A/N: Hey guys. Major trigger warning for this chapter! It gets heavy at some points. For James' part - the usual swearing, drug references, with some implied/referenced child abuse and neglect (not graphic) and one point of implied homophobia. For Dorcas' part, there's some internalised homophobia and period-typical homophobic attitudes. Regulus' part is the heaviest, and I'd advise reader discretion. There is discussion of rape, including victim-blaming and roofie-ing (with magic), some disgusting misogynistic attitudes, violence (nothing life-threatening or resulting in serious injury), and then very very heavily implied child abuse (though it is not shown on the page). Stay safe, y'all.

December 20th, 1975

James spent his morning hunting down spare socks and chucking out broken quills. He was lucky that he got his own share done in about half an hour. After that, he moved on to helping the others. Peter, for all his adventures in organisation, couldn't find most of his things. His Charms textbook turned up in the library's lost and found. His good cloak (he'd been using his spare) was returned by a stammering Mary Macdonald, who found it in the girls' bathrooms. Sirius nearly pissed himself laughing, until they remembered they'd been in there the other week, stealing a smoke between exams. Remus was still pretty fucked from the moon, and he dozed off even with all the commotion. James quietly folded his clothes, and stacked his stray books into a corner of his trunk.

They went to lunch ravenous, but nobody moreso than Dale, who had gone through four joints that morning.

"It's the stress, man," he said, wincing at the light as they passed a window. "Can't take it. Gotta relax."

"It's not as obvious as being drunk," Sirius admitted, tugging at his new piercing. James clicked his tongue. It was a surefire way to get his parents riled up, but Sirius apparently didn't care. Remus approved of it, Sirius told him. Remus had stumbled into breakfast still carrying his overnight bag, and James hadn't raised it with him. He wasn't Sirius' keeper. That was meant to be James' job.

"You smell like weed," Peter cut in, interrupting James' train of thought. "And your eyes are really red."

"But I'm stoned all the time, so that's just normal, like, for me. So they won't even notice, dude," Dale said. Peter wrung his hands.

"Lay off, Wormy, it'll be right," Sirius said. James slung an arm around Peter's shoulders.

"Yeah, he'll be right, Wormy," James said.

The Great Hall was decorated for Christmas. A giant tree stretched up past the rafters. Snow dusted its deep green hung around the hall in intertwined pairs of red and gold, yellow and black, blue and bronze, and green and silver. Bells hovered above the tables, chiming every so often. Choir rises had been erected, and about a dozen students sung Christmas carols, a few with toads in hand. Professor Flitwick merrily conducted them, swishing his long green cloak that was spangled with gold starbursts. Snow fell in soft flurries, swirling to a stop maybe two feet above their heads. James beamed from ear to ear. They dug into lunch, shoving their mouths so full that they couldn't speak. James had two slices of toast, slick with globs of butter, and then a plate of chicken meat and a chicken leg, and then he had a chicken breast, and washed it down with a glass of apple juice, and then devoured two beef sausages and topped it off with a mince pie.

"I love Christmas," Dale declared, wolfing down another roast potato. His sister Catherine appeared behind him, and smacked him around the head. He sprayed potato across the table. Catherine wrinkled her nose.

"You're a pig," she told him.

"Up yours," he said. She hit him again. He hit her back.

"Fucker."

"Whore.'

"Shithead."

"Cathy," Peter said. Catherine paused.

"Hi, Pete," she said. She fixed her eyes on James. He straightened up, smoothing down his hair. "Lisbete will be down soon. She wanted me to tell you."

"Right," James said, smiling. "Sounds good. Thanks for passing on the message, Cathy, you rock." She raised her eyebrows, but didn't frown, which was an improvement. She smacked her brother once more and left. Dale huffed when she was out of earshot.

"She's such a bitch," he said. "You guys are lucky you don't have sisters."

"I do have a sister," Peter said, pouting. James shook his head.

"Yeah, but Pete, she's really old."

"She's hot, though," Sirius said. Peter scoffed.

"Fuck you guys."

"You wish," Sirius grinned. Dale gave him an odd look. James snorted.

Professor McGonagall came down shortly after their stomachs started aching. She had a roll of parchment and a quill floating at her side, and she stopped at each group of students to speak to them. James adjusted his glasses.

"We're all going home for the holidays, aren't we?" he said. The others nodded.

"Unfortunately," Sirius said, tugging at his ear.

"Your parents will kill you," Peter said. Sirius shrugged.

"My siblings and I are all going to my sister's," Dale said. James was surprised.

"That's cool," he said. Dale shrugged.

"Her boyfriend's an alright bloke. His family's letting us stay with them," he said. James nodded.

"That's good." He figured Dale's parents wouldn't be tagging along. Dale's dad was an American muggle, and from what James could gather, a raging alcoholic. Dale's mother had once been a Ravenclaw, but whatever she did now, it wasn't smart in regards to her kids. John Brown was dating the younger of Dale's older sisters, and she hung around the changing rooms or sat in the stands while they trained. She was lovely, but a right mess of a girl. John had run out in the middle of training because she'd been hysterical, and James had helped to half-carry her up to the infirmary. She'd been in there before when he'd gone to visit Remus. The whole situation was shitty. He and his parents had spoken about it over dinner before, and his dad had looked very sad.

"I don't agree with the Blacks one bit, and they get away with what they do because of their money and influence," Dad had said, "but Sirius only goes without as a punishment. Those Roshfinger kids go without as part of their daily life." Lisbete always got a sad way about her when she talked about Cathy. James couldn't believe there could be people in the world that would have kids just to mistreat or neglect them. Why had the Blacks ever bothered having children? Why had the Roshfingers? It wasn't fair.

"Have a good Christmas, mate," James told Dale. "You and your family."

"Yeah. You too," Dale said. He shoved another potato into his mouth. James sipped his apple juice.

"My Christmas will be fucking miserable," Sirius said, biting into a mince pie. James frowned sympathetically.

"You need something positive to focus on," James said firmly. "Something to get you through. Do you reckon they'll let you go to Vane's New Year's party? His parents both went to Hogwarts, I think."

Sirius shook his head. "His dad was muggle-born."

"Ah, shit," James said. Rules that strict baffled him. Even if they were worried about muggle-borns 'stealing' magic or whatever, it didn't make sense to worry about their magical kid. You couldn't inherit a crime - not that James believed muggle-borns were committing a crime.

He considered alternatives. "You could tell them you're coming round to mine, and just come with me to the party. We support muggle-borns, but my lineage is as pure as yours." Sirius crunched the pastry crust hard.

"They'd see through it," he said. "Even if we got away with it, someone there will tell someone who will tell Regulus, and he'll turn me in."

"Damn," James said. He'd always imagined having a brother - a built-in friend and partner-in-crime. If he'd had a brother, he wouldn't have turned them in for something stupid like that. What was the point of being siblings if you couldn't cover for each other? Sirius would never do that to Regulus, unless Regulus was doing something actually bad, like hanging around those wannabe Death Eaters. Though Mr and Mrs Black never seemed concerned about that.

"Could you sneak out of your own house?" Dale pondered. "After they're all in bed, just jump in the floo."

"Kreacher would tell them," Sirius said. He stabbed his potato with such intensity that Peter flinched. His face was stormy.

"We'll figure it out," James assured him. "The holidays aren't that long."

Professor McGonagall, as it turned out, had the solution. She stopped at their group next, and waved her wand. Permission slips floated towards them. James snatched his out of the air and read it quickly. His eyes lit up.

"Really?" he asked, waving the slip. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.

"I wouldn't be giving you a permission slip as a prank, Mr Potter. Yes, the school will have an excursion in January for all fifth years who are permitted to go." She said the last phrase so carefully that James swallowed.

"Will there be people not allowed to go, then? Or just the people whose parents don't sign?" he asked.

"Much like Hogsmeade trips, the privilege of going on an excursion will be revoked if students misbehave." Shit. James paled. McGonagall sighed. "Mr Potter, as it currently stands, you will be permitted to attend if your parents agree. Your suspension was deemed a suitable punishment for your last infraction," she said. James relaxed.

"Sweet. Thanks, Professor."

McGonagall didn't look at him. "Are any of you staying over Christmas?" They answered in chorus: no. "Very well. Mr Potter, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"

"Sure," James said, and got to his feet. He brushed the crumbs off his robes and stepped over the bench. She led him over to the fireplace. Candles burned in jars lining the mantlepiece, and a thick green wreath adorned with a large red bow hung from the center. James held his palms out to the flames, and let the warmth soak into him. There'd been a lot of competition for the fire lately, up in Gryffindor Tower. Here, he was only sharing with McGonagall.

"Mr Potter. When we spoke in October, regarding your hopes for captaincy next year, I believed that we had come to an understanding," McGonagall said, staring into the fire. James paused. Her tone was very low and very grave. His stomach sank. So it wasn't a casual chat.

"I wasn't the only one who wanted me to be captain," he blurted out. Her expression darkened. "Sorry."

"You aren't wrong," she said. "I do think, still, that you uniquely have the Quidditch skills and leadership skills to win the Quidditch Cup. Unfortunately, you have proven that you cannot be a role model. Quidditch Captain is a coveted position, and regardless of talent, I cannot give it away to a student who breaks the rules again and again. It could be seen as a reward for bad behaviour." His behaviour didn't even have anything to do with Quidditch. When he was at training, or playing a game, he was on his best behaviour. He never hexed anybody while he was on the pitch, and he was usually the first person to arrive at training and the last to leave, besides maybe John.

"I didn't mean to damage the corridor, or to break into your office," he maintained. "I am really sorry about it, Professor. I don't do shit - things, things - I don't do things just for the sake of it. I know I use magic when I'm not meant to sometimes, but it's for a reason. And when I sneak around, it's for a reason," he insisted.

"So, you're telling me that all of your rule-breaking is in the name of being noble and chivalrous?" McGonagall asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," James said.

"Mr Potter, I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to share the noble and chivalrous reason you broke into my office and rifled through my drawers," McGonagall said. James lapsed into silence. For Remus, he wanted to say. To help Remus, to stop him from being so lonely and bloody miserable all the time, to make the moons easier, because all you do is lock him in a Shack and hope for the best. He's not an animal! To say all that would be to admit that he knew, would be to admit that Remus had confided in them (eventually, after they confronted him). James didn't believe the consequences would be that harsh, but he knew that Remus did. Remus would never forgive him if he told, and the only good that would come out of it was that James might gain a little bit of standing in McGonagall's eyes. He'd already served his punishment. Spilling the beans would only help James' pride. He wouldn't do it. Instead, he kept quiet, and let McGonagall think she'd caught him out.

"I implore you to take the time over the break to reflect on your actions, and consider the opportunities you would like to be available in your future. Discuss it with your parents. You might also recall the Transfiguration tournament I told you about?" James nodded. "In a few weeks - the 24th of January - we will be determining who Hogwarts will send as a representative. If you would like to participate, I believe you may have a good chance. I cannot encourage you to practise magic over the holidays, but you may read up on the theory, and should you wish for any help next term, I would be willing to assist you. Keep in mind that Hogwarts does not want to embarrass itself on the national stage. I would advise you to reign in your delinquency," McGonagall concluded. James thought for a few moments. He liked the idea of representing Hogwarts. He knew he was good at Transfiguration, but it would be fun to have a real test of his skills. His parents would love it, too. He could picture himself winning a big trophy, his name engraved on the base, and bringing it back to the school to keep for the year. Maybe it could cheer his mates up when they were stuck polishing the trophies in detention. He nearly laughed at that.

"I want to enter," James said. "And I understand. I'll do my best not to get into any more trouble. How hard can it be? I'll be home for a bit of it." Professor McGonagall frowned..

"At the risk of sounding like Professor Nicholl: don't tempt fate," she advised. She handed him another permission slip. "If you would like to attend, get your parents to sign this."

"I will. Thanks, Professor," he said. McGonagall waved him off.

"Merry Christmas, Potter."

He swiped the note past Sirius and Peter's eyes.

"She wants me to enter a competition," he explained. "She thinks I could win. It's about Transfiguration. And, you know, I did top the year," he said proudly.

"You did really well," Peter enthused. "Who do you run against?"

"At first, just other kids from school. Then kids from all over the country, and then from all the world. Can you imagine the trophy I could bring home if I beat everyone else in the world? It'd be bigger than you are, Peter," he exclaimed, puffing out his chest. Sirius laughed.

"We could just make Peter into the trophy. Turn him into gold," Sirius said. "Congratulations! You won a big gold peter!" Dale choked. This time, Peter shoved a napkin towards him. It caught most of the food.

Lisbete came down ten minutes later, all rugged up. She pulled down her Gryffindor scarf to smile at him. He messed up his hair.

"That's me, lads," he said, getting up. She fiddled with the end of her scarf, smiling that beautiful white smile. He jogged over to her and pulled her in for a tight hug. He kissed her hair. She smelt of strawberries.

"Jamie," she murmured into his chest. He pulled back, and cupped her rosy cheek in his hand. She looked up at him like he was a God. He loved it. Being with her felt like he'd won the Quidditch Cup.

"Lisbete," he said. "Cathy told me you were coming."

"Oh, that's good," she said. She laced her fingers at the base of his neck. He kissed her. She was soft and sweet. Just what he liked.

"I thought we could have lunch together," she said. "I know you'll be with your friends on the train tomorrow, so this'll be our last chance before we go on holiday." He grimaced, and quickly hid it. His guts were already hurting from the amount of food he'd scarfed down. James tried to think of what to say. He couldn't lie to her. That was wrong.

"I'm already pretty full," he said. Her face fell. He gulped. "I want to spend time with you; it was a really good idea. Let's sit together? I could go for another juice." She blinked, and then shook her head.

"Oh, no, I'm not really hungry. Why don't we find somewhere nice to sit?" she suggested. He relaxed. He would've felt like the biggest arsehole in the world if she'd wanted to eat and he'd already gorged himself. He settled his hand on her hip, and together they searched for somewhere to sit.

Lisbete found a bench outside of the Great Hall, nestled under a sprig of mistletoe. They sat down, hand-in-hand. James glanced up.

"I think I'm supposed to kiss you, now," he told her.

"I think so," she said. Their lips met. She tangled her fingers in his hair. He pressed a finger against the small of her back, through her coat. His tongue probed the inside of her mouth. She opened wider. He quickened his pace, and she matched it. He grabbed the front of her coat, pulling her closer. She grabbed his hair harder. He could feel her heartbeat slamming through her chest. He lost himself in the motions. They only parted to catch their breath, or to whisper to one another.

"You're the best," he told her, panting.

"You're so fit," she murmured against his lips.

"How'd you get so good at this?" he asked, laughing against her cheek, and she stroked the back of his neck.

"I love you," she whispered, forehead pressed against his, eyes bright and blue.

It was then that he stalled.

Every bloke he'd ever spoken to in his entire life about girls had warned him about that phrase. Deadly, some called it. Love was a big thing. James loved his parents, and his mates too. He would've died for them, though he could hear Sirius' voice in his head, laughing. You'd die for anyone, he'd say. Maybe that was true, but he wouldn't shut himself up in the library for hours for just anyone, or take the blame for just anyone, or let just anyone use his Cloak or his broom. So that was the question: would he shut himself up in the library for hours for Lisbete? Would he take the blame for her? Would he send her off with his Cloak and his broom, and trust that she'd do everything she could to look after them?

He touched his thumb to her lips. He definitely liked her. He really liked her. But she wasn't Sirius, or Peter, or Remus, or his mum or his dad. She was a girl he'd been snogging for a few months. She was fun. She was pretty. She made him feel like he was flying. Then again, flying wasn't that complicated. Lisbete was.

"Jamie?" she asked. Please don't ask, he thought.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever known," he told her. "I can't believe how lucky I am to have you." Not an 'I love you'. It might've still been described as the danger zone, but he hadn't said it back. He hadn't made that promise. He kissed her again, hoping to distract her. She yielded, returning his affection. They continued on, and he touched her hair and her neck and her back and her cheeks. They broke apart again when Marlene passed, laughing so hard she nearly pissed herself. Lily was with her, a beanie perched atop her red hair.

"If I catch you again, I'll take a point!" she warned. Marlene laughed harder. Lily rolled her eyes. They disappeared into the Great Hall. Lily had a run in the back of her tights.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Lisbete interrupted. James frowned.

"Nah," he said. "Look at her. She's all carrot-y."

"Yeah," Lisbete said. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Are you going to write to me, over the break?" James ruffled his hair.

"Er. Yeah, I s'pose. But it's only a short break. It won't be long before I see you in the flesh," he reminded her, stroking her golden locks. She kissed the top of his arm.

"I'll miss you."

December 21st, 1975

Dorcas and Florence did not hold hands. They linked arms, in the way that friends did, and on Florence's other side was Cynthia in a long black cloak and Mary-Janes with the highest heels permitted by the school's policy. The three of them strode down the hill to Hogsmeade Station, trailed by Florence's sycophants and admirers. Cynthia chattered on inanely. Dorcas rarely thought anything she said was illuminating, but it had become comforting.

"And I really don't know what to do," Cynthia continued, worrying her lip. "I mean, Padgett - if it's true, he'd probably just leave, wouldn't he? But I don't know about Branton…"

"It's hard, Cyn," Florence said sympathetically, rubbing her arm. Dorcas had nothing to contribute. She focused on the heat in the crease of her elbow. The sky sat low and grey, a dismal farewell. Still no snow. Many were hoping to return to a winter wonderland version of Hogwarts, crusted in snow and ice. Dorcas didn't count herself among them. She liked the cold, insofar as it was a convenient excuse to stay indoors, but after she'd settled by the fire she didn't care if it snowed or rain or if the sun pierced through the white sky.

Like many of the older students, the three girls charmed their trunks to follow behind them, saving them the weight. Others chose to make their belongings feather-light and to shrink them, making them easy to carry. Only the junior students had to drag their things along the grass, red-faced and frustrated. A few of the older Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs helped them out, but Dorcas didn't offer assistance. It was Ravenclaw tradition. Some things you had to learn for yourself. Even Flo didn't rush in to save them from the effort, though she did frown a few times at the smallest of the first years.

They arrived at the station without much ado. The gamekeeper, Hagrid, shouted over the top of the buzz of conversation, trying to order them to go here or there, and telling them where to put their trunks. Glen Vane emerged from the throng, panting.

"Dorcas! Flo!" he said, straightening up. "I've been looking for you two. I was thinking that we should help to organise the Ravenclaws." Getting on the train from school was generally more difficult than getting on in London. Students trickled onto Platform 9 ¾, depending on when their parents brought them, and the rush just before eleven wasn't too bad, thanks to the early birds. When they were boarding in Hogsmeade, however, there was no such staggering.

Florence slipped her arm out of Dorcas'. "Oh, sure thing! Cynthia can help too. What do you want us to do?" Dorcas flashed her teeth in an attempt at a smile.

"If you could corral the second years," Glen suggested. "They tend to not think they need the help, but. Well." He chuckled. Flo did too.

"It's under control," Florence assured him. Glen put his hand over his heart.

"You're the best." He hurried off. Florence grabbed Dorcas' forearm, and she bit her lip. Each touch was still liable to make her feel like she might be sick. "Let's go, girls," Florence ordered. Dorcas nodded. She pulled away from Florence, though her hand lingered on her wrist, feeling her pulse beating just beneath the skin. Flo looked at her, eyes flicking down to her lips and back up. Dorcas looked away. Looking her right in the eyes hurt. It was too much. Too intense. She did as she was told, and rounded up the second years.

They were surprisingly easy to spot; they stood in clusters, looking around, but they weren't as short as the first years, and none of them cried.

"Let the first years get on," she told them. "Wait your turn." They stared at her. She glared back. Flo came through and phrased it in a nicer way.

"Come on, you don't need to rush on. You know what's happening. We always let the little kids get on first," she said. They listened to her and backed off. The Ravenclaw first years streamed onto the train, elbowing one another, and Glen hoisted their trunks up onto the train. He gave them a thumbs up, and Flo let forth the flow of second years. They had an easier time of loading themselves on. After that, it was free reign; the older students could get on without instruction. Florence grabbed her wrist and led her down the corridor. Dorcas looked behind them.

"Where's Cynthia?" she asked. Dorcas had last seen her vanishing into the crowd with a flick of her blonde hair.

"Off to see Branton or Padgett, I imagine," Florence answered. Her grip tightened. She was persistent in her weaving through the crowds. Dorcas followed, stumbling, and mumbling apologies as she bumped into people.

"D'you want to sit with us?" A fourth year girl asked.

"No, thank you," Flo answered.

"Flo! And Dorcas. There's a seat in here!" Glen offered. Florence shook her head, dark hair swishing.

"You're too sweet, Glen. We're alright, thank you," Florence said.

"Flo!" Tarush Varma yelled. Beside him, Adrian Stebbins yelped, cheeks burning red. He ducked into the compartment. Flo offered Varma a smile.

"Hello, Tarush."

They ducked past Dorcas' cousin Billy, and she did her best to keep her face neutral. She and Billy only really saw each other at family gatherings, and that was more than enough for her. He was Quidditch-obsessed, boisterous, and didn't rinse his plate after dinner. He didn't spot her. She thanked her lucky stars. Flo tugged her along like their lives depended on it, like they were starved for food and headed to a feast. Dorcas followed obediently.

Florence slid open a compartment door and pulled her inside. It slammed shut behind them. Florence closed the curtains. Dorcas ended the charm on her trunk and pocketed her wand before putting her things up on the racks. Flo pressed her ear against the door. Dorcas quietly put her belongings away too. They thudded as she tucked them away. Her pulse drummed in the hollow of her neck. She turned back to face Florence, and saw that Florence was already looking at her. A strange look crossed her face. Dorcas tore her gaze away. She focused on the ground, counting grains in the flooring. Nine, ten, eleven. Her heart wouldn't quit.

"Dorcas," Florence rasped. Dorcas' head bolted up. Flo didn't talk like that. Not ever. Her words were cream and butter, her voice a chocolate that melted in the middle. Was she possessed? She fingered her wand. Florence shook her head. "Are you frightened?" she asked, softer. Dorcas blinked. She tried to make sense of the situation. She wasn't sure if there was any sense to be found. What would make Florence ditch Cynthia? Why had Florence brought her here?

Something stirred deep inside her. A part of her she tended to ignore. The part of her that had grown used to being ravenous. Until Florence kissed her. Until that night in the bathrooms, cheeks warm from liquor, where Florence Diggory had kissed her and the world had turned upside down. It had taken all of Dorcas' self-control not to run to the library the next day to see if there was some prophecy about the end of the world coming with a kiss. Instead, she had tried not to respond too eagerly to Florence's questions, and waited patiently for a sign. None came. Flo was normal, normal, normal.

Until now.

They might kiss again, she realised. Perhaps Florence wanted to kiss her again. She couldn't imagine it, anyone wanting her the way she wanted to kiss Flo. She had spent the last week (not quite eight days, because it was still the morning and they hadn't kissed until it was dark) trying to discern the nature of The Kiss, but there were pieces missing, gaps too wide for her to bridge on her own.

Was this it?

"Florence," she whispered, testing it out. Flo stepped closer. It worked. She hunted Florence's face for some clue, but came up empty-handed, as usual. Legilimency would've been helpful at that moment, though its use would likely be immoral. The Headmaster wanted her to use her skills for..for something big, which in his world, probably wasn't figuring out if Florence Diggory wanted to kiss her. Damn the Headmaster, she thought. It's big to me. Florence took her hand. Dorcas jolted. Florence probed the malleable flesh around her fingerbones. Dorcas parted them, just enough for Florence to curl her knuckles around Dorcas'.

"I hope you didn't mind the other night," Florence said, looking down. Her lashes were dark against the soft swell of her pearl-shimmer skin. Dorcas was lost for a moment, untangling each black hair in her mind, imagining their flutter.

"The other night?" she asked distractedly. She inhaled springtime and blooming flowers, days at a table in the sun sipping tea, a cardigan wrapped around her.

"When I -" Florence cut herself off. "We can't tell anyone."

"I know," Dorcas said. It was a given. Girls did not kiss other girls, and Florence certainly did not kiss other girls. Female prefects did not kiss other girls. What were they doing then, kissing each other? She didn't know, but she did not want it to stop.

"I knew I could trust you," Florence said. She rubbed circles into the divot between two of Dorcas' knuckles with her thumb. Dorcas' mouth went dry. Are you going to kiss me, she longed to ask. Nobody would see. Nobody had to know but them.

"You can always trust me," Dorcas said.

"I know," Florence said. She paused, and her eyebrows moved. "I don't know why - why I never reached out to you before. I'm sorry, Dorcas. I'm truly sorry. That night, when I had to go to the infirmary - I saw you, when I woke up." Dorcas froze. That night. Florence didn't remember. There was no way she could remember. It wasn't possible.

"I wasn't there," Dorcas said. "I didn't visit you. Cynthia did."

"I know, Dorcas. It's okay. That wasn't what I meant." Her words hung in the space between them with their breath and Florence's perfume and Dorcas' longing for her touch. "I can't describe it. I woke up, and it was all blurry, I hit my head, you know...But I could see you. Like you were painted on the back of my eyelids. And I thought, why? Why you? I've never taken Divination, but I know...dreams are born from your subconscious. And you were there, and I think it was my brain telling me, 'pay attention'. So, I did. I am. And, I don't know why I never paid you much attention before now, because. Here you are." She squeezed Dorcas' hand. Dorcas made herself look into her eyes. They were undeniably gorgeous. Florence was undeniably gorgeous. Florence was undeniable.

"It's called oneiromancy," Dorcas said. Florence smiled.

"Say it again. I didn't quite wrap my head around it."

"It's called oneiromancy. The study and interpretation of dreams."

"Oneiromancy," Florence repeated. "Dorcas?"

"Yes?"

"Please kiss me."

When did Dorcas not do as Flo said? She allowed herself one shaky breath, and then pressed her lips against Florence's. In that moment, she could not fathom why she had not kissed Flo the moment the curtain blocked them from view. In that moment, she did not know why she had spent a week and fourteen hours doing nothing when she could have done this. Whatever brains the Hat thought qualified her for Ravenclaw fled. By the time they wandered back, she was breathless and detached, trying not to fall to pieces in the corner as Florence attended to the door-knocker. Curse them, she managed to think.

It was a younger blonde girl with an armful of sweets from the trolley.

"Have you seen Jamie?" she asked. "James Potter?"

"I think he's a little ways down," Florence replied. One of the world's greatest mysteries was how she was coherent enough to formulate a response. Dorcas struggled with the answer. It came after a disproportionately long time. She's generally better with people, and she's kissed people before, and so she doesn't come undone at one touch. But it had not only been one touch; it had been many, peppered along her lower lip, touches of their hands and fingertips and at one point Florence's tongue wet her lip and Dorcas had nearly lost it then and there. All at once, she could see why the couples in the halls couldn't keep their hands off one another, and she could not understand how they could be so vulnerable in a crowd of their peers.

"She didn't see?" Dorcas asked. Flo shook her head, sliding the compartment door shut. Dorcas hoped dearly that she would descend upon her once again. Florence did not. She sat down opposite her, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"She didn't," Florence confirmed. She sighed. Dorcas watched, trying to break the code of twisted fingers and downturned lips. "Do you want to find Cynthia?"

No. Not in a million years. Dorcas could've spent the rest of her life in that train compartment. She dismissed that feeling. She had to be more like Flo. Flo, who would've been the perfect prefect, who was universally beloved, who didn't spend an hour each night trying to See a box.

"Yeah," Dorcas said. Florence stood swiftly.

"Come on, then. We might have to rescue her from Bellchant. She overestimates him."

Dorcas wondered if she overestimated things.

December 21st, 1975

Mulciber claimed the second-best compartment for them. The only drawback was that they were next to the compartments reserved for the prefects, which were spacious and fitted with a proper table. Or so Jugson told them, grumbling as he finished his patrol.

It was not a proper meeting of their little club. The riff-raff had been cut. Mulciber invited Regulus personally, speaking with him on the stairs on the way to breakfast that morning. Gibbon was not invited. Losing him at the station had been a task, and Regulus' stomach twinged with guilt as he followed Mulciber onto the train, knowing that Gibbon would look for him until the Gamekeeper sounded the last call to board. There would be others for him to sit with, Regulus reminded himself. He was not Gibbon's keeper. Mulciber had brought others to sit with them; Selwyn and Yaxley, Wilkes, and Snape. Regulus noted the absence of the Rosier boys, and the presence of Snape. It wasn't about family ties, clearly. Snape's father was a nobody, and Evan's father and Raimund and Alfreck's father were brothers and both served the Dark Lord, according to Mother.

It begun with little ado, and even little talk of politics. Wilkes sat in the corner by the window and read a book on runes. Selwyn tracked down the trolley and returned barely able to carry all the food that he'd bought. Mulciber and Yaxley talked about their exams, and laughed at Regulus for only being in fourth year, but admitted they envied him, in a way, for still being in the easy years of school. Regulus responded in good spirit, but mulled it over in his mind as they moved on. In a year, Mulciber and Yaxley would be pledging their wands to the Dark Lord's cause, and Regulus would be beginning to think of studying for his O. . They could be married with a child before he got the chance to sling a single jinx for their fight.

Jugson entered an hour after the train pulled out of Hogsmeade, shoulders slumped. Yaxley offered him a pumpkin pasty, and he demolished it in two bites.

"I might kill that bitch from Gryffindor," Jugson said. "She's fucking neurotic. Does anyone have a cigarette?" Selwyn gave him one, and Mulciber lit it for him. Jugson blew out smoke. It swirled through the air, settling into their clothes.

"There's only that duffer from Hufflepuff to reign her in," Selwyn said, "no wonder she's out of control."

"I can't stand blokes from Hufflepuff," Mulciber said. "Fucking idiots. What's the point of them?" Jugson took another drag.

"Someone has to do the menial work," Regulus said, and teetered, hopeful that it would land. Mulciber laughed. Regulus was pleased, but felt thick at the same time. With Gibbon at his side, and in the presence of the younger boys, like Rowle and Crouch, he felt quite relaxed. Now that he was the youngest, worry gnawed at him. He straightened up, setting his shoulders back. Regardless of his worry, he had to act as befit a Black. Blacks did not anxiously throw out comments in the hope of pleasing someone else. He was a Black, with a pure lineage proven to the thirteenth century. Snape was the son of nobodies, Jugson's family was similarly unimportant, Yaxley's mother had been born a Goyle, Stephen was a fool and Wilkes had dallied with the daughter of an immigrant. The Blacks were the purest of them all, and the oldest family, and the most important, and the most English.

"When we get rid of the mudbloods, we'll use the Hufflepuffs to replace them," Mulciber decreed. "'Unafraid of toil' indeed." Regulus chuckled, and Yaxley and Jugson joined him.

"Not the girls, Mulciber," Selwyn dissented, frowning. "I don't want their pretty hands to be wrecked doing hard work. The only hard work they should be doing is in my kitchen."

"I suppose a Hufflepuff girl would be your dream. She'll save you the money on a house-elf and a whore," Yaxley said.

"Tell me, have you ever known a Hufflepuff girl to be a good whore?" Selwyn asked. Yaxley shrugged, and reached into his robes. He pulled out a vial of amber liquid. He uncorked it, and gulped it in one. Selwyn grabbed for the vial, but Yaxley held it out of his reach.

"Get your own!" Yaxley said. Selwyn shoved him into Wilkes. Yaxley jumped up. Selwyn swung his fist around, but clipped Wilkes instead. Wilkes looked up from his book, lips pursed.

"Dickheads," he said.

"Wanker," Selwyn replied. Mulciber cleared his throat.

"Boys." Their roughhousing stopped at once. Wilkes shut his book. Yaxley took the free spot on Regulus' other side. Mulciber selected a chocolate frog from the treats laid out, and unwrapped it carefully. "I don't want a prefect coming in here, and least of all Longbottom, who's patrolling now." He looked to Jugson for confirmation. Jugson glowered.

"He is. He's that bitch's fucking attack dog," he growled. Regulus wondered when the Longbottoms had stooped low enough that their son and heir jumped at the word of a mudblood-lover with no notable family to speak of. It was a shame. An older relative of his had married a Longbottom when his parents had been children, and it hadn't been one bit shameful. How the mighty fell.

"Maybe they'll send the little Gryffindors instead," Selwyn said, perfectly casual. "Maybe the girl Snape fancies?" Snape's head shot up. Regulus had nearly forgotten him. Snape's mouth curled into a snarl.

"I don't fancy anyone," he says stiffly. Regulus wondered why Mulciber had chosen him to sit with them.

"But you do," Selwyn insisted, a cruel smile crossing his face. Bellatrix was the master of that taunting grin, but Selwyn's was good enough to strike fear into the heart of anyone who had not grown up with it.

Snape did not flinch.

"I don't," he said. Mulciber frowned.

"Not Vickers?" he asked.

"Not Vickers," said Selwyn, his smile widening. "A year younger. She's got red hair, hasn't she, Snape? You're not the only boy who's been keen on Lily Evans. If she weren't a mudblood…" Evans. He'd seen Sirius with her once or twice. His eyes flicked to Mulciber. Mulciber's expression was smooth. He was doing a better job now than he had at their last meeting. Regulus realised all too late what was happening.

"I don't fancy her," Snape said, louder.

"Settle down," Yaxley said. "We don't want her barging in."

"I've seen you looking at her at dinner," Selwyn continued. "Clarke told me that the two of you sit together in Study of Ancient Runes."

"I don't fancy her!" Snape's voice rose, the way Sirius' did when Mother started asking him questions. Regulus sunk into his seat. Selwyn had a response prepared for every possible rebuttal, the way Mother did. The way Sirius did, at times. Snape would do better to tell them what they wanted to hear. It wasn't pleasant, but it was better than the alternative.

"What is she then, your cousin? Is that the Snape family's shameful secret? Your father knocked up a muggle?" Yaxley, Mulciber, and Jugson all laughed. Regulus did too, a heartbeat too late, but it did not matter. Mulciber met his eyes.

"She's not my cousin, and I don't fancy her," Snape repeated, slightly calmer. Maybe he had a spot of sense. "She's a stupid mudblood. Why would I have anything to do with her?" Selwyn cocked his head to one side. Mulciber was playing Father's role, watching everything and saying nothing, and Selwyn was Mother. Regulus supposed he ought to keep playing himself.

"Have you told her that she's a filthy mudblood?" Selwyn asked. Snape swallowed. He gave away too much.

"You have to put them in their place," Yaxley agreed. "Especially when our fool of a Headmaster gives them positions like prefect. They start thinking they're better than what they are."

"Be careful with what you do, though. She's too pretty to waste. A quick Jelly-Brain Jinx might be best," Selwyn smirked. Regulus went cold. There was no reason to do that. The sooner they were driven out of Hogwarts and their world, the better. Wilkes glared at Selwyn. Snape went very quiet. Selwyn laughed. "Oh, come on, you've thought about it, Snape. It's the only good use for a mudblood."

In an instant, Snape's wand jabbed the soft bit under Selwyn's skin. Jugson swore and scrambled away. Snape grabbed a fistful of Selwyn's hair and slammed his head back into the wall. Selwyn smiled. Regulus shrivelled. This was when he went to his bedroom. He looked at the door. If he left now, Mulciber would give him up. He'd be on the same level as Crouch and Rowle and the Rosiers. He could barely look.

"Shut the fuck up," Snape said.

"Hey -"

"Shut the FUCK up!" Snape slammed Selwyn's head into the wall again. Mulciber paled.

"Quiet, we don't -"

"Muffliato." Snape flicked his wand lazily. Selwyn squirmed in the tiny space of opportunity. Snape shoved his wand into Selwyn's cheek.

"So you do like her," Selwyn said, voice slightly muffled.

"No," Wilkes interrupted. His wand was out. "He thinks you're a fucking rapist, Stephen. You are a fucking degenerate." He stood, and trained his wand on Selwyn. Regulus shrunk further into the corner. The door was right there. He felt nauseous. Mulciber put his hands out.

"Boys, calm down. Sit down, Snape. And Selwyn, shut your mouth."

"I'm not a rapist," Selwyn spat. "I've never touched anyone." Wilkes stared at him.

"I know about Val." The air stilled. It took Regulus a moment to realise who Val was. Wilkes' girlfriend. Regulus' toes curled. Selwyn smirked.

"Still bitter, Wilkes? She cheated on you. Do you really believe that load of shit she spewed? Just focus on the girl you have now -"

"I know you!" Wilkes screamed. Regulus had never heard him speak so loudly or say so much. "I know you did it! I know you did it! I fucking know you, Stephen, I know what you're like!"

Selwyn swiped his nose with his thumb. Regulus wanted to disappear. He wanted to sit with Gibbon. Wilkes is just bitter that his girlfriend cheated on him, Regulus told himself, desperate to believe it. Selwyn made jokes in poor taste, but that was it.

"Take it to the MLE," Selwyn said. Wilkes sighed. He put his wand away. Regulus relaxed. Now they could get back to discussing study methods, or what they wanted to do after school. Maybe Mulciber had another letter from –

Wilkes punched Selwyn in the face.

Selwyn shouted. Snape jumped out of the road. Mulciber stood. Yaxley grabbed Selwyn under the arms. Jugson swore, and slammed into the door in his haste to leave. Regulus froze. He could only watch. Wilkes rained down on Selwyn, smashing him. Blood spurted and Selwyn shrieked and Wilkes was unmoveable, he was Stonehenge, he was Rome, he did not shake and he did not falter.

Yaxley managed to haul Selwyn away. Regulus stared. His left eye was only a slit between puffed, swollen, purpled skin. Blood poured from his nose. His lip was split open.

"You fuck!" Selwyn screamed, spitting blood. "You fucker! You fucking liar! You fucking liar!" He nearly knocked Yaxley to the floor. Mulciber grabbed Selwyn around the front.

"I don't want any trouble," Mulciber said. Selwyn lunged, and Mulciber stumbled. Regulus flattened himself against the wall. He could hardly breathe. "I'm no good at healing spells. What the fuck are we going to do? Fuck!"

"I don't give a fuck what you do, Mulciber," Wilkes said. His glasses were smashed. Blood dribbled from his closed fist. Aside from that, he was surprisingly unruffled. "Reconsider the company you keep. Stephen is a liability. Nobody wants to be on the same side as him." Wilkes grabbed his trunk and stormed out. Snape hesitated. Mulciber narrowed his eyes. He let go of Selwyn. Yaxley and Selwyn staggered, intertwined as they were.

"Selwyn ran into Gryffindor boys. He doesn't remember their names. He made a snide comment, and they bashed him. You found him down the corridor," Mulciber said calmly. "Go. Don't come back." Yaxley said nothing.

"What the fuck, Mulciber? Wilkes did this! Wilkes did this!" Selwyn shouted. Yaxley wrenched him upright.

"In-fighting isn't a good look," Mulciber said. "Leave." Jugson slid the door open, looked outside, and nodded. Yaxley left with Selwyn. "And Snape. You go too. Cool off. Happy Christmas." Snape took his things with him, and left. Jugson shut the door.

Regulus' head spun. He was now alone with the two seventh years.

"Did you plan that?" he asked, finally. Mulciber looked at him evenly.

"How could I?" he asked. Regulus knew not to answer. "I know what they are like. Snape needed a reminder that his friendship with a mudblood is unbecoming. Wilkes needed a fight. Selwyn needs to remember to keep his mouth shut." Regulus looked at Jugson. Mulciber smiled. "Jugson is just here because he's my friend."

"And you needed back-up," Jugson grinned. Regulus nodded his understanding, but a question lingered. Why me? Why am I here?

"Chocolate frog?" Mulciber offered.

"Thanks." Regulus bit its head off.

It was mid-afternoon by the time the train arrived in London. Mulciber and Jugson were surprisingly good hosts. Mulciber even helped him go through the Transfiguration homework he'd been assigned over the holidays. They regaled him with stories of what they'd got up to over the years, and insisted that he do this or try this passageway on the fourth floor. At one point, Jugson actually asked him for advice. Admittedly, it was on what broom he ought to ask for for Christmas, but Regulus' Quidditch playing was cited as something that made him an authority on the matter. Mulciber sympathised with him about being the baby of the family. It was almost disappointing when they had to leave.

They stepped onto the busy platform, where students and parents and younger siblings and gushing relatives swarmed. Jugson groaned.

"There's my mother," he said. "I better get going. Merry Christmas, Matt. Merry Christmas, Black." Jugson shook hands with both of them, and walked over to a woman with the same large nose that he had.

"Where are your parents, then?" Mulciber asked. Regulus craned his neck. In a far corner, he spotted his father's tall black wizard's hat, emblazoned with the family crest. Next to him, he could see the top of his mother's dark hair.

"Over there, at the back," Regulus said.

"Ah. Introduce me, won't you? I've heard good things about the Blacks." Regulus led him through the crowd. Mother and Father will be pleased. The Mulcibers were one of the finer families in England.

Mother pulled him into a tight hug. Regulus made a face through her arms at Mulciber, as if being embraced by his mother after nearly four months apart was the worst thing in the world. They were of a height now, where he had been an inch shorter in September. He buried his face in her dark hair. Her perfume smelled of the drawing room and galas, thick and musky with a hint of winter blooms. It was with reluctance that he pulled back.

"Son," Father said, shaking his hand firmly. He'd gained another wrinkle around each eye, but aside from that he was the same as always, in well-tailored robes and a fine cloak trimmed with fur.

"Mother, Father, this is - my friend," Regulus began. Mulciber did not object, and so he continued. "Matthew Mulciber. He's been mentoring me this year."

"Mulciber," Father said. "You must be Martin's son." He extended his hand. Mulciber shook it.

"Yes, sir," he said. He nodded respectfully to Mother. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Black."

"I knew your mother when we were in school. I attended your parents' wedding. You look so like your father."

"Thank you," Mulciber said. Regulus swelled with pride. These were the sorts of friends a Black was supposed to have. Friends with parents his own parents knew, friends who were courteous and intelligent. He spotted Sirius through the crowd, with Potter and Pettigrew, talking to a couple who must've been Potter's parents. Mrs. Potter hugged Sirius close, and James laughed. Mrs. Potter pulled Potter in for a hug then. Potter grabbed his friends and suddenly five of them were in the hug, like some obscene family reunion.

Regulus turned back to his parents and Mulciber.

"Owl me when the time comes," Father said to Mulciber, "and I'll write you a recommendation. I see no reason for them to turn you down."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it very much," Mulciber said.

"You're most welcome."

After a few further pleasantries, Mulciber spotted his mother and bid them farewell.

"Merry Christmas, Regulus," Mulciber said, shaking his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Matthew." Matthew smiled. Regulus barely contained his grin as Matthew met with his mother. Father put a hand on his shoulder, and warmth spread through him.

"He's a nice young man," Father said. "I like the Mulcibers."

"He's a good friend for you to have," Mother agreed.

"I'm glad to know him," Regulus said, and he crouched down and busied himself with tying his shoelaces, beaming from ear to ear.

Sirius had to ruin it. Sirius had to ruin it because Sirius could never let him have anything, not five fucking minutes to enjoy his life. When Regulus stood, Sirius was coming over, one arm around Potter. Mother's face tightened. Regulus stepped to the side, muscles tensing. The pair of them stopped. Regulus' parents said nothing. Sirius let go of Potter.

"Mother, Father," he said, in that faux-jovial tone that only meant trouble. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Sirius," Father said stiffly. He did not shake Sirius' hand. "And, it's Potter, isn't it?"

"James Potter, yes," Potter said. Father didn't shake his hand either. Regulus noted that Mr. and Mrs. Potter were watching them. If Sirius thought Mother and Father would really agree to him spending the holidays with the Potters, he was even madder than Regulus thought.

"Mother, won't you say hello to James?" Sirius asked. Mother sniffed.

"Sirius, mind your matters. Hello, James. How was your term?" Mother asked coolly.

"Oh, pretty good, thanks, Mrs. Black. Had a lot of fun playing Quidditch. Are you enjoying it, Regulus?" Mother's head whipped around. Regulus gulped. Was Potter trying to goad him? Slytherin had won. Potter and his ragtag team had still been half-drunk from the night before. It was an easy win. He looked to Mother. She narrowed her sharp eyes. He had to be polite, but not friendly.

"Yes, thank you," he said.

"Good, good, good to hear," Potter said. Mother's gaze left Regulus, for which he was thankful. They lapsed into silence, listening to the bustling crowds and the hoots of owls and trolley wheels on the platform. Sirius pulled at his bottom lip.

"Mother, Father," he started again. "James and the Potters have invited me to stay with them for New Year's. Overnight. They've said it's no trouble, and I can floo there and back, and you can go talk to them if you want, they're okay with it, I promise -"

"- They really are, Mum loves it when people come to stay, then the house isn't so empty, and -"

"- I promise I'll be on my best behaviour, I haven't got into much trouble this term, and I got high marks. Please." Regulus looked away. How could Sirius be so stupid? Mother clicked her tongue and sighed. Regulus' stomach fluttered. He felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton wool.

"We will be celebrating New Year's as a family, at your Uncle Cygnus'. You know this, Sirius. We thank you and your parents for the offer, James. Happy Christmas." She grabbed Sirius by the shoulders, and Father snatched up Sirius' trunk. Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Mother sped off through the crowd. Regulus hurried to keep up with her. They dodged small children and old men and burly Quidditch players swinging their broomsticks around and before he could think another cohesive thought, they were through the brick wall and walking the streets of London.

Home was about a mile from Kings Cross, but the half-hour it took them was soaked in dread. Mother grumbled about muggles and mudbloods, about the inconvenience of not being able to apparate with large objects, and about the ridiculousness of sending students home on the train instead of allowing parents to collect them from the castle or Hogsmeade. Father agreed in short sentences, Regulus made affirmative noises, and Sirius said nothing. He was very pale.

Regulus longed to bury himself in his bed by the time they reached Grimmauld Place. He ought to have been happy to be home. He might've been, had Sirius not acted in such a Sirius manner. Regulus lifted his trunk up the last few steps, and followed Mother inside. Father brought up the rear. The four of them stood in the hall. Regulus gripped the trunk's handle, waiting for Mother to speak. The portraits watched rather too eagerly for Regulus' liking. Many of them had died long before his Mother had been born, and if they had lived to know her, they had only known her as a little girl subject to their authority, not the administrator of a household. Father, of course, was the head, but Mother did the books and enforced the rules and the house was run to her will. Father merely signed off on her wishes.

"Regulus," she said, finally. "Take your things up to your room. You deserve some rest, you've had a long day of travelling." He could not be completely relieved. Sometimes it was worse, being upstairs – it was like being blindfolded. His imagination often proved worse than the reality. Even so, at least he wouldn't have to witness it.

"Thank you, Mother," he said. Sirius turned his head, and Regulus knew that he would be trying to catch his eye. Regulus couldn't meet his gaze. He fled up the stairs to the safety of his bedroom. Kreacher snapped into appearance, and took his trunk. Regulus raggedly thanked him. By the time he reached the topmost floor, he was entirely out of breath. He stumbled into his room, and fell on the plush covers face-down. The door closed.

"Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus, Kreacher is still unpacking," Kreacher croaked. Regulus lifted his head, and saw that the elf was by his chest of drawers.

"That's fine," he said, and dove into the warmth of his bed once more. His mind swirled. He saw Selwyn's smashed face and blood dripping from Wilkes' fist, and Sirius' blazing look as he spoke to Mother and Father. He thought of Valencia Moult, a blonde girl whom he had never spoken to, but he had known her name in the way that younger students inevitably learned all the names of the seventh years in their house because they were the leaders and the centre of everything. Selwyn wouldn't do that. Would he? Would Wilkes lie? He wished they'd never said it in front of him. He wished that it had been only him and Matthew and Jugson the whole time. He did not want to think about it. The more he resolved not to think about it, however, the more his mind could not leave it alone. He thought about Lily Evans, and Snape, and Sirius, and what Selwyn had said about the jinx. It had never occurred to him just how that spell could be used. It wasn't incredibly complex; destroying or undoing something generally wasn't. It was the spells that reconstructed that were difficult to master. Sirius would murder Selwyn if he ever used that on her, Regulus thought. Sirius, and Snape, and Potter too, and half the school, because she's awfully popular for a mudblood. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't have done it to Wilkes' girlfriend. At least out of respect for Wilkes. Did Selwyn have any respect for Wilkes? Regulus felt sick. He wished he could ask someone. Who would give him a straight answer? Who would know?

The ghost of a shout hummed through his bed. He rolled over and tried to focus on his breathing, and on the sound of Kreacher sorting his clothes. Perhaps a better distraction would've been to find an interesting book, or to draft a letter, but he could not move. The shouting increased in pitch and fervour, and bound him to the bed, paralysing him. He was thankful it was not him. That was not as much comfort as he would've liked it to be. Why did it always end like this? Why did everything in his life have to be tarnished by people who couldn't control themselves? People like Selwyn and Wilkes and Alfreck Rosier and Deborah Crabbe and Sirius. Always Sirius, for as long as he could remember. They couldn't have an ice cream in Diagon Alley without him or Mother exploding. Regulus always listened to his Mother, always behaved, and yet he was still trapped by other people's mistakes. It wasn't fair.

The screaming began.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading! Seeing the hits and kudos going up makes my day. 3