seven : TULIPS IN THE TURMOIL

chapter vii : tulips in the turmoil

"tulips?"

THE NEXT MORNING ARRIVED. Valerie Potter, half-asleep, started to roll over, reaching blindly for the bedside table, a familiar routine already forming in her mind: grab her phone, scroll aimlessly through Instagram, try to lose herself in other people's perfect lives. But as she shifted, a sudden, cold dampness startled her. Her eyes snapped open.

Uh oh.

Panic, quick and sharp, cut through the last vestiges of sleep. She scrambled out of bed, a wobbly, half-running dash towards the connected bathroom, her light pink pyjama bottoms feeling uncomfortably heavy.

She barely made it to the toilet, yanking her pants down and collapsing onto the seat with a groan. Ugghhhhh!!

Staring down at the bloom of crimson liquid staining her light pink underwear, Valerie slumped. Just what she needed. A fresh new hell. "This is officially the worst day ever." She muttered to the empty bathroom, a profound sense of self-pity washing over her. Between the entire school probably hating her guts and now this? Seriously, the universe had it in for her.

Every corridor felt like a gauntlet, every shared meal in the Great Hall a public trial.

The closest, the Potters ever come to this suffocating feeling had been during those months in their second year when a large part of the school had suspected Harry of attacking students, and Valerie, bewilderingly sorted into Slytherin, had been eyed as the Heir of the very house.

This, however, felt worse. Far worse. Harry thought he could have coped with the rest of the school's chilling behaviour – the glares, the whispers, the outright hostility – if he could just have had Ron back as a friend.

But Ron kept his distance, his face a thundercloud whenever Harry approached.

Harry wasn't going to try and persuade him to talk if Ron clearly didn't want to.

And through it all, Ron, despite his bitter anger at Harry, remained silent about what he'd witnessed in the corridor.

Valerie felt a surge of paradoxical relief mixed with guilt whenever she thought of it. He was giving Harry the cold shoulder, convinced that both Potters were glory-seeking cheats, but he hadn't breathed a word about her and Draco.

It was a small, fragile tether of decency, a testament to their long friendship, even if it was currently frayed to breaking point.

The knowledge that he was protecting her secret, even while despising her and her brother, was a strange, complicated comfort in the crushing isolation.

Harry and Valerie moved in a haze of sadness, the joyous energy of the school feeling like a cruel mockery of their own misery.

They were the Potter twins, no longer celebrated, but reviled, and the weight of the entire school's hatred felt like a physical burden on their young shoulders.

Later, the thought of facing Professor Snape's Potions class, a crucible of stress even on the best of days, was almost unbearable. It wasn't just the ever-present tension of his presence, but the gnawing, internal discomfort.

A dull ache had started in her lower abdomen, a familiar, unwelcome pang that intensified with every step she took.

By the time she reached the dungeon classroom, the cramps had blossomed into a painful, nauseating throb.

Every sharp movement, every strained breath, seemed to exacerbate the agony.

She just wanted to curl up in bed with a heat pack, eating chocolate or pringles, and disappear, but duty, however unwelcome, called.

As she made her way to her assigned seat in the last row, the stares felt even more acute, her skin prickling with the heat of a hundred accusing eyes.

The combination of physical pain and overwhelming emotional distress made her feel utterly, completely wretched.

The air in the Potions dungeon hung thick and heavy, a familiar blend of strange fumes and Professor Snape's chilling disapproval. For Valerie, today, it felt particularly suffocating. The dull throb in her lower abdomen was a constant, unwelcome companion, a rhythmic reminder of her physical discomfort, while her mind spun with the endless, replaying reel of angry faces and whispered insults.

She barely registered Snape's monotonous drone about the properties of a potion: her textbook lay open, her quill poised, but her thoughts were a frantic, anxious jumble. Every now and then, a faint snigger from across the room, or the prickle of eyes on her back, pulled her back to the crushing reality of her unwanted fame.

She felt a slight shift in her peripheral vision. Pansy Parkinson, seated in the middle row, towards the right corner, deliberately, almost theatrically, flashed a badge pinned to her robes. POTTER STINKS, it screamed in bold, garish letters. Valerie's jaw tightened, a sharp stab of familiar pain piercing through her already fragile composure. The constant, petty cruelty was exhausting.

She tore her gaze away, forcing her eyes down to the parchment on her desk. She needed to escape, if only for a moment. Her hand instinctively reached for her pencil, a familiar comfort.

With deliberate, almost meditative strokes, she began to sketch.

Not notes for the potion, but the delicate, graceful lines of her favorite flower: tulips.

The act of creation, the slow, precise movement of the pencil, was an attempt to carve out a small, private sanctuary in the hostile environment. Each petal, each leaf, was a tiny defiance against the chaos swirling around her.

Beside her on her left, Draco Malfoy, though outwardly composed, was a coiled spring of tension.

He had seen her pale face, the way she tried to make herself small and invisible.

He had seen Pansy's ugly display, and the immediate, wounded reaction that flickered across Valerie's face before she masked it.

His grey eyes lingered on her hand as she began to sketch. A quiet, unfamiliar ache stirred within him—a longing to alleviate her obvious distress, a raw concern that cut through his usual indifference.

After a moment of internal debate, his hand moved.

He scribbled something quick on a piece of parchment, folded it precisely, and, with a subtle movement that belied his nervous energy, nudged it across the desk towards her.

Valerie's head jerked up at the faint rustle.

The sight of the folded paper, a stark white against the dark wood of her desk, broke through the anxious fog in her mind.

Inside, in Draco's precise, elegant script, contained a single word:

Tulips?

A tiny, almost imperceptible spark ignited in her chest, chasing away a sliver of the cold dread.

Something private, something known only to her, acknowledged by him.

It was a quiet recognition that felt disproportionately profound.

She quickly scribbled Yes beneath his question, folded the note, and nudged it back to him.

Their eyes met for a fleeting second as their hands brushed—a brief, silent acknowledgment.

It was their only interaction, a small, fragile bridge built across a chasm of hostility, yet it resonated with an unspoken understanding.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ♡ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

THE CLASS CONTINUED its sluggish pace, Snape's voice a low, grating rumble that usually had a soporific effect. But today, the hum of simmering anxiety in the room was abruptly shattered. The dungeon door creaked open, and a woman dressed in bright, almost offensively lime green swept inside. Her platinum blonde hair was arranged in rigid, unnatural curls that seemed to defy gravity. A magical silver camera floated obediently beside her, its lens swiveling with an unnerving, almost sentient curiosity. She grinned, a predatory, wicked grin that didn't quite reach her eyes, as she took in the students. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she strode directly towards Snape, her voice a theatrical whisper that still managed to carry through the quiet classroom. The camera followed her like a loyal, metallic pet as she explained her presence to the perpetually sour Potions Master.

Snape's response was as cold as ever, cutting through the tense air like an icicle. "Potters! Take your bags and get out of my sight."

Valerie and Harry, seated far across the room from each other, both looked up, utterly confused by the sudden command. "Why?" They asked in unison, their voices echoing the bewildered sentiment of the class.

The blonde woman didn't wait for Snape to elaborate. She beamed, stepping forward, her grin widening. "Rita Skeeter, I write for the Daily Prophet... But of course, everyone knows that." She paused, letting her name hang in the air, clearly expecting awe. "Hurry along, the other champions cannot take a group picture without you two."

The words landed like a fresh shockwave. A group picture? Now? The humiliation of their current standing, the unwanted fame, was about to be plastered across the front page for the entire wizarding world to scrutinise. Valerie felt her stomach clench with renewed dread, the pain of her cramps momentarily forgotten in the face of this fresh, public ordeal.

The twins entered a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody, while Cedric and Fleur were talking to each other. "What a charismatic group." Rita Skeeter cheered, "Lets take a picture of you lot!"

The blonde woman instructed Fleur and Valerie to sit on chairs, while the three boys had to stand behind them. Afterwards, they all smiled at the camera.

"—Wonderful." Rita Skeeter smiled before heading towards the champions, "You're the juicy news.. What quirks lurk beneath those rosy cheeks?" She smacked Fleur's cheek lightly, "What mysteries do the muscles mask?" She made her way to Cedric, "Does courage lie beneath those curls?" Rita rubbed Cedric's hair. "—In short, what makes the champion tick? Me, Myself and I want to know... Not to mention my rabid readers." She laughed, "So who's feeling up to sharing??" She asked but none of the champions answered.

      "Shall we start with the youngest?" Rita Skeeter declared, before her crimson painted nails had gripped Harry's upper arm along with Valerie's, in a surprisingly strong grip. She was steering them out of the room and opening a nearby door. "We don't want to be in there with all that noise," She closed the door, "Let's see... ah, yes,this is nice and cozy."

The twins stared at her, "It's a broom cupboard..."

   "You two should feel right at home then." Rita Skeeter stated, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket and pushing the twins down onto a cardboard box.

When the twins were younger, the Dursley's made them sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. However, at the age of eight, the twins weren't small enough to fit together inside the cupboard anymore. The Dursley's were given no other choice but to give up Dudley's second bedroom over to them.

   "Let's see now.." Rita Skeeter unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a green quill with an orange notepad, "You won't mind, twins, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."

"A what?" The siblings asked.

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. The siblings counted three gold teeth. "Testing... my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter." Harry and Valerie hooked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations -

"Lovely," Rita ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward the twins and asked, "So, Harry and Valerie... what made you two decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Um-" The twins were distracted by the quill, even though they weren't speaking it was dashing across the parchment and in it's wake they could make out a fresh sentence:

An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes —

          "Ignore the quill." said Rita Skeeter firmly, which made the siblings glance up at her. "I'm guessing you, Harry, desired to enter the tournament but your dear sister here, couldn't stand hiding under your shadow again.. Which is why you two entered the tournament together??"

Valerie argues, "That's rubbish!"

"We don't know how our names got into the Goblet of Fire." Harry stated clearly, "Neither of us put it in there."

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow."Come now.. there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you two shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel... Speaking of rebel, I caught sight of you, Valerie, sitting with that handsome blond earlier... Who was that??"

Valerie felt her face redden, "Professor Snape assigned me to sit beside Malfoy—"

     "Oh! Malfoy?? That's the surname of the wealthy pureblood family... Tell me, how would you describe him?"

    "Um, well..." It was a simple question but Valerie struggled to describe Draco, as she had to be careful at what she says since her brother was next to her. "He's sort of the school bully-"

"The bully?" Rita Skeeter was intrigued, "You're into bad boys, Valerie?"

Valerie was flabbergasted, "Excuse me—No, I never said that!"

Rita winked at the female champion, "Every woman loves a bad boy, Valerie... Anyway, How do you two feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?"

"I haven't really thought about it.." Harry trailed off.

"Quite nervous actually.." Valerie's insides squirmed uncomfortably as she spoke.

      "Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Rita Skeeter said briskly. "Have you two thought about that at all?"

"Well... they say it's going to be a lot safer this year," Harry mentioned. The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.

     "Of course, you two have looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Rita stared at them closely. "How would you two say that's affected you?" She asked, although, Harry and Valerie remained silent since they were unsure of how to respond.

"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because - "

"We didn't enter." Harry and Valerie repeated with irritation.

"Can you remember your parents at all?" Rita Skeeter talked over them.

"No," They replied.

     "How do you think they'd feel if they knew their children were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"

Harry and Valerie were extremely annoyed now. How on earth would they know how their parents would feel if they were alive? They could feel Rita Skeeter watching them very intently. Frowning, they avoided her gaze and hooked down at words the quill had written:

Tears fill those contrasting pair of green and brown eyes as our conversation turns to the parents they can barely remember.

"We have NOT got tears in our eyes!" Harry declared loudly.

      "Not to be rude or anything, but Harry and I should get going now." Valerie spoke with irritation and gripped Harry's wrist, dragging him out of the broom closet.

Rita Skeeter calls out for them, "HEY! YOU CANT JUST LEAVE!" Although, the twins continued to walk away and as they turned around to enter another hallway, a brown owl came flying down towards them which landed on Harry's shoulder.

      "From Sirius?" Valerie took the letter off the owl's leg and unrolled it, hoping it was from Sirius Black. She and Harry had written to him the day after it was announced that they were chosen as Triwizard Champions.

Harry & Valerie

I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted. We need to talk face-to-face..

Can you ensure that you two are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? Valerie could use the invisibility cloak to sneak inside.

I know you two can take care of yourselves and while you two are surrounded by Dumbledore and Moody, I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try.

Entering the both of you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose. Be on the watch, Harry and Valerie. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can.

Sirius

Later that evening, after a quick, miserable dinner in the Great Hall where every whispered comment felt like a direct insult, Eric Lewis leaned towards Valerie at the Slytherin table. "Rough day, huh, V?" He murmured, pushing a plate of chocolate cake closer to her, knowing it was her comfort food.

After dinner, the weariness of the day, both emotional and physical, pressed down on Valerie, leaving her utterly drained. She just wanted to disappear under her heavy blankets and not re-emerge until the tournament was a distant memory.

As she reached her dorm door, her gaze fell upon something unexpected.

Propped carefully against the dark wood was a simple, elegant bouquet of white tulips, wrapped in a beautiful light pink wrapper.

A small, folded note nestled among the blooms.

She picked it up, her heart giving an unexpected, hopeful flutter despite the day's events.

The message was brief and sweet.

For the girl who draws tulips,I hope these cheer you up.

Valerie didn't know who it was from, not exactly. But then, a memory from today, from the cold, intimidating Potions dungeon, surfaced in her mind. Draco's note, his simple question: "Tulips?" A soft, genuine smile slowly spread across her face, a rare, fragile moment of unadulterated warmth that broke through the days of tension.

She brought the tulips inside, holding them gently, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the ugliness of her day.

Someone had seen her, truly seen her, and cared enough to offer this unexpected kindness.

Just as she was about to close her door, she glanced out into the common room. And there he was. Draco Malfoy, walking past with Theodore Nott, seemingly engrossed in conversation. He didn't stop, didn't even slow, but his grey eyes flicked to hers, meeting them across the distance. He gave her the smallest, softest smile—not his usual smirk, but a genuine, almost vulnerable curve of his lips.

Thank you, Draco Malfoy.

Valerie thought to herself, the words a silent whisper in her mind.

He was so sweet for the gesture.

The anxiety, which had been a constant, suffocating hum, truly simmered away for a precious moment.

It wasn't a solution to her problems, nor a grand declaration, but a powerful reassurance that amidst the hatred and the fear, someone offered a flicker of understanding, a moment of unexpected beauty.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ♡ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

( entire chapter rewritten, made significant changes - june 24th 2025 )

he is so sweet isn't he? 🥹🥹 i hope this chapter made you smile 💞word count : 3,154