For the first time in a long time, Seamus slept through the night. No hellish dreams haunted him, introducing fears even more chilling than what he saw every day under Hogwart's new reign. Not once did he wake in a cold sweat, ripping the covers off himself and pulling the curtains away to make sure that no one had intruded in what was supposed to be his and Neville's retreat. Never did he consider the possibility that he was entirely vulnerable in his sleep. The hammock gave him comfort that his four-poster hadn't in a long time. He drifted off in a matter of minutes.

Though there was no sunlight streaming through the windows like in the dormitories, Seamus had a sense that it was at least noon when he finally woke up. He burrowed himself further under the covers. Missing class was nothing to fret about when he faced the possibility of being prosecuted for stunning the Head Boy. It was almost relaxing not to have to dress himself for a day of defending himself from the administration.

There was a rap on the door.

Seamus bolted upright. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Neville had done the same. His blood froze in his veins.

"Who is it?" Neville called out, his voice much calmer than Seamus felt was called for by the situation.

"Ginny!" came the answer. Even muffled by the thick wooden door, it was obvious she was in high spirits.

Slowly and deliberately, Neville pushed the bedclothes off of him and planted both feet on the floor. His wand was firm in his hand. It was pointed at the door. Seamus followed suit. Even if it did sound like her, there was no guarantee that it was actually Ginny on the other side. There were all sorts of charms for that.

"Come in," said Neville.

The door swung in and revealed their fiery-haired compatriot. Her face was glowing and her chest heaving as if she had run the whole way there. If it was a break between classes, she might have. She could only be so late before someone took note. Considering the events of the night before, it would be best if no one took note.

She slammed the door shut behind her, and it melted away into the wall. She was beaming.

"No one knows," she said.

"Come again?" said Seamus.

"No one knows!" she repeated, louder this time. Seamus glanced over at Neville. He looked just as confused as Seamus felt, brow furrowed and mouth pursed. "Zabini didn't tell."

"Oh," Neville answered.

Ginny turned her body, head still trained on the two of them, and the door reappeared. Say what you will about the Room of Requirement, it was awfully accommodating. "Come to lunch," she said, "I'll explain on the way."

And, disheveled from sleeping in their uniforms, they were on their way.

Ginny spoke almost as quickly as they were walking. "When Lavender and Parvati went to Dark Arts this morning, all Amycus wanted to know was where you were. They managed to cover for you by telling him you were coming down with nasty colds and didn't want to infect anyone, and he believed it."

"So now we'll get punished for that," said Neville. The manic glee of his march to the Room of Requirement appeared to have dissipated almost entirely.

Seamus trailed slightly behind them, eyes scanning the crowds on the way to the Great Hall. No one gave them a second glance. They might have actually gotten away with it.

"Well, yeah, obviously," said Ginny, none of the wind leaving her sails. "But here's the thing: the punishment for missing class is a lot less likely to be getting chained up in the dungeons and whipped for a few weeks. You might even just have to do lines with a blood quill, depending on if McGonagall and Hagrid fudged their attendance. I don't know whether Zabini was too embarrassed to say anything or what happened, but it doesn't matter. He didn't tell."

Neville allowed a tiny smile to creep across his features. "Alright."

The Great Hall was nearly filled by the time they made it inside. Ginny and Neville took seats next to each other, facing the House hourglasses. Seamus alighted ungracefully across from them. A place away from him sat Euan Abercrombie, who was digging into his potatoes like it was the last thing he would ever eat. So engrossed was Seamus in the revolting sight that he nearly missed the couple making their entrance.

Hands entwined, Daphne and HB Zabini picked their way through the crowded hall towards the Slytherin table. Her blonde hair and fair skin looked even paler in comparison to his sable complexion. Or maybe it was just that all the blood had drained from her face. By the time they made it to their seats amongst the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad, she looked as though she might faint.

Concerned as he was, Seamus couldn't help but focus on one thing: the feeling of her lips on his. With all of the excitement of the night before, he had almost pushed the memory from his mind. Seeing her brought it all rushing back. The smell of her hair brushing against his face, the curve of her waist beneath his hand, the quick, deep breath she took before plunging forward.

Every fiber in his body screamed at him to get up from the table and make his way over to her, consequences be damned. It would be worth it. Neville seemed to be able to tell what he was contemplating.

"Don't even think about it," he hissed, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

Seamus started. "I would never."

But he did. All through double Herbology, he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have her in his arms again. He would do a lot more than a peck, that was for damn sure. By the time he walked into Muggle Studies, he was ready to burst. Every minute or so, he glanced back at her. Lavender and Nott seemed to catch him every time. He never made eye contact with her, but once in a while she would look down just as he looked back, as though she'd been focused on him only moments before. HB Zabini took no notice of the whole thing. He appeared to be nursing a headache.

As he looked at her, Seamus began to admire her habits. The way she bit her lip when she took notes. The furious scribbling on one corner of her parchment, undoubtedly unrelated to the She-Carrow's rant on Muggle grandiosity.

The next time he faced front, something hit him in the back of the head. Lavender snatched it before anyone else noticed. Reluctantly, she pressed it into his outstretched hand. It was a note, charmed to look like a crane in flight.

Turn around, it read.

Though entirely untraceable – it wasn't signed, and was in stereotypical witch handwriting – it was clear who it was from. If she felt the need to send it, someone had obviously noticed him who she thought shouldn't have. He resisted the urge to turn around and stared rigidly at the board.

The rest of the period passed excruciatingly slowly. Nothing the She-Carrow said penetrated his brain. Finally (finally) she wrapped up her lecture and announced that they could leave. So excited was he to pack up his things, he didn't notice her saying his name.

Lavender tapped him on the back. "She's calling you."

"Shit," Seamus whispered. Could it have been possible that they were playing the long game, waiting to lure them out before they revealed that they had known all along about the stunning? Was he about to see just how unpleasant the siblings could make his life? No, he attempted to reassure himself. They would have gotten Neville, too. But HB Zabini had never seen Neville.

"Why," the She-Carrow asked, "were you not in class this morning, Finnigan? Is there something you need to tell me?"

The rest of the class filed out, and the silence left in their wake was crushing. His mind raced. It eventually grabbed onto something Ginny had said earlier.

"I was sick," he said, and faked a dry cough. "Neville and I both. Must be because we share a room, aye? Better now though."

"It sure does seem like it."

He nudged the strap of his bag further onto his shoulder. "Can I g—"

The She-Carrow interrupted him. "If we find out that you did anything, anything at all, your shant arse is going to be at our mercy."

It took all of Seamus's willpower not to say something smart. Not only was it a bare-faced threat, she'd used yet another slur. Not as bad as paddy, but bad enough. He took and large swallow and managed, "Yes, ma'am."

This seemed to satisfy her. "You're free to go."

He went.

At the end of the hall, he could just see Parvati's dark plait turning the corner. If he walked fast enough, he could catch up. Maybe he could feel normal, eating dinner without the threat of punishment lurking over his head.

A hand wrapped around his upper arm and pulled him into a side corridor.

For a brief, wild moment, he thought it might be Daphne. Then his eyes focused. A dark form, pushing two metres tall, loomed before him, leaning as casually against the wall as if he were in the midst of a casual conversation.

"Hello, Finnigan," he said.

Considering the circumstances of their last encounter, Seamus felt a strong urge to get far, far away. Nothing good would come of mouthing off to a chancer who was most likely under the impression that he'd left him unconscious on the floor. Before he could make the decision to flee, HB Zabini grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him close. Seamus's feet grazed the floor.

He spoke through his even, white teeth, dark eyes shining. "Listen very closely, Finnigan. Do anything like what you pulled last night again, and I will rip you limb from limb with my bare hands." Judging from the way his muscles rippled beneath his uniform shirt, it was not an idle threat. "Do you understand?"

"Ehm," said Seamus. He was having difficulty doing anything but blink. "Yeah, mate."

The taller boy pushed Seamus, hard. His head cracked against the stone wall. Even with watering eyes rendering his vision fuzzy and the area just behind his forehead pounding, he refused to show pain. He stood up straight and did his best to stare him in the eye.

HB Zabini straightened his robes. "One more thing."

"Yeah?" said Seamus. His voice was hoarse, but strong.

"Don't ever speak to Daphne."

Seamus stood, shell-shocked, for a long time.