Victor frowned at the empty seat beside him, and twisted around, squinting. Where the bloody hell was Jones?

"Oi! Regina!" he hissed across the table.

"What?" she said absently, poring over a Madam Malkins' catalog.

"D'you know where Jones is?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say the hospital wing."

Victor whirled around, alarmed. "Why? What happened?"

Regina glanced up. "Nothing happened. It's just… that's usually where he is, isn't it?"

"I s'pose…"

Jones had a tendency to get into situations that ended with rather nasty injuries: his spells often set off explosions, his potions were more often poisonous than not, and he never walked away from a single Quidditch match without half a dozen Bludger- inflicted injuries. Victor had to bring him his homework at least once a week.

"So," he said, giving up on his search and turning around. "I see you're looking at dress-robes. Does that mean someone's asked you?"

Regina closed her eyes. "Obviously."

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "You sure you're not just saying that so I don't ask you?"

She ignored him and continued studying the page in front of her. Victor heaved a sigh.

"Fine," he said, turning back around and resuming his search. "It's not like you're the only…" he trailed off, catching sight of Jones near the Ravenclaw table. "What the hell?"

Jones scratched his head, looking more nervous than he did before a Charms exam, and approached a group of Ravenclaws. Victor sat on his knees to see who: Belle French, Jefferson Hatter, Neal Cassidy, and that blonde Gryffindor girl whose name he could never remember.

"What's he doing?" he asked bewilderedly as Jones stopped to talk to Belle. To Victor's amazement, Belle stood up and followed Jones to the hourglasses, stopping in between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin ones. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Can you talk to yourself inside your head?" Regina snapped. Victor barely heard her.

"What are they talking about? Why is she—?" He gasped as Belle marched him—marched him—over to the Gryffindor table. To the Gryffindor table?

His jaw dropped as Belle dragged Jones to where Ruby Lucas (oh, Ruby, he sighed to himself) sat with a few members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Hunter (stupid git). He glared at the ground until Belle nudged him; then he looked up and said something. Victor watched the scene with wide eyes: it looked like Belle was ordering him. Why would Jones be taking orders from Belle? He didn't…? Victor frowned suspiciously, thinking back to the other day… No, he decided, shaking his head. No, that was ridiculous. Of course he didn't. He couldn't. They hated each other. Didn't they?

He caught Ruby's eye and, as per usual, she looked away. Victor barely noticed this time: he was too busy watching Jones stalk away from the Gryffindor table, Belle trailing behind him. She said something to him before she rejoined her group, which he ignored, walking with his head down to his seat beside Victor. Angrily, he tossed his bag down and buried his head in his arms.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Victor said instantly, yanking him up by the neck of his robes. Jones tried to swat his hands away, but Victor clung on. "You tell me, you tell me right now, what all that was about!" he demanded.

"Get off me," Jones insisted, trying to pull away. "Come on, stop, I'm hungry," he pleaded, reaching for a plate. Victor released him, but didn't stop talking.

"Why were you talking to Belle French? Why were you at the Gryffindor table? Why are you eating sprouts?" he added, making a face.

Jones swallowed. "I like sprouts," he said simply.

"How ridiculous. Were you talking to Ruby? Were you talking to Hunter? TALK TO ME, JONES, WHAT'S GOING ON?"

Jones frantically shushed him, looking around before turning furiously back. "Would you lower your voice?" he hissed. "What's wrong with you?"

Victor slammed his fist down. "Tell me!"

"Nothing," Jones said through clenched teeth.

"TELL ME."

"Go away."

"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell—"

"For the love of God, Jones, would you shut him up!" Regina exclaimed. Victor nodded emphatically. Jones glared at her.

"Stay out of it, Mills."

Regina whipped out her wand. "If you don't tell him, I'll hex you," she said fiercely. "I am not spending the rest of lunch listening to him!"

Victor tugged on his sleeve. "You better tell me, she's brilliant at hexes."

Jones eyed her wand. "Fine," he said reluctantly, and turned in his seat to face Victor. "I was asking her to help me in Charms, because Flitwick's been breathing down my neck about my grades. She said she'd only do it if—" he shuddered in disgust—"if I apologized to Lucas and Hunter."

"And you did it?" Victor breathed, his eyes popping out. Jones nodded, grimacing. "Why the bloody hell would you do something like that?"

"Have you been listening to me at all?" he said furiously. "Because I'm failing Charms."

"I know, I got that—"

"Yeah, everyone knows that," Regina snorted, having put down her catalog to join the conversation. "People at Durmstrang probably know that."

"Thanks, thanks for that," Jones said, smiling sarcastically.

"But I would have helped you!" Victor said bemusedly. "You didn't have to apologize to Hunter! Why would you do that? That's like slapping me right across the face!" He pounded the table with his fist. "Bloody Judas!"

"Okay, this—" Jones gestured vaguely around him—"isn't about you. Flitwick told me I have to pass this O.W.L., or the only job I'm going to get is being Filch's assistant. She's the best in our year, so if anyone's going to get me out of this mess, it's her. Those were her terms, so that's what I did. All right?"

Victor slit his eyes at him suspiciously. "You're being awfully defensive."

"Because you're being awfully shrill and annoying," he said, going back to his sprouts. "You know, you kind of sound like my mum when you're angry."

"Excuse me?" Victor said as Regina spit out pumpkin juice.

"Yeah," Jone smiled, nodding. "Her voice gets all high-pitched and shriek-y, like yours. The two of you sound like a pair of banshees."

Victor opened his mouth to deny it, but stopped, seeing Mary Margaret Blanchard from Hufflepuff walking toward them, smiling at him warmly. "What the hell?"

"What?" Jones turned around, following his line of vision, and frowned. "Blanchard?" he said as she stopped in front of them, beaming at Victor. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to ask Victor if he would come with me to the Yule Ball," she said directly, making Regina choke on her food.

Victor opened and closed his mouth a few times, shaking his head in disbelief. "How's that?"

"Do you want to come to the Yule Ball with me?" she repeated patiently, smiling at him. Jones stared between the two of them with wide eyes, a smile growing on his face. Victor didn't like that smile—he knew that smile—

"Jones," he muttered, "don't you—"

"Of course he'll go with you!" Jones said brightly, clapping him on the shoulder. Blanchard's eyebrows shot up.

"You will?"

"He most certainly will!" Jones beamed at Victor. "Look at you, you've got a date to the Yule Ball! Good for you, mate, you deserve it."

Victor looked at him furiously. "Jones!" he hissed.

"Oh, good!" Blanchard said happily. "I've got lilac dress robes, so if you wanted to—"

"Match? Oh, I'm sure Victor's got some lilac robes tucked away somewhere," Jones reassured her. "And if not, we'll just send an owl down to Madam Malkin's."

Blanchard beamed. "I'll see you, then," she said to Victor.

"Yeah, see you," he croaked. He waited until she had walked out of earshot, then rounded on Jones, aiming a fist at his head.

"Ow!"

"How could you do this to me?" he demanded. "Blanchard? You're making me go with Blanchard?"

"Would you rather go alone?" Jones snapped. "You'll look pathetic!"

"You're going alone! Mr.-Ooh- I- Don't- Want- to- Ask- Regina- I- Can- Go- By- Myself-Because- I- Don't- Care- What- People- Think- Of- Me- Because- I'm- Just- A- Dumb- Quidditch- Freak- Who- Couldn't- Manage- A- Bloody- Levitation- Charm- If- My- Life- Depended- On- It!"

He raised his eyebrows. "'Jones' is good, actually."

"I will kill you!" he hissed vehemently. "I will murder you and send your mangled corpse to your mother in a box!"

Jones tsked. "I don't think your girlfriend would approve of that."

"Don't," Victor said instantly. "Don't do this to me."

"Oi, Regina—any lilac wizards' robes in there?"

"Don't—"

"Or witches'. Not even sure if there are lilac robes for wizards," he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows at Victor, who glared back.

"Laugh it up, Jones," he said threateningly. "While you still can. Because I'm going to find out who your little Ravenclaw girlfriend is, and I am going to destroy you."

Jones's smile flickered. "You're delusional."

"Oh, we'll see about that," Victor said with a smug smile as he turned back to his plate.

"No, I'm serious. We should take you to St. Mungo's."

"Oh, okay," he said, smiling patronizingly. "I belong in St. Mungo's. You're right."

"Yeah. And if you keep it up, I'll put you in St. Mungo's myself."

Victor smirked. "Sure you will. I mean, you have to do something to impress Little Miss Ravenclaw."

Jones looked at him for a moment, as if he were a mildly interesting painting. "You're going to have lilac robes," he decided.

Victor frowned down at him as he bent to pick up his bag. "What are you talking about?"

Jones poked his head back up, looking at him with mock incredulity. "Lilac!" he said with wide eyes. "You need more lilac!"

"What are you doing?" Victor grabbed his arm, a feeling of impending doom descending on him. "What are you going to do?"

"Lilac!" he repeated, standing up and grinning at him. "Just…lilac!"

"Jones?" Victor stood up, watching him walk away, snickering. "JONES! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?"

"LILAC!" he hollered back gleefully, walking backwards. "YOU NEED LILAC!"