1st September, 1888 — Fourth Year Dormitory
Holliday Fudge

Trixie had scarcely taken a step into the dormitory before her eyes alighted on her new prize. Dolores was helpfully trailing behind her, walking slow enough to hinder the other girls on the staircase as Trixie had told her to do, and giving her plenty of time to pull out her wand and quickly and carefully levitate the trunk in front of her old bed which was perfectly serviceable but did not have the wide window next to it or indeed the capacity to make a point as the one she dropped her trunk in front of did.

It was hers now and pocketing her wand with satisfaction she sauntered across the room as other voices joined her in the room and sat down on Miss Urquart’s old bed, bouncing gently, a sly, satisfied smile on her face.

“Well this is much more like it.”

  

It was with some trepidation that she made her way to the Ravenclaw tower after dinner. Eager though she was to be back at school, the fact that her best friend had not—could not—join her had somewhat dampened her spirits. And now there seemed to be some sort of traffic jam in the dormitory stairs. Joy.

When finally she was able to snake her way into her dormitory, Holliday felt immediately as though something were wrong.

And then she saw it.

Where Topaz’s bed ought to remain empty, a sad reminder of the classmate that they had lost stabbing her in the heart every time she looked at it, it was now occupied, which was somehow immensely worse. The brunette’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Miss Borgin, who was, in essence, desecrating Topaz’s memory.

“Miss Borgan,” she remarked sternly as she gestured to another four-poster, “I do believe your bed is over there, isn’t it?”

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If there had ever been any possibility of Trixie abandoning her new prize then it evaporated the moment she heard Miss Fudge’s unhappy voice deigning to tell her what to do. She dug her fingers into the thick pile of the covers and raised her chin defiantly:

“Not anymore it isn’t,” she replied with a saccharine sweet smile. “I think I much prefer this one.”

  

The Ravenclaw’s frown deepened as her last-ditch effort to give Miss Borgin the benefit of the doubt proved altogether fruitless. She had never much taken to the other girl, finding her to be far too haughty, but this was simply the icing upon the vile cake that was Beatrix Borgin.

“Yes, but if we always got what we preferred, we should leave Hogwarts as very selfish young ladies, don’t you think?” Holliday’s false cheerfulness did not meet her eyes, which were presently shooting daggers. She wished that it were literal.

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“Which is much better than leaving it because you might spread fleas,” she quipped back with a cruel twist of her lips, running a hand possessively over the pile of the heavy blankets. “It’s not like she’ll be needing it.”

There were other girls in the room now, milling around, clearly not knowing how they ought to be responding but Trixie welcomed their presence. Miss Fudge would have to remove her from the bed either by magic or force and would end up in the headmaster’s office for attacking another student in the name of a disgraced former pupil. Pushing herself backwards Trixie kept the other girl’s gaze as she settled against the pillows with a smug smile.

  

Beatrix Borgin and Holliday had never been friends, but the fourth year had never truly disliked the other girl until this moment. But what could be done? Begrudgingly, she had to admit that it was correct Topaz would not be coming back to claim it, and logically, Holliday could not expect the other girls to hold the same reverence for the space as she did. That said, they were now as though animals marking territory: Miss Borgin had challenged her, and it would cost a great deal to simply back down.

She should take the higher ground, be the better person that she clearly was inside. For the moment, she held her tongue, though the glare she delivered the other girl might have melted even fire itself. The fourth year was also painfully aware that they were not alone. Why was no one else chiming in?

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The irony of her desire to become the leader of the pack was entirely lost on Trixie as she watched the other fourth year girls quietly sit on beds and mutter to each other, clearly waiting to see what would happen next. Miss Fudge was quiet and that, she thought, was good. It was a sign on weakness, proof that she had nothing to retaliate with and, without her once illustrious friend Miss Fudge was going to have to mind her tongue.

The smirk on her lips was in danger of becoming permanently etched on Trixie’s face as her eyes lit up in triumph. Even if she’d wanted to little-miss-high-and-mighty couldn’t do anything without getting herself into trouble, and she clearly wanted to!

“Well that’s settled then. This is my bed now and if I find any stray hairs I’ll pass them over so you have something to remember her by.”

  

The brunette took a deep, slow breath, breathing in fortification against Miss Borgin’s taunts and exhaling her anger—or trying to, at any rate. Miss Borgin must truly have struggles in her life to have become so nasty, the sensible part of her reasoned, and at the end of the day, did this truly matter?

“I hope it’s cursed,” she muttered, unable to fully commit to the high road.

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   Beatrix Burke

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Thrilled to have won, at least as far as she was concerned, Trixie smiled back prettily, utterly unfazed by curses. She had spent her entire life around them and was in no doubt she understood them better than Miss Fudge ever could or would. The girl had lived in a world where everything went her way for far too long as far as Trix was concerned.

“If I wake up with a snout you’ll be the first one I’d visit,” she muttered back, smile never leaving her face.