Settling the Score

A Thousand Times Goodnight

"So."

"So."

I shot Katie an irritated look, eyes narrowing pointedly. The two of us were huddled up in her four-poster like the sappy best friends we were, sharing both her worn-out Snoopy blanket and the tub of Half-Baked I'd stolen from the kitchens earlier that day. Alicia and Angelina had yet to return from the party, so even though it was nearing two in the morning, Kats and I had the room to ourselves.

Too bad she was being totally evasive.

"Katie."

"I know, I know, I just…" she trailed off, absently twirling the spoon in her hand. "I feel bad. He doesn't really know I know this, and I—"

"You mean Wood?"

She nodded, and I immediately scoffed, causing her empathetic gaze to fly over to mine. "Don't judge him so quickly, Andy, there are things you don't know about him."

"And why is that?" I countered, tone a bit bitter. "Oh, right—because he's made it his life's mission to avoid me at all costs."

"Stop being so dramatic," she said with an eye roll, dipping her spoon into the tub and scooping up a bit of ice cream. "This is obviously just something he'd prefer not to involve you in."

I dropped my spoon in a frustrated manner. "I'd say I'm already pretty damn involved, Kats."

"Which is why I'm intervening, relax," she explained, tossing me a pointed look before turning her attention back to licking the ice cream off her spoon. I quieted down a bit in response—she was right. Besides, Katie was the type of person who took secrets to the grave, so going behind Wood's back to tell me whatever it was she was going to tell me was probably quite hard for her.

"Sorry," I muttered, picking my spoon back up and shoveling an obscene amount of ice cream onto it—honestly, who even needed blokes when there was Ben & Jerry's? Those were the two most reliable, loyal, uncomplicated men on the planet; they never let you down or kept secrets from you.

"So," Katie began after a long moment, swinging her stare up to me, "what has he told you?"

"About Claire?" She nodded and I sighed. "Not very much. The little bit I know I've had to drag out of him, but as of now, I know that she was his little sister and she died when she was seven."

"Do you know how?" she ventured, and I shook my head, causing her gaze to drop to her lap. "That's what I figured."

A bout of wariness shot through me, causing my shoulders to tense a bit—that was never a good expression. "How… I mean, what exactly…" She was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands, and I stiffened. "Katie, what happ—"

"She was attacked by a werewolf," she finally interjected, voice small and quiet. "Ripped apart, really—I looked the case up after I found out about it, and it was… it just… the pictures…" her voice cracked in her throat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I threw up after I saw them, I couldn't…"

I stared at her in shocked silence, my entire body having gone numb. It was stupid, but for the first time since I'd found out about Claire, I realized that she was a person. Not some abstract concept, but a real, living, breathing person—or at least, she had been. The horrifying reality of 'she died when she was seven' came crashing down on me like it hadn't before, and I was left unable to move. "How…" my voice was thick, "when did he…?"

"We were walking back from practice one day," she supplied weakly. "I was whinging about being an only child, and we got to talking about siblings, and he mentioned that he'd had a sister, but there'd been some sort of accident when he was ten. I didn't want to press him about it, but I was curious, so I looked her name up and found out that a werewolf attack had been involved." She looked down briefly, shaking her head. "I honestly should've left it at that, but when I got home for break, my dad's study was right there…"

I nodded quietly—Katie's father worked for the Ministry, and he specialized in werewolf attacks and rehabilitation. As a result, he had extensive files on all of the reported cases on hand, and clearly Claire Wood's was no exception.

"Anyway," Katie continued with a shaky sigh, "it was… awful, but that doesn't explain the relevance to you, I suppose." She bit down on her lip, aimlessly spinning her spoon in the now slightly soupy ice cream tub. "See, the thing about Claire is… well, to be honest, she was a lot like you." She glanced up to meet my eyes. "Impulsive, adventurous—very 'leap before you look', or at least that's what accounts of her said. Wood hinted at something similar when he was talking about her, mentioning that she accidentally lit their neighbor's house on fire once, but I didn't really connect her back to you until later."

I remained silent, staring at my spoon. I'd figured that something like that would be the case—he'd made it pretty clear by telling me that I remind him of her—but that still didn't really explain why he was so determined to be in control of everything all the time. His sister was risky, sure, but it wasn't like she'd died because of it. Unless… my heart clenched slightly. "There's more to this story, isn't there?"

Katie glanced down at her hands. "I don't know all the details, but from what I'd gathered from my dad's stuff, the two of them were playing outside when it happened. Their mum had gone inside for something and left Oliver in charge, and Claire somehow convinced him to sneak into the woods by their house or something. It might've been that she ran in and he followed her, I'm not really sure, but somehow or other, they ended up getting lost."

I ruminated over this for a few moments as Katie fell silent, slowly piecing the scenario together in my head—and then, in a moment of absolute shock, it struck me. "Wait," I managed to get out, my throat starting to close up in dawning comprehension, "you… you mean…"

She closed her eyes.

I couldn't speak for a moment, too horrified with the idea of being correct to voice the full question. When I finally found my voice, however, it was little more than a whisper. "He watched it happen?"

Her shaky nod said it all. "Every second."

My stomach clenched inside of me, bile rising in my throat. Werewolf attacks were vicious. They were savage, violent, and horribly bloody, and the idea of a seven-year-old girl… of seeing that… the carnage alone… tears pricked my eyes. "Oh, my God."

"It took me months just to get over the pictures," she said, hands trembling around her spoon. "I can't even imagine what… Merlin, he was ten years old, and… watching that happen, just…" she shuddered, blinking rapidly as her own eyes began to water, "it's just horrifying. I would've gone insane, living with that image, but the worst part is that he obviously blames himself."

I don't think I've ever felt pettier in my entire life than I did at that moment. It all made sense. It made so much sense that it hurt: his mum had left him in charge, he let her break the rules, and his sister… his sister ended up getting murdered, ripped apart, right before his eyes… "He was ten, what could he have done?" I whispered, voice hoarse with emotion, and Katie shrugged grimly.

"Nothing. But you really think that'll stop him from thinking it's all his fault? This is Oliver, Andy."

Merlin, every word I'd ever said to him—every snap, every insult, every argument… it all seemed so bloody trivial now. So selfish and petty. A sharp image of the time we'd been locked in the broom closet sprang into my head, of the conflicted look on his face when I'd told him that one day, he'd encounter something that he had no control over, and he'd learn the hard way that life didn't always go according to his little plan…

"This," I breathed out shakily, closing my eyes and struggling to keep my emotions in check, "…is a lot to take in."

"Kind of changes your perspective on him, doesn't it?" she murmured after a moment, voice low and drawn, and I nodded silently. She glanced over and saw my expression, and her eyes softened. "You didn't know, Andy."

I shook my head. "That's no excuse for—"

"Of course it is," she interjected, turning to face me directly and putting her hand on my shoulder. "You didn't know and he didn't expect you to know—Merlin, I'm sure he doesn't want people walking on eggshells around him all the time, either." Her eyes were earnest as they stared into mine, expression gentle and reassuring. "You haven't done anything wrong, alright? I told you this because I saw you making all of these assumptions about each other and growing further and further apart, and it was really starting to affect you. I thought this might help you understand him better, but I don't want you to suddenly regret everything you've ever said to him, because then I've done you both a disservice."

I nodded half-heartedly, not really buying into what she was saying that much. I'd been a bitch. A self-centered, snippy, entitled sodding bitch. And yeah, sure, Wood wasn't always the most pleasant of people to me, but after what he'd gone through, who could blame him? Merlin, if he'd just told me… if he'd even hinted, I would've never…

I sighed, dropping my forehead against hand. What's done was done. I couldn't take back the past and make it any easier on him, but I could affect the future, and the best way to go about that was obvious: end whatever was going on between us. Stay away from him as much as possible, let any and all non-platonic ideas go, and ignore the unresolved emotions until they went away.

If I cared about him at all, that was the least I could do. The idea of making him relive even a shred of his past for my own sake was disgusting, so my decision was clear, no qualms or hesitations: we were done. Just… done.

"Hey," Katie said, nudging my shoulder softly and snapping me out of my thoughts. Her expression was concerned. "Don't make me regret telling you this, alright? Promise me you're still going to try to make this work."

I gave her a watery smile. "I promise," I lied.

She looked skeptical, eyes running over my face. "I'm serious, Andy. If everything falls apart because you start avoiding him, I'll never forgive myself. In fact, I'll throw myself off the Astronomy Tower, and then sweet, innocent little Katie Bell's death will be on your shoulders," she teased, though my half-hearted smile caused her to slowly grab onto both of my shoulders, angle them toward her with a serious expression, and look me straight in the eyes. "You're not Claire," she said gently. "You might remind him of her, but you're not her. You're Andy, and he'll eventually see that. Just give him the chance to learn the difference."

I averted my eyes, knowing she'd see through me completely if I held her stare, and a long, heavy silence followed.

That is, of course, until the door all but exploded open. "Laaaaadies and gentlemen, you are looking at the first official female Risk champion in Hogwarts history!" an obnoxiously loud voice sang, slurring a bit at the vowels, and within seconds, a decidedly tipsy Alicia Spinnet danced into view, wavering a bit before coming to a halt at the foot of Katie's bed. At our momentary silence, she flung both hands onto her hips, expression irritated. "This is the part where the 'crowd goes wild', hello?"

"Woo-hoo," a decidedly insincere voice cheered from the doorway, and I glanced over to see Angelina making her way into the room with a bored expression. "Can you sign my thong?"

Alicia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Just because you hate Risk doesn't mean that this isn't a huge achievement, Boring-gelina."

Angelina snorted and glanced at us, gesturing at Alicia. "She's so witty when she's drunk." However, upon taking notice of our more serious expressions, her brow furrowed. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Katie said with a simple shrug, though her tone was dull.

Angelina arched a brow, switching her stare onto me. "Andy?"

"No problems here," I said in a similarly unconvincing fashion, causing her to cross her arms and hit us with the Prefect glare.

"Alicia," she called, not taking her eyes off us.

"What?" the blonde squawked, voice a bit muffled from the fact that she was currently in Downward Facing Dog.

"Can you stop your pseudo-yoga for a second and confirm that Andy and Kats are lying to my face?" Angelina asked, not even having to look to know what Alicia was doing.

"I'm mid-Sun Salutation, Angelina—I'm busy," Alicia snapped, moving into Plank.

"It's 2:30 in the morning—there's no sodding sun to salute."

"Ugh, fine," Alicia groaned, lifting herself up with a graceless shuffle and snapping her stare over to us. Her arms promptly crossed over her chest, mirroring Angelina's position. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Nothing, really, we're just ti—"

"Lee asked me out," Katie cut in, making all of our gazes snap over to hers.

"What?"

"What?"

"What?" All three of them turned to stare at me, brows furrowing, and I promptly realized I was already supposed to know this. "I mean, er, you haven't told them yet?"

"I haven't really had the chance," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "It happened right before I walked into the common room, and that's when I heard you and Oliver fighting—"

"You had a row with Oliver?" Angelina asked, and I waved it off.

"I'm always in a row with Oliver—Kats, you should've said something," I said, feeling guilty about the fact that I drained the happiness out of her night with my own drama. Again, I got the slew of weird looks, and I promptly added, "…to them." I nodded and Angelina and Alicia.

They ignored me, taking instead to congratulating Katie and wrapping her in hugs, but she quickly fended them off. "Guys, guys—calm down, I said no."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?" This time I didn't even invent some sort of cover, nor did I need to—all focus was glued onto Katie.

"I just… said no," she supplied lamely, shoulders lifting into a small shrug, and Angelina's brow furrowed.

"I thought you fancied the pants off him, Kats."

"I did."

"So you don't anymore?" I asked, and Katie shook her head.

"No, I still do."

Alicia thrust her hands onto her hips in a dramatic pose. "I'm confused."

"Drunk is what you are," Angelina muttered, causing Alicia to squawk out in denial.

"Katie, seriously, what the hell?" I asked, ignoring Angelina and Alicia as they fell into a squabble. She simply shrugged again, keeping her stare evasive. "Are you going for a hard-to-get sort of thing, or—"

"No, no, nothing like that, I just…" her eyes veered off for a moment, dark and hesitant, before simply deflating and swinging back up to mine. "I just don't want to ruin it," she admitted rather defeatedly.

My brow furrowed. "Ruin what?"

Her gaze dropped again. "The fantasy."

"The fanta—" I halted then, a slow feeling of realization dawning over me. The fantasy. "Katie."

"I know," she groaned, burrowing her head into her hands.

So, here's the thing about Katie: she's simultaneously the realest and most delusional person you'll ever meet in your life. When it comes to people, academics, sports, etc., she's completely grounded: she doesn't exaggerate anything, she just calmly and mindfully tells it like it is. When it comes to love, however, she's a complete nutter.

She's always been a hopeless romantic, but she gives a whole new meaning to the 'hopeless' part. This is, quite simply, because what she falls in love with is the idea of someone. She lives in her own little daydreaming world of Mr. Darcys and Heathcliffs, and she knows that no normal teenage bloke will ever hold a candle to them. Thus, she avoids the disappointment of finding that out by just fancying them from afar.

Is it healthy? No. Is it sane? Not really. Is it understandable for someone who has six copies of Pride and Prejudice stowed away in their trunk and idolizes Audrey Hepburn? Maybe—but that doesn't cancel out the other two 'is it's. The bottom line is that it keeps Kats from being happy, and seeing Katie sad is like seeing an abandoned golden retriever puppy sulk around a trashed alleyway, paw at an old chicken bone, and whimper for something to eat—it depresses the shit out of everyone.

Thus, I simply rubbed her back consolingly as she shook her head, hair obscuring her face. "Why am I so screwed up?"

"You're not screwed up, you're just… difficult."

She scoffed, head still buried in her hands. "Understatement of the century."

"Oi, it could be worse," I pointed out. "You could be Alicia."

We both glanced over at the tipsy blonde, who was currently in the process of shrieking the quadratic equation out the window. Katie snorted. "True."

A loud snore broke through the room and I glanced over my shoulder, unsurprised to see Angelina completely passed out on her four-poster. She had a habit of knocking out without any warning whatsoever, especially when there was alcohol in her system. I rolled my eyes, bringing them back over to Katie with a wry expression. "We should get some sleep."

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes still downcast and pensive.

"We'll feel better tomorrow," I promised rather half-heartedly, giving her shoulder a final squeeze before scrambling out of the mess of covers and pushing myself off her bed.

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow!" Alicia sang, dancing back in from the balcony with a whimsical air. "I love you, tomorrow!"

"Oh, I guarantee you won't love tomorrow," I muttered as I climbed into my own bed, thinking of the hangover she had in store for her, but she kept singing anyway as I pulled up my covers.

"You're only a day aaaaa—"

"Shut up!" Angelina yelled groggily, rising from the dead to toss her arm at her nightstand and grab her wand. "Nox," she growled, turning the lights off and leaving Alicia twirling in the middle of a dark room.

She sang for about twenty more seconds before tripping on a chair, landing in a heap of tangled limbs on the floor, and falling asleep in the exact same position she'd landed in. Angelina fell back asleep shortly afterwards, followed closely by Katie, which left me and my jumbled thoughts in brooding silence for quite a while.

It wasn't till the sun came up that my eyes finally closed.

By the time I strolled into the Great Hall for brunch, it was past noon. Thankfully, it was a holiday—Nearless Headless Nick's 150th Anniversary of Something Or Other—which meant everyone had the day off to recover from the Gryffindor party.

And, you know, other things.

I was still in a pretty horrible mood from last night's conversation, so naturally it was one of those obnoxiously gorgeous days where sunlight was pouring in through the giant windows and all the glass and silverware was sparkling in the dappled light. "Morning," I muttered as I slid into the seat across from Angelina, who was all fresh-faced and well-rested looking.

Bloody morning person.

"It's one P.M.," she pointed out.

Bloody afternoon person.

"Whatever," I grumbled, reaching over to the pancake plate and spearing two onto my fork.

"Sleep well?"

I dropped my hand, shooting her a dark look. "Do I look like I slept well?"

"You look like hell."

"Well, take that observation and extrapolate," I suggested irritably, resuming my pancake collecting process with a grumpy expression. I was tired, PMSing, and kind of hated myself—I was allowed to be a stroppy cow.

Angelina parted her mouth to respond, though the words promptly dissolved into a snort of laughter as she spotted something over my shoulder. I shoved a forkful of pancake into my mouth and glanced over with grouchy, glaring eyes, following her line of vision to the double doors.

Or, more specifically, the absurdly hung-over blonde in baggy sweatpants and a tank top from second year dragging herself through them with a look of absolute death plastered onto her face. "Good morning, Sunshine!" Angelina chirped as Alicia collapsed into the seat beside me, propped her elbows on the table, and dropped her head into her hands.

"Eat shit and die," was her muttered response.

"Want some thick, ketchup-drenched hash browns, a juicy, cheesy omelet and greasy bacon?" Angelina pressed on, voice obnoxiously perky, and Alicia's stifled a gag.

"I swear to God, Johnson," she growled, glaring up through her Albert Einstein style hair with a peaky expression, "the second I can make sudden movements without wanting to vomit out my pancreas, I'm going to jump you."

Angelina winked, taking a sip of her tea. "Looking forward to it, Risk Champion."

"I hate you so much."

"Sobriety is such a wonderful thing…"

"You're such a bitch."

"Nothing like a bright, happy, nausea-free morning…"

"Did I mention you should eat shit and die?"

"So many delicious breakfast choices to pick from…"

"Andy, can you stab her for me? I don't have the energy."

I rolled my eyes in response, not really in the mood for their aimless squabbling—Alicia and Angelina could go at it for hours. Thankfully, it was interrupted by the swooping sound of an owl flying overhead, and before I knew it, there was a note fluttering right into my pancakes. I reached over and picked it up, grimacing at the layer of syrup stuck to the bottom—were the bloody owls hung-over, too?—before opening it.

Miss Wiles,

This is just a reminder that your banquet planning sessions with Mr. Wood will resume today—eight o'clock sharp in the Transfiguration room, as per usual. Be prompt and punctual, otherwise I will be prompt and punctual in giving you detention.

Best,
Professor McGonagall

My eyes immediately shut, tortured groan rumbling from my throat. "Was I Hitler in a past life?"

Angelina shot me a quizzical look. "What'd the note say?" she asked.

"Report to the gallows at eight P.M. for beheading," I muttered in response. At her flat look, I handed it over to her, watching as her eyes narrowed, scanned, and then lifted back to mine.

"You two still in a row?"

"When are we ever not in a row?"

"Fair point," she mused, chewing on her lip for a moment. "Well, he was pretty smashed last night—perhaps he doesn't remember."

I scoffed. "Doubtful. Besides, he'd probably just assume he was mad at me anyway—it's a statistically sound guess."

"Would you two please stop yelling?" Alicia groaned, moving her hands to cover her ears, and Angelina immediately rolled her eyes.

"We're talking at a perfectly normal volume, Spinnet. THIS," she suddenly roared, cupping her hands around her mouth, "IS YELLING! SEE THE DIFFERENCE? I CAN DO IT AGAIN, IF YOU'RE STILL CONFU—oh, hey, Gabe." She smiled pleasantly, eyes the very picture of innocent.

I glanced over my shoulder to see a rather amused and damp-looking Gabriel Harris standing behind our chairs, one hand on the back of mine, one on the back of Alicia's. "'Lo, Angelina. You're looking decidedly chipper this morning."

She shrugged. "Beautiful day, is all."

"Definitely—have you checked out the lake?"

"No, why?"

"The ice melted."

"No way!"

"Yep—people are going sailing later."

"That's brilliant!"

"Yeah, now maybe you two can go drown yourselves in it," Alicia said in a falsely cheery voice, rubbing her temples with considerable ire.

"Alicia Spinnet, just the sugary girl I was looking for," he announced, clasping a hand over her shoulder before adopting a frighteningly serious expression. "The general public is dying to know: how does it feel to be the first female Risk champion in the history of Hogwarts?"

"Like reheated shit."

Gabe's mouth lopsided. "Can I quote you on that?"

"Sure. You can quote me on 'go fuck yourself', too."

His eyes swung over to mine, languorously amused. "She's worse than you in the mornings."

"She doesn't do well with hangovers."

"She doesn't do well with a lot of things," Angelina tossed in.

"She is sitting right bloody here," Alicia growled, raising her head to glare at us all, though her eyes momentarily caught on Gabe. "Why are you wet?"

"Went for a swim earlier," he supplied easily.

"Ever heard of a crazy thing called hypothermia?"

"Ever heard of a crazy thing called a heating charm?"

The two held each other's stare for a moment, Alicia's slitted and Gabe's entirely unruffled, before she simply looked away and scoffed, "Whatever, it's still a stupid idea."

"Alicia would know," Angelina advised, nodding casually. "She's the authority on stupid ideas."

"Would you just fall off a cliff or something?"

"Sure, let me go find one in the middle of a castle."

"Go die."

"Go get a new insult."

"Go polish your Prefect badge."

"Go pretend you know yoga."

"Go—"

"Can I interject for just a moment?" Gabe cut in, holding a hand up. "Sorry, I just feel like that conversation could go on for a while."

"Word," I muttered, causing Alicia to shoot me a glare before switching it over to Gabe.

"What is it?" she snapped.

"Oh, nothing, just that you have an interview in fifteen minutes."

Her face tensed a bit. "An interview with who?"

"Aiden."

"Aiden Krowlewitz?"

"The one and only."

She stared at Gabe with wide, angry blue eyes, her expression comically incensed. "You're telling me this now?"

Gabe merely smirked breezily, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Aiden Krowlewitz was the other chief editor of the Weekly Wobbler, and he was pretty much the exact opposite of Gabe: rule-obsessed, straight-laced, and bossy to the point of fascist. He was as surly as they came, and could often be seen barking orders at his frenzied staff in as patronizing and unpleasant a tone as possible.

The fact that a very much hung-over Alicia, who was tactless as a mother to begin with and was currently sporting ratty old sweatpants, had an interview with him in fifteen minutes was… well, hilarious, to be honest.

"He wants to size you up a bit before letting you on the staff—standard procedure," Gabe supplied as an explanation, looking totally at ease.

"I could seriously kill you right now."

"Your might want to brush your hair instead."

"Andy, why the bloody hell are you friends with this kid?" Alicia snapped, starting to get overwhelmed as she frantically gathered up her stuff.

"We were both too lazy to move in Arithmancy," I responded idly, to which Gabe shrugged.

"Basically."

"Well, next time, suck it up and move anyway!" she cried, causing me to swing my stare over to Gabe.

"Does she realize that you have authority over Aiden?"

"Don't think so, no."

"This is so unprofessional!" she rattled on, swinging her bag over her shoulder and downing a random cup of coffee before straightening out. "I'm going to go change—you," she snapped, swiveling around to face Gabe directly and shoving a finger in his face, "are a git."

His lips curled at the corners, morphing into their trademark crooked grin. "But I'm a charming git."

She scoffed. "More like a—"

"You're down to thirteen minutes, love."

Her lips pressed together in a flustered purse, bleary eyes taking on a frustrated look as she held his stare. Then, after a solid ten seconds of glaring, she merely swiveled about, bag swinging furiously around her hips, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

My brows rose slightly: that was the second time in twenty-four hours that Gabe had managed to leave Alicia speechless. I shot a furtive look at Angelina, who was assessing Gabe with a curious look in her eyes.

She was clearly thinking the same thing I was: interesting.

"She's certainly a ray of sunshine," Gabe commented casually, flitting his gaze back over to Angelina and me. Upon spotting the plotting looks on our faces, however, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing, just zoning, sorry," Angelina covered, waving an errant hand, though the calculative glimmer didn't quite diffuse from her eyes. His gaze switched over to mine curiously, and I merely shrugged.

"Okay… well, I'm going to go sit at the People Who Don't Act Like Escaped Convicts table – see you lot later."

"Bye, Harris."

"Later, Andy." And with that, he swiveled about and walked over to his crowd of fellow seventh years, greeting them with a lopsided grin and something that made them all burst out laughing. My eyes immediately sought Angelina's.

"Don't jump the gun," she warned.

"I'm not jumping anything, I'm just observing."

"Alicia's weird, Andy."

"She's not that weird."

"I woke up to her screaming out prime numbers in her sleep once."

I faltered for a moment. "Okay, so she's weird, but I think he can handle it."

"I dunno."

"It's just an idea."

Angelina sighed. "Whatever, just don't tell Kats."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she'll get obsessed with the idea and do that thing she does," she explained, adding a bit more honey to her tea. "You know, where she makes it her life's mission to get unlikely people together and acts like the world's going to end if it doesn't happen?"

I smirked. "You mean like, oh, I don't know, you and Fred?"

She shot me a light glare. "More like, oh, I don't know, you and Oliver?"

My stomach twisted instantly, the humor fading from my expression as my eyes averted. "Yeah, well that one's not going to happen, but hey—one out of two ain't bad."

Her eyes softened a bit as they took in my expression, merely staring at me for a few seconds. "Did something else happen last night?" she finally ventured.

Defensiveness instantly shot through me. "What do you mean?"

"This fight of yours…"

"It was the same old, same old," I cut in, shrugging as convincingly as I could. "I asked questions, he evaded them, insert explosion here."

"And that's what has you all dark and twisty?"

I shot her an annoyed look. "I'm just tired of it, that's all."

She looked skeptical. "Sure."

"No, really."

She rolled her eyes, parting her mouth to protest, but a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders before she could say anything, effectively cutting her off. "Morning, beautiful," Fred murmured into her ear, planting a light kiss on the tip of her earlobe.

"Morning," she replied with a smitten smile.

Oh, what, so all of a sudden it wasn't one P.M. anymore? Chit.

"Andy, you're looking homicidal, as always," Fred said with a smirk, causing me to shoot him a glare.

"Hey, Fred, remember that time back in fifth year when you stole all of Angelina's underwear and convinced us to tell her it was Peeves because otherwise she'd dismember you?" I asked in a falsely pleasant voice, satisfied with the way his face paled. "Those were good times. Anyway, I'd best be off."

I stood up in a calm, lazy manner, gathering up my stuff and acting blissfully unaware of the sudden rift I'd just caused between the happy couple. "That was you?" I heard Angelina hiss, her voice lowered into the one she used when she was about to explode, and I merely swiveled about with a smile.

"Bye, guys!"

You don't mess with PMS.

It's amazing how quickly time flies by you when you're completely and totally dreading something. The day went by in what felt like a few hours, turning the hour hand on the clock from a one to an eight before I could so much as blink properly. I'd told myself I was going to get a lot things done before my meeting—Potions essay, laundry, reorganize my trunk, etc.—but somehow, here I was, standing outside the Transfiguration room with not a single productive achievement to my name.

Funny how dread can do that to you.

"Pull it together, Team Andy," I muttered to myself as I reached for the doorknob, pausing to take in a deep breath. I hadn't seen Wood since my perspective shattering talk with Katie, and I honestly couldn't predict how I'd react to the sight of him—would I feel guilty? Sad? Irritated? Nothing?

Only one way to find out.

Exhaling slowly, I pushed the door open, taking a few steps in before jerking to a swift and sudden halt. And then I burst out laughing.

There, sitting at a table in the center of the room, hair in complete disarray and eyes entirely bloodshot, was possibly the most hung-over looking person I'd ever seen in my life. Wood was in a right state. His face was in desperate need of a shave, dark scruff shadowing the length of his jaw and contrasting starkly with the sickly pallor of his skin. His eyes were ringed with dark, exhausted circles, and his stare had a flat look about it that clearly stated 'I hate my life.'

He was collapsed into his chair with a miserable air, his chin slumped against his propped up hand in an unflattering way that scrunched the side of his face up. He was clad in a ratty gray T-shirt that was probably white once upon a time and a moth-eaten pair of flannel pajama pants that were far too short for his legs. I'd seen a lot of hung-over people today, but Wood was by far the worst.

He looked like he had the freaking flu.

"You alri—?"

"Jesus," he moaned, wincing as he held up a hand. "Not so loud."

I bit down on my lip, struggling to fight back my bubbling laughter—he looked freaking hilarious. "Sorry," I stage whispered, walking over and slipping into the chair across from him.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, bringing his hand back to his face and shielding it from the light. Merlin, he made Alicia look like a spry little unicorn.

"Headache, I take it?" I ventured, and he nodded slowly, moving his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Feels like someone split my bloody head in half," he replied, his voice throaty. "At least the room stopped spinning a few hours ago."

"Well, that's what happens when you drink Firewhiskey like it's water," I told him, causing him to wince yet again.

"Let's avoid the word Firewhiskey for a bit, yeah?"

I arched a brow, satisfaction flooding my expression. "Risk doesn't sound like a such a smart idea anymore, does it?"

Realization slowly suffused his face. "Bloody hell, I played Risk last night." He seemed genuinely surprised, and my brow furrowed.

"You don't remember?"

He snorted. "Everything's a bit of a blur, to be honest."

My eyes darkened—did he remember our fight? Our kiss? Anything? "Do you remember anything after that?"

The seriousness of my tone must've registered with him, for his eyes swept up and caught mine. "Not really, no."

I held his stare as evenly as I could, trying to act casual. "Oh."

His eyes narrowed a bit at the corners. "Wiles, if I did anything—"

"No, no, it's not that, it's just—" I cut off suddenly, struck by an idea. He didn't remember anything. I needed a way to end whatever it was we had going on without telling him I knew about Claire. My eyes snapped up after a moment, bright and impulsive. "It's just that we figured it all out."

His brow immediately furrowed. "Figured what out?"

"This… you know, thing we have going on," I improvised, motioning between us with my hand. I honestly had no idea what I was saying. "We talked it out and finally came to a conclusion."

He was eyeing me closely, trying to follow my words. "How… diplomatic of us."

I nodded eagerly. "Yeah, super diplomatic. We were like the UN, it was crazy."

His brows gathered a bit, eyes taking in my slightly anxious behavior with kindling suspicion. "So… what did we end up figuring out?" he asked after a moment.

"Just friends," I replied.

And it was at that exact moment that the weight of the words actually hit me. Just friends. Just… friends? Were we even friends to begin with? Not really. So if we took out whatever weird romantic developments had transpired over the past few weeks, what were we left with, really?

Nothing.

This spurred a swell of emotion within me—I didn't want bloody nothing, damn it, what the hell was I doing?—but then my mind closed in on the flourish of a name that changed everything. Merlin, it was so easy to forget about Claire. I'd had the same image of Wood for the past sixteen years; seeing him differently all of a sudden was going to take some getting used to.

Although, there were moments when his past showed clearly on his face. That night in the broom closet, if for only a second, his mask had cracked—the sharp lines and stubborn angles faded into the face of a pained, broken older brother struggling not to hate himself. So perhaps it wouldn't take as much work as I thought.

I mean, most of the time he was just Wood: patronizing, stubborn, and entirely too in love with his precious game book. But sometimes, glimmers of the shattered person hiding underneath shone through. And they were as striking a reminder as any. Thus, it was with this renewed conviction that I glanced up and met his gaze, my eyes now far more serious than they were before.

His, however, were amused. "Friends?" At my careful nod, the beginnings of a sardonic smile tilted up the left corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't that require having been friends to begin with?"

He wasn't taking it seriously. I couldn't blame him, honestly—how many times had we fought, sworn each other off, and then ended up snogging anyway these past few weeks? "I'm serious, Wood."

He shrugged. "Fine—friends, then." His tone was casual, light.

"Are you sure you understand what that entails?"

He snorted. "You mean for most people, or for me and you?"

My eyes flattened. "There is no me and you—that's kind of the whole point."

"Right, sorry," he replied distractedly, rubbing his temple to assuage his headache. "Me, you, separate—got it."

I stared at him darkly: he still didn't believe me. Whatever. Nothing I could really do about it now—he was in one of those flippant moods. "Fine, well let's just move on to this banquet, then," I said, changing the subject for lack of a better option and plucking up my quill.

"Let the fun begin," he drawled, moving his hand down to his neck and massaging the muscles there. I averted my eyes quickly, struck by the memory of the time I'd given him a massage in the broom closet—my fingers were already itching to slap his away and take over. He was apparently having a similar train of thought, for he glanced at my hands with an unfurling grin. "Oi, any chance you'd give me another—"

"No," I said immediately, my tone void of any humor, and the severity of it drew his eyes back up to mine. His grin dissipated at the stone cold look on my face, brows lowering into a slightly more serious expression—I was beginning to get through to him. "Now, about this banquet," I said in a clipped, business-like tone, fluidly changing the topic, "are we still planning on upping the ante or are we just aiming for the status quo?"

I felt his eyes on me, studying my face with an observant frown, but I fought back the heat creeping up my neck and kept my eyes on the parchment before me. A few moments of silence went by until he responded, but it wasn't at all what I was expecting. "Tell me more about the talk we had last night."

My eyes flew up to his. "What?"

"What exactly did we both say?"

I felt myself faltering a bit under the sudden intensity of his gaze, but I forced myself to remain collected on the outside. "I already told you, we just—"

"Figured it all out, yeah, but what spurred it? How long were we talking for, what exactly were the reasons, where did it happen?" At my baffled look, he shrugged unapologetically. "If I'm going to take this seriously, Wiles, I need to know the details."

"No, that's fine, I understand that," I said, "but I'd appreciate it if you could switch off of CSI mode."

"CSI what?"

"Muggle reference, forget it," I muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "What spurred it was…" I racked my brain for something brilliant and wildly creative and ended up with the truth. "Well, basically, when I was walking you back to your room, you were angry at me—"

"Why?" he cut in, and I shot him a dark look.

"As if you need a reason." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I instantly felt guilty. Merlin, just last night I'd wanted to take back every petty thing I'd ever snapped at him, and here I was the very next day, snapping at him again. "Sorry, I don't really remember—probably a mixture of a lot of things."

He raised a brow at my apology, but didn't comment. "Alright, so I was angry—then what?"

"Then we were arguing about something—you were pretty drunk, so you really weren't making much sense—and then…" my skin bristled—then he kissed me. Slow, scalding, and rough, pinned against a wall, tasting of smoke and Firewhiskey, hands skirting down my waist… "Look, this is stupid, what's important is what we talked about," I said hastily, pushing a hand through my hair.

His expression was steady. "Which was?"

Improvisation time. "How much easier it would be if we stopped whatever weird thing was going on between us," I said, struggling not to bite my lip. "I mean, first of all, there's the Quidditch issue—look what happened during the Slytherin match. Viper knew he could use me to draw a reaction from you."

He nodded quietly but looked rather unconvinced. "Go on."

"And then, you know, there's the fact that we seem to fight more than we agree, which I'm guessing could be potentially destructive in a relationship," I threw out rather randomly, figuring it was worth mentioning. "And there's also the fact that, when it comes down to it, we really don't know each other that well. We seem to know what we don't like about each other, but whatever thing is causing… well, this," I waved my hand back and forth between us, "is kind of elusive."

He merely kept quiet, eyes steadily trained on mine.

It made me a bit anxious, which is probably why I blurted out, "And then there's all the unresolved stuff going on with you." His stare instantly flickered with something, but the action was too brief for me to decipher the emotion, leaving behind nothing more than the same dark amber stare. "You…" how was I supposed to put this? "…have a lot of things going on in your life that are closed off, and I understand that. I also get that they complicate the way you see me. I don't know why, exactly," I lied, "but I don't have to. I'm not your girlfriend, you don't owe me any explanations."

Now he looked totally inscrutable, his brow lowered into one of the deepest frowns I'd seen on him yet. It was a strange frown, though—not quite angry, not quite confused, not quite brooding, just… guarded. I took it as a warning sign and maneuvered off the topic, shrugging to break some of the tension. "I'm sure there were other reasons, too, but those were the main ones. It was a good discussion—it ended on a happy note." It took a lot of effort for me to force a smile, though not as much as it took for me to get out the last few words: "I'm honestly just glad it's all over."

Done.

He stayed silent for a long moment, the only sound in the room the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. I held my smile as long as I could, knowing he'd see through it if I broke it too soon, though it was difficult to make it look sincere. The last thing I was feeling was happy. Finally, after what felt like hours, he glanced away, breaking the stare. "Sounds pretty thorough to me."

"Yeah?" I said casually, though my insides felt like lead.

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes once again meeting mine. It was hard to ignore the jolt they triggered. "It's a smart decision—I agree with it."

I know that shouldn't have felt like such a slap in the face, but it did. Realizing you needed to end something was one thing—actually watching it end was another entirely. Part of me wanted him to dissect every reason I'd just given him and dispel it, make it seem stupid, tell me there were ways around it—anything. But the other part of me knew that'd only make it harder. "So…" I felt my voice thickening, and I swallowed hastily to clear it, "just friends, then?"

He waited a beat, giving my face a long, hard once-over that had my stomach flipping and turning like crazy, before nodding stiffly. "Just friends."

Bam. Just like that. Over.

"Then that's that," I said with a shaky smile, hastily putting my hair into a messy bun to distract myself in some way or another. If I sat there and dwelled, I'd probably start crying or something equally estrogen-y and embarrassing, and that would just suck. God, Wood had turned me into such a freaking girl. "So about this banquet…"

"Upping the ante."

The words were quick and decisive, and they surprised me enough to shake me out of my sappy moment. "Sorry?" I said.

"You asked before whether we were upping the ante or sticking with the status quo for the banquet, and my answer's upping the ante," he replied, his tone all-business, and I realized that's how I must've sounded earlier. "There's no reason to sit around and waste time planning something that's going to be terrible, so I think we should just scrap all precedent and start from scratch."

His eyes were still clouded, but I could see the familiar glimmer of OCD beginning to filter through them. It was the same look he got whenever he was strategizing for a tough Quidditch match but he only had a limited number of plays to work with: bright, obsessive, calculative, and stubborn. "Wood, this isn't Quidditch," I informed him, brows drawn. "It's not like someone just handed you a shoddy team and you want to make them champions—this is something neither of us have any experience in."

"Yeah, well I know for a fact that I can't sit here for nine hours a week planning rubbish when there are six thousand other things I need to be doing, so I'd prefer to make it better," he said irritably, and for the first time in my life, I realized how much of a perfectionist he actually was. I mean with Quidditch I obviously knew, but I'd never really seen him in any other context, so I just assumed it was a sports-specific thing. Now, however, here he was, advocating making the Gryffindor banquet—possibly the last thing that would ever make his list of interests—a success.

It was weird.

"So in the case of go big or go home, we're going…?"

He gaze snapped up to mine, response immediate. "Big."

"How big?"

"Huge."

"How huge?"

"Massive."

Okay, so I'm not normally the type to find stubborn ambition sexy, but damn, I totally—shut the fuck up! I shook my head quickly, reminding myself that we'd just had a pseudo-break-up like ten freaking seconds ago—my hormones needed to calm the hell down, Jesus. "That's probably going to require a lot more work than just letting is suck."

He shrugged. "Putting together something shitty would be harder for me than putting together something worthwhile."

"Humble, are we?"

"That's not how I meant it."

I rolled my eyes, internally amazed at how violently my emotions could change—I was on the verge of tears a minute ago. "I know what you meant, you just sound like a preacher right now."

"Yeah, I'm sure preachers use the word 'shitty' all the time." Without thinking, I grabbed my quill and irritably flung it at him, and similarly without thinking, he reached up and caught it. "Seriously? I'm a Keeper, Wiles."

I feigned confusion. "Is that the word for you? Merlin, silly me: here I was, thinking it was 'prat'." I shrugged airily. "Now I know." I couldn't quite hold back a smirk as he scowled, running a hand over his aggrieved features.

"I'm too bloody hungover for this…"

"Sore loser."

He dropped his hand, looking like he was about to protest, but then caught the determined sparkle in my gaze and simply rolled his eyes. Nothing like banter to snap me out of a strop. "Whatever. Moving back onto this banquet… ideas on improvements?"

I leaned back into my seat, crossing my arms and settling down into my contemplative mode. Banquet improvements… banquet improvements… I repeated those words in my head for a solid five minutes before sighing exasperatedly. "I think 'improvements' is the wrong way to think about this."

He raised a brow. "How so?"

"Well, you mentioned something earlier about scrapping precedent and starting from scratch, and I think you were onto something," I said, leaning forward a bit in my seat. "When I think 'banquet improvements', I think of the banquets we've had in the past and ways to disguise how mind-numbingly boring they were. So maybe we should start with redefining what the banquet's supposed to be… and then move on from there?"

He mulled over the words for a moment before shrugging. "It's worth a try." He reached over and grabbed a roll of parchment off McGonagall's desk, and I tried not to flush as remnants of my racy dream from the Hospital Wing assaulted me—that desk and I had severe issues to work out. "Alright, so," he began, scribbling 'What is the Gryffindor Banquet?' at the top of the page in his tight, efficient scrawl and underlining it sharply, "redefine." He glanced up at me expectantly.

I faltered, not expecting the sudden spotlight. "Uh…" His eyes flattened and I scowled. "You know, I said 'we', not 'I'—it's not like one person should decide for an entire house."

He parted his mouth to respond but then closed it suddenly, eyes narrowing in thought. He'd either had a revelation or an aneurism. "You're completely right," he concluded. Guess it was the aneurism. "One person, or two for that matter, shouldn't decide for an entire house."

I was lost for a moment or two, but then it hit me. "You want to ask the Gryffindors?"

He leaned forward calculatingly. "Think about it—one of the main problems with the banquet is that no one's excited about it. They're detached, they had no part in it, it seems like this boring thing planned by senile professors—" a nearby portrait of a former Transfiguration professor squawked in outrage, "—that everyone's forced to go to. But, if we send out a survey asking the actual students what they want the banquet to be like…"

He trailed off knowingly and I picked up where he left off. "They'll feel vested."

"Exactly."

I sat back once again in my seat and bit my lip. "That could work."

"It's definitely a start."

I met his gaze for a moment before averting it yet again, falling into thought. It was a great idea, definitely worth considering, but that wasn't what I was thinking about anymore. I was thinking about the fact that, even with our whole thing ended, we weren't suddenly becoming distant. In fact, I'd learned something new about him—he was a perfectionist about everything, not just Quidditch.

It was a good thing, I suppose, to start seeing him as a bit more of a human and a bit less of a stereotype, though it didn't really go with my 'remove him from your life' plan. I had to do that slowly, though—it's not like it would happen overnight. Right now, I had to focus on the banquet. I'd do the whole distancing from him thing later.

Besides, Wood and I naturally repel. The more we find out about each other, the easier it'll be to grow apart. Exhibit A: the whole perfectionist thing is annoying. I mean, yeah, the ambition aspect is kind of attractive, but overall, dealing with that would be totally exhausting…

Right?

Right.

Definitely. Although—

"I think this might work out," Wood's voice interjected, cutting right through my thoughts, and I glanced up to see him looking considerably less annoyed than he'd been looking earlier. "This whole planning thing, I mean. It's still a bitch and a half and cuts into Quidditch practice, but so far, overall, it's not that horrible." I shrugged, parting my mouth to say something, but he went on to say, "And the whole 'just friends' thing definitely makes it easier…"

My mouth closed instantly, forming instead into a blindingly fake smile.

"Good decision on that, by the way—and sorry I was being difficult earlier," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just found it hard to take seriously at first, since I really didn't remember…"

"Don't worry about it," I said, serial killer smile still in place. "I would've been skeptical, too. Merlin, how many times have we yelled at each other and then—"

"—ended up snogging?" he said with a low chuckle, raising his eyes to meet mine, and my smile faltered.

"Right."

His smile dissipated slowly, eyes taking on a darker hue as they took in the strained lines of my face. Heat instantly crept up my neck as I watched them sweep over my features, brushing past my eyes and nose before fluttering to a slow and quiet halt on my mouth. Electricity immediately jolted through me, spurring me into action as I scrambled to my feet. "It's late," I said hastily—it'd only been half an hour. "We should go."

I quickly began gathering my books, stuffing them into my bag in a rather haphazard manner and trying to ignore the fact that he was still staring at me. Look away, damn it—what the hell do you want from me? Anxious and rather frustrated, I reached over to grab my quill and promptly realized that he still had it from when I'd thrown it at him. Brilliant. Add 'new quill' to my Hogsmeade list.

"Bye, Wood," I said hastily, knowing that if I slowed down at all, I'd lose my resolve, but he clearly had other plans, for the moment I'd swiveled about to leave, he'd grabbed my wrist.

"Wait a second."

My eyes shut immediately, silent curse sweeping through my brain. Resistance, I told myself. Self-restraint. This is more important than your stupid libido. That mantra said, I took a deep breath and wheeled around, plastering a smile on my face. "Yes?"

He frowned at my fake expression. "You forgot your quill."

I glanced down at his hand—he was holding my quill out. "Oh," I said completely unconvincingly, taking it from him. "Thanks—I must've forgotten."

"Yeah, I could tell by the way you reached for it earlier and then changed your mind," he said dryly, making my face heat a bit. Busted. Wonderful.

"About that… I, er…"

"I get it, Wiles, you don't have to lie," he said, tone a bit irritated. "If we're going to make this whole friend things work, we can't… well, do what I just did, so I'm sorry."

My eyes rose up to his—that was surprisingly honest of him. "Apology accepted. Glad we're on the same page. But I still think I should go now, so goodnight." I smiled hastily before making to turn around, but his hand caught my wrist again.

"One last—" I swiveled about at the same time that he pulled me around, me not expecting him to pull and him not expecting me to turn, resulting in the two of us pressed up against each other in far more intimate a position than either of us intended, "—thing," he finished in a surprised, throaty voice, his breath fluttering against my skin.

This was not okay.

This was not okay.

This was not fucking okay.

Tension instantly skyrocketed around us, shooting up the walls and spiraling around our pinned frames, causing every nerve in my body to vibrate with adrenaline. His gaze was dark and hazy as it held mine, his mouth mere inches from my own, and the familiar, unbearable heat that only he seemed able to provoke in me was starting to course through my veins.

Pull it together, Team Andy. Resistance. Self-restraint. Resolve. Eyes. Toasted amber. Hot breath. Mouth. Inches. Resistance. Self-fucking-restraint. Resolve. Eyes. Mouth. Moving. Closer. Fuck—!

"Goodnight, Oliver," I heard a voice frighteningly similar my own say just as his lips were about to touch mine, and, in what I can only describe as a moment of divine intervention, I pushed him away. He moved back freely, not even bothering with putting up any resistance as I averted my gaze, slung my dropped bag over my shoulder, and hurried toward the door.

"Goodnight," he replied just as I was pushing the it open, his voice quiet and terse, and I knew that he was saying it to more than just me.

Ladies and gentlemen, the romantic rollercoaster of Wood and Wiles is officially over, I thought bitterly as I left the room, letting the door clatter to a dull close behind me.We hope you enjoyed the show—exits are located in the back left, right beside the coat check. Please depart in an orderly fashion, and as always…

I swallowed thickly, fighting back the urge to break down in the middle of the hallway.

Goodnight.