What ravages of spirit conjured this temptuous rage?
Created you a monster, broken by the rule of love
And fate has led you through it - you do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it - you do what you have to do

You're all going to hate me.

Fun fact: Tom is named after another famous Slytherin - Tom Riddle. This is not necessarily because he is evil and is going to try and kill all Muggles, but more because of other similair qualities: being in Slytherin, being the Head Boy, and because they look the same in my mind.

Wood sighed as he rushed around his office at the Pitch, looking for his official list of fouls for the latest Quidditch games so he could turn them into McGonagall. Already he would be late to go and see Aly, but he couldn't imagine she'd mind. She knew the password for his office, and would probably be taking a cat nap or doodling when he got there.

Smiling triumphantly, the Scot noticed a carefully written bullet point list on the corner of his desk, and he snatched it up, "Yes!" At his exclamation, his owl Nimble woke up, looking at him lazily through one eye. Watching his hand, and making sure he'd have enough treats to satisfy the owl later, Wood carefully tied the parchment to his owl's leg, "Take this straight to McGonagall, aye? Don't stop to eat – I'll have dinner for you tonight."

With a tired hoot, Nimble hopped dutifully onto Wood's arm as he started towards the door. Unperturbed at the dark-hooded figure who was standing at the door, Nimble flew off without so much a glance at the man; Wood, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot.

"Y-yes," he finally managed. He hated how his voice sounded weak, but he was honestly scared. Sure, the Dark Lord had contacted him before, to demand updates, But a personal visit from one of his very own Death Eater? This had the potential to be very serious.

"I'm here on behalf of my Lord," the man replied openly, stepping passed Wood easily and into the cozy office. Wood liked to keep it warm wherever he went, and there was constantly a fire burning in his office, even if he wasn't there. "We have news of the child."

Wood gulped – the child. The child he had been sent here to find. He stood there, torn between fighting and feigning and generally hindering the man's mission, or quickly agree to everything with the proper Proper Nouns so that Aly wouldn't be alone so long.

Sighing, he quickly made a decision, "I didn't know you were expecting, Malfoy."

With a sneer, the young Malfoy turned on him, his wand pulled and pointed at his ex-arch-Quidditch-enemy's throat, "This is no joke, Wood. He wants her, you know."

Wood raised a careful eyebrow, "Hey, aye? He found out something about her.
"That's what I said, you mangy prat," Malfoy literally spat the words into Wood's chin.

"Well, get on with it," Wood cut in, trying his best not to seem flustered as he moved away from the wand, casually turning and straightening papers on his desk.

"She's a girl."

"Obviously," Wood spat back at his younger superior, smirking to himself as Malfoy breathed in deeply. No doubt the blonde snake was under orders not to harm Wood, lest anyone at the school become suspicious.

"There's more, though. The girl's got an anklet, Wood. Won't come off until she's graduated; Hogwarts uses it to monitor when she transforms. It's got a number on it, too – 011205202001."

"Your mother teach you that one," Wood questioned sarcastically turning from his desk only to be rammed into it by an angry Malfoy gripping robe's lapels.

"Listen here, Bludger boy – our Lord is getting very impatient; he's expecting results and he's expecting results soon. If I were you, I wouldn't be stupid enough to disappoint him."

And with that, Malfoy stormed out of the office in an official huff, leaving Wood to clench and unclench his fits in an attempt to calm himself down. Going after Malfoy wouldn't change the facts – so now he was looking for a girl with an anklet. How hard could that be to find – their ankles are exposed almost daily because of their short skirts. Someone is bound to notice a girl in an anklet. He just had to ask the right person.

With a sigh, Wood grabbed a broom, resolving to fly to his office as opposed to walking; it would help him clear his mind, and he would get there faster. He hadn't planned on this little meeting, and now he was sure that Darling would be wondering why he was late.

Her questions wouldn't be hard to brush off – his owl gave him a hard time sending the letter; it had taken him longer to find the parchment than it had in reality. Something, anything, would do. She trusted him, a fact that killed Wood every time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came a-calling.

With a flick of his wand, Wood's office window opened and Wood ducked in, his feet landing lightly on the stone floor. Aly laid on her back on a loveseat she'd taken to conjuring in his office, not bothering looking up from the book she was reading, "Hey, Broom-face."

Wood shook his head – Aly claimed this was the stage in the relationship where she makes up odd nicknames for him. He'd, of course, never heard of such a thing, but he couldn't ever bring himself to care, especially when he had to think about much more important things.

"Everything okay? You're pretty late, I was getting worried that I had the wrong day, or something," Aly questioned, not looking up at him from her book.

Wood smiled to himself mischievously; today, he didn't feel like writing papers and glancing at Aly over them as they talked. No, today he needed a much bigger distraction from his life. He slowly made her way to the edge of the couch, where her feet were dangling precariously over the arm. "Oh, nothing in particular; couldn't find the memo I needed to send to McGonagall."

Aly absentmindedly 'hmm'ed him, And Wood smiled as he fell to his knees at her feet. This early in the relationship, he was having fun trying all different things, seeing what she responded to. Today, he'd try to be foolishly seductive like the women in the movies before tickling her feet and seeing what it let to.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Wood removed Aly of her right shoe. With a quirked eyebrow, she eyed him over the top of her book before starting to read again. And so he took off the next one, still smiling secretly to himself.

It was when he'd decided to take off her socks that everything went wrong. He felt a sickening bump on her ankle, like there was something there. Carefully, Wood pulled the sock down and off her feet, his breath hitching at what he saw, "A-Aly, what's this?"

Aly's book fell to her lap as Wood carefully read and memorized the first few numbers – 011205. "What's what?" Aly bent up her leg to her face in a way that would be very appealing to Wood, if only he could force his heart to beat. "Oh, shit, the charm's wearing off."

"What is it," Wood questioned again as Aly leaned over to grab her wand out of her bag. Sighing, she muttered a charm before replying.

"I… fuck," she breathed out, obviously trying to word it right.

"Is it a Head Person's thing," Wood questioned hopefully, "So McGonagall can always find you in a crisis?"

"No, no," Aly told him, blushing, "It's… it's because I'm an animagus, Wood. I can turn into a falcon. And it's really important you don't tell anyone – I'm only telling you because I trust you and I know you're on Harry's side, so you won't tell the Dark Lord who I am."

Wood's body froze and refroze at every word she said.

I yawned into my History of Magic homework, my forehead resting firmly against the parchment that was supposed to be seven inches on the eighth series of giant wars. The subject was particularly dull to me, making the writing difficult, if not painful. I just – giant wars? Why is it always goblin rebellions and giant wars in that class – never something cool or different. Just more names to mix up.

I yawned again, willing my eyes not to close, trying to gather enough information to write another inch on the subject. If I write large enough, that's only three more lines, which is two long sentences. How can I sum up the eighth series of giant wars in two long sentences that aren't exact replicas of the two sentences I just wrote as a conclusion. I just wish I remember what the original four I had were – then I could be done and sleeping.

With a leap and a caw, Oliver's raven dethatched itself from my forlorn bag on the bed and made a lap around my head before settling on my finger, which I was staring out lazily out of one eye. Impossibly, it's mouth stretched to accommodate the note, and with a small pop it was on my bed.

A message from my boyfriend – maybe it can explain why he was acting so weird, lately. Ever since I told him I'm an Animagus, he hasn't even wanted to see me all that much. I'm worried, really; what if he breaks up with me because he thinks I'm a freak? He has to understand – I don't even remember learning to be an Animagus. My mother taught it to me when I was, like, five. For me, it's as natural as being a Metamorphmagus,

With a forced-steady hand, I reached towards the note, very awake and all my senses sharp suddenly. I unfolded the note, which was always folded into eighths, The message was simple – Oliver had never been one to write long, drawn-out letters.

Come of my office. Immediately.

I was stuck somewhere between stunned and angered at the authoritive tone the letter took on; like he was my master, or something. He is my professor, I reminded myself as I stood, looking down at myself. Blue-plaid flannel pants and a gray wife-beater, also known as my pajamas.

Oh well, at least it isn't booty shorts and a sports bra, I decided as I started out the door and turned immediately to walk through a portrait that led down to the sixth floor Oliver's office. I had a cosmically bad feeling about all this, but I pushed it aside to concentrate on what Oliver could want with me. I decided quickly, of course, that it had better be an apology and to make-up, because otherwise this is a total waste of study-time.

Oliver's office had never been very far from the staircase, his being the last office and the staircase being just at the end of the hall. With a few long strides and hurried breaths, I was there, trying to decide whether to knock of use the emergency password for when the professor loses his keys. Of course, that password doesn't work if someone's already in there…

Suddenly, Oliver opened the door, deep circles under his eyes and looking positively livid, "Get in here." Before I could retaliate, or take a step on my own, Oliver pulled me into the office and slammed the door behind me. I opened my mouth, to rebuke such treatment, when he shoved a paper in my face, "What is this, Darling?"

"Huh," I questioned, trying to grab the paper, which seemed to be the source of all Wood's troubles, and most of mine.

He pulled it out of my reach easily, "It's the results of the Ravenclaw's try-outs; they've found themselves a Beater. How could you not tell me you were trying out?!"

"I… I made it," I questioned; could it really be a miracle? Oliver shoved the paper in my face, and I started to laugh when I saw my name printed there, "Oliver, I made it!"

"How could you not tell me?"

"What," I questioned, halfway to hugging him. How could I not tell him? "It was supposed to be a surprise, Oliver. I wanted to surprise you; I did this for you, for a gift for our one-month anniversary. I thought you'd be happy!"

"You thought I'd be happy," he thundered at me, "Happy that you're now endangering yourself for an entire school to see? Happy that now you'll be spending your time with a bunch of sweaty boys who have an excuse to gawk at you? What is there to be happy about all this?!"

"Wood, is that you, talking? This is Quidditch, Quidditch." I looked up at him to see if my words had any effect, the result being a negative, "You know what? I'll come back when you've cooled off."

I brushed passed him towards the door when he grabbed my arm, "No, no, Darling, wait." I froze, trying to decide if I should blow up at him or let him talk. I ended up not having a choice. "It's, just, well… it's not just this, things have gotten a lot more… complicated."

I turned; I knew this speech. This was the speech I'd given to Tom in my head a thousand times, "Wood?"

"I, well… we need to break up, Aly. I just… I can't risk it anymore."

"Did someone find out," I asked, my brow furrowing. "Did someone threaten you?" Of course my mind immediately shot to Tom.

Wood shook his head, "No, no, no one knows, thank the Lord." Something about the way he said that made me want to cry very, very badly. Thank the Lord? Now he doesn't even want to be known publically with me. "We, just… we've got to break up, Aly. We can't keep doing this."

"Wh… uh, what?" I finally managed as both my hands found the tips of my hair. Gently, in a way that made me nauseous, Wood leaned forward to pull my hands down towards my side.

"Don't do that," he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Don't do what," I questioned, my voice muffled with the suppression of sobs, "Don't be upset? Don't care? Don't what, Wood? What shouldn't I do, for your sake?"

"Aly," Wood started, and that was that infamous straw.

I turned, heading desperately for the door and turning for the portrait that would lead to just outside my room. Oh God, I'm crying. I can feel it – the tears running down my cheeks, my hands running threw my hair and trying to wipe the tears away simultaneously. I could feel it, but at the same time I didn't feel like I was doing it. It felt more like I was being controlled, like this was the Imperious curse, while impossibly I was fully aware of what I was doing.

With two slamming of portraits behind me and one fallen against door, I found myself staring at my room, crumbled against the door and sobbing. That was it – Wood and I had our month and a half relationship, and now we were done. Finite Incatatem. Null in void. Over.

Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick.

And I have the sense to recognize
That I don't know how to let you go