A/N: Hello, everyone! It is with incredible joy that we now officially begin Athena's 6th year. It has been almost three years that I've been writing this story and Athena has become such an important part of me that I might even make a tattoo after her when this story is finished. I haven't played the actual game in ages and probably never will again, so I've been keeping up with it through gameplays on YouTube. As usual, I haven't enjoyed a bunch of things that Jam City has put on the game, so you are going to see a lot of changes in year 6 as well. However, I hope that you enjoy it. I wanna send virtual hugs to all my beloved readers and friends, like Isa Aguiar, serendipitymadness and Starpottergeek, as well as many others who have come and gone during the process of creating this world. Thank you so much for all the love, kindness and support. As you already know, any comments, critiques or concerns, feel free to contact me. Oh, and Happy March, everyone!

Chapter One – The Dark Side of the Moon

Forget me not, seconds thoughts,

Live in isolation

Heads or tails

And fairy tales in my mind*

"Tell me, Athena," Dr. Sinead Artemis says, while I gaze through her office's broad window, that has a privileged view to the Thames River. And by privileged, I mean, she charges a lot. But this is not what I have in mind while looking away into the distance, watching pigeons flying and people the size of little ants crowding the streets. "What are you contemplating?"

I delay a few seconds before returning my eyes to her; the short and skinny woman of bronzy skin and straight dark hair that is tied in a thick and long braid, who's wearing grass green satin robes and open toe sandals embellished with colourful gemstones. On her thin fingers, a lot of rings glisten under the sunlight that peeks through the windows of colourful curtains. Sitting on a red, purple and orange striped sofa, I hold onto a baby blue pillow and stare back at her. Her eyes, dark and outlined by a very black eyeliner, seem to stare directly at my soul.

"Honestly?" I say. "Just questioning when these shitty feelings will finally go away."

She intertwines her fingers over the notepad on her lap. "Do you want them to go away?"

I look away again and shrug. "I guess. Self-pity sucks."

"Why are you feeling sorry for yourself?" she asks, grabbing her lilac quill and writing something on her notes.

I chew my bottom lip for a while, watching how the sun, hitting the crystals she has on a shelf, launches ethereal rainbow circles around the room. "I thought I'd be enjoying summer," I tell her. "Had my memories remained erased, I'd be out there, suntanning or rollerblading or watching the festival with my brother and friends. But no. I had to remember Talbott and the feelings and the sorrowfulness. Now I can't help but to feel empty and I don't want to feel like that anymore."

"Have you been taking the herbal pills I prescribed?" she asks. "They're meant for healing and acceptance."

"Sure," I lie horrendously, because I tossed those greenish pills that smelled of basil right into the toilet as soon as they were delivered. I don't need pills for healing or acceptance. All I need is some more of the Absolut that Jacob bought with his "fake" ID. I might be becoming an alcoholic but indulging on booze and rock music is better than facing the numbness of summer. If anything, it makes me write really nice lyrics.

"Athena," she says heavily, in the kind of tone that therapists use when they're about to say some painful reality to your face. Jacob calls them doses of Shrink Slaps. "You are never going to recover from this heartbreak if you don't leave the shell you've built for yourself."

I cross my arms over the pillow. "What's wrong with my shell?"

She leans back, balancing the quill between her index and middle fingers. "Is a coping mechanism," she says. "But it won't help you heal. It will only drive you away from having a meaningful life."

"I have a meaningful life," I reply. "I'm pursuing a career in Alchemy, thrilled to have my brother back home and accepting that I'll be spending my next school year chasing after another Cursed Vault. Don't tell me these things aren't meaningful."

She smiles compassionately. "And yet, you've spent the last three weeks in self commiseration, longing for someone who won't come back, wasting your days as if they are meaningless. You're sixteen. You're supposed to be enjoying your summer."

I look away again, annoyed. "I am," I lie. Again. And I keep lying and mumbling until the end of the session.

The Ministry isn't far away from the clinic, so I walk a few blocks underneath the warm sun, feeling the rays burning my exposed shoulders. The soft skirt of my long summery pink dress dances around my legs as I stop abruptly before the ice cream parlour and decide to eat a vanilla cone. The clerk, a boy named Timmy, adds chopped nuts and a cherry for free, flashing me two lines of perfect white teeth as I pay and turn around to leave. According to Jacob, this is his way of flirting with me and that I should, perhaps, ask him on a date. If anything, it makes me not want to eat ice cream. Can't people see I'm trying to just survive while waiting for my feelings for Talbott to vanish?

I shove the final bite of the cone in my mouth before entering the telephone booth and ringing the code necessary to take me to the Ministry's main hallway. In there, the magically climatized air greets me, smelling of air freshener and parchment, and I take the lift to the tenth floor, where Dad works. In there, Jacob has his head tilted over a pile of books, copying something from one note to another. All around, paper planes float from office to office.

"Hey," I say, sitting on the chair next to his. "I'm done."

He looks at me, closing the book with violence and opening a broad, relived smile. "Thank God," he says. "Now let's go home."

"Not so fast," Dad says, returning to the office. "Here's the shopping list. Stop by Presto on your way back. Don't forget my chips. Roast Chicken, not Prawn Cocktail. And don't forget the Marmite."

We leave through the fireplace in his office, rapidly finding ourselves safely back in his office in our apartment in Brighton. Jacob tosses his backpack full of books over his bed and we leave for the ten-minute drive to the nearest Presto. Jacob grabs a pack of Newcastle Brown Ale, throwing some other packages of Walkers on the trolley, of different flavours beside Dad's Roast Chicken.

"I want the purple one," I say, and Jacob grabs one of that as well. "Dare to try this Spicy Sriracha one?"

"Let's take some of this chocolate chip ice cream, just in case our tongues burn," he says. "And some whipped cream."

Once we're done, there are about fifteen extra items that Dad didn't ask for and Jacob pays for the beer separately, so our father doesn't find out he's been drinking when he's not home. We put the groceries in the car, devouring a white chocolate bar on our way back. When we leave the lift, we stop when we see there's someone sitting in front of our door, with the back rested on the wood and the eyes lost in the black chipped nail lacquer they're wearing.

"Merula?"

She looks up, pools of lavender staring right back at me. Her hair, falling messily over her face, looks dirty and lifeless. Across her right cheek, a red mark stands visible against her pale skin.

"Hey," she says, getting up slowly and eyeing me with a crestfallen face. "You're home."

I look at Jacob. "Yeah, we were at the supermarket," I tell her. "What's going on?"

She releases a long sigh, holding what seems to be a very heavy and jampacked backpack. Her eyes start to glisten under the corridor's fluorescent lights, and I notice her lips are trembling lightly. "I'm sorry," she stutters. "I had nowhere else to go."

There have been several moments that I have witnessed Merula Snyde in either vulnerability or in unexpected variations. I have seen the other version of her when Tulip's Boggart was transformed into a Pretty In Pink princess. I have seen her cry when Rakepick disappointed her and I have seen her without makeup when she jumped into the Prefect's tub. However, nothing in the world was preparing me for the freshly bathed Merula, wearing my pink nightgown, with no makeup at all, and picking only the brown M&Ms from the bag I purchased an hour back.

"Dumbledore sent a letter, you know," she says. "To all our families, telling what we've been up to. I hid mine from my Aunt… I thought I'd be able to keep it from her, but Dumbledore sent another letter, this time to her office…"

Merula's speech is a blend of sadness and anger. From time to time, she takes her fingertips to the red mark on her cheek, as if checking if everything was actually real. She tells me the whole story and when she describes her Aunt's facial expression when she got home from work that day, it even makes me feel scared.

"And then she yelled at me for embarrassing her," she continues, returning a blue M&M to the bag. "She said I'm a ridiculous excuse for a witch and that she regrets taking me in."

I listen to her, sitting over my bedroom rug with Edgar playing with her backpack keychain, in Talbott's old oversized red t-shirt that he gave me to sleep in. She tosses a few more chocolates in her mouth, chewing sadly.

"She said this is what I get for playing with the dark arts," she says, frustrated. "Said she always knew Dad would end up in Azkaban and that I'll have the same fate if she doesn't fix me. When I stood up and told her to stop talking about my father and that I don't need her help, she hit me. The wench hit me hard."

"Damn, Mer," I say, simply, as she releases a long and exasperated sigh and pushes the candy bag aside.

"I didn't know where else to go," she says, lifting her bright violet eyes to look at me. "You were the first person who popped into my head."

I smile softly. "I'm glad that you trust me."

"Yeah, now take that cocky smile away from your face," she replies. "This is only temporary. I just have to wait for her to be in the office, grab my things and find a place to rent. At least until school starts, anyway."

"You know you can stay here," I tell her. "How would you even maintain yourself?"

She hugs her legs, tapping her black lacquered toes on the fluffy rug. "I have some money saved," she says. "I've been selling homemade candles ever since I was eleven, both in Hogwarts and around my neighbourhood. I think I have enough to spend this and the next summer, until I graduate and get a job."

I grin. "Candles?"

"What's the matter?" she replies. "They're pretty good candles. And they're all made from natural ingredients. Bee's wax… Essential oils… Dried flowers… I even use wooden wicks, which are way better than normal ones. Some people say my candles are better than those overpriced pieces of shit from Wick's 'N Sticks."

I can't help but chuckle. "I like scented candles. If you have any in stock, I'd like some."

The corners of her lips curl in a discrete smile and she remains in silence for a few moments, watching as a faint rain starts to pour, creating long vertical lines along the window glass. "Thank you for letting me stay the night."

"You can stay as long as you need."

She nods, lying on the floor while Edgar tries to bite her bat keychain. Her eyes, wide and violet, squint suddenly. "Why is there a box under the bed? Are you hiding drugs?"

My cheeks burn instantly. "Oh… It's… Hm… They're… They're just some things… Talbott's things."

Her eyes widen again, eyeing me in utter disbelief. "No!", she gasps. "Hasn't it been, I don't know, like four months? No, this is unacceptable."

I bite my bottom lip. "I… I'm not ready to forget him."

"No," she repeats. "No, no. I'm not going to watch you mourn that loser. No. Uh-uh. I refuse."

"Mer, it's okay," I say. "I'm fine like this."

"No, you're clearly not fine," she replies. "What is this t-shirt? Is it his? I'll only excuse you if you say it's your Dad's old university shirt."

I feel my cheeks blushing more.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, stretching to fish the box from under the bed. Her eyes widen even more at the sight of the half empty bottle of vodka. "Athena! No. No way. I won't let you waste your summer like this."

"You're speaking like my therapist," I mention, embarrassed.

"No," she repeats, probably for the tenth time. "This cannot continue. You're too good for this. Okay, starting tomorrow, we're initiating a revolution in your life."

In reality, she barely waits for the following day. She goes through the box, shocked that I kept all of Talbott's poems and love letters, and almost yells at me for keeping the underwear I bought just because of him. When the day dawns, she wakes up, full of energy, barely chews her breakfast and even manages to convince Jacob to drive us to Brent Cross Shopping Centre in London.

Jacob, surprisingly, doesn't complain. "They have an awesome music store there. You girls can shop as much as you want, and I won't even see the time pass."

Firstly, we take the left on Money Lane, entering a very flowery and forested Wren Drive, where we stop in front of an old Victorian house, in shades of brick and grey, all surrounded by bushy hydrangeas. Jacob waits in the car, jamming to a Phil Collins song, while I follow Merula along a flawless cobblestone path, framed by perfectly trimmed hedges. She opens the front door gently, looking inside for a few seconds before finally entering. I barely have time to snoop around, because she runs upstairs, making a gesture for me to rush after her. All I can spot is a giant fireplace, a mighty piano and a taxidermized bear on the corner of the room.

The house is immense, and the upper floor is even more majestic. Merula guides me along a corridor, entering in a room on the right, that is incredibly more minimalistic than the rest of the house. There's a plain wooden bed with dark purple bedding and what seems to be a giant headed Cinderella plush on top, resting by the pillows.

From under the bed, Merula grabs her trunk and starts throwing all her stuff inside. Her school uniform and books, make up and clothes, jewellery and shoes that barely cover half of her trunk. Then, from the last drawers, she removes dozens and dozens of books, carefully filling the remaining space in the case. As I step closer, my eyes widen at the titles.

Savage Surrender.

A Man for Amy.

The Flame and the Flower.

By Love Undone.

"You like cheesy love stories," I say, grabbing the last book from the pile, with a woman in the cover, escaping from a mansion. "Lady in Darkness, by Evelin Bond…"

"Give me that," she says, hasty, pulling the book from my hand and returning it to the pile. Without further words, she grabs the Cinderella doll and places is carefully with the rest of the items. Finally, she fills a smaller suitcase with her candle making ingredients and hands it to me. "Yes. I like cheesy love stories."

I help her take everything to the car, where we leave, in a lighter atmosphere, towards the shopping centre. In the back seat, Merula taps on her knees, accompanying the beat of Madonna.

I won't complain that she makes me spent some of my savings in new clothes and shoes, specially after the very nice amount that I got from my grandparents for my birthday. She pulls me from C&A to Binns, from Jane Norman to The Sweater Shop, helping me carry bags of new jeans, blouses, dresses and make up from Rimmel, Revlon and Maybelline.

We stop at Borders, where she buys the newest Jude Deveraux book, called A Knight in Shining Armour, and we drink coffee alongside slices of cake. She licks the white chocolate shavings from her fork, reading the book's first page.

"So," I start, sipping my latte. "Are we going to talk about your book preferences?"

She closes the book, flashing me a stare full of reprehension. "What were you expecting? That I read Anne Rice and Stephen King while drinking strong black coffee amid ritualistic pentagrams?" she asks. "No. I like cappuccinos with whipped cream, candles that smell of vanilla beans and cheesy love stores with tons of clichés."

I smile from behind my cup. "Then what's up with the dark witch outfits?" I ask her.

"Things are easier when you look intimidating," she answers. "Do you think people would take me seriously if I dressed like you?"

"What's wrong with the way that I dress?"

"Nothing," she replies. "But it doesn't inspire fear."

After that, she takes me to Victoria's Secret, where she makes me buy underwear that aren't burgundy. "When in doubt, wear black," she says, studying a black lacy bra.

When we finally return home, the car is filled with clothes and bags of Jacob's new vinyl's, band shirts and guitar picks. That night, I get to see Merula in one of her own pyjamas: a Snow White two-piece pjs. After dinner, she aids me into the process of letting go of the items that remind me of Talbott.

"Ex-boyfriend," she corrects. "Stop calling him by his name. When the heroines in the books do that, it gives power to the feeling. Call him by what he is. Unless you want to start calling him asshole or loser."

I take a deep breath in, ripping his last letter in several pieces and throwing it into the trashcan. I confess I thought it would hurt more, but the process of doing it, accompanied by Merula and jellybeans, is incredibly therapeutical. She even lights one of her homemade candles, that she calls Magnolia Mountains, filling the room with one of the most amazingly fragrant scents that I have ever smelled. When we finally tuck ourselves in my bed, I'm feeling lighter and happier.

"Thanks, Mer," I say in the dark.

"Some retail therapy was all you needed," she says, giggling.

I stare at the ceiling, watching the streetlights launching ghostly images in the blackness. "Mer, what's going on between you and Ben?" In the silent dark, I can hear her swallow hard.

"I…" she starts, gulping once more. "I'm no idea."

"It shocked us all, you know," I say. "Him being in love with you."

"It shocked me too," she agrees. "Honestly, I never imagined anyone in that castle would ever have a crush on me."

I turn to the side, watching her profile in the night. "Why?"

She stares at the ceiling, her small nose crinkling a little. "I don't know. I wanted to inspire fear and not… I don't know. Well, let's just say I didn't see it coming."

"But feels good, doesn't it?" I smile. "Having someone liking you."

I watch her smile too. "Yes," she says. "And Copper has been trying hard, giving me flowers and being all charming. He doesn't look like the frightened coward I used to bully last year. If anything, he kinda looks like the heroes from the books I read."

I chuckle. "Have you kissed yet?"

This time, she turns her face to me. "No. I'm waiting for the slow bloom of affection, I guess," she says. "And I have never kissed before. If it happens, I want it to be special. And I totally don't count Copper's unannounced kiss in the Vault."

"Wow," I say, smiling. "You have been surprising me this entire day, Merula Snyde."

She laughs softly. "I know I don't look like it," she says. "But I'm a hopeless romantic. I'd like to wait until marriage, and I want to marry in white. In St. John's Chapel, preferably. I want a roses bouquet, in mauve, white and pink. I'd like Nat King Cole's L-O-V-E to be the first dance song. And I want three or four kids. I'd love to have a big family. You are totally judging me right now, aren't you? Your silence oozes judgement."

"Honestly," I say. "Not even a little bit, though you should never use the word ooze again."**

* We Are The Waiting, by Green Day.

** Sentence inspired by Julie & The Phantoms.