The holidays passed and before Winona knew it, everyone was arriving back at school. The Gryffindor Tower was once again full to the brim with students, and all the peace and quiet of the common room was gone, leaving her to wander the school in search of that beautiful silence.
Classes started up again, but Fred and George were working tirelessly on their inventions, holed up in their dormitory more often than not with dangerous ingredients and harmful charms. Angelina kept tutting, saying they should have been more focused on OWLs, but neither listened, blatantly ignoring her in favour of their work.
Winona encouraged them, taking up her usual spot upon Fred's bed, telling them not to worry about Angelina's negativity. "I just wish she'd stop with the snide comments," Fred mumbled from where he was leant over his cauldron, the pink potion within bubbling madly.
"She's your girlfriend," Winona rolled her eyes, and Fred shot upright, indignant.
"She is not," he cried defensively.
"And she never will be if you don't actually grow a pair and ask her out," Winona replied evenly, and Fred shot her a twisted kind of grimace.
"She's right, mate," George spoke up from the floor, where he was carefully shredding Mandrake leaves. "You two have been dancing around it all year," he said without looking up from his task.
And it was true; the two of her friends had been eyeing one another ever since Angelina had told Winona that she liked Fred, and Winona had told Fred that Angelina liked him. She wasn't a fan of the drama, so she'd been hoping something would come of it, but instead, all that had been happening was Angelina doing her best to flirt with Fred, and Fred cracking slightly over-enthusiastic joked in response, which Winona took as Fred's weak attempts at flirtation.
It had been a tiresome few weeks.
"I'll make a move when I'm good and ready," Fred mumbled, sounding particularly sour about it.
Winona cast a look down at George at the same time as he looked up at her, and the pair of them smirked. "What's the time?" she asked the room aloud, and Fred looked over at the clock, telling her it was mid-evening. "I've gotta go," she sighed, rolling off Fred's ridiculously comfortable bed (seriously, shouldn't all the school beds have been the same?) and dropping onto her feet, slowly collecting her things and pushing them down into her bag.
"Where're you off to?" Fred asked, one eye cocked in her direction.
"Told Hermione I'd study with her in the common room."
"You've been spending an awful lot of time with the young third year, lately," George mentioned, climbing to his feet and moving over to their potion, gently tipping the shredded leaves into the bubbling pink brew, causing it to turn a desert orange.
"Harry and Ron still aren't talking to her," she revealed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and reaching down to wrestle her shoes back on. "I mean, I get that they're angry, I would be too – it's a bloody Firebolt for Merlin's sake – but the longer this goes on, the more childish they look."
"They're only thirteen, Win," Fred reminded her as he stirred their potion. "Their hormones are all over the place."
Winona paused. "I don't even know where to begin with that comment."
"Best to just not reply," George nodded, moving over to the textbook and scanning the lines of tedious instructions.
"I'll see you goblins later," she told them in farewell. In the common room, she quickly spied Hermione sitting at the table by the fire, her books spread out, covering the entire tabletop. Winona dropped into place on the couch beside her and plopped her bag on the rug.
Hermione glanced up, a look of hope on her face that melted into disappointment when she saw it was only her. "Oh, hey, Winona," she greeted her in an unenthusiastic mumble, going back to her essay on the Witch Hunts of the fourteenth century due in Binns' class later that week.
"Lovely to see you too, 'Mione," Winona rolled her eyes. Hermione looked up, having the decency to look at least a little ashamed.
"Sorry," she apologised, eyes glassy.
"They still haven't come round, huh?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"You haven't…you haven't seen when they'll talk to me again, have you?" Hermione asked slowly, barely seeming to be able to force the words out. Winona blinked at her in surprise; it was a dark day when Hermione Granger asked for advice based on her visions.
"I haven't," she answered once she'd recovered. Hermione sagged with disappointment. "But I'm sure they'll break soon enough," she added in her most optimistic voice.
Hermione wasn't convinced. She frowned into her book, eyes shining even as she pretended to be totally consumed by the text in front of her. Winona sighed and pulled out her own textbook, halfheartedly getting to work on an essay on the Giant Wars that was due in less than two days.
"Winona?" Hermione spoke up a few minutes later, just as Winona was about ready to hex her textbook in her frustration.
"Hm?"
"Do you think there's anything…odd, about Professor Lupin?" the young witch asked, hesitant.
Confused by the question, Winona looked up, frowning in bewilderment. "…Like what?"
"Well, that he's sick all the time, for one thing," Hermione began, setting aside her textbook, focusing her full attention on the conversation. "And all those potions that Snape brews him, that he willingly takes? All the scars littering his face? And what about his Boggart? Surely you heard it was a silvery orb, and-"
"Hermione, stop-"
"I'm serious, Winnie, there's something I need to-"
"No, I mean stop-" Winona hissed, but that was all she could get out before the vision slammed into her with all the force of a tsunami. Lost in the swell, Winona could do no more than watch as her physical body melted away and she was left with nothing but weightless floating, blind except for the images flashing across her vision like fierce strikes of lightening. From all around her there was a kind of terrifying, animalistic snarling, like an unbridled beast preparing to attack.
She came out of it with a gasp, feeling a comforting weight in her hands and the press of the couch against her legs.
She turned, shaking, to see Hermione still sat beside her, eyes wide with shock.
"Did anyone-?" Winona began to ask, whirling around to get a good look at the room, even though the sudden movement made her feel dizzy.
"Nobody noticed," Hermione assured her. "I got your sketchbook out in time," she added, and Winona realised the weight in her hands was her sketchbook – the new, endless one that the twins had given her for Christmas. "I'm sorry," Hermione apologised guiltily.
"For what?" she asked, breathing deep in an effort to calm her racing heart.
"I think it was my fault that you went into that vision."
"What? No, 'Mione, it doesn't work that way-" Winona tried to say.
"Look at what you drew," Hermione interjected and, frowning, Winona looked down at her sketch. It was a sketch in three stages, the first being a haggard looking Professor Lupin, the last being a massive, snarling werewolf, and the one in the middle a grotesque combination of both.
"Shit," Winona hissed, slamming her sketchbook closed as if to protect the drawing from beady eyes. "I've gotta go to Dumbledore," she said, more so to herself, as she clamoured to her feet.
"Winona, wait – it's past curfew, you can't go wandering the castle alone!"
Although the panic was welling in her get like water, Winona still had it in her to lean close to the young witch. "Being the Seer in Dumbledore's pocket has its perks."
Hermione still didn't look pleased, but she also didn't argue as Winona turned to leave.
"If anyone asks, I'm in detention," she told Hermione quickly. "Except the twins, tell them I'm with Dumbledore."
Hermione only continued to frown, but still nodded her head as Winona shot her a grateful look, spinning around and making a beeline for the portrait hole. The castle was quiet, not even so much as a mouse stirring on her walk to the Headmaster's office. The portraits were all fast asleep, snoring gently as she passed.
"Acid Pops," she said to the gargoyle, which leapt aside at the correct password. She took the stairs two at a time, bursting onto the landing and rushing to the massive double doors. Dumbledore's rumbling voice told her to enter and she heaved it open, slipping inside as it shut with a note of ringing finality. There was no turning back.
"What can I do for you, Miss Andrews?" the Headmaster asked pleasantly, adorned in bottle green robes with little gold crescent moons covering the arms. His beard was tied up with a thin cord, and he had a little cap sitting atop his snowy white hair.
"I drew something that you need to see immediately, Professor," she said without preamble, striding forwards until her hips hit the edge of the large golden painted desk. She yanked her sketchbook from her bag and flicked it open, setting it down in front of the Headmaster with a sharp exhale.
Dumbledore stared down at the drawing of Professor Lupin turning into a werewolf. She couldn't see his eyes from the way his head was angled, so she had no idea how he was reacting, which only served to unnerve her.
"Don't you understand, sir?" she asked when nothing happened. "Professor Lupin is a werewolf," she said it plainly, just in case he didn't get it. "That's why he misses class so often; that's why he's covered in scars; that's why his Boggart is a full moon!"
Dumbledore slowly sat back in his seat, pushing the sketchbook away from himself and closer to her. He looked up, and there was an expression of utter impassivity on his face. Why wasn't he panicking? He'd hired a werewolf as a teacher. "Have you told anyone of this?" he asked, his voice carefully measured.
Winona opened her mouth to say that Hermione knew too, because her ramblings from before made sense now, but instead what came out was, "no, sir."
She wasn't sure why she lied, but she felt like it was important to do so. And she knew by now to listen to the voice in her head that knew things which hadn't yet come to be.
The Headmaster nodded his head, the look in his twinkling blue eyes was thoughtful. "Please, have a seat," he said cordially, sweeping a hand in the direction of her usual chair.
Wary and confused, Winona lowered herself onto the plush red, cushioned seat.
"Winona," he began, and with his casual use of her first name, she knew she was in for a long night. "I am completely aware of Professor Lupin's condition," he said slowly, watching her carefully, gauging her reaction.
"Oh," she said, rather dumbly.
"He is of no harm to you, or any of the other students in this castle," he told her, his voice steady and even, making sure she was following. "What do you know of werewolves?"
"Only what Quirrell taught us in third year," she replied, her own voice sort of hollow in comparison. "That they're vicious, savage creatures, who will stop at nothing to crack open your ribs and feast on your heart."
Dumbledore looked contemplative. "These are not your own words," he said with the utmost patience.
At that she had to agree. "You're right, they're not my own words – but that doesn't mean they aren't true."
"Tell me, Winona, do you believe Professor Lupin is capable of doing these things?"
Winona fell silent and pensive, considering the question. Did she think Lupin could do such a thing? She thought of his soft voice, of his patient temperament, of his kind eyes and the laugh lines around them – proof he had a youth filled by laughter – and the myriad of knitted jumpers he liked to wear, all of which made him look about as threatening as a koala bear.
She knew, deep in her gut, the same way she knew everything, that Professor Lupin was not the monster she'd immediately – and ashamedly – assumed him to be.
"Professor Lupin cannot change what he is, but as such, his affliction cannot change who he is," Dumbledore said wisely, giving her more than enough food for thought. "I urge you not to tell anybody of what you've learned," he said patiently. "Not even Fred or George Weasley."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the Headmaster raised a hand to stop her, and she fell obediently silent.
"It is Professor Lupin's wish that nobody but the faculty in this castle know of his affliction," he told her in his gentle, rumbling voice. "The fact that you are now aware of it is beyond anybody's control. But what we can control is who else finds out. Do you understand, Winona?"
"I understand, sir."
"And I must urge you not to treat your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor any differently," he said slowly but imploringly. "He is still the same man he was yesterday."
Winona wasn't sure if this was advice she could follow, but nodded nonetheless, shifting in her seat, unsure how to proceed.
"Would it help you to discuss the matter directly with Professor Lupin?" Dumbledore offered.
"Oh, that's not necessary-"
"Dippy!"
There was a sudden pop and Nobby the house elf appeared next in the Headmaster's glowing hearth. Winona stared at him in surprise. "Headmaster," Dippy squeaked, tennis-ball eyes round as he stared at them. "How may Dippy help tonight?"
"Would you mind fetching Professor Lupin for me, please," said Dumbledore gently.
Dippy looked thrilled to have been given such a task. "Certainly, sir."
With another faint pop he disappeared. Winona stared at the place he'd just been stood. "Professor," she said, heart racing in her chest. "I really don't need to speak with Lupin-"
"On the contrary," Dumbledore argued patiently, "I think speaking with him directly will help ease your concerns."
Winona didn't agree, and honestly, the thought of coming face to face with a werewolf without the buffer of her entire Defence Against the Dark Arts class was more than a little daunting. But Dumbledore was there, so how dangerous could it be, really?
"But he'll ask how I found out-"
"I trust Professor Lupin with me life," Dumbledore assured her, holding up a hand as if to silence her arguments. "If there's anybody in this castle who can be trusted with your secret, it's him."
Winona had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but then there was a gentle knocking at the door to the Headmaster's office, interrupting anything she could have thought to ask. Dumbledore called for him to enter and Lupin slipped into the room with casual confidence, only to come to an abrupt stop when he realised the Headmaster wasn't alone, and the person sitting opposite him was Winona.
"Headmaster," said Lupin mildly, shutting the door behind him and walking warily towards them. "Miss…er, Andrews. Is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine, Remus," Dumbledore assured him. He swept a hand and a chair across the room floated into place beside the one Winona was occupying, setting down on the rug below with a muted thud. "Please, take a seat."
Looking about as wary as Winona felt, Lupin settled into place in the cushioned chair.
"I won't, as they say, beat around the Boggart," Dumbledore began once they were all settled. "As of tonight, Winona knows you're a werewolf."
Lupin went a truly concerning shade of white. He turned to look at her with eyes as round as the full moon itself. "You remember?" he whispered.
Frowning at him, her pulse thundering in her chest, Winona had no good answer. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Considering the circumstances, I've decided it pertinent that you be told of Winona's precognitive abilities."
Nobody spoke for a long few moments. "Precognitive abilities?" Lupin finally demanded. His hazel eyes flickered between the both of them as if he couldn't make his mind up on who to look at more. "Are you saying she's a Seer?" he asked, voice an octave away from casual.
"She is sitting right here," Winona snapped impatiently.
Lupin had the decency to look a little ashamed. "My apologies," he said quietly, and she was surprised by how much he seemed to mean it. "You're a Seer?"
"Yes," she confessed, hoping neither of them could hear the tremor in her voice.
"As you can imagine, Remus," Dumbledore said in his usual rumbling tone, "were this information to end up in the wrong hands-"
"Of course," said Lupin immediately. "I'll never tell a soul." He turned back to Winona, the look in his eyes grave. "And, you know about me because of this gifting?" he asked, and Winona realised she wasn't the only one with a tremor in her voice.
Slowly, she opened the flap of her bag and pulled out the sketchbook. It flipped open to the correct page as if knowing what she needed, and she passed it over to him. "I drew this," she told him quietly.
Lupin took the sketchbook, staring down at the page without saying a word.
"Dumbledore tells me you're a…good werewolf?" Winona asked, and the moment the stupid words were out of her mouth she wanted to reach out and catch them in the air to stop them reaching his ears. But even with all the magic she had at her fingertips, it was impossible.
Lupin couldn't quite muster a smile. He kept his eyes on her drawing, but she got the feeling he wasn't really looking at it.
"It's not quite so black and white," he murmured, almost to himself.
Winona hesitated. "But I don't have to be afraid of you?"
At that he finally looked up. There was a glint to his eyes that Winona might have described as haunted. "You never have to be afraid of me, Winnie," he said, using her nickname with such confidence that it was like he'd used it a million times before.
The vehemence with which he spoke took her aback, and she shifted in her seat, staring at him intently. He seemed to realise he was coming across a bit intense, even if she had no idea why.
"But if you'd prefer I not teach here…" he trailed off, looking so unbearably accepting that it made Winona angry. Why should he have to lie down and take it? Why did he have to be discriminated against?
"Are you kidding? You're pretty much the best Defence teacher we've ever had."
Lupin looked surprised by the strength of her answer. "Well," he began, a hint of a smile playing at his mouth as he handed her back her sketchbook and the incriminating evidence that remained hidden within, "considering your teachers in past have included an author of questionable merit and a man with You-Know-Who on the back of his head, I'd think the bar isn't truly very high."
Laughter bubbled out of Winona before she could think to stop it. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she stared at Lupin in surprise. He smiled almost with relief, like it were a sound he'd been waiting to hear for a very long time indeed.
"You just want to be treated like normal, don't you?" she asked. He blinked, stunned by the unexpected words. "You just want to go about being a teacher – not live your life with the label of werewolf threatening to drown you entirely."
Lupin didn't answer, but he didn't really need to.
"Don't worry, Professor," she assured him with a hint of an impish grin. "I won't tell anyone about your furry little problem."
Now Lupin's silence wasn't so much from surprise as it was from deep-seated shock. He stared at her in warring surprise and pain, and she got the feeling she'd said something wrong.
"Sorry," she apologised quickly. "Is that not politically correct? I'm not exactly familiar with the proper terminology."
"It's fine," Lupin croaked unconvincingly.
"It's getting late, Winona. You should head back up to your dorm," Dumbledore spoke with a note of finality. Looking away from a stunned Lupin, Winona nodded her head and climbed to her feet. The headmaster tapped his long, elegant wand against her sketchbook, and an exact copy of her drawing shimmered into existence beside it. She took her most prized possession back, gently returning it to the depths of her old, worn messenger bag, where she knew it would be safe.
"Goodnight, sir," she said distantly, left feeling oddly numb from the encounter. She had more questions now than when she'd walked into the office, but that wasn't unusual of a meeting with Dumbledore. But the way Lupin stared at her – that was entirely foreign.
"Pleasant dreaming," Dumbledore bid her gently. Lupin stood to his feet along with her. "Remus, if you'd be so kind as to stay," said Dumbledore quickly. "There are a few more things I wish to discuss with you."
Reluctantly, Lupin sat back down in his chair, and with a final glance at the both of them, Winona left the room without looking back.
The first Quidditch match of the new year was upon them but Winona had lost track of time, and was humming to herself while she sketched when Fred and George found her, which wasn't at all an uncommon occurrence.
What was different, was the subject of her artwork.
"Hey, Win!" one of the twins called, leaping up the stairs to where she sat against the window in one of the castle's many towers. With a gasp she slammed her sketchbook shut, covering the profile sketch she'd been working on of Jeremiah Nott. She shouldn't have been drawing him at all; it felt almost like she was cheating – although on who, she hadn't a clue.
The twins were oblivious to her panic, instead grinning at her excitedly.
"We're gonna be late for the match if you get buried any deeper in the sketchbook of yours," Fred said, lazily leant against the stone wall.
"Yeah, I've got a Sickle and a two Chocolate Frogs on Ravenclaw to win," George added jovially, and Winona couldn't help but laugh.
"You actually placed a bet?" she asked, shoving her materials into her bag and climbing to her feet. "What if you lose? That's a Sickle down the drain." She never had been very fond of gambling.
"He's got a thing for the keeper," Fred revealed in a playful whisper.
Winona whirled around to fix George with a wide-eyed stare. "Miranda Marshall?" she asked with her eyebrows hitting her hairline.
"She's got a fine set of legs," George shrugged, making the other two snort with amusement.
"You're such a guy," she told him, and though he wagged his eyebrows jokingly, she didn't doubt his sincerity for a moment.
The game went by quickly for Winona, who barely paid any attention, thoughts elsewhere, as they so often were. She tried to keep her mind from the eldest Nott sibling, but for some reason her thoughts drifted back to him and his stupidly gorgeous, dark brown eyes.
She was jerked back to the present every time one of the twins slammed into her with excitement, shouting in her ear about the goals saved and injuries attained. George was more than a little put out when Slytherin ended up winning, but he couldn't stay mad for long.
The walk back to the castle felt long because of how bitterly cold it had grown, when really it was no longer than usual. Wood had dragged the team together to talk to them in impassioned murmurs about Ravenclaw's tactics and how Slytherin's win was good news for them all.
Winona stuck with Lee and Hope, the only of her friends who weren't on the team. Well, Lee was the only one who counted, because Hope had her arm wrapped around Christine Watkins from Hufflepuff, the two of them giggling at one another flirtatiously.
"Really, it's sickening," Lee commented with a grimace, watching as Christine leant in for a chaste kiss, Hope's cheeks flushing bright pink in a way that wasn't from the cold.
"You're only saying that because you're alone and bitter," Winona said, giving her friend a playful shove.
Lee didn't disagree. "Ugh, couples," he sneered as they passed two Slytherin seventh years, leant against a wall in the courtyard, playing a vigorous game of tonsil hockey.
"Why don't you get yourself a girl, Lee?" she asked him, dragging him away from where he was grimacing at the embracing pair, making everyone uncomfortable.
"Like who?" he asked grouchily (he, too, had lost money on the match, so she supposed that was where some of the foul mood was coming from).
"You've got a whole school to choose from."
"No, I don't," he argued with another grimace. She cast him a befuddled look. "Well, you've got the Snakes," he said with obvious disdain, and Winona had to nod understandingly. "No way am I going near them. Then there's the Ravenclaws, all of whom are too stuck up to bother attempting pleasant conversation with," he told her judgementally. On this, Winona didn't totally agree, but she remained silent. "And then the Hufflepuffs," he finished with a grim shake of his head, "which speaks for itself."
"So you're saying your only possible option is someone in Gryffindor?" she summarised with a laugh, ignoring his jab at Hufflepuff.
"Well, if we're talking about more than a quick shag, then, yeah."
"Lee!" she said shrilly, pushing him to the side again. He let out a laugh that made her roll her eyes.
They got back up to the common room and Winona made a beeline for the fireplace, crouching down in front of it and eagerly warming up her freezing digits with its heat. The common room was slowly filling up, everybody content to chat in its warmth as the sky outside slowly grew dark.
Nobody had schoolwork out; except one.
Hermione sat at the table in the corner, her books completely covering the polished wood, her hand gripping her quill tightly as it moved desperately across the parchment, as though something were chasing it.
Once she was sufficiently thawed out, Winona stood, holding her gloves in one hand as she moved over to the younger witch, who had Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, and mountains upon mountains of notes sprawled out in front of her. She seemed to be splitting her focus between several tasks at once, a pinched expression on her face that didn't look pleasant, like she were trying to hold in some kind of bodily function.
"You all right, 'Mione?" Winona asked carefully, taking a seat on the wooden chair beside her.
The girl flinched at the unexpected question, looking up at Winona with the expression of a startled animal. "Fine," she replied in a very unconvincing, high-pitched sort of voice.
"Divination and Arithmancy?" Winona asked lightly, eyeing all of the books spread out before her. "And Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies, and Ancient Runes? You know you're typically only meant to choose two electives, right?"
"Typically, yes," Hermione replied primly, her nose in the air in a very Percy-like move.
"Makes one wonder where you get all the time, eh?" she said meaningfully. Hermione froze, levelling her head to peer at her in shock. Winona smirked, because did Hermione really think she wouldn't have known? "Just wanna make sure you're taking care of yourself," she added gently, leaning against the back of the chair and smiling at the young witch calmly. "All this work will get to you eventually," she said, but Hermione clammed up again.
"I'm perfectly fine, Winona," said the third year sharply. "Thank you for your concern," she added with something of a scowl before diving back into her work with purpose, refusing to give Winona so much as another lick of attention.
Sighing in defeat, Winona conceded to herself that maybe letting on that she knew about the Time-Turner hadn't been the best way to approach the situation. Still, what's done is done, and Winona stood, heading over to the far corner where the twins had just settled, Angelina sitting below them, halfheartedly scribbling a last-minute essay on a piece of parchment.
"Hermione still working herself into the ground?" Alicia commented distractedly, casting the third year in the other corner a cursory glance, rubbing at her still-pink nose. "I don't think she's left that table in a week."
"She's determined," Winona agreed, focusing her attention on the twins. "I'm feeling like indulging in a bit of butterbeer," she told them, the fire only warming her up so much.
"Witch's tunnel?" Fred asked cheerfully, making the others stare between them in confusion. It was code, something only someone who had seen the Map would understand.
"I was thinking kitchens," she replied, deciding that walking through the dark, underground tunnel to get to the Three Broomsticks just for a couple jugs of butterbeer wasn't worth it. She'd much prefer a leisurely stroll down to the kitchens, where she would be greeted by excitable elves and roaring fireplaces that oozed warmth. "Fancy a stroll?" she asked them, but George shook his head.
"If I don't finish the Transfiguration homework by tonight, I'll never get it done!" he exclaimed. "Wood's decided to increase the number of practices to five a week!"
"Bummer," Winona replied, briefly wondering if she'd ever even see them outside of class, but George was already muttering to Alicia about Wood's tirade on the way back to the castle, and so she turned her attention to Fred to find him already smiling at her.
"I did the homework during History of Magic, like any sane person would," Fred said, tossing his brother a smirk. "I'll come with you!" he told Winona cheerfully.
"But Fred, I was hoping you could help with my Charms essay," Angelina spoke up, frowning up at him from where she was knelt on the rug, her parchment crinkling under her hand as she leaned her weight against it.
Fred suddenly looked exceedingly awkward, and he glanced at Winona uncomfortably, torn. "Don't worry about it," Winona told him with an extremely pointed glance down at Angelina. Fred nodded once, eyes narrowed in consternation that she ignored. "How many of you want some butterbeer?" she asked the others quickly.
There was a general answer of playful "Aye's", and she grinned, collecting her bag and threading it over her shoulder.
Winona wandered over to the portrait hole, pausing before opening it and glancing back at her friends, all of whom were absorbed in each other, laughing about something or other (probably something one of the twins had said). They looked happy.
Her eyes wandered down to Fred, who was now sitting on the ground with Angelina. He was grinning at the dark beauty cheekily, and she had her head thrown back as she laughed, an unmistakeable twinkle in her chocolate eyes.
A strange sensation rolled within Winona's gut, like a fish was on a rollercoaster in her stomach. The thought crossed her mind that she wanted Fred to be making her laugh, and heading down to the kitchens with her, not sitting up here entertaining Angelina. She quickly looked away, forcing herself to clamour through the portrait hole and out into the darkened corridor.
"Turn and face me, you scurvy mongrel!" Sir Cadogan cried offensively from his portrait as it swung shut, but she didn't bother looking back.
Winona frowned at the stairs as she descended them, instinctively hopping over the trick step and continuing onto the landing, taking the hall to the right and winding her way down to the kitchens, lost in thought.
The feeling in her gut was gone, but she remained puzzled by its appearance. What did it mean? Usually she was good with emotions, with deciphering them and figuring out how to deal with them, but suddenly she found herself having nothing to grasp onto. She couldn't even begin to describe the sensation she'd just experienced, much less figure out what to do about it.
"You look troubled."
The voice was unexpected, and it made Winona jump. She turned with a gasp, instinctively reaching for her wand.
"Only me, Andrews," Nott's voice said lightly from the alcove to her right, and she relaxed as he stepped from the shadows, hands held up in mock surrender. "You're awfully jumpy," he said dryly, pulling out his wand and silently lighting the tip with a flick of his wrist, the glow illuminating their faces. "And what, pray tell, are you doing wandering the corridors at this hour?" he asked, his voice silky smooth.
"Me?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "What about you? I wasn't the one lurking in a dark alcove," she said rather defensively, unsure why she was so on edge.
"I'm a prefect," he told her, utterly calm as he tapped his silver prefect's badge pointedly. "What's your excuse?"
Faltering, Winona could do no more than grimace. "I'm…on my way to detention," she lied, but not quite as fluently as usual. She straightened her shoulders, forcing her features into an expression of innocence that he didn't seem to buy for a moment. It made her hate him just a little bit.
"With who?" he asked pleasantly, as though humouring her. Like she were a child playing a game of pretend. She ground her teeth together in frustration.
"Snape," she replied, blurting the first name to come to mind.
"What a coincidence," Nott said airily. "I was heading down to the dungeons, myself. Shall I accompany you?"
Winona remained quiet for exactly three seconds before breaking, shooting him her most annoyed glare. "All right, fine," she said with a rather immature humph. "I'm going to the kitchens for butterbeer. Happy?"
"Immensely," he smirked, the expression – for the first time since they'd met – reaching his eyes. They sparkled, almost devious, but not in the loveable way the twins' did. Instead, it was more like how a crocodile might look at you just before it snapped its great jaws and trapped you forever.
So why did she like it so much?
"I could do with some butterbeer myself," Nott said casually, wand still held in an angular grip, held out for light. He turned and began to head to the main staircase that would take them down to the kitchens.
"You're not going to give me a detention?" she asked, following after him cautiously.
"Only if we get caught," he said, and despite the ruthlessness of it all, she had to smother a smile at his characteristically Slytherin answer.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Winona found it to not be so terrible. The sound of their footsteps on the stone floors were quiet, and the cool glow from his lit wand seemed to bathe the corridors they walked down in artificial moonlight. It reminded her of the evening they'd spent in the library only a few short weeks ago, Nott speaking in a firm but gentle voice, pointing out where she'd gone wrong in her Transfiguration essay.
She found the quiet nice but at the same time loaded with tension. It was doubtlessly one-sided, as she'd been unable to get the Slytherin out of her head ever since. He'd crawled inside her mind, renting space up there like he was entitled to it. Her sketchbook had become portraits dedicated to him and the sharp angle of his jaw, the high set of his cheek bone, and the sloping curve of his nose. She'd tried to recreate the dark spark in his eyes over and over, but she could never get it quite right.
Things remained silent as they stopped in front of the painting of a bowl of fruit. Winona reached out on instinct, gently tickling the pear which squirmed, giggled, and then morphed into a doorknob, the door swinging open with a quiet creak.
There weren't too many elves still awake, but the ones that were almost tripped over themselves in their eagerness to bring her the requested butterbeers. She took them and slipped them into her already heavy messenger bag, vaguely noting that Nott didn't ask for a bottle, despite saying earlier that he'd wanted one. She turned back to the elves, thanking them graciously and moving back out into the corridor.
She began the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, and although it hadn't been discussed, Nott began to walk with her, his lit wand still held out for light.
"I heard you dated Adam Bradley," the Slytherin suddenly spoke, and she blinked over at him in surprise, steadily climbing the stairs back up towards the main entrance.
"That's true," she finally admitted, a little bit awkward.
"Did you like him?" he asked casually.
"He was nice," she said carefully, wary about where this was heading.
"Is he a good kisser?"
Winona was more than shocked by the left-field question. Her heartbeat sped up and her skin began to tingle. Was something was about to happen and she was sensing it with her inner eye, or was this some kind of reaction to the tension that her body was having? It had become difficult to concentrate past the roaring of her pulse in her ears.
"Why don't you go snog him for yourself and find out?" she said coyly rather than give a serious answer. That was her go-to, smart-arsed comments that would hopefully buy her time to come up with something not so ridiculous.
"He's not my type," the Slytherin replied coolly, unaffected by the reply that would have thrown a lesser man.
"What is your type?" she countered, if only for lack of a better response.
"At the moment?" he posed it like a question, coming to an abrupt stop at the end of the corridor, making her pause too, though she wasn't sure why. "You."
Shock travelled through her veins and she swallowed thickly, trying to wrap her head around what was happening. Was this some kind of dream, or rather, nightmare? Were the twins about to dive out from an alcove, holding each other up in fits of laughter? Had she been drugged? Was she hallucinating?
None of these possibilities seemed to make much sense, and she scrunched her face up as she attempted to sort through the great, jumbled mess that was her mind.
Only she didn't get very far, because suddenly Nott was stepping towards her. He was so close, in her personal space. She could smell his breath. Minty and cool. His eyes were right there, boring into hers with an unmatchable intensity, and then their lips were touching and Winona could do no more than inhale sharply, standing perfectly, utterly still.
The kiss was chaste, careful, like he was testing the waters, and her skin began to prickle again, but this time it wasn't a warning; it was pure attraction, like the electricity in their bodies were connected, buzzing together harmoniously, and despite all logic and reason, Winona slid her eyes shut and pressed herself closer.
Her bag hit the floor with a soft thump and the gentle clinking of glass bottles, but she barely registered the sound as she instead wound her arms around Jeremiah's neck, pulling him closer and kissing him properly.
His lips were perfectly soft and plump, and they were grasping at hers with a tantalising pressure, making her own tingle wonderfully. His arms wrapped around her, hand grasping her firmly at her hips, his fingertips almost bruising in their pressure.
Winona's head was swimming. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't do anything but press herself closer and move her lips with his. His tongue pressed into her mouth, and she let out another gasp that was enough to have him moving, pressing her firmly up against the corridor wall as he ravaged her.
She'd never been snogged in such a way before. Adam had always been overly cautious, like she was something that might break, or like he was scared about seeming improper. Jeremiah didn't seem to be at all concerned with propriety, pressing her closer to the wall as his hand slipped down to grope her backside.
That was enough to have her pulling away, gasping desperately for air. Her hands were still clutching at his hair, and he was staring down at her with a wicked smirk, eyes alight with lust and triumph, like he'd just won something. Won what, exactly? Were they playing some sort of game?
Blinking, Winona tried to process exactly what had happened, her back still pressed flat against the stone wall, her shoulders beginning to ache from the unpleasant position.
"Um..." she said unintelligently, slowly unwinding her arms from around his neck and bringing them down to her sides. His hands remained resting on her hips, fingertips dug into her flesh like claws.
"I'll let you get back to your common room, now," he told her with that arrogant smirk still set firmly in place. Why was he so damn attractive? "I'll see you," he said lazily, giving her hips a final tug before releasing her, slipping his still-lit wand from his pocket and turning, sauntering away like the cat that ate the canary, leaving Winona alone in the dark, trying to come to terms with her actions.
Returning to the common room a few minutes later – she'd wanted to wait longer to collect her thoughts, but the longer she spent in the corridors the larger the chance that Filch would find her – Winona climbed through the portrait hole, still somewhat numb from the odd encounter.
Her appearance was met with cheers from her friends, who hadn't seemed to have moved a muscle from where they'd all been before she'd left – which felt like a whole lifetime ago, now.
"You okay, Winnie?" Alicia asked as she silently began handing out the still-warm butterbeers. "You look all red and flushed."
"Do I?" she responded airily, still dazed. Lee made a lewd joke and the others all snorted into their treats, Winona's odd appearance forgotten.
Winona glanced down at Fred, who had Angelina sitting casually between his legs, her back pressed up against his front as though it were a position they adopted every night; suddenly, Winona didn't feel quite so guilty about her encounter with the Slytherin. Suddenly, she found herself missing his electrifying touch, and she looked away from a grinning Fred and back to the others, remaining quiet as she lost herself in thought once again.
Winona wasn't sure what she'd been expecting the next time she saw Nott, but she was still somehow disappointed when he caught her eye in Potions on Monday and gave a cool, uncaring blink before turning back to his Draught of Peace like their near-romp against the wall in the dark of the night before had never even happened.
She was silent for the rest of the lesson, wincing when her distraction caused her to accidentally add too much powdered moonstone to her potion, making it go a hot pink rather than the turquoise blue it was supposed to be.
Snape sneered disdainfully over her shoulder, as though her very existence was of great inconvenience to him, then turned with an unnecessary flap of his robes and wandered over to Nott, whom he awarded ten points to for his 'flawless work'.
Winona only grew more bitter.
"What's got your wand in a knot?" Fred asked as they reappeared in the light of day. Winona was more than relieved to be out of the damp, claustrophobic dungeon. Still, the fresh air wasn't quite enough to brighten her heavy mood.
"Nothing," she murmured unconvincingly, tugging at a loose thread at the end of her sleeve. The twins both scoffed in disbelief, likely offended that she'd thought they might buy it. "Just irritated at Snape, I guess," she murmured, not totally untrue. Thankfully, this the twins did buy, because they immediately launched into a short skit about Snape (played by Fred) getting punched in the face by George (playing himself).
She knew she was really screwed up when she couldn't even find it within herself to laugh. There was a sudden flash of light from her right and she looked over from where she was lagging behind the twins to see Jeremiah himself standing in the door to an unused classroom, smirking at her slyly.
Frowning, she tilted her head, trying to understand, but all he did was toss his head back, silently telling her to meet him inside the classroom before disappearing from view, leaving her gaping at the spot where he'd just been standing.
"Winnie?" the twins sounded confused, and she realised she'd come to a stop and the pair had continued on forwards, pausing halfway down the corridor when they noticed she wasn't with them. "You didn't laugh at my Snape impression," Fred said with a confused frown. "You always laugh at my Snape impression," he added, as though a world where she didn't just wasn't comprehensible.
"I forgot, I need to see…Flitwick," she lied, feeling like absolute shite for doing so, but knowing the truth was as unwise to say as it was embarrassing.
"For what?" Fred asked, looking confused. "Charms is one of the only classes you aren't failing."
Her expression flattened into one of irritation. "Thanks, Freddie," she said sarcastically. George laughed, clapping his twin on the shoulder and herding him in the opposite direction. "Meet you at lunch!" she called after them, watching as they halfheartedly waved back in acknowledgement, already murmuring about one of their next big schemes.
She waited, frozen, until they turned the corner, then made a beeline for the abandoned classroom.
She stepped inside warily, hand hovering over the pocket where her wand sat, just in case. "Nott?" she asked aloud, squinting as her eyes struggled to adjust to the absence of light in the room.
The door closed behind her with a bang, making her jump, and there was an audible chuckle before the Slytherin lit his wand with a muttered, "Lumos."
The space between filled with the glow of the charm, lighting up Nott's face, making the shadows fall over his sloping features like they were painted by the hand of Merlin.
Winona wasn't sure what to say. What did he want? What was the point of all this? What was meant to happen next?
"You look like you're expecting me to attack," he commented idly, hair hanging in his cold, nearly-black eyes.
"I wouldn't put it past you," she murmured, considering it a miracle that she found her voice and that it didn't waver, even though her insides were spinning uncontrollably.
"Don't you know me better than that?" he asked, voice like velvet, slowly approaching her.
No, she wanted to scream, I know nothing about you!
Instead she just watched him, hands now dropped to her sides, staring as he grew steadily closer, until finally his hands reached out and grasped at her hips.
"I'm in Gryffindor," she blurted as he dragged her to him, his touch making her skin buzz like the wings of a thousand Cornish Pixies.
"I'm aware," he said airily, reaching up with his left hand to run a fingertip down the hollow of her throat to where the knot of her crimson and gold tie lay. She swallowed loudly.
"You're in Slytherin," she added, as though he'd somehow forgotten. This just didn't happen. She knew the House divide was childish and ridiculous, but it still stood; there was a code, there were unspoken rules to follow.
On top of that, Jeremiah Nott was from one of the most notorious pure-blood families in Britain. If his family found out he was willingly touching a half-blood – who'd been raised as a Muggle, mind – they'd probably skin him alive.
"What's your point?" he drawled, looking faintly bored, like her confused mutterings were tedious.
"I don't understand why you kissed me," she said plainly, and one of his dark eyebrows crawled up his forehead.
"Because I wanted to," he answered with such simplicity that it made Winona doubt whether her question was even necessary in the first place.
"But why did you want to?"
He looked contemplative, fingers still brushing the hollow of her throat, making chills break out along her skin there. "I wanted to because I think you're hot," he finally told her, his dark, raven eyes boring into hers with such intensity it made her breath catch.
She'd never been called 'hot' in her life, and she hadn't thought she ever would be, what with her limp blonde hair and pasty, paint-stained skin.
"Thanks?" she said warily, brow furrowed, wondering exactly how one was supposed to react to this kind of a compliment? Was it even a compliment? The area was so grey.
He seemed to take this reaction as a positive however, so maybe it wasn't all wrong, and dove in for another bruising kiss. It was rough, and again, he clutched at her hips like he meant to mark her.
She was helpless to do anything but kiss back, struggling to keep up with the fast pace he had set, his tongue darting out to roam about her mouth in a way she wasn't used to. She gasped against his lips, feeling hot all over, like she had a fever.
There was a playful scream from out in the corridor, and Jeremiah pulled back at the sound, breaking the kiss just as startlingly as he'd begun it. Winona sucked in air, staring up at him with wide eyes, her hands tucked between their chests.
He didn't seem nearly as affected as she was, his breath steady, eyes and lips narrowed in a cocky sort of smirk.
He said nothing as he turned, heading for the door. He cracked it open, peering out for a moment before looking back at her. "Wait five minutes, then you can leave," he ordered before stepping from the room and sauntering away casually.
Shellshocked, Winona could do nothing but stare at the empty doorway, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Why was he doing this? Why did he like her? Did he even like her? Did she need to put a stop to it? Could she put a stop to it?
She wasn't sure of anything anymore, and she reached up to brush back her hair, sucking in a shaky breath and glancing at the time. Once she was sure that leaving the classroom and arriving in the Great Hall wouldn't be suspicious, she stepped from the empty room, which was damp and smelt of dust.
The Great Hall was bustling with students attending lunch, happily munching on the array of sandwiches the elves had prepared for the meal.
She numbly took a seat between Alicia and Lee, opposite the twins, and robotically pulled a small helping of lunch onto her plate. "Where were you?" Alicia asked curiously, reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a healthy sip. "You just disappeared after Potions."
"I had to run to the common room for something," she heard herself murmuring, very carefully keeping her eyes on her plate and not on the Slytherin table, where she knew Jeremiah had to be sitting.
"I thought you said you needed to see Flitwick," Fred spoke up from the other side of the table, looking confused.
Cursing herself, she scrambled for a cover. "Can't I do both?" she ended up saying, her voice inappropriately defensive. Fred looked taken aback by her snappy tone.
Shit, was was this Slytherin doing to her? Snapping at her friends? Lying to them? It had to end… Whatever it was.
January melted into February, and Winona didn't even see Jeremiah again outside of class. He kept his eyes away from her, not even sending a sneer her way as she passed in the corridor. It was strange, and each time she spotted him her heart raced, the pounding in her ears only growing even louder when he pretended she didn't exist.
He occupied most of her thoughts, and she returned to her routine of sketching him from every angle. Sometimes with colour, sometimes in charcoal, but each time more beautiful than the last. She had his jawline memorised, and she found herself dreaming about him at night.
"Okay, what has gotten into you?!" George's voice snapped her out of her daze, and she sat up sharply, spine cracking at the abrupt movement. She looked over to see Fred, George and Angelina all staring at her. Clearly there had been some kind of conversation going on that she hadn't been paying attention to.
"It's...Wrackspurts," she blurted, the first thing that came to mind the rambling of the sweet but batty Luna, Ginny's friend from Ravenclaw.
"Wrackspurts?" Angelina repeated dumbly.
"They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she recited as if this was fact, but the trio just stared at her as if her eyeballs had popped out of her skull. Sighing, she sank back into the squashy armchair and curled her legs up under her, blinking her eyes as she realised she hadn't in quite awhile, and they were beginning to sting from the heat and smoke of the roaring fire in front of them. "I'm just...distracted," she said lamely, unable to come up with anything better.
"By what?" Fred asked, eyes narrowed like if he stared at her hard enough he might be able to gain access to her inner thoughts.
"Is it a boy?" Angelina asked eagerly from where she was perched on Fred's lap, the two still not 'officially' together, but obviously well on their way.
"Er…" Winona hesitated, which was her first mistake, because Angelina gasped excitedly, the pause having all but confirmed it for her.
"Who is it?" she pressed, leaning forwards and staring at Winona expectantly, waiting for all the details. Details Winona would sooner die than explain.
"No one," Winona lied – or, was it really lying if she technically wasn't dating him? They'd only snogged each other senseless a couple of times, surely that didn't constitute any sort of proper relationship?
"You're going red," Angelina told her giddily.
Winona reached up to press her fingertips to her cheeks, horrified to find them hot to the touch.
"Seriously?!" Angelina exclaimed, now sitting on the very edge of Fred's knees, her dark eyes alight with eager enthusiasm. "Is he in Gryffindor?"
"Um-"
"Is he handsome? Does he have light hair? You need someone with light hair, so your babies will have the same!"
"What the actual f-"
"Is he older? I know you dated Adam and he was a year and a half older!" She gasped suddenly. "Is it Wood? I know you've always thought he was hot!"
"It isn't Wood," Winona hissed, casting the George a warning glance when he began to snigger at the notion of her with Wood. He fell quickly silent, knowing better than to goad her when she was in a mood.
"So it is someone," Angelina said triumphantly, sitting back in Fred's lap properly. Winona watched as he wound an arm around her middle and she settled against him as if it came naturally.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. "Can you just drop it, Ange?" she said sharply, frowning so deep that her brow began to ache.
Surprised by the unexpected bite in her voice, Angelina fell silent. Winona huffed, reaching down to scoop up her bag, only before she could make a hasty but necessary exit, a familiar voice was screaming, "LOOK!"
It was Ron, and he was tripping off the bottom of the staircase leading to the boys' dorms, dragging a long white piece of cloth with him. It took Winona a moment to realise it was a bed sheet.
"LOOK!" he bellowed again, shaking the sheets in Hermione's face.
The girl looked bewildered by the strange entrance. "Ron, what — ?" she began to ask, looking uncomfortable under the eyes of every Gryffindor in the common room.
"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!" Ron roared, and there was a long, drawn out silence in which you could have heard a pin drop. "BLOOD!" he yelled, shaking the sheet again. Winona pieced together what he must have thought had happened, but something about it wasn't sitting right. "HE'S GONE!" he continued to shout, "AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"
"N — no," Hermione's voice trembled. Ron said nothing, throwing something small down onto her open book. Whatever it was made Hermione's eyes water. "You think Crookshanks-?"
"I KNOW IT WAS CROOKSHANKS!" Ron bellowed, unwilling to see reason.
"He wouldn't!" Hermione yelled, albeit much quieter than her redheaded friend.
"HE DID AND NOW SCABBERS IS GONE!" Ron roared, shaking the hand off when Harry clapped him on the back. He still held the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, radiating anger.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and seeing as nobody – not even Harry – was stepping in, Winona took it upon herself to intervene. "Alright, children, let's use our inside voices," she said calmly, stepping between them, blocking a trembling Hermione from his view. "You sure you didn't just get your period, Ron?"
Despite the twins' loud cackles from behind her, this was a clearly the wrong thing to say. Ron's face went a truly concerning shade of red, and his expression levelled into a deadly glare. "You!" he spat, snarling up at her murderously. "Why didn't you see it?!"
Terror gripped her; she knew Ron was distraught, but surely he wouldn't lose control and reveal her secret to the whole of Gryffindor Tower. "Ron," she began carefully.
But he was lost to his ire. "You should have had a-!"
The rest of Ron's words were lost behind Fred's hand, who had seemed to have tossed Angelina off his lap and leapt instantly onto his brother, who had been about to blurt out the one thing he had sworn to never reveal. George joined his twin, grasping their little brother by the shoulders and beginning to force him in the direction of the stairs.
"Nothing to see here, folks!" George called over his shoulder as Fred muttered furiously in Ron's ear. "Just our brother, having a bit of a meltdown. I'm sure you understand!"
His words were met with stunned silence, and with a final cursory glance the twins forced Ron up the stairs and out of sight. Harry shot Winona an apologetic glance before rushing up after them.
Winona turned back around to Hermione, who looked torn between wanting to cry and scream. Winona could relate. The stares from the rest of the common room certainly weren't helping things.
"You heard what the boys said!" Winona snapped to the room at large, fire burning in her eyes. "Nothing to see here!"
They all turned away, only to turn to one another and begin to gossip about it under their breath. Winona grit her teeth and just barely kept from hexing he lot of them. She'd always had a temper, but this was ridiculous. If he kept this up, Jeremiah was going to send her to St Mungo's in the Wizarding equivalent of a straitjacket.
"You okay?" Winona asked Hermione quietly, turning back to see her hastily shutting her many books and shoving them haphazardly into her bag, which was beginning to tear at the edges from the weight it carried daily.
Hermione didn't answer other than a small sniffle, turning once she was finished and rushing up the stairs, disappearing out of sight. Winona considered leaving her alone, but if she'd fought with the twins, she knew she'd want someone to follow and be there for her.
She knocked gently on the third year girls' door and heard a distant call to go away. She ignored it, stepping inside anyway and making sure it was shut soundly behind her.
"Go away, Winona," Hermione said again from where she was curled on her bed, her bag beside her, contents spilling out onto the covers.
"I'm just checking if you're okay," she said gently, approaching slowly with her hands raised, like the girl was a wild animal, easily startled.
"Obviously not," sniffled Hermione sadly, not quite crying, but her eyes were red.
"You know how Ron gets," she continued, ignoring the snide remark and taking a seat on the bed beside Hermione's. From the thick perfume that drifted up from the sheets, she assumed it was Brown's. The girl always smelled like she bathed in Chanel. "The kid's ruled by his temper," she said softly. Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "He'll calm down, then you can patch things up."
Suddenly Hermione didn't look so sad. Instead she looked downright furious. She whirled around, a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "What if I don't want to patch things up?" she snarled, and Winona could only blink, not sure she understood. "I'm always letting things go, but not this time! This time, I demand an apology for his behaviour," she said, punching her hand into her fist to emphasise her point.
"Right," Winona murmured, surprised. "Well, good for you!" she said with more enthusiasm, honestly a little terrified of the way Hermione was scowling.
She sniffled again, rubbed firmly at her bloodshot eyes, then turned back to her things, yanking out her books and beginning to spread them all over her bed. "I don't have time for this, Winnie," she said shortly. "I've got five essays and three charts due!"
"Need help with Arithmancy?" Winona offered gently.
Hermione paused, seeming to realise she was being at least a little bit rude. She looked up, a gratitude in her eyes. "I'll come get you if I do?" she said quietly. Winona was quick to accept, nodding her head.
"Of course," she smiled. "I'll see you."
Winona ducked from the room, her bag bumping against her hip with every step, and she wandered further down the hall to the fifth years' dorm, slipping inside, content to spend the rest of her evening lost in her artwork before she would hopefully get some quality sleep.
She had a feeling, however, that the events of the last few weeks were going to render her wide awake, exactly as they had every other night of the month.
A/N: Hey guys - I wanted to thank you for the response to the last chapter. You guys all seemed to really like it, and to those of you who take the time to send in a review, it honestly means the absolute world. Thank you so much. It's kind words like yours that keep me passionate about projects like this one. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you with another one soon!