Sorry seems to be the hardest word. – Elton John

I could not bring myself to apologise to Black that evening, as the memory of his sexist comment was still too raw in my mind. However, finding a chance to speak to him alone the next day posed a problem. He was always surrounded one of his mates, and, failing that, a girl or two.

Therefore, despite attempts at breakfast, before Transfiguration, after Transfiguration, during break, in lunch, and when I saw him meandering over to the boys' loos after the lunch bell had sounded, I was not able to approach him. By late afternoon, my sense of guilt was overcoming my chronic shyness, and I determinedly strode after him at the end of Charms. I was going to apologise, and not even the presence of other people was going to stop me.

Right. Here we go. I had to push past a few people who, for some unknown reason, were lingering gormlessly in the doorway to the Charms classroom, but I excused myself as I did so. Black was already half way down the corridor by then, his long stride increasing the distance between us. My heart sank as I caught sight of a flash of honey blonde hair. Titia Benson.

Titia, short for Letitia, or just 'Tish' to her friends, was the girl that every female wanted to be, and every male wanted to be with. Her perfect hair curled loosely, and never frizzed as mine did. She had excellent bone structure, an undulating body that would not have been out of place in Playwitch, a stellar brain and very good grades. She came from a rich, Pureblood family, and was clad at all times in the most expensive and well-cut robes.

However, as our Astronomy Professor perpetually reminded us, there had to be balance in the universe. So, having been favoured with beauty, brains and bounteous wealth, there had to be something that Titia did not possess. Benevolence.

Titia was not a kind girl. This assessment does not stem from envy, nor from lack of self-esteem: Titia Benson was a nasty piece of work, though it was a fact belied by her outer appearance.

Perfect. Just perfect. Yet even the presence of Titia could not deter my guilt, and so, barrelling past yet another group of malingerers, I called out Black's name. Either he didn't hear, or he was ignoring me, as my shout yielded no response.

I sucked in a deep breath, overrode the vestiges of my shyness, and hollered down the corridor.

"Black!"

He turned around abruptly, as did most of the other people in the hallway. Some part of me shrivelled in embarrassment. The other part, I am glad to say, made its way carefully down the corridor, the need for haste over now that Black was waiting.

That is not to say that he looked pleased to see me: his face was stony. However, it was positively welcoming next to the arched eyebrows and pouting lips of Titia, as she stood with her arms akimbo next to him

"Logan." He clipped out as I approached. "What do you want?"

Oh dear. He was too annoyed with me even to try to annoy me with my false surname. My stomach twisted as my shyness reasserted itself.

"I was – well – I just wanted to – to speak to you alone. If I may?"

His expression did not change.

"Anything you want to say to me, Logan, can be said in front of Tish."

"Oh. Um. Okay." I darted a look at her, to catch her smirking victoriously.

"So… um… I suppose… I just wanted…"

I swallowed, my tongue at least three and a quarter sizes too big as my mouth dehydrated.

Taking a deep breath, I forced the words out.

"I just wanted to apologise for getting you into trouble. However deplorable I found your comment, it should not have meant that I landed you in detention. I really did have no idea that Slughorn was approaching. So I guess that what I am trying to say is that I am sorry that it was my fault that you are serving detention on Friday."

He stared at me for a moment, face ambivalent, before he sighed, and his face relaxed.

"Apology accepted, Loganberry. (And we are back to normal.) It isn't as though I haven't ever served detention before. Just try not to do it again."

"Sure – well… yeah, I'll try. And um – sorry again for the whole… thing… I really didn't mean… I mean, it wasn't m-"

However, round two of my apology was abruptly cut off by a yawn from Titia.

"Let's go, Sirius. I think we'll be here all night if you let this one babble on like a dripping tap. Might even get you into detention again."

So saying, she grabbed him arm and turned away from me. I followed suit, turning away from her, and started to walk away. However, I was still in ear shot to hear her say:

"What a pathetic little caitiff."

I stopped dead in my tracks; as did everyone else within earshot.

An explanation of this ordinary-seeming word entails an explanation of Pureblood wizarding society. Pureblood wizarding society is highly fixated on breeding, and more importantly, legitimacy. Therefore, the idea of an illegitimate child is unthinkable to them. Any unmarried Pureblood woman who conceives a child is normally forced to have an abortion, and then lives out the rest of her life in opprobrium and shame.

Pureblood wizarding society is also very concerned with purity, and despises muggles, whose blood is believed to be highly impure. A muggle-born witch or wizard, charmingly termed a 'mudblood', is among the most contemptible and sordid creatures that walks the earth.

In fact, the only creature more contemptible and more sordid that a 'mudblood' is an illegitimate mudblood. This is what Pureblood wizarding society terms a 'caitiff'. In medieval Muggle English, the term means 'wretch', or 'scoundrel'. Yet today, Purebloods mean it as the worst kind of swear word, the most disgusting thing that they can think of. It wasn't the sort of the word that one heard often in polite wizarding society.

As to how I came to be labelled as one is a surprising story. I am, in fact, an orphan. Not the Oliver Twist, maltreated and an outcast from love type, but a girl without any biological parents. To be honest, it is not something that often occurs to me. People are sometimes surprised by my lack of emotion regarding the subject, but I never met my birth parents. I can't really be sad about people I have never even met.

The record of my rather uneventful life begins thus: at roughly one week old, I was left upon the doorstep of a muggle orphanage complete with birth certificate, blankets, and everything needed to take care of a baby. There was also a note. It read:

'Take care of my Rose, my lovely flower who is too precious to lose, and too precious to keep.'

Poetic, huh? Perhaps that is where my love of literature comes from. In any case, barely four days later, into that very same orphanage walk Mr and Mrs Logan with their two sons Daniel, age 4, and Ethan, age 2. Ethan had been born with complications, which left Mrs Logan unable to have any more children. Yet she had always wanted a little girl, and so had decided to adopt one.

Upon seeing a squishy baby whose face was as scarlet as her namesake, Chris and Izzy Logan instantly fell in love, and took me home a mere week after I had been left. Mum and Dad told me from an early age that I was not genetically related to them. Yet they made it very clear to me that they loved me so, so deeply, and just because I didn't have their genes, it did not at all mean that they loved me any less.

So I grew up in an average muggle family of two parents and three children, with a dad whose love for DIY far outmatches his skill (as the A and E department can prove); a mum who balances the line between caring for me, but also telling me off when I misbehave, or work too hard. In fact, she worries about me so much at boarding school that she frequently sends me 'care packages' full of home baked cakes, books she thinks I'll like, and bubble bath.

I then have two of the most annoying brothers in the world, womanizers the both of them, who make it their mission in life to see that I do not date, kiss, think about or even smell a boy until I am 30 years old. Their ''love 'em and leave 'em' dating policy is pure hypocrisy, as they take umbrage if a boy so much glances at me. At least at boarding school any of my few dates are safe from the wrath of my brothers/bodyguards.

Aside from this hypocrisy, my brothers are great guys. They taught me how to make massive fires at the bottom of our garden, how to climb trees and how to wrestle, and are always there if I need a hand. They always stick up for me against anybody, even their own mates.

However, all my friends, and I mean all of them – even Alice who is so in love with Frank that you know you will see them in sixty years' time walking along a beach holding hands - obsess and drool over them as if they were a Hollywood Stars. I mean, from a sisterly point of view, they could be classed as attractive, but my friends are obsessed. That is why I have banned talking about them. I have a 'no dating my friends' policy with my brothers, and vice versa.

So that is my life. Nothing interesting, nothing tragic, just ordinary. Until I received my Hogwarts letter, I didn't really think about it. When Lily and I joined in the First Year, there were a few 'Mudblood' comments, which upset us a little, but at least we had each other. However, when it got about that I was adopted, I became acquainted with the term 'caitiff'.

Normally, it was only Slytherins that called me that, and only very occasionally, most definitely well away from any authority figure. Hearing it bandied about by a Ravenclaw in the middle of a crowded hallway was something different.

I stopped. My shoulders began to hunch as I shrank into myself, my head bowing as tears sprung to my eyes. But there was no way I was going to cry. Not in front of Titia, not in front of anyone. Was I really so repugnant?

It came out of the blue. A sentence. It wasn't the words that were so glorious to hear, it was the tone of outrage, which not only questioned the term she had labelled me with, it reviled it.

"What did you say?!"

It was spoken in a low voice, but my ears caught it, and my body turned to look at the speaker.

Sirius Black had stopped in the middle of the hallway, and was grasping Titia's arm, eyes staring fervently into her face, for all that their lips were about to meet. Only their facial expressions belied this action.

"Um…" Titia looked nonplussed.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You know what you said. You know what you called her."

"Oh. That." She rolled her eyes. "Yes – and?"

His face hardened.

"There is no 'and'. You will apologise to Rose for swearing at her."

She puckered her lips in a moue of displeasure, rolled her eyes, but turned to me and said in a singsong voice:

"I am sorry, Rose, for swearing at you."

Huh. Sincere.

I regarded her for a moment, and then channelled the painful sting caused by the word into anger, and turned on my heel, stalking off without deigning to dignify her 'apology' with an acceptance. However, the sting was lessened somewhat as I caught the angry glares that my nearby peers were directing towards Titia, and the comforting smiles that they directed towards me as I passed. Apparently, not every student in this school cared about my parentage.

Lily and Katie's faces were livid as I re-joined them, both looking as if they wanted to tear the Ravenclaw limb from limb.

"I'm fine." I replied to Lily's pointed look. "Really. There's no use getting angry about it. Besides, I only have three minutes to make it to Ancient Mer on the other side of the castle."

So saying, I sprinted off in the other direction, my thoughts most definitely not replaying Sirius Black's defence of me. Most definitely not. I am a proud, independent young woman, and I do not need a man to defend me. It was quite nice, though.