Well … hi. Sorry.

UPSIDE DOWN

The room was filled with a spectacular warmth from the small fire. Although small, it was infinitely more pleasant than the admittedly rather damp Slytherin common room. They'd only discovered it two days ago, and already it felt like home.

"What did you think of the Charms test?" Ted asked.

"Oh, easy! Honestly, we learned that years ago, I swear! I understand there are some trolls like Parkinson, but Flitwick should at least try to challenge us."

"Troll? Parkinson's at least part hag."

She laughed. Andromeda had found herself doing an awful lot of laughing recently, ever since Judy managed a smile again and she'd become fast friends with Ted. It was a reflex, almost, and this laughter-filled week must be making up for years of silence as a child. Cold, dark years. Nothing compared to these golden hours with Edward Tonks - a muggleborn! - in a dead professor's office.

And with a Hogsmeade weekend - Hogsmeade date - on the horizon, she couldn't be happier. When was the last time she had a date she actually wanted to go on?

So now, tangled in soft blankets and in the sweet company of Ted, she felt warm and fuzzy, the heat of the fire wrapping her head in layers of delirious bliss.

They had met (again - what must Judy be thinking?) after lessons to 'study', but they'd hardly done anything but talk.

"Is Dolohov still … after you?" Ted asked, quieting his tone.

Andy tried not to let it take from her contentedness, but that name made her want to be sick. "I don't know. I haven't seen him face-to-face in a while. He glares at me all through class, though."

Ted made a face. "Still going out with Umbridge?"

"Oh, yes. What an utter toad. They deserve each other." Her futile attempt at lightening the mood fell short.

"Let's not talk about them. Shouldn't have brought it up."

Ted looked at her, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were. Their thighs were pressed together in a way that would make her mother scream, their noses centimetres away from touching, eyes boring into one another. They were the kind of close that made her feel the need to whisper when she spoke, in fear of loud words widening the gap.

"Yeah." She whispered.

She couldn't stop staring a significant distance below his eyes, looking at those plump lips and wondering how kissable they were.

Oh, God. She was smitten.

Never before had she felt such an urge to move forwards and capture his lips with her own, taste his mouth as one might taste expensive wine.

But she didn't even need to, because he was moving towards her, and she could feel his breath warming the air, hitting her cheek as a wave caressed the shore. And then it was gone, because there was no longer that gap between them. His mouth was on hers, and she melted into it, imagining him washing off the taste of Rabastan, relishing in the warmth of his lips. Fireworks sent sparks down to her toes, and his hand was on her cheek, holding her to him. She wanted - needed - to be closer, to feel him against her, to-

As soon as it had begun, it was over, leaving her lips cold and alone, her heart still racing on, her body still alight.

Speaking seemed suddenly out of the question, the two content to just look at each other in shock, cheeks flushed and lips just a little redder than before. It was one of those moments of beautiful silence that threatened to last forever, the heat of the fire and the heat of the kiss making the air between them like a furnace, burning brighter than anything Andromeda had ever seen. That kiss topped any other, not that she had much experience at all, sitting smugly on top of the pile like a proud winner of a durling competition. She was afraid to move or say anything lest she shatter the careful structure built in the brief aftermath of those moments, lest she topple the pile and leave her heart in a mess on the ground.

"Well," Ted whispered.

"Well what?" She replied.

"I have no idea." He said, dissolving into laughter.

Together, they sunk back into the pillows, laughing at everything and nothing, resolving silently that this was it. This was everything.

Andromeda rested her head on his shoulder, feeling that warmth again running through his body too, and liking the solidness of him.

Things like this - kissing, in this situation - generally took longer in the books Andy had read. Courtship, and holding hands, and hand-kisses, and cheek-kisses, head-kisses (and a thousand other kisses not nearly as exciting as this one had been), usually came first. She supposed her mother had provided the books that were 'right', with marriages into wealthy families, often arranged like her own, and never, ever, anything as fast and bright as this. She hadn't known it was possible for this to come so quickly, but it had creeped up on her and she was kissing someone who was not only entirely unsuitable, but someone who hadn't even taken her out first.

Mother would be ashamed.

She was engaged, for Merlin's sake. Engaged to Rabastan Lestrange, not this muggleborn with soft hands and freckles and a lazy smile.

What was she doing?

Whatever it was, she decided, it felt right.

It was an hour later that Andromeda approached the Slytherin common room to find Judy. She was buzzing with the rush of the sweet kiss, a smile unable to leave her face. God, she needed to tell Judy or this would never cease.

When she saw their usual armchairs occupied by a group of first years, she assumed her friend was in the dormitory.

When she found Umbridge and her gaggle invading the dormitory (glaring at her), she assumed her friend was in the library.

When she found the library lacking a head of auburn hair, she just frowned. Judy was always reliable to be in those three places, or else she would've let Andy know.

The courtyard, the Black Lake, the Astronomy Tower, the Great Hall, everywhere. She'd searched the entire school for her friend and found no sign of her. Surely there was a map or something so she could at least find efficient ways to get places without coming to a million dead-ends?

What was Judy doing? Maybe snogging Dave Jugson in some remote broom closet again as 'revenge', just like last time Andy had 'ditched' her for a boy.

Curfew came and went, and Andromeda trudged back to the common room, expecting to find Judy waiting for her, completely knackered but laughing at the way Andy had panicked, or maybe fast asleep in bed, or completely oblivious to her friend's anxiety and was studying in the common room or something.

Or, like Andromeda found to be the truth, not there at all.

Which set her to a whole new level of panic and confusion.

She slept restlessly, half expecting Judy to return in the middle of the night, having lost track of time with Jugson or been kept behind by Professor Slughorn to talk about her homework.

Tossing, turning, sweating, twisting in the sheets, worrying her head off until finally falling asleep to equally stressful dreams.

In the morning, Andromeda woke with that disorientating feeling like something was missing. She'd dreamt of … something, the entire dream escaping her as she tried to think of it, as dreams so often did.

Dolores and her friends were gone, but they always left early to ogle the quidditch boys at breakfast, and Judy was…

Oh. Oh, right.

Judy's bed sat empty and unslept in.

Breakfast: lonely.

Potions: worried.

Transfiguration: no. No, no, no.

Who cares about Transfiguration anyway? She wondered, ignoring the familiar clack-clacking of her shoes down the silent corridor, thinking with paranoia about the attack from over a month before. Was Judy attacked? Was that it?

She headed to the headmaster's office.

The gargoyle at the entrance frowned. "You should be in lessons," it hissed in a nasal, disproving, and rather bored-sounding voice.

"I know," Andromeda said. "But I need to speak to the Headmaster."

"Is that so?" It asked. "Do you know the password?"

She huffed, her brain unable to do anything but race in circles: wheresjudywheresjudywheresjudywheresjudy. "No. But it's urgent. Could you … tell him I'm here?"

It raised a stone eyebrow, "I'll need your name."

"Andromeda. Andromeda Black."

Waiting. Tapping foot. Tap, tap, tap. The muffled noises from a classroom across the hall. Tap, tap, tap. The faint brush of wind from through an open window. Tap, tap, tap. The crunch of stone as another staircase moves nearby. Tap, tap, tap. The nattering of portraits all around ("Students just think they can miss lessons willy-nilly! … Disturbing the Headmaster in his free time, when they should be learning!"). Tap, tap, tap.

Finally, a much closer noise, from right where the gargoyle had sat. The whole wall began to move with a grinding, stone-on-stone rasp, revealing a staircase that had been hidden behind the wall. Without missing a beat, she made her way up.

The small wooden door at the top swung open for her. She had expected something grand for the entranceway of Dumbledore's office, but the elderly Headmaster had always had a knack for the unexpected. Her parents would call it senility. She thought is was eccentric, and rather quirky.

"Miss Black. Please do sit down," Dumbledore said, but Andromeda was staring all around her, at spinning silver trinkets and a display cabinet holding an assortment of relics, a dusty bookshelf and - peculiarly - a pot of muggle sweets. "Sherbet lemon?"

She was shocked for a moment, but hurriedly said, "No thank you." Her mother had described what terrible poisons muggles put inside their sweets, and she wasn't hungry anyway. "I … need to talk to you."

"Of course. Do take a seat."

This time she did, sitting in the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair on the other side of his desk. "It's about Judy," she said, "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning."

Professor Dumbledore frowned, "Judith Crouch?"

"Yes."

"You weren't informed about her whereabouts?"

Panic. Confusion. Anger with whoever was meant to tell her. "No."

"I'm afraid she was called to St. Mungo's. Her father is there under emergency situations, and … well, he isn't expected to recover. They're still looking for her mother."

No. Not Judy. This wasn't supposed to happen to Judy. It was names without faces in the newspapers, and the second year who they'd found crying in the charms corridor … death wasn't meant to be like this.

But how is it meant to be? She asked herself, and found herself lost inside her own mind. How is death meant to happen, how is it meant to feel?

When someone's in hospital, there's meant to be a miraculous recovery. When someone's missing, they're meant to be found somewhere remote in North Wales. When someone's going to die, there are meant to be more people who know. But no-one knew that Judy's father was in a critical condition. No-one knew that Judy's mother was running for her life, no-one but Judy knew the pain that must've caused, and no-one but Andromeda knew what it was like to try and sort through all of this.

Her parents had showed her life through a glass wall, where she could never be touched by death or politics or any pain but the type they inflicted themselves. When she first went to Hogwarts the glass had been lifted but only now did she truly experience the world. The ignorance of … of everyone. The truth was, she knew, that no-one would care. When Judy's dad died, some people would mutter condolences, but no-one but Judy and her mother and their close friends and maybe Andromeda (who had always liked Mr. Crouch) would care at all. Another name with no face. Another stranger crying in the corridor.

She was allowed into St Mungo's the next morning, after another sleep in which she should've been dreaming about kisses, but only dreamt of hospitals and death and wondering who would remember her if she died in that very instant.

She'd never been allowed to visit the hospital ("They let all sorts in there - ruffians and vagabonds and dirty hags. Best to hire a private doctor, I say."), and it was a strange place to be. They certainly let all sorts in (was that a werewolf?), and the variety of people was shocking. She looked around in wonder, looking at people and wondering what ailments they were here for (some were obvious, like a man with a snidget up his nostril, but others were subtle, like the old woman who Andromeda only noticed at the last minute had scandalous images permanently projected onto her eyes).

Andy approached the desk. "Hello, I'm here to visit Mr. Crouch. He's ill."

The man behind the desk quirked an eyebrow, "I think you'll find rather a lot of people in here are ill."

Andromeda sighed, "Well, I don't know what exactly with. He was taken here under emergency and is still in a critical condition. Is there an emergency ward?"

The man laughed, "Don't worry. I know where he is." He rattled off the floor and room, and some vague instructions on how to get there.

Andromeda found herself walking into the private room that Mr Crouch was in after fifteen minutes and three wrong turns.

She went in slowly, cautiously, feeling the atmosphere on her tongue and not liking it at all; it was as if the place was already proclaimed to be a deathbed, with no sound but the occasional sniffle and the hum of a magically-operated machine.

The sniffling came from Judy, slumped in a chair at the father's bedside, dark red hair covering her face. The room was too cold.

"Judy?" Andromeda muttered.

Judith jumped with a start, looking at Andy with wide, tearful eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked tentatively. Terrible question. Terrible, terrible. Of course she wasn't alright. "I mean … how is he?"

Judy shrugged. "Not well. Not well at all."

Her voice was flat but scratchy with tears.

"Oh."

She had no idea what to say, what to do. Should she comfort her? Should she cry too? Should she say something, or leave, or…?

"Can I get you a cup of tea?" She asked.

Judy smiled, "That would be nice."

Andromeda escaped the strangling atmosphere of the room. Now that she was out, she felt like she could breathe again. She hated silence. Hated it with a passion, after long summers spent alone in her stuffy manor, with nothing to do and no-one who wanted to talk to her because Narcissa always had a friend around and Bella was off with Rodolphus or in service to him. Andy liked to steal her moments of noise whenever she could, relishing in background music and light chatter or the crackling of a fire.

She spent a while finding the refreshments room, but the lady behind the counter smiled and made idle chit-chat as the tea brewed ("You need to let it brew the proper way: four to five minutes with a stir at the end. Casting any spell on a good cuppa will wreck it. You'd do best to remember that, my girl."). She got a couple biscuits too, not sure of the last time Judy had gotten up to eat.

Andromeda found the room easily this time, taking a deep breath before taking the plunge and entering the silence.

She announced her arrival to Judy, who seemed to be staring at the wall as if it would cure her father. "Here's the tea. I bought biscuits too."

A ghost of a smile. "Thank you."

They sat in the stifling silence, Andy drawing another chair up beside Judy's. She rubbed circles on her friend's back, wondering who it helped more, not really caring because it gave her something do instead of sitting like a mannequin. Every so often she shifted the chair, the scrape of the leg on the floor breaking that silence for miniscule moments in which she could breathe again. A nurse came in every once in a while, to check in on Mr. Crouch. He was a young man who already had smile lines, and sure enough he gave both girls a sad, reassuring smile whenever he came through.

He never spoke. Andromeda wished he would. Surely this silence was eating at Judy too?

Was it selfish? To be craving something so superficial when Judy craved her father's life? It was. Of course it was, and she felt awful, because there was no way she could ever understand, having never had a loving father herself, having never faced the death of someone close.

Judy was still crying. If she went on like this, Andromeda could imagine the tear-tracks and puffiness could be a permanent addition to her face, a constantly weeping girl, a walking representative of grief. Andy hadn't cried since the holidays, since Rabastan invaded her bedroom, and she had almost forgotten the terrible, choking feeling that wrapped around the throat until she saw Judy gulping for air. What was she meant to do? How do you comfort someone in this situation?

The minutes ticked away (silently) and Andromeda wondered how long Mr. Crouch had left.