The minute Melania stepped inside Hazel's father's flat, she immediately wished she could turn right back around.

It was dark and dingy and smelled like unwashed socks and cigarettes. She supposed that back when Hazel had lived there, the place would have been much tidier. But since she had moved out, it seemed her father simply couldn't be bothered to do any of the cleaning himself.

Men are so incompetent, Melania thought, as she removed her coat and handed it to Hazel. The true weaker sex.

"Hi, Daddy," Hazel chirped, as she hung Melania's coat in the closet. "Happy birthday!"

Mr. Denholm sat in a recliner in the corner of the room, bathed in shadow, too engrossed in whatever muggle sports game was currently playing on television to spare his daughter a second glance. "Thanks," he muttered.

As Teddy greeted Mr. Denholm, Melania studied him. He was balding and too much drinking had given him a bit of a belly. But there was something about his face that made her think that perhaps, in his younger years, he had once been quite good-looking.

"And this is Melania Muldoon," Hazel told her father. "She's the receptionist at our office and it's her birthday today as well, so I told her she could join us for dinner."

Mr. Denholm finally pulled his gaze away from the TV to give Melania a once over. "Happy birthday," he said. "You can call me David." His voice low, gruff, almost…attractive.

"Happy birthday, David," she murmured, feeling her face heat up. What a strange thought to have. Was she that desperate for male attention that she would stoop this low? Surely not.

David didn't acknowledge her. He had already turned his attention back to the television. Hazel gave a strained smile. "Well," she said. "I'm going to go heat up dinner. Teddy, Melania, would you care to join me?"

"So, Dad," Hazel said later, as the four of them sat around the dining room table eating the steak and kidney pie she had made for the occasion. "How did your job interview go yesterday?"

Her dad had been out of work for six months now. It was starting to take its toll on him. He spent even more time than usual down at the pub, drinking his life away. He was more prone to mood swings and angry outbursts. On top of that, she had a feeling he despised taking money from her and it was making him behave very bitterly towards her.

"It didn't start out well," he said. "I was late because of all the delays on the goddamned Circle line. I'm not like you magical folk, you know? I can't just poof my way to wherever I want to be. But I explained myself when I arrived and they were pretty understanding about it. The interview itself went really well."

"That's great, Dad!" Hazel said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He always said the interviews went well, but no one ever hired him.

He shrugged. "I'll be near Regent's Park if I get the job. Remember how we always went there together when you were little?"

"Of course," Hazel said, surprised. Her dad rarely—if ever— got nostalgic or talked about her childhood. "We'd kick around a football and get ice cream. And we always walked over to Primrose Hill afterwards and went all the way to the top. I loved it up there."

"I proposed to your mother on top of Primrose Hill," her dad said quietly.

Hazel stared at him, totally caught off guard. He never mentioned her mum. The last time she'd come up in conversation had to have been a decade ago, after he'd found out that she and Greg (his former best friend and the man she'd left him for) had gotten married and moved to the south of France. "I should have never gone near that stupid slag," she remembered him saying. "I would have been better off."

But all nine-year-old Hazel had heard was: "I would have been better off without you, Hazel." After all, wasn't that basically what he was implying? She wouldn't exist if he had never gone near her mum.

Across the table, Melania was staring with rapt attention at the scene unfolding before her. Hazel desperately wished she had never invited her. Why had her dad chosen the day they had company as the day he was going to delve into their family's past?

"You did?" Hazel finally said. "I didn't know that."

"The sun was shining and she was wearing this yellow dress. And I remember thinking that I had never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life. And so I asked her—on a whim. I couldn't believe it when she said yes. I always had this feeling that I was more invested in the relationship than she was. I should have trusted my instincts, huh? But I was young and stupid and I really fucking loved her."

Hazel was silent. She honestly didn't know what to say. She had been seven when her mum had left. She barely even remembered her. Beneath the table, she felt Teddy slip his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. She felt herself relax, though only slightly.

Her dad shook his head, as if coming to his senses, and picked his fork back up. "It's always the pretty ones that steal your heart and leave you for dead."

The awkwardness in the air was so palpable, Hazel could almost taste it. Nobody knew what to say next.

And then, suddenly, Melania cleared her throat. Everyone turned to stare at her.

"I was just wondering," she said, "if it's always so stuffy in this flat. I feel as if I'm suffocating. You could really use some better air circulation, David. And some air fresheners, if I'm being honest. When was the last time you cleaned…" She paused, glancing around. "Well…anything?"

Hazel's dad squinted her at her. "Why the fuck are you here again?" he asked. He turned and looked at Hazel. "Why did you bring this woman into my home?"

"Dad!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Don't be rude to our guest! What's wrong with you?"

"You're accusing me of being rude?" he asked. "Did you not hear her? Making demands like she's queen herself." He turned back to Melania. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, you're just going to have to try to suffer through this stuffy, smelly hell with the rest of us. That is, unless you want to leave. I trust you can find the door on your own?"

Melania pursed her lips, pushing up her horn-rimmed glasses and surveying him coolly. "Perhaps I will. It seems coming here was a mistake. I wouldn't have done so if I knew it would bother you so much."

"No!" said Hazel, as Melania started to stand. "Sit back down. I made an amazing cake for dessert and we are all going to enjoy it together."

Her dad downed the rest of his beer. "You shouldn't have come here tonight, Hazel," he said, slamming the glass down. The rickety wooden table shook, tipping over the vase of flowers Hazel had carefully placed in the center to spruce the place up. The water ran across the table, spilling into Teddy's lap.

Hazel watched as her boyfriend dabbed at his lap with a napkin. His face was contorted, and she could tell her desperately wanted to shout at her father. Either that or just get up and leave. But he stayed seated and quiet. For her. How strange it was, knowing that Teddy Lupin cared for her that much. Loved her that much. Would it ever stop being strange?

"I would have been happier just watching the game alone," her dad continued, as if nothing had happened. "I told you that. But you didn't listen, did you? You insisted on coming over. You never fucking listen, do you? You're just like her, you know that? Your mum. She never fucking listened either. Just did whatever she wanted. No one else's happiness mattered. Just hers." His eyes flashed as he looked straight at her. "Selfish, ungrateful bitch."

Hazel wasn't sure if that last part was meant for her or just her mum, but the way he looked at her while he said it sent a shiver down her spine. And despite her best efforts to keep it together, she burst into tears.

Melania watched as Hazel rushed from the room, followed closely by a worried Teddy.

"You're an awful man," she said quietly, turning back toward David. "How could you treat that sweet girl like that? After everything she's done for you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You don't deserve to call yourself her father."

"Shut up," he snapped, his eyes locked on the door to the room Hazel and Teddy has disappeared through. Melania presumed it was Hazel's old bedroom.

"Is that how you always talk to her?" she asked, having absolutely no intention of shutting up.

"Of course not," he muttered, his gaze still on the door. "She's all I have in this world. The only good thing that ever happened to me. I just…lose my temper sometimes."

"Do you ever tell her that?"

He finally looked at her. "Are you usually this nosy?"

She couldn't help a small smile from creeping over her face. "Always."

He rolled his eyes, but the anger seemed to have dissipated from his face. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go talk to my daughter. Feel free to grab a piece of cake to take with you. I, unfortunately, think the party's over."

She watched as he stood and made his way over to Hazel's bedroom door. "Baby," he said, as he knocked softly. "Let me in, okay? I'm sorry."

Teddy opened the door, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "She doesn't want to talk to you right now."

"It's okay, Teddy." Hazel's voice came drifting out of the room. A soft, defeated whisper. A girl who had probably heard one too many apologies from the one person in her life who was supposed to always be there but never had been. "You can let him in."

"I don't know what to do, Vic!"

Chastity Burbank flung herself dramatically across Victoire's bed, her wild blonde curls fanning out around her. "Things have gotten so bad with Carter. I literally don't remember the last time we actually spent the night together. He's always out!"

Victoire perched next to her, not sure what to say. She had no experience with addiction. No advice to give.

"The worst part is that nobody knows. During the day, he's fine. He's like, the most functioning addict ever. During the day, he's a different person. Everybody's always saying how great it is—I'm finally clean and our relationship is so much different than last time. We're not photographed stumbling out of clubs together. Instead, it's photos of us walking through central park and having lunch at cafes! And I just have to smile and nod and act like everything's okay. Where even does he go, Vic? There're never any pictures. He must be going to the skeeviest places." She shuddered. "He wasn't like this before. I was the one with the problem. He just liked having fun. I don't understand what happened."

"You should talk to him," said Victoire. "Maybe you can convince him to go to rehab. It worked for you."

Chastity sat up, smiling sadly. "I knew I was an addict, Vic. And I wanted to change. That's why rehab worked for me. But he…he refuses to admit that he has a problem." She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. It's too hard. I can barely keep myself on the right track. How am I supposed to help him?"

Victoire shook her head, feeling completely hopeless. "Just do whatever you think is right. That's all anyone can do."

It had been two weeks since Lawson and Carter's fight at the hospital and neither of them had spoken since.

Lawson wasn't taking it well. And consequently, being around him had become a bit of a chore. He was so moody, so ready to bite Victoire's head off over the smallest things.

The whole thing had caused the honeymoon phase of their relationship has coming screeching to a halt, leaving Victoire wondering what the hell they had been thinking in the first place. They had never gotten along. Did they really think they could sustain a relationship? Sure, the attraction was there. It was definitely there. He had told her he loved her and she had said it back. And she believed that. But loving someone and liking someone were two different things. And lately, she just didn't particularly like Lawson Mills.

"Let's order takeout tonight," he said that evening, letting himself into her apartment. "Is Chastity still here?"

"No," said Victoire from where she was sitting on the couch. "She left like twenty minutes ago."

"Did she say how Mrs. Remington is doing?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You didn't think to ask?" He sounded annoyed.

"No, Lawson. I didn't," she said, bracing herself for the inevitable argument that was surely coming.

"Jesus, Vic," he muttered. "I know being a self-centered princess is your thing, but you should this new thing called caring about others some time. It's pretty awesome!"

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "I don't even know that woman. She's Carter's mom and your former fuck buddy. She has nothing to do with me. Why would I think to inquire about her health? Nothing's stopping you from calling up Carter and asking him yourself."

"This is all because you're jealous, isn't it? Of what happened between me and Mrs. Remington. You need to grow up, Vic. She almost died. Now's not the time for your insecurities."

Victoire wasn't even going to bother dignifying that with a response. She stood up, brushing past him and grabbing her coat from the hook by the door. "I'm going out for some air."

"What about dinner?" he asked, whirling around to face her.

"You can order your own damn takeaway, Lawson," she said, yanking open the door. "And when I get back, I don't want to see you in my flat, alright? You better be gone."

She slammed the door shut behind her. She could hear him calling her name, the sound muffled by the barrier between them.

She didn't stop walking.

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