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WARNING! This part contains lemon. Sorry for anyone who doesn't like that, but my imagination really got away from me. Anyways, hopefully it's good. Heh. Hope you enjoy either way.

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Part 7 - Mistakes I Don't Regret

Hallucinations are an indicator of less than pristine mental health. And I was scared.

The day after I imagined the Fred and Peter apparitions by the lakeside, I was sitting alone in the Great Hall waiting for the real Fred to come to breakfast. It was still very early in the morning, but I'd barely managed to drag my stunned, confused, sort of terrified self that far. I couldn't find the energy to go the rest of the distance to the Tower.

I was all alone, but a plate of fruit had appeared in front of me shortly after I sat down, and I was munching on that. I had a far away look on my face.

I didn't notice Katie Bell cautiously sit down across from me until she was practically screaming my name. "Stella!" The girl shouted, waving a hand in front of my face. Suddenly snapping out of my thoughts, I turned and regarded her startledly. Where the hell had she come from?... Was she real?

"Um," The blonde muttered, giving me a funny look, "Hi. Are you alright?" After staring at her for a few long moments, I answered blankly, "I... I don't know... I guess..."

She was in my year, and seemed nice enough, athletic, pretty, and reasonably well-liked by most. She'd never spoken to me, despite the fact that we'd shared a dorm room for the last four years, but she'd never been outright mean to me, either, not like Abigail and Wendy, or, as I liked to call them, Jason and the fat one. I didn't really know what to make of her sudden interest in me, and I wasn't entirely sure if I was imagining her or not.

"Well, er," She went on, brown eyes speculative, "I mean, are you hurt or anything?" I shook my head, and she breathed a sigh of relief, smiling slightly as she stated, "That's good. It sort of freaked me out when you got beat up a few weeks ago."

"Um..." I replied dumbly, still trying to figure out whether or not I was having a real conversation, "Sorry?" She laughed lightly, waving me off as she stated, "No worries. I just figured I'd make sure you were alright, and nothing like that had happened again."

I regarded the blonde carefully for a few moments, making her slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of my gaze if the way she squirmed was any indication, but, finally, I just muttered, "Um... thanks."

Adopting a forced smile, she asked lightly, "You're welcome. So... coming to the quidditch game today?"

"Ya," I answered, having forgotten until that moment that Gryffindor was playing Hufflepuff later in the afternoon. "That's good," Katie replied, digging into the plate of hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs that had just appeared for her, "All the support we can get is good. I just hope the weather clears up. It's looking awful. I hate playing in the sodding rain."

"Ya," I stated dumbly, "Er... ya... rain is bad... for quidditch... and also for watching quidditch..."

Giving me a strange look, Katie asked, "You sure you're alright? Did something happen?"

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. So I was just sitting there, gaping and silent, and I didn't know what to do. I still wasn't even sure if I was talking to myself or not...

"Right..." She drawled, slowly getting up from her seat, "I'm just going to go see if I can find the twins for you, ok? Don't go anywhere." Dumbly, I nodded, and then she was gone.

xxXxx

"I really don't know," I'm not sure how much later I heard Katie's voice coming back into the Hall, but I was still sitting in exactly the same spot. My mouth was still hanging open as well.

"I just tried to talk to her," The blonde announced, sounding slightly put-out, "Be nice, you know? It's kind of horrible how everyone's been treating her. Not her fault about... well, she seemed, like, traumatized or something."

"But she actually talked to you?" It was one of the twins. I was worried that I couldn't tell which one. The other added, "She hasn't been talking at all! What did she say?"

"Something about rain being bad for quidditch," Katie replied snappishly, "And bad for watching quidditch, too. Look, just go fix your friend. Something is wrong with her. She's always seemed pretty weird, but not this weird."

And then there was a twin on either side of me. Despite the fact that I'd been listening to them approach, they still managed to startle me, making me jump as Fred let his arms come around my body.

"Stel?" He asked cautiously, pulling me against his chest, "Stel? What happened? Are you ok?"

I looked up into his face and immediately screamed. I was still troubled over the whole 'hallucinating my best friend' thing, and was terrified of the fact that I could be doing it again. I didn't know if Fred was real or not; I didn't know if he was going to turn into Peter Pettigrew and tell me more horrible things about my dad and myself.

"Stella?" He stated, frowning sadly as he tried hard to keep me from fighting my way out of his grip, "Stel, stop! It's me! It's Fred! What's wrong?"

"NO! NO! NO!" I shrieked, kicking and punching wildly, "YOU'RE NOT REAL! DON'T TOUCH ME! I'M SORRY! I TRIED TO SAVE THEM! PLEASE, I'M SORRY!"

The twins were both confused, sharing utterly horrified glances as Fred held on tighter. "Stella," He commanded, his breath hot against my ear as I began to cry out of frustration and fear, "Stella, stop. Listen. It's Fred. The real me, I promise. Please, try to relax. I've got you, ok?"

I don't know why I believed him. Really, there was nothing about what he said that should've truly convinced me. Still though, I felt myself slowly starting to calm down just from realizing that it was Fred. The real him, he promised.

"There you go," He muttered, his voice shaking noticeably as he held me close and petted my hair, "Relax. You're alright... I got you..."

xxXxx

They sent me to a shrink after that, a real wizarding psychiatrist, ridiculous amounts of diplomas on the walls and everything. Dumbledore seemed a bit sad that his personal therapy hadn't done the trick.

I remember the waiting room, sitting there with Remus that afternoon. I was watching the rain out the window, thinking that I should be cheering on Fred, and George, and Harry at their quidditch game, thinking that I was weak and stupid for having ended up in this inane, pastel-colored waiting room.

Finally growing frustrated with flipping through an old magazine, Remus sighed heavily, flinging the publication into the empty seat to his left. He turned to me, his gold eyes shadowed darkly, tired. He'd just gotten over a full moon, and now he had to deal with all my issues. God, what was wrong with me? Why was I hurting all the people I loved?

"It's going to be ok, Stella," He announced, his voice hoarse and not at all convincing as he put one of his hands over mine. I looked up at him, scared and just... scared, and whispered crossly, "How? She's going to say I need to be locked up! I'm fucking crazy!"

He opened his mouth, asserting heatedly, "You're not-" However, he was cut off by the shrink entering the waiting room, smiling sweetly as she called, "Stella Black?"

"Yo," I deadpanned, getting to my feet and following the petite brunette back into her office without even a brief backward glance.

"My name is Dr. Dink," She said, smiling her wide, bright white, rather toothy smile as she gestured for me to have a seat on one of the two big, squashy brown leather armchairs set up by the window, "But you're welcome to call me Talia if that would make you more comfortable. I want you to feel safe here, and know that you can tell me anything without fear of being judged or ridiculed. My only concern is helping you."

And throughout that long, rather touching speech, the only thing that I could think about was how absolutely hilarious her name was. Seriously, a shrink named Dink? Shrinky Dink? Like those muggle toys! And she was so little, too, probably barely above five feet, if even that. Shrunken Shrinky Dink! Haha!

"Stella?" The woman asked, looking at me over the top of her thin, horn-rimmed glasses as she brushed a stray lock of dark hair back into the prim up-do she kept the rest of it in, "Are you listening?"

"No, sorry," I muttered, shrugging and leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable chair as I swept my gaze over the rest of the office. It had wood paneled walls and red carpeted floors, which I liked a lot better than those in the pastel monstrosity that was her waiting room. It was a small space, just the chairs in one corner, and a neat desk with another chair in the other. As I suspected, she had a million diplomas hung on the walls, as well as some soothing landscapes. I think they were Kinkades.

"Well," The woman went on, still remaining insufferably optimistic, her pretty features warm and caring, "Why don't we start by you letting me know a little bit about yourself. Your uncle tells me that you're very good in school. Do you like school?"

"He's not my uncle," I announced blankly, playing with the frayed end of my school skirt because it was tickling my thigh, "Not really. He's one of my dad's best friends. Or at least he used to be. I don't think Remus is too keen on my dad anymore because everyone thinks he's a murderer. He got locked up, but he just escaped this summer and everyone's been looking for him ever since. They've also been lying to me and constantly telling me how stupid and childish I am for believing that he's innocent. I really don't know if I do believe it anymore, but I have to keep trying because my mum died attempting to prove it. My baby sister died, too, in the attack on Diagon that everyone thinks my dad did as well. I was supposed to protect them both and I couldn't. It was the one fucking thing my dad told me to do before he went away, and I couldn't do it."

Dink was just staring, not saying a word but occasionally jotting down notes on her clipboard. I flicked some hair out of my eyes, noting how long the shaggy blonde locks had grown, past my shoulders by then, and stated casually, "But I guess school is alright. I mean, pretty much everyone hates me there, too, but I'm smarter than them so who the fuck gives a shit what they think, eh, Talia?"

Still no reaction from the good doctor, so I challenged, "Anything else, Talia?"

She looked up at me, daintily crossing her legs as she carefully readjusted her long black pencil skirt and blue pin-striped blouse. "I sense you don't want to be here," She stated, still smiling, "But the people who care for you are very worried about your health, both mental and physical."

Groaning, I grumbled, "Fuck. The twins told on me, didn't they?"

"Fred and... George Weasley, correct?" She asked, reading their names out of her notes before glancing back to me, "Your best friends?" I grudgingly nodded, and she went on, "After what happened this morning, they came forward with the information about your drinking and extreme weight loss. I spoke with them both briefly over the floo, and it was obvious to me that they care for you a great deal."

"So?" I questioned, growing rather annoyed with her, "That has nothing to do with why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" She immediately fired back. Sighing with frustration, I slumped down into the chair, stating, "I'm here, Talia, because I'm fucking crazy."

The good doctor chuckled slightly, shaking her head at me as she requested, "Please elaborate."

"I've been hallucinating," I growled, quickly growing annoyed with her, but relating what happened just so she wouldn't ask me to. Merlin, I even sounded crazy while I was telling the story.

In the end, she simply gave me a soft smile, announcing, "While visual hallucinations are... troubling, I don't think you're crazy. Crazy people don't know that they're crazy. The fact that you recognize the visions as hallucinations and not as reality is a good sign." Before I could even argue with the ridiculous, frankly quite insulting logic, she went on, "You are troubled girl dealing with a lot all at once. You've dealt with a lot your entire life, but the stress surrounding your father's break out is just too much. You shouldn't feel weak or inadequate for not being able to handle it all on your own anymore."

"I'm not weak or inadequate for not being able to handle it," I gritted back, turning away to gaze out into the rain, "I'm weak and inadequate for failing everything I've ever tried to do and hurting everyone I've ever come into contact with. Trust me, Talia, I'm not troubled. I am trouble."

We sat in silence for a few moments, and I found myself harshly blinking back tears as I stared out the window. I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never crawl out again. I wanted... my puppy. I wanted to hug my dog.

"You've had a breakdown," The doctor told me quite plainly, "I can help you, but you've got to want my help."

After a few deep, calming breaths, I turned back to stare at her. The words left my mouth before I even realized I'd thought them. "Well," I told her, "Maybe I don't want your help."

I got up and left. It was one of the many mistakes I made that day, one of the many mistakes I still don't regret.

xxXxx

By the time I convinced Remus to let me go back to Hogwarts, Gryffindor had already lost the quidditch match. Dementors attacked Harry, he fell off his broom, and that pretty boy Diggory caught the snitch. It was a tragedy of epic proportions, and I couldn't help feeling that it was somehow my fault.

Upon hearing the news, I immediately went to the hospital wing, to check on Harry and see if the twins were there. They were, but the second Harry saw me step into the room he started screaming at me to get away from him. He called me every cruel and hurtful name he could think of, and it was very hard to keep myself from crying. My little god-brother wasn't supposed to say those kinds of things to me... they were bad enough for me to not want to repeat, so I'll be moving on without doing so.

Fred stayed behind to yell at the boy while George tugged me gently outside. "I'm sorry, Stel," He stated sadly, pulling me into a great big bear hug, "He's being a prat right now because of the game, because he thinks it's his fault. Don't listen to anything he said."

"Whatever, Georgie," I sniffled, hiding my face in his soaked robes, "I should be used to it by now anyways."

He rubbed a soothing hand down my back, comforting, "He'll come to his senses. He's stubborn, not stupid." Chuckling, I agreed, "Ya, I guess."

"So..." He went on, resting his head on top of mine, "How was the shrink? You make sure to tell her that if she locks you up she'll have to deal with me and my twin? Forge is already planning how he'll spring you."

I laughed, joking, "I'm honored..." We stood there in silence, and I knew George was waiting for me to actually answer his real question, so I finally just sighed, "I walked out... she can't help me..."

"Stel-" George began scolding, only to be cut off by Katie Bell poking her head out the door. She smiled uncomfortably when she saw me, greeting, "Uh, hey, Stella... feeling better?" I shrugged, answering, "Sure. Why not?"

The blonde gave a force laugh, then turned to George and asked, "Any sign of Wood yet?"

George shook his head, damp red hair falling in his clear blue eyes as he replied, "Nope. I told you, he's probably drowning himself in the shower. We're going to need to send someone to talk him out."

"I'll go get him if you want," I volunteered, pulling away from the wet, kind hug, "Got nothing better to do, and you guys should stay. Keep Harry company."

"Stel, it's pouring," George argued sternly, "You're going to get drenched." I sent him a sly smile, teasing, "I'm already drenched, Mr. Bear-Hug. Don't worry, I'll be fine." And with that, I was off.

I was drenched by the time I reached the pitch, and muttering curses directed at a certain know-it-all Weasley (No, not Percy, George. Pay attention, people!) as I plodded through the mud. It was a blessing to suddenly find myself in the bright, overly warm locker room, shaking my hair like I was a shaggy dog and scowling at the mud splattered all over my bare legs.

"OY! Wood!" I immediately called, actually starting to feel much better in the heat. I'd been in the boys' lockers enough times to know how to navigate back to the dressing area, calling a warning of, "Wood, you'd better damn well be decent because I'm coming back there!"

"Huh?" Came the grunted reply, just in time for me to step around a corner and find the mud-splattered quidditch captain sprawled on the floor, one of his long legs flung over a bench and the other jammed in an open locker. The behavior seemed a little odd until I noticed that he had a large, quarter-empty bottle of firewhiskey clutched in one big muddy hand.

I walked a few steps closer, standing near his head. He peered up at me, his brown hair still damp and in disarray and his brown eyes fuzzy as he tried to focus on my face. I leaned over him, questioning, "What are you doing, Wood?"

After quickly glancing up my skirt, making me scowl and step back, he answered, "Gettin' drunk." His deep Scottish brogue was slow and muddled, as well as uncharacteristically bitter. Slowly, I took a seat beside his head, watching jealously as he brought the bottle up to his lips from a long swig of the dark amber liquid inside. I wanted a goddamn drink, but I'd promised Fred...

"Want some?" The captain offered, displaying none of his usual grace or coordination as he held the bottle out to me and nearly sloshed a bit onto my foot. I opened my mouth to say no, that I really shouldn't, that I'd promised, but, instead, "Sure" came out. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd taken the bottle and I'd taken a long, deep drink.

The bittersweet taste of it on my tongue, the heavy burn of it going down my throat, the hot, hot scorch of it as it settled in my gut felt so good. I remember moaning contently as I leaned back against the bright red lockers, stretching my legs out close to the top of Oliver's head as I made myself comfortable and continued to suck down more.

All the while, I was busy rationalizing and excusing my behavior. Sure, I'd promised Fred, but I didn't promise him I wouldn't drink, just that I wouldn't drink so much. Since not a drop of alcohol had touched my lips in what seemed like forever, I figured a few shots with Wood wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he was upset. We were both upset. And misery loves company, after all.

"We lost," Oliver stated, sounding shocked and pissed off as I handed the bottle back to him. He drank more, and I answered, "Mhmm. I heard. Sucks."

He nodded, wiping his thick, wet lips on the sleeve of his filthy quidditch robe. It was my turn for a drink, and I took another, delighting in the slow spinning feeling that was already pushing the bad and scary thoughts out of my head... it was pushing all thoughts out of my head, but that was fine, too.

"I hate losing," Oliver slurred, grunting angrily as he flung an arm over his eyes, "I wanna win the Cup. I gotta. I's my last year."

"You still can," I told him, gleefully helping myself to quite a good amount of his liquor, "Way I heard, this was a total fluke. It's too early to be giving up."

We were silent for a long time after that, and just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth. It was probably about two thirds gone when Oliver finally sighed and clumsily hoisted himself to his feet.

"Thanks for sitting with me," He said, still obviously angry but giving me a gentlemanly hand up. Even though he swayed on the spot, I took the help. I wasn't much better, so I sort of needed it, getting pulled to my feet and then directly into Oliver's rather firm chest. He was taller than me, but only by a few inches, so that put us right at eye level. The seventh year smirked, seeming pleased with himself and not making a move to step back.

"No problem," I returned, smiling in a dazed, floaty sort of way, not attempting to separate myself from him either, "Thanks for the firewhiskey."

He grinned wickedly and I suddenly wasn't as immune to it as I usually was. In fact, when he kept his mouth shut, he was quite a handsome and pleasant guy.

And then he leaned down and kissed me, soft at first but quickly progressing into hard and frenzied as he turned us and pinned me roughly against the lockers. God, he was strong, even while wasted, and I suddenly couldn't think of anything else aside from how good his body felt pressing against mine...

...how good his tongue tasted in my mouth, like the firewhiskey...

...how good his hands felt, rough against my smooth skin as they pushed under my shirt and groped everywhere they could reach...

...most of all, how good it felt to just be wanted...

And Oliver most definitely wanted me. The stiff bulge jabbing into my stomach was a pretty clear indicator.

One last swirl of tongue left us both starving for air as we pulled apart, the captain breathing hard and groaning as he slammed his forehead against the locker he still had me pinned against. Frustration was just oozing off of him, palpable like the sweat I could smell in the air as his dense chest shook beneath my palms.

"I need a shower," He grunted curtly, finally taking a few steps back, clumsily shrugging off his quidditch robe as he ran a hand through his hair. A spot in the front stuck straight up. It was so cute that I couldn't help giggling at him.

But he really didn't like being giggled at, a scowl immediately crossing his handsome features. And then he was right on me once more, in under a second, pushing me hard against the lockers as he demanded dangerously, "Something funny?"

I gazed unflinchingly into his dark brown eyes, understanding his anger more than I even knew at the time, and answered plainly, "Your hair, Cap. But funny's not the right word. I was leaning more towards cute."

My words sunk in slowly, more slow than they normally would have to the slightly thickheaded jock since he was rather plastered. But, eventually, his wicked little smirk came back. His grip became slightly less painful, though it didn't subside completely as he eyed me up and down, taking in my wet, clingy clothing, and flushed face, and inviting, mud-splattered body. When he looked me in the eye again, he announced, "You need a shower, too."

The next few seconds passed in a rush of lips crashing sharply and hands ripping at clothing and sweat-slick skin being bared to the hot, humid locker room air. Oliver somehow managed to pick me up off the ground and anchor my long legs around his waist as he stumbled us both into the blindingly white tile of the communal showers. Both our shirts were gone by the time he shoved my back against the wall, the cool ceramic against my overheating skin wrenching a strangled moan from my throat as Oliver kissed and licked and bit the smooth column.

He smelled like sweat, salty and hot, and he was rocking his hips into mine over and over again, making my head spin in a way that was entirely different from the spin of the alcohol coursing through my blood.

My skirt disappeared somewhere between me reaching over to turn the hot water on full blast and him tearing my bra off over my head. We were bathed in steam, the slightly hotter than comfortable water soaking my hair and burning my flesh. Oliver shuddered as it poured over his back, groaning as he bent to attach his mouth to one of my nipples, simultaneously ripping my skimpy white thong clean off my body.

The elastic bit into me before tearing, and then snapped against me with a harsh sting that made me cry out and arch against Oliver. He suckled and bit all over one breast before turning his attention to the other, leaving me to just hold on tight to his shaggy brown hair as my eyes rolled back into my head. I had never experienced such a feeling before, and I really liked it.

But if I thought that was good, there was nothing that could compare to what came next. One of Oliver's hands abandoned its position keeping my arse captive and it snaked down to hurriedly unzip and lower his trousers. I could feel him shift against me, stroking himself and in too much of a damn hurry to even get completely undressed. I remember thinking that it wasn't really fair that I was naked and he wasn't.

And then I stopped being able to think when he brushed his knuckles along the wet folds of my cunt, brushing something just there that suddenly made me see stars. I threw my head back so violently that I nearly knocked myself out on the wall, whimpering as his thumb rubbed circles on a hard little nub I'd barely paid attention to before that moment.

He pressed a finger inside me, too fast and too rough but I was past caring. Or maybe I just needed it that way. Maybe I liked it. The digit pumped in and out only a few times as I mewled against his mouth. It burned slightly, and felt odd as he wiggled it around in the tightwet heat he found.

Without further preparation or warning, he grasped my hips firmly in both hands and slammed me down onto his cock. It hurt. I'd heard girls talk about how much the first time hurts, but I was completely unprepared for it to be that fucking bad. The stars behind my eyes were suddenly just white hot pain. I screamed, giving a convulsive, shuddering sob that was muffled by Oliver's mouth closing over mine. I don't think he realized or even cared at that point that he was hurting me.

His whole body shook as he stilled for a just a fraction of a second, just long enough to grunt into my ear, "Fuck. Tight. Fuck." And then he started to move, his hips immediately setting a hard, fast pace as he ruthlessly pounded me into the wall.

At first, it just hurt even more. Every time he pulled himself nearly all the way out and then hammered all the way back in I was screaming in agony. The water was still falling over us, but I'm fairly sure by that time some of the moisture on my face was tears.

Gradually, it started to get better. The hot hard slide of his cock inside me started to feel good, and then very good, and then just the most utterly fantastic thing I'd ever experienced. I was moaning out loud, clenching myself around Oliver as he raised and lowered me with those huge arms, rocking my body into his and rubbing my clit against his hard abs. God, I can't believe I got off like that, coming to the feel of a wet hot wave of spasms washing over me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. My toes curled as my legs tightened around Oliver's waist, pulling him closer as I clutched at him and sunk my nails into his tense shoulders.

He just kept going, grunting and sweating and swearing as he bit down on my neck. It was overwhelming. It was blissful. I could just let myself go, let go of the thoughts and worries and fears that had been plaguing me, making me sick for months. I could just surrender myself over to sensation, the whole world becoming one harshfastrough blur of sight and smell and touch and taste and "OH! Fuck, yes! Harder! More! Fuck me! Oh, god, YES!"

I didn't even realize I was talking until he moaned against the breast he was sucking. He pulled back, his voice sounding strained and on edge as he gasped, "Fuck. So fucking hot. That's it, baby. Scream for me!"

He reached down between my legs, pinching my clit between a rough thumb and finger and twisting it hard. I was gone after that, shrieking as I exploded around him, my head swimming as my vision unfocused itself from the sheer intensity of the release. I felt Oliver surge into me shallowly a few last times before he grunted against my neck and spilled inside me. It was a strange feeling, wet hot liquid pulsing into body, dripping down the cleft of my arse before it fell to the floor and mixed with the scalding water to swirl down the drain. I had a brief moment where I panicked about getting pregnant. Then I remembered that I hadn't had a period in months anyways. Being too thin makes you unable to get pregnant. I was so glad that I'd read that anatomy textbook the year before.

It was over, and we were both just frozen like that, breathing hard as we slowly came down from the unbelievable high. We were shivering even as the blistering water continued to pour over us, as the steam made it difficult to get adequate amounts of oxygen to our addled, drunken brains.

Eventually, Oliver gently pulled away, his cock sliding out of me with an embarrassing wet pop. I immediately felt fluid dripping down the insides of my thighs. I looked down and was horrified to see that it was a mix of come and blood.

Oliver was horrified as well, flushing even darker than he already was as his eyes went wide. "Shit," He swore, looking back to my face, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get so rough with you!"

I shrugged, trying not to betray that I was a little frightened as I turned my back on him and started to wash off. "It's ok," I told him, my voice and knees still shaking slightly, "I'll be fine." Even turned the other way, I could tell he was staring at my arse, letting his eyes roll along the smooth lines of my legs and back. Again, it felt really good to be wanted, just the way I was, insanity, eating disorder, fugitive father, and all.

"Well," He announced, turning on the shower beside mine as he too began rinsing off, "That was... amazing..." He was slurring his words only a little bit now, so his drunkenness seemed to be wearing off quickly. I was still dizzy, and I intended to stay that way. This combination of sex and booze was absolutely perfect. I could hardly think, which was good because I really didn't want to anymore.

"Thanks," I returned, smiling in a drugged up way as I finally stopped bleeding and shut off the shower, "You weren't half bad yourself." I'm fairly sure he was already way over his depression about the quidditch game, but figured stoking his ego a bit couldn't hurt anything. Besides, he was pretty good.

The boy grinned like it was Christmas morning, finally remembering that he should probably take off his pants if he intended to have a real shower. I'd never seen a guy completely naked before, and I couldn't help but stare. He was fairly large, and I was rather impressed with myself and with him.

He saw me staring and smirked, shamelessly lathering himself up as he shot me a full frontal view and stated, "Don't go anywhere, ok? I wanna walk back with you."

"Sure," I agreed, blushing as I turned away and gathered up my clothes before I left, grabbing a towel off the stack by the shower entrance. Sore but sated, I dried off and then dressed, sipping more firewhiskey and realizing too late that my knickers were completely trashed so I was going to have to go without. I'd just pulled my skirt on over my bare arse when I heard the locker room door open and the most inconvenient voice in the world call, "Stella? Wood?"

"Shit," I swore under my breath, quickly checking my appearance in a mirror as I hurriedly tried to get my hair and clothes as dry as possible. "Um," I called uncertainly, "In here, Fred."

He came around the corner about two seconds later, breathing a relieved sigh as a weak smile came over his freckled face. "Hey, love," He greeted, crossing the room in a few strides, sweeping me into a friendly hug and peck on the cheek, "I was getting worried. George said you walked down here hours ago. Everything alright?"

"Ya," I told him, smiling sweetly as I returned the hug and tried not to slur my words, "Fine. Me and Oliver were just... talking."

He smirked, laughing, "Oh ya? Did you manage to take his mind off our tragic defeat?" I think my heart fucking stopped. Inuendo, curse you to hell!

"Um, ya," I answered, trying with all my might not to blush, "It's not the end of the world, after all."

"Stella?" Oliver's voice called happily, "You're still here, right?" A second later, he walked around the corner wearing nothing but a low-slung towel. His brown eyes grew wide in his skull when he saw Fred...

...Awkward...

After a moment or two, the captain managed to collect himself, coughing uncomfortably as shimmied his towel higher up on his hips and greeted, "Uh, hey there, Weasley..." And, whether it was natural or a side effect of the firewhiskey, he asked rather tactlessly, "Why are you here?"

"Just looking for Stella," Fred answered, seeming like he was thinking hard as he eyed Oliver skeptically and just a little bit hostiley, "What are you doing flashing my best friend with your hideous man-teats?"

"Freddie!" I scolded, smacking him on the arm as I blushed. Oliver's face turned red as well, and he gaped, unable to think of an answer on the spot. I was starting to remember why I wasn't particularly fond of talking to the boy when we were both in sober states. He was rather slow pretty much everywhere aside from on a broom... or in a bedroom (shower, whatever, just let me have my alliteration)...

"Don't be rude, Fred," I told him, giving a pointed glare, "It's not like I haven't seen your horrible man-teats before."

Before the sentence was completely out of my mouth, I saw Fred's eyes dart around the rest of the room, dangerously close to the near empty bottle of firewhiskey that I'd left on the bench. For a brief moment, I held my breath, praying that he wouldn't see it.

But he did, and his gaze immediately came back to me. Then Oliver, where it grew several degrees more angry. Then me again, where it seemed to bore a hole straight into my flesh. I could see betrayal in his expression, hurt, and rage, and disappointment, and... something I couldn't even begin to name.

"You promised," He accused sharply, his voice so cold that I remember actually physically wincing as I stared down at my feet. I was ashamed.

"Fred..." I weakly tried to defend my actions, but I knew there was really no excuse. What I'd done was selfish, but I was finding that I was becoming more and more selfish as that horrible year progressed. All I seemed to care about anymore was relief from the exhaustion and fear and anger and grief. I'd broken my promise; I felt bad that I'd let Fred down, but it was hard to actually care.

"Weasley," Oliver cut in bravely, defending me like a true Gryffindor, "Don't be mad at Stella. The whiskey's mine."

I could see the muscles in Fred's jaw tightening as he hissed, "But you gave her some, right? You gave her some, and she drank it?"

At a loss, Oliver looked between me and Fred, searching for the correct way to answer the question without lying or getting either of us in trouble. Such a solution did not exist. "Er..." The captain finally muttered, "Ya..."

"What the hell is your problem?" Fred exploded, on Oliver so fast that I got dizzy, shoving the older boy hard against the lockers as his face turned a hot, furious red behind his freckles, "Stella's fourteen! She's a fourth year! You have absolutely no business with her, and you certainly don't have the right to get her drunk!"

Oliver really did seem to have forgotten about my age, his mouth falling wide open as an "I'm doing math now" look came over his features. Fred didn't care, he just kept screaming, "Don't fucking give her liquor! Just stay the hell away from her all together! She's mine, and I'm not going to let you hurt her! Or let her hurt herself!"

He then turned and grabbed me roughly by the elbow, spinning me around and dragging me out as he ordered gruffly, "Come on. We're going back to the castle to sober you up."

I was biting back tears, but feeling inexplicably angry as well. Before he could pull me very far, I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, yelling, "No! I don't want to sober up! I'm sick of being sober!"

"Stella-" Fred growled, cutting himself off to take a deep, calming breath, "You have to stop! You're killing yourself! Don't you see it? Don't you care? You're my best friend, and I love you! I won't let you do this!"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" I shouted in reply, barely aware of what I was even saying. Briefly, I saw pain flash across his clear blue eyes. I'd hurt him. I hurt everyone. Fred just loved and cared about me, and I hurt him.

I couldn't take it. I turned and I ran, out into the cold and rain and dark and mud, only half aware of Fred screaming for me to come back.

xxXxx

Later, soaked and shivering in the near pitch darkness just on the dangerous side of the Forbidden Forest, I was slowly sobering up. As I became less and less inebriated, I became more and more depressed. Nothing was right anymore. Nothing made sense or even seemed worth going back to.

Pulling my thin, mud-splattered knees to my chest, I considered running away, far, far away. I wanted to run, to outrun my problems. That would be impossible though. Fucking impossible. There were too many of them, and each one was another slab of concrete, weighing me down, slowly, slowly crushing the life out of me...

Sniffling, I tried not to let myself be scared back in doors, to let the dark and cold and loneliness drive me into the safety of the castle. In there, I would have to deal with Fred, and Oliver, and Remus, and Harry, and the rest of the intolerant, ignorant student body.

I just wished I wasn't all by myself. It was cold and creepy, not to mention dark. I felt vulnerable and alone.

An answer to my prayers came in the form of a bark, followed by a mass of sopping, shaggy black fur running out of the darkness and right for me. Despite the tears still clinging to my cheeks, my face lit up in a big smile that turned into a happy laugh of, "Puppy! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

He bounded into my arms, jumping all over me and licking my face before finally settling his whole body into my lap. He was so big that he covered me up from the waist down, like a cozy blanket made of wet dog. Leaning against a tree, I sighed, suddenly exhausted now that I felt a little safer.

"I'll go back in the morning," I mused outloud, slowly closing my eyes as my fingers slowly scratched behind his ear, "They'll probably send me to the shrink again for this... You know, I wouldn't have any issues if people would just believe me when I say my dad's innocent. I mean, that's where all this comes from, them taking him away from us..."

I vaguely heard the dog whine, but I was more than half asleep, just talking to myself to fill the silence as I slipped off, "He probably forgot all about me anyways... or hates me... because I couldn't protect Mum and the baby..."

With one last shiver, I allowed myself to give in to the dark.

xxXxx

The sun woke me in the morning, fucking bright and cheery and right in my eyes. With a disoriented groan, I tried curl away from it, to squeeze my eyelids tighter, but it was no use. There was too much fucking light.

After spending a few moments remembering where I was, I slowly got to my feet, slightly disappointed that I didn't see my dog anywhere around. He was nice company. I sighed, trying to ignore the chills from my wet clothes as I prepared myself for the long march back to the castle.

It was then that I noticed a crumbled scrap of paper clutched in my hand. I had no idea where it had come from, frowning slightly as I smoothed it out and read the blotchy, crooked words:

Never forget.

I didn't understand what it was supposed to mean. Never forget what? Who the hell had stuck the note into my hand? Who the hell had been standing over me while I slept? It was a little creepy.

Nonetheless, I stuck the scrap into my pocket and took the long walk back to school.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yay for lemon! I don't write enough of them. I'm sure some people are upset about her getting with Oliver, but keep in mind that I do have a point to all this. You must be patient my lovelies.

Hehe, Dr. Dink. Yet another of the random thoughts that make me laugh at inappropriate times.

My imagination lives on reviews. Have a heart; please don't let him starve.