Flame Wolfe: Haha, thank you! Yeah, I felt bad for writing that too.

Guest: Ah, thanks so much, really appreciated!

Giordanocave: I've been there too, ahaha, thank you!

References to underage drinking but this is a boarding school technically, so that's a given.


There was an explosion of black and yellow scarves around the corridors with jubilant cheers and loud whooping echoing all around. Alexander's eyebrows raised. Huh, Hufflepuff must've won the match then. His House was probably reeling from shock, and he imagined their disappointed faces. Oh, what happened to Harry? He frowned. Something had to have come up because Harry has won all the matches since the first year. Was he not allowed to play or worse was injured? Worry bloomed but just as he was about to steer around and look for his friend, Sebastian placed a hand on his shoulder, a curious look on his face.

"Not getting cold feet are you, Laurent?" he teased.

"Pretty sure you get cold feet before a wedding," said Alexander but allowed himself to be led by the older boy. Harry had to be okay. It can't be that bad.

"Ah, technicalities."

A question burned on Alexander's mind. With a questioning gaze at Sebastian, he asked, "Aren't you worried about Professor Sprout finding out about all this?"

Sebastian snorted, a half-smirk appearing. "Sprout? Nah," he drawled, waving a hand, "She knows about it, I'm sure. Her and Flitwick. Pretty sure I've seen a bunch of students throw Flitwick into the air once or twice. I think he rather enjoyed it judging by the look on his face."

Alexander laughed. "Now there's a sight."

"Exactly. Now, come on, Laurent. Time to be a man and get some alcohol down you. Or are you too scared?" Sebastian wiggled his brows.

"I'm not scared!" Alexander's mouth flew open.

"There's the spirit," grinned Sebastian, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pressing him in.

With a tingly, delirious emotion fluttering around in his stomach and more curious than he should have been, Alexander let out a chuckle and followed the older boy as they approached the entrance belonging to the Hufflepuff House. He ignored the disapproving voice in his head, which sounded surprisingly like Hermione when she was telling them off for leaving their homework to the last minute. This was his first party, his proper, grown-up party with older kids and alcohol. It'd be ludicrous to chicken out now, and God, if Harry and Ron could see him now. The green looks on their faces would've been sensational. He bit his lip to stifle his smile.

It was a wonder to behold just how different the entrance was. Alexander simply assumed that you'd just need a password to enter the Hufflepuff common room, but this wasn't the case. A pile of large barrels lay stacked in a shadowy stone recess. Sebastian tapped one of the barrels in a certain rhythm, too fast to decipher.

"Hang on, aren't you a Ravenclaw?" pointed out Alexander.

Sebastian shrugged smugly. He tapped his nose. "Yeah, but there's this girl I'm seeing, and she brings me here often when we sneak under Sprout's nose. She taught me how. If you knock on the wrong barrel, you get drenched in vinegar — just a warning for next time."

"Hmm, noted."

A sloping, earthy passage inside the barrel opened to slop upwards. The two followed this passage until a cosy, round, low-ceilinged room was revealed, reminiscent of a badger's sett. Near the front, a stocky fifth-year saluted them. Alexander blinked widely, taking in the view. The room was decorated in the cheerful, bee-like colours of yellow and black, emphasised using highly polished, honey-coloured wood for the tables and the round doors against the wall. It was homely in a word. Different certainly, not to his tastes, but not terrible.

See, Alexander had never attended a party at Hogwarts before. Younger years were discouraged from attending but most importantly, nobody had the nerve to throw one in the Gryffindor common room underneath Professor McGonagall's nose. Not unless they had a death wish. Ron had begged Fred and George to let him inside one, but they'd refused, leading to a sulky Ron. It was amazing that he was here. A strong, heady scent covered the room, causing Alexander to wrinkle his nose. He couldn't tell if it was unpleasant or not, but it was intense.

The students were made up of Hufflepuffs, but he spotted, much to his surprise, a few Ravenclaws and one or two Slytherins dotted around the area. No one from his year was present; it was usually older students. Small bottles of firewhiskey were gripped in their hands; boisterous cheers rang, and laughter erupted all around. Sebastian winked as one or two clapped him on the shoulder in greeting as they passed. Alexander took this all in, feeling slightly overwhelmed like when the TV blared a multitude of colours that hurt his eyes. He was slightly out of his depth and turned to catch the other boy's eye.

"Here," offered Sebastian, holding out a small bottle towards Alexander, who peered up in shock. "Drink up." Of course, alcohol was no stranger to him, but his grandfather only let him have one cup during dinner parties under his watchful, hawk eyes.

"Er. . .?" he blinked. He'd never been offered a full bottle, so the hesitation was there. And so was the temptation to experience the inhibitions he's only heard and seen.

Sebastian snorted. "I'm not talking to a brick wall, am I, Laurent? Come on, it won't kill you, don't be such a pussy. Where's that Gryffindor courage you lot keep harping on about?" He pushed the cool glass into Alexander's chest firmly.

Alexander gripped the bottle and leaned his head forward to sniff the rim. He struck back at the rich smell, scrunching his nose. Still a little hesitant, he placed the glass to his lips as Sebastian watched expectantly and took a sip. A smoky, burning sensation engulfed his mouth and travelled down the back of his throat. It was like all the breath had been sucked out of him. As Alexander bent over coughing, Sebastian laughed and clamped his heavy hands on his back.

"Hah, there's a good lad!" boomed Sebastian, his eyes dancing mischievously. "It'll get easier."

It was more intense than the wine he's used to drinking. He hummed in a tone that indicated he didn't believe him. Sebastian leaned in close, crossing his arms. His grey eyes bore into him.

"Just let loose, alright, relax a bit and drink some more — you look way too tense," he grinned, throwing a wink. "Shake out some nerves, just, like, mingle a bit and have a good time and whatnot. I'm going to go and meet a good friend of mine and I guess I'll see you around." He walked backwards and tossed one final word, "Trust me, you'll thank me for this!"

Alexander peered around uncomfortably; his drink still held in his hand. Nobody was paying him any attention. People were laughing freely and having a good time while he was standing in a corner lost and out of place. God did he feel like a loser. Why had he let Sebastian convince him to come? He took another sip and grimaced, holding in his cough, the taste still acrid. He wondered why the hell people liked this so much. It tasted like shit.

A whoop caught his attention and, somewhere around a large sofa, he noticed, narrowing his eyes, Helen and Nia with a bunch of people packed tightly around them, smiling and conversing. Well, Helen was doing most of the talking to an enraptured audience while Nia quietly observed with a mild smile. She seemed rather bored which he could relate to. His spirits rose as he let a relieved smile escape him. Finally, someone he recognised and could approach. Thank God for Nia.

Just as he was about to walk over, a heavy-set guy moved out of view, and he was suddenly blinking at the sight of Johnny's proud smirk while he had a thick arm wrapped around the back of the sofa, but it was around Helen for all Alexander cared. He froze, his chest burning and contracting and not because of the firewhiskey. He took a sip to moisten his dry throat. Why the hell was that guy here? Another sip. Why did they let him in? A gulp this time. Pompous, unbearable git. A heavy scowl rested on his face as he threw his head back, the liquid easily trailing down his throat. The firewhiskey didn't burn anymore, and in fact, seemed to bring about a delectable taste. There was a pleasant buzzing in his head, and he blinked to remove the gentle haze in front of his eyes.

Hmm. Wait. Why was he upset in the first place? Alexander for the life of him couldn't remember. There was a warmness in him that felt like soaking in a hot, long bath. A lazy smile appeared on his face. Matter of fact, why was he so troubled all the time? He shouldn't have to care about anything. It wasn't a big deal. People were happy, he was happy, this drink tasted amazing, he'd finished his homework, he was well on his way to learning how to defend himself against those weird-looking creatures, his grandfather wasn't here, and people liked him. He had friends, right? Friends like Harry and Ron and Nia and Sebastian. And Hermione. He beamed. He couldn't ever forget her.

So, yeah, life was good. He had magic for Merlin's sake. How many people can say that? A quiet laugh bubbled out of him at the thought. That was fucking brilliant! He didn't need anything else. He was standing on top of the world, ready to conquer anything. Sebastian was right — what a top guy. He really did need to let loose. He's been such a stick in the mud lately for no apparent reason. He needed to have some fun.

His gaze caught a group of sixth-years who were playing exploding snap. With courage racing through his veins like a race car on a track, Alexander approached them with a confident glint in his orbs. They greeted him amiably, giving a nod. He realised that he couldn't make out their faces properly, but he didn't care. The vibes were great, the conversation was amazing, and the atmosphere buzzing. Sitting down on a plush chair, he peered down, and his smile almost slipped as he noticed that his bottle was empty, but someone pushed another one into his hands with a grin. Alexander welcomed this invitation and smirked, allowing himself to fall into his inhibitions.

∞ ϟ 9¾

A bright beam of light smacked Alexander like a bludger to the face before he even opened his eyes. The aching of his head ebbed and flowed like a cool tide — the pressure mounting every second that passed. He peeked one eye open and flinched from the brightness of the open windows with the curtains drawn. Ignoring the sudden dizziness, he hissed and clutched his head. Ah, he thought, so this is a hangover. It was like someone had thrown a permanent curse at him.

Fighting against the urge to burrow back into his sleep, he looked around, noticing the honey-coloured doors and the serious lack of scarlet and gold adorning the room. He was sprawled out on a sofa and still in the Hufflepuff common room. How much did he drink? It can't have been that much. He remembered Sebastian and a faint memory of something like orange blossoms and perfume but that's it. Yeah, he's never drinking again, no matter how many times Sebastian begs. He knew why adults drank now but the after-effect just so wasn't worth it. He pictured someone shooting a bullet in his brain just to stop the pain and thought it wouldn't be so bad. He wondered how people managed to drink again and again.

He rose into a sitting position, blinking away the white spots from his vision. Snickers burst forth as some Hufflepuffs dressed in their robes threw amused glances while a couple of first-years peered curiously, too skittish to come closer to him. Alexander scowled at them, and they glanced away swiftly.

"Can't handle your drink, Laurent?" came an amused, fly-away comment from the deep voice of a fifth-year running a hand through his wild hair.

"Shut up," he muttered, sighing and slumping further into the sofa and peering at his watch. Almost eight-something.

He barely had the energy to talk. He'd kill for a few more hours of sleep but he still had classes to attend today. Any other time he would've ditched but he knew for certain that it was Professor McGonagall first thing and she'd definitely notice if he wasn't there. He'd never hear the end of it, and she'd make his throbbing headache worse.

Groaning, he stood on unsteady legs, grasping the arm of the sofa to balance himself. After a few minutes of making himself presentable at least with a quick spell to remove the tiredness from his face, he made his way to the Great Hall. Breakfast was well and truly underway judging by the chatter. He sat with Ron and Hermione, muttering out a quiet "morning".

"Oh, mate, there you are," said Ron through a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed and continued. "We've been looking for you for ages since yesterday."

"Oh, I was. . . er, busy," replied Alexander, rubbing his temple. He caught Hermione staring at him from her book with a narrowed gaze. "What?"

"Nothing," she said stiffly. "Just you have something on your cheek."

Alexander picked up one of the spoons from the table and gazed at his reflection. He suddenly felt wide awake. There was a faint, pinkish smudge below his right cheekbone, something that appeared remarkably like a lipstick stain. He blinked several times, hardly able to form words. Hermione was focused on her book. Where had that come from? He scrubbed fervently with the palm of his hand, grateful that it was slowly disappearing.

Hermione scoffed, drawing his attention. "You sure enjoyed yourself, I see," she snarked. "Busy while your best friend was in the hospital."

Alexander paused in his ministrations, his mind becoming consumed by her words. "Hospital?" he asked sharply, head snapping up in alarm. "What're you talking about? Is this about Harry? Harry's in the hospital?"

His mind ran at a thousand miles. Did Black get to him while he was distracted? Was he hurt? Worry hit him like a steam truck.

"Yeah, Harry's fine, but we lost the match though," answered Ron with a disappointed tinge to his tone. His voice quietened soberly as he considered his next words. "Just. . . we had a bit of a scare — the way he fell, we. . . we really felt like he was a goner for a sec. No, no, he's fine of course," hastened Ron after seeing the pale look on Alexander's face. "He's alright but Dumbledore was angry. I'm surprised you missed it all."

"We tried looking for you," spoke Hermione, "but in the chaos and confusion we couldn't spot you anywhere." She wasn't staring at him but the tiny pinch at her brow indicated her worry.

"Yeah, I know, I-I'm sorry," Alexander sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I decided to miss out on the match, I wasn't feeling too good."

Hermione peered up. Her tone changed. "Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey? We could go see her now if you're still not feeling good. I could pick up some potion from her."

"No, it's okay, thanks, I'll be fine."

"Right." He could've sworn there was some disappointment laced in her tone.

"So where is he? Harry?"

"Madam Pomfrey's still checking over him, and, um, we should warn you that he's a bit upset about, er. . ." Ron's voice trailed.

"What?"

"His broom hit the Whomping Willow when he fell and, well, you know, our good, old friend that tree, don't you, Alex?" muttered Ron with a grimace. "Real temperamental it is."

"Oh. . ." Alexander's face fell at the implication. Sympathy bubbled up for his friend. He knew how much that broom meant for Harry. He doubted it was still in pristine condition.

"We're going to go after breakfast to see him. You should come," suggested Hermione, closing her book and placing it against her chest. "He'll be happy to see you. It could cheer him up."

Alexander nodded and agreed.

Turned out Ron was right. Harry looked miserable lying underneath the white sheets of the hospital bed, a sad droop to his form. He barely glanced up when they arrived. Alexander didn't blame him; he'd be pretty torn up if something like his violin got shredded to pieces.

He tried to comfort Harry but judging by the fake smiles he wasn't doing a good job and felt so bad, wondering what he could do to cheer him up. Harry waved them off, telling them not to worry about him, he'll be fine. This, of course, was a lie. But along with Harry's insistence and Madam Pomfrey ushering them out, the three left reluctantly, throwing a last glance at Harry, who turned on his side and burrowed his face in the pillow.

Hermione informed them that she was going to the library to complete her never-ending homework — cue an eye-roll from Ron. Ron was going to see if he could sneak some remaining Honeydukes chocolate to Harry past Madam Pomfrey's cautious nose. Alexander wondered why Ron didn't wait until their upcoming Hogsmeade trip to get him some better things. Ron explained that it would make him happier though it wasn't a broom technically. Alexander wished him luck as it seemed like an impossible job.

Walking down towards the grounds and hoping to enjoy a bit of the rare sun, Alexander's mind was eating away at him like vultures scavenging on rotting worms. He found it unbelievable that he couldn't remember anything. He'd now reached the Black Lake and walked along the banks, staring out at the depthless void. Flashes appeared in his mind, voices and figures and laughter interwoven into an incomplete puzzle. He couldn't make out one thing. He vowed that it was the last time he was going to drink.

A few metres away, against the bark of an oak tree, Alexander, shielding his eyes from the rays of light, spotted a familiar figure wearing their signature jean jacket. He perked up. Maybe Nia will know something. He made a beeline for her, approaching with his arms behind his back, looking almost sheepish. Nia was sprawled out on the patchy grass, her notebook in her hands and her pen in her tightly clenched fingers, writing furiously across the page with a furrowed brow.

He cleared his throat as he stood near her. She closed her notebook with a swiftness and lifted her head when his shadow loomed over her. Her eyes became so wide that they overtook her face to resemble two chocolate buttons. A stunned look crossed her face along with something else.

"Er, hey, Nia," he began with a quick twitch upwards of his lips.

"What do you want?" she replied curtly. Alexander frowned, her tone bordering on a type that felt like his stomach was packed full of ice cubes. "Well?"

He was taken aback and took a second to find his voice. "I-I, uh, don't want. . ."

"Seriously, what do you want, Laurant?" She rose from her position, flicking her journal to the side and crossing her arms as she stared at him demandingly, her foot tapping on the grass repeatedly.

"I — just wanted to say hi. . ." he said in a confused voice, poised more like a question.

"And now you've said it."

He blinked, mouth falling a tad. He wracked his brain wondering why she was so standoffish. Her eyes, normally so mild and warm, had darkened to a full-blown dark tempest full of thunderous, stormy clouds. Her stare was hard like a concrete door.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, shuffling awkwardly.

She scoffed. "What's wrong? Like you seriously don't know. God, you have some nerve, Laurent. Coming here and acting like all's okay."

"I don't understand—"

"Oh, that's rich."

"Seriously," he insisted, his voice rising a tad and drenched with frustration. "I don't know — anything. I'm trying to work my head around it and just I don't get why you're so mad, I'm sorry if I've done anything to offend you or—"

"It's not me you should be apologising to," interrupted Nia, a scowl burned on her face and sounding very much unsympathetic to his plight.

"Then who—"

"Helen. That's who. You should be apologising to her. Not that you deserve forgiveness."

Alexander sighed, rubbing the bottom palm of his hand against his eye. "Look, I just — I've got a blank sheet, okay? I'm a bit stuck here and I don't know what's happened or what I did. Can you please help me out here?"

"That's worked well for you," said Nia, rolling her eyes. Annoyance flashed through him as her eyes held him in place. He just wanted to get to the bottom of this. "You said some hurtful things to her last night. You called her a waste of time and said she was a whore," she spat, gritting her teeth and moving closer. It was like he'd been punched in the face. She shoved him harshly. Alexander didn't resist and stumbled back. "And that's particularly hypocritical considering you went and made out with a Hufflepuff girl immediately afterwards."

The daggers she shot at him were like feathers compared to the double-edged knife that suddenly was lodged in his chest, making it harder to breathe. He was slow to blink as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Confusion and hurt ran rampant through his body as he hardly found his voice.

"I-I don't. . . I — what?" he blurted, his brow in a permanent frown. He didn't know where to start.

"That's all you can say?" she said in disbelief. She let out a disgusted sound. "Urgh, boys. And don't try and tell me that I'm lying because I'm not. I was there, in that common room and I watched Helen try not to cry right next to me. I wanted to punch the ever-loving daylights out of you, and I still have that urge," she continued coldly. "You're lucky Helen tried to stop me."

Alexander shook his head, his throat drier than sandpaper. "But why would I say that? I don't know why I would say that. . ." His voice strained, twisted with distress.

There was a dryness to Nia's voice which almost made him flinch. "I don't know, and I don't particularly care. All I know is that you hurt my best friend and that's unforgivable." Alexander lowered his head, unable to meet her accusing eyes. Her voice changed, or quietened perhaps, to something more like dismay. "Why did you do it, Laurent? I thought I could trust you — I thought you were better than the rest of them, the rest of the arseholes that Helen falls for. I thought you were my friend." She shook her head as if she were disappointed. "Turns out you're just like Johnny."

"I'm sorry. . ." His voice cracked embarrassingly. "Truly. I didn't mean to — I don't — I need to speak to Helen. I want her to know that. That I'm sorry."

Nia made an angry sound. She whipped her wand out, pointing it at him threateningly. Alexander stepped back and raised his hands, cringing at the potential imminent onslaught of a curse.

"Why?" she demanded. "So, you can hurl cruel words at her again. Oh, no, you'll fucking stay away from Helen if you know what's good for you, Laurent. I'm warning you."

She threw one final glare at him, collected her notebook into her arms and stormed off, shoulder muscles tensed. Alexander watched her for a moment, a lump in his throat the size of a snitch and the urge to cry, his eye ducts stinging for a second or two.

He desperately needed to speak to Helen or see her somehow and fix this whole mess. A mess that he created out of petty jealousy and insecurities. He's done it this time; he'll be lucky if Nia and Helen even acknowledge him. He was slightly wary of Nia's warning, she meant it, he knew. And it's not like she's the type to lie either. Her emotions were genuine, that was clear to see.

For a social butterfly, Helen couldn't be found all of a sudden. He didn't see her with her usual group of friends, and it made him wonder if she was avoiding him. This thought caused him to deflate and feel worse than before. He truly didn't know how he was going to fix this.

Alexander still attended his classes and completed his homework, but it was with half his brain working. He was on edge, strung up, his blood thrumming restlessly. His professor noticed he was distracted but didn't think much of it. Sometimes, during class, Harry and Ron threw him curious glances from the corner of their eye, sensing that something was wrong, questions burning in their mouth but didn't want to push. And nor would Alexander reveal anything. His life and problems and mess were his to sort out, and he didn't want to burden anyone.

When the weekend arrived, Alexander rejoiced. A whole two days to relax and burrow his head into his pillow. Harry was the only one was felt as miserable as he did, and he was grateful for the mutual connection, noticing the despair swirling beneath Harry's spectacles, the same emotion probably reflected in his azure ones.

But luck eventually seemed to catch up with him. He got a chance to corner Helen, the sight of her blonde hair causing his heart to beat in anticipation. He made a beeline for her at once, pushing through the crowd of students, determined not to lose her in the throng. He held her arm and called her name and she turned to set her eyes on him.

"Helen!" he exclaimed, his chest rising heavily. "Wait, please, I, er—"

"Oh, Alex. . ." she said not unkindly, blinking at him curiously, her mouth set in a thin line. His heart sank, she didn't seem all that pleased to see him like he was a mild inconvenience. His stomach twisted. Fortunately, she wasn't as incensed as Nia was so Alexander took that as a good sign.

"Um, I, uh, I—"

"Yes?"

He swallowed nervously, the words lost in his throat now that she was standing in front of him, waiting for him to say something. He wiped his hands against his side as if they were pooling with sweat, staring at her. Merde, why was this so hard? He's thought about all he wanted to say, running it over in his mind repeatedly, picking out the exact words and phrases and yet it appeared to escape him.

Helen sighed, hugging her book to her chest. "Look, Alex, if you're not going to speak, then I actually need to get to Potions otherwise Professor Snape will—"

"Can we talk?" he blurted, causing her to stop and peer at him with bewildered, wide eyes. "Please? It won't take long, honestly."

Helen's fingers played along the edge of the book as she agreed in a small voice. Alexander smiled though he supposed it came out more like an awkward pulling of the face muscles. He was glad that Nia wasn't here, at least he wouldn't have to worry about a curse getting flown in his face or anything. They moved to a quieter spot, away from any prying eyes.

"What did you want to talk about?" she began, taking a glance at her watch.

"I'm sorry," he blundered loudly, waving his hands around in an erratic motion. Surprise registered on Helen's face. "Really, truly — I'm sorry — I don't know what happened or why I did that. . . I just can't even remember what actually happened, but I am sorry for what I said and did, and I never meant for this to happen, you must believe me. I was drunk the whole time and not in my right mind — everything's just a blank, I swear. It wasn't me, okay, it wasn't — I know I hurt you, Nia told me, but I'm very sorry."

He was breathing heavily after he finished, watching Helen's face shift each time. His lips were turned down. His voice was strained, and he ran his hand through his hair, messing it from the neatly combed style. He was eager for her response, gaze fixed hungrily on hers. He almost believed she was going to push him away.

"I don't know what to say," she mumbled quietly, her eyes resembling two round caramel fudges.

"I want to fix it," he declared, his voice firm as he stared at her, but she had her gaze fixed on the ground. "Tell me what to do to fix it."

"I just. . . I don't know why you'd say something so hateful, Alex. It's not you, I know, but it's still so fresh in my mind. You still did it, you called me a. . ." She inhaled sharply, losing her nerve. Alexander felt nauseous. "Why did you say it? You must've meant it."

Alexander paled, closing his eyes before shaking his head. "I don't mean it, I was wrong, okay? And I made so many mistakes."

"I believe you, Alex." She fiddled with her book. "I believe that you were drunk and that you didn't mean it, okay?"

"Oh, you do?" he asked with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's just that though, Alexander," she said, her eyes glistening like pearl drops. Her bottom lip was trembling.

He blinked, feeling confusion wash over him. "What do you mean?"

She sighed tiredly. "Well, first you shut me out after our date in Hogsmeade, and when I try and approach you to see if you're okay because I'm so worried, you just run in the other direction without another word. I feel like you're ignoring me and now all this." She took a deep breath, her voice lowering to a whisper. "It's like you're disgusted by me or something."

His head snapped up. "What?" he demanded, "that's not true! I'm not disgusted by you — who told you that?"

"Nobody, Alexander, it just comes across to me like that. You clearly can't stand to be near me, and you just don't trust me enough to allow me or anyone else to help you."

"I trust you," he frowned at her accusation. "I do. And I don't need any help, I'm fine."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it." She stared at him straight through the eye. Alexander fought the urge to look away. "Okay, so if you trust me so much, tell me this: what did you see when we saw that Dementor that day?"

He frowned. "What?"

"I know how it can affect a person — it's. . . it's horrible." A shudder ran through her, and her eyes became unseeing. "I try to avoid them every second I can but when they're near me I see myself in this unbearably dark, unescapable pit and there's no one with me. I scream and scream for someone to hear me, but no one answers. It's just me, all alone." She blinked, seemingly coming to her senses and focused on him once again. "You must have seen something."

Alexander clenched his jaw, his mouth refusing to formulate the truth. As Helen looked at him pleadingly, still a block refused to shift or even crack.

Helen deflated, shaking her head. "You see, I knew it. I just don't know what you're so afraid of. And that's the problem, Alexander. I don't know you very well. Do you think I'm going to treat you any differently?"

"Yeah, well, you treat Johnny quite differently that's for sure," he snapped unable to bear it anymore.

"What?" she said, a frown in the middle of her brow.

"Yeah, you keep hanging out with him — is that not treating him differently? What, so, are you best of buds now?" Alexander was flustered with his jerky movements, and he could feel the heat emitting from the tips of his ears.

"That's. . . that's different," muttered Helen subduedly.

"Is it?" He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, come on, Helen anyone with eyes can tell that he still likes you even if you can't see it. Though I'm not sure how you can miss some over-grown dog salivating over you like he's seen a bone for the first time."

He watched her step back as if struck across the face, and she almost looked it too with her flushed cheeks and the narrowing of her eyes.

"Stop it, Alex," she said sharply, "You're trying to avoid the issue, I can see that at least and I'm not buying it. And anyway, it's not true — as a matter of fact, he just wants to be friends. He said so himself, so there."

"Right, a likely story."

She scowled at him, overhearing the comment he muttered under his breath. "Why are you so jealous? You have nothing to worry about, you should know that?"

"Haven't I?"

"Yes," she insisted firmly. "I went out with you, I agreed to Hogsmeade with you, I like you, Alex, it's not that hard to believe I swear it."

Alexander still found it hard to take her at her word. He couldn't erase the image of Johnny sitting smugly in Helen's presence like he was entitled to it. Anger thrummed through him, causing a light ringing in his ear. His headache was becoming worse by the second.

"You still like him though, I know you're lying," he said, backing away, his stomach tied with knots.

Helen sighed frustratingly and the low timber of her voice echoed within his chest. "It's like one word is going in one ear and coming out of the other," she mumbled more to herself and then declared loudly, "Alright, Alexander, believe whatever you want. You're not going to listen to me, and I'm done trying to make you see. I don't think I've ever met someone so complicated and secretive and. . . and stubborn," she exclaimed. "So, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to my class."

She brushed past him, her shoulder bumping against his, and didn't stop to spare a glance back. Alexander's head and chest were aching, an ache resonating in every crevice of his body. He stood there for a few moments, fists clenched, blue eyes stormy like a violent wave threatening to crash, his heart thumping at high speeds.

One thing was certain: he was even more miserable than before and not only was Nia angry at him, but Helen too. And he didn't know if this was something he could fix anymore. Ashes of his anger festered within him, riling him further. He was right about this. He couldn't believe Helen and how she could still go on denying not having feelings for Johnny. The heart eyes were present from where he stood. Friends, how funny, he thought, scoffing contemptuously. And how could she call him complicated and secretive? He wanted to rage and beat his fists. That simply wasn't true, where did she get that from?

He suddenly wondered if this meant the end of their relationship, however, brief and horrible it ended up being. He sighed. Great, his first real relationship and it ends rottenly. Who would've thought?

Feeling rather sorry for himself, he reached inside his jacket pocket and thumbed along the edges of the smooth cigarette packet. He paused, chewing on his bottom lip, contemplating for a second. He took one stick out and peered at it all tightly wrapped. He leaned forward and placed it between his lips. Usually, he would decide to brush up on his violin-playing skills if he was consumed so emotionally. But now. . . he wasn't in the mood to walk over to his dormitory, so he had to settle for this as the next best thing.

∞ ϟ 9¾

"Ron, we've been here for about half an hour now," sighed Alexander, shaking his head in exasperation at his red-haired friend, who gaped around at all the various multi-coloured sweets and chocolate assorted on display. "Just pick one, it's not that hard."

"Hang on, I'm almost done — just need to get something for Harry," muttered Ron without taking his eyes off a small packet of Fudge Flies, the name causing Alexander to eye it warily, wondering if it was made of actual flies. Probably not but you never knew what you were going to get when coming to Honeydukes. Fred and George had sworn they'd seen a couple of vampires purchase Blood Pops in their third year. Now that was intriguing.

Alexander shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling the packet of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum (cotton floss flavour, a safe bet), which he'd already purchased and was merely waiting for Ron to move his wistful gaze away from all the succulent-looking sweets imaginable in the shop. He saw Ambrosius Flume from the corner glimpsing at the two of them suspiciously, most likely thinking they were going to steal.

"Well, he'll probably curse you straight away if you bring him that," smirked Alexander, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

Ron scowled but put the sweet back on display. "Yes, ha, ha, you're so funny, Alex."

Alexander ran a hand through his hair. "Look, just — get him some Fizzing Whizbees, he'll like those."

"He's already tried them, remember? I don't want him to miss out, alright? I thought this might cheer him up."

Alexander softened. He smoothed out his jacket. He chose not to comment that a bar of Fudge Flies would make Harry even more miserable after the loss of his broom. "Okay, just don't take too long. We still have to meet Hermione and she'll kill the both of us if we're late."

"Can't wait. . ." muttered Ron dryly, knowing they were going to spend ages in the bookshop.

A chime of the bell and a breezy chill entered the shop. Alexander turned his head and froze on the spot. Helen's flushed, rosy cheeks entered his vision and behind her stepped out Nia, rubbing and blowing her hands together despite wearing rather thin-looking gloves. Nia laughed at something, and they walked towards a nearby aisle.

"Er, I'm—" he said to Ron, "I'm going to wait outside, I'll see you out there when you're finished."

Ron grunted his agreement, but Alexander was already moving before the other boy could say anything. For the first time, Ron's obliviousness was welcome. Awkwardness boiled over him and he'd rather face standing in the cold weather than be presented with the opportunity to bump into the two girls between the Acid Pops section and the Jelly Slugs. Nia's stormy expression and Helen's tears of frustration still lingered in his mind like a festered wound.

There was no one outside, for which he was thankful. He had no desire to run into someone else and start chatting. He stared ahead at the distant shops and their overhanging signs. People clutched boxes wrapped in brown paper, mothers clutched their daughters to their chests, couples walked hand in hand, heads thrown back in laughter, all of them enjoying the joyous atmosphere in the village.

Alexander sighed and an overwhelming yearning wracked his heart, squeezing tight until the air was cut from his chest. What he wouldn't give to be one of those people in the crowd and not have a care in the world. Not for the first time and certainly not his last, Alexander wished for a quiet life. He didn't want to be someone who overthought, who hid secrets from everyone he knew, who knew not to make bad decisions and hurt those he cared about. He wanted to be the Alexander who had a family, that had parents, that had a grandfather who cared about him and wasn't the embodiment of all he fought against.

His jaw twitched. He couldn't think of his grandfather without the familiar sickening emotion emerging from his stomach, itching at him all the time like an unwanted neighbour. Another thing he was sure about: Grandfather was keeping more secrets, ones he didn't know and was afraid to discover.

He wondered how it'd come to this. Nia probably hated him, Helen dumped him and ended the world's most pathetic relationship, and they were all in danger constantly from Black and that noseless freak (who his grandfather had supported and worked with), who was still lurking around somewhere, he didn't know how to control the Dementors or how to fight them off and he was going behind his friend's back, trying to keep an eye on him. It was a shitshow to tell the truth.

Most of all he couldn't tell anyone any of this because, well. . . because. . .

He was stumped. Frankly, he didn't know. Was he afraid of them rejecting him? Hating him? Fearing him? Becoming annoyed with him? Sure. But there was more to it than that.

Since his first year — or maybe it's been his whole life and he's just starting to realise it — it's been one incident after another; he's stuck in a void of loneliness that's existed since he was born, which he's still struggling to escape.

He tilted his head in thought. Perhaps that was why he used to read so much or play his violin in the time when he used to wait for his grandfather to come home. He needed to immerse himself in all these activities so his grandfather would eventually notice, and it could persuade him to stay, and he wouldn't feel so strangely like an outsider in his own home. Now that was a thought and a half.

The tiny prickles of hair at the back of his neck instantly rose. What was that? Alexander's body became alert as he sharpened his hearing. A snap. A twig maybe? A stray dog arguably? And then a hurried patter of footsteps scurried towards him in a blink of an eye. There was a sharp inhale.

A harsh smack—

And then severe pain, oh, so much pain.

His vision blackened for a second. A trickle flowed down the back of his head, something hauntingly like blood. He groaned and swayed on the spot, trying to keep his balance as he turned on his heel. His sight was blurry, but he could make out a figure in front of him, their panting heavy in his ear.

He narrowed his eyes but before he could even voice his surprise let alone reach for his wand, a whispered curse sounded from a familiar-sounding man, and a light flashed towards him. Agony sparked as he hit the floor and then . . . nothing. All went dark.


July 5th, 1977

The summer holidays are soon approaching and thank Merlin for that. The fifth year is almost over and so are exams. I've managed to do okay, I think. I'm not some know-it-all but I do take my education seriously — a Ravenclaw through and through I'm proud to say. I can't believe how quickly the last few months have gone. Seems like September was only yesterday.

Now to broach the subject, I haven't spoken or approached him ever since. To tell the truth, my stomach churns when I see him like I've eaten bad treacle tart. But this is more serious. I can't even make eye contact with him and when I do I look away as if my skin is burning. But I can't avoid him in classes, it'll be impossible. It's like he's my own special kind of ghost, haunting me in this nightmarish realm. It's overtaken my life aside from exams so much so that I can't even stand being in Henry's presence anymore.

I run through it repeatedly, wishing everything was different, that I'd done things differently or he'd said something else. Yet what's even weirder is that I don't just feel anger and don't get me wrong I'm still furious, of course, and the anger is still there but more like it's cooled off somehow. An ache is all that remains, one so powerful that it makes me cry I'm ashamed to admit. When I'm positive that no one can hear me, I press my face into the pillow late at night and allow the heavy tears to run. I don't know it kind of soothes the ache somewhat but not enough for it to completely disappear.

I've never felt like this before. So, so. . . hurt. Like someone's stabbed a knife in my chest and try as I might, I just can't take it out. It's a deep pain, one settling within me and becoming a permanent fixture like a tenant who's just moved in. It reminds me of a muggle story Yaz told me once about a boy and a sword and a rock. It was a good story I might get her to tell me some of the details again.

Now here's the truth also: I do miss him. And that's the craziest thing about this all. Despite everything I miss kissing him, talking to him, hearing his deep, rumbling laugh and the soft way he spoke and smiled. He'd listen to me ramble on about whatever was happening in my life. And now. . .

Now he barely looks at me — like he can't stand to be in the same room as me, and I don't acknowledge his presence. Yeah, it hurts. Staggeringly so.

But I'm not wrong in this regard, I truly believe that. I can't forgive him. Not after his comments, not after the way he acted. My values count, they're important. They're who I am. I can't be like my father. I'd never forgive myself.

So, I'm in this living, waking hell. I truly wonder how long it'll last. Perhaps the rest of my life but I hope not.


Hi, people. Another chapter for anyone still reading. It's not amazing but I'm sick of staring at it too long.

Sorry it's taken so long, work has been so busy and chaotic lately that I haven't had a chance. It's all calm now, thankfully.

Also, apologies for that cliffhanger 👀 (not really though), feel free to scream at me for it, lool. All I can say is that the next chapter is going to be a ride. . .