Artemis had been eager to share the news of her extra credit projects with Rosaline and Eliza, expecting their usual enthusiasm. The three of them had always supported each other, after all. But when she brought it up in their dorm one evening, she immediately noticed the shift in Rosaline's expression. Her bright blue eyes darkened, and a stiff smile appeared on her lips.
"That's… impressive," Rosaline said, her voice laced with something Artemis couldn't quite place. "You're already getting special projects? In the first year?"
Eliza, perched on the nearby Bed, glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension. "Well, it's not surprising, is it? Artemis always did pick things up quickly."
Artemis hesitated, unsure how to respond to the strange air between them. "It's nothing too complicated. Just some extra charms research with Professor Flitwick and a potions experiment under Slughorn. I was thinking… I'd wait to start the Herbology one so we could do it together." She directed this last part at Rosaline, hoping it would smooth things over.
Instead of relief, Rosaline's face remained unreadable. "Oh, you don't have to wait for me," she said lightly, too lightly. "You're already ahead of the rest of us. Wouldn't want to slow you down."
"Rose—"
"I just remembered, I have an essay to finish," Rosaline cut her off abruptly, pushing herself up from her Bed. "See you later."
Artemis watched as Rosaline disappeared down the dormitory stairs, a strange sinking feeling settling in her stomach.
Eliza sighed, running a hand through her curls. "She'll come around," she murmured, but her voice lacked confidence.
Over the next few weeks, Rosaline gradually distanced herself. She wasn't outright cruel, nor did she ignore Artemis completely, but something had changed. The playful teasing, the late-night study sessions, even the way they sat together at meals—it all became more strained. And poor Eliza was caught in the middle, torn between her sister and her oldest friend.
Despite the rift, Artemis did not allow herself to stagnate. She threw herself into her studies with renewed focus, making great strides in both Charms and Potions. Under Flitwick's guidance, she delved into the complexities of floating objects and even managed to modify a basic Levitation Charm to make objects hover for extended periods. Slughorn, for his part, praised her patience in Experimental potion-making, something rare in a first-year.
But the more she succeeded, the more Rosaline seemed to withdraw.
In the meantime, Artemis found herself drawing new people into her orbit. Iris Lawrence, who had once attempted to befriend her at the start of the year, now seemed pleasantly surprised when Artemis started including her in conversations. Then there was Sol Moonfall, an easygoing boy with a mischievous streak, Vivian Delacroix, a quiet but incredibly sharp girl from a well-known French magical family, and Magnus Kane, a towering boy with an unexpected passion for magical theory.
With so many bright minds surrounding her, Artemis's natural inclination to teach took hold. Soon enough, a small study group formed, meeting in the library every alternate evening to discuss homework, practice spells, and, more often than not, get distracted by pre-teen gossip and chatter.
The professors were delighted by the development, particularly Flitwick and Sprout, who had noticed how well Artemis balanced her own academic ambitions with assisting her classmates. Even Madam Pince, usually strict about noise levels in the library, seemed to tolerate their little gathering as long as they kept their voices down and after the third group session, Assigned them a dedicated student study room, generally reserved for Upper Years.
Meanwhile, Eliza, caught between her twin and Artemis, found herself seeking solace in unexpected places. The tension between her sister and her best friend was an unspoken thing, lingering in the air like an oncoming storm. She hated it—hated the way Rosaline's smiles had become brittle, how Artemis acted as if she didn't care when, deep down, Eliza knew she did. So rather than choosing a side, she drifted.
She found a kind of escape in the company of a group of Quidditch-loving boys in their year, who welcomed her with open arms and easy laughter. They spent afternoons sneaking onto the castle grounds, commandeering school brooms for impromptu pickup games, dodging Bludgers enchanted to move just fast enough to be thrilling but not dangerous. The rush of the wind against her face, the freedom of soaring through the air—it was exhilarating, and, most importantly, it was uncomplicated.
But the problem never truly left her mind. She never took a side in the silent war between Artemis and Rosaline, but she also never did anything to fix it. She didn't know how. She felt as though she was standing in the middle of a frozen lake, cracks forming beneath her feet, and any wrong step would send her plunging into icy waters.
In her frustration, she turned to the only people she knew would understand—her mother and Aunt Aurelia. Her letter was a tangled mess of emotions, frustration, and uncertainty. Was she supposed to step in? Was it her responsibility to fix this? Would she end up losing one of them, or worse, both?
Her mother's response came swiftly, her words soothing yet firm. "Not all things are yours to mend, my love. Friendships, even those as deep as yours, have their moments of strain. Do not wear yourself thin trying to be the bridge between them. You are your own person—focus on yourself, your own joys. Maintain your bonds, but do not let them consume you."
Aunt Aurelia's reply was predictably blunt. "Sisters fight. Friends fight. What matters is whether they find their way back to each other."
Eliza read the letters over and over, feeling their weight settle in her heart. Perhaps it was alright to focus on herself for now. Perhaps, in time, Artemis and Rosaline would find their way back to each other.
And Rosaline?
She suffered in silence.
She kept her distance, forcing herself to act indifferent even as a storm raged inside her. Guilt, pride, envy—it all warred within her. She hated that Artemis had so easily found her place, hated that she could walk into a room and command attention with nothing more than quiet brilliance. She hated that she felt this way, because it wasn't fair to Artemis. But most of all, she hated feeling left behind.
Then came the letter from her mother.
Rosaline read it slowly, letting every word sink in.
"Artemis has always been brilliant," her mother wrote. "But she is your friend, not your competition. She has been throwing herself into her studies ever since her parents passed, my love. Most likely to impress her great-aunt, or perhaps because books feel safer than people right now. But you are not losing her. If you want to be part of her world, then step into it. She wanted to do that Herbology project with you—start there. You will find your own passions soon enough. And while you do, do not push away your sister or your oldest friend. You do not have to walk alone. Do you remember the summer you and Artemis built that terrible tree fort? It leaned so badly I was sure it would collapse — but the two of you spent every afternoon up there, reading and talking. You never cared how crooked it was, because you were together."
Rosaline sat in the common room that evening, the letter resting in her lap, her fingers tracing the edges absentmindedly.
She missed them. She missed laughing with Eliza over inside jokes no one else understood. She missed Artemis' wry humor and the way she could make even the most complex spells seem simple.
For the first time in weeks, Rosaline admitted the truth to herself.
She wanted her friends back.
Now, all that remained was whether she could swallow her pride long enough to take the first step. But it took something drastic for her to finally apologize. An Accident involving her Younger twin.
The accident happened on a brisk November afternoon, the kind where the wind cut through cloaks and left noses pink with cold. The secret Quidditch game had started like any other—thrilling, reckless, and entirely unsanctioned. A group of first-year boys, eager to prove themselves, had convinced Eliza again to join them for a few rounds. They had no Positions, no real rules, just the pure exhilaration of flying and escaping from bludgers.
And then the Bludger had gone wild.
No one knew exactly what had happened—perhaps it had been enchanted poorly, or maybe someone had hit it too hard—but one moment, Eliza was laughing as she twisted through the air, and the next, the Bludger was careening toward her at full speed. She barely had time to register the impact before it slammed into her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.
She fell.
One of the older boys managed to slow her descent with a hasty Arresto Momentum, but it wasn't enough to keep her from hitting the ground hard, pain exploding through her side.
By the time Artemis and Rosaline heard the news, she had already been rushed to the Hospital Wing.
The moment Artemis stepped through the infirmary doors, a sharp scent of antiseptic potions and fresh linens filled her nose. Beds lined the long hall, bathed in the pale glow of enchanted lanterns. The usually unflappable Madam Pomfrey was bustling around, muttering about "reckless children and their ridiculous flying stunts."
Eliza lay propped up on one of the beds, wincing as she shifted under the thick hospital blankets. Her face was paler than usual, a faint bruise blossoming along her cheekbone. Two of the boys from the match—Freddie Maximus and Hugh Daniels—were sitting at the foot of her bed, looking absolutely miserable.
The moment Artemis saw her, something inside her snapped.
"Are you insane?" she hissed, storming toward them. Rosaline was only a step behind, her face thunderous.
Freddie and Hugh scrambled to their feet, guilt written all over their faces.
"We—we didn't think it would be that bad—" Hugh started.
Artemis rounded on them. "Not that bad? You're lucky she's not dead! What part of unauthorized Quidditch with an actual Bludger seemed like a good idea?"
Rosaline crossed her arms. "You're both bloody idiots," she said flatly.
"We know," Freddie mumbled, looking at the floor. "We just… we wanted to have fun. We weren't trying to—"
"Fun?" Artemis scoffed. "Fun is playing Exploding Snap in the common room. Not nearly getting yourselves killed!"
Freddie and Hugh shrank under her glare.
Rosaline crossed her arms. "You're lucky to be standing here at all."
"We didn't mean—" Hugh started, but Artemis cut him off. "It doesn't matter. Eliza's the one paying for it."
At that moment, the doors banged open again, and Madam Hooch strode in, looking every bit as furious as Artemis felt. The boys paled instantly.
"I hope you weren't planning on leaving just yet," she said, voice sharp as a whip. "Because you, gentlemen, are about to write the most detailed account of why unauthorized Quidditch matches are a terrible idea that I have ever had the displeasure of reading."
Freddie and Hugh winced.
"Detention," she snapped. "For the next month. And if I so much as hear about another unsanctioned game, I will personally ensure you're banned from touching a broom until your OWLs. And you young lady, 20 Points from Ravenclaw and I hope this injury is punishment enough for you"
"Yes, Madam Hooch," they all mumbled, looking thoroughly chastised.
After they slunk off, Eliza let out a small laugh, still wincing slightly. "Well, that was dramatic."
Rosaline turned to her sister, eyes flashing. "Dramatic? Eliza, you fell! You could've—" She stopped herself, voice tight. "You scared me."
Eliza's smile faded, guilt creeping in. "I know. I'm sorry."
Later that evening, after Madam Pomfrey shooed out the last of the visitors and dimmed the lanterns, only Rosaline and Artemis remained at Eliza's bedside.
Rosaline sighed, rubbing her temples. "I hate to admit it, but… this whole mess is probably our fault."
Artemis arched a brow. "How do you figure?"
Rosaline hesitated before saying, "We left her alone. We were so wrapped up in our mess, we didn't notice she'd wandered off." She shook her head. "I thought— I don't know. I thought I was angry at you, but I think I was just…" She exhaled slowly. "I was scared. I felt like I was losing everything. You were making new friends, excelling in class, and I… wasn't."
Artemis leaned back slightly, considering her. "So instead of talking about it, you just pushed me away?"
Rosaline made a face. "I realize that was idiotic now, thank you."
Artemis studied her for a long moment before sighing. "I'm not going to pretend it didn't hurt. It did. But… I understand."
Rosaline looked up, hopeful. "So… you forgive me?"
"Yes," Artemis said easily. Then, with a pointed look, she added, "But I'm setting some boundaries."
Rosaline frowned. "What do you mean?"
Artemis folded her arms. "I'm not losing the friends I've made. I like them. And I like studying magic. I won't apologize for it."
Rosaline bit her lip. "I wasn't asking you to."
"Good," Artemis said. "Because I want you to be part of this, too. I wanted to do that Herbology project with you two, remember?"
Rosaline swallowed, then nodded. "I know. I'd like that."
They sat in silence for a moment before Rosaline chuckled, running a hand through her hair. "Merlin, I was a right idiot, wasn't I?"
"Oh, absolutely," Artemis said with a smirk.
Rosaline snorted. "You could at least pretend to be nice."
"That was me being nice."
They both laughed, the tension finally breaking.
A soft voice cut in. "Does this mean you two are friends again?"
They turned to see Eliza grinning sleepily at them.
Rosaline huffed. "We were always friends. Just… stupid ones."
Eliza beamed, and Artemis felt something settle in her chest—something that had been out of place for far too long.
They were alright now.