Author's Notes: Had a wonderful time in Cuba, thanks! School started for me today, so I don't know when I'll have the time to update next. this chapter's a bit longer, so hopefully that will satisfy for now.

Disclaimer: No time for wittiness, as I must get my beauty sleep. Simply put, Harry Potter is Rowling's sole property, yadda yadda yadda. Hm. I don't know about the separate rights of Warner Bros. though...


Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

The cool autumn air fills my lungs as I huff and puff along the edge of the lake. A lovely breeze wicks the beads of sweat away from my forehead, and I sink into the familiar rhythm of my morning jog.

The only thing on my mind is the upcoming Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw game, which I'm determined we'll finally win this year. Rhett confessed to me in private the other day that he had a whole new set of tricks up his sleeve to guarantee us the cup. I'm glad that our captain this year is somebody with his head screwed on tightly who, understandably after last year's crushing defeat, would do anything to win.

When I hinted that perhaps we should hold more intense practices, he merely chuckled and said that the rest of the team might not agree. They obviously don't want this as much as I do.

Pansies, the whole lot of them.

Nonetheless, I'm mentally and physically preparing myself so that when the time is right, I'll knock Malfoy, and the undeserving Ravenclaw team off their high brooms, and end their streak of consecutive titles.

I can't do that if I'm out of shape, so as I round the Whomping Willow, I begin an extra lap instead of retreating back to castle.

My feet begin the accustomed motion, and before I know it, my mind begins to wander off. I think back to the events of this summer. Of the tiny fissures that had appeared from the moment I got off the Hogwarts Express last June, and had quickly became large cracks over the two months.

Things at home were not good.

Both Hugo and I immediately the wall of chilliness that hung between mum and dad, and they seemed oddly curt with each other. However, nothing more was said because of the unspoken rule of general perfection in image that we were to present in public.

It was one of the only things that they both stubbornly agreed on. Sometimes, I wonder how two such completely different people could have possibly stood each other. I mean, after the initial attraction, there'd be nothing substantial to keep things together, and a split would be only in due time.

I guess that the war made people chuck aside their dissimilarities and hurry into things because of the lingering uncertainty of survival. The mortal peril that so many were in meant that time may be already ticking away, and so the rationale was perhaps spending the countdown with someone, albeit not your usual type would be better than being alone at your final moments.

Or it could have been the pressure of everybody else hooking up, and the ensuing celebratory mood that had couples forming by the dozen. It would certainly explain the unlikely pairings, like Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill, who couldn't have been the most opposite when they first met, at least according to Nan.

However, as influence of others is highly unlikely to have swayed mum, I'd say that mistaking their friendship for something more is the most probable explanation. After all, she essentially spent all her life with Uncle Harry and dad, their efforts to defeat Voldemort not exactly leaving her time to get to know any other blokes.

Once Aunt Ginny announced she was getting married, there was suddenly a hole in the Golden Trio. Mum and dad were suddenly faced with a choice – either deal with being alone for once, or continue spending all their time together as if nothing were changed. (I would know, Psychology 101 being the current bedtime read on my night-stand) They opted for the safer and more familiar choice, and so here we were today.

In a charming country house, with my brother and I (instead of the many children that daddy wanted, one of the many things mum did not agree on), and two parents not speaking to each other.

Here, there was no pretending. There was only a foul mood, and uncomfortable silence. We carried on our usual summer activities in attempts to regain a sense of normalcy, but nobody could deny that something was wrong.

Dad came home date, and pissed out of his mind after picking up one late shift after another at the ministry. Mum locked herself in the library for hours at a time, as if none of this was happening. We each tried our very bests just to wait it out, as if the cutlery smashed and dad's drunken rambles that woke the neighbours were just a temporary storm.

Then one horribly humid night in the end of July, when they thought we had gone to sleep, the real squall began. The problem is, mum memorably shouted while threateningly pointing her wand at dad's Comet 390 (his pride and joy that he went a month without chocolate frogs for, which is a feat, if you know what he's like about them) that you are so caught up in playing favourites with your daughter, that you can't even make time for your struggling son!

Dad's face was bright red, looking angrier than I've ever seen him before (even the time when he found out that I'd been ranked second in my year because of a clause on pureblood estates that Malfoy had corrected on the History of Magic exam last semester).

He immediately hollered back, Your mental instability and neurotic need for perfection isn't helping him much, either! That obviously struck a nerve, because in a second, a jet of orange light hit the broomstick, which immediately melted into a puddle at her feet.

Not a smart move on his part. Mum's really touchy about the nightmares that she often wakes up screaming from. Something about a cruciatus curse she took back in the day of fighting for the cause.

Dad let out a surprised cry, followed by, That was signed, and was going be Rosie's wedding present! His comment just seemed to enrage her further, as she retreated into the library, having proved her point, and proceeded to give him the silent treatment for the next month.

It was quite a night of surprises, because when I removed my x-ray vision glasses (latest project of Uncle George entrusted for me to test out), I found a scared-looking Hugo standing at my door. The laughing boy who never took himself too seriously was not there, in his place standing my brother with a tear-stained face.

Let me just tell you now that Hugo Weasley does not cry. Ever. He's always so intent on being a macho man, and I guess you could say the life of the party. It's all my fault, he whispered before collapsing on my bed and silently sobbing all over my pillow.

Of course, it was all his fault, not concentrating on his studies and completely blowing his O.W.L.s. However, there was some truth what both my parents' sides. Dad (much as I hate to admit it) obviously spent much more effort and time on me, because unlike Hugo, I seemed to exhibit both the Granger academic brilliance and Quidditch enthusiasm.

It goes much farther than that, because once again, unlike Hugo, I actually care about results. A lot. Nevertheless, mum's nightmares and depression re-emerged with full force with his uneasy birth (the mediwizards weren't sure he'd survive), and so he's never been given the attention or care that I got as a kid.

So, I did the right thing, and after assuring him that he was certainly not the cause of our parents' current incompatibilities, sent him to bed. We made do with the last very awkward month, the first year we haven't gone on a family trip. A bummer, because I was looking forward to staying in an ice hotel and observing the fine teenage specimens of Northern Europe (I kind of have a thing for light-haired blokes, other than you know, the disgusting Malfoy).

Instead, I convinced James to illegally apparate us to the Cayman Islands. Location of Black Pearl, the largest outdoor skate park in the world; skateboarding being Hugo's most recent muggle obsession. The boy takes after his grandfather, I tell you.

Before getting on the Hogwarts Express, I took one last glance at my parents, who were still pointedly not meeting each others' eyes, and hoped that things would be patched up soon.

I wonder how things are going at home right now. Probably not very well, as neither Hugo or I had yet received any of the annoying "Take care of each other! Remember, you only have one sibling in the world" letters that I would do anything to get now. Any indication that our family won't fall apart and give the Daily Prophet anything more to fill up its blasphemous columns with.

As I indulge in the delightful thought of jabbing Rita Skeeter's eyes out with my wand (sometimes, muggle ways are most effective), I'm interrupted by a chirping sound. Glancing down at my pocketwatch, I realize that I had absentmindedly done an extra lap, leaving me exactly ten minutes to get to my Ancient Runes class.

Shit.

I sprinted at full speed back to the castle, and took the stairs two at a time. After gasping 'Eminence' at the portrait of two brainwashed ladies who looked at me with disdain (sorry that I'm not their usual albino eye candy), I burst into the common room. With no time for a shower, I quickly threw on my robes and grabbed my book bag.

On the way out, Malfoy (who presumably has a free period this morning, the lucky git), lounging coolly on the sofa, uncharacteristically delays me further with a "Guess I'll see you later." I can't believe he has the nerve to talk to me. He never has, and he isn't going to get away with it. I hope he doesn't think that seeing me in a dishevelled state (er, suit of armour incident), suddenly means that I'll be giving him preferential treatment.

There were no witnesses, to boot.

"No actually, you won't," I say. Ha. Got him good, didn't I? I'm not going to allow scum of his type to exchange pleasantries with me, innocent or not. Especially in his case, as I'm definitely sure that he's up to something. Evil spawn of deatheaters usually are.

I flash a triumphant smile, as I step towards the door.

"Now if you'll excuse me, some of us actually care about quality education."

It's only later at lunch when I'm recalling my valiant tale to Al that I realize something.

Malfoy wasn't just being his usual two-faced self. I actually will be seeing him later. It's the last Friday of the month, meaning that as Head Girl, I get the unequivocal pleasure of doing midnight rounds with Malfoy.

Oh joy.


Take a moment, and tell me what you think!

Things seem to finally be getting fun... :D

Carpenarem