Author's Note: Chapter Two!

It turns out, Jillian was right.

Viktor liked me. Though I should probably make clear on the situation. I did not have sex with Viktor Krum (again, fourth year) but there were ways of knowing he wanted to without actually doing it.

It came to no shock that he later invited me to spend the summer with him and his family in Sofia. An invitation that came to no avail, of course. See, he was the perfect gentleman and made me feel frilly and happy, but there was still the matter of one ginger-haired 'friend' to take into account.

Horrible, horrible decision.

I'm not sure which was worse: the fact that I had convinced myself into believing I owed it to Ron to decline, or the fact that everyone else seemed to agree.

For Ginny's sake, I understood. Ron was her brother and I, her friend. It made sense coming from her, but from Harry, it didn't. Granted, he was still recovering from the rise of his most fearsome adversary and the untimely death of his fellow champion Cedric Diggory — quite safe to assume there were other, more important matters on his mind — but I still would have liked some support on the Ron issue(s).

Because, trust me, there was more than one.

It seemed every time we would argue, another issue would arise and overtake the first one. There was no down time with Ron. I think that's what bothered me most. I had all the constraints of being in a relationship, without actually being in one. It was quite unfair, really. It's not like I would have declined, had he mustered up some Gryffindor courage and asked me out.

Still a sore subject.

Obviously.

For those reasons, I refrained from seeing anyone in my fifth year. It wasn't particularly difficult, seeing as we were introduced to the Order and the nightmare that was Dolores Umbridge, but I digress.

It seemed everyone, apart from Ron and myself, were coupling off and sucking face in every stretch of the castle. Even Harry was dating someone. Cho. Well, it was one date — a horrible one, at that — and she appeared to be using him in order to cope with the death of her deceased boyfriend. But it was still something. Ginny, as well. That year, she was in full bloom and became one of the most desirable witches in school. Michael Corner was first to notice, and he quickly asked her out.

I remember the night she came to me, asking my advice on whether she should accept the date and go to Hogsmeade with him. The real question was spoken in subtext, of course. 'Should I date Michael?' was code for, 'Should I hold on to Harry?' and I answered with delicate insight. It was no secret that to me that Harry would eventually fall for Ginny, but it pained me to see her wait for him, the way I had been forced to wait for Ron.

Did I mention straight, white men are the greediest, most self-indulgent creatures in existence? One would think being born with a cock and the societal right to be a sexist, racist arse would be enough. Sadly, no. There is only one thing smaller than their emotional capacity to understand others, and it's the knob-like appendage with which all of them are afflicted.

(We shall henceforth refer to such folly as SWMS: Straight White Male Syndrome)

Er — getting off topic here. Soz.

The point is, being a girl meant my feelings and concerns were viewed as melodrama with which no teenaged male wished to be involved. I didn't matter. I was 'overthinking it' and simply, acting foolish.

Particularly where Ron was concerned.

It became clear to me in the year that followed; the year he tried out for a position on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and subsequently made the cut. In all his moronic and impossibly SWMS-like behaviour, he was still mine and Harry's good friend. There was something to be said about his big, oafish heart and his fierce, unyielding loyalty. I had to remind myself that his feelings were spoken through action, rather than words.

It was nice that he had a chance to shine on the Quidditch Pitch, as Harry had since first year. The opening match made me proud to be his friend and even more to be his pseudo-girlfriend. By sixth year, he had never communicated romantic interest in me — verbally, at least — but even an infant could see he wanted me. It was obvious, at least I thought so. It frustrated me to wait for him, and there were several times in which I considered asking him out myself, but I figured it would bruise his ego too much to know I had to make the first move.

So.

I waited and waited and waited; then finally, it happened.

Ron went through puberty and decided it was time to suck face like everyone else. Plot twist: it wasn't me, it was Lavender Brown. Lav Lav, as he affectionately called her during the beginning stages of their exhibitionist union. Needless to say, I was taken aback (and deeply hurt, but shhh). It made no sense, given that he'd previously ignored Lavender's shameless flirting. Ginny later informed me that Ron did this in retaliation after she taunted him for being the only person in our group to never have snogged anyone, furiously mentioning that Harry kissed Cho and that I kissed Viktor. Information to which Ron had never been privy, for obvious reasons.

1. It was none of his business

2. It was none of his business

3. It was none of his business

I'm not even sure you can categorize what happened between Ron and Lavender as a relationship. It was more me walking into the Common Room, whilst he proved to no one that he could 'suck face' like the best of them. In hindsight, there was a lesson to be learned somewhere, pertaining to mine and Ron's differences, but that voice of reason was overshadowed by the betrayal in my chest.

I felt worse than used.

I felt stupid.

It seemed everyone else took notice. There were whispers and looks thrown in my direction, from the least likely of people. Slytherins, included. How embarrassing. I tried my best to put on a brave face and pretend none of it bothered me, but Ron and Lavender flaunted their relationship all around the castle. There was only one area of the castle that I knew I wouldn't run into them.

The library.

I found solace there, amid the books and the shelves and the crackling fireplace.

It was a nice escape, but there was one aspect in mine and Ron's situation that I had failed to remember. Prefects. Both of us were prefects, which meant we were to venture the corridors, together, in search of students out past curfew and other mischief. It was a death sentence, really. Luckily, the girl he had chosen to be his co-face-sucker was surprisingly jealous of mine and Ron's nonexistent friendship and convinced one of the Slytherin prefects — the only girls in school she knew wouldn't interest him in the slightest — to be his new patrol partner. This meant I had a new patrol partner, too. Had Lavender survived the war, I would have thanked her for doing this, as she unknowingly brought about one of the most pivotal moments in my life.

I arrived, alone and exhausted, at the designated meeting place, and found a tall, raven-haired Slytherin waiting for me. There was a long night ahead. In classic fashion, I had spent about ten hours writing (and rewriting) an immensely difficult Potions essay. You see, this was the year Harry discovered the Half-Blood Prince. I, along with the others, made it my personal mission to prove that godforsaken book wrong and in doing so, exhausted myself trying to best this self-proclaimed prince.

It appeared my new patrol partner took notice of the dark circles under my eyes and the extra frizz in my hair. I'm sure my clothes were rather wrinkled, as well. Don't judge! It wasn't a good time for me.

"Granger," he greeted, leaning against the stone-textured wall with an unusually mellow vibe about him, despite the locale.

It had to be a Slytherin thing.

I entered the dungeons and squinted a little as he came into focus. Routinely quiet and mild-mannered, it surprised me to see what Theodore Nott had in his hands: an honest-to-Merlin cigarette, but not just any kind.

"Is that — Is that marijuana?" I asked, appalled.

"Could be," he shrugged, sucking back. "Have a go and find out."

There were certain things I didn't mess around with, and drugs happened to be one of them. I stepped back, pressing my spine against the opposite wall. "You — You can't smoke marijuana. You're a prefect!"

He exhaled, with a hint of a smile. "Always so uptight."

"I'm not uptight." Rubbish. "I'm afraid you'll need to dispose of any existing drugs and drug-related paraphernalia, before I inform the Headmaster."

Nott responded with a gentle laugh, making o's. "Don't waste your breath."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dumbledore knows," smiled the stoner. "Medical marijuana."

There was a firm, iron-clad arch in my brow. "If that were true, which it's not, I highly doubt you're allowed to smoke in the middle of the corridors like this. I — I want to see your documentation."

"Haven't got it on me," he winked. "S'pose you'll have to take my word for it."

"You're insufferable. I always thought you were the nice, quiet one in the Slytherin lot but I can now see you were probably just high all those times."

His lips quivered with laughter. "I had no idea you would be so offended."

"You're smoking marijuana in the middle of the castle," I enunciated. "Medical or not, I don't approve."

"Such a shame. I rolled one for you and everything."

"I beg your pardon?"

Nott reached into his robes and withdrew another marijuana cigarette, watching intently as I eyed the object in question. "Dare you."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You can't be serious."

"It's nothing like your primary school teacher said," he told me, ending with a small wink. "Promise."

I couldn't decide which was more alarming: the fact that Theodore Nott was trying to get me to smoke weed with him in the dungeons or that I was beginning to consider it. Unlike his presumptions about me, there was little I didn't know about marijuana. It wasn't nearly as bad as alcohol — which by that point, I had consumed.

It was, however, still a drug.

"You know those moments after a night out with your mates, when you're all just laying around, immersed in the sensation of being young and carefree?" he asked.

I glanced up, noticing the twinkle in his eyes. "Yes."

"Smoking weed is like that," he explained. "Only it's better, because it turns this shit universe into an okay place. Like a light at the end of the tunnel."

"Really?" I scoffed, feigning derision.

"Really," he repeated, moving closer to me. "Jokes aside, Granger. I, and the rest of the school, can see that you haven't been yourself lately. It seems to me, like you could use the release. Maybe a reminder that things get better."

There was a strange sensation in my chest as he neared. I opened my mouth to protest but no words came out. It was the strangest, most peculiar feeling. For a moment, I thought it to be intrigue, but it can't have been. I wasn't a stoner. I was a well-behaved citizen. I came from a nice family, and I lived by a strict moral code.

"This is the tunnel," Nott told me, sliding the joint between my parted lips, and igniting it with the flick of his lighter. "And this is the light."

I went completely still. There were countless words running through my mind, but none of them prospered. It was beginning to feel like he had stunned me — and perhaps he had — but not with magic.

"Keep breathing," he instructed, moving away now. "Slowly and deeply."

I did as I was told and coughed up a storm for the first few tokes, but the more time that passed, the more balanced I felt. It was physical and mental. I breathed in and then out, watching my worries dissipate into the dim atmosphere, swirling alongside the smoke. For a moment there, I forgot I wasn't alone. Nott was as quiet and as mellow as I remembered him to be, but something about our vibe changed that night, and carried on for the nights that followed.

Specifically, the night after next.