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18

OF FANGIRLS AND FANATICS

MUSICAL MOOD FOR THIS CHAPTER: MAISIE PETERS - MAYBE DON'T


"It might come as a shock to you Woodley but, against popular belief, I can contain myself."


To say that people were looking would have been a mild understatement.

They were staring.

Bluntly.

But - weirdly enough - even though I was barefoot, wearing nothing but Potter's smelly Quidditch shirt, it wasn't me they were staring at. They were congregating around the statue of Atticus the Amiable on the sprawling fourth-floor-landing, chatting excitedly as though they had never seen anything like it before.

I edged closer, cold stone slapping against the soles of my feet; if I could just slip past the moderately sized mob unnoticed, I might yet get out of this mess without further repercussions. But there was a flash of lilac in the corner of my eye and I almost stumbled to a halt, not sure I even wanted to properly look. There was a reason why everybody was ogling an old statue and, though I had tried to tell myself otherwise, I somehow knew it before I had actually seen it.

Half-hiding behind a bulky guy in a Slytherin house sweatshirt, I glanced at Atticus's head, which was the only visible part of him in the sea of curious onlookers, and barely stifled a groan as I spotted the lilac piece of cloth that was draped across his marble head.

He wore my knickers like a ludicrous crown.

I wouldn't have bothered to claim them, of course - not in front of such an ample audience - but it wasn't only my knickers that had been exposed unceremoniously to the entire student body: I also caught glimpses of my jeans, my shoes, and my wand, which had been stuck to the statue's toga in a place that might have been his genitalia.

My clothing I could have ignored, but my wand... leaving back your wand was like leaving back your arm: unnatural.

"Excuse me," I muttered with as much dignity as I could muster, pushing through the knots of people while straining to not look at them. This was already humiliating enough without making eye-contact.

At first, the crowd only moved reluctantly, but soon, it parted by itself, forming a straight path towards Atticus. They had probably noticed my unconventional getup and redirected their attention to me as I approached the statue, stretching the hem of Potter's shirt, which was only just skirting my upper thighs.

There were whispers - the cruel kind that made your blood freeze when you realised they were about you - but I tried not to listen as I tried to prise my wand from Atticus's lumbar region. It had been stuck there with a well-performed adhesive charm and, as my audience began to snicker, I mumbled a quick "absolve", hoping that it would be enough to unstick it. It fell off promptly and I closed my eyes in relief for a second as I felt the smooth cedar stick resting familiarly in the crook of my palm.

With one swift flick, I removed my knickers from the statue's head and - all of my clothes piled haphazardly in my arms - I turned around again, mildly surprised by the gawking mob. I had hoped they would have dispersed by now, letting me keep at least a fraction of my already dented dignity, but they only looked greedier than ever, waiting hungrily for me to humiliate myself even further.

"What're you all looking at?" I snapped, taking even myself by surprise; they were all gawking at me like I was the funny monkey in a zoo that performed tricks for bananas and I couldn't help the wave of recklessness that overtook me. This was getting too much to handle. "Never seen someone remove their wand from a statue's penis?"

There was scattered sniggering. Most of the onlookers, however, stared at me wide-eyed, if not fearful, and I realised that I must have looked positively mental with my wand held out in front of me and my half-dried hair plastered to my cheeks and forehead.

"Honestly, get a life." I grumbled and, still clutching my damp clothes tightly to my chest, I stalked off towards Ravenclaw tower.


I had pulled on my jeans somewhere along the way, but there was no time for shoes or anything else, really; all I wanted was to get to the confined safety of my dorm room and crawl underneath my blanket until the school year was over.

As usual on a Saturday evening, the common room was packed when I stormed in, almost stumbling over the sleeve of my jumper which had untangled itself from the bundle of belongings in my arms, dangling awkwardly between my legs as I walked. A couple of people turned their heads into my direction, probably roused by my boisterous entrance, but I ignored them as I pelted towards the winding staircase, carelessly weaving through knots of armchairs and coffee tables.

"You won't believe what just happened." I panted as I practically fell into the dorm room, dropping my things to the floor before crossing the room to Katie's bed.

"Oh, I don't know," she said without looking up from the dismembered phone parts that were scattered all around her like metallic bird droppings, "I'm pretty gullible."

"Kat," I said dryly, willing her to look up from her latest technology project but, before I could even end my sentence, a sort of war cry positively shook the room and something large and heavy hit me from the side, knocking me to the ground.

"What the hell?" I shouted at a mutinous-looking Bernice, who had pinned me to the floor, her legs straddling my thighs so that I was rendered completely immobile. Her mouth was moving, but there were no words coming out; instead, she began to jab her finger into my collarbone with such ferocity that I was sure the spot would bruise.

"POTTER." Her voice was mangled as she pushed the word out which was mostly due to the fact that Katie had jumped onto her back and was trying to wrestle her off of me, unfortunately without any success. "YOU - AND - FUCKING POTTER?"

"What are you talking about?" I shouted, completely out of breath from trying to wrestle my hands from Bernice's death-grip. She wasn't a Beater for no reason.

"Get off of her!" Katie yelled from behind her, still clinging to her back like a manic squirrel. Her auburn curls were dancing into all directions, protruding behind Bernice's head like a fluffy, bronze halo.

"I didn't want to believe it," Bernice growled, her finger still digging into my shoulder blade. "Rufina told me to be careful when we heard the rumours, but I told her that I trusted you and now you're - you're-" She seemed to be struggling for the right words. "You're consorting with the enemy!"

"What?" My voice came out much higher than I had intended it to, "Bernice, that's-"

"I BLOODY TRUSTED YOU!" She was howling by now, not unlike a wounded dog. "I told you all about our new game plan for next month's match! I'm such an idiot!"

"Get a grip, woman!" Katie screeched from behind, but I had finally understood what this assault was all about - Quidditch.

Dumb, overrated Quidditch.

"Okay, that's it!" I bellowed in a commanding voice I didn't even know I possessed and both Bernice and Katie froze like statues, barely blinking as they stared down at me. "I am not 'consorting with the enemy', whatever that means, and I didn't even understand half of the things you told me about the 'game plan', so would you please just get the fuck off of me!"

For a moment, Bernice seemed paralysed by my sudden outburst but then, like in slow-motion, her grip finally slackened and she rolled off of me, allowing my blood to circulate properly again.

"Thank you." I breathed out and quickly got up before she could change her mind again.

"But - the jersey," Bernice stammered, somewhat sheepishly, pointing at the golden embroidered letters that formed the word 'Potter' across my chest. I hadn't even noticed until now that they stood out so prominently against the red, shining boldly even through the blotches of grass and dirt.

"It's - it's kind of a long story." I crossed my arms in front of the letters, thinking that it might be best to cover them up before someone else decided to feel triggered by Potter's name and tackle me. "Potter just helped me out of a tight spot, that's all."

"Soooooo..." Katie dragged out the 'o' before clicking her tongue. She looked mildly harassed with her curls sticking up in odd angles. "You're actually wearing James Potter's jersey?"

"Yeah." I sighed, knowing that Katie was surely expecting an explanation as to why I was running around in Potter's clothes. "He gave it to me because I was-"

But I didn't get any further than that. Katie had closed the gap between us in a few quick strides and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, her face buried into my neck, as though she was trying to inhale the Quidditch shirt in its entirety.

"Um, Katie?" I asked weirdly as she snuggled her nose even deeper into the slightly sour smelling fabric.

"It's all musky and manly," she mumbled into my shoulder, "it's almost as though I'm hugging a lankier version of James."

"Are you serious?" I groaned, catching Bernice's eye over my best friend's shoulder, but she simply shrugged, somewhat awkwardly, and then slowly sank onto her bed.

I was officially living with a bunch of crazy people.


It was fascinating how the gossip circulation worked at Hogwarts; obviously, people had heard of 'that girl in Potter's Quidditch shirt' whose clothes had been draped across a statue on the third floor landing. There were many different theories as to what had happened - naturally, none of them reflected the truth.

Negligibly few seemed to think that I was James Potter's girlfriend and that we were trying to keep our budding relationship a secret. Others claimed reliable sources had told them that Potter and I were shag-mates. Most people, however, seemed to think that I had stolen the shirt from the laundry because I was highly delusional and fancied myself to be Potter's girlfriend when, in reality, I was nothing but a sad stalker.

"Any idea who might have done it, though?" Sam said over his steak and kidney pie, careful to keep his voice as low as possible. "I mean, that was basically an attack, you know?"

"Well, no." I sighed as I jabbed my fork aimlessly into my food; somehow I wasn't feeling particularly hungry at the moment. "Maybe I was just a random pick."

"But someone warned you that something like this might happen." Katie furrowed her brow and then looked at Sam. "What about Felicity? She was pretty jealous, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, but I think she's gotten over it."

"How so?" She sounded thoroughly unconvinced as she watched Sam heap even more food onto his already overflowing plate.

"Well," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "she's been snogging Will Waters for two weeks so-"

"What? Will Waters?" Katie whisper-shouted, obviously scandalised that she had missed out on this particular piece of gossip. Her outrage faded quickly, however, and she shrugged her shoulders after a moment of contemplation. "Well, they kind of match nicely. She smells of cabbage and he sort of looks like one."

Sam slopped a remarkable amount of pumpkin juice down his front, covering his uniform shirt in an unsightly orange sludge. "He does!"

They both sniggered but I had a hard time paying attention; the feeling that someone inside Hogwarts wanted to hurt me sat on my chest like a heavy weight and it got harder and harder to breathe as I let my gaze wander across the Great Hall. What if the bathroom prank was just the beginning?

But I couldn't let myself go there; I wouldn't. Whoever had stolen my belongings from the Prefects' bathroom had wanted to intimidate me and I wouldn't let them get the best of me.

I was better than that.

"Um, Seth, are you okay?" Katie asked carefully. Both she and Sam were looking at me quite concerned as I began to pack up my things and - feeling a surge of bravery - jumped up from my seat at the Ravenclaw table.

"Yes," I replied, maybe a tad too enthusiastically; the worried frown on Katie's forehead seemed to drag down her entire face. "I'm good."


It smelled of snow. The cold wind bore the unmistakable scent of winter as it swept across the grounds, rippling the usually smooth, black surface of the lake, and I stopped to take a deep breath. It was crisp and clear as it filled my lungs and, for the first time since this school year had started, I actually felt a sort of calm.

Not entirely, of course, but I was determined to fix at least bits and pieces of the chaos that had somehow seeped into my life so that I could finally go back to normal. I didn't know when exactly it all had started - the rumours, James Potter, water being thrown at me - but I knew that I needed it to stop.

Now.

It was a short walk down to the Quidditch pitch whose golden goal hoops were towering over the rolling hills behind which it had been built. The path that led to it was broad and well beaten from the hundreds of feet that marched along it on game days but I was quite alone as I ambled down the last couple of meters towards the pitch.

The Gryffindor team practices usually drew a veritable crowd, mostly consisting of rivaling captains and giggling girls dotting the stands. Today, however, there was only a lonely duo, huddling together for warmth as they watched the red-clad figures on their broomsticks.

"Not exactly the best weather to be out here, is it?" Someone said next to me and I turned around to find a familiar shock of black hair; Albus Potter gave me a smile, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pressed khakis.

"Yeah," I agreed as a particularly strong gust of wind whipped my hair into my face. "Your brother doesn't seem to care, though."

Albus snorted and squinted up at the flying figures that were nothing but blurry dots; they had started passing the Quaffle to each other, their broomsticks swaying in the wind as they hovered above the ground.

"Jamie's always been like this." He had a sort of reminiscent look on his face; too vague to qualify as a smile but definitely something akin to that. "He's a reckless git, of course, but I love him."

I watched him lean against one of the pillars that held up the raised stands, unwittingly trying to steal a glance at his lovely eyes. They looked almost dark green in this light, but it wasn't the colour that caught my attention this time; while he was definitely looking at the pitch, his pupils kept dilating; like they were constantly changing their focus and then losing the target again. "Um, you two must be close."

"Yeah." Albus's voice trailed off, drowning in the distant shouts that echoed above us, and I couldn't help feeling a little weird. Just seconds ago, he had joked about his brother being a git and all of a sudden he was staring into space, a trance-like expression clouding his face.

"Um, Albus?"

He looked up at me - too slowly - and his eyebrows knitted as he considered me for a long moment. Then, as though someone had flicked a switch, he suddenly blinked twice, a slightly bemused look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um…" I watched him for a second, wondering if I had imagined his odd change in demeanour. But people drifted off into their thoughts now and then, didn't they? He was probably just tired; it wasn't anything to worry about. "I'm just returning something." I indicated the bundle of red cloth I was clutching to my chest and then - remembering the abundance of rumours that were circulating at Hogwarts - quickly added, "I'm not stalking your brother, if that's what you think."

The last thing I needed was for Albus Potter to think that was stealing his brother's undies.

"I didn't think you were." Albus gave me a long look and ran a hand through his gelled back hair, dislodging a few strands in the process. "But, um, are you and Jamie… you know?"

"Merlin, no!" I cut across him before he could elaborate, feeling the familiar surge of heat prickle on my face. "Absolutely not!"

The smile that tugged on his lips wasn't like James's; it was wide and symmetrical, no dimple in sight, and I felt myself relax a little. On the pitch, the players had broken the circle and were flying off into different directions; they all seemed to have trouble navigating as the wind picked up speed, drifting off helplessly whenever a particularly strong gust swept across the grounds.

"I have to go." Albus said suddenly, his voice strained and somewhat off, and he began to smooth down his hair again; the rigid hairdo seemed to resist even the boisterous weather and I wondered how long it took him each morning to get it to look this way.

"Sure." I tried to smile at him, but he barely seemed to register; his eyes were vacant again, flitting over the pitch aimlessly.

"See you around, Seth."

"Um, yes. See you around." I couldn't catch his eye; his gaze seemed unable to settle, even when he nodded at me, and then he just turned around and walked away, head bent against the frigid wind.

I was still staring after him when the noise level on the pitch suddenly rose and I snapped my head back to see that practice had ended. The Gryffindor team was back on the ground, looking rather sour as they dismounted their broomsticks. Most of them slowly began to trudge back towards the changing rooms, their brooms clutched underneath their arms and their uniforms splattered with dirt. Only James had stayed behind, jogging over to the sideline where I stood, my thoughts still revolving around Albus.

"Woodley," he said, panting surprisingly little for someone who had just completed a couple of hours of intense Quidditch training. His dark brown hair was even more windswept than usual and his cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold. "Was that my little brother you were just talking to?"

"Um, yeah." I watched his eyes narrow as he observed Albus's retreating form in the distance. Even from afar his posture seemed unnaturally rigid; like he had to consciously think about which muscles to move with every step he took. "Is everything alright?"

"Um, yeah. He's just -" James trailed off as his gaze cut to me. "It's nothing. I fully blame that vapid Hufflepuff airhead." His smile was never even - the right corner of his mouth just always a little higher than the left - and my gaze lingered on his lips for what felt like a moment too long. I shouldn't have noticed that they were slightly chapped from the wind, but I did and it felt weird and, because I needed to do something - anything - I stuck my arms towards him and held out the perfectly folded Quidditch jersey.

"Here. It's washed and everything."

It seemed to take James a second to catch on before he even registered the piece of cloth in my hands. "Oh. Yeah, right," he said, sounding weird somehow, and took the T-shirt from me, tucking it underneath his arm without really looking at it. The training gear he was wearing was so filthy that I was sure some of the dirt would rub off on the freshly laundered jersey. "Cheers."

"Sure." I folded my arms as a particularly ferocious gust of wind rattled the metal stands, the cold air cutting right through my Ravenclaw sweatshirt. "Thanks again for - you know."

"Saving your naked arse?" James's grin broadened until the dimple on his right cheek appeared. "My pleasure."

"You're such a gentleman." I sighed and he laughed - deep and scratchy - and it felt as though I had breathed in too much air. "Although I would have probably attracted much less attention in the corridors if I had been naked."

"I highly doubt that, Woodley." He was still smiling, but it had faded a little as he continued to look at me. I snorted - rather unattractively - and looked down to my trainers, allowing an awkward silence to settle between us. The white linen was sprayed with little specks of dirt from walking down to the pitch, but it was nothing compared to James's leather shin guards which looked as though he had dragged them through the mud.

"Doesn't it bother you?" I finally said, looking back up at him. "I mean, all that rubbish people say about you and me?"

James shook his head and leaned on his broomstick. "Not really." He gave me a long look and my eyes caught on the dimple again that deepened with his smile. "Does it bother you?"

"No." I had said it too quickly, I knew it. But I looked up at James nonetheless, daring him to contradict me. He didn't, though; I watched the expression on his face change to something else - something I couldn't quite read - but then he laughed and shook his head, looking infuriatingly amused again. As usual, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my discomfort.

"You know, it's not - " He paused for a moment, looking down at his shoes and then pressing his lips together. "It could be worse, no?"

I breathed out a laugh. "Worse than being made out to be either a cheap booty call or a sad stalker?"

James glanced up at me, his eyes studying my face as though he was searching for something specific and it gave me too much time to notice the exact colour of his eyes - dark amber with brighter spots. "It's going to blow over. People are convinced I'm shagging a different girl each week." He shrugged and I raised my eyebrows at him.

"You're not?"

James snorted and turned his head to look at the towering goal hoops for a moment before settling back on me. "It might come as a shock to you, Woodley, but against popular belief, I can contain myself."

"That is indeed a shocking revelation, Potter."

He laughed, once again shaking his head, and I knotted my arms a little tighter. Recently, our conversations felt like walking a very thin line, balancing between snarky banter and something else entirely that I really didn't want to analyse more closely, and I wondered if he was like this with everybody; if he told other girls that he wasn't the fuckboy he was made out to be.

It was a stupid thing to be thinking about; I knew it. Mostly because it didn't really matter and I definitely shouldn't care whether he had given Selma McLaggen the exact same, crooked smile when she had sidled up to him during dinner yesterday evening.

"Oi!" A sharp yell echoed across the pitch and made both James and me turn abruptly towards the changing rooms: Freddie Weasley was jogging towards us, wearing nothing but burgundy joggers. "Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, or shag-mates, or whatever you are these days." He slowed down as he got closer and then threw an arm around James's shoulders while giving me a toothy grin that spread across his handsome face. "It's bleeding hard to keep up with your relationship."

"Is there a reason why you're not wearing a shirt?" James asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked at his friend with a sort of dry austerity that I assumed came from years of captaining the Gryffindor team.

"Not really," he said lightly and at the same time threw a very obvious wink at me. "How's it going, Lizziebeth?"

"Um, quite good." I tried not to snort at the deadpan expression on James's face as he stood there with his best friend's naked arm around his neck. Talking to Freddie was surprisingly easy. He was, of course, absolutely handsome with his caramel colored skin and dark brown eyes that Morgana Evenberg regularly rhapsodised about to her girlfriends over strangled squeals during Care of Magical Creatures; but most of all he was funny and easygoing and I could tell that it would take considerable effort to feel uncomfortable around him.

"You're coming tonight, yeah?"

"Um, what?" I blinked at Freddie, feeling like I had somehow lost the thread of the conversation; it sounded like I should know what he was talking about even though I had no idea.

"You haven't asked her yet, you wanker?" He arched his eyebrows at James, who looked about ready to strangle his best friend.

"Not yet," he said, giving Freddie a clap on the shoulder that was hard enough to make him wince, "but thanks for bringing it up, mate."

Freddie, who was still pressing his lips together, reciprocated the clap, a broad grin plastered across his face as James grimaced with pain. "I've got your back, J. Po."

"Thanks," he said through clenched teeth. "Now piss off, will you?"

Freddie only grinned in response; like he had instigated a formidable practical joke and wanted to know how it played out. "Can't. I need to see this."

"You fucking prick."

My eyes darted between them as I was trying to pick the best moment to extract myself from the conversation. However weird this entire thing had been already, standing around here with the two of them like this was stranger still; especially since the rest of the Gryffindor team was trickling out of the changing rooms by now and, after spotting us on the pitch, began to amble towards us, flocking to wherever James was, of course.

"Um, you know, I should probably -" I said quickly and then vaguely pointed behind my back in the general direction of the castle, just as Freddie seemed to have given James a particularly hard jab in the ribs.

"No, wait!" James panted and, despite myself, I stopped mid-turn to find him wrestling himself free of the near-head-lock Freddie had had him in. "We're having a party in our common room tonight." He pushed his dishevelled hair back, leaving it even messier than before, and then gave me one of his perfectly lopsided half-smiles. "You should come, Woodley."

"Oh, um," I stammered lamely, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as the cold wind swept across the pitch again, biting at my exposed ankles. Besides the fact that my party experiences this year hadn't exactly been encouraging, it also didn't sound as though James had actually wanted to invite me, which didn't help to make this any less awkward.

Not that I was disappointed, of course. The less I had to do with James Potter the better.

"Actually, I have to oversee detention tonight, so..."

"Then come after that." Freddie gave me a quite serious look. "It's just a small get-together, really. You have to come. In fact, I insist."

"I don't-"

"Come on, Woodley," James chimed in before I could even come up with an excuse. "You can wear your pyjamas, if you want to. Or my Quidditch jersey." There was a strange look on his face which I couldn't read, but he was smiling - the same, warm smile I remembered from the Halloween party - and I could feel the corners of my mouth tugging upwards against my better judgment.

Gryffindor common room parties had a reputation and, though I had never actually been to one, it was virtually impossible to not pick up shrapnel of the boundless gossip that flooded the castle in their wake. Whether any of it was true or not was hard to tell but, naturally, the stories were always exceedingly scandalous - if not downright unsavory - sparking the most outrageous rumours.

"I'll think about it." The words came out muffled as another gust of wind had whipped all of my hair into my face but I had definitely said them, which could only mean that I must have had an aneurysm. There was no other explanation for why I would even consider going to a party that, legend had it, was responsible for the Common Room Gathering Restriction Act of 2007.

I really needed to leave.

"So, um, by," I said, because I really didn't know what else to do, and James's grin broadened. He didn't say anything, though, and I took my chance and quickly turned away from them before he could see the pink blotches on my face.

"See you at the party, Lizziebeth!" Freddie's voice rang out behind me, just as the first small fluffs of snow began to fall, drifting quite aimlessly in the storm, and I took a deep, steadying breath, not sure what exactly had just happened.


It was always weird - walking along the torch-lit corridors when they were empty like that - but the stormy weather and the fact that it was late Friday afternoon, kept the draughty castle quite free of strolling students. Tiny snowflakes drifted lazily past the high gothic windows, swirling in the strong wind, and I stopped for a moment, looking out to see genuine waves crashing on the rocky shore of the Black Lake.

Unlike me, Katie was going to be elated when I told her about the party - if I told her about the party, that was. I could practically see her, diving into her closet and thrusting inappropriate clothing at me while elaborating on how the tarot cards she had drawn for her most recent Divination homework had predicted something like this would happen and that we absolutely had to go.

"Pssst."

I turned abruptly at the quiet hissing sound, looking down the long, gloomy corridor that lay ahead. There was nothing unusual and my muscles relaxed again as I felt the urge to laugh at my own jumpiness; maybe the bathroom incident had affected me more than I liked to admit to myself.

Suddenly there was a muffled rustle behind me, like heavy cloth sweeping the floor, and a hand reached out over my shoulder, covering my mouth before I could even so much as whimper. Panic-fuelled I tried to prise the hand off my face, but my attempts failed miserably as I was dragged backwards and hurled against the wall of a dark alcove.

I squealed into the palm that pressed against my mouth, sure that something terrible was about to happen, when, finally, I managed to look up into my assailant's face and the scream died in my throat.

"Stop struggling, will you?" Vala hissed, glancing nervously over her shoulder as though she was expecting someone to be eavesdropping on us.

"Are you mental?" I snapped at her, my voice still shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. "What the bloody hell are you-"

"Shut up." She growled under her breath. "Someone will hear us if you keep shouting like that."

"Well, you should have thought about that before pouncing on me from behind, shouldn't you?"

"Shhhhht." She pressed her finger against her lips, her eyes trained on the dark corridor behind me. I had never seen her this edgy before and, frankly, it was quite alarming.

"Vala, what-" I tried once again to take this conversation to a less crazy level, but she simply shushed me again, her dark eyes growing wide.

"Don't say my name," she whispered, almost fearfully, her face now only inches away from mine. If either one of us moved, I was sure it would result in a rather awkward nose-rub.

"I told you to stay away, didn't I?"

"What?" I frowned, feeling that this situation just kept getting more absurd.

"The Potters."

"I don't - "

"Shhhh - just listen," she urged. "Whatever is going on between you and James and Albus -"

"There is nothing going on," I spluttered but Vala simply shook her head.

"Doesn't matter. You have to stay away from both of them."

"But-" I was at a loss for words, staring at my cousin with total bewilderment. On the one hand, I really wanted her to understand that I had absolutely no interest in either Albus or, least of all, James Potter; on the other hand, my brain was still grappling with what the bloody hell was going on.

"Listen, I can't tell you why," she said, drawing the hood of her old-fashioned cloak further into her face; she looked a little like she belonged to some creepy sisterhood, which just contributed to making this situation even stranger. "Just trust me on this." She sighed, before taking a couple of steps backwards. "I have to go. I can't be seen with you." And with that she had turned abruptly, her long cloak rustling behind her as she hurried down the forsaken corridor, leaving me behind in the cold, damp alcove.


A/N: All I can say is, I am so sorry for the long wait - I am literally drowning in uni work right now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless and I will try to update faster. If you are still sticking with this story, thank you for your awesomeness. It's actually YOUR reviews that make me write on this story after a long day of seminar paper research and writing, so this update is entirely thanks to you lot!

Every review is like a gentle kick in the bum that reminds me that someone is actually waiting to read the next chapter. So thank you for that :)