I wake up again, this time alone, and immediately realize three things. One, I'm weaker. I mean, I know the doctors always said that with every physical or emotional trauma I go through my chances of living a long and fruitful life lessen monumentally, but I didn't really think of me getting punched in the face by my "boyfriend" as being all that physically traumatic. Emotionally? Maybe. Two, my lungs hurt, and for no apparent reason. And three, Ben can't hear about any of this.

Why? Because he'll know. I think I know too, deep inside. The symptoms are progressing. For my parents, it went from occasional attacks to almost daily ones, and every day they got weaker and weaker, until Ben and I had to start spooning food into their mouths. Ben tried to protect me from seeing them so weak; they all did. But I saw.

I remember my first attack; it happened during a soccer tournament, on one of the rare occasions that my parents even got to see me play during their illness. We were still tied 0-0 when it happened; I don't even know why exactly. I was probably hit by the ball or something. Anyway, my parents knew right away what was wrong. They took me to the hospital, and I still remember the looks on my parents' faces, and my brother's. My mom was sobbing, my dad trying weakly to comfort her; my brother just stared and stared, not blinking, until his eyes teared up and started burning. Then he blinked, and all at once the tears fell down his face, too.

We lost that game, I found out later. 1-0; the other team had scored right after I left, and my team hadn't been able to come back.

I try and sit up; my arms feel like rubber. I pull myself onto my feet. I can stand, but it's harder. I'll have to work at it. Without consulting with Madam Pomfrey I leave the hospital wing, my limbs sore from lying still for basically two days. I see a few people in the hall, but they don't notice me.

By the time I make it to the Ravenclaw common room, a pounding is starting up in my head, a dull throbbing pain.

"Listen, whoever you are, please, can you do me an enormous favor and forgo the riddle? My head feels like it's about to implode."

"You do look rather pale…very well, I will give you a simple one. If there are three oranges and you take away two, how many oranges do you have?"

I pause.

"Okay, I'm not that stupid. Two."

The voice laughs, and the door swings open, allowing me entrance. Thank God. I pull myself in, and look around immediately, trying to spot Jimmy or Hattie. Both are sitting in their usual spots, reading ridiculously thick books.

"Hey guys." I say, trying to sound normal. "What are you guys reading, the Phonebook for all of Europe?"

"Close," Hattie says, putting the book down. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, actually—"

"You shouldn't be out of the hospital wing. You look ill."

"Shut your mouth, Jimmy. Hey, by the way, what does Jimmy stand for?" I'm trying to get him off topic. It works, kind of. He gives me a large, evil grin.

"James." He says. I just stare at him.

"You're shitting me!" I say accusingly. He laughs.

"My parents still call me James. I changed it to Jimmy because when…when Potter and I were friends, it got too confusing for everyone else."

"Oh." I say stupidly. "Well."

There's a short silence, during which I am driven to remember the pain in my chest. It's not unbearable, it really isn't, but it's not exactly pleasant, either. Suddenly I remember something.

"Hey Jimmy, what day is it? Of the week?"

"Friday…"

"Shit! I've got that frickin detention tomorrow! What do you think Lily will make me do?"

"Nothing terrible. Probably cleaning or sorting files or something. If you're really unlucky you might end up working for Filch, the bugger. He's the bitchy janitor-type. They call him 'caretaker' but it's all a steaming pile of shite if you ask me."

"You have some strong feelings concerning this guy," I notice, grinning. My face falls when I think of the things Lily will make me do. I just know it'll be something bad.

"DeVough! Come!" Lily calls me over to her table, looking abnormally pleased with herself. I give an internal groan, exchange looks with Hattie and Jimmy, and stomp on over to the redhead. James stands when I arrive, and extends his arms. I'm confused at first, but after a moment of hesitation walk into his embrace. He whispers quietly in my ear, so that Lily can't hear, "Don't worry. She's promised me she won't give you anything too harsh."

I pull away from him just a bit, and give him a questioning glance. I haven't seen him since The Kiss. I lean in an infinitesimal amount, and he doesn't pull away. I wait for him.

And he kisses me! There, right in front of everyone, he kisses me! I'm so surprised I almost lose my balance, and he has to tighten his grip on me. His lips are warm and soft.

"Ahem!"

James pulls slowly away from me, his eyes shining. He's smiling. And so am I; smiling so hugely that it almost hurts. I feel a slow blush creep up into my cheeks.

"Your detention will be tomorrow at noon, out on the Quidditch pitch. You'll be cleaning the posts before the Quidditch season begins. I don't want to see a speck of dirt on them, either, okay? You'll work until you finish, no breaks."

"Lily, that's ridiculous! She'll miss lunch! Plus, do you have any idea how hot it'll be out there?" James looks furious.

"It's fine, James!" I say brightly. Truth be told, I'm ecstatic about the chore she's given me. I get to fly again! And Ben can't stop me! But he'll sure as hell try to.

"Lily, she can't fly," Ben tries to explain. "What I mean is, she's not supposed to. No physical activity except for walking. Can't you change her job?" Ben, who just poked his head into the conversation, pleads. Lily shakes her head, looking falsely regretful.

"I'm sorry, Ben, but I've already arranged it. It can't be undone."

Ben slumps, running a hand through his hair. "But—"

"She'll be fine, I'm sure," Lily says, patting my brother on the back and leaving her hand there a second longer than necessary. The moment her stupid hands touch him, I completely lose it. I break away from James and storm up, until I'm right in Lily's face.

"Touch him like that again. Go on, I dare you," I hiss threateningly. Her eyes are wide, lips pinched in fury.

"You think you're so tough, do you? Just because you're different? Well, I could beat you in a second; your magical skill is pathetic compared to mine. So don't cross me, DeVough. And back off, or I'll give you another detention."

I move closer; our foreheads are so close they're practically touching.

"Why don't you try and make me?" I ask slowly. "Huh? Or is the wittle wedhead too chicken?" I mock. I know it's immature, but I just can't stop myself.

I don't think anybody expects what happens next; suddenly I'm sent flying, no, soaring backwards, and land on my butt, just saving my head from hitting the floor by wrapping it in my arms. The breath is literally knocked out of me; I stand, wobbling forward, trying to breath. Where did I put the damn inhaler? I don't even have enough breath to accio for it. Lucky for me, Ben is there, and summons it for me.

While we're waiting for it to come, the world around me changes. The oxygen deprivation warps and twists things, and the noise of peoples' voices is drowned out by the rushing of blood in my ears. I look towards the Ravenclaw table; most of them haven't realized anything is even going on, but Hattie and Jimmy are rushing towards me. They seem to be moving in slow motion. My vision is fading.

And suddenly, I can breath again. I suck in the inhaler medicine, choking on it, gasping for breath.

By now there are about a bazillion people around me, including Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"I would ask if you are alright, but I fear that much is quite obvious, and such a question would be all but pointless," Dumbledore says, sighing. "Back to Madam Pomfrey's, then? Come on now, let's get you up…that's a girl…" He helps me to my feet; I'm shaking, shivering so much I can hardly stand. "Mr. DeVough, could you give me a hand?"

Ben hurries to us, and picks me up in his arms, like he's always been able to do. He's so strong, my brother.

"Minerva, I trust you will deal with Miss Evans?" Dumbledore asks. Professor McGonagall nods curtly, eyebrows so drawn she looks like some sort of raptor. I look at Lily; she's stunned, her mouth hanging open and her already large eyes widened further.

"I'm coming," James says firmly.

"So are we!" Hattie pipes up; Jimmy's standing beside her, staring at me, no expression on his face. He blinks. I look away.

"Very well, very well…I suppose I cannot stop you!" Dumbledore says cheerfully, knowing full well that he could. I mean, come on, besides being the most powerful wizard ever, he's the frickin principal of the school!

"Max, are you okay? You fell pretty hard."

"I'm fine!" I insist. "I don't need to go to the nurse's room, I swear. I just need some rest. I can't…I can't walk all that well," I admit. Dumbledore frowns.

"I see. And you are quite sure that you needn't visit Poppy?"

"Positive."

"Very well then. Mr. Smith, would you be so kind as to take her to your dormitory?"

Jimmy nods, jaw clenched.

"I can carry her," Ben insists.

"Ben, I'm fine. My butt hurts, that's all. I swear."

"Are you sure? Positive? Coz I can come too, it won't be a problem-"

"Jimmy will take good care of me."

"O-okay, then…" He hands me over to Jimmy; I feel so light in his arms.

"You're so light!" Jimmy says, sounding surprised. I scowl.

"Your astonishment stings."

"No, I didn't…I mean, that's not what I—" he sighs. Hmmm…I kinda like it when he's flustered!

The pain in my chest is more severe now than it was, but I don't cringe or flinch. Ben can't see me weak, or else he'll suspect…he'll know.

"Max, I'm so sorry…I can't believe she did that…" James says, looking as stunned as Lily did at first. "I had n-no idea!" He leans over me and strokes my face, hands shaking ever so slightly. He swallows, grimaces. "I'll come to see you in a little while…first, I have some business to attend to." He looks over towards Lily, who's being interrogated by McGonagall, tears streaming down her perfect face.

"I didn't do it, I swear! It wasn't me!" She's sobbing. "I swear!"

I frown, and stop trying to listen to her voice.

"Thanks," I whisper. "Jimmy, please, let's go…" I tug at his sleeve and he looks down at me and nods.

Hattie says she'll meet us in the common room, and that she has a book she needs to return to the library first, so Jimmy and I are left alone, as he carries me through the halls and up the moving staircases to the Ravenclaw Tower, where we wait for the riddle.

"A man was to be sentenced, and the judge told him, "You may make a statement. If it is true, I'll sentence you to four years in prison. If it is false, I'll sentence you to six years in prison." After the man made his statement, the judge decided to let him go free. What did the man say?"

Jimmy frowns, thinking. He ponders over the questions for a minute before answering.

"He said, "You'll sentence me to six years in prison." If it was true, then the judge would have to make it false by sentencing him to four years. If it was false, then he would have to give him six years, which would make it true. Rather than contradict his own word, the judge set the man free."

"Well reasoned!" The voice says cheerfully. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, please. I would have just said that the man said, "You will either sentence me to four or six years in prison," but then you go and have a whole complex answer thing going on. Like usual. Smart-ass."

He grins down at me, and walks through the door. There are lots of people in the common room, and it's fairly loud. He pauses.

"You should get some sleep," He says. "But it's too loud down here. And I can't take you to your room, because of that god-damned curse that's on the steps…thanks to the Marauders…so how about you sleep in my room?" He says this nonchalantly. For some reason I think I'm blushing.

"O-okay," I say. He carries me up and lays me down in his bed.

"Do you need anything?" He asks. "You can borrow a t-shirt, if you want something to, you know…sleep in…" now he's the one a bit pink in the cheeks. Well, I'll be darned, the boy can actually feel!

"No thanks, I'm fine. I'm just so t-tired…"

"Go to sleep, then," he mutters. "Here, I'll go downstairs so I don't bother you."

He's about to leave when I stop him.

"Jimmy wait…please stay with me. Please." He pauses, then turns and looks at me.

"Okay," He says, smiling. I smile back. I close my eyes. I sleep.

I wake up cozy, but feeling oddly bare. I look down at myself; I'm sprawled out on Jimmy's bed, the covers twisted at my feet, my skirt and shirt riding a bit too high. I look around the room; Jimmy's still here, but he's hidden in shadow at the moment.

"Are you p-p-painting?" I ask, yawning.

"Yup. I'm painting you, so if you wouldn't mind holding still…"

I shoot up in bed.

"WHAT? BUT I DON'T EVEN LOOK HOT NOW! I mean…umm…why are you painting me? Isn't that sort of, oh I don't know, stalkerish behavior?"

He grins, not bothered at all by the fact that I just called him a stalker.

"You look so…different when you're asleep. So peaceful. Which is a really weird descriptive word, and one not commonly associated with you."

"Thanks."

"You talk in your sleep, you know," He says quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

"What do I say?" I ask nervously.

"A lot. You say a lot." He says vaguely, turning his gaze from mine.

"Just tell me, Jimmy, please!"

"About someone named Jackson, mainly. But also about James, and Ben, and m—I mean, Hattie," He covers. I grin, relieved. At least I didn't go blabbing about my parents or anything. That would have been bad.

"So, I talked about you, did I? What exactly did I say?"

"It was mostly jibberish…" he says, but I don't believe him.

"Come on!"

"Fine, fine…you said—you said that you want to snuggle with my dreadlocks. Or something."

I stare at him for a minute, and then burst into laughter.

"Hey, it's not funny!" He says. I stand up and walk over to him, grabbing one of his dreadlocks and rubbing it up against my cheek, 'mmmm'-ing.

"Oooh, you sexy dreadlock, how I love you…"

He snatches his hair away from me protectively.

"I feel so violated," he says, shuddering. "Careful, or my dreadlocks and I might just sue you for sexual harassment!"

Suddenly the door flies opened.

"What's this I hear about sexual harassment, and why the hell wasn't I invited?" One of Jimmy's especially noxious roomies asks.

"And who might you be?" I ask him. I don't recognize him; I mean, I've seen him around, but never talked to him or anything. He's pretty hot, in a blond-surfer-boy sort of way, but he doesn't look the brightest (I know, I know, he's in Ravenclaw. So what? I mean, so am I, and I'm certainly not the brightest bulb in the—er—bulbery. Wow I think I messed that up somehow). I'm surprised he can even compose words and sentences, honestly; all I expected to come out was a grunt.

"Dick Van Holsen, at your service!" He says, winking.

"I sincerely hope you're kidding," I say.

"Nope! So, you're the famous Max…not too shabby, I must admit." He walks around me, looking me up and down a couple times. "Of course, I'm more of a brunette type myself, but…"

"Whoa! Down, boy!" I say, glaring at him. "What gave you the idea that you could talk to me?"

"A feisty one! I like a little spirit in my conquests."

"Hey, Dick? Make like a hockey player and get the puck out of here," I say, remembering a joke I once heard.

"Hockey? What's hockey?" He deadpans, scratching his blond head. "Ooooohhh…hockey as in tonsils?"

"I see your intelligence is limited to only include vulgar terms referring to sex and making out," I say. "Go Ravenclaws! The smart House!" I give a sarcastic whoop. "No wait, let me guess…your dad is the owner of some huge company, and you're a home-grown millionaire. You probably participate in illegal drug trafficking, and, oh yeah, have never held onto a girlfriend for more than two weeks. And you're wearing pink boxers."

He just stares at me for a long, long time, mouth opened in what I expect is shock.

"Whoa, man, you're girlfriend's a psychic!" He says then, looking impressed. "But just so you know, they're not pink, they're red—"

"—Mixed with white, which makes pink. Exactly. Oh no, Dick, don't tell me you put your reds and whites together in the wash!" I say, looking horrified.

"You're a bitch!" He says self-consciously, hugging himself. "But I'll ignore that glitch because you're hot."

"And I'll ignore the 'glitch' of you being an asshole because…hmm, funny, I see no reason to ignore it."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," He grins, winks at me, and struts out of the room again, probably doing his idea of a sexy walk.

"I'm sorry, I must not have been clear. Is 'asshole' a compliment in Europe, because it sure isn't in America."

Jimmy laughs, shaking his head. "No, Dick is just…well, Dick. There's really no other way to describe him. Hey, how did you know all that stuff about him?"

"Well, I pretty much just combined every cliché white rich-boy jackass television character and threw them into one, and voila! We have a match! Plus, you know, his boxers were showing."

"And what would you say about me?" He asks slowly.

"You already told me about your childhood, Jimmy."

"Ha." He just shakes his head and starts cleaning up his paints. "Well, the lighting is wrecked now. I'll have to work on this later, I guess."

"Can I see it?"

"No!"

"Pwetty pwease? For me?" I plead, pouting. He rolls his eyes.

"Fiiiine. But it's really bad…I'm not really good at doing realistic paintings." He holds the painting out to me; I look at it critically.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," I say, shrugging. "No, seriously though, this is amazing. Can I keep it when you're done?"

"Wouldn't that be a little weird, hanging a picture of yourself by your bed?"

"Hmm, I see your point…never mind then. Looks good!" The painting is done with acrylics, in small, tight strokes, and honestly he makes me look way prettier than I really am. He's right; I do look peaceful while I'm asleep. When thoughts of my impending doom don't captivate my mind, when all thoughts of drama disappear. He painted my hair with the gold metallic color, mixed with streaks of goldenrod and honey.

"Can I have that back now?" He asks. I jump, almost having forgotten that he was in the room with me.

"Oh, yeah, of course." I hand him the painting. "So…what now? Should we go down to the common room?"

"Yeah. It's pretty late; you didn't sleep that long, actually. Only a couple of hours. Do you want to go to your bed?"

"That sounds good."

"How's your breathing?"

"Great."

"Good." He offers me a hand. I don't need it, but I take it anyway. It's so large, compared to mine. He leads me downstairs, into the empty common room; we pause in front of the staircase to the girls' dormitory.

"Thank you, Jimmy. You're a real friend," I say, hugging him tightly. He's tense at first, but then relaxes, and hugs me back.

"That's what I'm here for. To be your friend." He says, almost bitterly. I pull away.

"What is it? Is it something I said?"

"No, no. Never mind. I'm glad to be your friend, Max. I—call me if you need anything, okay?"

I smile, nodding.

"Okay."

And we part.