Scorpius clamped his hand around the snitch and beamed from ear to ear—but the moment he whirled around on his broom, the smile vanished from his face entirely.

Everyone watched in terror as Alice fell over a hundred feet, a long, awful descent from up high—blood escaping her head as she soared toward the ground below.

The shouts and gasps, the sudden horrible urgency, it all dominated the entirety of the scene—and Zander stood by, watching, feeling dazed and filled with dread, as if he stood front and center amid a most horrid nightmare.

He blinked—and reality suddenly returned to him, whipping out his wand and aiming at the falling Alice in the distance.

"Arresto momentum!"

"Wingardium," Arius said, standing in the center of the teachers' stands and thumping the ground once with his cane. "Leviosa."

Zander and Arius's spells flourished in unison—making Alice slow midair, then ease to a stop, simply hovering in the middle of the Quidditch field.

Everything fell deathly silent once more—and Arius slowly extended his hand, wearing an uncharacteristically unreadable visage that hardly suited him.

With the gentle motion of his fingers—he called Alice's broomstick forward, and the Irish Rogue began to hover across the field. It drew steadily nearer, gliding into the teacher stands and slowing to a stop just beside him.

Arius took hold of the broomstick with one hand, holding his elegant cane with the other—and he placed a foot on one of the Irish Rogue's foot grips, standing on it and still holding the broomstick upright, though it began to lift, floating away from the stands and carrying him off with ease.

Arius drifted across the open clearing above the Quidditch field, still positioned upright and gracefully flying toward the hovering Alice.

Everyone—hundreds and hundreds of eyes, Hogwarts students and teachers alike—all watched in total and absolute silence, and the atmosphere of excited joy was gone without a trace now. Instead, a tense, horrible severity was in the air of the field and all the stands, and everyone's attention was fixed solely on Alice and the headmaster.

Arius flew gently between the hovering Quidditch players, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins both watching him pass, most of them wearing grave expressions as they did.

Zander watched from afar, slowly lowering his wand, his face painted with angry dismay—and his friends looked on from either side of him, each looking disturbed just as well.

Arius eased to a stop, sighing and sliding an arm underneath Alice, gazing sadly down at her and tightening his grip on the broom. The side of her head was saturated in blood, hairs wildly askew and eyes completely closed, showing no response whatsoever.

Arius made a movement with his wrist, flourishing his cane—and a quick bind appeared from nowhere, wrapping around them both and fastening her firmly onto him. Then, he turned and began to float away with her, gliding off of the Quidditch field and heading toward the castle.

It wasn't long before the two of them were entirely out of everyone else's sight.

The stands, the students, the teachers and the players—everyone was lamented to a quiet standstill, many of them still gazing off into the direction where the headmaster had disappeared with the wounded chaser.

Mary-Lynn, however, was carelessly tossing the beater's bat up and down as she sat atop her broom, wearing a cold expression and staring up at the scoreboard—smirking at Slytherin's narrow victory.

When the final Quidditch game of the year ended—everyone was fairly quiet even after they were dismissed.

Madame Hooch seemed almost incredulous to declare Slytherin's victory, and only about half of the Slytherin team felt up to celebrating, the rest of them frowning and shaking their heads as they marched quietly off the field.

The entire Hufflepuff team was silent and stricken with despair, striding off of the field the opposite direction and saying nothing to one another.

And while the players left, and while everyone else departed the stands, moving in massive groups down the narrow wooden stairs—Zander was already long gone from them all.

He hadn't spoken to his friends, hadn't announced his departure at all; he'd simply turned, marched away, thumped down the stairs, and strode off toward the castle absentmindedly, making the long walk by himself and wearing a stony visage as he did.

The rest of the school wasn't too far behind him—but he carried on, making brisk strides up the seemingly endless hillside until he reached the nearest courtyard outside of the school.

He knew his other friends were likely rushing to catch up with him, longing to yammer away at him and fill his head with nonsense—all the stock phrases, like "don't worry" and "everything will be all right"—but in reality, he didn't think he could stand any of it now.

Because—no matter what any of his airheaded and stupidly optimistic friends might say—they couldn't possibly know if everything would be all right.

Zander had seen it with his own eyes; a magic ball of lead had smashed ruthlessly into Alice's skull, splattering blood and throwing her off her broom in an instant. For all he knew, she could have died right that very moment—and she might be lying cold and still in the hospital wing right now.

There was only one way for him to know if everything was all right or not.

To see for himself.

Zander marched into the castle with his robe shifting along at his heels, hands balled into fists by his sides, teeth clenched, emotions waging war inside while his stern and collected expression betrayed him.

The longer he walked, the more difficult it became; he always prided himself on his discipline, on his great skill of always remaining composed no matter what was transpiring around him—but now, for the first time he could ever remember, it felt as if it was slowly becoming impossible to do.

His heart hammered, teeth grinding harder—and Zander moved swiftly up the stairs leading up to the hospital wing, leaping over them in twos before finally emerging in the wide, empty hallway, just outside of the hospital wing's large double-doors.

He stared down the hall at the great clock tower, gazing outside from between the clock's massive mechanisms—then faced the other way, staring into the double-doors for what felt like an eternity.

Now, all the sudden, it felt much harder to move onward—as if those doors would lead to something terrible, as if opening them would unveil the worst sight of his life.

Zander stood rooted to the spot, heaving several furious breaths and glaring heatedly into the doors as if they had deeply wronged him, his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath.

He couldn't have known how long he stood there—staring in silence, fighting back every raging emotion that tried to claw its way out of him, fuming at the doors and wondering what he would see when he eventually pushed them open.

A gentle footstep caught his attention, the faint sound of boots just behind him.

Zander forced out a breath through his gritted teeth, turning and expecting to see one of his other friends—but instead, there stood Mary-Lynn, still wearing most of her Quidditch gear, having just reached the top of the stairs.

The two stood in total silence for a moment.

Mary-Lynn gazed into him, her expression unreadable, not cold, nor warm or comforting. She merely raised her brows at him, sighing and making a halfhearted shrug.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Zander merely stared at her—wordless, eyes narrowed at her, everything inside him feeling as if it had instantly amplified twofold, as the mere sight of her seemed to light his blood ablaze. His mouth drifted agape, and then he scoffed out a faint little noise, shaking his head and turning away from her.

He marched toward the hospital wing's doors, wanting to distance himself from her, feeling angrier than he ever had, and he didn't want—

"So that date?"

He froze.

Zander stiffened solid on the spot—hand outstretched, hovering an inch away from the door handles, leering into the doors and inhaling a deep, furious breath.

He turned, very slowly, glaring back at her from over his shoulder.

Mary-Lynn easefully sauntered toward him, twirling her hairs and forming a small, sly smile, simply waiting for him to answer—as if she had done nothing out of line, as if she hadn't possibly killed his best friend, as if she hadn't done anything wrong at all.

Zander's heart pounded, bashing the back of his ribs, skin feeling hot to the touch as his mind fell suddenly, heatedly blank.

He faced the doors again, closing his eyes and releasing a long, shaking breath, gently tapping his forehead to the doors as Mary-Lynn continued to inch her way toward him from behind.

Then he whipped around and—

"Incarcerous!"

Zander shot off the spell—and a flurry of ropes snapped around her at once, coiling around her tightly and clasping viselike around her throat.

Mary-Lynn's mouth fell open—her eyes widening as she staggered back and choked, making several panicked croaking noises as she fought and struggled to rip the binds off of her, but to no avail.

And as she stumbled backward—Zander slowly strode forward, wand extended, eyes lit with fury, staring into her with both hatred and resolve.

Mary-Lynn tripped and fell back—hitting the floor and kicking and worming, mouth opening several times as she fought desperately to take in air, her face falling deep scarlet as her eyes filled with tears.

Her hand moved downward, groping frantically along her side until she found her wand—

And Zander kicked it away—sending the wand flying off to the side and clattering down the long set of stairs.

Mary-Lynn gaped and sputtered, gazing up at him in terror.

Zander slowly sank to one knee—looming over her, glaring directly into her, and gently pressing his wand into her head.

"You crossed… a hell of a line today," he growled softly.

He made a swift flick of the wand, and the binds slowly began to loosen from around her—allowing Mary-Lynn to inhale a sudden hoarse breath, panting and staring up at him in fright, as his wand was still pressed firmly into her skull.

"And I want you to know," Zander glowered with serpentine rasp. "That if you ever… ever cross that line with me again… I won't stop until I see the lights leave your eyes."

Mary-Lynn didn't move, lying on her back and staring up at him in horror, trembling all over as tears streamed down either side of her reddened face.

"And," Zander rumbled, slowly raising his hand and pointing back toward the hospital wing's doors. "If she's dead… you're dead."

Mary-Lynn's lip trembled, shaking terribly and scooting back away from him.

Zander slowly began to stand, straightening up and glaring down at her as if she was nothing more than an insect at his feet.

Mary-Lynn spared him a final shaken glance, then maneuvered over to the stairs and quickly leaped onto them—thundering down them all and hurrying to distance herself from him at once.

Zander watched her go, heaving several big breaths and slowly finding his composure.

Then, he turned to the hospital wing yet again, inhaling heavily and gnawing his lip—striding onward and forcing both of the doors open.

The elongated room was mostly empty, as were most of the hospital beds—all except for the fourth one on the left, where Alice sat upright with a gauze pad on the side of her head, casually sipping on a potion and glancing up the moment the doors flew open.

"Oh—hey," Alice smirked, giving him a wave.

Zander's hands fell to his sides, letting the doors swing shut behind him and giving her a long, hardened glare.

A million things began to rise up inside once again—but this time, none were horrid, none were unpleasant, and none involved any type of despair.

He'd stormed all the way here, filled with anger and dread, hoping and praying that he wouldn't find her dead in this room—but there she sat, alive and well, smiling as if nothing had happened to her at all.

Zander released a deep, trembling breath, his face still painted with grim severity.

Alice stared at him, giving him a curious squint. "What…?"

"Don't what me," Zander barked thoughtlessly, marching toward her. "Do you even know what happened? At all?"

Alice reeled slightly back. "Ah… Arius said I took a bludger to the head… but that's it."

"Oh, is that it?" Zander griped sarcastically, tossing up his hands. "And that's nothing to you?"

"What're you getting mad at me for?"

"Because—I bloody hate when you make me worry!" Zander exclaimed, clenching his teeth and swatting the air in frustration.

Alice surveyed him, releasing a calm little sigh and making a few mild nods. Then, she leaned over, reaching past her broomstick propped against her hospital bed, patting on the chair right beside it.

"C'mere," she said.

Zander sighed heavily, biting his bottom lip again and feeling it begin to hurt. He walked forward and sank into the chair, leaning back and folding his arms.

The two sat in silence for a moment.

Then, Zander leaned forward, staring around the room. "Where's the kid…?"

Alice raised her brows at him. "What kid?"

"The seeker from your team," Zander clarified. "He got hurt too, didn't he?"

"Oh… aye, they let him go back to the Hufflepuff dorms," Alice informed. "Mad'am Pomfrey gave him something for his pain, and then he left. He didn't break anything, so he'll be fine."

"Oh. Okay…"

Zander leaned back in the chair again, scratching his face and sighing.

Alice took another sip of her potion, making a face and taking a large swig from the glass of water beside her. Then, she glimpsed over at him, tilting her head and reading him intently.

"I kinda like when you explode," she remarked.

Zander blinked, staring forward for a second, then turning to her with a strange look.

"What?" he said blankly.

"Y'know, like… when you explode all angry like that," Alice clarified.

Zander's eyes narrowed at her.

"Why?" he asked honestly. "Why would anyone like that…?"

"Because… it's more real," Alice told him. "Blimey… I've been chippin' away at you for six years. I like that I get to see the real you more now. I know it's not really me you're mad at, anyway…"

"No… it's not," Zander mumbled as he faced forward, thinking of Mary-Lynn, his jaw twitching. "But she won't pull anything like that again."

Alice stared at him. "How d'you know…?"

Zander glared directly ahead, sighing yet again. "I just do."

There was another pause.

Alice finished off her potion, then chased it with water, yawning and fidgeting with the gauze on her head. She gazed down at her lap, stifling another yawn and blinking several times.

"I'm tired," she murmured, sinking down and nestling into her blanket.

Zander turned and eyed her. "You really wanna sleep with a concussion? I know you have one."

"Mn-mn," Alice moaned, shaking her head and raising the now empty potion bottle. "That's what this was for…"

"They make potions for concussions?"

"Aye… apparently…"

"Oh. Well… go to sleep, then."

"M'kay…"

Alice curled up on her side, facing him as her eyes began to drift shut.

"I like when you're here," she breathed softly.

Zander turned his head, gazing down at her, watching as she slowly, peacefully drifted to sleep.

For a while, he merely stared, observing her as she faded into a deep, easeful slumber, the afternoon sun washing over her from the window just behind, the white blanket gently rising and falling with her every smooth breath.

Zander's expression was incredibly calm now, as was the rest of him, as his every worst worry had been suddenly put to rest.

As he stared quietly down at her, he pondered on his drastic behavior only a short while ago, wondering if he'd overreacted—but, in retrospect, it hardly even mattered.

His hand slid onto the bed, slowly gliding over hers and feeling her warm, soft touch.

What mattered seemed perfectly obvious now; nobody was seriously hurt, Alice was perfectly fine, and Mary-Lynn was unlikely to ever try attacking her again.

Zander rested his head back against the wall, gazing calmly upward and keeping a firm hold of Alice's hand as she slept.

Everything was simply as it should be.