Author Note: Hello lovely readers! Chapter six is here. It's another long one. I honestly think this fic is going to be novel length. OMG. I'm sorry. I wish my brain was more concise! Anyways, enjoy the latest installment :)

CW: The section in italics is a dream sequence which contains potentially disturbing images and references to childhood trauma. If you feel like not reading it, you can check out the small summary in the author's note at the end of this chapter.

Chapter Six:

The Blackthorn

The storm is coming but I don't mind.
People are dying, I close my blinds.
All that I know is I'm breathing now.
I want to change the world, instead I sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.

But all that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing
Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson

It was the sound of the faucet dripping that had first caught his attention. The methodic drip, drip, drip of the water against the metal basin echoed through the quiet stillness of the shabby apartment. Something was wrong. Something was missing, but he couldn't remember what… He walked through the hallway in a daze, his arms slack by his sides. Dated wallpaper was peeling from the walls and the wooden doors were splintered at the bottom, worn from old age. The bag of meager supplies, bought by the monthly food stamps, lay forgotten next to the front door. He stared down at his well-worn shoes; they were so small. He lifted his hands, also small. This wasn't right.

Another sound greeted his ears, so soft he could barely distinguish it from the incessant drip, drip, dripping of the faucet. It was coming from the hall closet, a shaky whisper that repeated three words like a prayer, "I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid."

His small hand pulled open the door, revealing a frail creature curled into the corner of the closet. "O?" his voice came out in a broken whisper. Moist green eyes peered up at him for a moment before his arms were filled by his younger sister. Her sickly form was wracked with sobs and coughs that were one and the same.

"She told me to hide until he left. She said, 'Don't be afraid,' but I was— I was— I'm so afraid, Bellamy. So much shouting…" her small voice drowned out into sobs and she buried her face in his neck. He was going to be sick. An unspeakable dread, too immense to understand, filled him.

"Stay here, Octavia." He pried himself free of his sister's arms and rose, shakily, "Stay here." His feet faltered as he walked slowly towards the kitchen, the drip, drip, drip of the faucet growing louder. He halted when he reached the door, his path impeded. He stared at the obstacle without comprehension. It was… a hand… attached to an arm that lay limp, all splotchy and purple. A hand, it was a hand. It was a hand, a hand, a hand… It was his mother's hand.

"Mom? Mom? Mom!" He tried to shout, to make any sort of noise that might call his mother back, but nothing came out. His voice was locked inside of his paralyzed body. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and his heart beat out of his chest. He needed to make his voice work. He needed to get help. He needed to protect his sister. He needed to save his mother. He could do all of this, if he could only make his voice leave his body. "MOM!"

Bellamy sat up in bed, a broken cry escaping his lips. Sweat beaded down his forehead; his shirt was soaked through and his heart was racing a mile a minute. He ran a hand through his damp hair and gasped as his body convulsed once, twice, and then fell still. Laying down again, he stared blankly at the canopy above his bed, his mind still far away. Slowly, the tension inside his chest subsided as his breathing evened, but his body remained rigid, fighting against the pull of sleep. He looked at his watch. It was 6:30 A.M.

Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He headed downstairs to the common room, afraid that if he dared to fall asleep again he would see her. Bellamy made a detour to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in an effort to bring himself back to reality. He looked down at his hands and feet, which were once more a normally large size for his ever growing body. His loose, flannel pants hung around his hips, patterned with small, gold and red stripes. His hair was sticking out in all different directions in desperate need of a comb, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His leaden feet, still clumsy from the early hour led the rest of his body downstairs.

Before Bellamy even entered the common room, he knew it wasn't empty. Like a sixth sense he could feel the existing inhabitant's presence. A small figure was sitting on the plushy couch, knees curled to her chest.

"Hey," Bellamy greeted Lexa quietly as he sat down beside her.

"Hey stranger," she gave him a wry smile before turning her attention back to the flames licking at the hearth. They sat in silence for what must have been half an hour, both watching the shadows dancing across the stone walls. Lexa finally stretched her arms overhead, yawning, and then turned to him, "Move over. I want to lay down."

"We're not going to fit unless we spoon," Bellamy stated, laughing at the face Lexa gave him.

"Fine," she said confidently, "but I'm the big spoon." Lexa pushed him over and laid down against the back of the couch.

"We make an awful spoon," Bellamy commented as he laid on his back facing the ceiling. "I'm much taller than you."

"It's not about height, Bellamy," Lexa chuckled, shaking her head.

"Of course. You must be right."

"I'm always right," she propped her head up against the palm of her hand. "That is why I'm the big spoon."

He rolled his eyes at her and they fell silent once more, listening to the crackle of the burning logs. The minutes merged together and the world darkened as Bellamy's eyelids fell closed, but Lexa didn't let him go back asleep. She knew better than that.

"Bad dream?" Lexa asked, watching as Bellamy's eyes fluttered back open. He had a panicked look for a moment, before his whole body relaxed like he had just remembered when and where he was laying. He nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

"Your mom?" She posed her second question, although she already knew the answer. He nodded again. She turned to lay on her back beside him; they just barely fit side by side on the couch.

"You?" Bellamy glanced over at her, noticing the vacant look in her eyes. She blinked, nodding her answer. He continued, "Which one was it this time?"

"Costia and my foster family."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Lexa shook her head at first, but then spoke haltingly, "Being here… at Hogwarts… with all these normal people… sometimes it's easy to forget how fucked up I am… and then, out of nowhere, it just hits me."

Bellamy continued to stare at the ceiling. He knew that if he looked now, there would be tears in her eyes and Lexa wouldn't want anyone, even him, to see them. She considered it a weakness, so he kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

When he spoke, he spoke from the heart, "You're no more fucked up than I am, Lex. We didn't choose our past and we can't change it. I know what you mean though… forgetting only makes it twice as hard when you remember."

She found his hand next to hers and squeezed it. She didn't know how to express her feelings, but she needed him to know she was grateful they had each other. Growing up at the orphanage and living through that one tragic year with her foster family, Lexa had learned two things: one, the world is harsh and doesn't give a shit about you, and two, very few people truly have your best interest at heart. Finding someone, like Bellamy, who had accepted her nuances and met them with those of his own, had been life-changing for her. They were so different; their insecurities and issues came from very disparate origins and yet they had become family. Growing up with Bellamy, Lexa had discovered the most important lesson of her life: family isn't about blood, it's about choosing someone to love unconditionally that will return that kind of acceptance ten-fold.

The two lay in silence for a while as Lexa tried to blink back the moisture in her eyes; she felt all of these things keenly, but the idea of expressing them, even to Bellamy, was suffocating. Instead, she let herself fall back into her comfort zone, changing the mood in the only way she knew how; without warning, she stretched out, shoving Bellamy off the couch in one motion.

"Hey!" He sat up from the ground and gave her a disapproving look.

"Oops!" Lexa replied, innocently. "I must've fallen asleep."

"Ha ha, very funny." Bellamy rubbed his side gingerly as he settled back onto the couch. Lexa waited for few minutes of silence to pass and then with cat-like speed made to push Bellamy off again, but this time he was ready and blocked her arm mid-swing. Lexa didn't give up easily, but neither did Bellamy. He flipped onto his stomach, grasping the cushions of the couch for leverage to keep himself on. Changing tactics, Lexa wedged her back against the couch and used her feet to push against Bellamy's side until he was hanging halfway off of the divan. With a defeated sigh, Bellamy let go, tumbling onto the ground. Lexa jumped up, crowing her success.

"Victory!" she shouted, opening her arms wide to receive the cheers from a fictitious audience. Without warning, Lexa felt her feet pulled out from underneath her and she fell flat on the couch. Bellamy laughed maniacally on the ground next to her, clutching his side. She shook her head and chuckled, breathless. God, they were a weird pair.

The lamps around the common room flared to life and the ornate grandfather clock let out a lion's roar, indicating that the hour had reached eight o'clock in the morning. No one else would be waking up soon; it was a Saturday after all. Most people would want to sleep in as long as possible. I wish I could, Lexa thought , like Bellamy, sleep was not her friend. When the distractions of the day faded away and her mind opened to that strange space between sleeping and waking, there were too many repressed memories that tried to claw their way up from the depths of her subconscious. She could've gone to the hospital wing for a draught of Dreamless Sleep, but they would ask questions, questions that Lexa did not want to answer.

Despite the early hour footsteps echoed from the girl's stairwell and Octavia emerged through the archway, dressed much more formally than the weekend required. The young witch's right hand was opening and closing, nervously. Lexa frowned, noticing the twitch.

"Morning," Octavia muttered, barely looking at Lexa. Never mind, the older girl thought, she seems perfectly normal.

"Is that Octavia?" Bellamy sat up from the ground.

"Oh. Hey, Bell," Octavia gave her brother a cursory glance before walking over to the kitchenette. Lexa and Bellamy shared a look while Octavia made herself a cup of tea as if neither of them were there.

"O?" Bellamy called to her tentatively.

"Huh?" Octavia started and turned around, "Did you say something?"

"Are you okay, O?"

"Of course, I'm fine," she said a little defensively, coming to sit down in a plush chair next to the pair. She stirred her tea.

Lexa raised her eyebrows, "So, why are you up this early? You normally sleep like a log on the weekends."

"What is this? An intervention?" Octavia bit out, stiffening. "I have to study today and I'm frustrated about it. Happy?"

Bellamy and Lexa leaned back, avoiding the wave of Octavia's attitude. The younger girl shook her head at them and stood. She downed the rest of her scalding tea and left the common room behind without bothering to say goodbye.

Octavia hated when the two of them acted like a team of their own. Do this, Octavia. Do that. Why are you acting funny? Why aren't you happy? It made her want to scream when they treated her like a child; they always felt the need to butt into every part of her life. And Octavia was not about to tell either of them that she needed Potions tutoring. They never kept tabs on each other's school work. They never made a fuss if one of them got less than stellar marks on a test. But when Octavia was in danger of not passing, they acted like it was the freaking apocalypse. Hypocrites.

She wound her way towards the library, simultaneously dreading and looking forward to seeing Lincoln. He was like a breath of fresh air after all the other people to whom she'd been attracted. He was gentle, mature, and kind. When she looked at him she saw the potential for something so great that it left her breathless. Still, despite all of his good qualities, he was a wall of stone when he wanted to be and Octavia had no idea how he felt. The more she flirted or dropped hints, the more reserved he became… and yet there were moments when their eyes met and something would be there - hidden away, something totally unexplainable, something more.

Her stomach did a small somersault as she reached the doors of the library. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the intense self-control that would be required, and pushed on the doors, but they didn't budge. What the hell? Octavia shook the doors, hoping perhaps they were simply jammed. No such luck. Measured strides sounded from the corridor behind her and Octavia turned around to see Lincoln. Breathe, Octavia, she told herself firmly. Damn, he looks good.

He was wearing a soft gray shirt with a pair of dark denim jeans under his robes. Her mind slid into dangerous territory as she took in the way the soft shirt clung to his torso. Damn, he's hot. I bet he could teach me much more than potions. Hey Lincoln, where's the nearest broom closet? Do you wanna make you? Octavia sucked in breath, Ugh, I'm so screwed!

"Hey," he greeted her. His words drew her attention away from the distracting pursuit of appraising him.

"The library's locked," she gestured towards the door behind her. The words sounded lame in her head, but she felt unable to think of something else to say that wasn't highly inappropriate.

He shrugged, unconcerned by the turn of events, "Yeah, I forgot to mention it the last time we met, but Madam Tsing doesn't open the library until eleven on the weekends. Want to find an empty classroom to study in?" Or a broom closet... Octavia bit her lip, trying to reign in her libido. He wasn't even doing anything.

"What if we go outside?" She suggested, not sure she trusted herself in the privacy of a classroom… just the two of them… all alone. Stop.

"Ok," he shrugged, oblivious to the war being waged in front of him.

"Great."

"Shall we?" he motioned for Octavia to go ahead and fell into step beside her. They walked down towards the ground floor of the castle, Octavia making a conscious effort to keep some distance between them. It was difficult, like fighting to keep two sides of a magnet apart that desperately needed to stay together.

"So, have you been practicing your hand movements?" Lincoln asked casually as they walked through the front doors of the castle and out onto the lawn.

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, glancing up at him. He smiled down at her and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. Octavia forced herself to look straight ahead until they sat down at a picnic table outside one of the herbology greenhouses. Thankfully, they sat on different sides of the table; It would have been pure torture if they were to 'accidentally' keep brushing up against each other throughout the lesson.

"Were you able to read through Principles of Healing: A Guide to Sanare Potions?"

"Yep, cover to cover," she pulled her notes out of her bag.

"Then you'll know why we use dandelion root in almost all curative potions?" Lincoln quizzed her. Octavia perked up. She knew this answer.

"It has stabilizing properties that allow such potions to remain effective for much longer."

"And?"

"And?" Shit.

"Dandelion root also reduces the side effects of other ingredients." Lincoln supplied.

"Oh, right." Why didn't I remember that?

"Do you remember the colloquial term for dandelion root?"

Octavia made her best guess, which she was pretty sure was incorrect, "Witch's Goop?"

Lincoln laughed, "Close. It's 'Witch's gowan.'"

"Gowan… like a flower?"

"Precisely," he waved his wand and a loose splinter on the table transformed into a delicate white daisy. He handed it to Octavia. She swallowed thickly, looking up at him, but he had already turned back to the book in front of him.

"Let's also look over Mutare Potions and Their Many Effects."

Octavia hesitated, "I didn't have time to read through that one…"

After a short pause, Lincoln shrugged, "That's fine. Why don't you read through the first couple chapters now and you can ask me any questions you have."

Octavia pulled open the book and began to read, in spite of her erratic mind. The small flower felt like it was burning a hole in her palm. She asked a few questions over the course of the hour. Lincoln would look up from his own studies to answer her. How the hell did he know all of this? It was endearing and maddening at the same time.

One page stood out to her, catching her attention and holding it for a while. It was an illustration of a man with claws instead of hands. The name of the potion was faded, worn away by many years of use. The only visible part of the title was 'elixir,' which was pretty useless information.

She looked up at Lincoln, "This potion doesn't make sense. It is supposed to transform a part of your body into that of an animal, but there is no specification on how you determine which body part is transformed. See? This picture shows the hands, but what if the potion had transformed his feet or his head. How would you insure that the feature you wanted was the one you got?"

"Which potion is it?"

"I don't know; the name's been worn away." She bent over, trying to decipher the faded text.

Lincoln rose and came to stand behind Octavia for a better vantage point. He leant over her shoulder to look at the pages in question. His nearness sent her heart racing in ways she couldn't control. He smelled of a heady mixture of pine and cinnamon; it was all too much. Her throat felt dry and rough as she tried to swallow down the swell of emotions, rising within her.

"...most likely. What do you think? Octavia?" He turned to look at her, obviously wanting an answer to a question she had not heard him ask. Her eyes widened as she looked into his handsome face, just mere inches from her own. His dark brown eyes pulled her in with that sweet promise of something more. She searched desperately, but her inhibitions were suddenly nowhere to be found. Fuck it. Without thinking, Octavia leaned forward and pressed her lips against his hard mouth.

It was everything she had imagined it would be and her mind was overwhelmed by a sense of triumph and excitement. The moment his lips softened, Octavia careened further into the kiss, but her movement broke the spell. Lincoln pulled back from her, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. He didn't say a word as he gathered his things and stuffed them fiercely into his bag. His shoulders were stiff with tension. Breathing was suddenly extremely hard for Octavia; she didn't know what to say. She knew she needed to say something, to make this right, but her mind was a blank page.

He straightened, his mouth set in a hard line. "Do you have any idea how inappropriate that was? I'm your tutor. What the hell were you thinking, Octavia? I thought you could take this seriously, but I was wrong. Jokes on me, I guess."

"Lincoln-"

"Don't. Just don't, Octavia. Anything you say will only make this worse." He didn't look at her; he simply stormed away, leaving Octavia alone on the bench, her sense of elation having been deflated into the ground. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Should she run after him? No, he obviously didn't want to talk to her. Why had she done that? It was too soon. I should have waited longer, damn it! She had ruined everything. He probably wouldn't want to keep tutoring her anymore. FUCK. Was she incapable of letting her head lead, instead of her heart? The look of horror on his face… What if he reported her behavior to Professor Griffin? Would he do that?

She slammed her fists down on the table in frustration. Something sharp poked into the palm of her hand. Octavia looked down, opening her fist to see that the beautiful flower Lincoln had transfigured was once more just a ragged, ugly splinter. Dark emotions boiled inside of her, pulling her out of her seat.

She whipped her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at a water bucket next to the greenhouse door, "Alarte Ascendare!" The bucket flew thirty feet in the air and Octavia shouted, "Reducto!" She turned her head to the side as the bucket shattered, spraying water everywhere. At least that hadn't changed. At least she was still good at something.

"Ms. Blake, what on earth are you doing?" Professor Pike poked his head out of the greenhouse, giving her a strange look.

"Sorry, Professor," she muttered and with a flick of her wand caused the broken, scattered pieces of the bucket to mend themselves. Octavia strode back towards the castle quickly, not sticking around long enough to get reprimanded. If Pike wanted to give her detention he could come find her. Far be it from her to make things easy on anyone.

Octavia continued to walk around the castle grounds, trying to clear her head and figure out how to gather the fragments of this situation. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a reparo spell. It wasn't like she needed anyone to tell her she had fucked up; she already knew that, but there had to be a way for her to fix it. The more she mulled it over, the more the solution eluded her. Finally, exhausted, she stopped, and took a moment to breathe deeply. Whatever she was going to do or say, she had to find Lincoln first. Take the next step, Octavia.

The sun was reaching its apex when she turned back towards the castle. She didn't know where she should start looking for Lincoln. Maybe the Hufflepuff Basement? No, he wouldn't want her to draw more attention to them. So, start at the Library, Octavia told herself firmly.

"Blake! Hey, Blake! Octavia! Jesus, hold up," Anya jogged up, grabbing Octavia's shoulder and halting her halfway through the entrance hall. The young Blake flinched away from the Slytherin, withdrawing her arm purposefully from the older girl's grasp.

"Yes?" Octavia was losing precious time. She needed to find Lincoln now.

"Do you know where Lexa is?" Anya asked, ignoring Octavia's hostile demeanor. Octavia's shoulders stiffened. The last thing she wanted right now was to have Lexa's committed relationship thrown in her rejected face.

"Do I look like her keeper? Go ask Bellamy," Octavia snapped.

"Don't be a bitch, Octavia. If I'd seen him, I would've asked," Anya retorted, not backing down.

Octavia narrowed her eyes, "If you don't like my attitude then shove off, Anya."

"What's your problem?"

"There won't be a problem, if you stop wasting my time." Octavia stepped forward, her hand still clutching her wand tightly.

"Seriously? What are you going to do? Hit me with a stunning spell? You're a fucking fifth year. Get over yourself."

"Sounds like a challenge."

Their argument was quite conspicuous as they were doing nothing to keep their voices down. Clarke could hear them as she walked down the stairs from the first floor. She recognized the brunette talking heatedly with Anya as Bellamy's sister. Unsurprisingly, she seemed like a bit of a hellion. Guess it runs in the family.

Clarke contemplated intervening for Anya's sake, but what would she say? 'Stop fighting?' That sounded petulant and laughable even in her own head. She wasn't that close to the seventh year Slytherin anyways. They'd hung out a lot over the past month, along with Murphy and Emori, but she couldn't really call her a friend. Then again it seemed like 'friend' wasn't a term used frequently among Slytherins.

This might have bothered Clarke a year ago, but it suited her just fine now. No one expected anything of her, so she gave very little. In fact, Clarke supposed she enjoyed the company of Slytherins for this very reason. No one got offended if she ducked out without an explanation. No one gave a shit if she was in a bad mood. Actually, Emori gave a shit. The girl had tried to cheer Clarke up on multiple occasions with some dark humor, but she never asked questions, which was nice. Emori was probably the only person Clarke considered remotely close to being a friend. She decided to let Anya fend for herself. Plus, I'm already late, Clarke reasoned cooly.

She gave the caustic pair a wide berth, making her way out onto the castle grounds where she saw a small group waiting on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The 'Forbidden Forest.' Ooooo, spooky! Someone was feeling creative with that one, Clarke mocked,rolling her eyes at no one in particular as she walked towards the patch of people. She had seriously considered ditching detention, but she knew Abby would just make her life a living hell. She had been giving Clarke the cold shoulder since their breakfast two weeks ago. Not that Clarke minded, because she didn't… at all.

"Cutting it close, aren't we?" the slim boy who had decked Finn whispered to her as she strolled up. Clarke remembered his name was Jasper.

Her brows furrowed as she looked at him, wondering why he was talking to her. He was a bit of a beanpole, tall and skinny with an angular face. He was sporting an interesting array of facial hair, almost as if he had begun shaving and then got bored midway through and quit. His eyes had a twinkle about them that promised mischief. All and all, he looked pretty harmless and definitely less complicated than the other two boys present, so Clarke flashed him a rare smile.

"What can I say?" she whispered out of the side of her mouth. "I like to live on the edge."

"That makes two of us," he chuckled. Their attention was drawn to the group as Abby cleared her throat loudly, giving Clarke a pointed look.

"Now that everyone is here, we can begin," she said tightly. "You will be gathering murdock root to replenish the store in the Potions' cupboard. The surface plant looks like a tall weed with large, spade shaped leaves that have jagged edges and purple flowers. You will need to dig up the roots carefully as the spores are extremely poisonous. It is best to do this in pairs so one person can repel the spores, while the other digs out the root. Now, Blake you go with Clar- with Griffin and Jordan you go with Collins. If one of you comes back without your partner or there is so much as an unexplained scratch on your partner, you will have detention every weekend for the rest of term. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the boys chorused, but Clarke just stared at her mother, arms crossed. She wasn't happy about being paired with Bellamy. At least it's not Finn, she reminded herself. Each duo was provided a basket for the gathered roots and a trowel with which to dig them up.

"You have three hours and I expect the amount of roots to reflect that," Abby said sternly, before shooing them into the forest.

Clarke finally met Bellamy's eyes, "Shall we?"

"Whatever you say," he picked up the basket and headed into the forest without a second glance. Bellamy Blake, Clarke mentally added his name to the list of people she had offended; it was growing exponentially. She wasn't really surprised in regard to Bellamy, though. He had completely backed off since the spat that landed them both in detention. Clarke might have felt bad about biting his head off, if she had permitted herself, but feeling anything was against her carefully constructed rulebook. Any way she cut the pie, this was going to be an awkward afternoon.

Not even five steps into the shade of the forest, Clarke halted sharply as her robes caught on a prickly bush by the side of the path. She yanked on the material roughly, but it only further entangled the fabric in the plant's tight clutches.

"I hate… these... stupid robes," she muttered angrily as she bent down to meticulously pull her robe free from each thorn. At Durmstrang the students had been allowed to wear whatever they wanted on the weekends. Yet another point towards Durmstrang and still none for Hogwarts. What a surprise, Clarke thought she finally detangled herself from the bush and stood up, she noticed that Bellamy had waited.

"It's only for the first month or so," he stated, glancing at her to make sure she was free, before continuing down the path, "They do it so we get used to wearing them and are less likely forget them during the week."

"That's ridiculous." Clarke huffed, offended on behalf of all Hogwarts's students.

He shrugged, "In a week or so, we'll be able to wear muggle clothes anytime we don't have class."

"That makes no sense," she repeated and Bellamy glanced briefly at her again.

"Apparently the students used to sell their robes secondhand to the thrift stores in Hogsmeade… to get money for booze, of course," he chuckled, his voice resonating deeply through the trees. "They're actually pretty expensive... Anyways, the school made robes mandatory to prevent the students from selling them, but of course it didn't last because no one wanted to wear robes all the time, so they shortened the mandatory period to the first month of term… outside of classes, of course. Now it's just tradition, I guess."

Clarke looked at him as if he was crazy, "Why do you know all this?"

"I like history," he shrugged, then stopped mid-stride, "I think that's murdock root." He was pointing at a large green weed a few paces off the trail.

"Good eye," Clarke offered; the compliment tasted strange in her mouth. She didn't give herself long enough to consider this and instead took off towards their target. The plant was easily four feet tall, it's large leaves held up by a sturdy, thick stalk. Four or five clusters of nettle flowers hung, their bulbous heads crowned by purple bristles.

"Clarke, wait," Bellamy's voice was raised behind her, but she ignored him, barreling ahead. Why is he being such a pansy? Let's get this over with.

"It's fine," she threw over her shoulder, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. The sound of cracking twigs echoed through the forest as he hurried to catch up with her. Clarke turned to give him a smug look. I told you so.

"Look out!" His arm collided with her side, pushing her roughly away. Crack. A small dart-shaped object was lodged in a tree behind them, exactly where Clarke's head had been only moments before. The bulbous flowers had opened, revealing tiny, demonic faces that were hissing and spitting spore darts at the two of them. Bellamy and Clarke dove, taking cover behind the large tree where the first dart had buried itself.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Clarke shouted, breathless.

"Excuse me?"

"Not you," she shook her head before yanking it towards the venomous plant. A spore whizzed past their heads and they crouched closer together, their backs to the trunk of the tree.

"Okay," Bellamy said, trying to think. "We just need to get close enough to the roots to dig them out with the trowel."

"What trowel?" Clarke raised her eyebrows at him. Bellamy looked around frantically, but the basket and tool were ten feet away, where he had dropped them when he had pushed her out of harm's way.

Running a hand through his hair, Bellamy cursed heatedly, "My wand is in that basket!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed and this time she was talking to him.

Bellamy ignored her commentary, "Cover me while I go for the trowel and my wand. What? Do you have a better idea?" His deep voice sounded annoyingly confident despite the fact that he was the one that had lost his wand.

Clarke closed her eyes and took a deep breath; exhaling, she leaned around the tree and yelled, "Stupify!" The murdock nettles kept throwing poisonous spores, albeit at a slightly slower rate. Damn it.

"Fine," she bit out. "We run towards the basket on three."

"One," he looked at her, bracing himself against the tree.

"Two," she returned his gaze, tucking her feet under her body.

"Three," they pushed away from the tree as one.

"Protego!" Clarke shouted, raising her wand to create a shield between the plant and their bodies. It worked. The spores ricocheted off the milky half-dome protecting them, making sharp pinging noises as they hit the barrier. Clarke ran, keeping her body and the shield in between the plant and Bellamy.

"Move towards the murdock," Bellamy ordered firmly as he gathered his wand and the trowel. Clarke grit her teeth at being told what to do, but didn't argue. Now is not the time, Griffin. United, the Slytherin and Gryffindor progressed forward, until they reached the base of the plant.

"Hurry," Clarke urged, her arms starting to shake under the strain; it was taking a great deal of magic to repel the copious spores being thrown at them.

Bellamy knelt on the ground and began to hack at the base of the stalk; it was harder than it looked, having the same texture as dense muscle.

"This isn't working," his voice was panicked.

"Bellamy!" Clarke shouted through clenched teeth, "Do. Something. Anything!" The milky shield protecting them was shrinking at an alarming rate.

He dropped the trowel and pointed his wand at the base of the plant, "Diffindo!"

An ear-splitting shriek ripped the air as the stalk toppled to the ground, severed by Bellamy's spell. Black, tar-like goo oozed out of the stalk, shriveling everything that it touched.

"Ugh," Bellamy grunted in disgust, stepping back. Clarke lowered her wand, the milky white dome evaporating. Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. She turned as a dying, demon nettle spit one last dart right at Bellamy.

"Look out!" She called, echoing his earlier warning. He wasn't moving quickly enough. The dart was still going to hit his leg. "Incendio!" Clarke's well-aimed spell, caused the spore to erupt into flames, falling short of its intended target. It landed right on the edge of Bellamy's robes. "Shit! Aguamenti!" Clarke corrected too late. A fat hole, the size of her hand, lay burned into the black fabric, but he remained untouched. Clarke sighed in relief and let out a short laugh and looked to Bellamy. Her expression faltered.

He stared at his singed robes for what seemed like a minute, his mouth pinched into a firm line. Without saying a word, he bent down and dug out the root with the trowel. He threw the root into the basket and started back towards the path. Excuse me? Is he seriously mad?

"You're welcome," Clarke huffed, annoyed when she caught up to him. He nodded shortly, but didn't stop walking, his shoulders rigid. They walked in silence for a few minutes; Clarke tried to keep her mouth shut and let him pout it out, but the more she tried the more frustrated she became. When he still hadn't spoken after another five minutes, she cracked.

"Oh my god," she grabbed hold of his arm, pulling them both to a standstill. "Are you actually this upset about your robes? Just order another pair for fuck's sake!"

He gave her an incredulous look and it seemed like he wanted to say more, but refused to comment. His silence was even more infuriating.

"What?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

"Nothing," he shook his head, turning back down the path.

"What?" She grabbed his arm again and this time didn't let go. His arm tensed beneath her hand.

"Look, not all of us can afford to just buy new clothes, Princess," Bellamy ground out, pulling himself free of her grasp.

"Don't call me Princess," she dropped her hand, stung.

"Why not?" He looked at her scathingly, his eyes blazing, "You are, after all, Hogwarts royalty."

"God, you're such a child! I'm sure your reputation can withstand a torn robe for a few hours. Put on a different set when you get back," she sneered, her blue eyes flashing with unconcealed disdain.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Just drop it, Griffin." He took off down the path for the second time.

"No," Clarke jogged to catch up with him. "I want to know why you're being such a dick about this."

He whirled around, causing Clarke to take a step back. "Because this is the only pair I have! Okay?"

"Oh." Clarke felt her whole body flush hot with embarrassment. Good job, Griffin. Filled your weekly quota of assholery.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me, Princess," he bit out and stalked away. She didn't bother to correct him.

In silence, they walked deeper into the forest; the trees grew closer together and the meager sunlight dwindled, too weak to pierce the dense canopy above. Clarke tried her best to ignore the tension that oscillated between them as they gathered three more roots, each one slightly easier than the last as they developed a routine.

"Five knuts Jasper and Finn have already killed each other," Clarke murmured as she pulled the fourth root out from the ground. She wiped the sweat off of her face, pushing back a few stray strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

"I need every knut I have, Princess," Bellamy retorted, lowering the shield spell. She raised her eyebrows at him, snorting at the innuendo.

"Ha ha, very funny," he said, sarcastically, but she heard him chuckle when he turned away. She smiled, satisfied.

"Hey," she threw over her shoulder, standing up, "I think I see another murdock not that far away." Clarke strode further into the forest, raising her wand ahead of her.

"It's almost time to head back," Bellamy called after her. "We shouldn't go any further from the path. Clarke! Damn it, Clarke!" His footsteps sounded behind her, indicating that he had chosen to follow. Good. She halted when she reached a large grove of trees; on the opposite side of the clearing she spotted the murdock plant.

"Just one more," she said, more to herself than Bellamy. She found this task strangely therapeutic.

For Bellamy, the afternoon had been anything but therapeutic. He drew up beside her, resisting the urge to steal another glance; he felt like if he looked at her for too long, he would combust. He wasn't sure if that would be a good or a bad thing. She was so damn frustrating, she didn't know how to listen, and she was privileged beyond belief, but, despite all of this, he felt entranced by her. She moved with an agile grace when she cast spells that captivated him. He'd been so distracted by her that he had almost severed his own leg rather than the murdock the first time around. There was something about her, like now, when she grinned up at him, excited by the prospect of wrangling another murdock nettle. Bellamy wondered whether Clarke even realized she was smiling at him. He looked away, focusing on the clearing ahead, terrified again of that inevitable combustion.

At the center of the grove was a large blackthorn tree, its gnarled, twisted branches reaching in desperate prayer towards the sky. Its trunk, cracked and peeling, looked more like a corpse rising from the earth than a tree. A sense of foreboding stole over Bellamy, gripping his chest with icy fingers. For a moment, he was transported from the grove; he stood before an open door. A shadowed body lay crumpled before him, its blank eyes staring up, cloudy and lifeless. As quickly as the image rose, it faded, leaving Bellamy once more on the outskirts of the grove.

"What the hell is this place?" he gasped, but Clarke was no longer beside him. She was on a warpath, heading towards the murdock nettle by the fastest route, a route which would take her directly beneath the blackthorn tree. Without rhyme or reason, he sprinted after her, feeling rather than knowing something was about to go terribly wrong.

"Clarke!" he shouted and relief flooded him when she froze, turning to heed his call, but the reprieve was fleeting; she took another step, the movement bringing her underneath the branches of the blackthorn. A great cracking sound rang throughout the grove and Clarke's face transformed from confusion to sheer terror as the ground split beneath her. His legs were burning, but he pushed them harder, desperate to reach her in time. Bellamy dove, reaching out blindly as she disappeared from view. His hand clamped around something soft… and warm. Thank god. Clarke's yelp rang out as her arm pulled sharply in his effort to keep her from falling.

"Grab my other hand!" Bellamy groaned, the muscles in his right arm straining against the full weight of her. Clarke swung her other hand up, grasping onto Bellamy's arm. Grunting, he pulled her back onto solid ground. They tumbled backwards, sprawling onto the leaf strewn forest floor. Clarke rolled onto her back and began to laugh.

"It's not funny," he insisted, as he rubbed his shoulders. It felt like his arms had just been ripped out of their sockets.

She turned towards him, clutching her stomach as fits of giggles took her. He shook his head, utterly lost for words. This girl is a fucking mystery. He chuckled at the thought and the sound was the opening to a floodgate. He couldn't stop laughing as relief swept over him. He had been so sure that he wouldn't get to her in time. Both of them lay breathless, looking at the canopy as their laughter subsided. That's it, he thought with amusement, Nothing she does will ever surprise me again.

Clarke twisted her head to look at him and raised her hand, "Friends?" Except that.

"Friends," he nodded after a beat, shaking her raised hand.

"Soooo," Clarke said, drawing out the vowel. "As my new friend, will you help me retrieve my wand? I may or may not have dropped it down that hole…"

"Unbelievable," Bellamy shook his head. "Come on." After a few labored attempts at standing up and a lot more laughter, they walked over to the hole in the ground. However, the 'ground' that Clarke had been standing on turned out to be a flimsy cover of branches and leaves. They moved aside the remaining camouflage and found earthen stairs on the opposite end.

"Lumos," Bellamy muttered under his breath when he reached the bottom of the staircase. Despite the magical light, the darkness still clung to the walls like moss, reminding Bellamy of his earlier foreboding.

"Good thing I didn't fall," Clarke murmured behind him; the descent was easily thirty feet. Suddenly, she crowed in triumph and pushed past him, spotting her wand. Once back in her possession, she lit her wand as well, raising it high overhead.

"What is this place?" Bellamy breathed out as the light of their combined magic further illuminated the space. They were in what appeared to be an underground cavern, cradled by the roots of the blackthorn tree. The floor sloped downwards and the ceiling up, creating a large ovular room, save one side which was strangely blunt; the haphazard stone marred the perfect symmetry of the space, as if nature had just grown lazy.

"Look at this," Clarke called to him. She stood next to the nearest wall, running her wand along its surface. "There are runes on the wall."

Bellamy nodded, but was distracted by something at the center of the cave. There was a deep well in the ground that bore the telltale scorch of fire. Must have been a hearth once. To the left was what appeared to be a table, roughly hewn from stone.

"Wow," Clarke hummed, coming up behind him. She picked up half of a clay bowl that was broken into pieces.

"I think this is an old cave dwelling... Didn't Kane mention these in class?"

"Sure, he's always talking about ancient wizards. Honestly, I usually do the rest of my homework in that class… These runes are incredible though." Clarke returned to the wall, "They're so faded, they are almost indistinguishable. I've never seen anything like them." Bellamy watched as she traced the lines on the wall, moving further back into the cave. Her fingers caressed the shapes with a gentle intimacy. He shook his head, remembering why they were there and what they were supposed to be doing.

"We should probably head back," he called to her. "I don't want your mom to give me detention for the rest of term for not bringing you back on time."

Clarke snorted, but moved back towards the center of the cave all the same. After some deliberation they decided to cover the entrance with branches once more, keeping the cave partially protected from the elements. The two made the trek back through the Forbidden Forest without additional drama. However, as they left the darker parts of the forest behind, a slight stiffness returned to their interactions, both unsure of what exactly had transpired. Were they friends? Technically they had agreed to be earlier while lying side by side on the ground, but Bellamy didn't know for sure and Clarke wouldn't ask.

Still, facing danger does something to a person; it makes one think carefully about who can be trusted. Even the renewed light of reality outside of the forest couldn't strip them of that experience. They arrived back at the lawn just in time to meet up with the others, neither one breathing a word about what they had found.

Raven watched the group return from the forest; she had been waiting for them by the edge of the Great Lake. Well, maybe waiting wasn't the right word. She knew when and where Jasper and Finn were serving detention today and she had also convinced Octavia to come lay out with her by the lake. Those were two separate facts…. sort of.

She had a few heated words stored up for Jasper, but he had managed to avoid them and her for the past two weeks. They had seen each other, of course, but any time there was danger of being alone with her, the fool would conveniently and suddenly disappear. Raven still couldn't believe that he had done it - punched Finn. This from the self-proclaimed 'lover' and 'pacifist.' It was so unlike him.

No matter how out of character it was, it still didn't excuse his behavior. Raven wasn't some damsel in need of defending. If she had wanted Finn to have a black eye, she would have given it to him herself. Jasper knew that, which is why what he had done was so infuriating. She regretted ever telling him about Finn's misdeeds.

So Raven sat on the blanket Octavia had brought, watching for any movement by the edge of the forest. For once, the younger Blake seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice any odd behavior or distraction on Raven's part. They weren't the only ones who had decided to soak up some sun this weekend; the lakeshore was strewn with students of all ages and houses who were only too happy to have an excuse to shed their oppressive black robes. In fact, Roan and some of his Gryffindor cohort had taken residence near the girls' perch, which didn't appear to be a coincidence. The seventh year Gryffindor kept finding reasons to encroach on their space, whether it was a 'rogue' ball that was thrown too close or the surreptitious glances he kept throwing her way.

Raven hadn't decided whether she found it amusing or annoying when the objects of her hunt made an appearance, emerging from the dark edge of the forest. They weren't alone; two more shapes emerged only minutes later and as the four walked back towards the castle, Raven easily recognized Clarke's white-blonde hair. She swallowed. I'm fine. Everything's just fine, she repeated to herself. She could talk to Jasper later. She didn't need to talk to him now. Raven Reyes, you are not scared of her. Buck up and put your big girl panties on. Clarke wasn't going to get in her way. Nope, Raven wasn't going to give her that kind of power.

Standing up, Raven made some feeble excuse to Octavia and headed off towards the approaching group, intending to catch Jasper before they headed inside. Before she got very far, she was distracted from her target as he and someone, who she now saw was Bellamy, broke away from the group, leaving Finn and Clarke alone. Raven froze, unable to tear eyes away from the pair. In the distance, Clarke stopped. Had Finn said something to her? Yes, he must have, he was turning to face her now. Clarke's blonde head was facing away and Raven wasn't close enough to see the fine details of Finn's expression or hear whatever words he was saying. Raven's hands clenched into fists at her side. Look away, she pleaded, unsure of whether she was speaking to herself or Finn. He took Clarke's hand in his; Raven felt extremely cold and then uncomfortably hot all over. She was going to be sick.

Even from a distance, Raven could tell the moment Finn's brown eyes latched onto her. Do something. Move, Reyes. Don't just stand there! Move! Raven swiveled around, catching Jasper out of the corner of her eye, but not bothering to stop. She stalked back towards the lake, the little voice in her head repeating itself as incessantly as a broken record on loop: Do something. Do something. Do something. Do something.

She glanced at Octavia sitting on the blanket. No, do something. Raven saw a few students bravely swimming in the frigid lake. Damn it, do something. Roan was playing catch with some friends. He glanced over to see if she was watching and his eyes widened in surprise when he registered that she was. Yes, do something. Raven walked with determined, unfaltering steps over to where he stood and, pulling his stunned face down with both hands, kissed him full on the mouth. The voice in her head quieted and she let her lips linger against his own.

"Does this mean you'll go on a date with me?" Roan asked, grinning down at her with a satisfied smirk.

"Sure," Raven shrugged indifferently and then added, "Why the hell not?"

Not waiting for a response, Raven pulled him down by the collar for another kiss, continuing their very public makeout session to background whistles of his Gryffindor cohort until there was no doubt that Finn and Clarke were long gone.

Author's Note 2:

CW Summary: The section in italics is Bellamy's dream sequence. It is his memory of coming home to find his mother dead and his sister hiding in a closet. This happened around the age of seven.

I hope you guys enjoyed chapter six :) As always, if you have time to leave a comment it is always appreciated! Next chapter is going to have a cute IceMechanic date, an important conversation for Anya and Lexa, and more Bellamy and Clarke bonding. Lexa is going to meet Clarke (for realz) soonish. I promise! She's a little preoccupied at the moment with her imploding relationship. Also more background for Lexa coming in Chapter 8! Until next time Xx