Chapter 9: Welcome to Heartbreak Hotel

For a dude who had no problems with bedazzling his headmaster's underpants and running them up the flagpole – for one who had helped build a beach in the girls' bathroom – for one who had pulled a hundred or so pranks that could have gotten him into far more trouble than they actually had – Ben was coming to realize there were places where he just lacked sheer nerve. And they were places he didn't understand why he did lack the nerve.

He knew Rowan wanted a chance to work with Beau. He wanted to work with Lucinda– probably equally – and if he was any judge, for the same reason. He knew Lucinda passingly; he just … wanted to know her better. If Ben had been his cousin, not only would he have talked to her, he'd have had her halfway to sleeping with him by now. Not that that was exactly Ben's intention. Sleeping with someone with Peeves around? Not for all the galleons in Cam's trust fund.

But he wasn't Desi, and not just because he lacked tits and the ability to read minds, so he was stuck with shyly—shyly! Since when was he shy?—trying to work it around in class to working with her. There were only a handful of configurations of students that a group of four could have been broken into pairs … yet somehow when they did break into pairs, it was always him and Rowan. Today it was Ms. Caymen's fault, though he didn't really blame her for it. She was thinking about what was best for the class, not knowing about student interplay.

She was worried about the fact that the frosts would be coming soon; it was mere days to the equinox. He and Rowan were better at Herbology. It made more sense for them to be culling samples of the truly delicate plants and giving them over to Lucinda and Beau for cataloging. But that was logical – and what teenaged boy was very logical with a person he liked?

"Oh," Rowan practically mewled, catching Ben's attention. He glanced at her, then tracked to where her large green eyes were locked. Lucinda was sitting close enough to Beau that her rich red hair nearly smacked him across the face when she flirted it over her shoulder. And not only didn't Beau seem to mind, he actually leaned closer to her, whispering something in her ear. Lucinda did that head tip-back laugh that Ben knew so well from watching Desi.

Rowan's face briefly crumpled and she sat back on her heels, plant cuttings briefly forgotten. A taunting voice – very much like his cousin's – went through his head then. "You snooze, you lose, Benny-boy." He knew that. Opportunity wasn't nearly as persistent as a Jehovah's Witness or a Girl Scout with a quota to make.

"Mr. Ormonde, Miss Wolf, might I remind you that this is an archaeology class, not a biology one?" Professor Lipskit boomed right then. "If you want to snog—do it later. Miss Wolf, get over there and get those samples from Miss O'Blake."

A little color might have touched her face across her nose and cheeks, but then again it might have been just a trick of the light too.

Lucinda intelligently didn't grumble about walking over to where Rowan and Ben were in the garden and grabbing the samples Rowan floated toward her, which in and of itself was … odd. Or would have been, for someone who didn't have a guess about Rowan and how she felt about Beau. She usually just let Lucinda come pick the samples from where she knelt.

Their cutting was harder work. Why should they be wasting time to save Lucinda a few seconds when the other group obviously had enough time for Lucinda to practically start making out with Beau?

"Need any help with that row of grasses? I'm about done with these flowers," Ben offered as Rowan shifted a little further away from Lucinda. She pushed her glasses up, leaving a dirty smear on one lens. She took them off to clean them and promptly dropped them on the carved marble sundial by her side – which would have been fine, it wasn't a far enough fall to break them, if while attempting to snatch them back up she hadn't managed to tangle the handle of a satchel full of gardening tools and pull it off onto the sundial.

The small hammer in the tools hit her glasses with a crack that left little mystery as to what state her glasses were now in.

"Oh, Merlin's bloody bathrobe," Rowan said with a groan, groping for her wand in a way that reminded Ben just briefly of Velma in Scooby Doo and peering into the mess of tools. Ben saw the length of willow peeking out, the butterfly carved like a pommel on the end. He leaned over and grabbed it, handing it to Rowan before she could really register that he'd moved. She shied back from the movement when she saw the wand offered to her, knocking into the bench and rubbing her shoulder, only to knock a stack of parchment off the corner with her hand.

"Accio glasses pieces," Ben muttered, waving his wand. A couple of quick spells and the glasses were in one piece again. He handed them to Rowan who was muttering and looking in Lipskit's general direction, so he guessed she probably swearing, something he didn't blame her for at all. He leaned over and seated the glasses on her nose with a rueful smile.

Rowan blinked as he guessed he came back into clear focus. Her eyes briefly locked on the smile, and a blush bloomed in the apples of her cheeks.

"Uh—er—t-th-th-thanks," she stammered out.

"No problem," Ben said with a shrug. "I wear reading glasses myself; I get it."

"Oh—I've—uh—I g-guess I've n-n-never s-s-s-seen you in the-them," Rowan said, setting the tool bag firmly on the ground and loading the tools back into it.

"Vanity. I'm not dignified-looking enough to make glasses look good, so I leave them off when I'm trying to impress pretty girls." Ben shrugged.

"I wish I could do that," Rowan muttered, oddly not stammering the statement – maybe because she was speaking to herself and not to him.

"You want to be petty and shallow?" Ben asked, picking up the stack of scrolls off the ground. "I'd expect more of you, Rowan," he teased when she looked at him.

"Y-y-you're p-pretty alone in th-that. M-m-my dad—and Jon m-m-maybe." Rowan sighed.

"At least I move in august company." Ben smiled again and shrugged ruefully when Rowan shot him a hard look.

"M-m-most people wouldn't say a M-M-M-Muggle is a-august c-c-company," she said, though her eyes were flicking back and forth between Ben's eyes and his lips.

"Yeah, well, most people are idiots. Some of the best people I know are Muggles," Ben answered as Rowan shoved the hand rake back into the bag.

"Everything all right?" Ms. Caymen asked.

"I-I t-think so, M-Ms. C-Caymen," Rowan told her. "M-my g-glasses are b-b-back in one p-piece, th-thanks t-to B-Ben and—all the t-t-tools are b-back in the bag."

"We should probably get a move on, then—the rest of the class has already gathered in the courtyard."

Rowan looked horrified as she apparently realized that they were actually alone in the garden. Ben got to his feet and offered Rowan a hand to get to her feet. She blinked at his hand for a moment before taking it and standing up.

They entered the courtyard and everyone turned to look at them – except, he noticed, Beau and Lucinda. Lucinda was too busy flirting with Beau, and Beau was too enraptured, apparently, by the flirting to notice. Rowan's shoulders drooped, and she stared at the toes of her Mary-Janes.

"Maybe they'll fall down a well," Ben muttered to her behind his hand. She looked at him a moment in shock, before smiling ruefully.

"If t-there were a w-w-well f-for th-them to fall down on our w-way back t-t-to school—s-someone w-would have fallen in it by n-now."

"Okay—maybe into an Acromantula web then."

"Y-you're t-t-terrible," Rowan said, though she was still smiling.

"Yep," Ben agreed. They walked in agreeable silence back to the school.

"You kn-know—if …" Rowan trailed off—as Ben looked at her.

"Hmmm?" Ben prompted.

"If—if you w-w-want t-t-too t-t-talk a-ab-about, y-you know—s-s-stuff, I-I—I'd listen."

"Thanks, Rowan." Ben smiled at her—anything more would be cut off because Rowan's friend—Candice?—spotted Rowan just then.

"Awesome, you're back! I need somebody who understands grounding to help me wire this. Jon was trying to help—and almost got us both electrocuted—and Quill took one look at Jon's hair and told me I was out of my bloody mind if I thought he'd be holding those wires next," Candice said, then looked hard at Rowan. "What's wrong?"

"N-n-nothing," Rowan said to her shoes.

"Right, right. You know I'm gonna keep pestering you 'til you tell me, so give it up."

Rowan just stared at her feet – and then Lucinda tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned into Beau before sashaying off toward the school doors.

"Ugh—boys. Uh, no offense," Candice looked at Ben.

"You think boys don't know we're dogs?" Ben shook his head. "We just keep pretending we don't know in hopes that you'll pretend you don't notice." Even Rowan offered half a smile at that. "Well, I should probably get to dinner. All this detention time is severely cutting into my homework time."

"So's that mean no more pranks from you guys?" Candice sighed.

"I said we weren't completely unself-aware—not that we were smart." Ben shrugged and turned toward the school.

Dinner was … not pleasant, but not unpleasant, either. Rumor spread quickly, and by the time Rowan went to join her friends at the table (after begging off helping Candice, if only because she wasn't touching any wires until Candice explained exactly what she was trying to do and Rowan had a chance to research ways to prevent Candice's enthusiasm getting them both killed), pretty much everyone already knew. Aubrey was smiling sympathetically; Blair mentioned that she "just happened" to have some extra Fizzing Whizbees for dessert if Rowan would like some. Quill and Jon were both glaring in Beau's direction. Jon was subtle, Quill was not, and Beau was oblivious.

So Rowan had plenty of sympathy throughout dinner.

After dinner … Jon had Quidditch practice, Quill was meeting with his study group for Muggle Studies, Aubrey had Dueling Club and Blair was meeting with Professor Puccini for her advanced Transfiguration study. Even Candice was meeting with her Potions study group, which, given how much work it had taken Rowan, Jon and Blair to convince her to join said study group, Rowan was not going to argue with.

So, since this was as good a time to try to research "how not to kill oneself when working with electricity" as any other time, Rowan headed to the library.

Of course, she reflected as she looked through the card catalogue to try to find some likely contenders, the problem was that this was the Hogwarts library. There were some books explaining electricity in the Muggle Studies section, but they were generally less than helpful, especially since many of the authors understood electricity about as well as Rowan understood quantum mechanics. But there were other books in the Natural History section …

Rowan was browsing that section, glancing at titles and seeing if or when serendipity might strike, when she heard two voices coming closer to her.

"I wish Antony would have bothered to do the research," came Trish Abbot's voice, sighing.

"You're the one who wanted to study with him," replied Frida Rowle.

Bloody HELL!

They were coming closer, too—

Rowan grabbed the first book that looked likely and dashed out the near side of the aisle just as Frida and Trish were coming around the far side.

She paused, hiding in the next aisle of books, listening. "What call number were we looking for again?" Trish asked.

"Fehu-three-seven point Perthro-four-Berkano."

Rowan looked at the call numbers on the shelf nearest her. It still took her a moment to parse the combination of numbers and runes, figuring out what would come next—

"Oh, damn, that's the next row down!"

Swearing under her breath, Rowan hurried down the aisle, head ducked and book clutched close to her chest. Frida and Trish hadn't tried anything since last year – but that was only because Rowan was much better at taking evasive action this year than she had been last year. And if Frida and Trish were in a mood … and they caught Rowan alone … not even Madam Pince was scary enough to stop them from starting something.

Rowan would just check out this book and dash back to Ravenclaw tower before she could get caught. She emerged from the stacks of books—

Where was Madam Pince?

She wasn't at the desk! Why wasn't she at the desk? Rowan couldn't check out if she wasn't there!

Damn, damn, damn, damn—She could hear Frida and Trish's lilting, complaining voices behind her, closer with every second.

She needed to do something—

And then she saw it. Or rather, him. Ben Moore, sitting alone at a table, a large tome open before him. Rowan bit her lip and looked over her shoulder.

If there was one thing that Frida and Trish were smart about, it was that they were disinclined to start anything when there were witnesses around. They wouldn't even bother Rowan when Candice or Quill was with her – and as Muggle-borns, they rated even lower in Frida and Trish's estimation than Rowan did. So maybe if she sat at Ben's table, they'd leave her alone.

"Here it is! Now let's get out of here," Rowan heard Trish say.

Decision made, Rowan dashed to the table where Ben was sitting. She tripped on an uneven bit of floor, but she managed to catch herself on a chair and keep moving before she could fall. Or damage the book, which would have been just as bad.

"B-B-Ben?" Rowan whispered as soon as she was close to the table. She had a hand on the back of a chair already, and it was trembling.

Ben looked up. For a moment they simply stared at each other. For her part, Rowan was disconcerted by the gold-rimmed glasses Ben was wearing.

He didn't look bad. Not bad at all. He'd said he wasn't distinguished-looking enough to pull the glasses off, but—

Rowan shook her head. She didn't have time for this. "Um—d-d-do you m-m-mind if I s-s-sit here?"

There were at least three empty tables nearby. He must have thought she was mad. He must have been wondering why on earth she was insisting on invading his privacy. He must—

He smiled, and Rowan's heart began to pound even more. "Not at all. Have a seat."

Rowan flashed him a grateful grin and practically collapsed into the chair. "Th-thanks," she stammered.

"No trouble," Ben replied. He pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced again at his book.

Rowan took a deep breath and opened hers.

That was as far as she got before she heard a familiar – grating – laugh. "Can you believe that?" laughed Trish.

"Yes," said Frida.

Rowan had her back to them. There were plenty of small blonde girls at Hogwarts, even small blonde Ravenclaws. If they didn't see her face, they might not recognize her. She'd call it a slender hope, except it had worked an embarrassing (for them) number of times before.

But Ben was facing them. He looked up.

Rowan watched as his eyebrows went up. He glanced at Rowan and then at the girls. "Jest out o' curiosity," he whispered, "would the reason why you wanted to sit with me have anythin' to do with those two Slyth-a-bitches walkin' over there?"

Slyth-a-bitches? Rowan wondered, but she nodded. "Y-y-yes. S-s-sorry—"

"Don't apologize," he said, turning that smile on her again. "Should I get ready to start throwin' hexes?"

"What? N-n-no!" Rowan gasped. "I—I m-m-mean—they usually l-l-leave m-m-me alone if I'm w-w-with s-s-s-someone else."

"Gotcha," Ben murmured. But all the same, Rowan couldn't help but notice how he put his polished maple wand on the table, in easy reach.

Rowan swallowed and stared at the table. But after a moment's hesitation, she made her sure her wand was easy to get to, too.

Madam Pince would have probably flayed the pair of them alive if she had realized what they were thinking. But after last year …

Rowan took a deep breath and forced herself to look at her book, even if her ears were listening to every last footfall. And every last comment, too.

"Where's Madam Pince?" Trish asked.

"Not where she's meant to be," Frida sniffed. "Come on—grab a table and we'll wait."

Oh, damn!

Two sets of heels clicked closer, but mercifully stopped a few tables away. "This is good enough," Frida said.

Rowan listened closely to the scrape of a chair, the whisper of cloth, the thumps of bottoms hitting the seats. Her hand, almost unconsciously, went to her wand and slowly closed around it.

She glanced up, but Ben had turned back to his book. He ran a hand through his espresso-colored hair, frowning, probably at something he was reading.

"Awww," came a squeal, far too loud for a library, but relatively quiet for Trish. "Look, Frida. It's another Gryffindork and Rave-and-Claw, all paired up."

Ben went stiff. So did Rowan. Damn, damn, damn!

She did not need to think about Beau and Lucinda right now! And by the look on his face, neither did Ben.

"Well, you can't blame the Gryffindorks," Frida sneered. She probably knew that they could hear every word. "After all, it's only if you combine a Gryffindork's brains with a Rave-and-Claw's brains that you get a normal person."

Trish laughed, and Rowan winced. Ben, she noticed, was taking a deep breath, the kind you took when you were trying to calm yourself down.

"D-d-don't l-l-listen to them," Rowan whispered. She had no fear of being overheard and recognized that way. Frida and Trish's hearing wasn't nearly as good as their speaking was loud. "They—th-th-they're … horrible," Rowan finally settled on.

Ben looked up at her with a sardonic raised eyebrow. "Is that so?" he asked, voice as low as Rowan's, even if a smile was poking at the corner of his lip.

"B-b-believe it or n-not," Rowan replied with a ghost of a smile of her own.

Trish laughed – at what, Rowan didn't know – but it was her best laugh, the one that had all of the sweet harmony of nails on a chalkboard. Rowan winced, and so did Ben.

Rowan had learned the hard way that the only way to drown out Trish's laughter was to try to distract oneself from it. So she swallowed and asked the first thing that popped into her head. "S-s-so—are you—o-okay?"

STUPID, Rowan! STUPID!

If she could have crawled under the table and hidden there, she would have. But she couldn't, not without attracting more attention. So she had to sit there, blushing from forehead to down below the neckline of her uniform, while Ben turned his gaze to her.

He shrugged. "Ain't much I can do about it, even if I'm not."

There was something heartbreaking about that, even if it was philosophical, stoic, sensible. Rowan found herself frowning in sympathy.

But Ben shrugged, seeming to brush away sympathy with the gesture. "You?" he asked.

Rowan forced herself to shrug as well. "The s-s-same, I g-g-guess." There were many things she could have said – about Lucinda – about Beau – but she wouldn't, not while Ben was sitting here. He probably didn't want to hear the things Rowan couldn't help but think about Lucinda any more than Rowan wanted to hear the things Ben probably couldn't help but think about Beau.

"Are you kidding?" Trish squealed, giggling, and Rowan winced.

"S-s-s-so, um …" Rowan groped for another topic of conversation. She asked the first thing that popped into her head. "W-w-what made y-y-you d-d-decide to j-j-join the archaeology c-c-class?"

Ben looked up with raised eyebrows. Rowan winced. "S-s-s-sorry. It's—I d-d-don't m-m-mean to b-b-be a d-d-distraction. At l-l-l-least n-not from y-your w-w-work—"

Ben raised his eyebrows even farther, but now he was smiling. "Honey, if you think you're the biggest distraction in this room – even from work – you've got another think coming."

Rowan giggled – or at least she wanted to, but she'd found that Frida and Trish could pick out her giggle. So she muffled the sound by laughing into her robes.

"But to answer your question …" Ben shrugged. "I want to go into Curse-Breaking after I get out of school. So I heard about this class and thought—perfect fit."

"Oooh," Rowan nodded. "It—it is."

"Yeah. So—you?" Ben asked, gesturing to Rowan with his quill.

"M-m-me?" Rowan asked, flushing. "Oh … um …"

She should have realized that he'd ask. It was only polite. But he'd answered, so she didn't have much excuse not to answer herself. "Um – d-d-do you know about the G-G-Gorloises?"

"Queen Vivianne an' the rest?" There was a definite amused spark in Ben's eyes. "I've heard of them. All-witch clan, think they're descended from Morgan le Fay." He raised an eyebrow. "Are you related?"

Rowan's eyes went wide; how had he known?

"Sorry," he said, catching her expression. "It's just—Cam knows everything."

Cam? Oh—Cameron de Falco. Of course. Rowan nodded. "I—I s-s-see. Um. I'm n-n-not—really r-r-related—but my m-m-mum was. Before she m-m-married m-m-my d-dad. She—she g-g-got kicked out, b-b-because of that." Rowan shrugged. "I've always b-b-been c-c-curious, b-b-but—I d-d-don't w-w-want to ask her. It's—sh-she doesn't l-like t-t-talking about it."

"I see," Ben replied, although there was something—some fleeting expression—that suggested to Rowan he didn't, not quite. But if that was the case, why wouldn't he just say so?

Ben blinked a couple of times, then his gaze fell back to his book. Flushing, Rowan looked back at her book as well.

She probably would have made another attempt at conversation, the next time Trish spoke if not sooner, but ironically, the next time Trish spoke put an end to that thought. "Finally!" Trish huffed.

"Took Madam Pince long enough," Frida muttered.

Oh, thank Merlin!

But Rowan waited until she heard their footsteps retreat into the distance before she turned around to watch them. And she waited until Trish had checked out her book and they were on their way out of the library before she stood.

Ben looked up. "Leavin' so soon?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You've g-g-got work t-t-to do," Rowan replied, nodding to his book. She could see now, based on the mathematical formulae she could just glimpse, that it was on Arithmancy. "I'll g-g-get out of y-y-your h-h-hair. Thank—thank y-y-you, by the w-w-way."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Thank you?"

"For …" Rowan shrugged. "B-b-being n-nice."

And Ben smiled. He really did have a nice smile. "No trouble, darlin'."

"Because she's your friend. Really, what kind of question is that?"

"An honest one, Jon," Zach said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at his best friend in exasperation.

"Is this more 'straight blokes don't get into their straight girl friends' love lives' nonsense? You know Quill has already had to practically be restrained from going and pounding on Beau, right? And he's as straight as you are."

"I think Quill is just a shade more protective of his friends—and Rowan in particular—than I am. I was in Flitwick's mini-lecture when Professor Yaxley stormed in and dragged him off to chew on him about his Ravenclaws threatening her Slytherins. It was pretty obvious that she was talking about Quill," Zach reminded Jon, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Jon tsked as he looked at Zach, using a quick charm to smooth the hair back down.

"Jon," Zach sighed.

"Sorry," Jon said it in a way that made it obvious that Jon was not the slightest bit sorry. "It's not my fault if my Adonis requires perfection at all times." He pinched Zach's cheek.

"Really, Narcissus? Whose fault is it, then?"

"The nature of the beast, love." Jon turned and started walking toward the courtyard once more. "Still, it's not like you to not be sympathetic."

"About w-what?" A familiar voice asked from a bench by the door.

"I thought you were going to be outside," Jon said to Rowan who was practically fortified into place by a stack of books.

"I w-w-was—b-but—well, i-if I-I-I h-hadn't t-t-told you I'd b-b-be m-m-meeting you t-th-there I-I-I w-wouldn't b-b-be h-here a-at a-all."

"Was it Frida and Trish?" Jon asked at the same moment Zach asked if it was Beau and Lucinda. Rowan just hung her head and looked at her feet.

"Y-y-yes," she whispered.

"To me? Or to Jon?" Zach asked, slipping onto the bench so when she looked up again she wouldn't have to crane her neck quite so far.

"B-b-b-both," Rowan spat out, her voice cracking. Jon sighed and sent Rowan's stack of books to another bench so he could squeeze onto the one with Rowan and Zach.

"Jon, you do realize these benches are really only supposed to fit two people." Zach scrunched over to the side to give Rowan as much room as he could, given that she was now sandwiched between him and Jon.

"Oh, pish. Rowan—while a whole and complete person in all other matters—doesn't really count as a person when it comes to occupancy rules," Jon dismissed. Rowan probably would have smacked him if she could have moved her arms. She settled for giving him a dirty look. "Besides, we all fit onto that bus seat and it was a tighter squeeze than this bench."

"D-didn't I e-e-end up hitting y-y-you i-in th-th-the—uh—y-y-you kn-kn-kn-know?" Rowan stammered out.

"Which was totally your own fault," Zach said to Jon, taking his wand out of his pocket. "Accio chair. You were the one who said we'd all fit and we didn't need to tell that lady to move her bag."

"That dog was evil!"

"It w-w-was a ch-chihuahua, J-Jon," Rowan said as Zach shifted into the chair he'd just summoned, letting Rowan scoot over. "I would have sat next to it."

"I'm not letting you sit next to something like that! How heartless do you think I am?" Jon asked.

"I never worry about your heart, Jon, but sometimes I do wonder about your brain," Zach told him.

"M-me-me too." Rowan stuck her tongue out at Jon. "Y-you actually held C-Candice's w-wires w-w-without having the first clue w-what sh-she w-w-was d-doing with them. And then y-you let her c-come near y-your h-head with a pair of s-s-scissors!"

"She was just going to trim off the singed bits."

"H-have y-you l-looked at C-Candice's fringe?" Rowan planted her hands on her hips. "I-I w-w-wouldn't let h-her n-near m-my h-head with a pair of s-scissors."

"That's a good policy," another voice intruded. "In fact—maybe you should just let all your hair grow out—so we don't have to see your face at all."

"Now, Trish, that's not a good idea—she can't walk now, imagine what would happen if she couldn't see," Frida chided.

"Just. Move. Along," Jon said chillingly.

"Oh—Jon—I didn't see you there." Frida bit her lip, taking a step back and gripping Trish's arm.

"Of course you didn't. You're very careful about witnesses," Jon said coldly.

"Jon," Zach said, though he was trying to remind Jon that if he went for his wand first, he'd have to take points from Ravenclaw whether he wanted to or not rather than trying to defend Trish and Frida.

"Merlin's pants," Trish whispered—or at least tried to. "Let's get out of here."

"Well, you do want him to notice you," Frida muttered.

"Not that way," Trish said, tugging on the arm that Frida had in a death grip as they walked away.

"A-anyway!" Rowan said. "Y-you a-are just l-lucky th-that B-B-Blair is good w-w-with hair or y-you'd be s-sporting a m-m-mohawk or s-something."

The door to the courtyard opened again—Rowan's face twisting as Beau and Lucinda walked in, Lucinda tossing her red hair and laughing at something Beau said. Rowan twisted a strand of chiffon blonde hair around her finger and looked at it.

"Well, it would have given Jon a chance to practice his hair growth charms. Narcissus there would never walk around with a mohawk," Zach teased, trying to distract Rowan.

"And you would?" Jon asked.

"No, but I'm also not the one letting Candice near my head with a pair of scissors, either," Zach pointed out.

"You all right, honey-bear?" Jon asked after the pair had left the entrance area.

"Ain't a lot I c-can do if I'm n-not," Rowan offered with a faint smile. Jon looked at Zach who shrugged in response.

"I'm not sure what is more disturbing about that—your grammar or your philosophy."

"It's not m-m-my e-either," Rowan admitted. "Ben told me that."

"Ben—like Moore? From archaeology class?"

"It s-still w-works th-though. B-Beau—w-wasn't trying to b-b-break my heart—or even squish it, 'cause I'm p-p-pretty sure it only feels broken." She frowned slightly. "Or m-m-maybe cracked—n-not—not even r-r-really b-broken. He—he d-d-didn't know how I f-f-felt. How c-can I b-be mad at him f-for it?"

Zach shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hoping that Rowan and Jon wouldn't notice. It was a foolish hope; they were Ravenclaws. When they weren't nose deep in a book, they noticed everything.

"What?"

"Think, Jon," Rowan shook her head. "Zach's p-probably squashed more h-hearts than—than—B-B-Ben and his f-friends have t-turned in f-f-frogs for house p-points."

"Merlin, I hope not that many," Zach muttered. "And you know who else is really good at squashing hearts and being oblivious about it?"

"Zach," Rowan said sadly.

"You're not Michael, Zach," Jon reminded him.

"Right, he's p-p-probably n-not even oblivious about it, he'd expect every w-woman in the room to f-fall d-down in agony over not b-being th-the woman he s-singled out."

"Makes me glad I'm not a woman," Jon muttered.

"He'd probably take gay men too," Zach pointed out, scrubbing his hands through his hair again. "Anything with a pulse."

"B-but not anything with a p-p-pulse will take him back," Rowan offered. Zach shrugged. "Remember when he hit on m-m-my m-m-mum? Christmas, fourth-year, at the Leaky Cauldron?" she said coaxingly.

"Didn't Elaine hit him?" Jon said. He hadn't been there, but of course he'd heard about it. Both from him and Rowan.

"Yes, s-she did. S-she p-p-punched him right in the face and would have probably turned him into a donkey right th-then and th-there."

"If you hadn't disarmed her." Zach's lips twitched, wanting to spread into a smile.

"And s-she didn't even n-notice; s-she was too busy going off on him." Rowan shrugged ruefully. "And he deserved it. He was four hours late. He didn't even care how you got to th-the Leaky Cauldron, and he didn't even s-say anything to you b-before he went and draped himself all over m-m-my m-m-mum."

"Not to mention he had a very pregnant wife at home," Zach said.

"You'd n-never b-be your dad, Zach. It's n-not your fault th-that girls get crushes on you—it just—happens," Rowan said. "And th-this coming from s-someone who just had her heart s-stepped on. If it's still b-bugging you—even if you can't do anything about it …"

"Then you're not Michael. Now c'mon—this is no time for you to mope. We're supposed to be cheering up the girl with the squished heart, not you worrying about becoming that arse."

"And that's it, really," finished Trish. "The two of them are just—awful together. No sense of class, of decorum. Just a Gryffindork and a Rave-and-Claw snogging where anyone can see them."

Vivianne felt her eyebrow go up, and she glanced sidelong at Sybilla. Sybilla was glancing at her.

Together their gaze moved across the common room, where Belle was sitting on James's lap, snogging where anyone could see them, with no sense of class or decorum.

"It's disgusting, really," Frida drawled. She flicked the last bit of polish onto her nail and screwed the top back onto the bottle. She held her hand up to the dim light. "Do you think this looks good, Cornelia?"

"Lovely, darling," Cornelia said. "So … Beau Ormonde and Lucinda Wolf …"

"It's rather useless as gossip, Cornelia dear," Vivianne pointed out. "I mean – who is going to care?"

"There's no such thing as useless gossip, Vivianne," replied Cornelia primly, "if for no other reason than everyone else in our year will be talking about it, and there's no advantage to be gained from being uninformed. Besides," she added, face becoming mulish, "not all of us are lucky enough to watch the story happening right before our eyes."

"Who's lucky?" asked Sybilla. She flipped the page of her book on advanced Potions theory. "I for one have better things to do with my time than watch a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw making eyes at each other."

"Of course it would be Wolf who managed to get a Ravenclaw to take his nose out of the book," Trish mused. "I mean—every boy who goes with her knows he's going to be getting exactly what he wants out of her. The girl doesn't know how to say no."

Vivianne and Sybilla exchanged another glance, but this time, neither looked at Belle – or for that matter at Isolde, who had draped herself across a couch on the other side of the common room and was batting her eyes at Fabius Gamp. If Vivianne was any judge of perspective, Fabius could see right down Isolde's shirt. And if Vivianne was any judge of Isolde, Isolde knew this and was perfectly all right with it.

"Isn't that the truth," Cornelia muttered. She was writing … something, and she went to dip her quill in her inkwell. "Damn it!"

"What?" asked Sybilla.

"Out of ink. Ugh, I only have three more bloody sentences to go!"

"I've got extra ink in my bag," Sybilla shrugged, turning another page of her book. "Use that."

"Thanks, Sybilla. Here, hold this." Cornelia shoved her parchment and quill into Trish's lap and went over to the edge of the couch, where Sybilla and Vivianne's bags were lying. Then, "Ouch! Sybilla—your bag bit me!"

Vivianne was the one who looked up first. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "That's because you're in my bag, Cornelia."

"What?" Cornelia glanced at the pair of bags.

Perhaps Cornelia had a point. The bags were almost identical – on Sybilla's last birthday, Vivianne had bought her the same bag she used. But there was an important difference. Vivianne's bag was dark green. Sybilla's was black.

The only problem was that the light wasn't the best in the Slytherin common room.

"This is your bag?" Cornelia asked Sybilla, holding it up. As she did, Vivianne's bag fell, the flap opening and an inkpot (mercifully closed) rolling out.

Oh, bloody hell. Vivianne sighed. "Accio inkpot! Accio bag! Accio anything else that fell out of my bag."

As Sybilla confirmed that yes, indeed, the black one was her bag, Vivianne's inkpot flew to her, followed by her bag, followed by … nothing at all. Which was a good thing.

Vivianne stuffed the inkpot back into the bag … and paused.

An envelope had managed to make its way to the top of the bag. It only had one word on it. It only needed one word.

Vivianne

Bloody hell, Vivianne thought again. She'd been avoiding opening this letter all day.

But there it was, staring at her. Mocking her. It was only five years of Slytherin training and sixteen years of Gorlois training that kept Vivianne from scowling back at it.

But there really was no avoiding it, was there?

Still, Vivianne bided her time. And when enough of it had passed, she stood and stretched. "Well, ladies – I'm off to bed. We've got that lecture in the morning. So I'll see you lot later. Good night."

"Bye, Vivianne."

"Good night, Vivianne."

"See you in the morning."

The only person who didn't say anything was Sybilla – and she actually looked up from her book with a curious expression.

Vivianne tried to ignore it. She went back to her dorm room. She got ready for bed, taking longer in the routine than was absolutely necessary. Then – when her nightgown was on, her teeth were brushed, her face washed and her hair plaited in two long braids – only then did she crawl into bed, close the curtains, mutter "Lumos" to her wand, and finally open the letter.

Dear Vivianne,

Well! I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying your class. Things are much the same as usual here. Mother is nose-deep in another research project, and she's always got guests coming over – to talk about terribly learned things, I believe. She's very interested in the ruins that you and your classmates are exploring, and I think she's trying to find out more about them. I think. I'm afraid that when she starts talking, everything goes in one ear and out the other for me!

And I have excellent news! I managed to get a date for the Ministry's Halloween Ball! You have no idea how pleased I am. I haven't been in over three years, since I was going with Lovell Robards. But after we – well – after that relationship didn't go so well – but anyway! I haven't been in such a long time, and I'm really looking forward to it.

Oh, but I have to tell you about my date! I don't think I mentioned him to you in my last letter – but then, I didn't want to jinx myself, you know? Anyway, my date. He is very handsome. Not so tall, unfortunately, but he has lovely blonde hair and warm brown eyes. In looks … he looks a bit like Orsino Thruston, from the Weird Sisters. Which makes sense. Because do you know who he is?

Malvolio Thruston! Orsino's brother!

Of course he's not much like his brother, other than looks … I don't think. We don't know each other very well yet. But I'm sure we'll know each other better by the time the ball rolls around. And I hope he'll introduce me to his brother. I mean, I know that you kids aren't as into the Weird Sisters – but for my generation, oh my! Practically every witch had their poster up on her wall! And Orsino was the most handsome, I always thought. Well, other than Myron Wagtail. And Kirley Duke. And maybe Merton Graves, if you caught him at the right angle.

But Orsino – and Malvolio, of course – is pureblooded, and the others … well, Merton Graves is only a half-blood, Kirley Duke has a Muggle grandparent, and Myron Wagtail – he's Muggle-born, if you can believe it! Oh, it broke my heart when I found that out!

By the by, Vivianne – speaking of heartbreak – have you broken any hearts lately? You're so quiet about your romantic life. You can tell me, you know! I won't go spilling your secrets to Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet – or, Merlin forbid, Hexim!

Because I do feel it's unfair. I tell you everything – well, almost everything – and you don't say anything at all. And I know you've got to be breaking hearts left and right, even if you don't mean to. You're too much like me not to!

But I should get going, unfortunately. Lamorak's going to need to fly all night if he's to get this to you by morning.

Good-bye, Vivi darling, and I do hope you're enjoying yourself. I'll tell you all about my dress robes in my next letter.

Love and kisses,

Mum XO

Vivianne groaned and lay back.

That was all she was able to do before someone—Sybilla—twitched the bed curtains open. Vivianne sat straight up. "Sybilla!"

"Ah-ha." Sybilla grabbed the letter. "I thought so. This is from your mother, isn't it?"

"Sybilla!"

Ignoring Vivianne's protests, Sybilla clambered onto the bed, letter in her hand. She quickly began to scan the pages, even as she lazily waved her wand to close the bed curtains.

"Sybilla—I mean—really?" Vivianne huffed. "Didn't—anyone—ever teach you about privacy? I could have been having a wank in here!"

"Not likely," Sybilla replied. She waved her wand again, and Vivianne's spare pillow fluffed itself so Sybilla could lean against it. "You'd have taken basic precautions if that were the case. Only your mother gets you upset enough to forget a Silencing Charm.

"Besides," Sybilla mused, turning the page over, "even if you had forgotten precautions, the groan would sound different, I would think—oh, hello, your mother has a new boy toy, hasn't she?"

Vivianne groaned again, burying her head in her hands.

Sybilla clucked her tongue.

"I wish …" Vivianne sighed.

Sybilla didn't say anything. Her silence was enough to invite confidences.

Still Vivianne hesitated. This was … private. Family. Her grandmother …

She shook her head. "It's all going to end in tears. I know it will."

"It generally does," Sybilla agreed.

Vivianne sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "I should be grateful that she's got an invitation to this ball, shouldn't I? At least she's not crashing it."

"Thank heaven for small blessings and all that," Sybilla nodded.

"And Halloween's over a month away. Who knows if she'll still have the invitation by the time the ball comes around?" She shrugged.

"Hmm," Sybilla murmured. She glanced again at the letter. "Is that what's actually bothering you?"

"Sybilla—"

"I mean, really, Vivianne – your mother, whatever her faults, is rather resilient in matters of heartbreak. She mopes for a week, and then she's right back in the game."

"She never bloody learns, though."

"Well, you can't have everything." Sybilla shrugged. "But …"

"Sybilla …"

Sybilla glanced again at the letter. "You're not like her, you know."

Vivianne didn't answer, not directly. "She thinks I'm breaking hearts."

"Well—you are rather attractive. And you have exacting standards," Sybilla pointed out. "Put the two together, and … well … a certain amount of heartbreak amongst one's classmates is inevitable, I would think."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Vivianne snapped.

"That's because you're not looking at it logically."

"Logically?"

"Yes. Logically. The heart might not be logical, but we're not talking about your heart right now. We're talking about your head, and that needs to be logical," Sybilla said with some force. "And see, logically, you can't help how others might – or might not – feel about you. And you can't help how you feel about them. So if you're breaking their hearts, you're not being like your mother. You're just … existing. It's not like you're toying with them."

"Except Blake," Vivianne muttered.

Sybilla didn't answer.

Vivianne closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands again.

Slytherins, as a rule, did not show much in the way of physical affection – romantic relationships notwithstanding. And of course there were exceptions to every rule. Belle was never shy about giving one of her fellow Slytherin girls a hug if she thought that they might need one and wouldn't mind getting one.

But Sybilla, for all that she was an atypical Slytherin in other ways, was very much normal in this way. Except for certain special occasions.

Like now. She put an arm around Vivianne's shoulders and slowly, awkwardly patted her back.

Vivianne hesitated. But—the bed curtains were closed. If Sybilla's spellwork was up to half her usual standard, it would take a troll to summon the upper-body strength to get them open again. Besides, none of the other girls probably even realized that the two of them were having a conversation.

So Vivianne leaned her head against her friend's shoulder and sighed.

She said nothing. Sybilla said nothing.

But it was a comfort all the same.

Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up on Tuesday.