Hogwarts didn't have exams, per se; not the kind that Ever thought of, in any case. Most of her tests throughout the term were practical in nature, and so when Christmas-time came around the witch had to blink and take a step back, wondering where all the time had gone. She signed her name on the going-home sheet, as did the Gryffindor boys, on the morning of the seventeenth, and made her way down to the Great Hall with them. Usually, the hall was full, but that morning everyone seemed to be giving one particular area a wide berth, and the Weasley twins, being the Weasley twins, each grabbed on to one of Ever's hands and dragged her through the throng, only to stop short when they came across a crying boy leaning against the wall. For a moment, none of them knew what to do...and then Lee, slamming into Ever's back in his hurry to catch up to the others, involuntarily shoved her forward, and the Hufflepuff looked up at her muttered "ow." Caught, she managed a smile, sitting down in front of him.

"What's wrong?" The boy opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, and opened it again before shaking his head. His hair was long—longer than hers, so long that he was almost sitting on it—and blond, and some distant part of her mind chimed in about how she'd like to braid it before she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand.

"Is there—I mean, is there anything we can do to help?" He shook his head mutely again, and, after a moment, Ever climbed slowly to her feet and walked back over to the boys.

"You lot go ahead," she whispered, pushing Fred gently—for he was at the head of the three—toward the Great Hall. "I'll be in there in a bit. Gonna make sure he's alright." The red-heads kept their eyes on her for a moment before George nodded and grabbed his brother by the arm, leading him and Lee away. Ever made her way back over to the blond and slid down the wall to sit beside him, looping her arm through his. He blinked up at her again, and when he did, she saw the surprise there, and the confusion.

"Why didn't you go with them?" he asked, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffling loudly.

"Because...you looked like you needed a friend more than they did right now." When the boy teared up again, she chewed at her lip, wondering if she'd said the wrong thing. "Um...what's your name?"

"Star," he managed. "Well, Staris, but most people just call me Star. Or Tellar. Or 'oi, move out of the way, was your father a giant?'" Ever bit back a smile; he was rather tall. Even sitting down, his head was almost a foot above hers.

"Yeah, well my name's Ever Moore, if you can believe it." She squeezed his arm in hers gently, craning her neck to look into his eyes. It was a hard thing, to meet his eyes when they were such a pretty grey—they looked like molten silver—but so red-rimmed. "We should start a club of strange names."

"We should," he mumbled, wiping his eyes again. For a while, there was silence, with the two of them leaning against one wall and staring out at the students passing by, and then, out of the blue, "My mum died. I just got the letter."

"I—I'm sorry," Ever stammered, for lack of anything better to say. Star nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor, and for a few moments she kicked herself, keeping her eyes fixed on her shoes. "I know that's the last thing you want to hear," she finally forced herself to say. "'Cause my mum died right before term started, y'see, so I remember how people were all up in each others faces and talking about how great a person she was when they barely knew her, or when they'd said bad things about her behind her back before she was gone. Half the people at the funeral didn't even like her. But since I've gotten here I've been writing letters to her in my head, just so I've got someone to tell, 'cause I'm muggle born—"

"Yeah," Star mumbled, and his hand found his way over hers. She locked their fingers together, fighting off the tears burning her own eyes, because this wasn't about her; this was about Star, and she wasn't going to take this grieving from him. "And all these other kids, they talk about their mums and dads every day, and I don't know what to do with myself anymore, see? And there's one guy, you probably know him, he's on the Gryffindor quidditch team, he especially talks about his mum a lot, talking about how his younger brothers get letters sent home all the time—"

"Charlie Weasley?"

"Yeah, him." Star didn't sound surprised that she knew his name; he didn't sound like he was feeling much of anything. "Yeah, he talks about his little brothers and his mum and his dad and I've just been sitting here thinking how lucky he is, really, because he's got all that. And my dad, he died a long time ago, back when I was really little, three or four, so I don't really remember him and I just...I don't know what to do right now." Ever sighed quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist and squeezing his hand.

"Now you do this. Now you cry."

And he did.

For over an hour, the two of them sat like that, and they cried together. They missed the rest of breakfast and most of their first period, but neither of them cared much. Eventually, though, Ever noted the time, and helped Star to his feet. Standing up, he easily towered two feet over her 4'2", and he had the stretched look of a teenager who was still growing, and it was a bit of an awkward walk down to the Hufflepuff common room with the two of them holding tightly to each others hands. People looked at the two of them, with their red-rimmed eyes and their runny noses, but they paid the other students no attention.

"What's your first class for today?" Ever composed herself enough to ask, finally letting go of his hand as they got to the painting of the bowl of fruit that the kitchens were hidden behind.

"Transfiguration." Star scrubbed at his face with both hands, swallowing hard. The witch nodded, hugging the boy hard. After a moment, he relaxed enough to hug her back. She smiled up at him as she pulled back, nodding to the painting.

"If you tickle the pear it leads to the kitchens. Go get yourself something to drink. Butterbeer if they've got it. The house elves are always happy to serve, and they don't ask questions, but..." She shrugged, sliding her hands into the pockets of her robes. "If you want to talk anymore, they'll listen. I'll go tell McGonagall why you weren't in class. And send me an owl if you need someone else to talk to." The boy surprised her by grabbing her up in another hug, lifting her off her feet and holding her close for a quick minute.

"Thank you," he mumbled, and then he was gone, through the portrait, and she was standing alone and missing the warmth of his hand around hers.

It's nice, she thought as she made her way upstairs slowly, having someone that knows and that gets it; she had to force that line of thought away before it got the better of her again. McGonagall was in her office; Ever caught her just as she was leaving, preparing for her next lesson. After a quick glance from the professor, and a hasty explanation from the pupil, the girl was—to her surprise—excused from the rest of her lessons for the day.

"Rest, Moore," McGonagall commanded, in a tone that would accept no argument. Ever swallowed her protests and nodded quickly, making her way to the common room.

Charlie sat in his usual spot, with some other sixth years she didn't know. She swallowed hard and walked up to him, gently tugging on his sleeve.

"Oi, who's—oh, hey Ever—wait, are you alright?" The girl shook her head and pulled him away from the group, toward the relative privacy of the fireplace, and took a deep breath.

"This is going to sound weird," she mumbled, her voice breaking on the last word, "especially since you're going home next week, but do me a favor, alright?"

"Sure," said Charlie, brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Write your mum and tell her how much you love her." She only took a moment to register the look on his face—confusion, acceptance, a weird mix of the two of them—before the tears began to flow again, and she turned and ran up to the dormitories.