades or knowledge or anything like that.

What a stupid front. Especially in front of someone who knew she was the one copy-editing every article of the Dragon. ”Whatever,” Echo replied, not quite answering the question. ”Did Yari or Milan send for me? Has something happened?” She amended her worried words in case it wasn’t quite so serious. ”Some Art Club thing I can help with? Or did you just follow me here to amuse yourself?”

Echo sighed, leaning back against the tomb as she confessed her dirty little secret: “Yes, yes, I study. It’s for Wizard Law. Our textbook from fourth year had an excellent legislative case analysis and I was cross-referencing the material for our analysis this year. Ridiculous covering it again, really.” Ridiculous, she said, but Echo seemed brighter for a moment there– she knew what she was doing in class at least. Class made more sense than figuring out her emotions or frustrations or figuring out Yari and Milan. That light soon blinked out as she questioned why he was there.

Was Syd..concerned about her? Echo sniffed a little, expressing apparent disgust at his concern. He sat down, arm reaching out as though to touch her shoulder. Echo froze. No one touched her. Who would dare? The Wellbeloves were quite honestly, untouchable if not invited. Beyond her quadruplets, the only person Echo would have tolerated such overtures of affection with….was Landon.

She still had to run into Landon sometimes and see his handsome face in the common room. Her traitorous heart still–almost two years after his rejection– still skipped when she saw him. Some part of her–a large part– missed their walks in the garden and how fluttery she felt near him. But she was a Wellbelove and it was beneath her to continue to associate with someone who clearly only ever intended to use her.

Yari had a whole gaggle of models or mentees or assistants that she reached out to, but she was ever the exception. Harlynn was beyond reproach, and Angier only dared call Harlynn a b***h because he was an ill-mannered mongrel protected by his friendship with Milan. Milan himself only had one friend outside of their family in the form of Angier–so of course when later Yari chose to attach herself at the lips to him. Perhaps if Milan and Angier hadn’t been friends, this wouldn’t have hurt them so much. People were terrible. Whatever they did, they just hurt you.

Syd’s voice brought her out of her increasingly frustrated reminiscing. Oh. He had just been stretching and scratching the back of his neck. She sniffed again, shifting so Syd could lean against the flat part of the tomb side as well, instead of the awkward corner. ”Of course I’m fine, darling. What kind of question is that? I’m always fine.”

Echo flipped her hair back as she asked, as though the differences this year— studying outside of her dormitory, letting her distinctive haircut grow out, skipping class and most currently, club, without a blink of an eye were trivialities. Perhaps for anyone else they would, but for Echo they were so peculiarly out of character she herself would have laughed at the suggestion a year ago. ”I simply figured if anyone in the Art club needed my expertise, Yari or Milan would know where to find me. They’re busy enough with their projects that I’ve nothing to worry about. And the less time I have to spend with Olson the better.”

Echo wasn’t sure why she was wasting her breath explaining this to Syd. Maybe she’d blame her talkativeness on him intruding in her private hideout here at the White Tomb. Maybe she simply didn’t consider him a threat even if he had all these explanations. Maybe, despite her distrust of people outside of her quadruplets, Echo was desperate for a connection she wasn’t related to or shared a dormitory with.

Absolutely not. She had no need for anything she did not have. Her voice regained its supercilious facade, words laced with barely concealed venom. ”If you have your answer, you can run along now. Unless you do have some question to consult on?”