Disclaimer: You should know by now.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Back Again"

Or

"Life On Both Sides"

(Part A: The Head Girl, or "I Knew You Were Trouble".)

9:47am. Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

The Hogwarts Express loomed, omnipotent, through the fog to Cordelia. She breathed out, but the inhalation that followed was filled with the smell of burning coal and the Head Girl grimaced. She stood now on the end of the platform, where the train began and the rostrum ceased; alone and waiting for companionship.

This was going to be a good year—it had to be.

She was Head Girl, though Rose surely hated her; she was Quidditch Captain, though many people surely hated her for that, too; and she was single, which Cordelia was sure would actually make people like her more.

But the promise she had made to herself still stood: no boys, no relationships. Not until seventh year was done. It wasn't because she was pining over her lost love with James, or because she wanted people to react in any particular way—the simple truth of the matter was that Cordelia Gilbert had grown very, very tired of dramatics.

The time dwindled to ten o'clock; a point at which Scorpius arrived, along with an extremely grumpy-looking Patricia. The former was wearing a white button-down shirt, and the latter's hair was barely dry. She squinted at Cordelia, struggling to make out her silhouette through the smog, before finally realizing that it was, in fact, her friend.

'It's too early for this,' Patricia grumbled.

Scorpius sighed. 'You shouldn't have come with me, then.'

'But I come with you every year,' she argued.

Scorpius's head tilted to the side in contemplation. 'Yes, I suppose you do.'

Cordelia watched the scene unfold, and discovered something almost delicate in the way the two Slytherins interacted; the looks they shared, the light disposition of the conversation entirely. It may have been something to do with being on the platform, or it may have been something else altogether, but Cordelia noticed this nonetheless.

'Head Girl.'

Cordelia perked up. 'What? Sorry?'

Scorpius grinned. 'Off to Hogwarts—then we're in charge.'

He looked between Cordelia and his girlfriend, rubbing his hands together in a twisted sort of sinister manner. He stopped this quite abruptly, exchanging the happy-go-lucky look for a glare. Patricia and Cordelia turned around.

10:00am. Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

That was completely normal. James, Fred and Molly had come with their parents to see the younger relatives off. That wasn't out of the norm. Not at all. Cordelia tried to shrug it off, because the 'understanding' had been reached after all, but she couldn't seem to.

There was something in James's face, something in his eyes. He smiled at her, but that warranted a warning glance from Molly, as though smiling at your once-upon-a-time girlfriend was a sin. Cordelia forced herself to shake it off and move out of the vicinity; away from the Potters and the Weasleys and further into the fog of the platform, but this was of no help. Retreat brought with it new problems: a crowd of second-years and the possibility of actually crushing one of them, running into Shelley Corner walking around with some desperate sixth-year in tow—it felt so strange not to refer to herself as one—but as Cordelia hurried through the thronging masses, she found no one.

'Not running away, are you?'

She wheeled around and found herself standing beside somebody who looked too old to be at Hogwarts, but too young to be a father. Someone's older brother, perhaps. Cordelia shook her head at the brunette, wondering why he looked slightly familiar.

'Ah,' he noticed, pointing to the shining Head Girl badge Cordelia had pinned onto her jumper with a bit of a grin on his face. 'Head Girl. That makes running off even worse.'

'I'm not running away,' she reinforced.

Her company shrugged. 'Just make sure you don't miss the train.'

'It's five past ten at the latest.'

'Six past.'

Cordelia couldn't help but smile a bit. 'You're quite sharp.'

'What can I say? I was a Ravenclaw.'

She furrowed her eyebrows. 'You were?'

'No,' he admitted, shaking his head. 'Gryffindor. Prefect and everything.'

Cordelia shrugged. 'Okay, then.' She exhaled. 'Well, it was nice meeting you...?'

'Adrian. Adrian Bell.'

Adrian Bell?!

That explained the familiarity in his face, for Adrian Bell had played Gryffindor Quidditch, and had finished Hogwarts at the end of Cordelia's second year. Back then, his hair had been much longer, but now it was cut reasonably short. He must have been roughly twenty-two. But Cordelia was confused as to what Adrian Bell was doing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters: his brother had graduated years ago.

However, Cordelia didn't ask.

She smiled politely at him. 'Adrian,' she finished.

He returned the gesture. 'And your name is...?'

'Cordelia Gilbert.'

His eyes lit up. 'No way! You were that second-year who thrashed Chris Wood's defence in—what—was that your first game of Hogwarts Quidditch?'

'Yeah!'

Adrian nodded in approval. 'Nice.'

Cordelia checked her watch. Almost ten past. Adrian seemed to notice the action and mirrored it. He ran a hand through his hair.

'Okay, well, I'll see you around, Cordelia.'

Would he?

'See you.'

11:17am. Prefects' Compartment of the Hogwarts Express.

'All right,' finished Scorpius, clapping his hands together. 'That's just about it, isn't it? Unless Cordelia has something to say...?'

'Nope, I'm done—just don't forget your schedules. It's not as though you're going to be stopping some kind of fight or anything, but just... you know, keep a bit of a watch, please.'

The other Prefects piled out, leaving the two Heads with Patricia, Albus and Andy. Cordelia noticed an air of discomfort emanating from the latter two, but decided not to comment on it. Besides, it wasn't as though the slight details she'd managed to get out of Al about the events of their last meeting could change anything that had happened afterwards. But she really hoped Albus wasn't regretting his decision, because the last thing she needed now was another upset friend.

Scorpius led Patricia out of the compartment by the hand, and Cordelia followed. Outside stood Bridget, leaning almost carelessly against the wall of the corridor. When Albus came out behind Cordelia, she grinned at him.

'Hey,' said Albus.

'Hey,' Bridget replied with more enthusiasm, casting a sidelong glance at Andy, the last out of the compartment. Cordelia silently begged her not to start something. 'So. What kind should I be?'

Oh, Merlin, it was in fruition.

Albus looked confused. 'What kind of what?'

Don't say the G word! Don't say the —

Cordelia loved her, but she could've murdered Bridget. Nobody could be held accountable for lack of tact if not her. Cordelia continued her internal pleading, but it was of no use.

'Girlfriend, silly.'

3:49pm. Compartment G.

The Head Girl stood and brushed off any excess crumbs from the trolley food she had bought before excusing herself and making an exit. She didn't mind the compartment, not really, but the last place Cordelia Gilbert wanted to be now was with Bridget Davies. She wasn't even sure why, but the entire place made her feel uneasy, traitorous.

Cordelia followed the corridor past several compartments until she found somebody familiar inside one. Andy was sitting by the window, staring intently out of it and paying no attention to what Scorpius, Patricia and Albus had to say. She felt terrible for even wanting to enter (again, for that inexplicable reason) but the others smiled at the sight of her.

'Hi,' said Patricia.

'How's Bridget?' Albus asked.

Cordelia shook her head. 'She doesn't matter.'

'But—'

'—she doesn't matter,' Cordelia insisted.

She threw a look at Andy, but the Hufflepuff was still staring out the window. After a few moments, she stood.

'I'm going to go see what Jenna's getting up to,' she said quite stiffly.

A minute or two passed with Andy gone, before Albus made to leave as well, with the intent of visiting Bridget. The other three all glared at him, and Scorpius went so far as to actually lay down on top of the Gryffindor Prefect to make sure an exit was not made on his part.

'What's your problem?' Albus asked.

'What's yours?!' Patricia snapped. She stood and stormed out before anybody could stop her.

Cordelia, Albus and Scorpius looked at one another.

Beat.

'Did I really screw something up?'

Cordelia frowned, but allowed herself to nod.

4:30pm. The corridor on the Hogwarts Express.

'You haven't seen Louis, have you?' asked Melissa Jordan.

Cordelia shook her head. 'No, sorry.'

7:23pm. Hogsmeade Station.

It was cold out, which didn't fit the weather London had put forth that morning. Cordelia felt her skin turning to gooseflesh even through her jumper. Being Head Girl, she had to make sure that all the first-years got to Hagrid, that everybody was off the train before it headed back to London, and now that these tasks had been completed, she searched for a carriage occupied by her friends. Scorpius was doing the same thing a bit further ahead, and Cordelia called out to the Head Boy.

'Didn't Patricia want to wait?'

He wheeled around. 'Nope. Rubbish girlfriend, she is.'

Cordelia laughed and quickened her pace to catch up with him. Most of the carriages had pulled away, but the one containing Bridget, Albus and Andy was yet to leave. Scorpius found Patricia in the carriage behind, so he moved up to be with her. Of course that's the reason, Cordelia thought bitterly, nothing to do with the occupants of the carriage.

'Cordelia!' Andy greeted brightly. She was obviously pleased to not be alone in the carriage with a couple any longer.

'Hey, guys.'

Bridget leaned her head on Albus's shoulder, winding her arms around the closer one of his. She moved to place a kiss on his cheek, but the Gryffindor blushed bright red and scooted a tiny bit away.

'Not in public, Bridge,' Cordelia pleaded.

Though she frowned at her friend, Bridget apologized. 'Guess it must be hard for you. Recent break-up and whatnot. Whoops, Head Girl.'

That wasn't the reason at all, but Cordelia let her have it. That was much easier than explaining the details behind her desire for the union between them to be somewhat conservative. 'Somewhat' being synonymous, in this case, with 'completely'. Albus tried to slip Andy a small smile, but the Hufflepuff had busied herself with the intense wait for Hogwarts to emerge omnipotent on the horizon.

Its turrets were shrouded in a layer of darkness, and the lights from the windows blended in with the stars, but the ambience of the castle held it almost backlit, visible even through the indigo atmosphere. Multiple carriages had stopped at the designated point already, and the four inside Cordelia's carriage were moments away from disembarkation.

Albus's hand left Bridget's, like the concept of this being seen by the public made him hesitant. She seemed slightly irked by this, but Cordelia's liking or caring, rather, for whatever 'irked' Bridget Davies was dilapidating quickly. They were meant to be best friends, but the past two months had been lacking contact and now Cordelia felt much closer and in tune with how Andy was feeling. It was much easier to be that girl.

Bridget climbed out of the carriage quickly, and Cordelia followed behind her. Andy moved to stay back, but Albus ushered her out first. With a quick thank-you, the Hufflepuff moved off to find her housemates.

'Did I do something to upset her?' Albus asked concernedly. 'Is she mad at me?'

Cordelia sighed. 'You're meant to be a smart bloke, Al.'

'But I'm not good with cryptic girl signs—'

'—ask your girlfriend,' she advised. 'That is, if you want to start a fight.'

Bridget looked back at the two of them. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing,' Albus insisted. 'Just talking about the schedule for Prefect's watches.'

She nodded. 'I'm off to find Sarah, then. So much to tell.'

They both gave hasty goodbyes, but when Bridget was out of sight, the conversation returned to Andy.

'What did I do?' Albus pressed.

Cordelia shook her head. 'It's not your fault; not too much. Don't beat yourself up.'

But he looked like he was going to, no matter what Cordelia said.

7:59pm. The Entrance Hall.

There was a prod on Cordelia's shoulder and she turned to find the rather short Lottie Flanagan staring up at her. The girl's eyeliner was severe, and her lip gloss rather glimmering. The Gryffindor scarf she wore matched her hair, which was tied in a massively curly ponytail at the top of crown.

'You've not seen Louis Weasley, have you?' she asked.

Why is everybody asking me that?

'No—sorry.'

She stood beside Tabitha Perkins, who had matured over the holidays, much for the better. Her once-mousy hair was now a lovely mahogany shade, and while it had once hung around her cheeks, it now spilled over her shoulders; her always-wide eyes now shone out, and her entire face was visible. She was blushing at the moment. Cordelia felt quite proud of her.

Albus was standing a little way over, with Scorpius, Patricia and Ruby. Rose and her group of friends were standing at the doorway to the Great Hall, but the entrance was not open yet.

There was another tap on her shoulder. 'No, I haven't seen Louis—' She paused, eating her words. 'Sorry, Kevin.' For it was Kevin Corner who had tapped her shoulder, and who had grown even more over the holidays, now standing at the exact height James did. (A thought Cordelia wished she could have taken back the moment it was apparent in her head.) 'How have the past two months been?'

'Oh, nothing spectacular. Spent most of it playing Quidditch.'

She smiled. 'Of course you did. Are you trying out for the tea —'

An almighty crash echoed around the Entrance Hall, making several people shout out. Multiple suits of armour fell from their places with amplified clangs, but when the dust cleared, it was not Peeves in the center of it all, but a blond, climbing up off the ground where he had tripped.

Albus cleared his throat. 'Well, we found Louis.'

8:26pm. The Great Hall.

Professor Sprout finished her speech with the introduction of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. The previous one had not died, but had wanted to spend more time with his family. (A soft option, considering the history of the post itself.) However, the person appointed to take the job mystified Cordelia.

'Oh, he's dishy,' Shelley stated to the Head Girl's left. She sounded almost predatory. 'Right up there with McKinnon and Dryden. I wouldn't mind—'

'—So that's why he was there this morning,' Cordelia said.

Shelley's fantasies were interrupted, and she replied in disbelief: 'you've already met him?'

'Yeah,' Cordelia gave back, quite distracted now. She still couldn't get it through her head—Adrian Bell was going to be teaching Defence? 'This morning at Platform Nine and Three Quarters.'

'I'm well jealous. If I met him with all that fog around—no one would be able to see—'

'Shelley, he's a Professor.'

'He's twenty three at best—'

'Shelley.'

'But he's fit—'

'Shelley!'

(Part B: The Girl with the Hopeless Crush, or 'I Should've Kissed You'.)

11:19am. Prefects' Compartment of the Hogwarts Express.

'Girlfriend, silly.'

Girlfriend...

The words had fallen from Bridget Davies's perfect, white-toothed, red-lipped mouth right in front of Andy's eyes. She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. But this wasn't a dream; she was pinching herself under her jacket, and the pain should have woken her up.

Girlfriend, silly...

Albus—Albus and Bridget?

The lurching feeling in Andy's stomach wouldn't desist, or even decrease. It was like she'd had all the air punched out of her lungs, like the floor had been pulled out from under her and she was halfway into the free fall. This couldn't be real. She couldn't even breathe. Somehow, her body was managing it, which was a mystery to Andy, but probably for the best.

Still. Albus and Bridget?!

She should have foreseen it. Not that Andy was a Seer, but she should have thought about the fact that, after August 4th, Albus wouldn't have wanted anything to do with her anymore. That he would have moved on, on to Bridget. He had even told her that Bridget was pretty, that he liked spending time with her. The words echoed through Andy's mind; the worst kind of album, like murder on repeat.

'Sarah said there's something she needed to tell me,' Bridget was saying. The sound seemed to be coming from the opposite side of a long tunnel. 'You could come and sit in our compartment, though, if you wanted to.'

Scorpius made some excuse for Albus. Something along the lines of 'top secret semi-homosexual ritual'. Bridget laughed, but agreed to leave, giving Albus a quick squeeze before she did so. Andy felt like she was going to collapse. The entire train was spinning. If she wasn't giving off visible signs, then that was a miracle in itself. Patricia was looking at her, from what Andy could gather from her sketchy peripherals. She didn't have the heart to return the gaze.

'Let's go find a compartment, yeah?'

Vaguely aware of what she was doing, Andy followed. Cordelia mentioned going to Sarah's compartment, just like Bridget had, which just made the Hufflepuff's heart hurt even more. There were actually smudges in her eyes.

She knew the whole reason Albus had wanted to kiss her was because he had been leaning on influence. That was the whole equation: nothing more, nothing less. Part of her still wondered what her life would be like today if she had let him, though.

3:45pm. Compartment G.

She hadn't spoken for the past three hours. A couple of sentences, perhaps, but otherwise, Andy's attention was pre-occupied. She knew that Albus had noticed this, but she couldn't pull herself together. Not even for him. Nothing mattered anymore. It didn't. It couldn't. She shouldn't have been so stupid.

She shouldn't have let herself fall for him in the first place.

She had known when he'd fancied Cordelia. She had seen that in him. She had known she would never have a chance because he liked girls with those characteristics, but still she had developed feelings. She had consciously—

Speak of the devil.

'Hi.' This from Patricia.

'How's Bridget?', accompanied by a stab of pain.

From the window's reflection, Andy saw Cordelia shake her head. 'She doesn't matter.'

'But—'

'—she doesn't matter.'

Though what Cordelia had said was to her bias, Andy couldn't stand being in this compartment anymore. It was self-inflicted suffocation. She didn't even want to be on the train.

Unable to stop herself, she got to her feet. 'I'm going to go see what Jenna's getting up to.'

Her voice hadn't caught, and for that, the Hufflepuff could not have been more grateful. Andy slid open the door and went off to find—not her sister—but an empty compartment. If nobody was going to show her any kind of sympathy (why would they have, though?) she would much rather be alone.

When she succeeded in procuring an isolated compartment, the solitude lasted about three minutes. However, in those three minutes, Andy had succumbed to tears. She was a sight for sore eyes when Patricia entered.

'I walked in on Shelley Corner with some fifth-year,' she said, trying to make a joke. 'So I'm happy the next curtained compartment was yours.'

There was a moment of silence.

'I'm sorry. That wasn't funny. You're not okay, are you?'

Andy sniffled. 'How'd you know?'

Patricia chuckled. 'She doesn't deserve him.'

(No response.)

'She doesn't deserve him, and he's a prat.'

'But he's not. That's the whole problem. Why does somebody like him fancy somebody like her?!'

'Because blokes are stupid.'

Andy shook her head. 'Scorpius wasn't.'

Patricia scoffed. 'May I remind you that he snogged Rose Weasley?'

'B-but—'

'No buts. Al made a mental decision. But he's a bloke.'

'But I should've just kissed him!'

'But you didn't and you can't take that back. I'm sorry, but you can't.'

'...but I wish I could.'

Patricia sighed. 'I think it's a bit late for that, love.'

7:18pm. Hogsmeade Station.

Andy climbed into a compartment on her own. It felt good to be back in the cosy space, with its soft, plump seating and disembodied warmth. But, of course, this was as far as Andy's luck ran, for the next people to enter the compartment were Albus and Bridget, the latter of which was cuddling into her boyfriend's arm because of the cold. Andy noticed that she wasn't wearing a heavy coat. Of course not.

'Hi, Fawcett,' said Bridget. She glanced at Andy. 'I really am sorry about that day in London, though.'

The way she said it made the statement sound like there had been multiple apologies. Which, of course, there hadn't been. This had been the first, and it wasn't genuine. Most likely, it was just to make sure Albus still thought her kind.

'Okay,' said Andy in response, but that was all the notice she gave.

The carriage, previously comforting and filled with promise, now felt as though oxygen had been substituted with discomfort. But leaving wasn't a possibility.

A couple of minutes past, in which Andy stared out the window, and Bridget murmured to Albus, and the door to the carriage swung open again. Andy had never fancied a girl—except in fourth year, but that was a short-lived phase and not to be commented on at the moment—but in that instant, she could have kissed Cordelia Gilbert.

'Cordelia!' She cried, absolutely grateful.

'Hey, guys.'

Cordelia closed the door behind her and took the empty seat beside Andy. Opposite her, Bridget clutched tighter at her boyfriend's arm, resting her head on his shoulder. She went so far as to try planting a kiss on his cheek—an action that would have made Andy actually storm out and not return—but this crisis was averted with a blush from Albus and a small move towards the opposite corner of the carriage.

Cordelia complained, 'Not in public, Bridge.'

'Sorry. Guess it must be hard for you. Recent break-up and whatnot. Whoops, Head Girl.'

Andy knew that at least two of the four people in the carriage were aware that this was not the reason for Cordelia's dislike of such touchy-feely behaviour. Albus looked a tiny bit more uncomfortable at that, because the break-up had been on the part of his brother (most likely), but Andy continued to stare out the window, waiting for Hogwarts to come into view.

At some point over the next few minutes, Albus let go of Bridget's hand, which left the Ravenclaw looking annoyed, and made Andy want to sing. The carriage pulled to a stop and Bridget climbed out first, without so much as a word. Cordelia offered to let the others go ahead, but upon their instruction, exited after Bridget.

'No,' said Albus, when Andy gestured for him to go first. 'You go.'

'Oh,' she replied, speaking to him for the first time in hours. 'Thanks, Al.'

8:28pm. The Great Hall.

'Andy,' Jenna said, 'this is mental. I thought Albus was the one for you, but he's obviously not.'

Andy, who had a mouth full of shepherd's pie, did not respond.

'But look on the bright side,' Jenna continued. 'If you can't be with him, you could always fancy Professor Bell.'

'It feels so strange,' said Molly. She sat in her pyjamas with Barbara and Alice in their flat at approximately eight o'clock in the morning. It was Saturday and the three of them would usually have been sleeping, but now they were awake. 'We should be at Hogwarts right now.'

Alice nodded. She took a sip of her tea. 'What are we going to fill our days with now?'

'Not History of Magic,' Barbara quipped.

The three of them burst out laughing.

Monique la Roux was five feet and four inches tall. She had dark russet hair which was faultlessly silky. She was the sort of person who was meticulous down to the last detail of her appearance, and her brown, almond-shaped eyes could pierce through anybody she chose. She had been born in France, on the day peasants stormed the Versailles back in 1793, to two magical parents. She was twenty years old when she began working for the Montrose Magpies as an assistant manager, two years out of Beauxbatons.

She was extremely serious seventy percent of the time, and the complete opposite the other thirty percent. Every move was calculated, but by no means was Monique la Roux a bad person.

Though, for a fact, she took pride in the acquisition of vices, and she believed that no pleasure should have been guilty. She often got what she wanted, and she did not take things lightly.

Monique la Roux did not very much like Quidditch, nor did she very much like education, or anything not related to social development or the increasing of self esteem. She believed very much in herself, and very little in everybody else.

She never wore black in anything except shoes or belts, and the only perfume she wore smelled like peppermint. This was because it reminded her of her mother, a Veela, and the garden that had been kept back in France. Monique had never touched the garden, because she didn't enjoy the possibility of getting her hands dirty.

Monique la Roux made friends because it was helpful to herself, but would never admit it. She laughed at all the appropriate jokes and did not kiss on the second or third dates if she had not initiated the contact on the first. The exception was in cases where it was after a walk, when she waited approximately eight minutes for her date to kiss her. After that, Monique pushed it forward.

If you did not account for her eyes, James Potter would notice one Sunday in September after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice, Monique la Roux was the complete polar opposite of Cordelia Gilbert.

'Who've you got first?' Scorpius asked, leaning over Cordelia's shoulder to get a view of her timetable. 'Ah. Bell. Me, too. Apparently, there are only about ten of us in the class.'

'I can imagine lots of girls enjoying that,' said Cordelia. She looked around and realized the amount of attention they were attracting. 'Scorpius, perhaps you should go and sit down.'

'But Professor Bell is so fit!' Scorpius complained. 'How will we be able to stand it?'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'Go and sit down. I'll be seeing you most of every day for the rest of the year. Don't make me hate you before it's even started.'

Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'You're unfair.' He stood up, though, and made to leave for his own table. He stopped a few steps away and added, 'by the way, your hair looks nicer than usual today.'

Cordelia looked puzzled. 'Thanks... Scorpius...'

'Don't thank me; at least one other bloke was thinking it.'

She searched the Great Hall for any signs of people looking at them, but nobody seemed to be. Cordelia shrugged. Who was she to trust Scorpius?

Ruby groaned. 'Is it possible that it's the second official day of the school year and I'm already behind on homework?'

'Technically,' Venice offered, 'no. You haven't even had two of the same lessons, so you can't be. That's just the anti-N.E.W.T. mentality.'

'Don't let it get you,' Kathryn finished, coming out of the bathroom with her clothes on and her hair tied into a bun, still dripping wet. She picked up her wand from the nightstand beside her four-poster and performed a quick drying charm before pulling her hair out of the tie and letting it down, un-brushed and curling at her shoulders.

Patricia stumbled out of bed. 'Why do I have to wake up if I don't have lessons until eleven?'

'To be socially acceptable?'

'Because we don't trust your boyfriend not to come up here and have his wicked way with you?'

'How would he get up the stairs?'

'He's a Malfoy, he'd find a way.'

Patricia sighed, but declined to comment as she moved into the bathroom to shower. She really would have much rather been sleeping.

'Oi—Patricia,' Ruby called through the door, 'we're going down to breakfast, yeah?'

She yawned. 'Uh huh.'

This was going to be a slow year.

'So, wait—you haven't spoken for almost two months?'

Fred shook his head.

Felix looked annoyed. 'Mate, I hate to say it, but this is absolutely ridiculous. I don't know what the hell is wrong with you or Barbara, but the things you said weren't that bad that you can't even face each other after seven weeks!'

Chris nodded in agreement, before moving over to Fred's cupboards and pulling out a loaf of bread and the three varieties of jam on offer.

'You're making toast at a time like this?!'

Chris turned to face Fred. 'We shouldn't be having this conversation without food. Honestly, it's like you don't have a brain or something.'

'That's what Barbara thinks,' Fred muttered under his breath.

Felix had heard this and shot him a stern glare. 'Even James thinks you're being a prick. And this is James talking.'

'Well, it'd be nice if James were over here a wee bit more, so that he could tell me himself,' Fred complained. 'He's always got Quidditch or he's too tired. I'm his cousin.'

'And right now,' came James's voice from the threshold, 'you're being a sulky little piece of work. What happened to the Fred Weasley everybody knows and loves?'

'I don't know,' Fred moped.

'I'll tell you what happened: he became a depressed recluse working with his uncles and lamenting the loss of the one person he loves most in his life—his cousin.' James sighed when Fred didn't laugh. 'Barbara's staying with Molly.'

'I know.'

Felix rolled his eyes. 'Then stop being stupid, and go over there!'

Chris, biting into a piece of toast, agreed enthusiastically.

'I'll go if you lot stop bugging me!' Fred turned on Chris. 'And if you stop coming over here and eating all my damn food—why do I even let you in?!'

Chris did not reply, instead choosing to continue his toast.

'James?'

He turned in his seat, memories interrupted. 'Yeah?'

Monique looked at him from the doorway. 'Are you all right?'

James nodded, using his arms to force himself up out of the chair. He sighed. 'Yeah—yeah, I'm fine.'

'Well, it's lunchtime... do you want to go somewhere?' She bit her lip. 'You're not needed at practice until three.'

James swallowed. 'I, uh... sure.'

'We survived a week!' Lottie sang. She sat down at the breakfast table beside Rose, who was more or less distracted by a letter she had been sent. Lottie leaned over to see the sender. 'That's not fair!' she exclaimed. 'Why do you get to have a cute relationship where the boyfriend still tries to keep it going when you're apart? Nobody fancies me at all.'

Rose, momentarily distracted from Will's letter, shot Lottie a glance. 'Didn't you snog Miles Clarke at his mate's birthday party last month?'

Lottie went as red as her hair, but shook her head. 'That didn't matter, though. He didn't care about me. That's obviously not the case with Will.'

Rose set aside her letter and began to help herself to some scrambled eggs sitting in front of her on the table, untouched thus far. Lottie began to argue another point, but was distracted by the arrival of Liz Pembridge, accompanied by Melissa Jordan and Louis Weasley, who were following at a distance.

'What's this?' asked Liz, on the subject of Rose's letter. She picked it up and read the last line. 'Oh. The boyfriend.' She sighed. 'Hopelessly adorable,' came the verdict. 'You're beyond anybody's help.'

Melissa, sitting down beside Liz as Louis joined Rory Spinnet and Alfie Cattermole further down the table, chuckled. 'It's not Rose's fault you're not interested in relationships yet.'

'Oh, I'm interested,' Liz argued, 'but not for myself.'

'How is that?'

Liz shook her head. 'I'd much rather watch other people be idiots than be one myself.'

'Because all people emotionally invested in others are idiots, right?' Rose inferred, folding up the letter and putting it in her shirt pocket.

'No,' said Liz. 'I, for instance, am emotionally invested in all of you—probably more than I'd like to be —and that doesn't make me an idiot. I'm just saying that, while you guys are free to gallivant around with whomever you choose, I would rather excuse myself from that conflict as early as possible.'

'By making everybody think you hate them.'

'That's not the case.'

The other three girls looked at her.

'Fine. But if we're being harsh, I only hate about seventy-two percent of the population. Most of them are blokes, and the other half are people in relationships that rule their lives.'

'Why do you hate blokes?' Lottie asked.

'It's just the ultra-feminist mentality,' Liz informed her. 'I don't really hate them. I just think we'd be better off if we weren't worried about them all the time.'

Melissa looked at Rose. 'Okay, who does Liz fancy now?'

Liz's eyes widened. 'I don't fancy anyone.'

'If that's true, I'll eat the Sorting Hat.'

'You should probably go and get it from Sprout's off—'

'You fancy someone!'

'No!'

'You do!'

Barbara Tennant, a young woman of respectable quality and taste, stepped out of the first day of her internship at the Ministry feeling very much accomplished. Her boss—a lovely red-haired witch named Felicia Alexander—had been nothing short of wonderful, and though Barbara's main task throughout the day had been fetching various things for the very busy Miss Alexander, she had rather enjoyed it.

She had been complimented on her posture three times by other members of staff, and also on the fact that her jacket was a beautiful shade of plum. A young man named Fabien Scott had smiled at her after a meeting with Felicia, and Barbara had been informed by another intern named Clarissa Marx that he was recently out of a relationship. (To which Barbara almost replied, 'that's sweet of you, but I have a boyfriend.' Then she realized that she didn't, and hadn't for almost two months.)

None of these things seemed to be very much related to International Affairs, but at the age of eighteen, Barbara understood that the decisions being made in terms of the Quidditch World Cup and other charity benefits would have very little to do with her until she was promoted to—at the very least—a junior escort of some description.

'Barbara!' Clarissa called, following her colleague out of the office. 'Are you coming tomorrow?'

'Of course,' replied the brunette in question, as the two of them entered the long, dark-tiled corridor that would lead them to the lift. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

Clarissa shrugged. 'I heard something about some interns getting laid off if Felicia didn't like them on the first day. That certainly worried me. Apparently, though, you and I are safe!'

'Indeed.'

Clarissa, the sort of person who talked a lot despite being terribly well-meaning, continued: 'I swear—you look really familiar. Are you sure we haven't met?'

'Well... we were both at Hogwarts, weren't we?'

'Yes,' Clarissa supposed, almost sounding wistful, 'but I left that place three years ago. The Ministry is much more interesting than Hufflepuff common room.' She waited for Barbara to reply, but she didn't, and so the conversation continued. 'What days do you have off for the week?'

Barbara wracked her brains. 'Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.'

The two of them reached a circular room, walled with elevators. The doors to one of the lifts opened, and the two interns hurried over to it, squeezing in beside a group of wizards from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Thankfully, none were Arthur.

'That's terribly unfair,' Clarissa said jealously. 'Sunday's only a half-day, so you're really just working three—and a bit—days a week.'

'Why?' Barbara asked. 'What are you working?'

'The same,' her colleague sighed. 'But Saturday's a bugger to work, because then I don't even get a weekend.'

'Well, perhaps you should tell Felicia that. See if you can work something out.'

'No, I couldn't do that. She'd probably think I was complaining and fire me. I've wanted to work here forever, and my boyfriend said he didn't like people who gave up on their goals without achieving them. It's just... it'd be quite nice to spend more time with him.'

Barbara's disposition softened. 'Look on the bright side: you've still got your three days off during the week. You can see him then.'

Clarissa tilted her head. 'I guess so.' She paused. 'You must think I'm really annoying, Barbara.'

'No,' she said softly. 'If I had a boyfriend, I'd want the same thing.'

Clarissa looked at Barbara again, like she was investigating her face. It seemed as though she was about to say something, but then gave up on it. The lift sounded, and the cool, collected witch's voice announced that they were in the atrium. Barbara and Clarissa both exited.

'Well, I'm going to Apparate home,' Barbara said. 'It was nice meeting you today, Clarissa.'

Clarissa smiled. 'You, too.'

'I cannot believe,' Shelley Corner announced, as she exited the bathroom from her evening shower, 'what a timid twit my cousin is.'

Cordelia, who had come down from the Head Girl's chamber simply to say a quick goodnight and now looked down at her oversized t-shirt and blue pyjama bottoms and felt quite plain in comparison with Shelley's above-the-knee silk nightdress, asked what was wrong with Kevin. 'Why's he a timid twit?'

Shelley rummaged around in her bedside cabinet, waiting until she had produced her hairbrush and begun her evening ritual before replying. 'He fancies a girl he's known forever.'

Sarah Boot furrowed her eyebrows. 'What's so wrong with that?'

'He's hell bent on not doing anything about it.'

Cordelia felt sympathetic, though she had absolutely no idea what Kevin Corner would find attractive in a girl. 'Shelley, perhaps it's for a reason. Like maybe she's in a relationship or something.'

'She's not, though,' Shelley responded, adjusting her position atop the covers of her four-poster, 'she hasn't been for a wee while.'

'Well,' Bridget said—because she somehow thought herself a relationship guru now that she was, strictly speaking, dating Albus Potter—'it might be out of courtesy. Maybe she wouldn't fancy him back. Maybe she's really cut up over the end of the relationship she was in. Maybe—'

'We shouldn't be talking about this,' Tabitha Perkins cut in. She had tied her hair in a braid and was plumping up her pillows. 'Whoever Kevin fancies, that's his business.'

Of course, Tabitha's good sense was ignored. Shelley, Sarah and Bridget were still discussing the topic when Cordelia left fifteen minutes later, feeling much more tired than she should have on a Tuesday night.

Alice's flowers in the front garden looked even more beautiful at six o'clock in the evening. It was Fabien Scott who noticed this, when he asked Barbara if she had planted them herself.

'No,' she replied, flattered, 'my friend Alice did.'

Fabien smiled at Barbara. He had done that quite a few times over the course of the walk home. She could have Apparated, or taken the Floo network, if Fabien hadn't asked her out for a drink after work, just to celebrate her successful move into the International Affairs Office. After an internal monologue on the topic of Drinks doesn't mean he's my boyfriend, Barbara had agreed to go.

The evening had been quite nice, and even though she would have easily been able to get home afterwards, Fabien had insisted on walking back with her. He had said it was on his way, which sounded very much like a lie to Barbara. But Fabien had been sweet; and Barbara was in no position to pass up sweetness.

There had been one or two jokes that Fabien hadn't laughed at, but he was a few years older, and probably had a ridiculous concept of maturity. He had opened the doors, though, and paid for Barbara's tiny glass of champagne. He had offered to buy her another one; he hadn't objected when she said she wasn't really that kind of person. He had pretended to understand what that meant.

Fabien was well-meaning, and as they stood together at the front gate of the flat, Barbara felt less empty than she had felt in a while. She wasn't healed—it wasn't miraculous ; he wasn't the one—but it was a decrease in discontent.

She wasn't sure if she should have kissed him. It had only been an after-work drink, and even though they were both single, Barbara didn't really fancy Fabien. Her heart belonged elsewhere.

However, Fabien seemed to have a slightly different idea of what the previous hour had meant, and he took Barbara's hand. She hoped that this didn't mean anything more than a casual thing, but Barbara's hopes had never got her far.

'I've had an incredibly lovely time tonight, Barbara.'

'That's sweet of you...'

Fabien leaned over to kiss her on the cheek before she could finish the sentence. It hadn't been a kiss on the lips, and therefore it didn't mean half as much as any of her other kisses had, but the fact that Barbara hadn't been angling for that—let alone finished with her thank-you—threw her into confusion. She blushed, and tried to begin again.

'I...'

Then something happened that Barbara had not been expecting.

The door to the flat opened, but it was not Molly or Alice inside. In the same moment, it occurred to Barbara just how close Fabien's face still was to hers, for he had lingered after the kiss. This would have been fine, platonic, and totally, utterly, completely explainable if it had been one of Barbara's friends coming out of the door, but it wasn't them.

His eyes were wide, and his hair was just as messy as it had always been. He was wearing a peach-coloured hoodie, a Puddlemere United t-shirt, a pair of jeans and casual black shoes that Barbara had seen a thousand times. They locked gazes.

Fred's face flushed white.