Chapter 24: Tin Man

"I forgot to give this to you," Vivianne was saying to Zach, who was trying to refuse whatever it was – it looked like money.

"Vivianne, it's not important—and I've honestly never paid this much for a jumper in my entire life."

It wasn't working out for the kid.

Rowan was – well – to be honest, smirking as she looked on. However, Ben somehow doubted that Vivianne would have read her facial expressions quite well enough to tell that's what she was doing.

"Good watch?" Ben murmured near Rowan's ear; she jumped. Apparently she hadn't seen him. How she missed him, he had no idea.

"T-they're b-b-both s-stubborn," Rowan told him. "Vivianne's need to d-discharge a d-debt is warring w-with Zach's need to be a g-gentleman. It's a p-p-pretty epic s-struggle." She hid her mouth in her robe, probably attempting to muffle any giggling that might reach the surface.

"Then buy a better jumper." Finally Vivianne grabbed Zach's hand, stuffed the coins into his palm, and forcibly closed his hand around it. And at that point, there was nothing else that Zach could do but acquiesce. Once again, sneaky underhanded tactics win the day. Ben smiled as the other boy shoved the money in his pocket and thanked her.

It might have stayed like that for Ben, just another day in paradise as the Phil Vassar song pointed out – except that Madam Pomfrey stuck her head in the door. Like the draft of cold air that swept into the room and chased all the good humor out of it, the room was suddenly full of solemn, vaguely miserable-looking students.

"Yes, Poppy?" Professor Kilduff's mouth twitched at the side, wanting obviously to smile, but right now the school nurse just meant bad news for somebody.

"Passing along a message, mostly, Brigid. Mr. Moore, your aunt needs to speak with you," she said, and for a second Ben could only blink. It didn't make sense, even with his Corbie grandmother meddling, that it would be Charlotte, but the only reason that Mary-Anne would contact him by anything other than the mail system was if something – well – bad had happened. Very bad.

He gathered up his books, feeling a hand lightly press against his forearm. He spared Rowan a smile; she looked probably more worried than he did.

"Have her transferred up to my office, Poppy," Lipskit said, tossing something at Ben as he did so. Ben blinked as a bunch of keys impacted with his palm. "It's the red one." He didn't tell Ben anything else. No don't disturb anything else, no and don't poke around when you're there. Ben nodded once to his head of house before disappearing into the gloom of the hallway.

He didn't realize it was possible to trudge and sprint at the same time, but apparently it was – and he did as he headed for Lipskit's office. The red key turned in the lock, and the oil lamp came up on its own. He moved the fireplace screen and plunked himself down on the hearth, arms wrapped around his knees.

"Benny." The woman's voice that came from the head in the fireplace was as slow and drawling as his own. "Nobody died."

Well, that knocked the first couple of worries off the list, but there were more waiting in the wings to take their places. But still, relief relaxed his features for just a moment.

"What happened then? I mean not that I don't appreciate the call, but …" He trailed off.

"Oh, Chester went over to the Millers' to help Greg Miller try and fix that hunk of junk he calls a combine—and there was some sort of accident." Ben's aunt, a tall, stout woman, hair tied back in a knot that wasn't quite a no-nonsense schoolmarm's knot, wrinkled her nose – the same nose his cousin had inherited.

"Accident?" Ben asked, his voice shaking. When you were talking a couple thousand pounds of metal, with blades the length of a car and an engine that the slightest bit of chaff from last harvest could start into a huge fire, "accident" was not reassuring.

Still, no one had died, and Mary-Anne sounded more grouchy than concerned; plus she had to be at home. It wasn't like the nearest hospital had a fireplace hooked to the Floo Network. That had to mean something.

"Chester's got a broken foot and a few dozen stitches in his leg. Greg, I'm told, had to have a finger reattached and has more stitches than Chester does, but he's going to make a full recovery as well." Mary-Anne sighed through her teeth. "It happens, Benny. Breathe."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. We've got you trained to think 'the worst' when it comes to farm accidents, and I'm sure the fact that I called is not helping any. Truth to tell, I might have just sent a note, but I wanted to see how you're doing, too." Mary-Anne tucked a strand of hair that was working its way from her knot behind her ear. "See it in a 'you can't hide from me behind a short note' way."

"You know me too well, Aunt Mary-Anne."

"Of course I do." Mary-Anne smirked, before it faded slightly and she glanced away. "You know the old bat sent me a letter; she wants me to have a talk with you."

"About Rowan," Ben said bitterly.

"And she 'yelled' a bit about your manners. I imagine you politely told her to fuck off?" His aunt quirked an eyebrow.

"But politely!" Ben protested.

"That's my boy." Mary-Anne laughed, a rich chuckle that rolled across the ears like caramel syrup. "If you like this little girl, why does she need to concern herself with it?"

"Because my dad was enough of a stain on her precious bloodline; we don't need the worst kind of half-blood mucking it up any more." By contrast, Ben's tone had taken on the bitterness of raw winter greens.

"Oh, Benny." Mary-Anne's voice was sad, and if they had been talking face to face instead of through a fireplace, he'd bet a galleon she would have smoothed his hair right then. "She can think it all she wants; what matters is what you think. And I'll be heartfully disappointed in you if you agree with her batjesty."

"I don't agree with her—" Ben paused. "But—she does have the capacity to—you know—make things difficult."

"It seems to be her hobby," Mary-Anne agreed. "For what it's worth, I think everything with Cord and Aiden and her batliness is more complicated than that. Aiden didn't talk about it much, probably because Cord didn't talk about it much, but I knew my brother." Ben was quiet as she mused. It wasn't that she refused to talk about Ben's dad, but there was an edge of pain there that he didn't like causing a flare up on. So he didn't ask near as much as he wanted to. But – if she was sharing …

"Almost nothing that woman ever did was simple, so what went wrong between her and her mother couldn't have been simple." Mary-Anne shook her head.

"Almost nothing?" he dared asking.

"Loving you, loving Aiden – that was simple, quick, and completely uncomplicated so far as I ever saw, ever heard." Mary-Anne sighed. "Mom and Dad got a picture from Aiden, of you and Cord after you were born. We weren't there, they were in Vegas at the time, and—well—it just didn't work for us to be there. But she was holding you, in the hospital, fussing a little with your blanket. You could just tell it was love. I don't even think I ever looked at Desi that way. Maybe because your cousin was a little brat, even straight out of ovarian Bastille. After nearly three days of the worst labor, I'm still surprised I didn't shove her away and tell Chester he could keep her." It was softened with a smile, though, so Ben knew she was probably mostly joking, maybe not completely joking, but mostly joking. "I have to wonder what the most holy bat would have said if she ever saw that picture."

"No idea." Even the famed Oracles of Delphi would have taken one look at C. Madeline and been like, "Nope, not touching that one with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I promised I would talk with you about Rowan, which we have, more or less, and I let her know that you—like any Moore ever to walk this earth—come with enough stubborn for a couple herds of donkeys. And the best way to make sure that you two dropped out of school, got Rowan knocked up, and popped out a brat a year for the next decade was to insist that you break up. Or maybe not even wait to drop out before you knocked her up."

"I can't see doing that," Ben admitted.

"Wow, logic overriding hormones – somebody notify the Enquirer!" Mary-Anne smirked.

"Peeves, Lipskit, Filch, Mrs. Norris for a few." Ben ticked off on his fingers. "I wouldn't risk it if I could get into the Chamber of Secrets and all them couldn't."

"Because I'm sure shrines to Salazar Slytherin are just so boner-inducing." Mary-Anne shrugged.

"You've spent too much time around Desi; I'm like scarred for life now." Ben laughed back. "… Will that be enough?"

"For C. Madeline Corbie? The entire world is not enough for the great-and-wonderful bat. I doubt anything I said to her would be." Mary-Anne shook her head. "All you can do with people like that is work around them, Benny."

"Well, I should probably …" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Else Lipskit is gonna think I'm in here going through his private stuffs."

"I doubt that, but yeah. Take care, Benny."

"Give my love—or whatever manly thing I'm 'posed to give—to Uncle Chester. And my thoughts to Mrs. Miller," Ben said.

"Will do. Oh, Des said she was sending you something—with the way she was laughing when she mentioned it, I'd avoid opening it in front of your instructors. Love you, Benny." She winked out, never one for long goodbyes.

"I love you too." He tapped the fireplace stones with his fist before moving the screen back to the approximate equivalent of where it was before he sat down. He stood up and moved to the door.

"You don't need to bother locking up, Moore," Lipskit said from one of the chairs by the door. Ben jumped; he'd admit it. "Everything all right?"

"My uncle's in the hospital—there was an accident with some farm equipment. Broken foot and dozens—according to my aunt—of stitches."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Moore." Lipskit held his hand out and Ben dropped the keys into his waiting palm.

"Thank you, sir," Ben told his head of house. Lipskit nodded and headed for the office door as Ben headed off for one of the student lounges, the one where Rowan usually waited for him.

She was sitting in one of the chair groupings, facing the door, her eyes going between the parchment in her hand and her shoes. But she looked up when the door opened and her emerald eyes lit up, a smile stretching across her face; even if it didn't completely cover the concern, it was definitely honest.

"Is—e-everything all r-right?" Rowan said in odd echo of Lipskit earlier. He told her the same thing that he told Lipskit as he flopped into the chair beside her. "As w-worried as you w-were, I—w-would have t-thought—not t-that it isn't s-serious b-b-but …"

"Yeah, I thought it would have been worse too. I'm sure it's pretty bad—but Uncle Chester will be fine. She … also wanted to talk to me about … something else. The accident was serious—but not call-me-out-of-class serious, I think she forgot that I had archaeology class today. Normally the call—or whatever—would have come after class but before dinner."

"That m-m-makes s-s-sense." Rowan smiled.

"Yeah—it's just my mom's family that seems to avoid that," Ben muttered, putting an arm around Rowan's shoulder and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"S-s-sounds l-like my m-mum's family," Rowan chuckled. She snuggled against Ben's side, not so much to encourage jeers of, "Get a room!" but enough. Just enough. "B-but at l-least—I m-mean—I d-don't think the Corbies were ever—y-you know—D-Dark." Which is more than you can say about the Gorloises …

Rowan glanced at the parchment she was holding – not that it had much about the Gorloises in it, for all that it was technically from a Gorlois, or at least a former Gorlois.

"I wouldn't be the one to ask if they were." Ben shrugged. "Even if they are, nobody would've told me."

"They … w-w-wouldn't?" Rowan asked, tilting her head to get a better look at his face. He was wearing his poker face, which was … not a good sign. Ben never had a problem showing when he was happy. It was only when he wasn't that he closed off, grew reticent.

She remembered what Ben had said the last time – the only time – he mentioned his grandmother. Something about how the only thing she'd said about Ben, the only request she'd made about him, was that he go to Hogwarts.

That was … well, Rowan knew what that was like, to an extent. To be mostly ignored. But what she didn't understand is … why? In her case it was obvious …

But there was no way to come straight out and ask, What's wrong with your mother's family?, at least not politely, so she didn't. She tried something else.

"Is—is everything ok?" she asked, trying to find the hand he'd draped over her shoulder. "I m-m-mean—other than your uncle? Is—d-d-did your aunt have m-more bad news?"

"Well, everythin's fine back in Texas," Ben shrugged. "It's jest …"

His accent, she noticed, got thicker – just a little bit thicker – when he was upset. Rowan bit her lip, but said nothing.

She waited.

Ben finally sighed. "C. Madeline's actin' in a way that … well, let me put it like this. It makes me want to get her a copy of Emma for Christmas."

"J-Jane Austen?" Rowan frowned. "W-why?"

"Mostly because of what it says about meddlin'. It'd do her some good, readin' it, seein' how despite her good intentions, Emma's meddlin' came to bite her in the ass." Ben frowned. "Not that her intentions are good in this case … an' not that I'd want to be one of those good intentions, bitin' the ol' bat in the ass."

Rowan giggled and leaned her head on Ben's shoulder. "What's she t-t-trying to m-meddle in, then?"

Ben didn't answer right away. Rowan looked up.

He looked even more stoic than usual – definitely a cause for worry. "Well …"

Rowan blinked. And understood. "… Oh," she said quietly.

"Rowan—hey, don't worry," Ben said, hugging Rowan as well he could without attracting undue attention. "I don't care what the ol' bat says. I don't. I—well—"

"N-n-no, it's okay, Ben," Rowan replied – and realized, as she said it, that it really was okay.

She looked up at him with a smile – a real smile – one that Ben blinked when he saw. "I know w-w-where I s-s-stand in the old p-pureblood s-s-scheme of th-things. Half-blood d-d-daughter of the w-w-worst k-k-kind of blood t-traitor? There's n-n-no way s-someone like C. Madeline C-Corbie is going to approve of me." Rowan shrugged, then frowned. "Honestly, I d-don't think anyone w-who uses an initial instead of their f-f-first n-name is g-g-going to approve of s-somebody like me."

Ben threw his head back and laughed. "Oh boy, Rowan—don't let the ol' bat hear you say that."

"M-M-Mum always t-t-told me that p-people like that aren't w-w-worth giving the t-time of day to," Rowan shrugged. "And—I th-think—she w-would know better than m-me there."

Unconsciously, she smoothed the parchment that lay on her lap.

"B-b-besides—what's the w-w-worst she could d-do?" Rowan went on. "You s-said she b-barely pays attention to y-you. What's sh-she g-going to do, pay less attention to you?"

"Wouldn't that be the day," Ben asked, looking innocently up at the ceiling. "Hell, I don't even know how she found out about this." He frowned. "Maybe it was James."

Rowan wrinkled her nose. "J-James? James w-who?" She hoped … she truly hoped it wasn't …

"Think of the worst James you know," Ben drawled, eyebrows waggling.

"N-not James Fawley? But w-why would h-he …?"

"Stick his long-ass nose where it doesn't belong? Beats me, Rowan. But why do I think it might be him?" Ben shrugged, and Rowan wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, the sensation, especially when they were snuggled close together like this, was enough to make butterflies flutter around Rowan's stomach. On the other hand, she didn't think that she liked why Ben was shrugging so much. "We're cousins – an' he cares about all that pureblood sh—crap."

Rowan blinked. "I'm s-s-sorry, I c-can't have heard that right. You and—J-James Fawley …?"

"Cousins," Ben nodded. "Well, second cousins, technically, if it makes you feel better."

"You're r-r-related to J-James Fawley?" Rowan repeated.

"Hey, aren't all the old pureblood families related?" Ben pointed out. "You're probably related to ol' Jamesie, too."

Rowan shuddered. "P-p-perish the thought. You p-p-poor thing!"

"Aw, come on now, you're related to Queen Vivianne. How much better can that be?"

"Vivianne's h-human," Rowan answered – and even before Ben turned to her with a surprised glance, she wondered why she had said that.

"I m-mean," Rowan pushed her hair behind her ear, "she's not as b-b-bad as—s-some of them—you know?" She shrugged. "And there's … Hogsmeade …" She started to fold a corner of the parchment in her lap, playing with it without even really noticing.

But she didn't need to say anything else, thank goodness, because Ben was nodding. "True that." He frowned a little. "Everythin' okay with you? You keep playin' with that parchment."

"What? Oh …" Rowan glanced at the letter and shrugged. "It's f-from my m-mum. It's about … a c-certain s-skunk." Rowan looked up and tried a smile. "She s-s-said she wouldn't go and hex him right away. Which is g-good!"

"Always good," Ben agreed. "So what's the problem?"

"She s-s-said she wants to write to P-Professor Flitwick, s-see w-what he has to s-s-say. But—at l-least she s-said she won't w-write to D-Dad as well." Rowan shrugged.

Ben tilted his head to one side. "So … you're afraid that your mom might hex the skunk if she sees him … but your dad is the one you don't want to tell?"

"I know, it s-s-sounds m-mental, right?" Rowan felt the flush but couldn't do much to combat it. "B-b-but—I d-d-don't know. D-Dad will – worry. Mum … you know, if all of th-this was b-bad enough for hexing, at least I know sh-she'd d-d-do it and—that would be that. But D-D-Dad …"

She shifted. And Ben didn't say anything. Didn't ask anything. But somehow his silence invited confidences, even if it was quite clear, at the same time, that there would be no hard feelings if she didn't want to continue.

Maybe that was why she kept talking.

"He—after l-l-last year—with F-F-Frida and T-Trish—he got upset. He s-said …" Rowan bit her lip. "He s-said it—wasn't t-t-too late for me to leave Hogwarts … go to M-Muggle university … all that."

She peeked up at Ben. He looked surprised. "Is that—is what you wanted to do?"

"N-n-no! Not at all! I m-m-mean—sure, F-Frida and T-Trish are horrible—but this is Hogwarts! You d-d-don't leave Hogwarts because of a c-c-couple of b-bullies." The frown came back. "But—I'm afraid—if D-D-Dad finds out about the s-skunk—at least b-b-before I c-can tell him it's all b-b-been taken care of—he m-might t-talk about leaving Hogwarts again. Or at least t-t-tell me that I should q-quit the class."

"There are bullies everywhere. Pervs too," Ben pointed out. He moved his hand off her shoulder only to rub her back, lightly but rhythmically. "Why should you be punished 'cause they're pickin' on you?"

"That's what M-Mum w-would say—and what she s-s-said," Rowan answered. "B-but Dad would s-say it's n-not about b-b-being punished. It's about b-b-being s-safe."

Ben didn't answer at first. Rowan looked up at him.

"So what do you think, then?" he asked.

Rowan looked again at her letter. She smoothed it over her knee.

"I th-think it's n-n-not fair that I should f-f-feel like I have t-t-to choose," she answered. "S-s-so … I'm going t-t-to t-try to s-stay safe without b-being p-punished. There s-should be a m-middle way, I j-just have to be c-c-clever enough t-to f-f-find it." She looked up with an attempt at a smile. "How's th-that?"

Ben just laughed and kissed the top of her head. "Spoken like a true Ravenclaw."

"For Merlin's sake, Blake!" Vivianne's voice came out of the classroom just ahead. It seemed sort of vaguely out of character for her and Blake to be fighting in a classroom without a Silencing Spell on the door – and the door probably locked as well. But Zach supposed it happened, especially if the two of them had gone into the room for some reason other than to fight.

"Quit jerking me around, Vivianne. Why don't you just drop the frigid ice queen act and admit that your knickers get wet like any other girl's do?" Blake sneered.

"Of course, Blake—because you're Blake Skinner! Boys want to be you; girls want to shag you," Vivianne snorted. "Of course—wha—what? What are you doing?!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Blake snickered.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't go directly to Yaxley for that?" Vivianne yelped. "You don't—you just don't."

"You won't go to Yaxley because she'll just laugh about it." Blake's sneer was back. "And because …" He trailed off, so obviously he'd done something to Vivianne. Zach lingered in the hall, torn between intervening and knowing that even Vivianne probably wouldn't appreciate "being rescued" from whatever Blake had just done. But this sounded like it was getting out of hand, and he was a prefect; intervening was his job.

"You don't ever put your hands on me without my permission."

"And if you told Yaxley that I did put my hands on you—you'd be lying. And I'll tell everyone about it. How long do you think you'd keep your throne after this got into Cornelia's hands, your highness?" Blake drawled lazily. "HEY!" That wasn't lazy or mean. It was affronted.

"What's going on here?" Zach asked, throwing the door open; the two Slytherins looked at him. Blake's eyes were narrowed slightly, his whole visage more or less screwed up into a mask of disdain. His wand was drawn, but still more or less pointed at Vivianne.

Vivianne's face was less easy to read – but as she'd have made "if you don't get the fuck out of here, I'll hit you with something a time turner would be required to fix" easy to get off her face if that was what she was thinking, he wasn't entirely certain poking his nose into this was the right call, at least not yet.

"Look, Creampuff—"

"That's prefect Creampuff, Blake," Vivianne pointed out, her left arm going tighter across her chest as Zach walked further into the room.

"You aren't needed or wanted here. This was a private conversation between two people that has nothing to do with you."

Zach knew that telling him that he'd been in the hall long enough to hear this escalate to the point where he'd needed to step in would be a mistake. "Be that as it may," he said instead, "I am here, and I think you shouldn't be."

"And what are you gonna do, huh, Creampuff?" Blake had made his way over to where Zach was standing more or less and was basically in Zach's face.

"Ten points from Slytherin for threatening a prefect," Zach said, not backing down in the slightest.

Blake's fist impacted with the stone wall inches from Zach's head; the trajectory passed close enough that Zach's hair stirred with the movement.

"Do you want to make it thirty?" Zach asked quietly.

"Motherfucker!" he snarled before heading out the door into the hall.

"Not your mother," Zach muttered, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry," he apologized to Vivianne.

"For what?" Vivianne crossed her arms over her chest, having slid her wand back into … he wasn't quite sure where she put it. It was just gone by the time he looked at her. "Blake deserved to have the points taken off—I don't even blame you."

"But your whole house shouldn't be punished because he's an arse."

"Way the system works. Thanks." She walked from where she was by the blackboard over to one of the tables, tracing something that was gouged into the surface with a bright green painted fingernail.

"For losing Slytherin ten points?" Zach asked, his eyebrow rising sharply.

"For coming in when you did." She turned and half collapsed against the edge of the desk. Zach moved across the room and tentatively sat down on the edge of Vivianne's table.

"Are you okay, Vivianne?"

"No, I'm really not," Vivianne confessed.

"Did—did Blake do something to you?" Zach asked.

"A couple stupid little spells," Vivianne dismissed. "That boys think are funny."

"That do what?" Zach couldn't hide the concern in his voice.

Vivianne's eyes ran searchingly over his face, eyes locking on his after a short moment.

"He blew my skirt up—and while I was pushing it back down—he—there's this little charm—it makes a girl's …" She actually colored slightly. "A girl's nipples go hard."

He'd heard of that from some of the older boys when he was younger. It – in an odd way – probably had led to Juliette's appointment as an unlikely Hufflepuff prefect as well. She'd blackened the eye of a Slytherin boy who'd used it on a girl – right in time for Professor Lipskit and Professor Sprout to walk around a corner.

Vivianne tossed her head. "He's just trying to embarrass me. As if that'll change my mind to what he wants it to be."

"Merlin, I'm sorry, Vivianne," Zach said, after his teeth had unclenched. "Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey? Your head of house?"

"I'll get back at Blake. He was right—Yaxley would just laugh. I know her too well to see her doing anything else. And Pomfrey's got way too many hex victims in the infirmary to waste both our times."

"It's not a waste, he—harassed you," Zach said.

"But he didn't hurt me." She shook her head. "I'll talk to Sybilla about it—she'll figure out some way that we can rebut this in-house."

Zach stuck his fingers comically in his ears and said, "La-la-la."

"Oh, right, prefect, not supposed to tell you stuff like that." Vivianne shook her head.

"Especially not when I more agree with you than with the rule I should be enforcing," Zach told her. "Really, though, I know you're capable of taking care of this on your own—but you shouldn't have to."

Vivianne blinked twice at Zach. But all she saw in his expression was sincerity. Of course. There were people like Vivianne – Blake – Sybilla – Slytherins, in other words – who approached the world with mask firmly in place and a mind concentrated on gaining the next advantage. And then there were people who were brave enough to show the world who they were and say what they felt.

Zach seemed to color faintly, and it wasn't long before he looked away. Scared of her, probably. Well, plenty of young men were.

Except bloody Blake. Damn him.

Vivianne swept a hand through her hair. They were through – Blake might not know that yet, but they were done. If he thought that a Gorlois woman would put up with being—harassed, then he needed to think again.

Preferably from the hospital wing, but Vivianne doubted she'd be able to put him in there without causing house-wide fallout …

She pushed that thought to the side. Her revenge would have to be more subtle than that. After a moment, she cleared her throat, trying not to sound awkward. "Thank you."

Zach looked up. "Thank you? Again?"

She shrugged. "Most people – that I know, anyway – wouldn't have said that." She pretended to survey her nails. In the gloomy half-light, the yellow that had been cheerful and bright in the dormitory had turned fluorescent green. "Most people I know are too concerned with the world as it is to devote too much attention to the world as it should be."

"If wishes were wands, beggars would conjure?" Zach asked.

Vivianne felt the smile rather than willed it. "Precisely." She tossed her hair. "Though—if it soothes your conscience—if I play my cards right, I should be able to get my revenge on Blake without having to break any school rules." She smirked at Zach, inviting him to share in the joke. "There are plenty of ways to give someone a comeuppance without resorting to hexes and shouted insults in front of teachers."

Zach chuckled and shook his head. "Of course there are. And you and Sybilla know all of them."

"We've invented a few, to be honest," Vivianne answered with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smirk.

"Not surprised," Zach replied. He hopped off the table. "Well—if you're all right—I do have rounds I should be getting to." He extended a hand to her, almost without thinking, to help her down.

Time seemed to slow as Vivianne stared at it. She could take it – let him be the gentleman – or …

She smiled at him, took his hand, and hopped from the table. She didn't blink when she felt that familiar spark. But Zach seemed to have a difficult time meeting her eyes, and there was definitely some color in his face that hadn't been there before.

They parted ways at the door, Zach continuing on his rounds, Vivianne walking to the common room. She went slowly. It wasn't quite curfew, not yet, and she needed time to think before she risked facing Blake again.

Now, how am I going to handle this?

If she'd had witnesses – real witnesses – other than Zach – she might have been able to break it off at once. But that wouldn't do. Blake would have the entire house, or at least the male half of it, believing she was a frigid ice bitch if she tried. And while that might have been true, it wasn't the sort of thing she could let people go around believing.

No, she needed to come up with a way to break up with Blake and have it be firmly his fault … and revenge, too, would be nice, though if she managed the breakup the right way, she'd have her revenge and then some.

What did she know about Blake? He was full of himself, convinced he was Merlin's own gift to women. What were the odds that he might have, or be convinced to have, someone waiting in the wings when things with her didn't work out? Perhaps if Vivianne and Sybilla did some digging …

She was coming up on carefully blank space of wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "Anaconda," she muttered, and a portion of the wall slid away, letting her in.

The minute she came in, she was greeted by male laughter.

But not – Vivianne realized after she went stiff – at her. No, while there were boys laughing, they weren't even looking at her. There was a knot of sixth- and seventh-year boys to her left, clustered around a magazine of some kind, and that was what they were laughing at.

Blake was among them. His back was to the door. And …

He was cradling his hand …

Vivianne felt her eyes grow wide, and beat a quick – but not too quick – retreat to the safety of the girls' dormitory to let the thought percolate.

The dorm was empty – well, it was early for anyone to be turning in. Vivianne hopped onto her bed, grabbed the novel from her bedside table for verisimilitude, opened up, let her eyes rest on the page, and thought.

Blake was cradling his hand. The hand he'd punched into a wall.

What had he been thinking, punching that close to Zach? If he hit Zach, he'd have lost points, ended up in detention – maybe even been kicked off the Quidditch team. His reputation would have blown up on him, too; Vivianne would have been fully justified in extricating herself from an idiot and a loose cannon.

And what happened if he didn't hit Zach? He hit a bloody wall. That had to hurt. He could have even broken a finger or two. The walls were made of bloody stone.

A slow, feline smile came across Vivianne's face.

Blake was an idiot and a loose cannon. And he was getting angry.

If she simply let him get angrier … he'd dig his own grave. All Vivianne would have to do would be to wait for the end of the funeral to drop her rose and shovel the dirt on top of him.

She wouldn't have to do anything.

There, she thought, see, Zach? I can have my revenge without breaking any rules. You haven't done anything wrong.

… Well.

At least—I won't be breaking any school rules.