This is one in a series of books all taking place at the same time but from different POV's.
Disclaimer: Obviously not JKR.
The girl beneath me giggled, an obnoxious noise but one that I had long since inured myself to. I winked at her before scrambling to my feet with a loud apology for my parents' sake.
She giggled again and stuck out a hand, sliding just a tad too close to me. "I should have been looking where I was going," she said, opening her overly-made-up eyes innocently. "I'm Carol, by the way. Carol Jones."
"Conrad Warrington," I said, taking her hand and flashing her my best smile.
"Warrington?" she said, faking a look of surprise. She cast a quick glance at my parents. They were standing there in their typical fashion, looking distinctly out place even in muggle clothes. Both were glaring at me, clearly wondering why I was talking to this girl. "I didn't know the Warringtons had a son."
"I go to boarding school," I explained. "It's very small, very elite. In Scotland." Girls lap that sort of rubbish up.
Right on cue, my mother was there at my shoulder, taking my arm with that plastic smile and saying, "You'll have to excuse us, Carol. We've a family dinner we must be going to."
"Of course," Carol said, simpering just a little. I grimaced an apology at her as my mother pulled me away. Somehow I thought she was going to be the most this summer had to offer. Not much, but then, I couldn't really afford to be picky.
I didn't see Carol for another two weeks. I'd say I thought of her, but the truth is that other than catching one glimpse of her, she never crossed my mind. No, I was occupied with more important things.
"Of course you'll be made quidditch captain," Paule told me. I was lounging on my bed, staring at my ceiling, with an illicit muggle cell phone against my ear. If my father saw me, he'd have a fit, but what was I supposed to do? Wait a week for owl travel time every time I wanted to talk to my friends?
"Griffin might be," I said, mainly just to be contrary. "Or maybe Lucas." Yeah, right. Like either of them had my talent.
"We all know Nott liked you best," Paule said. "You were practically co-captains last year."
But even quidditch took second place to the real gem of our summers - our retreat. It was a Tradition with a capital T, born of summers with nothing to do and no one to see. When we were little, getting time to ourselves hadn't really been a problem. But we hadn't been us - hadn't been the Quartet - then. We all knew each other, of course, (who doesn't know us?) but we hadn't really solidified into anything you could call friendship until we got to Hogwarts. But since that first day, when we were all sorted into Slytherin and realized just how far that great house had fallen, we had been inseparable. Except for summer.
Hence the retreat. For one glorious week, it was just us. Me, Lucas, Griffin, and Paule. No parents, no teachers, no muggles, no rules. Just us. We buried ourselves deep in the woods and partied until we dropped. It was the only time we really get to be ourselves, the only time we can get away from our stupid parents.
"Conrad?" My darling mother poked her head into my bedroom. "Dearest, we just got the invitation to the Ministry gala. Do you want to come?"
I considered. The gala had to be one of the most boring social events the world had ever witnessed, but at least it was something. Then again, with my parents out of the house there was nothing to stop me from sneaking out. "Nah," I said. "I think I'll stay here."
"All right," she said, just like always. "All right" to me staying home. "All right" to my OWL scores. "All right" to my father saying he has to work late, then showing up the next morning drunk and smelling like another woman's perfume. "All right" this and "all right" that. It got on my nerves sometimes, but it did come in handy from time to time. "Would you get dressed? We have to leave for dinner in about an hour."
"Dinner?" I frowned. "Where are we going?"
"The Joneses invited us over for dinner," she said. Great. And no one had bothered to tell me, of course. At least Carol would be there.
Thinking about Carol reminded me of how long it had been since I had had human contact. Real humans, I mean, not my parents. I had talked with Paule, of course, and a little with Griffin and Lucas, but I hadn't actually seen any of them face to face. A smile slid onto my face as I began to consider what this night could bring.
An hour later I was wishing I had said I had dragon pox or something, anything, that would have gotten me out of there. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were your stereotypical muggles, talking about nothing but their work at some law firm or another. My esteemed parents were sitting their spewing the same nonsense. I didn't understand how they could put up with it.
And Carol. Don't even get me started on Carol. Sure, she was pretty enough, but didn't she have any pride? She was literally throwing herself at me! As if I would ever be interested in a muggle. She was sitting next to me - not by accident - and was continually finding ways to touch me. That included spilling her drink all over me.
"Ohmigod I am so sorry!" she cried as I leapt to my feet, cringing as I tried to wring the stupid fizzy muggle drink out of my shirt. "Here, let me help." Her hands wandered more than strictly necessary as she "helped" me clean my shirt. Up close, I could see exactly how much makeup she was wearing, and I had to admit it was impressive.
A plan began to form in my head, a plan that would entertain me for the rest of my time in this hellhole and teach Carol a quick lesson. And so I smirked at her and pulled away just ever-so-slightly. "It's fine," I said, and pulled the shirt off. I could feel her swoon next to me, and my smirk grew. Maybe this could be fun.
The rest of dinner passed without comment. The only change was that I was now responding to Carol's advances with as much force as I could muster. While my parents did their best to seem oblivious (and very clearly wanting to just get home as soon as they possibly could) Carol's mum seemed to positively delight in our flirting.
"Carol, honey, why don't you show Conrad around the house?" she said after dinner, flashing me a conspiratorial wink. "We just redid upstairs and it looks amazing, if I do say so myself," she added for my parents' benefit.
My mother caught my eye and shot me a warning look. "I would be delighted to see it," I said, turning away from her so I was facing Carol. As usual, she was right next to me.
"C'mon!" she cried, giggling like mad as she pulled me out of the dining room. "Ohmigod, I am so glad to be out of there. Parents are so boring, don't you think?" Without waiting for a response, she grabbed my arm and yanked me up the stairs. "This is my bedroom," she said, grinning as she opened the door.
"Nice," I said, pulling my arm away. Her bedroom? Honestly? Could she get any more stereotypical? Merlin.
"Isn't it?" she said, pulling the door closed behind us. Oh my Merlin, she was going to do this now. NOW. What a slut.
If she hadn't been a muggle, maybe I would have gone along with it. If she had taken things slower, if there had been any other girls around, if she had been more attractive, or less obvious, or a better kisser - if (as my parents were to later scream at me) I just had thought for a moment, maybe I would have let it slide. Instead, as she grabbed my shirt (I knew those muggle clothes would be bad luck) and pressed her mouth against mine, all I could think of was how much muggle filth was getting over me, contaminating me. I shoved her away in disgust, a blind rage taking hold of me.
"You filthy muggle slut," I snarled. "How dare you!" I raised a hand and she cowered away from me. I reached for my wand, so caught up in punishing that slut that I didn't notice that the door had opened behind me until my wand flew out of my hand. I whirled to find my father standing in the doorway.
He raised his wand once and pointed it straight at The Slut. For one blissful moment, I dared to hope that he would hex the guts out of her. But this was my father we were talking about and so of course no such thing happened. Instead of screaming "Sectumsempra!" he simply said in that flat, no-nonsense voice of his, "Obliviate." The Slut's eyes clouded over and my father pulled me out of the room.
He didn't say anything to me, either then or later. Not that I would have listened, anyway. Instead, I was simply grounded until the retreat. I shrugged and figured it would blow over. It wasn't like I had anywhere to go, anyway.
It's funny to think that it might have blown over, that it could have just been a little blip in an endlessly boring summer. But of course it couldn't be that easy.
The next night, after my parents were asleep, I snuck out of the house (I learned a way to evade grounding spells years ago) and headed down to the street towards the Leaky Cauldron. It was (as always) filled to the brim with muggle-loving propaganda and fools, but it had alcohol and really, what else mattered?
I wasn't drunk when I made my way home; I would swear that up and down in the following days. I had been drinking, yes, but I wasn't drunk enough that I didn't know trouble when I saw it. Or rather, I wasn't so drunk I couldn't recognize The Slut.
The sun was just beginning to rise when I saw her, jogging along the street. JOGGING. Who does that? And she couldn't be wearing normal jogging clothes (whatever those may be) could she? Of course not. Instead, she was wearing nothing but a sports bra and something that couldn't even be called a skirt. Had it been another girl, I would have enjoyed the view. But even drunk – no, not drunk, just a little tipsy - I knew that I hated this girl.
At first I was going to ignore her. I even crossed the street. But then she caught sight of me and smiled. SMILED. Who the hell did she think she was, smiling at me?
"Conrad!" she trilled, crossing the street to meet me. "Hi! How are you? I've been wanting to talk to you again for so long. It's so boring around here, isn't it?" Her body was warm against mine in the cool morning air.
I nodded stiffly and began to make my way past her. But then I realized: it was the middle of the night. No one was around. I could do what I liked, punish her how she deserved…I could do anything I wanted.
And so, when she kissed me again I pulled her close, letting her think for a moment that she had won. And then I shoved her away and drew my wand. "You stupid muggle whore," I whispered. "What the fuck made you think that you would ever have a chance with me?" She just whimpered.
A strange sense of peace fell over me as I stared down at her. I raised my wand and felt power rising through me, a dark and addictive power that I hadn't used in so long. It guided me, pushing one particular spell to the front of my mind. A smile – a real smile, not the fake sort I tended to use – slid onto my face as I made a sudden slashing movement with my wand. The Slut cried out as a jet of purple light hit her, and then all was still.
I put my wand back in my pocket and sauntered away. There would be hell to pay when my parents found out, of course, but I wasn't bothered with that then. In just over 24 hours I would be far away, in a little hut by the sea where nothing could bother me. I laughed then, a sound that didn't often come from my lips.
I couldn't go home, I realized about half a block later. There was no fucking way I was going home, not after this. My parents would have a fit. They might even try to keep me from the retreat. No, I was most certainly not going home.
It was freeing, the thought that I had no home to go to. I was of age, wasn't I? I could do whatever the hell I wanted. And so I turned around and passed by The Slut's inanimate body without a glance as I made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron.
It wasn't easy to convince the landlady to let me stay. She obviously thought I was a drunk runaway. Please. I am way classier than that. In the end, though, it was only because Professor Longbottom vouched for me that I got to stay. I heard them debating it as I went upstairs, so I yelled, "It's only one fucking night!" over my shoulder.
I woke up the next morning – technically later that morning - with a pounding headache. I lay in bed – not my bed, I noticed in a detached sort of way – as my mind ran over the previous night.
I remembered sneaking out quite clearly. Also clear was the sense of power I had felt as I looked down at The Slut's broken body. I smiled for a long moment at the memory, before other, less cheerful thoughts intruded.
I had used the Dolohov. It was a spell left over from the Second Wizarding War, one that our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a muggle-loving bloke named Chambers, had warned us about. "This spell was a favorite of Antonin Dolohov. The first recorded use was at the Battle of the Ministry in 1996, when he used it against Hermione Granger. Luckily for her, he was forced to cast it non-verbally. Had that not been the case, it is likely she would have died." Good riddance.
But the fact that Dolohov cast it nonverbally, both then and the other times he had used it, meant that no one remembered the incantation. For a promising young wizard like myself, it was only a matter of time before such a mystery drew me in. I spent weeks in the library (much to the amusement of my friends) researching the curse. And finally, near the end of the last year, I had found it.
The Slut was the first one I had used it on, and while I wished it had been a worthier victim, I was quite pleased with the result. It was the most complex Dark spell I had tried, and it had worked perfectly. I sort of hoped she was dead, though the fact that I had forgotten to speak probably meant that she wasn't. Maybe it was for the best. Azkaban didn't sound like fun.
I dug through my pockets, wondering idly how much money I had with me. I found about 20 galleons, enough to either pay for my room at the Leaky, or to buy me some liquor to take to the retreat. It wasn't even a choice.
I was gone from the Leaky by noon, which wasn't bad for someone with a hangover. I swear the entire pub was filled with redheads I left. Blood-traitor scum. Just because they helped defeat the Dark Lord, they think they're so great. I think I even saw the Minister of Magic as I left. He was discussing goblins with an old man (whose gray hair still had traces of red, of course) and the landlady when I left. Honestly, what has the world come to? Talking about serious policy with some half-blood landlady.
I spent the rest of the day meandering around London, making sure to keep clear of anywhere my parents would think to look. If I knew them, they would be furious with me, but not so crazed that they would report me to the Ministry. It wasn't like they cared about those laws against Dark Magic either; they just didn't want me tainting the family name. Really, it would be rather hypocritical of them to punish me. It was just one muggle girl, after all. What does the world care if there's one less slut on the planet? I hadn't done anything wrong.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, I realized that I had one more night before the retreat started. I couldn't go back to the Leaky (and honestly, why would I want to stay with that scum?) and I only had about three galleons left. I decided to risk sneaking back into my parents' house to grab some clothes, maybe around one in the morning. I knew a club I could hang out at until then. Afterwards, well, there was a nice little inn down in Knockturn Alley that could be very discreet if you had the cash.
I was able to get in and out of my parents' house, no problem. Their security system is truly pathetic. I raided their safe before I left, figuring that they owed me since if they hadn't moved here, I never would have come across The Slut and wouldn't be in this mess.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed around one and instantly felt better. It was the retreat. Tradition. Easy. Just me, Griffin, Paule, and Lucas with lots of firewhiskey and no supervision. Exactly what I needed. Merlin, would Griffin and I have a good laugh over what happened with The Slut. Maybe that would shut up the little voices in my head telling me that maybe this wasn't the smartest thing I had ever done.
The moment I arrived at the little cottage by the sea, I felt better. You know how people were always going on about how Hogwarts was their true home? Hogwarts sucked. If I wanted to be sentimental, I'd say that that cottage was my home. It was certainly the only place I ever got any peace.
I grinned as I pushed open the door to the cottage. Paule and Griffin were there, talking about something or another. It didn't matter. "Hope you all haven't been waiting long!"
Paule smiled and Griffin came up and threw an arm around me. "Good to see you, mate."
"Merlin's beard, have I missed this place," I said, throwing my backpack down and flopping into a chair. "What's up with all of you?"
"Not much," Paule said. "Just more of the same."
"Where's Lucas?" I asked.
"Upstairs," Paule said. There was a look in her eyes like she knew something I didn't. I was about to call her on it when she hollered, "Lucas? Conrad is here!"
"Okay!" he called back. "I'll be right out."
A moment later he was standing in the doorway, but he wasn't alone. The Nott girl – what's her face, Ava? – was behind him. My jaw clenched. What the hell was he thinking, bringing her here? This was our spot. Our retreat. Her hair, usually in neat plait, was all mussed. Was it my fate to be haunted by whores?
"Hello, Nott," I said, gritting my teeth. "Are you staying the whole week?" Please let her be going away later today, please let her be going away later today.
"Lucas invited me," she said saucily. Slut.
"Oh, how thoughtful!" I turned to Lucas, who looked a little scared. Good. "You decided to bring a girl for you to shag on our retreat?"
"Yes, I did," he shot back. "I can do what I want, Warrington." Ooooh, surnames. Fun.
"Of course you can," I snapped at him. "You're Lucas Bloody Malfoy, aren't you? Think you're so much better than us just because your grandfather's all buddy-buddy with the Ministry?"
"Oh, bugger off," he said. "Just because you can't get a girl."
I smirked. "Oh, I can't, can I? Who was it that Gwyneth Harper cheated on you with again? That's right. Me. Even Harper couldn't tolerate you."
"You bastard," he snarled at me.
I had to laugh. "You bring your slut to our retreat and I'm the bastard? Look in the mirror,
Malfoy. You fucking arsehole, what the hell were you thinking, bringing her here?"
"Keep your nose out of my business, Warrington!"
"YOUR business? This is OUR retreat, Malfoy. OURS! The one fucking place in the world where I can get some peace. Get your damn slut out of here."
He swung his arm at me, but I ducked easily, my own fist shooting out to catch him in the stomach. I felt that same sense of power rising in me as I pummeled him.
Too soon, it was over. There was a loud bang, and we fell apart, Paule standing over us. "Let's talk about this like rational people," she said. "It's not like he brought a mudblood into the house."
I snorted and nodded. Thank Merlin for that.
Lucas staggered to his feet, doubled over in pain. Good. Bastard deserves it. "Come on mate," he gasped. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" I couldn't believe this. Had the whole world gone mad? "This is tradition! Next thing we know, you could be with a muggle." I spat the last word.
"Was that necessary?" Paule whined. "It's kind of disgusting." I ignored her. If she felt spitting was so disgusting, what did she think of Nott, who was obviously twenty times worse?
And then the little slut herself spoke. "I didn't know. I swear. He just told me I could come."
As if. "To hell you didn't know. Of course you knew!" How could she not know? What was she, blind and deaf? "As if you haven't heard of our retreats. As if you weren't jealous and wanted to feel exclusive." The bitch probably just wanted something to brag about at school. I could see it clearly, her giggling with her friends and saying, "Oh, yes, I was with Malfoy at his retreat. He invited me, special." Again I say: slut.
"I can leave," she offered halfheartedly.
"Yes, you can," I agreed. Sooner rather than later, preferably.
Lucas reached for her, soiling her shirt. She cringed away and I scoffed. Of course she would only care about her clothes. "No, you don't have to leave."
"Yes, she does," I said, about an instant away from beating the shit out of Lucas again.
"Why don't we compromise?" Paule said with an over bright smile, stepping forward. I glared at her. Compromise? On this? Did nobody have a sense of tradition anymore? She just smirked. "Well, if we don't, then I say all three of you leave since this is not how our retreats are supposed to work." Amen to that. But why the hell should I have to leave? This was all Lucas' fault. And Nott's. "Griffin and I will have a lovely time without the rest of you."
She was serious, wasn't she. Merlin's beard, she actually meant it. She would make me leave if I made the slut go. Bitch. What happened to friendship?
I glanced at Lucas – a mistake. He was smirking, smugness radiating from him.
"No, no, no," Nott insisted in her annoying little voice. "I can leave." What an angel.
Fuck it all. Lucas had won. I managed to force a smile. "It's alright. Lucas can keep his shag buddy." I couldn't stand this one moment longer. This was supposed to be my sanity time. How did it end up like this? I left and locked myself in my room.
Over the next few days, I found myself spending a lot of time with Griffin – more time than is normal, that is. I was still mad at Paule for letting Nott stay, though that was nothing to what I wanted to do to Lucas. He passed up no opportunity to rub Nott's presence in my face. It was infuriating. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Then, one night as Griffin and I sat talking, I had a brilliant idea. "You should bring someone!" How had I not thought of that before? "Someone to spite him."
"Why don't you?" he asked. I sighed. Merlin, I wished I could. But since The Slut Incident, I wasn't really comfortable leaving the cabin. Not that I was scared or anything, I just didn't want to risk running into my parents. I told Griffin as much. He was the only one I had talked to about it. I knew he, of all people, wouldn't judge me or betray me or anything.
He nodded. "I get it, mate." Thank Salazar someone did.
I returned to the problem at hand. "You could bring that Harper girl. She's a good shag," I said, remembering the brief period of time I had dated her. "Or the Gold girl." A thought occurred to me and I grinned. "Better yet, one of the Woods! That would really get on Malfoy's nerves."
"As if I would ever do anything with either of them." The very thought made him laugh.
"Well, Malfoy needn't know you didn't do anything." I could picture his face if Griffin showed up with one of them. The Ravenclaw one, maybe. The one my dear cousin Abigail was friends with. That would make up for everything.
"They wouldn't agree anyway," Griffin said.
"Think about it," I said. He could convince them if he wanted to. Who wouldn't want to come to our retreat? Maybe he could even bring both of them. It would be the perfect revenge.
He just shrugged and got to his feet. "I'd best be going." He was on his way to the Wood's house for dinner. Though I would miss him, I was glad my family wasn't the only psycho one. But Agrippa, it was going to be a long few hours while he was gone.
I spent most of the time with Paule, who had made it clear very early on that we would not talk about Nott. Instead, we talked about the things that normally occupied our retreats. We complained about our parents, she filled me in on all the Hogwarts dirt, and we mocked the Ministry. Just like normal.
As the night wore on, we decided to head down to the beach. It was a nice night but not quite warm enough for swimming, much to my chagrin. Lucas caught up to us just as we were leaving.
"Where's your shagging buddy?" I asked him coolly.
He rolled his eyes. "Merlin's beard, Conrad, can't you just grow up and get over that?"
I raised an eyebrow, something I had spent the most boring parts of my summer perfecting. "You brought a girl to our retreat, Malfoy. A girl."
"I'm a girl," Paule said inconsequentially. I ignored her.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Lucas said. "But she's here now, there's nothing you can do about it. Just accept it and move on!"
I snorted. "The day I accept her is the day you stop being a bastard. Which will never happen." I turned and marched back towards, the house, where I saw Griffin talking to Nott.
"You're back!" I cried with joy. My relief at seeing him there eclipsed my annoyance at him for talking with her.
Lucas moved forward and drew Nott away from him. Paule moved to take her place, and I wondered for a moment if there could be anything there. I hoped not. Paule and I had dated for about three hours in 5th year before realizing how incredibly awkward it was. Besides, Griffin could do better than her.
"We can still do the bonfire," Griffin suggested, and I lit up. The bonfire was one of my favorite parts of the retreat. Just the fire, the four of us, the firewhiskey, and maybe some chocolate.
"That would be brill," I said with a grin.
"Lucas!" Paule called after him. He was trying to sneak upstairs with Nott. They were always sneaking off, rubbing her presence in our faces. I noticed Griffin had come back alone. "Before you go off to shag your girlfriend, we're doing the bonfire."
"She can't come," I said instantly. There was no way she could come. Surprisingly, Lucas agreed. Nott didn't complain either. Finally, something was going right.
An hour later, it was as if Nott had never existed. We passed the firewhiskey I had brought around (Paule almost cried in relief when she saw it – apparently her parents all had started cracking down on her alcohol consumption) and interrogated each other about our summers.
"Did you guys hear about that brawl at the Leaky?" Lucas asked.
"No," I said, leaning forward. "The Leaky Cauldron, doing something wrong? Who would have believed it!"
He laughed. "It was fantastic. Some bloke – the Junior Undersecretary to the Minster or something – some Ministry nutcase – said something about Death Eater sprawn." We all shuddered. It was a rather touchy term, considering our ancestry. "So then this friend of his – or I dunno if they're actually friends but they were eating together – takes offense and they start arguing. The landlady – did you know she was Longbottom's wife, by the way?"
Griffin snorted. "Makes sense."
"Oh, yeah," I said, remembering. "I saw him there with her one night." Griffin looked at me pointedly, clearly remembering why I was at the Leaky. I ignored him. If this week had taught me anything, it was that I couldn't trust Lucas and Paule, not with the important stuff. They had betrayed our tradition.
"Anyway, she tried to settle things down, but then some bloke used the word mudblood and she just hit the roof. She ordered him to get out, but he wouldn't go, and then some other bloke takes offense at something or another and gets involved and soon there are like ten people arguing." Lucas was having trouble telling the story, he was laughing so hard. "And then the first bloke gets up and punches his friend because he's so drunk and the whole place was brawling in two minutes."
We all laughed, more than I've laughed since our last retreat. We swapped more stories, and everything was back to normal. No Nott, no Slut Incident, no glares between me and Lucas. And maybe it wasn't perfect, but it sure as hell was close.
The next morning, the perfection was gone. I had a horrible hangover, one that even the Hangover Potion Lucas had brought couldn't completely cure. And then Griffin greeted me at breakfast with perhaps the worst news I had heard in my life. "There's a letter from your parents."
"Chuck it in the fire," I said. My head was pounding and the sight of Nott's face just aggravated me more.
"Conrad…" Griffin said hesitantly. "Don't you think you ought to open it?" The "You did run away from home after hexing a muggle girl" was as clear as if he had actually said it.
I groaned. "Fine. Give it here." It was short, simple, and to the point.
Carol Jones was just released from the Intensive Care Unit of the Royal London Hospital. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, she was mugged on her morning jog and given a severe concussion. You will return home as soon as your retreat is over and will then spend the remainder of your summer vacation at the Lucas household. If you do not behave yourself there or choose not to come home, the Ministry will be notified of your actions. They will be far less lenient than we are.
I handed it to Griffin, who grimaced. "Tough luck, mate."
"What?" Paule asked as she came in.
"I have to spend the rest of the summer at the Lucas house," I moaned. "Oh my Merlin I am going to go mad." I banged my head on the table.
"What's going on here?" Nott asked. I ignored her and just did my best to melt into the wood.
A week at the Lucas'. A week with that dimwitted muggle woman (who wasn't even elated to me!) her brother, and worst of all – his daughter, Abigail.
It was safe to say that Abigail Lucas was the bane of my existence. She was a stuck-up, know-it-all prig who went around preaching about kindness and stuff. Worst of all, she was my cousin. What any relative of mine saw in that muggle idiot is beyond me. Needless to say, I didn't emphasize the relationship at school.
A couple days later, I still couldn't believe my bad luck. I threw myself into the retreat, doing everything I could to relish the freedom while I had it. I even started talking to Lucas again, though I couldn't quite bring myself to deal with Nott. For the most part she just stayed out of my way. And for those last few days, I was happy.
Then, of course, it was over. The world just kind of fucking hated me those days. My mother didn't say anything to me when I arrived at their – not mine, it was never mine and I swore to myself that day that I would never live in that house again – house. My father, on the other hand, treated me to a long rant about how I was a disgrace to the family and how he would disown me if I ever did anything like that again. At least, that's what I assumed it was about. I didn't actually listen to a word of it.
Dinner with my parents at the Lucas' was painful, to say the least. No one said much. Mr. Lucas – my dear Uncle Horace – did his best to keep a conversation going, but it was a bit of a lost cause. I certainly wasn't going to help him out. My mother tried on occasion, but what is there to talk about in a muggle life?
Abigail spent the entire dinner shooting daggers at me. Merlin's beard, that girl is psycho. Thankfully, other than the death glares, she left me alone. After dinner, I was able to lock myself in my room, where I promptly sat down and began to write a long ranting letter to Griffin. But of course my parents had taken away my owl, so I had nothing to send it with. There was no help for it. I was going to have to talk to someone.
I tried Abigail's Aunt Tessa first. She's insane, even for a muggle. She has some mental disorder or something where she can't stop freaking out about thing. I don't even know. It's not normal. She was no help. When I asked if I could borrow an owl, she looked at me like I was the crazy one.
Mr. Lucas was out at work so the only other person in the house was Abigail. I groaned and went in search of her.
I found her in some obscure corner of their house. How a house that small managed to have so many nooks and crannies was beyond me. It probably had something to do with the fact that the rooms were all ridiculously small. My bedroom barely even had room for my bed. It was also all pink. Apparently it was Abigail's sister's room. I didn't know Sarah very well, but Abigail seemed to worship the ground she walked on so I doubted I would like her all that much.
When I finally found Abigail, she was tucked in a window seat, reading, of course. She was always reading. Yet another thing about her that made absolutely no sense. This was some huge volume, probably on the history of the Elf Wars or some other such nonsense.
"Where's your owl?" I asked her.
She didn't even look up. "Why?"
I rolled my eyes. "I need to send a letter." Duh.
She looked up at me, her black eyes as emotionless as ever. I swear, some days I thought she was a robot. "Use your own owl."
"I don't have one." Why else would I be asking to use her owl?
"Well, you can't use mine. She's out." She returned to her book.
"Then how the hell am I supposed to send my letter?" I demanded.
"It's called a post office. Three blocks to the right, on your left."
"You want me to use a muggle post office?" I scoffed at the very idea. "I'm not sending a letter to a muggle."
She didn't even look up as she left the room, leaving me hanging. Who the hell did that girl think she was?
By the end of the week, I had had enough. My parents had sent me to the Lucas house in order to kill me, I was sure of it. Unlike my parents, Abigail was very good at security spells, as I found out on the third or fourth night I tried to sneak out. The first few nights had worked fine, but I spent the entirety of that night caught in a net, hanging from the ceiling of the living room. That bitch didn't even have the decency to admit she'd set up the spell.
It wasn't just that I couldn't leave the house at night . I could have (possibly) dealt with staying inside all day, every day. But the occupants of said house were driving me insane. My darling Uncle Horace was almost always at work, but it seemed that "Aunt Tessa" (as she had forced me to call her) never left it. She was constantly getting in my way, asking me all sorts of obnoxious questions. "How do you like school?" "How are your friends doing without you to entertain them?" "Do you like pie?"
And Abigail. Holy Merlin, Abigail. We couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without coming to blows. It got to the point that when I entered the room, she would leave it. I took to following her around, just to have some company. Also, annoying Abigail is basically my mission in life.
"And where have you been all afternoon?" I asked her one day as she asked her one day as she came in the door.
"Diagon Alley," she said shortly as she hung up her umbrella.
"With who?" I asked, following her as she made her way towards her room.
"None of your business," she shot back.
"Oooooh. Was it a boy?"
"No."
"Aw, the ickle Abby-kins is embarrassed."
"Shut it."
"Now that's not very nice."
She whirled on me suddenly. "You know what isn't very nice? Coming home one day to find that your jerk cousin has invaded your house. So unless you want me to cut your throat, you'll stay out of my way, understand?"
I just laughed. It was truly pathetic, how she thought she stood a chance against me. "You can't even use magic outside of school," I said. "You're only sixteen."
She just smiled, a twisted sort of grimace. "Try me."
Later that week, on my last day in that prison, I caught her in a dress. Abigail. In a dress. The very idea is laughable. Of course, it was a prude dress, with a neckline almost to her neck and a skirt that fell past her knees. But it was still a dress.
"What the hell are you wearing that for?" I asked her.
She barely glanced at me. "Why do you care?"
"Cause there's nothing else to care about in this damn place. Where are you going, all dressed up?"
"If you must know, there's a party tonight."
"You? At a party?" I laughed. She flushed ever so slightly, which just made me laugh harder. Then I realized what she had said. "A party? Where?"
"It's for sixth years," she said.
"Where is it?" My wand was out of my pocket and pointing at her before I had finished the question.
She looked at me calmly, but I could see the fear in her eyes. "Nick Davies' house. You don't know him."
I grinned. "Doesn't matter." I was going to go get drunk.
