Reece and I wandered the castle aimlessly, discussing the tactics of the Gryffindor team, and we partook in the obligatory Slytherin-bashing. Somehow the entire thing turned into an odd debate over whether playing beater for the Harpies would be more interesting than keeper for the Tornadoes.

It definitely would be. Fanatical Quidditch expert or not, he was still delusional.

I noticed, somewhat sadly, that we'd reached the Fat Lady.

"You'll be heading down to dinner now, I take it?" I asked.

He nodded the affirmative, "Hunger calls. Am I right in I'm assuming your housemates are throwing a massive party right about now?"

To my vast displeasure.

"Most bloody likely. There'll doubtlessly be excessive human contact and dancing." I paused with a resigned sigh. "But there will also be butterbeer, and there's no chance I'm missing that."

"You're mentioning that while I only have left over pumpkin juice to look forward to? Not nice. I hope you feel guilty."

"Terribly. I might even feel so guilty that I'd have to swipe you a bottle." That's what friends do, no?

"Ah, excellent! I'll see you tomorrow, don't forget my butterbeer, will you?"

"Perish the thought."

There was a slam, making us both jump and turn to the portrait. It had been roughly opened from the inside, much to the Fat Lady's obvious chagrin, and one of the girls from my dorm stumbled out.

I may never know her destination, but she didn't get far before walking into the still open portrait. She fell on her back with a strange "fwoof" sound. It took all my self-control, and then some, to not laugh.

"Is that…?" Reece began, similarly incapacitated due to suppressed amusement.

"Chloe Walsh. Damn it, it appears that they've started on the alcohol."

"Hmm, well, good luck with that," he gestured, grinning. "My best wishes go out to you, I dearly hope you survive."

I rolled my eyes and gave him a shove. "Get going."

Reece walked down the corridor, and with a wave, he was gone.

Suppressing a grimace, I made my way over to the now vacated portrait hole, where the horrible noise and light emanated from.

The once soothing common room was the scene of mass carnage on an apocalyptic scale. The sound was deafening, and although the choice of music left much to be desired, people mindlessly danced to it anyway. I failed to navigate a way around the crowds and that only left the more direct route to the drink table and then the blessed girl's staircase. Straight. Through. I clutched my book bag as like a shield in an effort to stop my hands shaking with anxiety.

I forced my way past the first wave, the jumping teenage bodies constantly infringing on my near-sacred personal space. To make things worse, the stifling air seemed weighed down by the combination of the heat and the smell of drinks, food and sweat. I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore the way my head spun and the darkness encroached on the corners on my vision.

I flinched every time someone knocked me and my skin seemed to burn from wherever it made contact, especially the one time someone (who obviously didn't know me at all) grabbed my arm and asked me to dance. The drink table couldn't have been more than fifteen metres away but, needless the say, it was a very long trip. By the time I made it through the throng I felt out of breath, but that was probably due to near suffocation rather than any supremely awful fitness levels.

There was a small pocket of free space behind the table, enough room for a breather, but I only stayed long enough to grab a couple butterbeers and some food before jostling my way towards the girls' staircase. The crowd wasn't as thick and I made it to the foot of the stairs without only major dramas. But as Sod's Law would have it, a seventh year who'd been too heavy on the alcohol had emptied the former contents of her stomach halfway up the stairway to heaven. As I watched, the boy that sprung to her rescue managed to set off the defences and turn my only road to relative freedom into an unimpeachable slide with a rather disgusting mess at the bottom.

Feeling just about ready to wring someone's neck, I changed my trajectory and forged at path to the mercifully uncrowded study tables. They'd been pushed to the side of the room and I scrambled to get atop them, crawled as far from the mass chaos as I could get, and isolated myself in the only corner. I leant my back against the wall, squeezed my eyes tightly shut and tried to block all signs of the party from my awareness.

I stayed that way for a while, occasionally peering at the stairs to see whether the combined mess of teenagers and sick had been cleared. At one stage I'd distracted myself enough by mentally completing my transfiguration homework that I was thoroughly startled when a voice spoke out above my memorised wand movements and theoretical matter conversions.

"What are you doing over here, Night? I could've sworn you were a party person deep, deep down," Black deadpanned. He stood casually at the junction between the desks and the wall– too close, I was ready to break something, and his face was always a viable option.

After jumping about a foot I made sure my expression clearly displayed just how much I didn't appreciate his presence.

He just snorted. I noticed he was a little unsteady on his feet and his usual defined tongue was slightly slurred around the edges. I wasn't surprised.

"How'd you manage to get yourself sloshed already? It can't be later than half past seven."

"I'm not drunk! I'll have you know I'm still both articulate and standing. I'm merely… tipsy." Unfortunately for his case, he had to lean back against the wall, more for balance than to maintain the appearance of one who thinks he is cool.

"Answer the question, Black."

"Well, as it turns out, the punch for us ickle kiddies isn't actually alcohol-free."

"And you didn't notice this while you were downing it by the barrel?" I asked flatly.

"Course I did!" He seemed scandalised by the very idea of implied ignorance. "I spiked it!"

I quickly covered my amused snicker with a cough. The knowledge that I found his antics entertaining in any way would just encourage him and he'd never leave. Speaking of which…

"What're you doing here?" I asked, before realising there was more situation appropriate question. "And how long do you suppose you're staying?"

He shrugged. "Nothing better to do. As long as I feel like it." I gleaned the overall meaning: I was simply easy to annoy.

"Go bother someone else," I bit out, not in the state of mind to deal with him, or much of anything else, for that matter. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, I couldn't make sense of the random images, and my overwhelmed senses wore me down. Gaze staying over the crowd, my vision began to tunnel again, the walls and people closed in. Gulping rather strangled breaths, I turned back to face Black. It was easier to focus on the small unassuming things; the breadcrumb on Sirius's collar was far less threatening.

"Remus is busy talking to Evans about something boring, James is trying to listen in and Pete's with a girl. You got any other suggestions? The party is still too tame, the first and second years still awake and liable to go running to McGonagall if they see I've got this."

'This' turned out to be a glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

"Firewhiskey?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Not so innocent, Night?" With that he dropped his head back against the wall and took a swig.

I didn't really understand that. Was it an expression of surprise over the fact that I could recognise the drink and the implications associated with said familiarity, or I guess it could just as easily have been a challenge? It only made my head hurt trying to work it out, and I was already only too aware of my brain trying to mash itself to a past against the backs of my eyelids. Talking to Reece was much easier, I usually knew how to contribute and what to say, or at the very least what he was saying. But Black was something else entirely. In a word: complicated. He made me think, always a damn riddle. He just had to go and break all the rules.

He loosely offered me the bottle. Definitely a challenge. I gave up all hope of him leaving any time soon.

But could I take him up on that challenge? I'd been far too relaxed lately, my rigid barriers of caution seemed to be fracturing and leaking impulsivity. Who knew what I'd do if I ended up 'tipsy', I might even engage in normal activities, such as pleasant conversation or, Merlin forbid, dancing. Then again, maybe a fuzzy head would dampen the madness, and I could definitely appreciate dulled sense at the very least.

Eventually I decided to just sod it all. "Cheers."

I took a tentative sip and immediately the aptly named whiskey scalded my throat, causing me to splutter. I didn't manage to keep it all down and just about drooled all over myself. My head felt strangely lighter, almost airy, and I shook it to clear the unnerving feeling.

Black, that tosser, seemed amused by my reaction. I handed the bottle back and he made a point of stomaching a large amount without wincing. He was a nasty berk, but the overly loud music faded into the back of my mind, along with the overwhelming smells and lights. It may have been the alcohol, but I began to suspect that it was more due to Black posing as a useful distraction.

"I have a question." I, perhaps unwisely, decided to make good of that distraction.

He just raised an eyebrow to indicate he'd heard me.

"About yesterday's prank," I elaborated.

That piped his interest, he began firing off guesses; "How we made the giant pumpkin? How we got tones of sweats into Hogwarts without getting caught? Ooh, I know! How many skirts did I happen to look up when under the table?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, actually I was wondering how you got the skeleton to sing when it doesn't have any vocal cords."

There was that mocking bark-like laugh again, "It's called magic, Night. And the skirt thing was a record, by the way. Twelve in as many minutes. Beat James's best score by four and a half."

"I know that," I snapped, electing to deny that I'd heard the latter part of that answer. I had to strictly remind myself that violence was wrong. Supposedly. It was very tempting. I grated my teeth, mentally counting before I could trust myself to speak without hexing him. I gave it up as a bad job at around thirty-four.

"Was it some sort of sound projection, or was it a simulation of a vocal box, or-"

Black interrupted me by putting his hands over his ears and yelling about the agony of nerd speak until I shut up.

He hesitantly removed his hands with overly exaggerated caution, "It's really quite simple: they could talk already, I don't care how, we just had to teach them the lyrics. That effort was a product of the three key ingredients in any successful relationship: bribery, empty threats and shameless flattery. Shame Remus wouldn't let us teach them dirty limericks, really…"

"You are a despicable human being, you know that?"

He shot me a boyish grin, the one I especially loathed.

"I would hex you, but I'm told it's lowly to attack an incapable, lowly-" Sirius was fascinated by some detail on the wall, "-oi! Listen to me when I'm insulting your manly pride!"

His grey eyes snapped back to mine rather unsteadily, "Huh, what? Maybe we should teach the Whopping Willow to dance the Time Warp."

I briefly wondered if those jumps in logic even made sense in his head. I signed, palm finding forehead. "Forget it. And go away." I added as an afterthought.

"But I'm bored!" He brought out the Puppy Face, accompanied by a healthy proportion of whining.

"Ugh, that actually works on people?" I was ashamed on behalf of my species. After a second thought, I rejected the association completely, promoting humans to my closest living relatives instead.

"More often than you'd think. You wouldn't believe how useful it is."

"You remind me of the stray mutt my neighbours adopted once. She would beg for food and attention constantly with those huge freaky eyes."

He grinned roguishly, "I suppose this dog was devilishly attractive, right?"

"It was a hideous flee-ridden beast, constantly picking up diseases. They eventually had her put down."

He laughed, "Charming analogy."

"I try."

"Sirius!" We both turned as the sitter arrived on scene.

"Hey, Remmy!"

Lupin rolled long-suffering eyes, and turned to me apologetically, "I'm sorry. Let me take this one off your hands. No, Sirius, put that down, how'd you find another bottle?"

Black's slightly lopsided grin still managed to look remarkably devious. "Secret stash number two."

Remus glared, "I'll deal with that later. Come on, James is looking for you."

"G'night." Black called to me, "Heheh, that's your name!"

"Ok, we're done here."

With that, Black allowed himself to be lead away, humming the Time Warp very out of tune.

I looked over to see the stairs had been cleared. I wondered how long they'd been that way. That wasn't how things were supposed to work, time shouldn't fly in the company of Sirius Black, it completely disrupted the natural order of things.

...

The rowdy sight of the Great Hall greeted my eyes the next morning. Bright sunlight streamed through the artificial sky, owls were making a fuss, and students were eagerly discussing the previous day's match at an even greater volume. It was ample torture for hangover victims.

Many of the older students without the foresight to brew, bribe or otherwise ensure their access to a cautionary hangover potion were clutching the heads in agony. It was quality entertainment for those of us in the presence of mind to appreciate it.

Spotting that deceivingly ordinary mop of brown hair, I plopped onto the bench beside Reece and slowly slid the requested butterbeer along to table until it rested in front of him.

"You wouldn't believe the trouble I went through to get that."

"Worse than spending a few minutes at a party?"

"You say that like it's a small thing." I muttered, casting my eyes ruefully upward.

But lovely Reece was no longer paying attention to my antics. Instead, as is prone to happen soon after the appearance of a delicious beverage, his stereotypically male one-track mind locked onto the object and all semblances of civility and attentiveness swiftly vanished.

Then it occurred to me. "You promised to tell me what happen between you and your Hufflepuff friends," I pointed out.

He groaned, "I need to teach you about proper application of 'Time and Place', Jenny, and a few lessons on tact wouldn't go astray."

Was I really that bad? Oops. Damn those social conventions, they're just out there to complicate everything and draw every conversation out to inappropriate lengths without permitting a point from arising. Unfortunately for the 'vocally economical', when a relevant question is posed it comes as a real shock due to the recipients affiliated with the Other Side. Yes, that's it, I'll blame society.

"It's really not that interesting," he insisted to counter my persistent staring.

"The more you avoid the question, the worse I'm going to get," I pointed out.

He caved. And glared. Ha, sweat success!

"Fine. You're aware my mother's side of the family is rather … traditional and old, yes?" He began hesitantly. "Don't get me wrong, we aren't extremists like the Dark Lord, but years ago the wizarding community was a lot tighter than it is now. After the violence between muggles and magic folk in the past, it's no surprise that many families able to trace their lines back at least four generations can have a… suspicion of muggles and a fear that they will dilute our magic."

I listened silently, my expression carefully blank, but I didn't like where that was going. It wasn't just a problem topic for Reece; prejudice wasn't a healthy subject for anyone.

"Tony is muggleborn, and our argument escalated from a discussion about wizard and muggle culture. I mentioned that some families find muggle culture inferior and repugnant, but for some reason he took that to mean that I personally found muggles, and by extension muggleborns, repulsive. One thing led to another; he was accusing me of being prejudice and you should have heard the things he was shouting about my mother."

He paused, looking at me with a mixture of guilty trepidation and profuse amounts of discomfort. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Comments like that don't go unanswered for, I said some pretty nasty things myself."

Then his face grew more sure and determined, "I'm a Hufflepuff, Jenny, I stick out for my family. He was wrong to assume what he did, we're not evil."

"So… that's it? You accidently said something he took the wrong way, and in the climate some people are stirring up he felt easily threatened, got defensive and you called each other names?" I summed up doubtfully.

"It was worse than that, the things we said…"

I wasn't listening. I put more pieces together, my eye's widened and deadly realisation dawned, "And straight after, to prove your point you went off and became friends with the first lone muggleborn you met." Me.

Confirmation was written all over his expression. My eyes narrowed and I waited for him to verbally confirm what I already knew, just daring him to lie to my face.

"I- yes. I admit… you're not the type of person I usually get to know, you were so shy at first, I didn't even really notice you until-"

"Are we friends now? I mean really?"

"Yes, of course!" He was quick to assure me.

I brushed the subject off with an impressive imitation of apathy. "Then why we met doesn't matter."

There was an awkward silence- it, apparently, wasn't fooled by my show of indifference. I broke it when curiosity got the better of me again, "Just what did you say that set him off?"

"I wondered how muggles got by without access to magic, everything would just be so much more difficult. I may have mentioned the word 'tedious'."

Ah, so there it was, the same trap that many magic families found themselves in; the belief that a lack of magic left muggles at a huge disadvantage. I had problems with that theory. Sure, muggles lacked an immediate solution to every problem, but this only meant they had to develop new methods rather than rely on the same spells that had solved everything for decades. Muggles progressed at a ridiculous rate, and if anything, they had the long term advantage. The weaponry developed in the last war alone showed just what they could do when motivated.

I was inclined to believe the cultures were just different, so different that one couldn't possible compare them by way of superiority. Magic kind would have to be careful not to underestimate them, especially since we were so vastly outnumbered.

Out dated beliefs had a tendency to get passed down, for a child would take on the ideas presented in its growing stages. Reece seemed remarkably open-minded and prejudice free, but it got me thinking. 'What else did his family tell him that he never knew enough about to question?'

The rest of the day passed in a blur, in much the same way as the following weeks did. My patronus lessons progressed at an infuriatingly slow rate. The longer I produced only the supremely frustrating vapour, the more time I found myself spending in the library trying to understand concepts I could barely pronounce. Reece joined me most days, fooling around and generally slowing everything down. But he made things more bearable in an odd, roundabout sort of way.

Classes were getting more interesting and more difficult. In Herbology, this meant the plants were even more vicious. Not good. In the interest of my health, I should've been placed back with the Leaping Toadstools, or, better yet, with the nice muggle plants that couldn't inflict as much damage as they received. Even with Reece keeping an eye on me, I still managed to get mauled, poisoned, strangled or in other ways threatened at least once a week. And I maintain that the Venomous Tentacula was looking at me funny last lesson- it'll be after me next.

In Care of Magical Creatures, we finally left behind Porlocks and progressed to Nifflers, who were thoroughly intrigued by Snape's oily head, which naturally lead to a few finding their way into the Slytherin dorms. The blame couldn't be traced back to the Marauders, however hard Slughorn tried.

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching and I discovered it was quite difficult to walk past the list of those staying for the holidays without adding my name in all due haste. It was a hard decision to make, even if it really was the only option left to me. I had to- no, worse, I wanted to give Reece a Christmas present. It was the very least he deserved as my friend. I was not a little clueless about such things, I just knew they usually involved an exchange of money for goods, both of which I had in little-to-no supply. There was an idea, though, and it would require a pickup from the Hell House. Also, some perverse and unhealthy sense of duty demanded I take some time to visit my mother, at least to find out if she still lived. One could only hope for so long, after all…

...

"Post!" Reece pointed out three days before the end of the term.

"Yes, that's what happens in the morning," I murmured absently.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a great grey mass of feathers disturbing my toast. "Mail? Ooh, a novelty!" I uttered, adequately surprised.

"I don't think I've ever seen you get mail, hurry up and open it!"

I dodged the owl's snapping beak and untied the small but heavy note from its leg, "Watch it," I warned the over-glorified duck, "Bite me and I'll turn you into a feather duster."

"A telling threat, I'm sure," Reece snorted. The owl ruffled its feathers haughtily and ignored me completely. Then it stole my bacon and took off before I could extract me revenge. Bloody birds.

I unfurled the crumpled paper and an actual galleon dropped onto the table. Written in a hasty scrawl, and in pen, oddly enough, were a few words I never expected to see assembled in that manner: Happy birthday.

What on Earth…

The moment Reece read the note over my shoulder I knew I could expect him to overlook the more surprising side of the events and instead focus on the awkward side of things. He reacted spectacularly.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday!"

I winced, "It was yesterday, actually."

Crap.

"I missed it completely?"

'Oh, Merlin, he looks like I just kicked his puppy.' I was tragically susceptible to his wounded expressions.

"Don't you dare feel guilty," I warned.

He ignored me, of course. "I'm so sorry, I'll never forget again!"

"How could you possibly forget something you didn't know?" That probably wasn't the best thing to say.

"That makes it worse; I should have known. It was your birthday, as your friend I'm supposed to give you gifts, I'm supposed to care."

'Damn it.' He sounded miserable. I wished he was fuming, at least then I would've had experience to draw on. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out how I could address it. Apology, explanation, reassurance? That might work, but it would require words.

"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now I know I should have. It just… I never celebrate my birthday, I didn't tell you out of habit, honestly, usually I barely even remember. I … I know you care, alright? You certainly don't need to acknowledge one day of the year to show that."

My sad attempt at comforting him seemed to work somewhat. He shifted uneasily, but I think it was more for accepting something that went against his nature.

"I won't forget next year."

'I know. I'm sorry.' I felt a twinge of guilt again, which was increasingly annoying. "Fine. Next year, the 17th of December."

I carefully tucked the note and the galleon into my pocket.

I figured that wrapped things up, and the whole situation warranted a change of subject. "Off to Divination, then?"

"Yeah," he agreed, and we made our way out of the hall. "Did you do the homework?" He seemed to appreciate the easier topic.

"That stuff about recording our dreams?" He nodded. "Nope," I admitted, properly nonchalant that time.

He snorted, shaking his head ruefully, "You're hopeless. Professor Axis said he was checking our progress this lesson."

"How? He's blind."

Reece paused, "… I concede your point."

I'm sure my smirk was insufferable, "As you should. Anyway, I don't think he'll be too annoyed, I dreamt about cheese last night, surely he can make a fuss out of that."

Reece looked skeptical. "It's just cheese. But more pressingly, it's been days since he last told me I'd die; he must be saving up for something big. I bet I'll be kindly informed of my unfortunate fate this lesson."

"Don't get too excited, it's only Monday."

Things were back to normal then. It was good; normal was safe, normal I could deal with just fine. Well, as normal as things could ever get where Divination was involved.

"Today we will be examining the progress you have made with your assignments." The professor's unsettling blind gaze seemed to pass over me, settling instead on Reece. "Mr Ottoman, my poor boy, were you, perchance, warned about the terrible evil about to befall you?"

"Would this have been the dream where I was drinking tea with some Martians who wanted to take over the world with basketball?"

"Doubtfully."

"Well then, Professor, I must have missed that memo."

The teacher stood in his cloud of theatrical smoke and nodded gravely, "Unfortunately the important details of the future are often lost in an untrained sub-conscience. The inner eye clears this, and such, it is my duty to warn you about the dangers in your future regarding a hooded man with a grudge."

"Oh, come on!" I muttered incredulously.

The boy in question shot me a smug look and mouthed what was clearly "I told you so".

Losing a bet to Reece was unacceptable, and losing in less than five minutes was so much worse. Additionally, Professor Axis heard and didn't look impressed with my interruption. Great, I was on his hit list. Again.

I returned Reece's look with a half-hearted glare, which only caused his grin to widen astronomically. Unable to bear another moment of his snootiness, I cranked that glare up to full force and set it on the back of Axis's head.

"I feel it would be unfortunate if we didn't share some of our findings." He declared grandly, then went around the class asking for examples. There were some interesting findings; he concluded that going to the beach prophesised the eventual return of the bubonic plague, a recurring makeup disaster warned of a dangerous beast most likely with seven claws, and a swarm of giant killer butterflies promised future problems with coordination.

Eventually he stopped at me, joy of joys. "Miss Night, perhaps you could enlighten us?"

"Sure." Here read: uh oh. "In my dream I decided to pick some cheese."

"Cheese?" He didn't seem as surprised as I would've liked.

"Cheese."

He seemed frustrated by my vast eloquence. "I need details, child, what was striking about this block of cheese?"

"They grew on vines, and they were rather large."

"Perhaps this was metaphorically representing the greatly abnormal size of your growing insecurities?"

'Now hang on, where did that come from?'

"Or maybe it was representing hunger?" I supplied. That was unusually bold of me, but I figured I was already on his hit list, I had nothing to lose by pissing him off with comprehensible answers.

His eye's narrowed slightly, "How do you draw this conclusion? Did you eat it?"

"No, Professor, I used one as a sled and rode it down a ski slope."

That threw him. "A ski slope?"

"It's a muggle thing."

"Ah, alas! That detail is the key, and it proves ill for you! I see darkness in the future-"

Reece nudged me and whispered with a roll of his eyes, "Yes, I imagine that'll happen tonight. He just predicted the imminent setting of the sun."

I hissed for him to shut up, fighting a smile.

The teacher ignored the interruption, instead choosing to continue his rant. I call favouritism, right there! "You will encounter a great struggle, one prompted by your own selfish hunger."

He was just mocking me now, but that was beside the point. I sent Reece my best vindicated grin. My personal doom predication was way cooler than his. That was what he got for underestimating the power of cheese.

"Thanks Professor," for letting me win, "for enlightening me; I knew there was something sinister in there somewhere."

He nodded grimly, "I'm afraid so, nothing is ever innocent about a block of cheese."

"Indeed, Sir." And I managed all that with a straight face, unaware that the professor had, whether accidental or not, actually made a prediction amidst all the madness of that lesson. I should've paid more attention, hindsight's a real bitch.

Reece and I split ways after the morning's lessons. I had to take a trip to my dorm to exchange books, and as such, I was walking alone when I was attacked from behind. The slight scuffle of shoe on stone caught my attention. Zealous paranoia –justified zealous paranoia, mind you– caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise a second before light erupted behind my eyelids and I got an unsettling feeling, something like cold water seemed to run down my spine.

Whirling and fumbling for my wand, I could only watch as the silhouette my assailant and their comrade vanished around the corner.

I swore after them, already dreading whatever new spell they'd found and decided to test.

"Bloody Marauders!"

'Two arms, two legs, ten fingers, no horns, hair present, no additional appendages or technicoloured skin.' I mentally calculated with practiced ease. With no outward signs of maiming, I concluded that the spell either hadn't worked (unlikely) or the effects were of a different nature. I could be doomed to speaking in iambic pentameter, compulsively insult anyone in sight, eat only broccoli, or sing nursery rhymes in Latin for the rest of the day. Merlin only knew. I would just have to wait and juggle the likely violent side effects accordingly.

I was stumped when I reached the Great Hall and found my feet refused to cross the threshold. Frowning, I wondered down to the nearest class room, then the toilets. All rejected my entry. Fan-bloody-tastic.

'Oh, I bet they just think they're so funny.' I seethed, glowering at the dull wooden door, as if my stare alone would reduce it to a smouldering pile of ashes. It didn't, and the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of the growling of my stomach.

I wondered how the professors would react when I stood outside their classrooms all lesson, or how I was supposed to get into the library or hospital wing to get the hex lifted. With a start, I realised I wouldn't be able to get into my dormitory. I may even be barred from the common room.

Snarling and grumbling, my hands clenched into fists. I took a swing at the nearest suit of armour, and the resulting clang reverberated down the empty hallway. One fist now supported a dull ache, but overall I felt slightly better. Rule one to therapeutic violence: hitting something helps.

The visored helm creaked as it turned to look down at me, probably with something akin to reproach, and my scowl deepened. "What're you looking at? Be grateful I didn't set fire to something, Tin Man."

I bet if the thing had eyebrows it would've raised one, but I shook my head, clearing the ridiculous mental image from existence.

"Are you Ok?" A small hesitant voice called.

I spun and froze. The small rounded boy was doubtlessly Peter Pettigrew, just the minion I wanted to see.

"Black. Potter. Where are they?" I stalked down the corridor to stand right in front of him and he, to his credit, only backed away a few steps. The Marauders must've been conditioned to my anger even then.

"They're, um, in the Great Hall."

I swore quite impressively. (What? It's true that you learn a lot in school).

Peter shifted uncomfortably, then met my eyes, seemingly having decided something. "Did they hex you too?"

"Too?"

He smiled crookedly, "If you're being repelled by doors, you can thank the Slytherins. They accidently taught Sirius, and of course he and James thought it was hilarious. I might've been their first victim." He actually laughed fondly, for some reason, I just blinked in bewilderment.

Noticing my look, he smiled again. "This isn't so bad, last week Remus had tentacles growing out of his ears."

"The fact that you can put a positive spin on this for that reason is just sad." I mumbled, backing away and rubbing my temples in an effort to chase away the madness.

Pettigrew seemed to relax as I calmed down. "It keeps me on my toes, besides, it's all harmless-"

My stomach gave another huge gurgle.

"Hungry?" He queried innocently.

"Obviously."

He looked extremely sympathetic, but I guess he, of all people, would. But he soon perked up again, "We'll go to the kitchens!"

I hadn't thought of that. "But the portrait…"

"Is technically a hole in the wall. Come on, I starving too."

Dragging my feet at the mere thought of the horrors ahead, I followed the smallest of my sworn enemies.

"Why does Black relentlessly provoke me?" I asked when I drew level with Peter. "He seems to have some fetish with breaking every rule just because he can."

He hummed thoughtfully, "It's not just for the sake of it. I suppose you wouldn't know much about traditional Purebloods, would you?"

My grunt sufficed as an answer, but I couldn't resist muttering, "Why does it always come back to blood in this place?"

"Blood? No, more like culture. Old fashioned culture, I guess. Sirius is more of a… revolutionary Pureblood," He smirked at that, "Coming here was freedom after years of having rules and expectations limiting everything he did. He doesn't like the expectations so he rebels against them constantly. It helps that he's rather good at it."

"What about the rest of you?"

He shrugged. "It's fun."

Conflicting thoughts fought it out in my head. 'Black. Expectations, burden, rules. Control, duty. Fight. White. Sirius, liberation: Rebel.'

A conclusion arose from the chaos, and it was startling. Merlin save me, for the first time in History, I actually understood Sirius Black.

There was a pregnant pause, in which my stomach complained again. "Let's just get down to that food."

Peter smiled to himself. I bet that little bugger knew exactly what he'd done.

The spell wore off a few hours later. I only missed one and a half classes, but Professor Vance was less than empathetic, setting me a huge essay to make up for everything I'd missed, and then some. I just couldn't catch a break.

The next morning Reece awaited my arrival at the Hufflepuff table. He couldn't sit still: legs bounced, feet tapped, hands toyed with cutlery, a broad grin was on his face one moment and a worried frown the next.

I was immediately suspicious. Stopping a safe distance away, my arms crossed and an eyebrow lifted inquiringly. "Alright, where's the body?"

"Jenny," He gasped, clutching at his heart in mock horror, "Do you really think so little of me?"

"I have faith you'd have the sense to confess the whole situation in an only mildly loud tone." I dropped into a whisper.

"No one died."

"Grievously injured?"

"No, but-"

"Severely traumatised?"

"No."

Heaving a disappointed sigh, I waved a brazen hand in his general direction. "Fine, shoot."

He shifted in his seat, uncharacteristically focused on his closed fists. Lips twitching only slightly, I continued to stare him down in silence.

"I-er… well, I have something for you." He finally blurted, pushing something green into my line of sight. "I felt terrible that you didn't get any presents for your birthday but I couldn't go to Hogsmeade to get anything and I didn't want to have to wait any longer for owl post, so I made you something."

He offered the green thing with wide, searching eyes. My hand stretched out robotically and the almost weightless gift dropped into my palm. My incredulous eyes took in a small and simple bracelet of interwoven flowers and grasses.

"I spoke to my brother, he said girls like flowers. I got him to spell it, too, so they don't die. Do you like flowers? Oh, no, you don't! I'm sorry, this was a bad idea, I'll just go now–"

It felt oddly right to launch myself at him, tackling him in a huge hug that almost sent us both toppling over. His arms reflexively, if awkwardly and clumsily, moved from the lifeless appendages hanging off his shoulders to encircle me. I could practically feel my personal space bubble burst with a decisive and final pop.

It was rather embarrassing for everyone.

I didn't care in the slightest.

"Thank you, thank you." It was my turn to ramble, but I was less than creative with my words. Too bad; it got the point across.

I pulled away, suddenly too aware of the contact. Actual human contact. Wow, a life hurdle overcome, a few years too late, but still.

"Oh. So, you like it?" He managed after clearing his throat. He was beaming, but his face was an amazing shade of scarlet. I laughed.

If that was how it felt to be one of those ditzy happy girls, well, it wasn't so bad, just this once.

I was still glowing in time for my extra Defence lesson that afternoon. Professor Vance noticed, a reedy eyebrow ascended into her hairline, but she didn't comment on my uncharacteristic mood.

"In yesterday's essay topic I trust you noticed the discrepancies in the non-Newtonian energy fields between the corporeal and non-corporeal patronuses." She got straight down to business, as always. Her no-nonsense attitude and refusal to oblige to the useless social norm of 'small talk' was one of the reasons I grew to respect her immensely.

I nodded, kicking my brain back into focus. "Of course. The non-Newtonian field is very defined in a corporeal patronus, which allows positive energy to give it tangible form since, like non-Newtonian fluids that solidify under pressure, the energy condenses when force presses against the constraints of its field. And, um, I'm not really sure what force exactly…"

"Think, child," she said, her voice beseeching, "There are negative forces everywhere: magnets, grass, the aura a Dementor emits. How would you explain this?"

That jogged a memory and reshuffled my thoughts into a more helpful deck. "Forces have direction?"

"Much better. Now, tell me, what tends to happen when magic becomes upset or agitated?"

"It changes, sometimes lashing out, it becomes more energetic."

"And since it usually rebels and goes against its intended direction, we consider it negative. The amount of negative force in the near surroundings mainly determines the strength of the patronus, that is why, if the caster is focused, the spells works just as effectively against ten Dementors as it does against one. It gives the shield it's 'kick', if you will."

"Oh, I actually get it!"

Professor Vance smiled. Pride. Reece's gift, his care, the hug, Reece's smile. Happiness.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silver light shot of my wand, much stronger and more decisive than anything I'd produced before. It shifted and finally a form emerged, circling the room on vaporous wings. My wand hummed in response, it felt alive and eager, in a way I'd never experienced before. From within me, my own magic resonated the same tune and the crescendo filled the air, crackling with frightening power. The drain was instantaneous; my energy deserted me as the requirements of the spell quickly spent my magical reserves.

I watched a little wistfully as the patronus –the corporeal patronus, I might add– was reduced to wisps and eventually vanished. It was gone as soon and as quickly as it came, but the room remained strewn with almost tangibly residual magic.

"Do you need to sit down?" Vance asked, brows creasing into a frown.

"Huh?" I was too busy trying to etch that image into my retinas to notice I had been swaying unsteadily. "Oh, um, maybe for a moment."

Suddenly aware of how dizzy I was, I sank into the nearest chair, sluggish and exhausted. "Well that's irritating. Will this happen every time?"

"It doesn't usually, to my knowledge. But you have just used a lot of magic and you are young. Your magic reserves are still shallow, but they grow with you. Eventually it will become easier and you will be able to use even more arduous spells."

"Hmmm," I allowed, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Did you see it properly?"

"Sort of. Definitely a bird, not an overly small one, maybe a crow?"

"I think it is a pigeon."

Flattering. "Just so long as it's not dove." That would be embarrassing.

"Technically, pigeons and doves are the same type of bird. Although, they would represent and highlight slightly different aspects of one's nature."

"That's something I never really understood from the books. How does an animal reflect a personality?"

"Wizards have long attached connotations to animals, it depends more on the expectation of the animal than the animal itself. For example, a dove would symbolise a slightly higher emphasis on love."

"Definitely not a dove then." Thank Merlin's blessed pants.

She looked slightly amused. "Perhaps not."

"If I wanted to be an Animagus one day, I would be that bird, a pigeon, yes?"

"That is often the case, but the Animagus reflects the soul of a person while a patronus is its heart, and such things are often much more malleable and variant, depending on the person. Life experience has a habit of changing outlook and personality, and the patronus changes with it." She explained patiently. "You would almost certainly be some sort of bird, barring any drastic self-reimaging. I suppose that is why you did this?"

I nodded slowly, "At the start. But it became more about just proving that I could."

Professor Vance graced me with a rare smile. "This shows you much about yourself, not the least that you can accomplish much when you set your mind to it. Some people are born gifted, but any of us, though we start behind, can work to become talented, which is even better."

"I'll get on it, Professor."

I bid her a good evening, then, when my legs were once again working in collaboration with my central control system, I practically skipped from the room. I'm afraid it wasn't my finest moment.

The balance between enthusiasm and exhaustion was finally tipped halfway through the Common Room, however. Hauling myself up the girls' staircase, I had never been more aware of how many stairs lay between me and my bed. Forty-six suddenly held a whole new value.

I didn't bother myself with all those unnecessary exercises, including getting out of my uniform, I just flopped gracelessly onto my bed, spelled the hangings shut and told myself I'd pack in the morning, reasoning that I could probably survive without the half of my belongings I would surely forget until after Christmas.

As predicted, I slept in and the morning was a little rushed- Professor Axis would've been proud of my intuition. I missed breakfast entirely, in the end, but made it down to the station with minutes to spare. Overall, more successful than expected.

The Hogwarts express waited impatiently in the sun and students passed like water either side of me. I closed my eyes, blocking the gleaming steam engine from my sight, reminding myself that it was just for a week. I forced my legs to move forward, reasoning that it couldn't be that bad.