Hello lovelies!

Apparently yesterday was not the last time I'm updating for the year. I can guarantee that this is the last time, and I don't know how my update schedule is going to be next year, but I'm going to try to post at least bi-weekly at the most. I'm really going to try but RL can be a bit hectic at times.

FTT has over 1300 reviews and followers now and I still cannot believe it, that's amazing OMG. Thank y'all so much for reading this story and all your lovely asks on tumblr etc. Just thank you. Again, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I should preface something, I cannot for the life of me remember (and I looked, and came up empty) if I gave Avery a first name or not, so if I did then just let me know and I'll change it as soon as I can.

Please, please leave a review x

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

For all of you lovelies xxx

Tuesday, September 21st, 1976

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Gryffindor Tower

Hermione sighed heavily as she laid her head in Remus's lap, "okay, but that paragraph was specifically about Hippocampi and their origins, wasn't it?"

She pointed at line of text in the worn, pocket-sized leather bound book that she and Remus were using for their six week class project.

"I swore it was referring to the merpeople, and merely mentioned the Hippocampi in passing," Remus replied distractedly, one hand stroking through her hair, and the other holding his wand—which he used to flip over the page in his personal notebook where he'd noted all of their translations thus far.

"You really wouldn't think the two of you broke up with how close you still are," Kira commented airily from her place on the floor close to the fireplace, a mountain of pillows surrounding her as she lounged and basked in the warmth.

"It's cause he's still mine," Hermione said playfully, twisting to look up at Remus, "right?"

"Always, Hermione," Remus laughed softly, massaging her scalp gently.

"You two are strange," Kira said, stretching her arms high above her head, fingers dancing through the air.

Hermione quickly glanced over at the others: James and Sirius are sharing an armchair, heatedly discussing who will try out for the Quidditch teams this year (Gryffindor and otherwise), Peter was sitting on the other side of Kira, head cowed, mousey hair hanging in front of his eyes as he read through a bulky text about plants in the Mediterranean, and Draco was a few feet away, reclining on the floor as he helped Frank practice the Patronus Charm—so far silvery wisps were as far as the blond, burly boy had gotten.

Hermione pretended to turn back to her text, but she continued watching Draco in her peripherals, hiding a smile when he encouraged Frank and his face lit up with pride when the wisps pouring from Frank's wand went from transparent to translucent, boarding on opaque.

She frowned however when she pondered on how things have been off lately—not like the last time they had that massive row, or when they were dancing around each other, treading on eggshells.

It was almost as if the air was charged with something strong, pungent—there's this intangible net of energy, an unremitting energy that was buzzing around them, energy that will explode any moment with a fearsome crack of lightning.

Yet, on the surface everything seemed perfectly fine, and there's a tiny voice in Hermione's head that's been whispering things as of late.

Tell him how you feel.

Every time she even began to entertain the idea, toying with it and rolling it around in her head, another clamant voice screamed just that much louder. Screaming that he'll hiss and tell her she's mad, and of course he doesn't feel the same way.

Something shifted inside of her, soundlessly creeping up on her, clamping its hands over her mouth before stealing her away. Something had shifted, and now all she wanted to do was scale the castle and shout from one of the spires how she truly felt about Draco.

It was driving her ruddy insane.

"Hermione?" Remus asked, leaning down so his eyes met hers, Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide.

"Sorry, I was…daydreaming," Hermione apologised, "you were saying something?"

"Paragraph two, line five, what is the last word again? I scribbled it down but I can't read what I wrote," Remus said as he sat up and leant into the hovering notebook, squinting at his own handwriting.

"Right," Hermione said, searching for the requested word, relaying it to him a moment later.

After that she closed the book gently and closed her eyes, "I'm going to take a nap if you don't mind, Moony."

"Course not, love, go ahead," Remus replied distractedly, caressing her cheek before withdrawing his hand entirely.

Hermione managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep: free from improper thoughts of raven haired boys with messy hair—hair that she wanted to bury her fingers whilst she claimed him as hers.

Dreams of someone she could not have.

Pale green light shimmered, flickered and twisted across the honey blonde girl's features as she stared into the dark, murky water with a green tinge held back by thick glass.

She sighed heavily as she gingerly pressed her fingertips onto the glass beside her face—cold prickling across her skin, slithering along her appendages directly into the palm of her hand.

Her mind drifted into a pointless train of thought, wondering how many others had stood where she stood and contemplated upon their own troubles, and tribulations.

Her peace was rudely interrupted by a gruff voice behind her, "so, McKinnon. Now that you're done playing around with that little lion, you want to take on a real man?"

Marlene rolled her eyes and sighed heavily through her nostrils, her blue eyes flicking to her right and spotted the distorted reflection of one Weston Avery.

Marlene half turned, glancing around the scarcely populated Common Room and pursed her lips thoughtfully, "hmm, do know where I could find one?"

Avery took a menacing step towards her with a venomous snarl tugging at his mouth, but stopped just short of her, brown eyes sparking with dim fury.

Marlene raised a well manicured eyebrow before peering back out into the Black Lake.

"Forget it, Avery. She's soiled, not to mention sloppy, blood traitor seconds—"

Marlene lasted all of five seconds before the waves in her eyes roared and crashed ferociously, "get the fuck away from me, both of you." Marlene hissed, and her magic uncontrollably sparked through the air, and the bottom of Mulciber's robes suddenly burst into flame.

"Do try not to burn down the Common Room, McKinnon," Snape drawled lazily several feet away: comfortably seated in a plush, black leather armchair, his right ankle resting on his left knee—he shoved some of his greasy black hair back as he peered dully over the top of his ancient tome.

Mulciber was hopping back and forth, yelling as he struggled to shrug his outer robes off of his body—Snape rolled his eyes at the sight, waving his wand and extinguishing the flames instantly.

"You bitch—" Mulciber started, before Snape cut him off.

"Get over yourself, Mulciber. She isn't worth it," Snape said, returning to his book.

Marlene carefully regarded him in the glass: he reading a book that reeked of the Dark Arts, and occasionally he would jot something down in the book that he carried with him everywhere.

A sliver of curiosity poked at her subconscious, but ultimately she decided it was none of her business—her vision focused once more on the Lake, and she swore she saw a ripple of movement in the distance but quickly dismissed the notion.

Marlene let out another heavy sigh before she broke away from the glass and headed in the direction of her dorm—she'd had enough of immature and dim-witted boys for the evening.