"Hello" -Normal speech.

"Hello" -Parseltongue.

'Hello' -Thoughts/Silent telepathic twin-speech.

Hello -Writing.

Year 1

Red Flags And Rose-Tinted Glasses

Dear Little Brother,

As I've grown older, I find the memories of my Dad fading more and more. I can't remember his job, but I know it required him to frequently travel to other countries. I know he loved to learn about new and ancient cultures, collecting artifacts from varying periods across the globe, though I can't name any of them. His face blurs in my mind, but sometimes if I close my eyes I can still smell the heavy, expensively shitty cologne he overused.

One thing I haven't forgotten -something that will remain crystal clear, engraved and dug into my very soul- is a conversation I had with him when I was eight years old.

Really, it wasn't even an actual fucking conversation, and I can't recall how it started or what even prompted it, but I do know what his response had been:

"Don't be so needy, Olivia."

I can still feel the lingering pain that stitched the fucking memory in my mind, the way salty tears had sprung in my eyes after hearing that. It was only after the shock had worn off that I became angry.

Anger prickled along my skin like skittering electricity, hot and blistering as I felt the knot in chest grow to the point of squeezing my lungs.

I knew I wasn't fucking needy. I knew that the period of separation wasn't typical for a dad, job or no job. My nanny had said as much, multiple times.

But it was hard not to doubt my called 'independence' (-something that all the adults commented on, something that I took pride in because of all the praise-) after what he said. It was hard to pretend that I didn't care -that he didn't fucking rip my heart out that day-, even as the lies fell from my lips, leaving an awful aftertaste of ash.

("What's wrong, Olivia?")

("Nothing. I'm fine.")

(I never asked him to stay home longer after that.)

Alternatively, I will -also- never forget what it was like the first time I stood in a courtroom. Sitting there, the cool wooden chair against my bare thighs. My mother's sharp, turquoise nails biting into my wrist, keeping me from biting my own. The noises of multiple people standing as one, and then shortly sitting back down.

The loud, echoing bang of the judge's damn mallet.

Heavy dread had pooled in my stomach, then. My throat had constricted itself, my head swarming with the ways things could go wrong and each one worse and making me sicker than the last.

Today you made me -are fucking making me- feel a mixture of both.

Sincerely,

The Stranger You Call Sister

November 26th, 1938.

While Professor Slughorn isn't able to wave away the detentions, he is overly free next day in Potions class with his praise and House points towards us, enough that we're quickly able to make up the loss and then some.

Which is admittedly lucky, or else we'd have had our arses thoroughly beaten by the older students.

With the combination of Second Year Boy's event and Malfoy and I's late night adventure in the Forbidden Forest, Slytherin really isn't looking pretty right now. Another toe out of line -one more punishment that doesn't just affect us, but the entirety of Slytherin House- and I honestly feel as if they'll kill us!

It's putting a lot of stress on the Quidditch Team, especially considering how close the next game is.

As for the parents...Well, it turns out that Professor Arwin did owl the parents, even if a tad late, because this Saturday morning both Malfoy and Black get letters.

Aside from when Black borrowed the Family Law book for Tom and I months prior, I don't think I've seen him receive a single note before today. Just like before, Malfoy excuses himself from the table, sickly pale, but this time with Black.

I'm about to follow after them, my gut urging me, when Minerva walks up to our table.

Almost all of Slytherin table slows, people straining their ears and eyes in order to eavesdrop.

"Minerva?" I question, surprised that she's actually here right now. I never thought she'd try to break the unspoken Taboo among the Houses -considering how she doesn't like me near her common room, or how she's refused to hang out any where less than total public domain.

She hesitates, a fleeting glance towards her own table. Biting her lip, she quietly asks; "Dorothy, do you have any idea why Mabel's, um, hair is...Gone?"

"Who?" I blink blankly. My gaze wanders over to where she glanced at, finding a couple of her yearmates glaring murderously at me, whispering to each other.

"The, ah, girl who bite your arm the other day," Minerva clarifies. "Not that I think you did it, of course, but the others do, since she hurt you-" she adds on hurriedly, cringing to herself. As if she wishes the ground would swallow her whole, or to be anywhere but here and now.

Across from us, Lilith gasps, covering her mouth. I told her and Barbara what they had missed out two nights ago, when she found out that me and the boys have detention with Professor Arwin. Speaking of, Dumbledore was gracious enough to postpone Malfoy and I's own detention with him yesterday so that Professor Arwin can have her whole week.

Fucking arsehole.

Tom arches a brow. "What happened exactly?"

"Well, Mabel woke up with all of her hair gone this morning, and since you're the only Slytherin that knows where our dormitories are..." she trails off.

I frown. "Well, I'd like to say that's a fucking shame, but considering my arm-" I raise it higher, rolling up the sleeve so that everyone can see "-That would be a lie. Still, I wasn't the one to curse her hair off. If I did get revenge, I'd be more inclined towards jinxing her with a dog tail and ears, seeing as she bites like a bitch," I finish, smiling darkly.

Also, I highly doubt I'm the only Slytherin who knows where the Gryffindor dormitory is, considering Hogwarts' long arse history. But, well, that isn't important right now.

This takes Minerva a step back. She utters a few more words, reassuring me again that she believes that I'm not the culprit, before scurrying off to her table. As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn and look at Tom, arching my brow.

"Tom, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He scowls. "Why do you think I-" he doesn't even brother completing his sentence, pursing his lips. "Fine. Yes, I did it. And I'm not apologizing! She deserved it, and we both know it."

"I'm not angry, just disappointed," I sigh mockingly. "How could you go behind my back like this; pranking others without your dear older sister?"

Tom's lips quirk, but the faint smile disappears when I continue:

"Though, I do think making her bald was a bit much." The memory of Billy cutting my own hair flashes though my mind. Vandalizing anyone's hair is a huge, personal attack, whether the victim is female or male. It seems a step too far for me, even if the bitch broke skin.

Tom scoffs, waving my concerns away dismissively. "Since when have you become such a bleeding heart?" he asks me, sneering. "It's not as if Madam Gladstone won't be able to help the wench grow it back in a few days. How is it any worse than publicly humiliating her with dog traits?"

I shove him, smiling despite myself. "Oi, just because I have my own moral code doesn't make me a 'bleeding heart'! But so long as it's only a few days...How did you find the common room, anyways?"

Tom simply shrugs, clearly very proud of himself. "You aren't the only one able to dig up secrets, you know. Speaking of -how is that secret admirer situation going? Found any new leads yet?"

I sigh for real this time, slouching and laying my head on his bony shoulder. "Fucking nowhere, that's where. Bastard is good with covering his tracks. I'm going to Madam Gladstone after classes today to bring up the suspicious chocolates. Originally, I planned on stealing them from Lilith and bring them to her for an immediate drug test, but the last batch he sent to Lilith she ate all in one sitting." She's become awfully possessive of her treats lately, even unwilling to share with Barbara. But maybe that's also due to the fact that they're not coming as often anymore, though the love notes are still flowing steady, sometimes with a pretty flower attached.

Tom hums, gathering a forkful of eggs.

"You don't have any ideas who's responsible, do you?" I wonder, straining my neck so that I catch his expression in the corner of my eye.

"Fox's love life doesn't interest me," he responds dryly. "But the best of luck to you."

I huff. "Thanks. Anyways, I reckon we should find out what's wrong with Malfoy and Black now."

Tom nods his head in agreement, standing up. "I'll take care of Black. Are you fine with Malfoy?" he asks me.

"Of course."

We say our goodbyes to the people at the table before leaving the Great Hall, going our separate ways.

"I don't understand why you care about the sick two-legger hatchling so much," Aaron grumbles, him and Oscar being out in the open today as they wrap around my shoulders, causing my thick mane to pile up by my jawline.

"She is clearly too weak to survive much longer. Not much of a predator," Oscar agrees simply.

I glare half-heartedly at the two. "It doesn't always have to be survival of the fittest, you know."

The snake brothers strongly disagree.

I bundle up in my multiple layers -the brothers doing some more whining at the prospect of having to go outside, but when I tell them they can keep their complaints to themselves and stay inside without me, its no skin off my back, they quiet down and instead slither down underneath my clothes. I shiver against the ticklish sensations.

I check the Quidditch field first, spotting the Ravenclaws having their practice, and then go down to the Great Lake.

There, sitting on the deck, I discover him skipping stones onto the water by his lonesome, his letter wrinkled and held tightly in his half-frozen fingers.

Once I'm a foot away from Malfoy, I plant my feet firmly behind him."You look like shite," I inform him bluntly.

He sniffles loudly, wiping the dried tears from his puffy eyes. "Leave me alone, Riddle," he responds sourly.

I ignore that and instead seat myself next to him, drawing my knees up as to keep my body heat closer. "Do you want a scarf?" I ask him.

He side eyes me, lingering on my own Slytherin scarf that's covering my neck, mouth, and nose.

I dig through my handbag, searching until I find something that feels like a scarf. Pulling it out reveals my old, knitted blue one that I nicked years ago in the library's lost and found, offering it to the sullen prat.

Malfoy takes it with a mumbled thanks, wrapping it around himself, and stuffing his hands in his pockets, along with the letter. I study Malfoy's profile, wondering of the chances whether or not he'd be willing to spill the beans on his family problems. In his shoes, as Olivia, I probably wouldn't.

I knock my shoulder again his. "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"What?" Malfoy startles at my question, shocked and confused.

"I discovered a secret tunnel to the village," I explain airily. "I haven't even shown Tom yet."

That part's the truth, and it causes a slither of guilt to even consider it doing it with Malfoy first. Tom'll be fucking furious if he discovers that I didn't come directly to him as soon as I found out, and yeah, I did plan on eventually sharing it him, but Malfoy is looking so damn miserable...

Plus, I suspect that part of the reason why Malfoy's parents are so pissed off is due to my involvement. Truthfully, I've been waiting for days for Malfoy to tell me that his parents have banned him against hanging out with me, but seeing as that has yet to happen...It leads me to wonder if he's disobeying his parents for my sake.

"Really? Even your brother doesn't know about it? How did you find it?"

I shrug my shoulders, shooting him a quick, mischievous smirk. "Really. So, you wanna go on an adventure with me?"

He hesitates for a long moment, going as far as to seem pained by it. "I can't get in trouble again, or else my parents are going to send me to Drumstrong."

"Shite, for real?" my eyes widen, whistling lowly. "They're going that far?"

Malfoy nods his head, throwing another pebble into the rippling lake rather aggressively. "Truly. I don't even know German!"

I hum. "Well, if not Hogsmeade..." I trail off, mind scrambling to find another substitute. Something that'll distract Malfoy from whatever shite is happening in his family life. "Do you, I don't know, want to bake a pie or cake in the kitchen with me?"

He gives me a strange look, as if he can't believe I actually asked that. "Malfoy men don't cook," he sneers. "That's what House Elves are for."

I huff, resisting the urge to push him into the freezing lake for the rude comment. But only because it'll go against my original plan of cheering the fucker up. "Fine, my lord. Do you want to watch me bake something, and be my taster? Prove that I do, in fact, possess some femininity?" I say sarcastically.

"Fine. I guess," Malfoy grumbles, as if I'm pulling his arm on the matter.

I roll my eyes. 'Ungrateful prat.'

I lead the sulky, literal snot-nosed boy down to the kitchens. As we walk down the corridors inside I gradually shed my extra layers and stuff them in my handbag, also taking back the scarf that I lent Malfoy eariler. He tries to hide his curiosity and wonder as I tickle the painting, but only manages it partly.

"Miss Dorothy! Yous here again -we's be getting yours station ready right away!" One of the Elves beams upon sighting me, scurrying away to do exactly that.

Sooty sidles up to me. "Is Mister Tom not be with the Young Miss today? Who is this Young Mister?" she wonders, eyeing Malfoy.

Malfoy straightens his spine, chin raising a notch. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy, Elf," he huffs, crossing his arms.

Sooty continues to stare at him blankly, tone flat; "Any friend of Young Miss Dorothy is a friend of Sooty." Sooty's expression visibly softens as she address me; "Would Miss Dorothy like a list of recipes? What will yous be baking today?"

I cough, trying to hide my amusement behind my fist. (Malfoy's fucking face! As if he got hit by a buldger!) "I don't know yet. Malfoy, got any ideas?"

He shoots me a dirty look, not at all appreciating me laughing at him. "What do you usually bake?" he grumbles.

I shrug. "Pies, usually. But occasionally I do cookies and cupcakes too. What are you in the mood for?"

"...A pie is fine."

Sooty magics the ingredients on a cleared station thanks to the first Elf, and hands me my usual apron. She tries to give one to Malfoy, too, but gets snubbed. She takes Malfoy's attitude in stride, telling me to call for her if I need for anything before dismissing herself.

"What a rude Elf," Malfoy mutters under his breath, shooting Sooty's back a stink eye.

I whack him over the head with the thick pile of pie recipes. "Fucking watch your tongue, prat! Sooty's an absolute gem," I sneer.

He sneers back, rubbing the back of his head as he leans away from me. "You know, one of these days you're going hit or offend the wrong person, and will rue your barbaric ways. Honestly, I don't know how your brother has put up with you for so long."

"In your wet dreams maybe."

He sputters, face turning a bright, beet red. "Wha-"

"Pick your pie already," I command as I force him to take the stack before I preheat the oven and start on the dough.

Malfoy mutters something unintelligible, still blushing fiercely as he tries to hide behind the papers.

We work in silence for a while. At this point I already long since memorized the dough's measurements by heart, my motions smooth, quick, and efficient. As I'm kneading it Malfoy slides over the lemon meringue sheet, and once I finish stretching the dough over the pie dish I begin blind baking it, then start on the filling.

It's as I'm tempering the egg yolk that Malfoy speaks up:

"I didn't believe you at first when you said you often baked in the kitchen."

I snort, shooting him a wry look. "Yeah, I know."

We plunge back into silence for another moment. He seems to be working himself up to ask something specific.

"...What's it like without parents?"

I nearly fumble; whatever shite I thought it was going to be, it certainly wasn't that! "I -what the hell brought this on?"

Malfoy shrugs, drawing invisible lines on the counter while avoiding eye contact.

I sigh, memories of Olivia's parents coming to the forefront unwanted. "Well, it honestly differs. Kids need finical, emotional stability growing up that parents should be providing in order to not be fucked up later as an adult, but not all parents are like that. Some of them are nasty bastards who neglect their kids, or in reverse put too much pressure on them. Both options are equally damaging.

I hear that having parents can be a wonderful thing, something a lot of adults argue is necessary. Tom and I? We don't need 'em; we do perfectly fine with just each other. But that's not to say that I don't understand why most other kids depend on theirs; unconditional love is a heady, addictive thing after all."

I think of Clarissa, and her own parents. Of how they stood by her side even as the extended family turned their backs on them. Seeing it as Olivia had filled me with such fierce longing, such bitter jealousy. I was happy for my friend, of course, but it seemed so fucking unfair. I never wanted to be someone else more than in that moment.

"Oh," Malfoy responds softly. "How do you know if love in 'unconditional'?"

"Do you feel like you have to earn their love and affection? That you constantly have to strive to greater heights, and feel anxious when they keep setting the bar higher and higher? Do they constantly downplay your achievements or compare you to other kids? Are you scared to express your interests and hobbies because they'll ridicule you, get angry, or even worse, fucking dismissive?" I snap my mouth shut, the knot in my chest expanding to the point of pain. This topic touches too closely to my past life.

No, scratch that, you may as well open the entire box and scatter all the nasty, ugly memories for the world to see.

I grind my teeth, trying to focus on my baking. "Anyways, that's when love is conditional. Take the opposite for unconditional."

"What's wrong, Sister-Speaker?" Oscar hisses quietly.

"It's nothing," I utter under my breath, tone clipped. Honestly, I forgot that they were even still with me .They're too quiet, and I reckon I've grown too used to them hanging on me...

"You talk as if you've experienced it yourself."

'I have.' "I've seen some shite in the orphanage, especially when adults return the kids," I say instead, the words clinging to the back of my throat like ash.

"But isn't that their own fault?" Malfoy blurts out. "They must have done something really bad if-"

"It is not," I snap back. "That shite is exactly what the parents want you to believe; that its the kids' fault for not being what they want, not being fucking perfect or 'acting out' instead of the parents for doing a piss-poor job meeting the kids' needs and bringing them up properly. It's called fucking 'victim blaming'-"

I inhale sharply, trying to rein in my sudden rage, nearly choking myself. "Parenting is something that can never be perfected, but can certainly be worked towards daily. Unfortunately, not every adult is fit to be a parent, and there are more of them that most people might think."

The filling is done, and after pouring it into the pie dish I set it aside and begin pepping the meringue. The clanking of the mixing bowels against the counter is louder than strictly necessary.

"...How are you and your brother able to stay at the top of your class?" he asks, clearly frustrated. "You didn't even have any lessons before Hogwarts!"

I shrug my shoulders, thankful for the change in subject. "A mix of studying and natural talent, I guess. It's not like Tom and I didn't have any experience with magic before Hogwarts. We often practiced the summoning charm or other small tricks. We just never knew there were more of us."

"But I never even see you studying," he grumbles sourly.

I smirk. "Tom and I read through the entire textbooks before even stepping foot on the train. But we also usually do our homework together, too. Help each other edit our works before giving it to the teacher. Lilith, Barbara, and Black have been joining us too. Why, are you having trouble?"

"No! I -I don't need help. I just-" he growls, glaring at his clenching fists. Words seem to fail him.

"Well, whether or not you 'need' help, you can always join us, you know. Sometimes you don't notice your mistakes until someone else points it out, even if it only grammatical. God knows the amount shite Tom points out in mine. Picky prat."

Malfoy doesn't respond for the longest time, burying his head in his arms. "...Some days I swear my homework changes over night," he mumbles. "It's my own hand writing, but I don't even fully recognize it. I think I'm losing my mind here."

I pat his head, getting some stuff in his hair as I do so. "There, there, come join our study group and I'm sure we can help you," I coo.

He swats my hand away, lifting his head to glare up at me half-heartedly. "Sod off, Riddle."

"Dorothy."

He blinks. "What?"

"Just call me Dorothy, already," I sigh. "At this point we're far passed the use of last names, Abraxas."

"..Fine." Pink dusts his cheeks, and he ducks his head. He pauses. "Thanks, Dorothy."

"No problem."

November 27th, 1938.

The next day starts out perfectly normal for a Sunday morning. Having stayed up until four o' clock in the morning doing my Animagus studies, I don't crawl out of bed until three in the afternoon.

Tom and Black are sitting in the common room, playing chess, and I slowly trudge my way towards them. "So who's winning?" I wonder, yawning.

Tom gives me an exasperated look. "You couldn't even bother to get dressed, Dorothy?"

I shrug my shoulders. "It's Sunday."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"It's Sunday," I repeat stubbornly, unrepentantly.

Tom turns towards Black, as if to ask; 'Can you believe this shite?'

Black simply shakes his head as he moves one of his pawns.

"Whatever," I huff. "I'm going to the kitchens. Want anything?"

"I don't know, can you get me a new sister?" Tom asks sarcastically.

"You should be fucking grateful, prat, that you've been blessed with me at all!" I shove the back of head playfully, and he retaliates with a stinging hex.

"Please don't," Black pleads to the both us. "I don't want to be blamed when the common room is destroyed."

"Yeah, Tom, don't start shite you can't finish," I jeer, smirking. "Don't want to drive poor Blackie here away. Then you'll be friendless."

He narrows his eyes. "I thought you were leaving," he counters flatly.

"Yeah, yeah," I respond lazily, hands up as I start backing away.

"And change out of your pyjamas!"

I flip him the bird, but go into the girls' dormitory anyways.

There aren't many Elves in the kitchen when I arrive. Lunch clean up just finished, and so most of them have turned to other chores throughout the castle.

"Young Miss!" Velly scurries over to my side. "How can wes Elves be helping yous today?"

"Just a bagel, please. A BLT."

"Right away! Please sit, Miss," Velly replies cheerily.

I take a seat at one of the long tables that mirrors the Great Hall up above. A couple minutes later Velly returns with my bagel, extra bacon, and a glass of juice.

"Thanks," I tell her.

Velly beams, "Tis no problem! Velly would like to thank yous for allowing Velly and other Elves to eat Young Miss Dorothy's sweets."

"Well, it's only fair since you let me use your kitchen," I point out simply.

After I'm done eating I dither about, bored and unsure what to do now. I've already completed all of my homework, I can't practise my flying, Turner is out in Hogsmeade with most of the upper Years, I don't know where Minerva and Poppy are...With nothing better to do, I decide to head back to the dormitory with the plan of bothering Tom again.

"I could draw,' I muse. But I'm not feeling very inspired at the moment...

On my way, I end up bumping into Abraxas. It seems as if he was searching for me, because I as soon as our gaze met he immediately storms over.

My brows disappear into my hairline. "What-"

"You!" he points a furious, trembling wand at me.

I only have time to open my mouth before hexes and jinxes of all colour are flying at me, cutting whatever I was about to say into the curse.

"Fuck!" I jump out of the way, wand similarly jumping into my open palm in the next second. "Protego! The hell, Mal-Abraxas?!"

He continues the onslaught, even as tears rolls down his cheeks. "Flippindo! How -Stupefy!- Dare -Duro!- You!"

Thankfully, with all of the practice at the Duelling Club, my shield is pretty damn strong. At least, it is compared to the First and Second Year spells that Abraxas is throwing around. Even still, to just stand there and take it like a total dumbarse is just plain stupid, so I manoeuvre about while trying to make sure that he won't be backing me into a corner as he advances.

I can't use my wand to cast while keeping the shield up, so I'm left with the few that I've mastered wandlessly. "Accio Abraxas's shoes!"

He isn't wearing any. Not even socks.

My eyes narrow. 'He came prepared then.'

"Accio Abraxas's tie!"

He chokes as his neck lurches forward, falling down on his knees as he lets go of his wand in favour of clutching his struggling tie.

I kick his wand further down the corridor, dropping my shield the same time I cast; "Petrificus Totalus!"

Now thoroughly bound as tight as a mummy, I crouch down so that I'm closer to his eye-level. With his cheek pressed against the cold floor, he glares up at me hatefully as he attempts (fruitlessly) to break free.

"Let me go! I said let me go!" he demands loudly, almost yowling it like some possessed demon cat.

"Not until you tell me the fuck was that!" I retort hotly, chest still heaving from the intense fight.

"As if you don't know!" he spits back furiously.

I rein in the urge to punt his head like an American soccer ball. "Obviously not! I don't think my lemon pie is bad enough to fucking murder me! Or at the very least turn me to stone!"

"You told Reinhard!"

"What? What did I fucking tell Lestrange?!"

Abraxas finally stops struggling, laying limply as few tears slowly trail down, creating a tiny puddle around his cheek. "You told him that I cried! T-That my parent's don't- he's going on about how I'm going to fail the year, and-"

The word vomit that Abraxas is spewing answers shite, and actually only gives me more questions. "Dude," I hold a hand up, "I'm going to stop you right there. I didn't tell that little shite nothing. I got no idea why you think I did. You do realize that we hate each other's guts, right?"

"Well, how else does he know that I'm struggling in class?" he snarls. "Huh, Riddle? I trusted you, and then you immediately go and tell everyone else as soon as my back is turned! I should have let that Red Cap kill you in the forrest!"

"Wha-"

He sneers. "How do you think you survived that fight? Huh?!"

I sputter. "I bound it, of course-"

"Not before I threw the lantern at it!"

"What in Merlin's beard is happening here!?"

I flinch. Pivoting on my heel, I face the angry and confused Sixth Year Hufflepuff Prefect at the end of the corridor. He appears ready to start dishing out detentions like nobody's business.

"Shite."

One lengthy interrogation and lecture later, Malfoy is freed from his binds and we're both frog-marched straight to the Slytherin common room.

Along with, of course, Saturday detention.

Fucking wonderful.

December 3rd, 1938.

The following week is as bewildering as it is fucking infuriating.

Malfoy absolutely refuses to have any contact with me whatsoever, going as far as to tattle to Professor Slughorn if I'm not out the boy's room at seven o' clock sharp, and will glare at me murderously whenever he catches me staring. If Lestrange -and sometimes Avery- didn't poke fun of his embarrassment, occasionally going as far as to reenact him sobbing because "Mummy and Daddy doesn't love me!" and bemoaning about failing the year, I think Malfoy would have joined their camp.

As it is, Malfoy has more so less made his own camp now, sometimes hanging out with Nott the Boy and his friends.

An ugly, foul emotion gnaws at me, prying my ribs open and leaving my heart raw and bare to be devoured whole. I alternate between raging and feeling helpless, having all my attempts to convince Malfoy being quickly and harshly shut down, and not knowing what else to do.

Because I didn't tell anyone! Not a soul! Not even fucking Tom! Malfoy had exhausted himself of his tears before I even arrived!

The only people who were around to overhear Malfoy's confession was the House Elves, who certainly don't go around gossiping about First Year drama, and the snake brothers-

That realization causes my spiralling thoughts to come to a screeching halt, ice flooding my insides. I ask -demand to know- if they told Tom about Malfoy and I's discussion.

They are adamant that they didn't, even after I bribed them with a couple 'tasty' rats that the House Elves had caught.

Nonetheless, despite it, I find myself reluctant to take them anywhere with me anymore. They whine and complain, proclaim that I'm not being fair, but I still can't force myself to ignore my gut instinct so in the dormitory they stay.

Of course, I also try to subtly-not-so-subtly find out if Tom was the one to plant the filthy lie that I was the one to tell everyone about Malfoy's problems.

Tom becomes very indignant and insulted at my accusation, listing off numerous things that he had been doing with Black for the past two days to prove that he couldn't have had the window of opportunity to gossip with others even if he wanted to. Going as far as to shove me in Black's direction in order to prove his innocence.

Black dutifully backs Tom up, assuring me multiple times that he and Tom had been together the entire time, and not once had he been with Lestrange or any of the other purebloods.

I end up spending a long time in the kitchen and drawing a lot of unflattering pictures, stewing over the fact the all of my friends seem to leaving me one by fucking one. First Spademan -which, I admit, is truthfully on my own head-, then Minerva, and now Malfoy.

And I don't even fucking understand why that is!

So it is with a heavy relief that, a week later, a distraction away from my own problems comes flying in in the form of Lilith's parcel.

It's Saturday morning when most of the students are gathered at the Great Hall for a late breakfast, and the owls descends upon us with a short cry.

Lilith beams at the sight, eagerly pushing her plate away in order to make room in front of her.

'And was that a touch of relieve in her eyes?'

As soon as the barn owl lands she's already ripping into the packing, putting the standard mushy letter to the side for later. I wiggle my finger under the table so that one of Nott the Boy's friends -Rick's?- plate beside her flies up, hitting them both with foods. I take the sudden distraction to snatch a few pieces of chocolates, quickly shoving them into my robe's pocket.

"AH!"

"Merlin!"

"Who-Who-!" Rick sputters, stumbling over himself as he attempts to raise from his seat, whipping around as if he can catch the culprit.

His friends just laugh uproariously, and the poor Third Year zeroes onto a single individual.

"Carter! I'm going to-"

"It wasn't me! I swear!"

"Are you alright, Lilith?" I ask her, tuning out the Third Years as I help her wipe the bits of bacon off her shoulders.

She frowns, staring quizzically at the Third Years. "Yeah, fine..." she mumbles, brows furrowed. She clutches her thick outer robe's closer; she's been complaining lately about feeling cold constantly, to the point she's starting to wear both inner and outer robes.

Eventually, breakfast wraps up, and I make up a bullshite excuse before ducking out of the Great Hall. Today's a weekend, so they're aren't any classes today.

"Remember that we have a study session later on!" Tom calls out after me.

I acknowledge him with a back hand wave.

Madam Gladstone is passing a couple of potions to a student laying on one of the beds when I peer in. As soon as she turns around and spots me, she lets out a long, tired sigh. "Miss Riddle, I had hoped for it to be longer before I saw your face again. What happened this time?"

In any other situations I might have found her comment to be mildly amusing, but I can't muster up the mirth this morning. "It's about Lilith, actually." I shoot the bed ridden student a wary glance. "Can we talk in your office, please?"

Madam Gladstone frowns, but leads me to her connected office. Sitting in her desk chair, she gestures towards the wooden one against the wall and ask; "What's this about Miss Fox? Does she need another batch of salve?"

I reach into my pocket and hold out the small pieces of chocolate. "Actually, I think someone might be poisoning her. Specifically, her 'secret admirer'." I go on to explain my concerns and the hints that support them, namely how only the chocolates help with Lilith's itchiness, how possessive she's become over them, how short-tempered she gets the longer the wait between the next patch becomes, even how cold she's been feeling lately.

Throughout it all the worry lines on Madam Gladstone continue to deepen. "Why hasn't Miss Fox told me this herself?" she asks me seriously as she carefully plucks the chocolate from my palm, giving it a suspicious glance before placing it on her desk.

I wipe away the small amount of melted chocolate on my palm using my skirt. "Er, well, she thinks I'm full of shi- that I'm wrong. She doesn't believe that her secret admirer can do anything wrong, and gets angry when anyone tries to says otherwise. So, if you could test it for any drugs..."

"If what you suspect is the truth, this is a very serious matter," she warns me. "I will, of course, do my own research. Please keep your thoughts on this to yourself until I get solid answers, and inform Miss Fox that I'd like to see her."

"Of course!" I respond as I immediately rise from my chair. "And, ah, can you avoid mentioning that I was the one to tell you all of this?"

"I'll see what I can do." She also rises as to guide me out of the Wing.

Our study session isn't until after lunch, so it takes me a while before I'm able to track Lilith and Barbara down. I first try the common room and First Year's room, and when they aren't there, I ask a few other Slytherins if they've seen them anywhere. Nadda.

I then try the library, spotting Turner, but still no sight of hide nor hair of the social butterfly. It isn't until the I pass by the courtyard that I find the girls sitting in a circle by one of the windows, playing cards with a few other students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

"Lilith! There you are!"

Her head jerks up when she hears her name, and I can't help but notice the gloom hanging over her as I jog towards them. "Dorothy. Is it time for the study group already?"

There are ever-present angry marks on her neck, clawed deep enough that the small amounts of blood has crusted over. Her nails are also shorter, freshly chewed compared to this morning -a new nervous habit she's formed.

"Nope. Madam Gladstone said she wanted to talk to you," I explain.

Her brows furrow. "Why?"

I shrug my shoulders, stuffing my hands in my robe's pockets. "Don't know," I lie smoothly. "Just told me to get you."

"Sorry," she turns and apologizes lamely to the others. "I'll come back afterwards."

"Do you want me to come with you-"

"It's fine," she assures Barbara. "I'll be right back!"

The others watch her leave, shoulders relaxing as Lilith takes the dark cloud with her. The Hufflepuff -Connie Simmons- kindly offers to join me in their game.

I decline politely before making my own escape. Although I still have about two hours before the study group is due to gather, I decide to visit the library early with Turner in mind.

I find him tucked in usual corner, exactly where I found him earlier. With some effort, he's able to tear his eyes away from the text he's reading when I get close.

"Did you find your friend?" he asks me.

I plop down on the chair beside him. "Yeah, I did. What are you reading?"

Turner shows me the cover. "My Dad sent me this, actually. I couldn't find anything to help with what you're wanting in the library, and I'm currently banned from the restricted section, so-"

Smelling a damn good story, I smile mischievously. "Why did you get banned from the restricted section?"

Turner clears his throat sheepishly, glancing at the bookshelf to his left. "There are, um, a couple 'monster books' -books that can, and will, literally bite your hand off if you aren't careful in there. And...And ImayhaveaccidentallyletitlooseandMadamCarkealmostlostanear-"

"What?" I laugh loudly, and Turner shushes me, glancing around nervously. As if he expected Madam Carke the librarian to appear and boot us out of the library, which, fair enough. "It bit Madam Carke's ear off-?"

"Almost," he stresses, practically hissing. "It almost bite her ear off. She had to go see Madam Gladstone for healing," he grumbles.

"I'm shocked you're allowed in here at all with your track record!" I snicker, cheeks and sides aching.

'Yeah, well, it's not my fault Hogwarts harbour those types of books..."

That just starts me up all over again, and Turner waits, completely unimpressed until I can gather myself.

"Are you finished yet?" he asks me flatly, lips pursed.

I grin. "For now," I allow.

He just shakes his head, turning back to his textbook. "Anyways, what you're asking for is really complicated. It's like trying to mesh two spells together, and I don't know where to begin, to be honest," he sighs in frustration, running a hand over his hair as he scratches it. "Spells aren't always just coming up with the right incarnation, you know, there's the matter of how the magic is released-"

"Isn't it all just from the wand? Or the core?" I interrupt.

He shoots me an irritated look, as if what I just said was embarrassingly naive.

I huff. "What?"

"It's not just 'from the wand,' all spells land on a spectrum. Jinxes -which what you're wanting would have to fall under- inherently are on the more malicious side. Not as much as curses, of course, but more than hexes do," he lectures. "The problem is that I need to figure out what exactly the right mindset you need, because the emotional state affects how the magic flows and flexes in your body. The wand is only the release point."

I tilt my head curiously. "But the stinging hex isn't a jinx," I point out. "Can't we just add something to the original stinging hex?"

"Yeah, but you're also wanting it to affect a much larger audience, right? You'll need something stronger than just a hex. Plus, the Taboo spell is a jinx. I'm actually starting to think that we're going to have curse the word 'mudblood' itself after all, because I can't see how you're going to be able to jinx each and every student in Hogwarts. And, furthermore, curses tend to last a lot longer than a jinx depending on the caster."

"But didn't you say it was impossible to curse the word?"

Tuner sniffs, nose up. "I never said it was impossible. Just that no one has done it before."

From thenceforth, Turner walks me through all of the hoops and rules we might have to jump through, and all of his ideas on how to do so that he has currently.

Turner and I are so absorbed into our research that I barely notice the hours slipping by. It isn't until my stomach growls, and I look up from the thick textbooks that I become aware that it's been a whole six and half fucking hours since I got here, and that it's minutes before suppertime.

'I guess the study session never happened after all...'

The noise of stomping feet approaching our table gets me to turn to the library entrance.

"Oh, shite," I whisper to myself.

'Goddamn it, I thought I told her not to name any names! Fucking snitch!'

"What? What's wrong?" Turner startles, lifting his own head to follow my line of sight.

There, stalking towards us -me- with a tear-stained, furious expression, is Lilith. I shrink in my seat despite myself, guilt making my stomach churn.

"How could you?" her voice cracks, and the single line reminds me of my confrontation with Malfoy so sharply that it steals the words from my lungs. "I told you that he didn't do it!" she continues, growing steadily angrier. "Now you've made him look bad for no reason!"

"I-" it takes a moment for her words, and the implications behind them, to click inside my mind. "The chocolates weren't drugged after all?"

"NO!" she snaps loudly, causing a few eavesdroppers to shush her. Her next words are quieter, but no less harsh; "Madam Gladstone didn't find anything in them, just like I told you there wouldn't be! Even if-" she cuts herself off, glaring and crossing her arms.

"Even if what?"

"None of your business! I can't believe you went behind my back this, when you said you wouldn't!"

"I never actually said that," I point out smartly. "I said I understood why you felt the way you did, not that I no longer thought your stupid 'secret admirer' is all that he says he is."

Lilith reddens. "Well, you're wrong. The chocolates are fine," she spits back before storming out.

Turner, who had been silently watching the whole thing, clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, should we pick this up tomorrow then?"

(Later on, when I pull Barbara to the side to grill her about Lilith's condition, she confides that although nothing showed up in the chocolates themselves, Madam Gladstone discovered evidence of some poisonous seeds called the Devil's Tongue in Lilith's system. Although useful if prepped correctly in certain medicines and potions, if eaten on their own or incorrectly, it can become addictive and severely dangerous in the long term.

One of the ways that it harms the victim is that it'll slowly, gradually, freeze the organs until they stop functioning altogether. Luckily it takes at least a full year to get to that point, and Lilith is still in the early stages, so for as long as she stops accidentally consuming the Devil's Tongue she'll be able to make a full recovery. If one excuses the shitty withdrawal symptoms in the meanwhile.

Barbara says that if Lilith shows any signs of getting worse, Madam Gladstone is prepared to march into the Headmaster's office and demand that Lilith get sent home until they can find the culprit. As it is, Professor Slughorn will be brewing some potions to help Lilith reverse the damage. Lilith is officially not allowed to eat anything that doesn't first go through Madam Gladstone or the House Elves personally.

With the secret admirer proved innocent once and for all, though, I'm at a complete lost on what else to do.)

That same night, Professor Slughorn apparently enters the common room and hands out Yule/Christmas invitations to the members of his little Club. As Malfoy and I were serving detention with Dumbledore at the time (-which had been the most fucking awkward hour and half in this life-), Tom gives me mine when I return.

I'm still reeling from my fight with Lilith and my talk with Barbara as I open it, feeling detached, fucking emotionally drained, and resigned as I read it.

The letter says that it's for the twenty-third, probably to allow others make it to other parties on the actual day of Christmas Eve without forcing them to choose.

With a long, tired sigh, I acknowledge that I'm going to have to ask for Sooty's help for a second dress.

I got too much shite on my plate nowadays, and it only seems to be piling higher.

December 6th, 1938.

It's in the middle of the night when I feel Tom slowly untangle our limbs, slipping out of bed. Assuming he simply needs to take a piss, I keep my eyes closed and burrow myself deeper into the bed, curling a warm pillow against my chest.

It isn't until I hear the low groan of a chest opening that I grow curious, and suspicious. I peek over the blanket, squinting as I try to make out the small, hunched over form digging through Rosier the Boy's personal belongings.

The dark figure suddenly stills, glancing up. "Dorothy, what are you doing up?" Tom asks me softly.

"What are you doing?" I return in a whisper, sharper than I meant to.

Tom shrugs carelessly, pushing up from his knees as he makes his way towards me, nestling beside me in bed again. "I just wanted to see if I could steal a spare quill," he tells me.

I don't respond, the seeds of doubt continuing to grow inside me.

December 10th, 1938.

Just after the bell rings to signal the end of Potions, Professor Slughorn asks all of us Slytherins to stay behind. We look to each other, wondering what our Head of House needs from us.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, winter break will be with us soon," The Professor begins cheerily. "As such, I need to know who will be staying, and wil be going home for the holidays."

Tom and I share a look, grimacing.

We already discussed our options before hand. While we both would like nothing more than to stay in the safety and wonder that is Hogwarts, and loath the idea of returning to the orphanage, even if for a couple weeks, we already promised Mrs. Campbell that we'll be working during the break. We desperately need the money after all.

Of course, we tried to sweet talk Professor Slughorn, in which we'd be able to floo to the Leaky Cauldron using his fireplace for our shifts, but although apparently 'understanding our troubles' (-yeah, right-) it's strictly against the school rules, outside of emergencies or parent visitation. No amount of flattery or fake tears was able to change it.

Though, at least we were able to work something out with Mrs. Campbell. Through a series of letters we were able to be allowed to stay in a spare room at the Leaky Cauldron during the break, and also use the floo so that we're still able to make Professor Slughorn's party.

Plus, Tom and I have a few things we need to do in Diagon Alley.

(Funny that, though, we're allowed to floo in for the Christmas party, but not for work. Complete bullshite I say!)

Professor Slughorn goes up and down the aisles, jotting down the names of students on his clipboard. Once your turn was done you were free to leave the classroom and head out for lunch.

"How is your new dress coming along?" Tom asks me once we're out of the classroom, walking towards Great Hall with Black.

I shrug. "It's going, I guess. Sooty is using one of the dresses that a past student left and never returned for. She says it should be done by tomorrow."

"And it's to my specifications?"

"I hope you realize just how much of an arsehole you sound saying that," I tell him flatly.

Tom sniffs, turning his cheek. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dorothy. It's an honest, perfectly reasonable question."

"Yeah, and if you were my boyfriend, you would have been cursed straight to hell if I ever caught you trying to control my clothes. But to answer your question, yes, it's how you wanted it to be. Fucking prat."

"If you were my girlfriend I would already be in hell."

Black chokes, trying and failing miserably to stifle his laughter.

I gasp loudly, placing a hand on my heart dramatically. "Black! How can you take this arsehole's side -I thought we were friends! We bonded over drawing and everything!"

Malfoy shoulder-chucks me, storming ahead while clutching his textbooks in his arms.

I purse my lips, my moderate mood officially, and thoroughly, soured. I consider tripping him, but reconsider in the last second. But only because Slytherin -and me, to be honest- doesn't need another hallway-brawl in the records.

(At least not this soon.

Look at me, learning some self-control!)

"I suppose he still isn't talking to you, is he?" Black murmurs, eyeing me as if I'm going to bite his head off for the comment.

"No," I growl, crossing my arms. "Fucking prat won't let me get a word in edge wise. You'd think I killed his pet!"

Black hesitates. "Abraxas is very proud. But I'm sure he'll forgive you eventually."

I snort. "He's as proud as I am crass," I agree scornfully. "Not that there is anything to forgive -if anything, he owes me an apology! I never fucking told Lestrange about his personal issues! If I'm going to be gossiping, it certainly isn't going to be with him!"

"Just forget about him, Dorothy. He clearly doesn't deserve or value you," Tom tells me smartly.

Black glances away from me, clearly uncomfortable. He stops walking and Tom and I instinctively do the same, waiting. "I actually have something for the two of you," he clears his throat as he adjusts the books in his arms so that he's able to reach into his inner pocket. "They're invitations to the Black Yule ball that my Grandfather will be hosting this month. Like you requested, Tom." He hands both Tom and I fancy, wax-sealed party invitations.

I arch a brow at Tom, who only shrugs and smirks in return.

'Sneaky prat,' I think fondly. And then it dawns on me that, unlike with Professor Slughorn, the Blacks will be expecting a Thank-You gift.

"Tom, do you already have a gift for the hosts?" I question him evenly.

Tom doesn't respond.

"Ah, fuck," I groan to myself, burying my head in my hands. How the fuck are we supposed to produce a proper gift when we're poor as shite? "I don't suppose your parents would accept home-made sweets as a hosting gift?" I ask Black weakly.

Black wavers, shifting his feet awkwardly. "I -If you're worried, you don't have to accept, I understand-"

"We'll figure something out," Tom cuts Black off firmly, softening his approach with a kind smile. "Thank you for inviting us, Alphard."

Black offers a tentative smile in return, nodding and ducking his head.

"What do you think the chances are of getting a vial of felix felicis from Professor Slughorn?" he questions me.

I raise both of my brows. "Stealing it, or asking for it?"

Tom shrugs his shoulders. "Both. Either."

"Well, if we ask, he'll want something in return," I respond slowly. "Though I'm not sure what we can offer that'll be of equal value to vial of the liquid luck."

Tom nods his head, as if he already suspected this. "I'll sneak into his office and nab one before the party, then."

"Wait, what?" I gape. "Tom! No! You can't just go and fucking steal it!"

"What other choice do we have?" he demands harshly. "If we ask first, then there's a large chance that he'll say no, then he'll without a doubt know that we're to blame if he discovers a missing vial. We just can't risk him saying 'no' -the wooden carvings you're paying one of the House Elves to make with cookies for your 'friends' Christmas gift isn't going to cut it, Dorothy."

The way the word 'friends' rolls off Tom's tongue rubs me the wrong way, but I decide to ignore it for the moment in favour of the core issue. "You don't know that," I argue hotly. "He's a Potion Master, one teeny tiny vial isn't going to matter much in the long run for him. Just because I'm not sure what he'll want in return doesn't mean that it's impossible! Plus, the poor bastard adores you, for whatever God's forsaken reason. I'm sure we can figure something out."

"Um, is this something that I can help with?" Black speaks up nervously, glancing between the two of us like a tennis match.

"You can help me convince Tommy dear that stealing from Professor Slughorn is not a good idea!" I sniff, crossing my arms as I level my brother a hard look.

An uncomfortable expression crosses Black's face.

"You stole plenty of times from our old teachers," the prat snaps back. "Don't act all high and mighty now."

"Pencils, maybe, yeah. But the risk of getting caught stealing felix felicis is a lot fucking higher than a damn pencil."

"Ah, maybe we shouldn't be taking about this here..." Black reminds us.

Tom's lips purse, glaring at me. "We'll be talking about this later," he informs me crossly.

(Later I go over Tom's head and go straight to Professor Slughorn with our problem. We work out a deal where he gives me a single vail in exchange of showering him with praise to the hosts once there. Tom sulks and gives me the cold shoulder for the rest of the night, but eventually, begrudgingly, accepts that my way was best and pretends as if he never believed otherwise. Fucking prat.)

December 15th, 1938.

'Enough is enough,' I finally decide.

Although I can't do anything about Malfoy, Lilith's and I's row because it's still rather fresh and sensitive, there's zero fucking chance that I'm going to allow Minerva and I's friendship to drift apart any more than it already has.

I am not going to lose another friend. I fucking refuse.

So in a plan to kill two birds with one stone, I gather all of my remaining friends and friend-of-a-friend, plus Tom and Black, in order to sit down and discuss our plan of action.

Namely the lack of progress Spademan is having with Barbara's older sister, and how I can take advantage of this in order to win Spademan's forgiveness.

Which brings us to present time; Tom, Black, Barbara, Minerva, Poppy, and Turner sitting together in one of the old, empty classrooms and I standing at the chalkboard with a stick of chalk in my hand.

"Why am I here again?" Turner wonders dryly, glancing around the cluster of First and Second Years. "I don't even know your Prefect or Armstrong personally, nor do I care about their love life."

"Because if you want me to be your guinea pig for your new charm to see people's auras, you'll fucking keep your complaints to yourself and help me with this," I tell him bluntly. "So! Does any one have any ideas?" I clap my hands together, peering at my audience.

Barbara timidly raises her hand.

I beam at the girl. "Yes! Barbara, what is it?"

"We could maybe lock them together in a closet overnight?" she proposes, shrinking down in her seat in the next second as everyone stares at her, bewildered.

My brows disappear into my hairline, impressed with her newfound guts. I definitely didn't expect this from her!

Reading my reaction incorrectly, Barbara attempts to backtrack; "I mean, only as a last resort maybe-? And we'll let them out after a few hours of course- it's just, um, well, Lilith was considering doing it to you and Tom when you guys were still fighting, but then you guys made up and-"

"What," Tom interrupts her flatly.

"Good idea," I talk over him as I write it on the board. "Any other ideas?"

Turner sighs. "We can plant a rose in Armstrong bag, saying it's from Spademan?" he offers.

"Like a secret admirer!" Poppy chimes in, eyes sparking with delight.

I grimace at the word. Lilith still isn't speaking to me, and according to Barbara, won't be any time soon. (I still don't regret going behind her back like I did.) Unlike fucking Malfoy, though, Lilith isn't the type to hold onto her grudges forever, so she'll come around soon or later, when she isn't as clamoured by the idea of her dumb 'secret admirer.'

"What if we get him to do something romantic for Armstrong on Valentine day? Like a picnic?" Minerva adds her two cents in.

"We should find out if she even fancies Spademan," Tom cuts in. He turns towards Barbara. "What is your sister's type?"

"I'm not, uh, sure," Barbara confesses sheepishly. "I could ask her, though."

I nod my head. "Good. Next time you see her, do that. In the mean time, are can still brainstorm ideas. Minerva, the picnic is good idea, but Valentine's is too far away. We need something now."

"I don't think something outside is good idea," Black says slowly. "It's becoming quite chilly..."

"A romantic dinner, then," Minerva frowns at him.

I grin. "Brilliant! A nice, candle light dinner. We can set it up in one of the towers, or I can get it done in kitchen with the House Elves' help -Turner, what Year are you in again?"

"Sixth."

"Are you a Prefect?"

He snorts, shaking his head. "Me? A Prefect? Not on Professor Merrythought's life! Although, I am cousins with the Head Boy...Why?" he eyes me suspiciously.

My grin widens. "Then you're in charge in finding out what nights Spademan is free. Barbara, find out everything your sister likes, and also find out when she's free. We need to match a day when neither of them are busy, and correlate it with the Elves so they can set up the dinner."

"Why can't you simply ask Spademan yourself?" Turner asks me, nearly whining.

My expression flattens, unimpressed. "Because you need to pull your fucking weight in this operation, that's why. Plus, Spademan isn't speaking to me right now -hence this plan in the first fucking place."

Turner grumbles, but settles down nonetheless.

"Can I help in some way?" Poppy raises her hand hopefully.

I consider her for a moment. "You can plant the invitation card in Armstrong's bag, since you're the only one who has access to the Hufflepuff dormitory. Black, you're on Spademan. I'll make the cards."

"Why? Wouldn't Tom be a better choice?"

I shake my head. "No, Tom is my twin, and is therefore liable to be cursed on sight if seen trifling through his things, or turned away if he approaches him directly. Spademan'll automatically think that Tom is acting on my behalf."

"Are you planning on this to be a blind date?" Minerva wonders, tilting her head. "How will Spademan know that the dinner is from you?"

"I'll just tell him afterwards, hopefully when he's a good mood, or maybe just put it in the card," I shrug my shoulders. "Any other questions?"

No one speaks up.

"Excellent. Then let the matchmaking plan commence!"

The others gradually excuse themselves, Turner making a beeline for the door while the others linger a little longer.

"Minnie, where's your friendship bracelet?" Poppy asks the girl, frowning and sounding a touch hurt.

Minerva tugs on her right sleeve, trying to hide her bare wrist. "I think I lost it somewhere in my dormitory. Sorry. But I'm sure I'll find it soon!" she assures the other.

December 19th, 1938.

Two days before people are due to leave Hogwarts, for those that are visiting home, we're finally able to put the matchmaking plan into action.

The House Elves are very eager to help, Sooty in particular going about the entire thing with stars in her eyes. They prop up a small, intimate table in the astrology tower with three red, skinny scented candles as the centre piece. Sooty volunteers to be their waitress.

Black and Poppy dutifully sneak in the invitations two days before -sweets that I personally baked the afternoon before and a rose I plucked from the flower arrangement club given to Spademan for Armstrong.

In the night of question, me and the others (minus Turner, Black, and Barbara) stay in the kitchen in order to get updates on how the date is going as Sooty pops between the two places.

According to Sooty the date is going along swimmingly; lots of bashful smiles and coy touches of the hands. By the time Spademan and Armstrong start the dessert, Tom and I decide to leave the kitchen and go our separate ways in order to lay in wait for Spademan in the Slytherin common room.

But before the kitchen door closes, I can't help but overhear Poppy:

"You still haven't been able to find it yet-?"

Ten minutes later Tom and I settle ourselves in the common room, in front of the fire. To pass the time Tom -the absolute nerd- proposes to exchange this week's homework so that we can edit each others. With nothing better to do, I begrudgingly agree.

So that's where Spademan finds us an hour later; heads together, pouring over essays with more work laid bare on the coffee table in front of us. I pretend not to notice him until he plants himself in front of us and clears his throat, arms folded.

"Oh hello, Spademan," I blink up to him innocently. "Did you have a fun night?"

Endearingly, the tips of his ears redden. "I did," he admits slowly, expression otherwise unreadable. "I understand I have you to thank for that?"

I tilt my head, trying to smother my smile. I don't respond.

His eyes slant, lips pursed. "I know what you'e trying to do," he accuses. "You're hoping that if you get me and Ruth together I'll forgive your foolish stunt."

I lose the fight. "Ruth, eh? So it's working, hmm?"

He continues to stare down and consider me. "I'm still cross, and this doesn't change anything with Professor Wood," Spademan warns while pointing at me. "But, I suppose, if you're truly regretting your actions, you can make up for it when I run you even harder into the ground once your grounding finally lifts."

He leaves us then, marching to his room with his head held high and his robes fluttering behind him.

Tom and I high-five, grinning.

December 20th, 1938.

I'm still riding on the high of the matchmaking success well into the next morning, a spring in my step as I walk with Tom and Black through the corridors.

(I needed that victory after this shitty month. Like, by a lot.)

Classes have been cancelled today so that people can prepare for the train ride tomorrow, and Oosh -the House Elf that had helped me with my Christmas gifts this past month and a half- officially finished the last one, so now we're going around to hand them out.

And because I'm such a generous older sister, I have allowed Tom to claim partial responsibility when it comes to the Professors' presents, even though he didn't left a single finger for it. The Heads of Houses have small wooden figures of the different Houses' mascot -even, begrudgingly Dumbledore and Professor Arwin, but only because it'll make us look bad if the other Professors find out-, the Headmaster gets a figure of the Hogwarts crest with the Sorting Hat resting on the upper right corner of it, and the regular Professors get some sort of symbol of the subject they're teaching.

For my friends/friends-of-a-friend (Barbara, Poppy, and Turner) I have figurines of their persons, about ten centimetres tall. Barbara, Black, Poppy, Turner and Spademan have already been given theirs. I hesitated about whether or not I should give Malfoy and Lilith's their own after all, neither prat still not speaking to me, but in the end I decide to put it in the pile of Christmas gifts in the Owlery that will be owled later on so that they arrive to the recipient on Christmas Day.

Hopefully this will convince them to hear me out.

(Though I'm still rather fucking sour about the entire thing. Fucking prats; I try to do something nice for once, and this is the thanks I get?! Makes me wonder why I even try sometimes.)

We just finish with the Professors and are heading towards the moving staircases when I catch sight of Minerva going down them.

I beam. "Minerva! Hey! I-" as I start to jog, I suddenly trip over my own two feet and fall.

I catch sight of her eyes widening as she jerks to try to catch me, yet falls a couple feet short. "Dorothy! Are you okay-?"

I ignore the twinge of pain on my knees, knowing that I'll have bruises to show for my stupidity tomorrow morning. "I'm fine, I'm fine," I wave her off as I stand. "Just clumsy today, I guess. Anyways, I wanted to give you-"

"Dorothy, what's that?" Minerva cuts me off, tone instantly gone cold as she points at the ground.

I pause, hand still in my pocket as I follow her finger.

Ice fills my insides, mouth dry.

Minerva bends down and picks up the hand-made, childishly beaded bracelet -which looks identical to the one that Poppy is always wearing, a matching set that Minerva apparently lost days ago.

"Dorothy, why did this fall out of your pocket?" she asks me, shoulders hunched upwards as she stares at me, biting her bottom lip.

Words fail me.

"Dorothy?" Oh, god, now her lip is trembling -she's on the verge of tears-

(I can't help but think of Malfoy and Lilith.)

"I don't know!" I burst out. "Really! I swear I didn't know it was in there -it wasn't yesterday-"

"It fell out of your pocket!"

"Don't yell at my sister," Tom steps up, nudging me to the side so that he's the one facing Minerva head-on. He glares at Minerva, fingering his wand in his pocket.

Behind us, Black dithers about awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable and unsure on what to do.

I grab onto his wrist with an ironclad grip, stopping him. "Minnie, I promise you that I have no fucking idea why it was in my pocket. Someone must have put it in there or something-"

"Don't call me that!" she snaps angrily. "And don't lie, either! You're the only one who knows where the Gryffindor common room is, and can access the Slytherin one! You knew how important this is to me -I-I can't believe you! I trusted you!" she cries.

I try to reach for her, desperate, but she wrenches herself away.

"You could've just asked, and we would have made one for you, too," she finishes miserably in a whisper. "But I guess my Housemates were right; you Slytherins are all a bunch of no-good, lying cheats." And then she runs up the stairs, leaving me on the bottom with Tom's supportive arms wrapped around my shoulders, feeling cold and numb all at once.

If you'd like to review, please answer these questions:

1. What do you happened with the Malfoy and Minerva drama?

2. Can you spot all of the red flags in this chapter?

3. What do you think of Kenneth Turner?

4. How do you think Lilith is slowly being poisoned?

5. What was your favourite part?

6. What was your least favourite part?

7. Did you see any mistakes, and if so, where?

8. Do you have any questions?