Spring, 1890 — Sixth Year

”Lydie, Lydie,” Willa called, tone turning conspiratorial and yet urgent as she approached and took her friend’s arm. “Lydie, walk with me.” It was early evening in the Gryffindor common room and there were groups of students here and there working on various school projects. Lydie might have been about to do the same, for all Willa knew; she took her NEWT classes more seriously than Willa did, but Willa was quite confident that what she had to discuss was more important than any homework could be. Lydie would agree, once she heard it.

“Where should we go?” She was half asking and half thinking out loud; she had already steered them towards the hallway outside the common room. She wanted privacy, and they certainly wouldn’t find it in the dormitory or the common room. They still had a good deal of time before curfew, but it was perhaps late enough that walking out on the grounds wouldn’t be pleasant any more.

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Tranquility Gambol

  

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Despite having a significantly lighter course load than her previous years, Lydie sometimes felt as though her assignments never ceased. There was always another essay to be done, another spell to learn or potion to brew, always something that required her utmost focus. She had overheard enough arguments last summer to understand how critical it was that she maintained academic scholarships.

She was on her way to the library, a popular spot for her these days, when Willa suddenly appeared beside her. One glance at her friend's conspiratorial expression told Lydie there would be no arguing with her tonight on the importance of their studies. Instead, she smiled at Willa and answered, “perhaps the gardens near the greenhouse? I heard the early roses are beginning to bloom.”

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Willa had dropped Herbology after her OWL, so she didn’t spend much time out at the greenhouses these days, but she was amenable to the suggestion. She could perhaps wish that she’d worn her cloak, in case the evening was too cold, but she’d just have to trust her enthusiasm to carry her through. She chatted idly as they walked through the hallways, dropping little hints about her big news but not getting into any details — not while they might still be within earshot of other students. When they crossed the threshold to the grounds, before they’d reached the gardens Lydie suggested, Willa decided she could contain herself no longer. “Lydie,” she said in a low tone. “I have done something wicked.”

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It was easy to follow along with Willa's chatter, filling in the gaps with her own idle remarks when necessary. Lydie was skeptical of whatever the news her friend had to share (and realized as they made it outside that there was likely a sense of impropriety to it if Willa was being this secretive about it) but made no mention of it. That was, at least, until they were alone in the garden. “Wicked?” She repeated, unsure of whether she ought to be amused or concerned. “What is it?”

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”I have allowed myself to be kissed,” she said very seriously. It was very serious, after all. It was the gate between childhood and womanhood — or something. Willa was, admittedly, not sure that she felt much different, but she was sure that she ought to feel very different, and so was determined to pretend she was. Maybe if she faked it for a while, the adult-ness would set in gradually?

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Kissed.

Kissed?!

Lydie's eyes widened with shock. Willa had been kissed and by whom? She raced through all their conversations about crushes and boys, trying to place what detail she might've missed only to find none. Reaching for Willa's hand, she dragged them over to a bench and asked, “by who?! How did it happen? What did it feel like? Did you like it?” Her questions fired out one after the other, her voice low to ensure no passerby would overhear.

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Lydie’s shock was gratifying; it felt that at least this was a reaction appropriate to the magnitude of the situation, even if the situation itself … hadn’t. She sat down on the bench and placed her hands on her knees primly. Her smile grew wider. “Mr. Joseph Steighton,” she said; he was a seventh year and would leave her world forever within a few months, which made him the ideal candidate. And, of course, his being interested in kissing her. “He offered to review some of my potions essays so we’ve been meeting up in the library some evenings — and then today he offered to walk me back to the common room,” she continued. This part of the story had all been exactly what she wanted; she could still recall how the excitement had been building in her the entire walk, waiting to see what he would do or say next.

“Then he was telling me about his project for Muggle Studies, and of course I knew nothing about it, but he seemed quite animated and he offered to show it to me. So we ducked into the classroom, and he showed me this — I believe he called it a telephone. And he was showing it to me and describing it and then he asked if he might kiss me,” she continued. She paused for effect. “And I said he might.”

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Mr. Steighton wasn't even especially handsome, certainly not handsome enough for Willa to waste something as lovely as her first kiss on. But still, to have been so bold as to kiss him in a classroom - Lydie couldn't have hid the shock on her face if she tried.

“And…?” She pressed, less curious about the details leading up to and more about the kiss itself. “What did it feel like? What did you do with your hands? Was his face scratchy? How long did it last?” These were, in fact, all details of romance Lydie often found herself wondering about.

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Concrete questions were easier to answer than describing the experience as a whole, she found, though she did worry that Lydie was approaching this too analytically and might miss how Important and Romantic it was (or at least, how Important and Romantic Willa had determined it ought to be).

“I held my hands together like this,” she said, taking the index finger of her right hand between the fingers of her left and laying them against her lap. “His face wasn't scratchy, or at least his lips weren't. He has those few whiskers just starting, you remember, but they're soft — like the hair on our arms. It was… warm and — not so wet as the books make it sound. And I don't know exactly how long it lasted, but I suppose just the right amount of time,” she decided. She certainly had not been eager for it to last any longer; she had wanted immediately to leave to go dissect the experience with Lydie, though she had at least managed to continue the conversation for a few minutes before offering a graceful goodbye.

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Lydie couldn't quite imagine the boy's whiskers being anything but prickly, though she had no evidence otherwise to contradict Willa. She certainly wouldn't even dare to contradict her friend at a moment like this, when Willa had been kissed! (It stung a bit that she hadn't been alerted to either her friend's crush or her plan to be kissed - for why else would Willa tolerate the musings of muggle studies of all things - but that was neither here nor there at present.) Reaching for Willa's hand, Lydie grasped it in own and grinned. “Do you mean to do it again?” She asked conspiratorially.

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“I haven't decided yet,” she responded, which was the truth — though she affected a tone as though she had not given the matter much consideration yet, which was not.

She had been more interested in the idea of being kissed than in Mr. Steighton specifically; she certainly had no desire to marry him, nor would be be suitable for such. So perhaps it was better to not? On the other hand, if she wanted him to kiss her again there was a very narrow window of time — between now and summer break — where in Willa's estimation there was no consequence for doing so. Perhaps she ought to seize the opportunity while it existed?

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Perhaps that was yet another difference between them, for Lydie couldn't imagine liking someone enough to be intimate with them and not immediately planning to do so again. The kiss would consume her every thought, her fantasies would run wild with stories of eloping and true love. There would be no practicality in it for her, nor would she be able to practice restraint in how far the intimacy went.

It was better that Willa was the one to be kissed. She had always been the braver and wiser of them.

She released one of Willa's hands to lean over and pluck one of the early blooms from the rose bush. “Maybe he'll start showering you with gifts as a sign of his affection. Or little notes, a flower here and there.” To this, Lydie offered Willa the mostly closed pink rose.

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Willa giggled at Lydie’s rose. She was not sure whether anything would come of it, but she supposed she wouldn’t be particularly opposed to being showered in little gifts. If they were nice things — if he intended to send her letters in class or anything, it would be better if she could first ensure they were not embarrassing.

“Hopefully not any bad love poetry,” she said, taking the rose and holding it to her nose. It wasn’t especially fragrant at this time of year, but the hint of what it would become was there. Like her, maybe — just starting to show the first hints of what was coming next. “Though I suppose it would be quite flattering to think he spent so much time thinking about me. But now, Lydie, we must talk about you,” she continued. “Who shall kiss you?”

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Any bad love poetry had to be better than none, not that she expected Willa to be as accepting of mediocre affections. But still, Lydie would've been pleased just to know anyone thought of her that way. Perhaps then her future on the marriage mart wouldn't feel so daunting.

Despite the fantasies Lydie had dreamt up over the last year, she groaned inwardly at the shift in conversation. Lydie had too much to lose to risk kissing boys in school, there was too much pressure on her maintaining a pristine reputation. “I wouldn't know where to start,” she laughed. “I'm still too caught up in the mechanics of it all to consider trying.”

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"Oh, nevermind about that," Willa said dismissively. She was now the expert, at least among the two of them, and wore her authority in the subject like a fine fur coat. "When it happens they do half the work, at least. I'm not actually sure you need to do anything; I think they'd do it all if you froze up. But Lydie," she said, tone severe (though she was obviously still joking beneath it). "You cannot let me be wicked alone. We must find someone to kiss you."

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Willa was so sure, so determined, that Lydie's doubts were eased slightly for the moment. She was sure when the time came - if the time ever came - those doubts would rear up like a frightened stallion, bucking and squealing from the terror. However, for the moment, Lydie would try to allow Willa's steadfast will to guide her.

"You could never be wicked." Lydie insisted. Not even kissing a boy could color Willa wrong in her eyes. "But, do you think it's that simple? Finding a boy to kiss me?"

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