The first few words of this chapter came to me when I was three-quarters asleep during history class, but continued to write so that I looked like I was taking notes. When I opened my eyes and looked to see what I wrote, I'd actually written 'isn't that pretty.'

Fun fact: The number on Aly's ankelt, 011205202001, is actually her name.

01=A; 12=L; 05=E; 20=T; 20=T; 01=A

"Isn't that pretty," I heard Tom's voice comment just as I made my way through the portrait. I froze, a multitude of possibilities flashing through my mind. The comment was followed with a high-pitched giggle that had better be Siren's. Trying to swallow my fear and act natural, I leaned over the railing into the common room to say hi and tease the lovebirds.

With a pained breath, it occurred to me that I was also in the perfect position to barf when I saw that Tom had quite literally shoved his tongue down Siren's throat. Choking back the wretching sound that fought to make its way into being, I started pulled away from the railing to give them some more privacy. The problem was that Tom was faster.

His eyes shot open at the squeak that had actually survived, and locked with mine before I had gotten far enough away. That look, that predatory look that made him almost glow, caught my attention, though, because it wasn't really Tom. Tom was a sweet boy who would… take the port key home with me and buy me chocolates when I had a bad day.

Tom didn't look like a snake and wink at me knowingly while he's making out with my best friend. Well, he does, but not the Tom I know. Not the Tom I dated. I refuse to believe that I dated that.

With both hands tangled and knotted in my hair, I turned and was forced to use my knee to push at the door handle. I heard Siren call my name, probably confused as to why I didn't come down and hang out for a few minutes. Desperate, imagining her coming up the stairs, dragging Tom behind her somehow, I ripped my hands from my hair for a moment to open the door. I then promptly ran into my room, locking the door by shouting a charm as I dove hurriedly into my bed.

With a few shuddered breaths, I tried to process what I'd seen. I mean, it wasn't conclusive. He might have winked because he… he thinks I'm jealous. That's what all this is about – he likes her and he thinks my wretching sound was… jealousy.

You know, cause he knows I'm the kind of person who gets jealous of my ex-boyfriend shamelessly forcing himself onto my best friend, who actually has never had a real boyfriend before and probably thinks this is all going to fast but is too scared to say anything because she doesn't want to mess this up.

That was such a run on sentence. Maybe instead of thinking about the information, I can concentrate on fixing my grammar.

We all know I'm not logical, and that I don't do well thinking about what's going wrong when it's actually happening. I do better focusing on trivial things, like grammar or picking at my anklet or using my hands to comb my hair.

But as the image of Tom flashed through my mind, I shoved my head deeper into my pillow, feeling like more of an ostrich than a falcon; alright, so I would do better thinking about trivial things if I could actually continue to think about trivial things. That's besides the point. The point is that I need a point unrelated to Tom to think about.

Oliver. There ya go, think of your boyfriend. If he can't hold your interest, nothing can. Isn't he a pretty boy? Very well groomed. Tom's a boy, too. Well, there that goes. Now there is forever a connection in my mind between this and Oliver – both Oliver and Tom are boys. Of all the connections, that's the sorry one that came to mind.

Quidditch. I'll ponder my feelings about Quidditch. It's fun, but dangerous, because my ex-boyfriend plays it and that's awkward. Hmm, ex-boyfriends. Birds, I'll think about birds. What can go wrong with birds? Tom knows I turn into a bird, that's what!

I know, I know he's using her. I know Tom, even when he's all twisted and contorted into whatever he's become now. He… he knows me. He's got that kind of mind that he knows someone's weakness. He used to use that power to tease them, jokingly. Like it was for the good of mankind before, or something.

And he knows that if there is one thing I'm more protective about than anything else in the world, it's Siren. She's so… sweet. Innocent. And Tom's ruining that. This is just cruel.

I have to tell her, I decided. I mean, I can't just let my friend walk straight into heartache now, can I? It's like not telling her that he's cheating on her, or something. Hell, it's worse – he never even intended to like her; at least if he had cheated on her he would've cared enough to actually be dating her at some point.

"Hey, Siren," I called out across the lawn to her, stepping into the unpleasant wind and snow that was Britain in the winter. Lord knows why Tom felt the need to drag her out here; probably just for some strange, sick pleasure of his.

Siren flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, revealing what I could tell was a cup of something with steam. Hot chocolate, probably, or tea. It kind of reminds me of Wood and I when we hang out in the Quidditch Pitch after hours, but Tom is nothing like Oliver. He better not be. "Aly? I thought you had tutoring today!"

I froze mid-step, my eyes growing wide. Oh, shit, Oliver's actually waiting for me right now; probably twiddling with his wand and muttering random Quidditch fouls in place of actual cursing.

"I, uh… blew it off." More or less. "Just for a few minutes – I really need to talk to you." I was halfway to them, now, and with a sickening jolt in my stomach I realized that the broad smile on Tom's face as he sat on the blanket next to Siren had the same glow that had been in his eyes just last night – predatory.

"Alright, what's up," the bubbly Indian girl questioned back easily, placing her cup of hot chocolate on the ground and smiling contently as Tom drew her closer. I flinched as I came up to them.

"Uh, this is really a private thing – no boys, you know?"
"Nonsense – me and Tom tell each other everything, don't we," Siren cooed.

If I wasn't going to be sick before, it's an overwhelming possibility that seeing that just pushed me over the edge.

"Of course, honey bear." Alright, now that was definitely too much to take.

With a few stubborn breaths, I leaned forward and grabbed Siren's hand, turning to drag her off as she continued to scream and laugh at me for being so weird, even though I could tell she was annoyed. Now she's putting up fronts for this boy; what next? Dye her hair blonde? Grow a pair of wings?

I turned just as we were out of sight of Tom, Siren's face morphing from giddy to angry, "What was that all about, Aly?"

"I… I need to tell you something about Tom," I started. Siren's lip rose into a sneer for the tiniest second, and in that second I just wanted to shrivel up and die.

"What – his parents are Death Eaters? He's allergic to cherry lip gloss? What could you need to tell me that couldn't wait for five se-"

"He's using you to get back at me," I spat out. I would like to take a moment and dwell in the un-gracefulness of that sentence – what with the way it interrupted her and contained less tact than Oliver has in his entire body.

Siren's eyes widened, "Excuse me?"

"At the beginning of the year – he told me he was going to get back at me for cheating on him."

"Well it's a good thing he got over you, then, isn't it?"

I wanted to groan – she knew what I was getting at. I ran my hands tentatively through my hair before deciding that if there was any time to be nervous, it was now, "He hasn't, Siren; he's using you to get to me because he knows it will kill me to see you being used."

"Well then you're lucky that he's not using m-"

"Siren, would you shut up and use your brain for just five seconds? He winked at me last night while you two were making out; he's pushing you way too fast-"

"He waited five months to ask me out!"

"And then he nearly had his hand up your shirt before the first date!"

"I can't believe you'd stoop this low, Aly," Siren glared at me, her dark-brown eyes smoldering as they tried to burn a hole in me, "I mean, I get it – you're messed up after you broke up with Tom; you had that weird thing with that Elliot guy, but to try and convince me th-"

"I'm not trying to convi-"

"Why can't you just accept that for the first time in my life someone likes me," Siren cut off my cut off, her jaw set determinedly. I'd never seen Siren so… serious. It hurt, to have to see her like that. "Why, just because a guy likes me and he's over you, why do you have to try and ruin it? Can't you just get over yourself and let someone else be happy, for once?"

My stomach jumped into my throat as Siren walked away, nearly jamming all my other innards up and out. I felt… horrible. I knew that what Siren was saying would seem very right to everyone else – I didn't tell anyone about Tom's constant threats and mutterings about revenge. These suspicions seemed… unfounded, like the mad ravings of the typical ex-girlfriend.

But… but something just wasn't right. That smile, the way he looked at her… that wasn't Tom in love; that wasn't Tom feeling anything even close to love. That was Tom when… when he was trying to convince an old witch to buy us firewhiskey. And sure, he looked passionate, but it wasn't passion based on affection; it was based on sheer want.

Fighting the urge to crumple up into a ball, I instead squeezed my eyes shut and let my bones rearrange themselves into another familiar position. It happened within an instant, it seemed, but at the same time the time, the pain, continued to drag on painfully. I just wanted to not be here, to not know about any of this. Be a Muggle, only be able to be one species.

But with a strong flap of my wings, I tried to imagine leaving the world behind. I knew where I was going, and so I let the wind currents take me as close as they would to his window. And with a detached peacefulness, I landed on the windowsill and tapped on the window to Oliver's office.

He jumped, but I didn't even blink as I stared at him expectantly. Obligingly, he opened the window, allowing me and the few flurries that had started to come down in before slamming that same window shut behind me. Not minding the snappiness of his actions, which hinted at him being annoyed, I let myself drift towards the loveseat.

With a deep breath, I changed back mid-air, falling into the loveseat halfway through my transformation. My face rebounded enough to let me catch a breath before my normal-girl face found its way into the loveseat cushions, my hands doing nothing to help me as they lifted themselves half-heartedly to my hair. I kind of feel like wishing like none of that happened.

Oliver sighed, obviously sensing my distress and choosing pity instead of anger, "What's wrong, Aly?"

"Everything."

"Well, that's promising."