an. Rereading Breathing Firewhiskey, I'm kind of disappointed. My style of writing has definitely changed since I started that. (Of course, I started it roughly a year and a half ago, or something like that.) So this is going to be my new "ANGST-TORTUREDSOULS-SLYTHERINLOVE" piece. Consider it a sequel, or a companion, or something along those lines. Different characterizations, same characters. Cool thanks:)

Astoria Greengrass

Age: Sixteen

I remember this one night, not long before things got bad. It was December, and it was so cold, even inside the castle. Or maybe that was me, projecting my thoughts onto the rest of the world. Because we all do that sometimes.

Anyway. It was two or three in the morning. Blaise Zabini and I were up together, quiet. (That's the only time we really get along, me and Blaise. The rest of the time I consider him an arrogant asshole, and he thinks I'm a frigid bitch. But for some reason, when the stars are out and the castle's asleep and I'm writing and he's drawing, we understand each other.)

I was curled up on the fireside couch, shivering, trying to capture with words the way Pansy Parkinson's eyes lit up when she was explaining her theories on Muggle religion. Blaise was sprawled on the floor in front of me, sketching flames surrounding what looked like the beginnings of a person.

We spent a lot of time like that, Blaise and I. (During the day, he never shuts up and I only speak to insult people who irritate me. Not at night.) We were both insomniacs - not to sound pretentious - and enjoyed each other's company. It was better than being alone.

Finally, I gave up on finding my words and shut my journal. I pulled a cigarette out of my pajama pocket and lit it with a flick of my wand. I took a drag and blew out a tendril of smoke, earning myself a harsh glare from Blaise.

"Those will kill you," he said. "Even Healers can't do shit about cancer."

"Yeah, I know," I replied flippantly. "But I don't mind. I'm going to die anyway. May as well do it on my own terms."

He sighed. It was a point he couldn't fairly argue; we all had those thoughts sometimes. I just had them more often than some of the others.

We spent the rest of the night talking quietly about life, death, and You-Know-Who. It was a common theme of conversation in those days. It was, after all, only a year before the Death Eaters took over. Nothing else really mattered; you just had to do your best to get along and hope things turned out for the better.

I don't know why I remember that night so clearly. It was no different from any other time we stayed up together, but for some reason it really stands out as important.

I dunno. I guess everything was important, back then.