"Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens up your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside and mess you up. You build up these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't you own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."

Neil Gaiman

Ch. 1 – Prince Charming

Dorcas Meadowes still remembered the night her love life both crumbled and ignited in an amount of time that, quite frankly, probably was not healthy. To her credit, she didn't know that her love life was igniting once again, at the time – she was too preoccupied with the crumbling part, and not to mention her annoyance for Sirius Black, who just happened to pop up to save the day. . . .

And now, as she surely stared death in the face, she looked back on her life without a shred of regret, especially when it comes to the likes of Sirius Black.

She struggled with the ropes tying her hands, but of course they were magically bound as well. She glared up at death and would've spit in his face had her mouth not been covered by cloth. The figure looked down at her with almost a pitying smile, as he fingered his wand.

"Come now – this does not have to be difficult," he hissed, "You are pureblood after all. Tell us where they are, and I will allow you to join us."

The cloth around her mouth slithered from her mouth and fell to the ground. She was breathing hard, like she'd just run a marathon, and felt so much hatred in her heart, so much anger, that she could barely contain it. Death and all his shadowed minions waited for her answer, and she could see him losing his patience.

"I'd rather die." She finally croaked out, leaning forward as far as she could.

Death's face did not change, but his eyes flashed in fury.

"That could certainly be arranged, Dorcas Meadowes," he whispered in his hideous, dry voice. "But there are some things we know you are not telling us. And you will tell us."

Dorcas remembered this part of training for the Order all too well, for she was hoped desperately that she'd never have to use it – but alas, here she was.

She retreated back into her mind, but kept her eyes open so they would think she'd be present for the torture. She retreated back into her memories, back to that night, and it was so vivid and clear – like she was living them once again. . . .

XXX

David Brave was her best and oldest friend, ever since they were children. He had always been adventurous, kind, funny – he'd always laugh the loudest, always win the last points in Quidditch games, he always included the younger children. He was two years older than her, more mature, more experienced. He was perfect in her eyes, looking like a Greek god, worthy of all the girls he endlessly wooed.

And, though she mercilessly wished she did not – she loved him. She'd always loved him, and all she was to him was a little sister.

But that one night in the beginning of fifth year, she decided to discreetly ask him if he felt anything more – in secret, like she did.

She should've known what was coming.

It was late that night, and almost everyone had gone up to bed – except David, of course, because he always stayed up later on Sunday nights to do the weekend homework he'd neglected to do at a more reasonable time. She slowly walked down the steps of the girls' dormitories and watched his concentrated face in the firelight for a moment before she cleared her throat.

He looked up and smiled. "Dorcas," he laughed, "What are you doing up?"

She took a deep breath and walked down to stand a good few feet away from him. She tucked her short blonde hair behind her ear and said, "There's actually something I wanted to ask you."

He frowned and nodded, writing another sentence to his essay. "Alright then, shoot." He said, and she could tell he was distracted, but she asked anyway.

"Would you ever date me?" she asked, and he snapped his head up to her. She hastily added, "Hypothetically, of course."

She wanted to slap herself. The whole point was this wasn't supposed to be hypothetical. She'd blown it already.

However, he visibly relaxed and furrowed his brow with a chuckle. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I just . . . want to know." She explained lamely.

"Dorcas, that's a ridiculous question." He said, shaking his head and laughing as he turned back to his essay.

She swallowed thickly. "So, no then?" she pressed, stepping forward.

He set his quill down and blinked at her confusedly with a furrowed brow. "What does it matter, Dorcas? Are you having insecurity issues or what?"

If you only knew, she thought dryly.

"Just answer." She whispered, looking at him hard.

He met her gaze without the force she put behind hers, and shrugged. "No, I suppose."

She froze, then swallowed hard. "No?" she choked out.

What had she been expecting? That he would suddenly realize she was right for him and pick her up and kiss her like they'd never see tomorrow?

No . . . what she'd been expecting had made the rejection worse. She only wanted a yes. Or a maybe. Just – not a flat out 'no'. It was more than she could take. It seemed like the obvious answer for him, she could see it in his innocent eyes. He didn't know just how much he'd hurt her with those three words. 'No, I suppose'.

And look where her even simplest wishes had gotten her. Her childish, stupid, naïve wishing. She was such a fool for believing that after all this time of steady friendship, he would have harbored some sort of romantic feelings toward her. He wasn't like her. He didn't hide his emotion, and it kept him in control; it kept him stable and on top and where he wanted to be.

But some people just weren't capable of such things. People like her.

"Dorcas?" he inquired, shaking her from her thoughts. He was gazing at her, concerned, and started to stand. "You understand, of course? You're certainly beautiful – you're like a sister to me, though."

Even his tiny, meaningless compliment didn't faze her. Of course she understood. They weren't meant to be together. Someone like David Brave just didn't end up with someone like her anyway. It just wasn't in the cards.

She stumbled back as he stepped closer, and felt her throat close up. "No, no, I'm fine, David. Just go back to your work." She said breathlessly, putting a hand on her chest.

"Dorcas . . . you're crying." He said, his eyebrows raising in surprise and confusion. He was so simple to read to her. Too bad it wasn't mutual, or he surely would've been more concerned.

She put a hand to her cheek and felt heavy tears streaming down her face. She cleared her throat and looked away, chuckling half-heartedly. "It's just this musty old castle, David, I'm . . . fine," she assured him, giving him a smile. Her familiar façade was coming back fast, and she could tell her smile had comforted him. "I'll be back in about an hour, alright? I have something I need to do." She lied pathetically.

She could tell he didn't believe her, but he nodded all the same, which was good enough for her. He stepped forward to hug her, but she turned and made for the portrait hole. She was about to open it when he called her name. She turned and cursed herself for feeling too hopeful. He had a determined look on his face, and she knew he'd put the pieces together. Finally, after all these years.

"Your Prince Charming's out there, Dorcas," he assured her, "But it's not me."

The words hit her like a shock wave and time seemed to slow down as a tear fell down her cheek. She stared at him in all his glory – his golden blonde hair that seemed to glow in the firelight and his beautiful hazel eyes that would never look at her in the way she looked at them.

She swallowed and opened her mouth, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Are you saying that because you believe it's true or because you want to believe it's true?" she whispered.

His face cleared in shock, and she didn't wait for a response. She opened the portrait hole and fled the common room and the simple cruelty of it all.

She ran down the many staircases and tried to suppress the wretched sobs as long as she could. She sprinted down the suffocating corridors, the portraits and their irritated murmurs whizzing by. She ran in hopes of running her life away – that way, she wouldn't have to face David ever again. She wouldn't have to face her friends pitying looks and sickeningly comforting words when they undoubtedly figured out what happened. Hell, she wouldn't even have to put up with the Marauders again – that was a plus.

Finally, when the sobs finally got the best of her will, she stumbled into an empty corridor and slid down the wall, covering her mouth so the sobs wouldn't echo off the main hallway beside her for the rest of the school to hear. Oh, the gossip that would come about if she was discovered. 'Dorcas Meadowes was found crying over a boy last night – David Brave, at that! Guess she's not as tough as she seems . . . she's just a little girl . . .'

She squeezed her eyes shut as her chest tightened painfully and sobs wreaked her body once more. His face just wouldn't escape her mind.

And they would be right, of course. She shouldn't be crying over a boy. She knew the unforgiving nature of men ever since her father left her mum when she was only nine. She should've known, but she'd foolishly let it all get to her head. Well . . . not anymore.

David had given her the truth, and rightfully so. This wasn't his fault. It was hers for letting herself get carried away in her girlish fantasy.

She wiped her eyes and rubbed her nose on her sleeve, letting her head fall back against the cool stone wall with a sigh. In fact, she noticed now how cold she really was, and her crying had not helped. She wrapped her arms around her trembling body and decided to wait there a bit longer for fear of running into David in the common room. She flinched at the thought. She didn't know if she was ready for that just yet, even if she was willing to let her hopes with him go.

She groaned at the thought of tomorrow and banged her head against the wall again.

"Hello?" she heard someone whisper, nearly giving her a heart attack. It came from the main corridor a little ways off, and she knew that damn voice. Just what she needed – a Marauder on her hands. And Sirius Black, out of all of them.