'I guess we get a little bit crazy.' - JLS, Crazy For You

I wake up and stare at the crimson drapings above my bed as I remember the events of last night.

I groan and pull back the hangings of my four-poster to let daylight stream in. My eyes immediately fall on the bed next to mine.

"Mate. Stop being creepy."

Lysander is sitting on his bed, fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, staring at me.

"So," he says conversationally, "Where were you last night?"

I freeze and then let out a breath in relief. He doesn't know.

"Oh, you know, just went down to the Hog's Head with Rose, Scor and Ria. Had some butterbeer. Came back. Went to sleep."

"And you kissed Ria."

Of course he knows.

"Dude, how the fuck did you found out?" I groan and lay back onto my bed.

He laughs. "You were talking about her in your sleep."

I shoot up again. "I talk in my sleep?!"

"Al, I thought you knew. You always talk in your sleep. Mate, sometimes I have to put a Silencio on you to block out your mutterings about touching girls up."

"Fuck." I run a hand through my hair and start pacing, automatically stepping over the dirty clothes strewn all over the floor. "Why has no one told me before?!"

Lysander shrugs. "I'm the only one who's ever really been close enough to you while you were sleeping to hear."

I shoot him a sharp look.

"That sounded wrong. I meant that my bed's always been next to yours." He gestures to my bed by the door, and his neighbouring bed.

"Urgh." I wonder what all the girls I've slept with have thought of my sleep-talking.

Annoyed by this new revelation, I scowl and stomp into the empty bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

When I come out, dressed in ripped jeans and a hoodie, the dorm is still empty, except for Lysander, sitting in the same position as before, staring at me.

"Dude. We've been through this. Staring at people is creepy."

He sighs. "You're not going to talk to Ria, are you?"

I grimace. "What's there to talk about?"

"Al, you kissed her. Or she kissed you, whatever. You've got to talk about what that means."

"She was completely out of it; she probably thought I was someone else."

"Since when have you been so nervous about a girl since Amy Livingston in first year?"

I flip him off. I was completely besotted with Amy from the moment I saw her sipping pumpkin juice in the Welcome Feast. Six months later, I finally plucked up enough courage to ask her out for a picnic next to the Black Lake, and she rejected me. Credit to her, she let me down lightly, but I was still pretty pissed off and snogged Tabby Newlove, a Hufflepuff in our year, to show Amy I didn't care. Since then, I've dated and (from fifth year on) slept with a new girl at least every month, and James has taken over my reigns of wooing Amy.

"Look, mate, you know Ria never gets drunks enough to forget what happened. She'll have known it was you, and she'll remember the kiss."

Why won't Lysander just let it go?

"Sander, you didn't see how much she drank yesterday. I've never seen Scor or Ria that drunk before. Trust me, she won't remember, and it will just make things awkward if I bring it up again."

Call me a coward; I don't know why I was put in the House of the Brave.

Oh yes, I remember: I'm the walking stereotype of insults directed at Gryffindors: an arrogant, masculine jerk. No, I'm not being self-deprecating, simply stating a fact. I have many good qualities to make up for my faults, such as my bulging biceps, and abs you could eat off.

Lysander opens his mouth to continue, but I grab my bag and walk out of the dorm before he can say anything.

I spot Emma and Rose in the common room, working on an essay, and ignore them when they wave for me to join them.

I have a quick breakfast in the kitchens, pick up provisions for lunch, and head down to the Quidditch Pitch, where I spread my books on the grass and settle down to write twelve inches on the defence against Dementors for DADA.

DADA is a subject that I actually have to study for, which pisses me off, because I'd kill to be as good at it as Ria, 'cos all the chicks love a badass dude who can duel. The essay takes me two hours, and I spend another long two hours practising a Patronus. The Patronus charm is one which, as much as I hate to admit it, I find fucking difficult. When I finally manage to produce a decent corporeal Patronus, I am sweating like a pig, but still happy as my unwillingly chosen memory of Ria's lips on mine lingers in my mind.

I quickly push her out of my mind and grin as I focus on the fruits of my labour: a glowing silver tiger pacing in front of me. It's majestic, and definitely very manly, unlike Lysander's Patronus which is a stupid owl. For whatever reason, he loves it, and I admit it suits him.

I lie down in the grass and pull out a bagel from my bag, and slowly chew it as I relax on the Quidditch Pitch.

Quidditch isn't exactly my favourite thing in the world; in fact, I only do it because girls love Quidditch players and it does wonders for my muscles, but I've grown to love the Quidditch Pitch.

I may not like Quidditch, but I'm a frikkin' amazing Seeker, and the Pitch is where I can show off that talent.

I close my eyes and imagine the stands full of people, all eyes on me as I chase the snitch, completely focused on the tiny gold ball racing in front of me. The entire stadium is silent, and the game has stopped as everyone watches me. I reach out, and the snitch is so nearly within my grasp. I can almost taste glory; almost imagine how the stands will erupt with the spectators chanting my name as I stand on my broom triumphantly, the snitch fluttering helplessly in my fist. I urge my broom faster, and stretch even further, and my hand closes about the sn –

"AL, GET YOUR LAZY ARSE INTO THE CHANGING ROOM NOW!"

I open my eyes groggily and silently curse my brother as I sit up to see him marching towards me in his Quidditch gear, gesticulating angry, with the rest of the team traipsing him.

Shit. I forgot we had a practice today.

"AL, I SWEAR TO MERLIN IF YOU DON'T GET UP RIGHT NOW, I'LL - "

"Dude, chill, I'm going." I roll my eyes at my brother as I shove my books into my bag and stroll into the changing rooms.

I can hear James shouting at the rest of the team to do laps to make up for my slowness (he's got his own special brand of logic), as I open my locker and lazily get into my Quidditch gear.

By the time I make it back onto the Pitch, James is supervising team drills in the air. He spots me and dives down to yell at me again, but I wave him away and start running around the Pitch.

10 laps; I'm too familiar with the punishment for being late.

I focus on my feet steadily pounding the ground, ignoring the team flying above me, and especially willing myself not to look up at one particular player with long black-and-silver hair.

When I'm done with the laps, I release the snitch and wait twenty seconds before getting on my broom and rising into the air to find it.

By the time practice is finished, I have successfully caught the snitch 23 times in the three hours, and run myself a nice hot shower in the changing rooms to relax my muscles.

I stride out of the changing rooms in my previous jeans and hoodie before Scor can say anything to me, and walk straight into Ria.

Shit. Fuck.

Godric, what do I say? I force myself to actually look at her first.

Her sweatpants-and-t-shirt look isn't exactly the epitome of seductive, but it's just so Ria that it doesn't matter.

She smiles at me, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes and I bite my lip anxiously.

Lysander's right. Why am I this nervous over a girl?

Because it's not just any girl; it's my best friend.

"Hey, Al. Didn't see you earlier today; where were you?"

We take the path back up to the castle.

"Just chilling on the Pitch, you know." I shrug, tense.

"Okay."

We walk back up in silence. I hate this; it's never silent with Ria. She's always singing or laughing or asking me about my day or telling me about hers.

She stops at the foot of the Entrance Hall stairs. "I've got to pick something up from the Slytherin common room. See you upstairs." She turns to go to the dungeons.

"Ria!" I call after her. Lysander's right (as always), I've got to say something.

She whips around quickly, eyes bright. "Yes?"

I'm a Gryffindor. Just need to screw up my courage and say it. No big deal. Just ask where we stand after yesterday night.

I can't do this.

"Nothing." I shake my head and go to continue up the stairs, but she stops me, her face expressionless.

"Al, about yesterday night …." She trails off, looking at me.

I glance over her face. Her eyes are unreadable; what does she wants me to say? That I like her and want to kiss her again (Godric, I do), or that it was just a mistake?

Her smile dims slightly as I panic.

"Just wanted to say thanks for coming with us." She offers me a last small smile and disappears into the dungeons before I can reply.

I don't see her again until double Transfiguration the next day when the class is engaged in silent concentration on non-verbal spells, and in the free period she hangs out with James and Fred, which means that I don't talk to her until lunch, when I ask her to pass me the salt.

I am trying to ignore Scor and Rose seated next to me, who are being disgustingly soppy and feeding each other slices of cake. Opposite, Lysander is reading The Divine Comedy, and Ria is trying to non-verbally change the colour of her eyebrows. So it's Emma who breaks the silence (except for Scor and Rose's incessant giggling), by laying her sketchbook on the table with a loud sigh.

"Guys, I need some advice." She pushes the sketchbook forward so that we can all see it. "My cousin's just had a baby girl and asked me to make her a dress. I want to embroider something on the pocket, so … shall I stitch a fairy or a butterfly?"

We all hunch over the sketchbook and contemplate the drawing of a girly little dress with a cute collar and pocket. She's right; as an artist myself, I can immediately see that there's something missing: a decoration on the pocket would be the finishing touch.

"Fairy." Scor immediately proclaims happily.

"Nah, butterfly." Ria says.

Scor sits back up and frowns at her. "What the fuck, Ri? Fairies are so much better."

She mirrors his posture. "Scor, what are you talking about? Everyone knows butterflies are the best."

His expression darkens. Scor is never quick to anger unless it's his violent and out-of-hand once-in-a-blue-moon fight with Ria over something stupid. Which this clearly is. If I had more common sense, I would run, but I just lean back and enjoy the show.

"Shut up bitch. Fairies are obviously so much prettier and more magical and more perfect and fucking sexier than stupid butterflies."

Emma quickly gathers the knives in the vicinity.

Ria scowls. "Well you know what? Fairies are just dumb cunts in fancy dresses who think they're better than everyone else because they're so small."

That escalated quickly.

Scor stands up, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "At least fairies have brains! UNLIKE YOU!"

Really, man? Worst insult ever.

Ria stands up too, her eyes flashing (if I wasn't determinedly thinking about McGonagall in a swimsuit (ew), I'd be so turned on right now). "YOU THINK YOU'RE SO AMAZING DO YOU? NOW YOU'VE GOT YOUR PERFECT LITTLE GIRLFRIEND TO FEED YOUR OVERSIZED EGO?"

Scor's wand is in his hand. "AT LEAST I'VE GOT SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME."

Ria laughs maniacally. "ROSE SAYS SHE LOVES EVERY GUY SHE SETS HER EYES ON. YOU'RE NOT AS SPECIAL AS YOU THINK YOU ARE."

Scor jumps onto the bench. "FUCK YOU, BLACK. YOU CAN GO TO HELL AND DIE IN THE DEVIL'S ARMS."

Ria steps onto the bench elegantly, her wand in her fist. "I'LL SEE YOU THERE, MOTHERFUCKER." Then she steps onto the table and throws a hex at him.

"ARGH! YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Scor ducks the hex and sends a jet of red light at Ria, also stepping onto the table.

And now they're duelling, hard and fast on the table, yelling profanities at each other.

And it's beautiful.

My cousins and I all grew up around magic of course, but our law-abiding parents made sure we never touched a wand until we got our Hogwarts letters confirming that we were magical. Scor and Ria, on the other hand, managed to bribe a wandmaker into letting them try out wands when they were barely five years old, and they've consequently grown up with the wands they're using now. This means that it's bloody amazing to see them duel. They use the wands like extensions of their own arms, gracefully flicking and jabbing as light shoots out of the end. Of course, Ria is miles better than Scor at duelling, but he's been practising with her since they were tiny, so he can hold her off with defensive spells and the occasional offensive curse.

It's like watching a dance, as they smoothly step over the array of food on the table, duck when a hex flies over their heads, and lean forward sharply to send another curse.

"SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY AND ARIES BLACK! STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!"

Scor and Ria's wands fly out their hands and into McGonagall's as she glares at them from the Great Hall entrance.

The Great Hall is silent, half of the students wondering what punishment our Headmistress will give the duellers, and half of the students collecting bets about who they think won the duel.

McGonagall marches towards the Gryffindor Table, furious, her wiry grey hair escaping her tight bun, and stops abruptly by Lysander.

"Scorpius, Aries, get off the table now." She glowers up at Scor and Ria, who slide off the table, annoyed.

McGonagall is the only person who insists on calling Ria by her hated full name.

"Two months detention with Filch." She barks out, then places their wands on the table and sweeps out of Hall.

Woah. I let out a low whistle as the chatter in the Great Hall slowly resumes again. McGonagall must have been seriously angry to give them such a harsh punishment. Two months detention with Filch is what you get when you try to kill someone etc. in our lax school.

"I can't believe she called me Aries in front of everyone." Ria mutters resentfully. Trust her to have messed up priorities. "I worked so fucking hard to get everyone to forget my full name, and now they've just been reminded." She scowls at the students eating.

"It is a shit name." Scor says, clearly not done with arguing.

Ria looks at him incredulously. "You can talk, Scorpius Hyperion."

He shrugs and gives her the finger. "Aries is still the worst name."

Suddenly Ria grins and glances at me. "I say no. Albus Severus has got to be the shittiest name ever."

There's a pause, and then Scor cracks up, and they're both laughing and laughing, and hi-fiving each other as the rest of the Hall looks on, bemused.

But Ems, Rose, Sander and I are used to these weird fights, so we just accept it when they sit back down at the table together like nothing ever happened.

But I'm still pissed that my name was the reason they made up.

It's really not that bad of a name.