* Hello! sorry for not posting earlier. Literally was held back because I wasn't able to get new keyboard batteries. Anyway, it's finally summer time here in Canada, or at least where I am. It's like, 80f. I don't do Celsius, (lived in the States for pretty much my whole life) but it's about 25c. On that final note, JUNE!

There was always something wrong, Clara realized. She would sometimes look out and sigh with sadness, as if things just weren't right. And yet, everything was so familiar. It was like, she knew all there was to know about the wizarding world, but it was just suppressed. Clara had no idea how right she was.

Clara still hadn't said anything to John. Why would she? Clara already knew that she wasn't going to tell him, but John hadn't made a single attempt to talk, or even just look at her. But, there was that one day one Christmas. John had very briefly met her eyes, while Clara had been reciting a poem to Ginny. At the last verse though, John seemed to have perked up.

It was kind of like that moment when Professor Trelawney mentioned the thirteen at the dinner… It gave Clara chills because there was something calling out to her, telling her not to ignore it all. But Clara didn't want to solve the whole mystery surrounding her and the school. Honestly, she would rather have a normal life, led in the dark.

But, that wasn't living now, was it?

It was mid-January by now, and Clara had basically been spending all her time with Ginny and Hermione. Though, Hermione was usually caught up in the library, looking just as awful as a ghost. Her eyes were red, and bags surrounded them. Her lips were chapped, and there were little droplets of blood spilling out where Hermione had bit into. She was, to say the least, not looking well.

Clara didn't understand how Ron and Harry could be so oblivious. They were angry at her alright, for snitching about the Firebolt. But, Hermione was just being cautious. Though, Clara knew that she secretly agreed with the boys. She wasn't as much of a rule follower as Hermione was.

One day, while Harry was walking out to meet with professor Lupin, or something, Clara pulled him aside.

"Hey…," he said uncomfortably. Though, it wasn't like Clara was all thrills. She was suppressing all emotion for the ridiculous boy at this moment.

Clara drew a sharp breath. "Does Hermione seem alright to you?"

Harry gave an awkward look. "Hermione? Well, she's been studying more, and she's angry at us, but that's it, really."

Clara winced. "Are you sure? Because I've been thinking of literally dragging her out of the library and into the hospital wing. She looks sick. Have you actually seen here for that last week?"

Harry scratched his head. "No… But, Hermione isn't daft. She'll know when to go to the hospital wing, and everything will be alright."

"That's just it! She's pale, and barely talking! It's not healthy… She's seriously stressed, and you guys are her best mates. Do something."

Harry shook his head. "God, no. She's already angry with us!"

"You have every right to be angry, Harry. But, make sure that she's not killing herself, OK?"

Harry sighed. "Ok." He then gave a curious glance. "Why aren't you doing it?"

Clara grimaced. "You guys know here better. You've been friends longer."

Harry nodded. "Well, then maybe you should talk to John."

Clara snorted. She looked at Harry expectantly. "Don't you have a class to go to…?"

Harry seemed to be in a daze, and he literally shook himself out of it. "Yeah… Better run."

Hours later, Clara had been working on some transfiguration assignments. She was sitting my the fire in the common room, as the January weather was horrendous.

Harry came in slowly, as if trying to sneak his way into the classroom. Clara wouldn't have any of that.

"You look tired," Clara noted.

Harry merely nodded, and fumbled with his pockets. He seemed highly uncomfortable.

"So, how was is it?" Clara asked. "What did you do?"

Harry bit his lip. "It was OK. You know, just revising some stuff…"

Clara knew a liar when she saw one. "Ok… So what did you do really?"

Harry looked taken aback. "N-nothing. I just wasn't doing well with some of the stuff we were covering…"

Clara smiled at him, and offered him a seat. He took it with hesitance. "Your eyes," Clara started, "They're so much sadder. I think you saw something… something that hurt. Because– I can see the pain, it's written all over your face."

Harry gulped. "You're very, ah perceptive."

"Yes, indeed I am. So are you going to tell me or not?"

Harry crinkled his brow. "Sure, if you tell me what you've been hiding."

Damn. Clara really should've been more clear. "No," Clara said forcefully. "I won't tell you. And you don't necessarily have to tell me. But, if it makes you feel better, I told Ginny."

Harry's eyes widened a bit. "Have you told John?"

Clara was surprised by the question. "No. Why would I tell him?" She made sure to insert just a little bit of the anger into her words. Harry certainly noticed it.

"Do you… Do you hate him?"

Clara sighed. "Well, I'm not really sure. He's just making it really easy for me to hate him right now."

Harry seemed perplexed. "Well, ok. It's just, if you want me to tell you about the class, you'll just get bored." Harry was obviously lying.

Clara chuckled slowly. "Harry, the more you fight the urge to tell, the worse it gets. We all know that you aren't having trouble with Defense. Professor Lupin has just taken a liking to you, and helping you out with your Dementors issue."

Harry spluttered. "How did you-"

Clara tapped her nose. "Very perceptive, remember?"

Harry practically jumped out of his seat. "Listen, it about ten o'clock… I'd better get to bed…" He gave a nervous glance. "Don't you have the same problem as me, though."

Clara smiled shyly. "Yeah, but as I said, Professor Lupin has taken a liking to you, Harry."

"I could ask-"

"No, please no. It's not that much of a problem. I can manage."

Harry nodded, and with a slight smile, ran to the boys dormitories.

Clara gulped, as she knew that Harry was just feather-brained. Had Ginny or Hermione asked the same thing, they might've seen straight through her lie. Or, maybe just Ginny. Clara he perfected the art of the lie, but it fell flat when it came to Ginny.

The truth was, Clara wanted the help. Very much actually, but something urged her to lie. Many of her decisions nowadays were determined like that. It was like something was urging her down a certain path.