When I regained consciousness, I heard hushed whispers to my left. Scratchy, thin sheets covered me up to my chin and, from the clinical smell of antiseptic potions, I was in the infirmary. Despite my precarious situation, I felt a thread of excitement; perhaps I could finally get my hands on some healing potions for experimentation. The Willa Company didn't have a first-aid line yet, but I had plans to eventually expand into that area.

"-odd how the potion affected her immediately. It's obviously Babbling Beverage, but it usually needs to be ingested to take effect," I heard Madame Pomfrey murmur.

Oh no. I couldn't have Pomfrey suspecting someone was modifying potions (strictly illegal for Hogwarts students, as the consequences could be so dire). Keeping my eyes carefully shut (I'd perfected the art of feigning sleep back in second year; it was the best way to eavesdrop on conversations without sparking suspicion), I kept my breath steady as Pomfrey continued, "I suppose the potion's enhanced effect is due to its entrance into her bloodstream. The glass shards pierced her skin, allowing for the potion to enter her body immediately rather than diffuse slowly through her digestive system."

I smiled inwardly. I couldn't have thought of a better excuse.

"Is it possible that the potion was modified? Or perhaps it was poorly brewed and that inadvertently made the potion stronger?" I heard Lily ask.

I cursed her silently. Pomfrey had already created the perfect solution; why was she meddling?

"I'd be surprised if anyone save Slughorn himself could brew this potion without risking certain death; when combined with Lethe River Water, bat spleens give off a colourless gas that is lethal if not properly contained. Despite the difficult brewing process, this potion is readily available in joke catalogs. I'm sure that is where Miss…"

"Thorne. Willa Thorne," I heard a low, soft voice supply. How many people were around my bed? Merlin, if the whole Gryffindor cheer squad was circled around my bed, it was sure to garner some attention -

Although that was the least of my problems if they were convinced I was Muggleborn. I hadn't even tried to create a potion that could wipe memories, but perhaps I ought to start looking into that.

"-Miss Thorne obtained the Babbling Beverage. She should be up any moment now. Just give her some of this Pepperup potion and she should be good to go; I've already patched up her knee and side."

I heard Madame Pomfrey move to the next bed.

"You can open your eyes now," Dark and Hostile said.

I froze; how had he…?

Well, there was no use continuing the charade. I opened my eyes slowly, my heart sinking when I saw that, yes, the entire Gryffindor cheer squad (plus one frighteningly-perceptive Head Girl) had encircled the thin infirmary cot. Merlin, this much red and gold made me feel like I was being bashed in the head with lion loyalty and/or courage and/or blah blah Gryffindor spirit blah blah etc etc.

Dark and Hostile folded his arms over his chest. "I've seen that trick a hundred times. Reg- someone I know used to do it all the time." Something unreadable - regret? - passed over his angular face, but in the next moment it was gone, leaving only hostility in its place.

Reg - Regulus? That was Lucy's former target, the one in my House. Dark and Hostile's brother was a Slytherin? You'd think that would make him more amenable to us and not so...well, hostile. Then again, perhaps he, too, suffered from House prejudices and resented his brother?

I surveyed the cheer squad, pausing briefly on the man to my right. Lupin's hand drifted towards my arm, almost as if he was about to touch it, before halting awkwardly. "Are you alright?" he asked finally.

I nodded distractedly, trying to peer between him and Dark and Hostile to make out the person lying in the cot to my left. I couldn't have anyone witnessing this bizarre interaction. Fortunately, the occupant appeared to be unconscious, and there was no one else in the ward.

Head Girl, who had been watching my movements with unsettling keenness, said, "Potter."

Head Boy jumped, his hazel eyes alight with eagerness. "Yes, Lily darl-er, Lily?" he amended hurriedly, probably remembering the hostile reaction his prior attempts at affection had caused.

I caught a flicker of something - fondness? - in Head Girl's eyes, but her tone was all business. "We're due for the Prefect's meeting now. Remus, are you coming?"

Lupin nodded, still eying me intently. If Lucy could see me now, she'd probably die of excitement (but not before spinning some entirely untrue tale of star-crossed, forbidden love), but the Gryffindor's gaze wasn't romantic in the slightest. No, it was assessing and sharply curious. I stared defiantly back at him, willing him to look away. Without breaking our eye contact, the Gryffindor plucked the amber bottle of Pepperup potion from the nightstand, and handed it to me carefully.

I took it hesitatingly, still eying the cheer squad warily. I wanted them to leave before anyone - any Slytherin - saw them near me.

I bent my neck awkwardly, staring at the standard bottle. The formula probably closely resembled my sobering draught, but I'd have to closely examine it to be sure. Maybe I could take half and save the rest for future study.

I looked down at my prone form and sighed. I wasn't about to take any of it if I couldn't even sit up.

To my surprise, Dark and Hostile took a firm hold of my left side.

"Peter, help me out," he said. The short one - Peter - grabbed my other side, and with their combined efforts I was able to prop myself against the uncomfortable metal headboard.

I nodded grudgingly at the two Gryffindors and, seeing that they weren't going to leave until I drank the potion (stubborn Gryffindor honour, I supposed), downed the contents, carefully leaving five centimeters at the bottom. I concealed the remaining potion with my hand, displaying the seemingly empty, now-clear bottle. I could feel the potion working, adrenaline surging through my body as my vision snapped into clear focus. Perhaps I could modify this formula and combine it with my sobering draught to create the sleep replacement potion. The real trouble was finding some way not to mask one's need for sleep but to replace the requirement altogether.

The Head Boy and Girl made to leave, and Head Girl called, "Lupin?" over her shoulder when the tall boy made no move to leave my side.

"I'll meet you there," he said. They exchanged glances before nodding. Dark and Hostile glared at me; he obviously thought I was about to pull out my inner, bad Slytherin and attack his best mate. Here was what he didn't understand and what I had understood only after almost a full year of living with my Housemates: I was and would always be a Slytherin simply because that was who I was. There was no "Slytherin" switch to be flipped, no varying degrees of "Slytherin" to be had. Slytherin wasn't a branding. It was a simple fact of existence and did not inherently place me at odds with anyone else. To say that all Gryffindors ought to hate Slytherins and vice versa was like saying all women were at odds with men simply because they differed biologically.

"I'll catch up," Lupin said. Peter and Dark and Hostile nodded, the latter with reluctance, before following the Head Boy and Girl from the infirmary.

I stared at the Gryffindor, my eyes narrowed. "What now?" I said. "Why aren't you following your cheer squad out? I thought you guys planned synchronised exits for a reason - you know, to better frighten the nasty Slytherins."

I watched him carefully for any reaction to my words, but his expression remained stubbornly curious.

Bugger.

He withdrew a crinkled roll of parchment from the pocket of his dark, slim trousers. I recognised it as the Potions essay I'd begun in the library. So that was where it had gone; I'd wondered where I'd left it.

I reached out to take it, but he moved his hand back quickly. I scowled. "Do you want me to fight you for it? What happened to Gryffindor chivalry? Do you really want to go against an invalid? Because I'll beat you, injuries or not. You're pretty thin; I could snap you like a twig," I said.

For some reason, this amused him greatly, and his yellow-green eyes flickered merrily.

"Mm. You can hit me with your pillow. I've heard those make great weapons," he suggested helpfully.

I opened my mouth to retort but, realising that we were dangerously close to bantering, shut it quickly. I regained my sullen, indifferent expression, and he sighed, setting the essay down gently on the bed.

I made no move to grab it. He obviously had something to say, or he wouldn't still be here.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Look, um, I couldn't help but read it, and, well, your ideas are go-uh, promising, but they could use some, er, fine-tuning. I could help you, if you'd like," he said.

I stared at him, carefully keeping my expression neutral. Promising. I'd written that the addictive properties of cheering draughts were due to the added "unicorn tail hairs, which everyone knows make everything super happy!" In fact, I could distinctly remember a passage arguing that cheering draughts weren't actually addictive at all - people merely kept taking them because they were "deliciously nutritious due to the hemlock fruit." Of course, hemlock was a small, highly poisonous flowering white plant that did not bear fruit and unicorn hairs were used to spark surges of magic, not euphoria. In short, the essay was 110% bollocks.

My ideas weren't promising. They were horrendous and, if I were in his place, I'd be wondering how to lock me up before my stupidity could offend humanity again.

Well, he obviously thought I was an utter idiot, but he was trying to be nice about it. At least this clarified matters - it wasn't interest that was keeping him here. It was pity, which probably stemmed from some misguided, naive sense of moral obligation to help the less fortunate. Although I'd already known the essay was horribly incorrect, I still found myself growing slightly offended over his pity. This offense soon bled into annoyance, which, of course, led to anger.

"And what, Mr. Lupin, are you implying?" I said icily.

He blanched. "Nothing! I just wanted to hel-"

"And why did you think I would want or need your help?" I interrupted. I could feel my pent up rage building in my veins, making my hands tremble and my vision blur. I'd suppressed it for so long, and here - here - was finally an opportunity to unleash it, to free myself temporarily of its shuddering grip -

He opened his mouth, and I held up a hand. "No, let me explain, Mr. Lupin. You thought I was a poor, dumb Slytherin to be pitied. Oh, you're probably imagining that I'm bullied by my mean Housemates, that they think I'm a disgrace to the House. Or perhaps you think I am indicative of generations of inbreeding or the result of a misinformed upbringing. Or, better yet, you, along with your foolish friends, may now be under the incorrect impression that I am a poor, poor Muggleborn stuck in a deadly House. Well, let me correct you, Lupin," I spat.

I could feel adrenaline surging through my veins, stemming not from the Pepperup potion but from my own limitless source of energy - my temper, my rage.

"You are under the mistaken impression that you must uphold some Gryffindor code of chivalry. You imagine yourself a hero, a kind person who helps those less fortunate than you. You traipse along with your crew of merry men, drawing the attention and envy of all. This attention? Know that it is hollow. Know that your very image is false, for I see you, Mr. Lupin. You help others only because you wish to help yourself."

I wanted him to say something, anything, so I could judge my words' effect and adjust them accordingly. I was never more focused than when I was angry, for with the double-edged sword of rage came startling clarity. I could dissect each involuntary facial quirk, find meaning in even the most stoic of faces.

I watched as Lupin's stricken expression slowly shifted to anger and resentment before shuttering, his lips pressed thin.

I paused, breathing heavily, my hand encircling the bottle's neck in a choke-hold. My eyes flicked downwards to the small, dark red splotches on the collar of his white shirt. Blood, I realised with a start, feeling something entirely unpleasant burrow deep in my stomach. Had - had he been the one to carry me here?

Lupin turned on his heel and left without another word.

When the door closed with a startlingly final clang, I felt the first tendrils of regret take hold as my rage subsided. I'd done what I did best - inflict as much hurt as I could.

I sighed, staring blankly down at the fizzing remains of the Pepperup potion. Then, screwing my eyes shut, I downed the last of the burning liquid.