Chapter Two

Ainsley Waters, for the record, did not hate Oliver Wood.

She'd never hated him, really, not in all the years they'd known each other (which, for Ainsley, had been her entire life). Wood had, in many ways, been the older brother she'd never had—or particularly needed. He'd behaved like a brother, at least, alternately pestering her to no end and protecting her from the outside world (something Ainsley found unbelievably bothersome). As a child, he'd annoyed her, and as a teenager, he'd stifled her. But she'd never actually hated him.

Of course, that wasn't to say she'd ever been his friend, because she hadn't. Their relationship had been civil at best, and volatile at worst. Really, it was only because their families were so close that they'd ever had a relationship to speak of.

Now, though, it seemed to Ainsley that everything had changed. She wasn't sure if that was true, but it certainly felt like it. Wood didn't seem quite so annoying as he had been the last time she'd seen him, and somehow, she had the distinct impression that she could easily become his friend—and that she might actually want to become his friend.

She wasn't entirely sure if it had been herself or Wood, although she would have bet (with a fair amount of certainty) that most of the changes had been her own. When she thought about it, Wood didn't really seem any different than he'd been since she'd entered Hogwarts. The difference had really been in her reaction to him.

Perhaps she had grown up in Italy. She didn't really feel like she had, but it was always harder to see changes when they occurred inside oneself over a period of time. It was probably much easier for everyone else to see.

In fact, that had been one of Wood's first comments to her—after he'd collected his jaw from the floor, at least. Maybe that was why he'd seemed ever so slightly different since then. And maybe that was why she'd been more inclined to treat him more as a friend, and less as an annoying older brother.

Or maybe their relationship was changing through no interference of their own. Perhaps it was just natural that, after some time, they'd learn to appreciate each other as adults. Perhaps it was inevitable that they'd become friends at some point.

Ainsley wasn't sure how much she believed that, really. But the fact remained—she and Oliver Wood now had a different sort of relationship than they'd had before.

And that most certainly meant that everything in her life was about to change.

* * *

After the girls returned to their dormitory that night, Ainsley found herself faced with four very shocked expressions. Then Alicia started to giggle. Then Brenna started to giggle. And then Katie and Angelina started to giggle.

Ainsley, honestly, had no tolerance for it. "What?" she asked crossly.

Angelina managed to stifle her laughter for a few seconds. "What was that about?" she asked.

"What was what about?" she asked innocently.

"Oliver Wood came here—tried to come into the girls' dormitory—to give you that." She pointed at the letter in Ainsley's hands.

Ainsley folded the parchment in half, creasing it between her thumb and forefinger. "He came to give me a letter from my father. I haven't seen my father in eight months. I don't think that's unreasonable."

"Not for Oliver, maybe," Katie said, finally sobering a bit. "He's always cared for you."

"But you, Ainsley," Angelina piped up. "You've never liked him in the slightest."

"And yet, here you were, just…talking to him," Alicia added.

"Talking at him," Angelina corrected. "I don't think he got two words in."

"Because he was so shocked," Katie said. "You've never been so friendly, Ainsley. What's got into you?"

Feeling a bit like she was under interrogation, Ainsley turned helplessly to Brenna. Her friend only shrugged. "They're right, Ains. I've never seen you smile so much at anyone, least of all Oliver Wood."

"Well, I haven't seen him all summer," she said, wondering idly if that could be considered any sort of excuse.

Apparently, it couldn't. "You've always come back to Hogwarts complaining that you saw entirely too much of Oliver," said Alicia. "You spend one summer away from Scotland, and suddenly he's your best friend? Ainsley, that just doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does," protested Ainsley weakly, although she didn't know exactly why it made sense. Or if it made sense, for that matter. "I understand it perfectly."

"That's a lie, if I've ever heard one," Brenna muttered. "You're just as confused as the rest of us."

"No, I'm not."

Katie smiled knowingly. "Right. So if you understand so well, you won't mind explaining it to the rest of us?"

Ainsley sighed. This wasn't the type of conversation she needed to have right now—not when she was so tired, and especially not when she didn't fully understand what had happened between herself and Wood. "I don't mind, so long as you let me explain it in the morning. I'm just too tired to worry about it tonight."

Surprisingly, all four of her friends seemed to accept that. Maybe that was because they were just as tired as she was. Or maybe they really did understand that she needed some time. Ainsley didn't know exactly what their reasoning was. But one thing was almost painfully clear.

She had a lot of thinking to do tonight.

* * *

There was no worse feeling than waking up late on the first day of classes.

Ainsley, who had never been late for anything in her life, came to that horrifying realization when she opened her eyes the next morning to complete silence—and then opened the curtains on her bed to find that her four roommates had already left the dormitory.

Most likely, they'd made so much noise that they'd fully expected to wake her up—and when she hadn't woken up, they'd just assumed she'd already left. It had really happened often enough in previous years to make that a safe assumption.

Of course, Ainsley wasn't worried much about safe assumptions at the moment. Her only focus was getting ready—and quickly, because she didn't have the slightest clue of her course schedule. They'd be handed out at breakfast, and if she didn't get to the Great Hall soon, she'd miss breakfast entirely—and most likely her first class, as well.

It was that panic, more than anything else, that propelled Ainsley that morning. She'd never moved especially quickly before lunch, but today was a notable exception—she was completely ready for the day in less than ten minutes. At least, she guessed it was less than ten minutes. She didn't have a clock to check that estimation.

She straightened her school robes and grabbed her schoolbag from the floor beside her bed, checking quickly to make sure it still held her textbooks. It did, in addition to the essays she'd been assigned over the summer holidays. There was really no telling what class she'd have first, and she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

The common room was empty, and so was the hall outside the portrait hole. She'd expected as much, considering that everyone was supposed to be in the Great Hall (or worse yet, already in class). But it was still a bit of a shock that she was the last student to leave Gryffindor Tower.

Ainsley made her way toward the Great Hall at a run—which worked well enough in the halls, but was a bit of a problem on the staircases. They were difficult to navigate, anyway, and the added difficulties of her quickened pace and her poor sense of balance were sure to cause problems.

And they did. The last staircase, as if sensing her haste, gave a particularly violent shake as she reached the middle step, and Ainsley lost her footing and tumbled down the remaining stairs. She closed her eyes tightly, mentally preparing herself for a painful crash onto the hard floor—and was surprised to find herself landing instead in a strong pair of arms.

She opened her eyes cautiously, breathing a silent sigh of relief when she realized she'd been caught by a fellow Gryffindor. She raised her eyes to his, only to find herself pleasantly surprised yet again. "Oliver. Hello," she said, still in a bit of a daze.

"Hello, yourself." Wood set her back on her feet. "Lucky I was there to catch you."

She nodded, smiling. "It was lucky. Thank you." He didn't return the smile. "Oliver, I—"

"I'm sorry, Ainsley, but I've really got to get to class," he interrupted, charging past her and up the staircase.

Ainsley stared after him for a few seconds, thoroughly confused by his odd behavior—before she realized that if he had to get to class, then so did she. The only trouble was, she didn't know what her first class was.

Fortunately, a fourth-year Gryffindor passed her at just that moment. "Excuse me," said Ainsley, catching the girl by her sleeve, "have you seen Brenna Thompson, by chance?" It was safest to ask for Brenna, because they had every class together.

The girl nodded. "Fifth years have Potions this morning. I think she's already gone down to the dungeon."

"The dungeon. Potions. Snape." Ainsley could barely take it all in. "Am I late, then?"

"You've got—" She checked her watch. "—three minutes."

"Bloody hell," Ainsley muttered, taking off at a run. "Thank you!" she called over her shoulder.

Three minutes was hardly enough time to reach the dungeon—and Professor Snape was notoriously cruel to tardy students. If by some miracle she managed to reach the dungeon before class started, he'd still notice that she was the last in the room—and being a Gryffindor, that most likely wouldn't go over too well.

Her only glimmer of hope came from the fact that Snape, for some reason, didn't seem to hate her as much as he hated the rest of Gryffindor. That, and he absolutely despised the Slytherins in her year (she assumed they'd have double Potions together, as they had for the four previous years), so his notorious favoritism wasn't likely to make an appearance.

Still, Ainsley knew Snape wouldn't take well to tardiness (she didn't blame him, really), so she made her way to the dungeon as quickly as possible. She flat out sprinted the last stretch into the classroom—Snape hadn't called the class to order yet, so there was still a chance of making to her cauldron undetected.

At least, there would have been a chance of making it to her cauldron undetected, if her shoe hadn't caught a slick patch on the floor. Instead of reaching her cauldron out of breath, but still standing, she landed twenty feet away, in an ungraceful heap at Lee Jordan's feet.

"Ainsley!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

Several other students looked over curiously. Snape, meanwhile, regarded her almost without interest. "Miss Waters, if you'll kindly refrain from giving the floor a further buffing, and please find your desk, I won't be forced to take points from Gryffindor this early in the term."

She was almost certain it was an empty threat, as she hadn't lost a point for Gryffindor in Potions since her first year, but that didn't stop her from scrambling to her feet and hastening to her station, dropping her bag at the table beside Fred Weasley. They'd sat beside each other since the year before, when Snape had finally grown tired of Fred and George's antics and had separated the twins. Fred grinned at her. "Nice of you to drop in, Ains."

"I overslept," she hissed back at him.

"Since when have you overslept on a school day?"

"Sometimes it can't be helped," she replied. She didn't want to tell him that she'd overslept because she'd stayed up half the night trying to sort out what had happened with Oliver Wood—or that the other girls probably hadn't woken her up because they'd assumed she was avoiding questions on that subject. "Maybe I'm just not used to the time change. Italy's an hour behind us, you know."

"Since you know so much about Italy, Miss Waters, perhaps you'd like to use your cauldron to prepare a marinara sauce?" Snape asked loudly. A few of the Slytherins snickered, but he ignored them, keeping his piercing gaze on Ainsley. "I began class thirty seconds ago."

Ainsley gulped. Maybe Snape didn't hate her, but he still wouldn't hesitate to take points from Gryffindor for her disrespect. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Nor do I," he murmured. "See that it doesn't happen again."

"I won't," she replied, breathing a silent sigh of relief. Once again, quite inexplicably, she'd managed to evade punishment—and from the person least likely to be lenient.

"And Miss Waters?"

She looked up again. "Yes, sir?"

"You do have your essay?" he asked.

Ainsley nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out the rolls of parchment. "Sorry, Professor. I was just so concerned with getting here that—"

"One day, Miss Waters," interrupted Snape, "you'll find that not everyone is willing to hear your excuses." He swept toward her desk and took the parchment from her hands, pausing for a second to look her directly in the eye. "Fortunately for you, that day is not today."

Then he returned to the front of the classroom and began lecturing them—first on the O.W.L.s approaching at the end of the year, which would surely be a topic discussion in every class—and then on the Memory Potion he'd assigned for the day. Ainsley took several slow, deep breaths as she tried to focus on the lecture and stop her hands from shaking. For someone who'd never punished her much, Snape certainly could instill fear easily. Fortunately, though, he still hadn't deducted points from Gryffindor.

Snape was mean, of course, sometimes bordering on evil (especially where Gryffindors were concerned), but somewhere along the way, he'd grudgingly admitted that yes, Ainsley was a stellar Potions student. It was just something that came easily to her—not like Ancient Runes, which only made sense to her because she'd grown up with the subject. She was just naturally gifted with Potions, and even Snape hadn't been able to deny that. In fact, the odd sort of acceptance he'd given her had carried her surprisingly easily through the class that nearly everyone else in her house hated with a passion.

In fact, in the four years she'd spent at Hogwarts so far, she'd only cost Gryffindor points in Potions once—and that had been at the beginning of her first term, when she'd accidentally dropped a knife on Snape's foot. Since then, she'd learned to keep her hands steady, her wit sharp, and her mouth closed (during lectures, at least). It was easy enough, usually, and it had kept her out of trouble for four years.

Luckily, it had kept Fred out of trouble as well. Since he'd been seated beside Ainsley, he hadn't lost a single point in Potions. George, at a table with Angelina Johnson, had lost nearly fifty.

"So why were you late?" Fred asked fifteen minutes later, as they measured ingredients for the Memory Potion they'd been assigned.

"Told you, I overslept." She added a pinch of newt eyes to a small bowl of frog brains, mashing them together quickly. "I had a lot on my mind last night."

"Rumor has it that Wood paid you a visit last night."

"He brought me a letter from my father," she replied. "Did you also hear I fell down the stairs?"

"Last night, or this morning?" He grinned at her shocked expression. "New travels fast around here, Ainsley. You know that."

"Somehow I'm not surprised you've been keeping track of my embarrassments, Fred," she muttered, dumping the contents of the bowl into her cauldron.

"They're only embarrassments if you're actually embarrassed," he retorted. "Though it seems a bit like Wood's been sweeping you off your feet, eh?"

"That's completely inappropriate, Fred. D'you have the rat spleens?"

He handed her the jar. "I didn't cut my half yet. Is it supposed to be lengthwise or crosswise?"

"Lengthwise." She slid the tip of her knife along the tiny spleen, neatly splitting it into two equal pieces. One went into Fred's cauldron, the other into her own. "If you need half of anything, it's best to cut lengthwise, you know. That way, you can be sure you didn't miss anything important."

"I don't remember asking you to teach this class, Miss Waters," said Snape from behind them.

Ainsley turned to face him, noticing that his black eyes held no real malice, which meant that she was safe—for the moment, at least. "Someone's got to teach it, sir," she said softly. "You weren't here, so I did my best."

Snape regarded her coolly for a few seconds. Then, just as she was wondering if she might actually be in trouble, he nodded brusquely. "Just don't forget the wormwood, Miss Waters. And watch your cauldron, Weasley."

Fred spun back around just in time to stop his cauldron from overflowing. Ainsley returned to her work more slowly, reaching blindly for the wormwood as she watched Snape cross the room to torment Brenna and Lee. "I just don't understand him," she murmured.

"Him?" Fred sighed, pressing the wormwood into her hand. "I don't understand you, Ainsley. If any other Gryffindor treated him the way you do, he'd have them expelled. Meanwhile, you're at the top of the class."

"That's because I'm good at Potions," she said softly.

"Maybe you're good at Potions, but that won't matter once Snape finally gets tired of your cheek. Snape, of all people. Ainsley, sometimes I wonder if you haven't gone mad."

She shook her head. "I haven't gone mad. I just…I don't really know."

"All the same," he murmured, "you might pretend you actually like the class."

"Who's pretending?" She added the pinch of wormwood, giving the potion a good stir before she pulled her ladle out and set it aside. "This is my favorite class, Fred."

* * *

After Potions came Charms, which Ainsley hated more than any other class at Hogwarts. Not because she was bad at it—it was, after all, nearly impossible to be bad at Charms—but because she thought it was boring and useless. Besides, she didn't like Professor Flitwick much.

Naturally, the feeling was mutual. Of course, she hadn't lost points for Gryffindor—yet—but Ainsley knew he disliked her. It was all too apparent in the way his genial expression seemed to harden ever so slightly every time he glanced her way.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Brenna asked, as they left the classroom.

"Oh, loads," muttered Ainsley. Brenna would enjoy the lesson, of course; she always did, being a natural at Charms. Much the way Ainsley was with Potions, actually. "What's our next class, Brenna?"

"After lunch, you mean?" She pulled two schedules out of her bag, handing one to Ainsley. "That's your copy, by the way. I took it for you this morning."

"And thank you for that." Ainsley scanned the schedule quickly. "Looks like…oh, Herbology this afternoon. It's a double class again."

"Wonder if it'll be with Hufflepuff?" Brenna mused. It was a likely assumption, as it looked like their pairing hadn't changed from the year before.

"It is with Hufflepuff," Alicia Spinnet piped up from beside them. "And you know what that means?"

"Cedric Diggory," they chorused in unison.

By the time the girls reached the Great Hall, Katie and Angelina had joined them, and all five were talking excitedly about the prospect of spending yet another year in close contact with Cedric Diggory. Their excitement was understandable, really, as Cedric was one of the best-looking boys in the school—and one of the nicest, as well. Ainsley, in particular, already had a rather nice friendship with him.

"It's just too bad we can't take History of Magic with Hufflepuff, too," Katie said, as they sat down. "I could use the distraction from Professor Binns, sometimes."

Some ways down the table, George Weasley snickered. "Is Diggory really that wonderful? I've always thought he was a bit thick. Doesn't talk much at all, does he?"

"He's quiet," Angelina snapped. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"It doesn't seem to be so important to you, Angie," Fred muttered.

Angelina pulled a face. "Angelina, Fred. And I don't much care what you think."

"I don't expect you should," he shot back.

Ainsley tuned out their banter and glanced at the rest of the table. Harry Potter and his friends had just come in, looking a bit serious about something. She thought she caught the word "Grim," which would make sense—Fred had mentioned something about third years having Divination that morning, and Professor Trelawney was famous for seeing death omens.

Farther down at that end of the table sat the first and second years, which didn't interest her that much. What did interest her, however, was turning back to her end of the table to realize that once again, she'd sat almost directly across from Oliver Wood.

He looked up almost as soon as her eyes fell upon him, and she smiled. "Hello, Oliver."

Wood nodded brusquely. "Ainsley."

"How were your classes this morning?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied. She noticed, with a little disappointment, that he didn't ask the same of her. Probably just distracted by the beginning of the term, she figured.

But when he still hadn't spoken, half a plate of stew later, she began to wonder if something was wrong. "Er…Oliver?"

"Ainsley, d'you think I could eat in peace?"

She sat back, thoroughly shocked at that. He hadn't been so cold the day before; in fact, he'd gone out of his way to bring her that letter the night before. Today, though, it seemed as though he wanted nothing to do with her. "All right, then. If you—"

"Ainsley," he snapped. "Honestly. Could I have one second of silence?"

At the other end of the table, Hermione Granger snapped something at Ron Weasley and left the table in a huff. For a second, Ainsley almost wished she could do the same thing.

Instead, she just took a deep breath and returned to her stew, wondering what on earth she'd done to Wood.

* * *

Herbology, amazingly enough, turned out to be the high point of Ainsley's day.

Professor Sprout, after a fairly long lecture on the importance of the Herbology O.W.L., had assigned them to work with the wolfsbane plants, and Ainsley had been paired with Cedric Diggory. It was really the best thing that could have happened, because on top of being the envy of every girl in her class, she got to spend the hour with someone she genuinely liked. Besides, maybe he'd be able to help her figure out the Wood mess.

"I honestly don't know what to tell you, Ains," he said, when she brought it up. "I didn't think you were even friends with Wood."

"Oh, I'm not," she replied. "It's just that…well, he's never actually been short with me before. I'd almost think I did something to offend him."

"Well, did you?"

"No, of course I—" She stopped abruptly, her shears hovering above the flowers. "Unless this morning…"

He looked at her curiously. "What happened this morning?"

"I…I fell down the stairs." It sounded absolutely idiotic, and she flushed as soon as the words left her mouth. "The staircases hate me, you know, and I was late to class and running down the stairs, and I don't have the best sense of balance anyway—"

Cedric had been trying valiantly not to laugh, but he finally gave in, laughing so hard that he accidentally snipped a flower off the wolfsbane plant. It shuddered violently, and he gave the injured stem a firm pinch, still laughing a little. "You fell down the stairs, Ainsley?"

"It's happened before, you know," Fred called with a laugh, invisible behind the plant that separated their stations.

"Only twice," Ainsley replied.

"Twice since you've been back, you mean."

She opened her mouth to reply to that, but Cedric cut her off. "What's that got to do with Wood, anyway?"

Well, this was just getting more embarrassing by the second. If she trusted the wolfsbane not to kill her, she'd have buried her face in it. "He…er, actually, he caught me…"

"At the bottom, you mean? Before you hit the floor?" She nodded miserably. "Lucky he was there, Ains. You might have found yourself in the hospital wing even earlier than last year."

"I know," she murmured. The year before, she'd managed to hold off until October, when she'd dropped a cauldron on her foot and broken several bones. That had been followed by a number of spills and accidents that had, more often than not, landed her in one of the hospital beds—often alongside a Petrified student (which was disturbing, to say the least). This year, though, she was determined not to be the most accident-prone student in the school.

"Don't know why that should upset Wood, though," Cedric was saying. "Hasn't he always looked out for you?"

Ainsley nodded. "Always. To the point of annoyance, really." She sighed. "And that's what worries me. It's not…normal."

"Well, it is the beginning of the term," he said. "And maybe he hasn't had the best day, either."

She nodded again and turned her attention back to the wolfsbane. Their conversation was as good as over, she decided—but then he spoke again. "Ainsley?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought you hated Wood, anyway. Why do you care so much whether he likes you?"

The plant beside them erupted into laughter again. Ainsley reached over and pulled aside two flowers to expose Fred's smiling face. "Something you'd like to share, Fred?"

"Only the reason you care so much about Wood," he replied.

"And that is…?"

He laughed. "That you're madly in love with him, of course."

Ainsley gaped at him for a second, trying to comprehend the sheer absurdity of what he'd just said. Then it fully hit her, and she closed her mouth and glared at him. "You're such a prat, Weasley." She released the flowers, letting them swing back toward his face, and turned back to Cedric. "He made that up, you know."

"I know," he said softly, although he sounded a bit dubious. "But you're not in love with Wood, are you?"

"Of course not," she replied. "That's absolutely absurd. I don't even think we're friends right now."

Cedric nodded and returned his eyes—and shears—to the wolfsbane. Ainsley, too, resumed her work, throwing a curious glance in his direction as she did so. He'd certainly seemed interested in her relationship (or lack thereof) with Oliver Wood.

And sooner or later, she'd have to figure out why.

* * *

For years, Ainsley had shared a sort of breakfast tradition with Wood. Every morning, she received the Daily Prophet, and every morning he'd used a Summoning Charm to steal the sports section from her. She'd always pretended to be annoyed by it, but in reality, she'd enjoyed the familiarity of the routine more than she'd let on.

Now, with Wood not really acknowledging her existence, he certainly wasn't stealing her paper. Ainsley found that she missed the familiar call of "Accio!" almost as much as she missed Wood himself. And that was what prompted her to seek out Percy Weasley on Friday morning.

He'd already left the prefects' table, Penelope Clearwater by his side, and at first, he didn't seem to want Ainsley around at all. "I'm sorry, Ainsley," he said, "but I'm really in a bit of a hurry. Could we talk later?"

"Actually, I'd rather it was now," she replied. "Are you going to class? I could just walk with y—"

"I'm walking Penelope to class," he interrupted tiredly.

Thankfully, Penelope chose that moment to speak up. "Oh, Percy, don't worry about me. I'll be just fine on my own."

Ainsley smiled gratefully at the other girl. Penelope was so kind and generous, there was really no explanation as to what she was doing with a pompous git like Percy. "Thanks, Penelope. I wouldn't normally ask, but I'm afraid it's important."

"So what is it?" Percy asked, as they crossed the Great Hall together. "Come to your senses and decided to become a prefect after all?" He slowed as they passed the Gryffindor table. "D'you mind if I ask Oliver to walk with us?"

Of all people, he wanted her to walk with Oliver Wood. Ainsley almost couldn't believe it. "I'd really rather you didn't," she murmured. "It's about him, actually."

"Really?" Percy's eyes brightened a bit—probably with interest, she decided. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know, really," she said after a few seconds. "He hasn't really been speaking to me for the past few days."

"Did you talk to him about this?" Percy asked.

"No," she replied softly. That was typical Percy—always suggesting the most rational course of action, with no regard for the fact that his advisee might not be a confrontational sort of person. "He's not speaking to me, Percy. How could I talk to him?"

"Well, you're talking to me," he muttered. "Isn't that just the same?"

"Are you always this impossible, or is it just me?" She sighed. "I only want to know if he's said anything about me, that's all."

Percy chewed softly on his lower lip, mulling over the question. Then he nodded. "Now that you mention it, Ainsley, he did say that you've always been a bit of a brat to him."

"I know that," she replied. "Has he said anything else?"

"Well…no. But he did mention that he cares more about the Quidditch Cup than any girl in this school. I'd guess that means he's not setting out to make new friends, especially with people who've never been friendly before." He shrugged. "That's all I know, Ainsley. Have a nice day."

Percy disappeared into a classroom, and Ainsley stared after him curiously. She couldn't take Percy's words as the absolute truth, really, as he'd never really seemed to like her. She had to admit, though, that he probably knew more about Wood's motives than anyone else did.

Still, he'd left her just as confused as she'd been earlier that morning. And that meant only one thing.

She was going to have to talk to Wood.