Killian skidded to a halt before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, nearly colliding with the stone wall. "Draconius," he said, and the wall slid open so he could dart inside.

He raced up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, tossed his schoolbag unceremoniously on his bed, and grabbed his broom. He had just finished his last class of the term, and not a second more was going to be wasted on it. Homework could wait until after the holidays. This first week, though, he was going to enjoy himself: the Weird Sisters at the Yule Ball, a Hogsmeade visit this weekend, and Quidditich, Quidditch, Quidditch—as much as he could fit in.

He nearly flew down the steps, and had just turned the corner when a very angry Victor stormed into the common room, no longer sporting the lilac robes, but apparently still furious about it.

His eyes widened when he saw Killian hovering in the corner. "Jones…" he growled, pulling out his wand.

Killian stumbled back, giving him a weak smile. "Now, Victor…"

"If you think you're getting out of this with a 'Now, Victor', you are very mistaken," he said menacingly. "Now… what shall we give you? A tail? Antlers? Maybe some nice feathers."

"I'm sorry, mate, really I am—"

"Not as sorry as you will be."

"I didn't mean for it to go that far—"

"How did you do it?" Victor asked suddenly, dropping his wand. "I had to go to Flitwick, ask if he knew how to undo it, because I couldn't figure out which bloody spell you used! How is it, the one time you can actually do proper magic, is to humiliate me?"

"Because I didn't do it!" he said. "I had to ask Regina for help, and believe you me, she was more than willing. I only told her to do the robes, but she got excited and started jinxing everything in your wardrobe."

Victor turned his head to give Regina, sitting serenely at a study-table, a very ugly look. She smiled back nastily.

"Blanchard will love you in that color," she said. "You two will look so adorable together."

"And I'm sure you and the Bloody Baron will be the belles of the ball," Victor threw back. "That's who you're going with, isn't it?"

She raised her eyebrows. "No."

"Who are you going with?" Killian asked curiously, feeling safe enough to walk past Victor and sit down in an armchair. "It isn't really the Bloody Baron?"

"Don't be stupid," she scoffed.

"But who is it?" Victor pressed, taking the chair next to Killian's.

"I'm not telling you, you'll have to wait until tomorrow night."

"Oh, like I really care all that much," Victor snorted. "I'll be on pins and needles all day tomorrow, I just know it."

Regina rolled her eyes, and went back to scratching words onto her parchment. Victor looked over at Killian with inquisitive eyebrows.

"Sure you want to go alone?"

"Oh, my God," he said exasperatedly, tilting his head back. "Can't you let it go?"

"I'm just saying, if you want to take Blanchard off my hands—"

"Oh, no, no, no…she's all yours, mate," he laughed. "Wouldn't dream of getting in the way of that."

"Are you sure?" Victor said enticingly. "You could make little Miss Ravenclaw jealous."

"Who's little Miss Ravenclaw?" Regina asked, a slight frown on her face as she looked up the properties of doxy venom.

"Who indeed?" Victor smiled, resting his chin on his fist. Killian looked back dryly.

"You're embarrassing yourself."

"Am I?"

"Yes. More than usual, I might add." He eased himself up from his chair and picked up his broom. "I'll see you guys."

"Ooh, is little Miss Ravenclaw on the Quidditch pitch?" Victor called after him, swiveling in his armchair. "Trying to impress her?"

"Actually, Ruby's there," he said, walking backwards. "You're right—she is very pretty, isn't she?"

Victor glared at him. "I hope you plummet to your death, Jones."

"I know," he grinned.

Outside, the air was crisp, the wind biting into his skin and chilling his fingers to numbness. Killian didn't mind, though: it meant he was out, away from the stuffy classrooms and the dusty books and the spells he couldn't perform. The Snitch felt like ice folded in his hand, the wings feebly fluttering.

As he approached the Quidditch pitch, he could see multiple snowball fights going on, a few minor duels, as well as the scattering of students on the Quidditch stands. Other than that, he had the field to himself.

He released the Snitch: it zoomed away gratefully as he swung his leg over the broom and propelled himself into the air. He must have looked mad, sitting up there in the freezing air, chasing after a half-frozen Snitch, but he didn't care. Half of them were probably hoping he'd freeze to death in the process: he hadn't built the best reputation for himself amongst his peers.

There were two versions of "Jones" known throughout his year. One was the Jones the Slytherins knew: their star Quidditch player who, when he wasn't on the field, kept to himself and silently struggled to pass his classes. Then there was the Jones everyone else knew: the cocky, arrogant Slytherin Seeker who set off an explosion every ten minutes, and provoked a fight whenever possible.

But there was also a third Jones: the one Victor knew; the one Regina Mills sometimes tolerated; the one Liam berated for not being more responsible; the one his mother sent Howlers and Honeydukes to; the one Killian couldn't quite figure out. It was the Jones who wanted to do well in school, but was only just scraping by; the one who dearly loved to stir up trouble and play pranks on unsuspecting victims, but mildly regretted it afterwards; the one who wanted everyone to think he didn't give a damn about anything, even though he had spent many sleepless nights worrying about everything.

There was one thing that tied all three Joneses together: flying. All three of them could breathe better when the air was rushing into their lungs with an icy blast, as they shot through the air atop a broom, chasing after a Snitch.

Jefferson craned his neck as he squinted at the sky, following the tiny blur streaking after the tiny glint of gold with his eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Belle asked, mildly exasperated as this was the third time he'd been distracted.

"Someone's got a Snitch out," he said absently. Not for the first time, Jefferson felt a pang of jealousy as he fixed his eyes on the Quidditch pitch. He had a beautiful new broom at home, a Nimbus 2001, that he looked after lovingly. His parents refused to let him bring it to Hogwarts, insisting that it would be a distraction from his studies.

"Jeff," Belle said gently. "There's still time to sign up for the train home, it won't leave for another three hours."

Jefferson shrugged. "It's all right. It's probably too cold for flying, anyway." He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go join the snowball fight."

"No," Belle said immediately. "Robin Loxley's out there, you know how he gets."

"Emma will take him down for you," he wheedled.

"You can go," she said. "I'll watch from here."

"Oh, you're no fun," he complained. "Watch my bag, then, would you?"

"Sure." Belle smiled. "Go get slaughtered by Gryffindors."

Jefferson dropped his jaw in mock indignation. "Have you no faith in me?"

"None."

Apparently, Neal and Emma shared the same sentiments, because they both gave him a dubious look when he jogged up to them and insisted on joining their team.

"I thought you two were studying," Emma said, raising her eyes to where Belle still sat on the Quidditch stands.

"'Course not, it's bloody freezing out here," Jefferson said brightly. "Perfect for a snowball fight."

Emma looked at Neal helplessly, who forced a smile on his face. "Come on, then," he said, jutting his head toward the snowbank he and Emma had taken refuge behind.

Jefferson knelt down on his other side, peeking over the top of the snowbank. Ruby Lucas aimed a snowball at his head, and he ducked, hearing it explode against the tree behind him.

"Come on, Hatter!" she hollered. "Don't be a coward!"

Jefferson scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly. He cautiously raised his head, looking for a target. Ruby darted to the left as Emma threw a snowball at her, but Robin Loxley had his head down as he knelt in the snow, packing a small array of snowballs.

Jefferson threw his snowball, hitting Robin in the shoulder. Robin's head snapped up, looking for the perpetrator. Jefferson scampered out of the way as a quick succession of fiercely thrown snowballs pelted in his direction, at least two of them hitting him squarely in the back.

He scooped up another pile, whirling around to hit Robin back, but Emma ran right up to him, slamming a snowball in his face. Neal doubled over laughing, as Robin tried to stand up and run after Emma, but slipped. Emma ducked as Ruby sent another snowball her way, tripping as she did so.

"No!" she shrieked as Robin came up behind her, stuffing snow down the back of her coat. Ruby laughed as Neal leapt over the snowbank and scooped a handful of snow to stuff down Robin's front. Robin gasped, trying to shake the snow out of his shirt, as Neal grabbed Emma's hand and they ran out of the line of fire.

Jefferson's sad little snowball dripped out of his hand as he watched them go, laughing madly as they ran off. Ruby and Robin turned on each other, alternating throwing snow and ducking at the other's shot, completely ignoring him.

Always a third wheel, he thought bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trudged back up to the stands, to where Belle still sat. That cheered him up slightly, and a little smile found its to his face.

At least there was Belle.