A/N: This chapter may seem a little all over the place and for that I apologise. I attempt to grasp the mentality of someone undergoing a trying situation. Sorry if it's a little all over the place.
WARNING: this chapter contains descriptions of drug use that may be confronting to some people. Please be aware of this and tread carefully.

Chapter 14: I Don't... Understand

Waking up with a headache had become fairly normal for me of late. It wasn't what I'd call the most welcoming feeling first thing in the morning, but I'd gotten used to it. What was a bit of a rude accompaniment was the pale mug peering at me from barely a handsbreadth away, face blurry as my eyes struggled to assert their dominance over the fogginess of sleep.

Groaning, I pulled away from what several blinks revealed to me as being Ainsley's face. It was the nose that gave him away; I'd heard people suggest that he'd have been better suited to Ravenclaw because of his resemblance to their mascot. Rolling onto my back, I raised a hand to my temple and sighed. "What are you –?"

"It's ten past eight," Ainsley informed me, straightening upright beside my bed.

"You're five minutes early," I mumbled. For a brief moment I resented Ainsley and his punctuality, despite knowing at the same time I should be thanking him for waking me up. It was just… five more minutes of sleep sounded so tempting…

"Yeah, well…" I caught the other boy shrugging from the corner of my eye. "Figured early was better than late."

"You figured wrong," I groaned. I closed my eyes for a moment – could I get in a few more minutes? – before sighing once more and heaving myself into sitting. Or almost sitting. It was more of a recline, my propped elbows the only thing keeping my from falling back down onto the far too welcoming mattress.

I was tired. I'd never been a good sleeper, exactly – Mum always said I woke to the sound of a pin dropping when I was a baby, even if I did spent a large amount of my time with my eyes closed nowadays – but lately it had been worse. Not even with a dose of Harproot just before bed could I go through more than an hour or two without waking. The drug had become a compulsive habit lately, one that Rhali, Ozzy and even Scor participated in occasionally too. I wouldn't even consider trying to sleep without it at the moment. I'd just end up lying awake and stressing for hours. This year was doing my head in.

Although, after yesterday's trip to Hogsmeade and then the flying, I felt a little better about things. Something about talking to Scor about my plans made them seem more solid. As though I had a future after seventh year and exams. The fact that he'd seemed so accepting of it, so positive even after his very obvious initial dislike of the idea, had made it even better. I could face the possibility of attending uni with just one less thing to worry about.

The prospect still scared the hell out of me, of course, even with Scor's acceptance. For even with the additional support, there was a wellspring of other concerns that clamoured for attention. What if I didn't get the marks? Dual Universities were reputedly competitive, drawing from two, often far-flung pools of potential students. And more than that, what would Mum have to say about it? She strove to be supportive, and she was generally quite accommodating of Muggles and their lifestyles – a product of the persistence of Auntie Hermione, I suspected – but she still struggled. She was one of those that accepted Muggles' place in the Wizarding world without exactly promoting full immersion in their culture.

Still, even with that stress, it felt good to finally tell Scor. Last night, after we'd descended from the quidditch pitch – we'd stayed out longer than I'd anticipated actually – he'd made a concerted effort to talk about the subject despite his obvious relief at falling back into his books as we secreted ourselves into an unobtrusive corner of the library. He seemed interested in my ideas, of what I wanted for my future; after a while he even went so far as to claim the idea was intriguing, though he could never see it as suitable for himself. It was because he just wasn't inclined towards Muggle studies, he said. No prejudice intended of course, he just found magical studies more… relevant.

I called bullshit, but whatever.

Yawning, I finally managed to awaken myself enough to sit properly upright. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, dropping to the heated wooden floorboards and made my way over to the trunk at the end of my bed. Only to pause as I realised that Ainsley hadn't left the room and he and Dillon were standing motionless beside their beds and staring at me awkwardly. Frowning, I paused, glancing between the two of them questioningly. Another glance towards Xander's bed showed that he watched me too, despite being only on the cusp of wakefulness himself. The four of us were immobilised in a strange depiction of waiting.

It was awkward. I hated situations like this. Confrontations were my archenemy, which was another reason why I simply avoided attention and human interaction as a general rule. Waiting for someone else to speak – likely quite far on the horizon given the very apparent firmness of Ainsley and Dillon's jaws and that Xander was still out of it – would only make it worse.

I cleared my throat. "What, um… what's going on?"

Ainsley and Dillon exchanged a glance. I could tell they were uncomfortable from the way Dillon puckered his lips and blew his blonde fringe out of his eyes and Ainsley tugged at his ear lobe. I fidgeted where I stood, for the first time feeling the inclination to simply say something to break the ensuing silence.

Finally, Ainsley spoke up. "So you're, ah… you're dating Scorpius Malfoy, huh?"

I blinked. What? That's what this was about? They were, what, confronting me about dating Scor? "Yeah…" I replied slowly.

Ainsley and Dillon exchanged another glance. Dillon sniffed, blowing his fringe again. He really should get it cut. "When did… when did that happen?"

Now I was just confused. It had been over a month since we'd been officially 'together'. Before that there had been the moment in the prophet, the Kiss caught on camera. How much more indication did they need? Frowning, I answered anyway. "Since about Christmas."

"But… why?"

Silence. Static silence rung in a reflection of the guilt that flashed across Ainsley and Dillon's faces. They knew how it sounded, how utterly stupid that single word was, and yet neither made an attempt to recall their words.

I was… stunned. What the hell? 'Why'? What did he mean 'why'? What kind of a stupid question was that? I was almost too stunned to reply. What right did they have to even ask me that? What the actual hell?! "Because I… I like him," I stuttered out.

The awkwardness was like a pervasive cloud hanging over the room now. There were decidedly too many people in the one place – too many acquaintances - for my own comfort. Ainsley and Dillon were nearly squirming in unease. A glance towards Xander showed that even he appeared to be affected by the thrumming tension. Usually more of a zombie than I am in the morning, today he was actually aware enough of his surroundings to have adopted an expression of uneasiness himself. He fiddled nervously with the blanket, blinking owlishly.

I slowly turned back towards Ainsley and Dillon. My voice was choked as I mumbled, "Why would you even ask me that? Why would you…?"

We weren't all that close, the Hufflepuff boys and me. Ainsley and Dillon, they'd been best friends since the early days of first year, and Xander usually hung out with his cousin in Gryffindor. Not me. I'd just never really connected with them. But even so, it wasn't like we actively antagonised one another. We didn't dislike one another. We were just… neutral. Cohabiting. Friendly, but nothing more.

I'd never had a tiff with any of them, and as far as I knew they'd never had a complaint with me either. We keep firmly in our separate businesses, and that worked perfectly fine for me. Which was why the situation, the horribly intrusive question, was so unexpected. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little bit upset. My moderately good humour, the lingering residue from the previous day, was rapidly disappearing. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that dorm room.

Obviously my feelings were making themselves apparent, for Ainsley – after another glance towards Dillon – took what appeared to be a fortifying breath and launched himself right onto the chopping block. "Look, we don't mean to sound like we're prying or anything, it's just… we're a little curious."

"And worried," Dillon added, his tone subdued.

I glanced between the two of them. "What? Why? Why would you be –?"

"Because he's Scorpius Malfoy," Ainsley overrode me, speaking in slow, deliberate syllables as though his words were an actual answer in and of themselves. "Scorpius. Malfoy."

"So?"

"So, you're Albus Potter."

"It's just weird, that you two would get together," Dillon tagged on in his hushed tone once more. I shot him a glance. What was he, Ainsley's bloody yes-man?

Ainsley nodded his head in agreement to Dillon's additive. "The fact that it's you two together. It's just… weird."

"Why?" I was aware that my voice sounded demanding, despite the waver quivering through it. It hurt, this prodding and poking. The accusation in my housemates' tones. Seriously, what the hell? "Why is it so weird?"

"Because you're Harry Potter's son," Ainsley said, as though that was explanation enough. Which, perhaps to him, it was. "And Scorpius is Draco Malfoy's son."

"Everyone knows about their past, with the war and before that," Dillon continued.

"And that their two sons are dating… it's just weird."

"Surely even you guys can see it's a strange, right?"

"We're not trying to be mean or anything but, you know, people talk and you've gotta wonder…"

I glanced between the two of them at their rallying exchange. You've gotta wonder… Dad and Mr Malfoy? That was what this was about, their school rivalry? About their opposing sides in the war that followed? That was twenty-five years ago! Who even remembered something like that from so long ago? And why would anyone care?

I felt slightly dizzy, thickness beginning to clog my throat, and my fingers and toes setting up a tingle. Sick. I felt starting to feel physically nauseous. "Why are you…?" I shook my head, attempting to rid it of the plethora of questions battering for attention. There were too many; my mind grabbed onto the only one that managed to surface with any coherency. "Why are you just bringing this up now?" I swallowed through the croakiness in my throat. "We've been together for… for weeks. Why…?"

Dillon spoke first this time, wonder of wonders. "Yeah, but no one really thought you were serious."

"The prophet always makes up stories and people lap it up like pigs in slop." Ainsley shrugged at the faintly disgusted glance Dillon flashed him. "I mean, everyone was curious, and it was a great source of gossip I guess, but no one really thought –"

"B-but, it's been weeks." I swallowed again through the dryness in my mouth but it only served to make my stomach protest as though suspicious I was attempting to assault it with food. "We've been going out for weeks –"

"You haven't really done anything, though," Ainsley pointed out. As though it was a key fact in the conversation. "We thought it was just a joke, or that it was just, like, a physical thing or something and it would fizzle out."

"Even if it did seem a little strange that you were the one to –" Dillon cut off his mumble, eyes widening as he glanced towards me with his fringe flopping stupidly. "I didn't mean it like that, Al. Sorry, that sounded really harsh, I didn't mean it…"

His babble morphed into a hollow echo in my ears. He didn't mean it like that. How exactly did he mean it, then? I felt like I was being struck by verbal blows. And the worst part was that Ainsley and Dillon, for all of their visible guilt, didn't seem to even realise all that much the very degree of how hurtful their words were. If there was anything that could convince me that the stereotype of 'Hufflepuff' had dwindled over the years it was this.

Dillons bumbling trickled off slowly, fracturing. My gaze was fastened somewhere between my two housemates, locking in an unblinking stare. My throat was tightening so much that I couldn't even swallow anymore.

"Al, we're… we didn't mean –"

"Why now, though?" It wasn't what I really wanted to ask, but the repetition of my previous question was the only one that seemed able to croak from my lips. "Why… why would you… why are you asking now?"

Dillon looked as though he wanted to sink through the floorboards and Ainsley didn't look much better. But at least Ainsley still had the courage to answer me, even if his words were subdued. "You guys, you went to Hogsmeade together. Like, just the two of you." He paused, then said very deliberately, "On a date."

"I think everyone just realised you were sort of more serious after that," Dillon muttered in agreement.

Hogsmeade. Date. They thought… because… that simple trip to Hogsmeade apparently made the reality of Scor's and my relationship starkly apparent. It wasn't even a date! At least, I didn't think it was. Ozzy and Rhali just couldn't be bothered to come along with us.

Were they stupid?

…Did everyone think like that?

Suddenly, I didn't want to talk to my housemates anymore. I didn't want to even look at them. Hated them? No, I didn't hate them. I just wanted to be as far away from them all as humanly possible. Far away from them and as close as possible to Scor as I could be.

I fumbled through the motions of dressing myself. I think Ainsley and Dillon might have continued saying something, tried talking at me, but I didn't hear them. Slipping into my shoes and not even bothering with the laces, I slung my book bag over my shoulder and hastened towards the door, chin tucked and head bowed. Xander, still half wrapped in his blankets, uttered a feeble, "Al…" as I passed, but I didn't pause to reply. I couldn't even spare him a glance. The door slammed shut with more force than I'd anticipated as I hastened from the dormitory.

I thought there were people in the common room. And I thought they might have been looking at me, maybe even talking about me. I couldn't say for sure though. My dizziness was making my vision go a bit fuzzy. My breath was starting to come short, and it was all I could do to stumble through the Basement and into the corridor beyond. I didn't want to be around them, didn't want to be around any of my housemates. I wanted Rhali, or Ozzy, or even Lily or Rose.

I wanted Scor.

Any of them would have done, would have been a comfort to simple be with, to sit beside me silently as I rode out the nausea and anxiety that welled within me. I didn't need to talk. I just wanted someone with me. Any of them, but especially Scor. For some reason, in my mind it was Scor that would make it all better.

I didn't know quite how I made it to the Great Hall. I didn't even realise I'd arrived until I quite literally ran into someone just inside the doorway. A Slytherin girl with blonde hair, an oddly calm and detached part of my mind registered.

The girl turned towards me with big dark eyes and blinked. She didn't say anything, just blinked. And in a moment of mounting foreboding, I realised what it was that was on her face. Realised and recognised, because it had been on Ainsley and Dillon's faces too.

On the faces of the scattering of students around the hall, some half-turned in their seats to peer at me with eyes that were curious, thoughtful, resentful. Betrayed. Really, betrayed? What did they have to feel betrayed about? I hadn't done anything wrong. Was this really about me and Scor? Me and Scor, in a relationship that we'd been in for a whole month now. A relationship that barely batted an eyelid except on those first few days that Scor had sat next to me at breakfast.

There was an awkward hush settling over the Great Hall. Awkward because of the fidgeting in seats that accompanied it, the ducking of chins after eyes drunk their fill of their staring. There were some people – some blessed angels – who honestly didn't seem to care, who glanced up at me with exasperation and sympathy cast upon their faces, but they were far outweighed by the majority. Even some of the teachers present wore those intensely penetrating stares.

Over my relationship with Scor. My relationship. Seriously?

Except… except that as my stunned gaze swept around the room, I realised that wasn't it. Or at least, that wasn't it entirely. I should have run, should have turned tail and retreated from the Great Hall to harvest food from the kitchens instead. It was one of the main reasons we Hufflepuffs claimed that our common room was situated where it is; all of us knew its whereabouts.

How I wished I'd just fled.

But as I stood just inside the doorway barely a foot from the staring Slytherin girl, feeling my shoulders hunch more and more with each passing second, I caught sight of it. Of them. And I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

There was a smattering of Daily Prophets propped open in various onlooker's hands. The front page, from what I could make out, depicted an image of Tony Goldstein, Minister for Education, rambling about something or other. But what was on the page most were turned to, the page that lay spread upon the Ravenclaw table just to my right, was a picture of… me.

Little me. Baby me, at about eight years old. It was a picture I was familiar with because Mum thought it was cute, even if it did get into the papers for all the wrong reasons. It was on our visit to the Botannical gardens, and I was crouched on my knees, picking through a variety of blossoming flowers with an expression of sheer rapture on my face. A streak of dirt smudged across one cheek, though less than that which grimed my bare feet. The incident, a fairly low-key family picnic, had caused a raucous grumble of dissatisfaction from the public about the level of care my parents offered. About their supposed 'neglect'. All because I'd vehemently declined following the cliché of wearing shoes that day.

I hated that picture, but that hate was revamped with an all-new meaning now. For it now sat beneath a bold headline of 'MUGGLE FEVER: GRIPPED BY THE TREND', and the smaller subheading 'How will the Potter family react to the idea of their second eldest attending a Muggle University? Does disappointment sit upon the horizon?'

I couldn't stop staring. I couldn't even blink away from that picture, that headline, the blackly printed word 'disappointment' that seemed to jeer at me with an audible ring in my ears. Muggle University? No, I… I wasn't going to a Muggle uni. It was a Dual University, for starters, and… and…

This was what raised their hackles? People… someone cared enough about me – or more correctly about Albus Potter, the son of Harry Potter – to think this was newsworthy? And more than that, other people were….what, resentful towards me for it? How did the papers even find out about my plans?!

My blurring gaze raised from the paper spread across the table to flicker around at the eyes still trained upon me. For once I wished I had my dad's poor eyesight, just so I didn't have to see their faces, to read their expressions. Yes, resentment was still there, and curiosity.

And disappointment. As though I'd done a terrible wrong.

So much for the anti-Muggle-prejudice movement. It was simply intolerable that I, son of Wizarding icon Harry Potter, should even consider attending a Muggle uni. Of course it was. Because for god knew what reason, people cared.

I knew it was stupid. Everything up to and including that very second of my Monday morning was stupid. My housemates objected to my relationship with Scor because it was weird for a Potter and a Malfoy to date. And the world objected to my attending a Muggle university – a Dual university because, as far as I could make out from the words 'lost' and 'black sheep' and 'cast adrift from the proper path' that I'd glimpsed in the article's text, it wasn't acceptable for an upstanding wizard to meddle in such affairs.

What the… why… why the hell did they even have to use that picture?!

It was at that frantic thought – that random and absolutely irrelevant thought that just seemed so pivotal, as though it had to be answered – that made me realise in a detached kind of way: panic attack. I always grew irrational when panic was on the horizon. Funny, that; I knew they were illogical, but the questions still freaked me out.

I had to get out of there.

Someone called my name. A girl – I think it might have been Lily. I didn't pause to check. My breath, already shortened by my flight from my morning's confrontation, was nearly panting. I must have looked ridiculous. I must have. I didn't care, and cared too much.

Spinning in step, I tore from the Great Hall. A soft thump on the floor behind me was the only thing that alerted me to the fact that I'd dropped my bag. Dropped it, and didn't care. GET OUT was the only thought that crossed my mind with any coherence and I tripped through the Entrance Hall. It was the only thought that occurred to me when I stumbled into Ozzy – Ozzy, my friend Ozzy – before I pushed away from him and launched myself down the nearest corridor.

I was running. That's how frantic I was. I was running. I didn't run. I never ran. But panic drove me, giving wings to my racing feet, so that even Ozzy, calls and all, faded rapidly in my wake.

I didn't know where I was headed, didn't realise I'd even picked a direction, until I stumbled into the corridor the Basement was secreted along. It took me five tries to bang out the drumming tune on the barrels and gain entrance, and when I did I nearly tumbled into the common room.

There were still people there. Still housemates, now anonymous onlookers with judgmental stares. I could have sunken into the carpeted floor. Illogical, I knew it was illogical to think that way, but they resented me. I could feel the disappointment – what right did they have to be disappointed?! – and wished for nothing but to curl into a quivering ball of shame.

Shame.

I'd disappointed people.

I'm not supposed to go to Muggle University. A Dual University. That was for other people.

My dormitory, blessedly, was empty. Not even Xander remained, though my passing glance, half-crazed and barely seeing, noticed distantly that the cocoon of his seat still remained in the jumbled folds of his blankets. Slamming the door behind me, my legs gave out and I sunk to the floor on the spot. The hardness of the wood on my spine jabbed me painfully, roughly; the solidity, though, it felt good.

My vision was wavering in and out of focus. Truthfully, I was surprised it had lasted as long as it did. My face felt flushed, too hot to touch, and I didn't need to look at my hands to know they trembled. I could hear my pants loudly in my ears, contesting with the heavy thumping of my heartbeat for prime position as 'most prominent bodily noises'. With desperation, I fought to gain control of my body once more. Deep breaths. Deep breath in, and out. And in. And out.

It took a long, long time of what was likely only a few minutes. Slowly, oh so gradually, the pounding in my ears faded from its persisted drumming. My dizziness was gradually replaced by a throbbing heat just the wrong side of my temples. It caused the light to pierce my eyes painfully when I finally blinked the darkness from my eyes.

Empty. Yes, the room was definitely empty. Thank God for small mercies.

My breaths still came heavily, but at least I was actually breathing now. Breathing and exhausted. How such a brief period of racing adrenaline, of searing panic and debilitating anxiety, could be so wearying was beyond me. I doubted it had been more than ten minutes since I'd fled the Great Hall. Ten minutes since I'd been the subject of intense stares, of the unjust opinions of over half of the school. Less than that since I'd stumbled past my own housemates once more and bodily fallen into the seventh year boys dormitory.

At least they'd left me alone. I wanted to be alone. Really wanted it. I didn't think I even wanted to see Scor anymore. With half a mind, my fingers shaking, I reached up above me and flicked the lock of the door. A pointless gesture, what with Alohamora and all, but at least it would act as a suggestion to any potential intruders to 'Keep Out'. And hopefully they would abide by that suggestion, even if they seemed to cross most every other boundary in existence.

Exhausted from that single motion, I slid further down in my floor-seat until only my head was propped awkwardly against the door. It was uncomfortable, but I wasn't inclined to move. Moping, some would call it. Whatever; let me mope. The aftermath of my panic attack, the ensuing weariness, all of it, left me in a state of deep, swirling melancholy.

They cared. Apparently just about everyone cared. How the world had heard about my future plans was beyond me – had someone overheard me speaking to Scor yesterday? – but it hardly mattered anymore. The fact of the matter was that someone cared enough to make a scene of everything. Like they had a say in the matter. Like my future choices, and what I did with my life, should effect anyone, adversely or otherwise.

It shouldn't. They were mine. My relationship, my studies, my career. Everyone else should just butt out. But they wouldn't. No, it seemed like they physically couldn't. Not with the Potter family.

Not for the first time, I loathed the fact that I was Harry Potter's son. Not the son of my dad, but of the Once-Saviour of the Wizarding world. Everyone preached that this generation was one of free choices and whatnot. That the lines of clichés and stereotypes were blurring as they never had before. That people could choose for themselves what they made of their lives. And that no one would say a word on the matter.

Such was not, apparently, the reality for some of us. Not for me. Not for Scor either, as it would seem; he didn't truly want to work at LeFay, I knew that now. Not for James and not for Lily, though as chance would have it – or perhaps upbringing and the unconscious weight of expectation with its silent demands – they'd both fallen to deciding to pursue quidditch and Law Enforcement respectively. We weren't allowed to do otherwise, not really. Not us. There were Expectations.

And suddenly, it all seemed too much. Far too demanding and just… too much. Melancholy was one word for it. Writhing in resentment for the world and hating everyone in it is another. I didn't really hate everyone… except that right now I did. People, stupid people. They could all just bugger off.

From my seat half sprawled on the floor, I stared blankly out across the dormitory. The world looks different on a lower level; I could see all the way under the beds. Dillon had a stash of wizard crackers – I thought they were my Uncle George's brand, actually – buried behind a stack of books and half-opened boxes. Ainsley's was littered with sweet wrappers – he had a sweet tooth – and under Xander's… I didn't even want to know what was under Xander's – his was the messiest by far. And mine…

Right beside my bed, alongside the foot of Caesar's cage – the parrot himself watched me curiously, but didn't speak – was my Harproot. My blessed, beloved Harproot, the mottled little plant that had helped me through so much already and continued to every day. Plants – they were far more dependable than people. They didn't care about what you did and didn't do, so long as they were provided with adequate nutrients and sufficient sunlight to grow. So undemanding. It was one of the main reasons I liked them so much.

Liked them a great deal more, in general, than people.

There was a thump on the door above my head. It could have been a knock, but I wasn't sure. Yeah, it must have been a knock, for a muffled voice followed it with something that sounded like a query. I ignored it. Instead, I heaved myself onto my side, then to my hands and knees, and made my slow, arduous way across the room towards the Harproot. Standing just seemed far too difficult right now.

I shouldn't use it in the morning. I really shouldn't, not something that has such calming effects that had the potential to induce sleep. An even more likely effect with the dependency I had on it of late. I'd likely sleep through most of my classes for the day, which would be… bad.

Except that a moment later I'd decided to skip class. Seventh year? Who cared. I didn't care, not right now. Right now, I just wanted to shake the residue of my panic attack, to sink into weightless abandon and not care anymore. I plucked a dry leaf from the stem and folded it in my fingers, releasing a faint hint of the scent that was so familiar to me. An instant later, the little leaf was smoking merrily on my bedside table, a thin line of blue-white Ice Fyre sparked from the tip of my wand fading rapidly in brightness to a dim white-blue glow. The musky wafting of the Harproot threaded through the air.

I couldn't even bring myself to feel guilty about using it in the dormitory. I couldn't care less if I got caught.

Barely a minute it took of sitting immobile on the floor beside my bed, inhaling the aroma of the drug, for me to begin to feel its effects. And barely a minute it took for me to reach the conclusion that it wasn't enough. Calming it may be, but I wanted more than that. Melancholy was not as familiar to me as anxiety, and I hated it all the more for its novelty.

Something else. Maybe something else…

Scooting sluggishly to the trunk propped at the end of my bed, I fumbled to flip open the lid. Happy Gum. That's what I wanted. Give me some of my Gum and I was sure I'd feel better. Mixing drugs, yeah, probably not the best idea, but they were mine and even though it was a weird mash-up of emotions, the effects aren't exactly detrimental. I'd used both together before.

To the sound of another knock, another query mumbled through the thick oak door of the dormitory, I dug my hands into the depths of my trunk in search of Gum. Hopefully there'd be a strip here somewhere. Hopefully. I'd moved my sprout to the greenhouse for some extra sunlight as it was starting to get a little careworn. Still, I should have something in here. Something…

What my fingers found wasn't Gum. It took me a moment of confused staring at the little packet of waxed brown paper before it actually came to me. What had the kid called them? Forget-Me-Nows? That stoner kid, the friend of the Scarmander brothers… A weirdo, but a nice enough fellow for all that. I'd meant to flush them ages ago, but just never got around to it. And now…

Forget-Me-Nows. I'd never tried them before, but forgetfulness? Even if only temporarily? It sounded awfully tempting.

I didn't pause to think about it. I couldn't be arsed looking for the Gum anymore. My mind jumped upon the idea of forgetfulness and I couldn't shake it. A brief respite from the staring gazes that morphed into resentment and finally into a projected disgust at the forefront of my mind. Forgetting that would be… The prospect was enough for me to overlook my number one golden rule of using: only use my own stuff.

But it was just this once. Just the once.

I heaved myself onto my bed in a shambling scramble and flopped onto the quilt as my fingers plucked the package open. Pills, these ones. How cliché. Small, too; I wouldn't even need to drink water to swallow them.

Turning my head onto the pillow, I slipped one of the two between my teeth. It was a placebo effect, I knew, but I could swear that as I swallowed and closed my eyes, those glaring faces were already becoming a little more distant. I drifted off into deliberate sleep to the sound of persistent knocking thudding onto the door of my dormitory.

A/N: Hope you liked the chapter. Sorry but not sorry for the cliffie :D
A big thank you BuzzyBeeForever for your lovely comment once again. Thank you! If anyone has a second, please take a moment to leave a review. I really appreciate it xx