A/N: In response to NickiForDraco's FML, MLIA, GMH Challenge. My prompts were:

FML: Today, I woke up to a pile of hair on my floor. I looked in the mirror and realized the hair was from my head. I had a dream about cutting my hair and I guess it came true.

MLIA: Today I drew a black spider on my hand to fool people. Within the next hour i smacked my hand three times, each time feeling even more stupid.

GMH: My parents are divorcing, and my little sister is moving out with my mother. I cried for hours, and so did she. Then, she silently asked, "Am I going to die?" I asked her if she knew what dying meant, and she simply said, "It means I'm going to have to live without you." I love her to death.

It was the beginning of the summer holidays when it all happened. I had just graduated from Hogwarts—euphoric in my newfound freedom, and buoyed by the prospect of all that lay before my feet. Proper pureblood princess or not, I was going to be more than just a silly housewife, I assured myself. And I was bloody well going to have fun whilst I did it.

I stepped off the train only to be instantly accosted by a little girl with soft blonde curls—hardly the most frightening or dangerous of attackers. "Hey Q," I said, smiling at my little sister.

"Hi Tory!" She giggled as I lifted her up and twirled in a circle.

"I've missed you like crazy!" I confided, squeezing her tight.

"I missed you, too," the girl's face fell slightly. "Father's angry," she whispered, with all her five-year-old perception. She was usually right about these things, and I cast an anxious glance towards my parents. They always kept their masks in place when we were in public, but things between them had been getting worse, and I could tell from their stances that they were almost at breaking point.

Though I pushed the thoughts away just then, the next few days at home only confirmed my grim deduction. A confirmation emphasised when mother didn't bother correcting me when I called Queenie "Q" and when father didn't once reprimand me for playing with her as though I were a little girl, too.

And oh, but play we did. I'd missed her terribly while I was away. Queenie and I… We were far closer than Daphne and I had ever been. Daphne had married Marcus Flint right out of seventh, and to be perfectly honest, I hadn't been very sorry to see her go. She was everything she was expected to be - serene and graceful and submissive—and so we'd never seen eye-to-eye. My parents and I never did either. I was the rebel girl. I lived to break the rules of pureblood society, to shock people, to challenge their expectations.

It had all really started when Q was born, 5 years ago. She'd been so tiny and beautiful, and I'd loved her instantly. I knew what a pureblood upbringing meant though, and as I listened to my parents map out her future—a future I was sure she'd hate as much as I would—I decided I was going to do something about it. And so I started letting out that inner rebel; I started letting myself be myself, instead of trying to be Daphne. I was going to be a role model for Q, and I was going to be there for her. Always.

When our parents announced their divorce I was hardly surprised. As rare as it was for purebloods to seek divorce—the resulting drop in status being typically unbearable—it had been a long time coming. The rest of their announcement, however, was far less expected.

"Queenie, go and pack your things. We're going to be staying with your grandmother for a little while." My mother was painfully composed, as though the words weren't tearing her youngest daughter's life to shreds.

I looked from parent to parent for a moment, waiting for them to address me, and then I realised, "No," I said fiercely. "You can't do this."

My father looked at me imperiously. "We most certainly can, Astoria. Queenie will be living with your mother, and you will be staying here with me until your engagement has been settled, and that's that."

I glanced briefly at Q who had frozen, her aqua eyes wide as the ocean, then turned back to my parents in desperation. "No, father, please. There's got to be—"

"That's enough," he said in a low, cold voice, "more than enough, in fact. I think we've all long grown tired of your argumentativeness, Astoria. You are an adult now and it's time for you to grow up. You and I will be attending dinner with the Malfoys this evening. I would advise you to go and prepare yourself." He turned to Q with the same icy calm. "Queenie Elis you heard your mother."

I took her hand gently in mine before she could further enrage my father with tears, and led her to her room, whispering numbly, "It'll be alright, Q. It'll all be okay." She said nothing.

After fifteen minutes of silence as I carefully, but resentfully, packed my little sister's things, I heard her quavering voice from where she sat on the bed, "Am I going to die?"

I paused, shocked and unsure of what she meant. The sadness and fear in her voice slid like a dagger through my heart. Kneeling on the floor before her, I took her hands in mine. "Do you know what dying means, Q?" I asked her softly.

"It means I'm going to have to live without you," she answered simply.

I stared at her for a moment, in complete awe. So utterly touched, and yet so painfully heartbroken. As tears began to slip down my face – the full force of the situation finally hitting me – Q started crying, too. And we just sat there for ages, holding each other, and crying, and trying to find some comfort in the reassuring words I whispered so uncertainly.

The next morning I woke up to the dreadfully cheerful morning sun. I scowled at it, tugging my pillow over my head. Wait! What the—! I sat up abruptly, my fingers flying through my hair— my somehow very short hair. My mind reeled as I dashed to my private bathroom. There it was—my beautiful, previously long, blonde hair, littered in chunks across the floor. I'd dreamt that I'd cut my hair in a horrible rage at the world, but surely it hadn't just happened. I dazedly examined my reflection in the mirror. I looked like shit. My eyes were all bloodshot, my complexion pale, and — Oh! I dropped in front of the toilet, heaving until there was nothing left in my stomach, then flopped tiredly onto the cool tiles.

The events of the previous evening began slowly coming back to me, through a clearly alcohol-induced haze. Mother and Q had left. Then the dinner at the Malfoys'. Draco was there. There'd been wine with dinner; I'd been horribly upset and drank a fair bit. And then… Had our fathers gone somewhere, or had we? I wasn't sure. I could remember drinking with Draco out in their garden. We'd been flirting a little, I recalled with a blush, and I rather thought I recalled him leaning in to kiss me and me telling him off for "taking advantage of a helplessly drunk damsel" as I'd (unfortunately) phrased it. After that… I wasn't terribly sure. There had been yelling, though, and then I was home. Home and furious. And clearly I'd cut off my hair.

I grinned up at the ceiling. Father would have a fit when he saw it. "Proper ladies have long hair, and so shall you." It was a silly rule, but I'd always abided by it because I'd rather liked my hair.

Ah, well, I often did things without thinking them through first—even when I was sober. Like that time I'd impulsively accepted a dare to confess to Professor Snape my long-harboured (and fictitious!) crush on him. I laughed nostalgically at the memory. Now that had been an interesting day.

Oh! Or like that time I drew a spider on the back of my hand, just to mess with people. And sadly then proceeded to – not once, not twice, but indeed on three separate occasions – slap my own hand in a panicked effort to squish it. Of course, feeling so utterly stupid had all become worth it when I was rewarded with Daphne's terrified shriek… Luckily her melodramatic terror had been hugely distracting and so no one even noticed the reflexive darting of my eyes towards my hand…

Anyway! The point here was that, although I'd once more done something impulsive and foolish (though whether this was the getting drunk, or the cutting of my hair, I wasn't quite sure), it hadn't turned out all that bad. I dragged myself off the floor to peer appraisingly into the mirror, and winced at my reflection. Or rather, it wouldn't be too bad once I'd fixed it up a bit…

Q quite agreed. Mother and Father quite didn't. I didn't quite care.

Draco and I had begun spending time together. Often with Q, though he refused to call her that. Just now we were sitting at a muggle park, watching as Q played in the sand with another little boy. "So, now what?"

I looked at him questioningly.

"The other night you were talking about Queenie moving out, and how devastated you were about it. So now what? What're you going to do?" I was touched by the trace of concern in his voice.

"Well," I began thoughtfully—for though I'd given it monumental amounts of thought, I still had no real idea, "I'm not really sure what I can do. At first I thought I could just… move in with mother, you know? But I'm sure some sort of legal action would result – father seems to feel that if his money is being split down the middle, everything else ought to be, too – and I really don't want to make things any worse for Q…"

Draco nodded, "So just… move out?"

"What does that accomplish?"

"Well… Then you can do what you want, right? Like visit Queenie whenever you like? I'm sure you have enough allowance-wise to be able to do it, and if not you could always come and stay at the manor. At least for a while."

I stared at him, a grin spreading slowly over my face. "Just think of the scandal!"

Draco laughed softly. "You, Greengrass, completely perplex me."

"That's just 'cause I'm smarter," I smirked.

"Nah. You're just so free," his expression turned serious—wistful, even. "How do you do it?"

I grinned wickedly. "It's not that hard once you start." I leaned in and brushed my lips gently over his. "Being shocking is much more fun."