Part 5 - The First Law of Gravity

There was sugar, in my mouth, without a hint of darkness' bitter. My breathing was slow. Too slow. I was dizzy and felt like I was still spinning through the nothingness despite that fact that I knew I was completely still, that there was finally something there.

Soft cushions beneath my body.

Tender touches on my face.

Gentle words of comfort.

I wanted to cry, and not from relief.

I didn't have to open my eyes; they'd been open the entire time, wide and fixed, unseeing. They were dry and shriveled. I slowly faded back into myself, and light in the train compartment was too much, so much that it hurt. Where was the comforting nothingness of the dark? I liked it, the overwhelming, consuming high, not having to worry or be scared, just floating in the numb. I wanted that feeling back. I wanted it like a hopeless junkie.

"Oh god, Stella!"

Hearing hurt, too, sounds razoring a line between my ears, but my vocal cords were completely paralyzed. I couldn't even scream for the voices to shut up and to leave me alone.

"Please, wake up," One of them pleaded, the tenderness touching my face all the more tender, caring, loving. I wanted to cry, and not from happiness.

"Stella, please," I was fighting my way back, but didn't understand why. I didn't want it. I didn't want my life anymore. I was ready to let go of it. Something was pulling me though. Someone. Some feeling that I didn't understand.

"What?" I gasped, my voice so small and weak that it was almost like the nothingness I'd almost let overtake me. My saccharine tongue felt swollen and thick and clumsy.

Someone else's hot sigh of relief washed over me, and before I could say anything more, another lump of the pure sugary taste was shoved into my mouth. I choked hard. No more breath came. I waited, bug-eyed, convulsing in shock and silence. I waited as the thick sweetness melted down my throat and smothered the darkness back into its little chipped niche. It would stay there, the darkness, lurking and festering until the next time I was weak enough to let it consume me. In that moment, we both longed for when such a time would come.

"Stella, god, please, answer me!" Reality hit like a slap in the face. I was conscious. I was alive. The train was moving. The compartment was bright. Fred and George were hovering over me, though I was unsure which was which. Usually I can tell.

"What happened?" I sobbed, weighed down by the utter revulsion I felt just from continuing to exist.

I saw both twins' expressions soften, and George, I think, shakily lied, "Just a faint, love. Nothing to worry about. Eat more chocolate."

"Don't want chocolate," I moaned, still unable to get my eyes to close even though the light was hurting them terribly, "Stop lying to me. What happened?"

The boys shared one of their Looks, which irritated me to no end. I really hate when they do that. Finally, Fred locked eyes with me and stated, "Dementors. They were searching the train for your dad."

"Went right for you," George added, putting a hand on my bare knee, "Guess they must've sensed a little of him in you, eh?"

"Hoorah," I grumbled, too drained to even move. The twins quickly fed me another chunk of chocolate. When I sputtered, and whimpered, and tried to spit it out, George held his hand over my mouth until it melted and I'd swallowed it all. They continued the same process several times, taking advantage of my weakness to force me into getting better.

"Guys, stop it!" I finally shrieked, crying in frustration by that time, strong enough to try to shove them off, but still too frail to actually succeed. It was a terrible sensation.

Fred gave me a very stern look, insisting, "Dementors are bad news, and you've had a really severe reaction to them. We have to keep you well until we get to school, and then you're going straight to the hospital wing."

"Like hell," I growled, trying to kick and punch my way free. It didn't work. "Love, please, just relax," George soothed, effortlessly pinning me back into the seat, "You're gonna make yourself worse. Lie down, and let us take care of you."

"Is everything alright in here?" A low voice called into the compartment. My crying had gotten so bad that I'd begun to hiccup and choke, so I couldn't scream for him to get the twins off me. The pair of redheads answered instead, George grumbling an unpleasant, "No, not really," and Fred, just as upset, adding, "Fucking dementors attacked Stella."

"You give her chocolate?" The voice, definitely a male one, inquired as I heard its owner step into the compartment. The twins must've given some sign that they had because the newcomer gave a thoughtful hum, and then leaned over me, carefully feeling my forehead. His hand was rough, but cool.

"She's burning up," He reported, his blurry face hovering in the air above mine. He was a brunette. That's all I could tell. "Pupils are dilated, too," The boy went on, "I heard there's a professor somewhere on the train. I'll go see if I can find him, get him to come look at her, ya?"

"Thanks, Wood," The twins chimed in unison. So it was Oliver Wood, seventh year Gryffindor quidditch captain. Like almost everyone else at school, he'd never really talked to me before. However, I made a mental note to thank him later for his concern.

In just a few short minutes, I heard Wood rush back, and he'd brought a little friend along. When I first saw the teacher's face, I thought I was hallucinating. I hoped I was hallucinating.

"Stella?" Damn. No such luck. What the hell was Remus doing on the train? Was he really crazy enough to follow me to school just because I'd been giving him the cold shoulder? Apparently, yes. "Stella?" My harried uncle pressed, sounding on the verge of panic, "Can you hear me?"

"Go away, Remus," I demanded, swatting his hands away from my face. I didn't do it quickly enough though because he managed to feel the unusual temperature Wood mentioned earlier. "Good heavens!" The man gasped, "You're right! She's got a high fever! I've never heard of anyone reacting to dementors like this!"

"Go away, Remus," I insisted once more, actually starting to feel a little delirious. It scared me, and I suddenly found myself in the grips of an extreme wave of paranoia. Nearly out of my mind with thoughts of danger and persecution from the people surrounding me, I summoned the strength to force myself up and away from them.

I backed jerkily into the hallway, shrieking, "STAY AWAY FROM ME! ALL OF YOU! I WON'T LET YOU GET ME!"

"Stella," Fred seemed to be the first one to understand that I was freaking out, and he advanced very slowly towards me as he said, "Stella, look at me. Just look at me, love."

I was breathing hard, and swaying on the spot, but still managed to do as my friend asked. He was one of the few (actually, just two) people I trusted at that time, and, even in the grips of the attack, I still felt safe with him. Our eyes locked, his so clear, and open, and blue.

"Listen to me," He soothed, getting closer, just an arm's length away, "No one's going to hurt you. I'm not going to let them. Take a deep breath, and just try to relax."

I really did try, and it really did work, but as soon as the fear left me, I got weak again. My eyes rolled back into my head. My body went limp. I fell into Fred's arms.

"Freddie," I whispered softly into his ear, barely hanging onto consciousness, "When we get to Hogwarts, let the dog out of my trunk." I don't remember much after that.

xxXxx

I spent the following week in the hospital wing, completely out of my mind, delirious with a high, unexplainable fever. I only remember brief snatches of lucidity...

...Remus bathing my forehead with a cool washcloth...

...George doing his homework on my stomach...

...Fred holding my hand and whispering soft words of comfort as he brushed sweat-soaked tendrils of hair out of my eyes...

No one knew quite what was wrong with me, just that it must've had something to do with the dementor attack. My theory is that whatever darkness those creatures woke inside me was acting like an infection, and my body's natural reaction was to try to burn it away. It's a basic concept of immunology. Good thing I read that anatomy textbook the year before, huh?

The hospital wing was dark when I finally woke, and I got scared. I tried to sit up, but was hit right away by a wave of dizziness so had to lie back down.

My movement woke Fred, who was asleep in the cot beside mine. Apparently, he'd been sneaking into the hospital wing every night just to do so.

"Stella?" He questioned, groggy but hopeful, "Are you awake?"

"Mhmm," I hummed, trying hard to keep my eyes open, wiped out from the effort of my brief success, "What's goin' on?"

He sat down at my side, carefully sweeping my bangs out of my eyes, a gesture I was becoming very accustomed to from him. "You're ill," The boy stated quietly, keeping his voice a gentle whisper, "You've been in the hospital wing for the last week with a fever."

That made sense, and definitely correlated to the way I was feeling. I nodded, barely able to keep myself awake. "Rest, love," Fred instructed sweetly, "Get your strength up, so that you can get out of this place. I miss seeing your pretty smile all around the castle."

"Flatterer," I laughed breathlessly, letting my eyes drift shut as I felt his hand slip into mine and give a strong, comforting squeeze. On the verge of sleep again, I only had one thing on my mind, "Fred?"

"Yes, love?" He responded, softly stroking my knuckles. I swallowed thickly, gripping his hand a little tighter as I asked, "Please, don't leave me. I-I'm scared the dark will come back. I liked it too much."

I could tell just from his brief silence that he was confused by my remark, but, nevertheless, agreed, "Of course. I'll be right here. Relax, and go back to sleep."

"Thanks, Freddie," I breathed, already halfway there, "I love you."

Another very long pause followed. Fred probably thought I was asleep by the time he answered very seriously, "I... I love you, too, Stel..."

xxXxx

I was released a few days later, after having to suffer through many force feedings of disgusting potions meant to make me better.

I exited the hospital wing with a twin flanking me on either side. Both of them had their arms around my shoulders, and they were chattering a mile a minute. I wasn't paying too much attention; I was more concerned with the way I was getting stared at by everyone in the entrance hall.

"Why the hell are they all gawking?" I whispered to the twins, a bit uncomfortable from just having passed by Adrian Pucey and gotten the distinct impression that he was undressing me with his eyes.

Chuckling, George gave my still bony ribs a pinch, and answered, "I think they're trying to figure out who our hot new friend is, and whether or not they stand a chance with her."

I frowned, musing out loud, "I don't look that different... do I?"

Before the twins could answer me, we were all distracted by a voice from behind us shouting our names. We turned to find Oliver Wood running towards us down the hallway. "Hey, mates," He greeted brightly when he arrived.

"Hiya, Captain," The twins chimed together, giving a pair of exaggerated, perfectly-timed salutes that made me giggle. My giggle drew Oliver's attention, and he grinned the charming grin half the females in the school openly swooned over as he stated sweetly, "Hi, Stella. Glad you're feeling better."

"Thanks," I answered, smiling politely, but teasingly, "Me too."

Wood was good looking, and smart, and athletic, and charismatic, and popular, and obviously not used to talking to females who didn't fall at his feet at the first sign of his dimples. My response shocked him, but the seventh year hid it quickly, clearing his throat as he inquired, "So, what classes are you all heading off to?"

In unison, the twins sighed, "Herbology." Since there's little chance of things randomly blowing up in that class, it's tied with History of Magic as the twins' least favorite, even behind Potions. I gave both boys a soothing pat to the head, cooing, "Aw, poor dears, but I'd rather talk to a shrub than sit through an hour of Binns."

"Haha," Oliver chuckled, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair as his dark eyes sparkled, "I know what you mean. History is boring."

I arched an eyebrow at the boy, correcting bluntly, "Actually, I quite like History. Binns' lack of enthusiasm for the subject irritates me." Seeming thoroughly chastised, and just a bit embarrassed, Oliver turned a little pink in the cheeks, and looked uncomfortably at the floor.

"Well," Fred stated, giving the older boy a suspicious glance before turning to smile at me, "We'd best be off. Sprout's a beast about lateness." He leaned over and brushed a chaste little kiss on my cheek, adding, "See you at lunch, love."

"Ya," George contributed, tugging me over for a big, wet smooch on the opposite side, "We need to go about putting some meat on that scrawny little arse of yours."

"Hey," I protested, laughing as I gave each of the twins a sharp pinch on his behind, "It's not my fault I'm not quite as well-endowed as you two." They squeaked adorably, shooting me looks that clearly said they were already thinking of ways to make me pay for making them squeak adorably, as well as implying that they had big arses. I turned and sauntered away, laughing over my shoulder, "Bye, boys. Don't cause too much trouble without me."

I almost didn't notice Oliver follow, but he did, and was walking along at my side, watching me with a bright grin on his face. "Um," I drawled, not halting, or altering my pace, "Something I can help you with, Captain?"

Again, he blushed slightly, continuing to smile as he ran a nervous hand through his hair and answered, "No, not really. My class is just this way, so I thought I'd walk with you, if you don't mind."

"Guess it couldn't hurt," I said, shrugging. We lapsed into silence for awhile, but Oliver finally questioned, "So, how was your summer?"

"Awful," I answered bluntly, giving him a look that clearly said I didn't want to talk about it. He caught on, quickly changing the subject, "Well, er, do you like quidditch?"

"Ya, sure," I said, relaxing a bit as I smiled over at him, "I'm not all that good, but games are always fun to watch."

"You catch the Canons-Puddlemere one on the wireless last week?" He asked, definitely excited to have our conversation focused on quidditch-related theme. "No," I answered brightly, "Who won?"

"Puddlemere, by a long shot," The boy went on, obviously proud, "No one stands a chance against their offense..." He then proceeded to relate to me, in excruciating detail, the stats for the entire starting line-up of the Puddlemere bench. He probably would've continued onto the second string had we not finally arrived at Binns' classroom.

"Well," I cut him off, turning to smile just outside the door, "I've got to get in. Um, nice talking to you... bye." I fled before he could answer, and took a seat near the front of the room, relieved to get away. Oliver was a nice guy, but he'd completely ignored me up until then. His sudden interest was unnerving, and I was fairly certain it was only because I'd gotten hot. I didn't want friends like that. I didn't need them.

Of course, I didn't have too much time to dwell on it because Cormac McLaggen, a tall Gryffindor with wiry black hair, who was in my year, sat down on my right, and his little sidekick, blonde, skinny, equally slimy Ravenclaw, Eddie Carmichael, sat down on my left. They both leaned in and tried to strike up a conversation. They were under the impression that I was new, and offered to "show me around."

Any school year that starts off with that much annoyance cannot be a good one.

xxXxx

"I bet her boobs are fake!"

"I bet she's an anorexic!"

"I bet she's not even a real blonde!"

Ah, jealousy, the music of the insecure and ignorant, how it graced my ears. Two of my dorm mates, Wendy Hawthorne and Abigail Voorhees, who had pretty much completely ignored me up until that point, were suddenly very concerned with every little thing I did. I couldn't walk into my room, or even pretend to be sleeping without hearing them start to gossip.

Seriously, I could give them anorexia, I still wasn't eating unless one or both of the twins nagged me to do so, and maybe even the fake boobs accusation because they were too good to be true (even though they totally were, ha), but they'd known me for four years. How could they think I wasn't a real blonde? That is just stupidity.

I don't think they realized I was there because they jumped nearly a foot when I threw back the curtains for my four poster, grabbed my books, and stood to leave. Wendy, a pudgy little brunette A-cup with bad teeth and acne, looked uncomfortably at her feet while Abigail, who I affectionately liked to refer to as Jason, because she had a boyish physique and both her personality and face reminded me of Jason Voorhees from the Halloween movies, glared like it was my fault I'd caught them talking about me.

"What are you doing in here?" Jason snapped, her auburn bowl cut falling in her beady green eyes. I jutted my hip out, and, since I'd gotten so much taller than her over the summer, glared down as I answered flatly, "I live here."

Wendy tugged on Jason's arm, looking embarrassed and just a bit fearful as she hissed, "Don't make her mad." Jason rolled her eyes, answering frankly, "You're such a wimp! Her dad can't get into the castle, so she's not gonna sick him on us!"

"Wow," I muttered sarcastically, shoving in between the pair, "I thought you needed a permit to be that fucking stupid."

"You can't talk to us like that!" Jason screeched after me down the staircase, stomping her foot like a pissy little boy. I smiled over my shoulder, responding, "I believe I just did." Just to be evil, I blew her a kiss, too. "I'M TELLING MCGONOGALL!" She shouted, but I really failed to care. It was just barely a month into the school year, and I'd already been in trouble more times than I can remember. One more detention and "play nice with the dumbarses" lecture wasn't going to kill me.

I was a leper. If I thought people avoided me before, it was nothing compared to how they dove out of my path that year. Well, most of them anyways.

After my little encounter with Jason and her tubby sidekick, I instinctively wanted the twins, but, as soon as I reached the common room, remembered that they were off having an evening quidditch meeting, "discussing tactics," as Wood called it. Pouting slightly to myself, I took a seat on a couch by the fire, to finish my homework and wait for them to come back. A ten foot radius of space opened up around me. I couldn't do anything but sigh. I was tragically used to it.

But after only a few minutes the couch sagged with the tell-tale weight of someone taking a seat beside me, and I looked up to find that it was Cormac. I just barely kept from rolling my eyes.

"Evening," He greeted, smiling pleasantly, "What are you up to, love?"

"Charms homework," I stated, keeping my answers to as few words as possible in order to not encourage conversation. It didn't work. "Oh," He said, leaning over my parchment, "I finished mine earlier. I can help, if you want. I'm the top of our class, you know."

A throbbing headache was developing behind my eyes. I wanted a goddamn drink. Fred and George had kept me sober for a whole miserable month, and sobriety and idiots just do not mix. Like oil and water, for serious.

"No," I responded curtly, trying very, very hard to keep myself from being unnecessarily nasty (not because I cared about being nice, but because I knew that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop), "No, you're not. I am. I'm the top of our class. You tried to cheat off my Charms exam at the end of last year, remember?"

The boy suddenly looked outraged, bellowing, "I did not!" I could not take anymore of him, and rolled my eyes, getting to my feet as I conceded weakly, "Fine, you didn't. Whatever. I don't care." My head hurt. I needed a goddamn drink. I turned towards the boys' staircase, and the crowd parted. I was like Moses at the Red Sea, except the Israelites thought I was a fake-boob-having, bottle-blonde, anorexic mental patient, and they refused to follow me to the Promised Land. Fucking morons, they deserve the forty years of wandering. I hope they all get sunburns and sand in their knickers.

I walked the aisle slowly, quietly, and looked over my shoulder just in time to watch it fill in, the walls of water crashing back together with such a docile ripple that I wanted to scream just to scream, to make noise and escape the crushing isolation of silence.

Upstairs, I found the twins' dorm deserted. I was just going to sit on one of their beds, do my homework while I waited for them to come back, but Fred's trunk was open. I wanted my whiskey. He'd taken it from me on the train and hidden it, and I wanted it back. I'm not proud of myself, but I went through his trunk.

And found nothing.

In a bit of a frenzy, the headache making me frustrated and irrational, I then went through George's trunk. While he didn't have my whiskey either, he did have the Marauders' Map.

I was halfway to Hogsmeade in under five minutes, and half drunk in under fifteen. The numbness of alcohol was such a relief after having gone so long without that I may have overdone it.

I don't remember much of that evening aside from getting hit on a lot. By the time last call came around, I was barely able to stand on my own, and got literally thrown out of the Hog's Head. I wasn't too bothered, and brushed off, and began to stumble towards the passage that would take me back to the castle. My dog, who had been freely roaming Hogsmeade and the forest, turned up and trotted beside me. He was whining, and butting me with his head, and I quickly got annoyed.

"What?" I slurred, scowling down into his big, blue-gray eyes, "You're not gonna try to convince me I have a problem, too, are you? Get 'nuffa that from the twinses..."

All I got in reply was another whine, but then his ears perked up, and he glance away down an alley. After only a few moments of staring into the dark, he growled menacingly, bit the corner of my skirt, and began trying to drag me away.

I was confused, so I let myself be pulled, but we only got a few feet before I looked over my shoulder to see a shadowed figure emerge from the dark and begin following me down the street. There was nothing really sinister about him, aside from that I couldn't see his face, but he scared me. A stranger from a dark alley following a drunk blonde in the middle of the night was like every horror movie I'd ever seen. I started to back away.

But he was closing in quickly, hood down and shoulders set, and I couldn't seem to move fast enough. I was disoriented, and terrified, and just frozen. Luckily, the dog jumped in between me and the stranger, baring his teeth and growling like a feral wolf. The action finally snapped me out of my daze, and I turned, and I ran.

I heard a curse, kick, and whine, and looked over my shoulder to see that the stranger had used his wand on the dog, then kicked it out of his way, and then taken off after me. I was drunk, and it wasn't a fair fight.

The man caught me barely three buildings down, and all but tackled me into another alley. I was slammed against a brick wall, the wind knocked out of me and the back of my skull thumped painfully as I struggled in vain with the heavy force keeping me pinned. I still couldn't see a face, but I remember he had sour breath, like he'd eaten something sweet days ago and hadn't brushed his teeth since. It was disgusting.

Before I could scream, his hands closed around my throat, squeezing all the air from me with a clumsy, inept amateurism I probably would've found comical had my eyes not been bulging out of their sockets for lack of air. Scratching and kicking, I desperately fought to get free, but it was no use. After mere seconds, my vision was already turning dim and fuzzy. Resigned to death, I decided that I at least wanted to look into the eyes of my murderer, and used the last of my strength to shove away his hood.

Pale, beady eyes stared back at me as thin lips parted to reveal crooked buckteeth deep in flabby jowls. A balding, age-spotted skull shed white, greasy flakes of skin onto me as the fat hanging from his chin jiggled like jelly. He was older, but unmistakable; he was Peter Pettigrew and he was trying to kill me.

"Where are they?" He simpered, sounding so weak and wimpy that I suddenly realized how embarrassing it was going to be to have to tell people in heaven how I died. Oh god, I was going to spend eternity in the loser-death section! There are fates worse than hell!

"Where are the negatives?" He demanded urgently, continuing to choke me with a surprising amount of force for such an extremely fat man. I could feel the walls of my windpipe touching, and, in my oxygen-starved haze, had no idea what he was talking about.

But then, just like that, he let go, dropping me onto the ground with a scream. Coughing violently, my throat nothing but a raw burn, I lay in a puddle and just struggled to stay conscious, my whole body convulsing from the effort. When I finally looked up, I saw that the dog was my rescuer, and he was biting and wrestling with Pettigrew just a few feet away from me. They rolled into a pile of garbage, and I just watched in blank shock as it shook with the sounds of screams and growls.

And then it stopped. And I got afraid again. And the alley was still and tense.

And then I felt something crawling on my legs. I looked down. It was a rat. A goddamn rat. I am so terrified of rats that it's not even funny, and one was touching me.

The blood curdling scream that left my mouth probably could've been heard for hundreds of miles, and I broke three nails kicking and dragging myself away along the stones of the alleyway in an attempt to escape the filthy rodent. Lights came on in the buildings all around me, and I heard windows opening. Some people yelled at me to shut up, others asked what was going on, if I was alright, but none of it mattered.

The dog was also drawn by my screaming, and took off running after the rat as it finally scampered its way off my bare legs. Both animals were gone in an instant. Sobbing hysterically, not even caring anymore about getting caught, I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and didn't stop running until a group of three storekeepers in their bathrobes finally grabbed me. It took them a half hour to finally make me calm down enough to be coherent, and then only another five to contact the school to tell them to come collect their resident lunatic.

xxXxx

"I'm not making it up!" I insisted, my voice hoarse, gravely, and painful. If you thought my views about other people's brainpower were cynical before, you have another thing coming.

Sitting in the hospital wing, bruised, bloody, barely able to breathe, I became absolutely certain that everyone else on the planet was a total moron. You can give up the search for intelligent life forms, folks. If I can't find any on earth, then there's certainly no hope of finding any elsewhere.

With a deep sigh, Remus massaged his temples and muttered sternly, "I'm not saying you're making it up. I'm saying you didn't see what you thought you saw. You were extremely inebriated-"

"Drunk," I cut him off angrily, "I was piss drunk. That doesn't mean my eyes weren't working. It was Peter! Stop trying to convince me it wasn't and go look for him! Every second we sit here is another in his head start!"

"Stella, enough!" He shouted, jumping to his feet, "Peter is dead! Someone very alive attacked you, and I need to know who!"

Glaring, I stated slowly, "It was Peter Pettigrew. You can't bully me into saying something different just because you don't like the answer." With a frustrated groan, my uncle threw his hands towards the ceiling, and then began to pace. After a few minutes of tense silence, he finally stopped, looked me straight in the eye, and asked, "Was it Sirius? Was it your father? Are you trying to protect him?"

That was the absolute last straw. No longer caring that he was my uncle, and a teacher, and that I loved him very much, I stood and punched him square in the jaw.

He didn't look as shocked as I thought he would, not even when I flipped him off and stormed out. No thought of regret ever entered my mind.

It was still very early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up yet, and I already knew the day was going to be a long one. I was hungover, tired, and sore. I was going to get stared at because of the ring of bruises around my neck, and I was going to have to serve the first of my month of detentions until well past midnight (I was being punished for breaking curfew, leaving campus, and underage drinking).

And then there was the fact that no one believed who attacked me, not Pomfrey, not Remus, not even Dumbledore.

I was scared. Utterly terrified. A raw pile of shaking nerves. Someone had just tired to kill me, and it felt like no one cared. It was too much to handle all at once. I was... I was...

I was sniffling quietly at the top of the fourth floor staircase. On my way back to the Tower, the fear and frustration had finally gotten to me, and I'd collapsed, and couldn't get up, and couldn't stop crying.

Percy Weasley was the head boy that year. I didn't know him very well, just that he was the twins' older brother, and that they thought he was a bit of a tight arse. He was the last person I expected to come to my aid.

"Excuse me," He approached cautiously, gently placing a hand on my trembling shoulder, "Are you alright?"

Still jumpy, I cringed away from the touch, looking up with bleary eyes into a redheaded, freckled blur. For a minute, I thought it was a twin, and was relieved, but the voice didn't match, and I was disappointed again.

"Oh, Merlin, what happened? You look like hell!" He gasped, only escaping a smack because I still couldn't see straight. His face swam into focus just as he was insisting, "Here, let me take you to the hospital wing!"

"I was just there," I said, pushing him off, trying and failing to stop sniveling like a toddler who'd skinned her knees, "I was just there. I'm fine. I don't need to go back."

The bespectacled lad gave me a strange looking, watching closely for a few moments before putting an arm around my shoulders and offering politely, "Well, can I... um, take you back to the Tower? You might feel better if you lie down."

I didn't expect the kindness. It took me completely off guard, and I probably seemed like an idiot, staring blankly like I did. But I needed that, someone being nice to me. After what I went through, after the way I'd been treated by everyone I'd come into contact with in the last twelve hours or so, I needed to know that someone still cared.

I definitely didn't expect to suddenly latch onto the poor boy and begin bawling into his gray, hand-knit sweater. From the tenseness and stuttering, I don't think he expected it either.

About ten extremely awkward minutes later, Percy was finally helping me step through the portrait hole, and, surprisingly, he was still letting me cry onto him, as well as still attempting to comfort me with stiff little pats on the back. Considering who it was, the gesture was really sweet.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO STELLA?" A small, female voice screeched shrilly as Percy was helping me sit down on one of the couches. Rubbing my eyes and sniffling, I looked up to see little Ginny Weasley running down the stairs with an expression of pure horror on her freckled face. "PERCY!" She yelped, sitting down beside me, throwing her spindly arms around my body, "FRED AND GEORGE ARE GONNA KILL YOU!"

Ginny was always kind of attached to me. She's a cute little thing, and Fred and George are her favorite brothers, so, naturally, as their best friend, I became one of her favorite people. Plus, I think she was a bit lacking on female friends (friends in general, after the Chamber of Secrets business), so seized any she could get her hands on.

"Stella," She cooed softly, pulling me nearly horizontal in order to put my head onto her shoulder, "What happened?"

I sniffed, trying to stop shivering uncontrollably as I wiped the tears out of my eyes and answered, "I'm ok, Gin. I-I just had a rough night is all. I'll be ok."

The redheaded fireball eyed me skeptically, pressing, "Are you sure? You're all... beat up."

Still trying to get composed, I gently extracted myself from her arms, smiling weakly and stating, "Don't worry about me, hun. I'm gonna take a shower and be all better."

"But..." She started to argue, her brown eyes filled with concern. However she couldn't come up with anything, and left me to just wander up the stairs, trying to stifle my sobs.

xxXxx

The twins were waiting to pounce on me when I finally came back down a few hours later. As soon as I stepped into the common room, I was wrapped tightly in two identical sets of arms.

"Ginny said you were hurt!"

"And crying!"

"What happened?"

"Was it Percy?"

"We'll kill the git if he did anything to you!"

"Talk to us, love!"

Just hearing their lightning fast back and forth was enough to almost make me weep from sheer joy. I love both those boys so much...

"Guys," I choked, my voice still hoarse and absolutely terrible sounding, "I'm fine. I just... ran into a little trouble."

Cuddling me from behind, George inquired, "What's wrong with your voice?"

Fred, who was in front, finally looked up, and his blue eyes went wide, shifting from stunned to furious in under a second. George saw a second later. Hesitantly, Fred's hand came up, tenderly brushing my hair away from the bruises as he demanded, "Who did this to you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," I muttered, unable to meet his eyes, "Maybe later, ok?" Both twins nodded slowly, and I could read the thoughts of murder on their faces.

"Excuse me," Hermione Granger hummed politely, trying to navigate past us with her nose in a book. Stepping aside, I smiled, greeting, "Sorry. What are you reading, love?"

I was previously on reasonably friendly terms with the girl, but now that Harry hated me, I could tell she'd grown uncomfortable with interaction. Still, she answered genially, "Hogwarts, a History."

"Again?" I teased, smirking wickedly. "Yes," The brunette stated, turning a little pink, "It's interesting. Like, did you know that Helga Hufflepuff was narcoleptic?"

Blink. BlinkBlink. Random much? "No," I responded flatly, "I did not know that." My life was getting dreamlike. Reality didn't seem all that real anymore. Maybe I wasn't awake...

"Yes," Hermione chirped happily, oblivious to my break with reality, "She had a bout of it once that resulted in a fall from the eleventh floor landing. She would have been killed for sure if Godric Gryffindor hadn't been there to save her magically. After that, the founders put charms on the castle so that it would catch her if she ever fell again. It was impossible to fall from anywhere high up and not be stopped by magic a foot from the ground."

"Really?" I questioned, suddenly intrigued. It was so unreal. "Uh huh," Hermione went on, distracted once more by her reading. "Are they still operational?" I inquired, for some reason extremely fixated on the idea, a really strange, stupid plan running through my head. Shrugging, she answered, "I assume so, but I have no idea. They would be hundreds of years old."

"Hmmm," Was all I could come up with, turning and walking out of the room in a daze. The twins followed me all the way up to the eleventh floor.

The first law of gravity: "whatever goes up must come down." It is an inherently pessimistic law. To me, it translates to "nothing good will ever last," "happiness will always become sadness," and "no matter what, you're fucking doomed."

Hermione's random factoid was a glimmer of hope that I had to seize. I had to prove that the first law of gravity didn't apply to me. It was extremely risky. If the twisted hope I'd fixated on didn't exist I'd die, but, then again, if it didn't exist did I really want to live?

That's why I wasn't afraid to climb the ledge, to stare down from my dizzying height. The twins were screaming, but I had no fear. I closed my eyes. I let myself fall.

It was fast, and loud, and the biggest fucking rush I'd ever felt. I couldn't hear anything at all over the wind, or the pounding of my own heart. My world was a blur of color and sound and air and plummeting.

LubDubTenthFloorLubDubEightFloorLubDubSixthFloorLubDubFourthFloorLubDubSecondFloorLubDub

When I came to an instant halt with my nose about a half foot from the stones of the entry hall, I couldn't stop laughing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heh. Too odd? Just odd enough? Let me know!

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