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chapter one.

Emilia woke up to a rat on her bed.

She assumed she was supposed to scream, to cry and kick the sheets before they would tangle around her legs, a noose that she would be unable to free herself from as the beady, thoughtless eyes of the rat stared at her from the bottom of the bed, just as confused as she was as to why it was there.

But she doesn't.

After all, it was just a rat.

Emilia wondered how the other girls managed to even get the rodent in the room and for it to stay long enough on her bed without scampering away in fright and almost commends them for the effort; but after the first two rats in her trunk and the one in her shoe, it had lost its novelty.

There were quiet giggles from the other side of the room as Emilia sat up in bed to stare at the rat who had taken to cleaning itself instead of meeting Emilia's eyes and a sigh bled out past her lips, pulling back the sheets as she quickly scooped the animal into her palms, thankful that it didn't decide to lash out and infect her with whatever disease it might possibly be carrying. She lookedup to see Marina Teagrass' amused face shift into something pale and somewhat green as Emilia held the rat in her palms, never breaking eye contact with the other girl who must have been the less than stellar mastermind behind the plan.

Emilia wondered if she can put in a word with the other girl to be more creative in her pathetic attempts to bully her as she slipped off the bed, going to the door, deciding the poor thing had been traumatised enough as she pushed it out the small crack made in the doorframe, watching it practically run away from the dorm room.

She'll have to go for another shower now and will probably be late for breakfast; she's half tempted to skip it entirely but her stomach was already aching from the emptiness it was forced to endure. The other girls ignore her like the plague, a few of Marina's friends looking fit to vomit at the fact Emilia had handled a rat with her bare hands.

Despite her own disgust at it, she was glad they weren't bothering with trying to corner her – she could only pretend about caring about it so much but it was far too early in the morning to play along with them.

Emilia had realised since Fourth Year that their petty bullying doesn't extend beyond giving her the cold shoulder and finding the occasional pest in her things, or that her bed has been doused with water before sleep, though that's fixable in an instant with a flick of her wand but it's the effort more than anything that makes it annoying instead of the act itself. It's been so ingrained in her experience at Hogwarts that she would find it strange if she were to be left alone entirely – their behaviour towards her offered Emilia at least some form of amusement, at least, especially when she doesn't offer them the reaction they oh so desperately craved.

Outside, a storm rolled on, the rain splattering against the pane of the glass and leaving everything barely discernible with fat, grey cotton clouds smothering the sky and leaving no hope for even a watery, golden ray of sunshine and push its way through; Emilia was glad for her thinking of packing mostly heavy, winter clothes consisting of jeans, turtlenecks, and sweatshirts – the damned castle was already unbearable with the lack of central heating as it was.

The dorm room emptied out, one by one leaving for breakfast and once Emilia was sure she was alone, she headed to the shower, locking the door behind her just for extra measure in case they decided to throw a bucket of muck on top of her though after the last time she Hexed a girl for filling her shoes with dirt. After nearly being caught by a teacher, they had been less forward in going beyond a few small pranks and tricks.

In all her years at Hogwarts, Emilia had prided herself on never being in trouble or getting detention; perhaps it was something that was deep rooted in her that she couldn't bring herself to step out of line and bring unwanted attention to herself as any unwanted attention was bad attention as her aunt used to say, drilling it into Emilia that she needed to be just like everyone else and being like everyone else meant she didn't stand out and make herself a beacon for trouble.

The second week of Hogwarts was easier than the first what with sorting out her classes and where she was to go and who she was to be forced to sit next to for the rest of the year; Emilia liked to think that she wasn't that bad of a partner to pair up with, she liked getting the work done and if that meant for the other person to fob the work load on to her, then she would take it gladly and and it was because of that she had never got a bad grade in her life.

By the time she left, her hair was already half air dried and she hoped she wasn't too late for the food to be lukewarm by the time she managed to arrived; the castle felt half empty, colder than usual as she followed the same steps she always has for the past seven years to the Great Hall, hands in the pockets of her robes with her favourite book clutched in one paw. Some Second Years skirt around her, their little legs rushing to make it to breakfast with their faces red and puffing for air, and she can't help but to recall a time when she was like that, rushing from one class to the next and nearly drowning in the crowds of people much too tall for their own sakes.

With it being her last year, she's far too melancholic for her own sake.

The Great Hall was bloating with students and staff alike, filled with people rubbing the sleep from their eyes or desperately trying to finish whatever pieces of work they had forgotten the night before; the smell of tea, toast and fried foods fills her lungs, reaching to her stomach as she walked further down the bench of the Gryffindor table, keeping a large space between her and her neighbours.

The Great Hall had people dribbling in through the great maw of the door, rubbing their eyes and trying to dispel their sleep; it's one of the few times Emilia indulges in her hobby of people watching, how the Slytherins at their table are more quiet in the morning, preferring to eat their food before even opening their mouth to speak.

Perhaps it's because they've had their upper class manners drilled into them at such an early age, and Emilia half wishes she were sitting there so she could read and eat her breakfast in peace.

She could see Xenophilius Lovegood pouring over a stack of books that he can barely see over, pale face flushed and looking as if he got no sleep with wide ever seeing eyes smeared with purple underneath, though that's probably the case with most of the Ravenclaws; Xenophilius was nice, often the two would pair up together when Emilia or Xenophilius had no one else to work with. But that's as far as it goes – he's nice. Besides, she thought that he preferred the solitude he created more than Emilia did herself.

The First Years seemed nervous, bouncing on their seats in excitement or perhaps fear over their second week of Hogwarts, though the bench didn't vibrate as much as it had when they were practically blurred at the edges from how the eagerness had consumed them.

Emilia tried to remember if she was like that in her first year at Hogwarts, but all she could recall was how she nearly vomited up her breakfast everyday for the first month of September before she settled; it seemed so long ago, to be eleven and so unsure and scared but wanting to inhale everything around her and imprint it in her mind. She brought a spoon of porridge to her mouth and turned the page.

Emilia liked the quiet, the solitude she surrounded herself with and there's an arms length between her and Mary McDonald who was chatting in hushed giggles with Marlene McKinnon, the two of them nursing their teas all the while Emilia tunes out their voices. She had long since stopped feeling sad for herself, stopped with the self pitying and the inner chastising at her aloneness – she never was good with talking with other kids, the ones at her old primary school had scarred her enough that she was quite okay with not making bonds with other people.

She's older now, she should know better but she was used to it and because she was used to it, Emilia liked it – it's her comfort zone, and it's familiar. What's familiar, she can predict and she always knows what's going on in her own head that she didn't need to worry about other people.

Sometimes, the memory of the kids in her old estate crossed through her mind, their dirty clothes from the charity shop, how they would kick around a half deflated ball and show each other their bruises and scars like they were trophies. Emilia could see herself at that age, knotty, ratty hair pulled back from her face, front teeth missing and wearing cheap football jerseys for teams she didn't even know.

It was an easier time then, though perhaps not a better one.

Another page was flipped as she sipped her tea, taking the moment of peace to enjoy herself, enjoy her self made peace from blocking out everything and everyone else.

Emilia knows its sad, if she were someone else other than herself, even she would think it was sad – at seventeen years old and she couldn't muster up the courage to even say hello to a classmate, or maybe it was the want she was lacking.

Whatever it was, it was too late now, for seven years she's been at this school and by the time she even felt confident to speak to another student in her year it felt too late, they were all grouped up by the second week of First Year and she was four years far too late; she had no one to blame but her own damn self, and she had already forgiven herself for it, for as much as she loved Hogwarts, part her was excited for what would await her when this was all finished, when she would leave the castle for the last time.

Her dream had always been to go to Muggle university but it would take years to make up for the secondary school education she had been denied but she was young yet.

She had her life ahead of her and there was no time to rush.

Emilia sipped at her tea, enjoying how strong it tasted as she turned another ragged page in her book, trying to concentrate by shutting out everything around her but a sudden shout caused her to jump, a gulp of the burning dark, amber liquid spilling into her mouth and stinging her tongue; her eyes darted around her before a resigned, inward sigh leaves her as she spots four heads enter, turning back down once more.

It was far too early to deal with James Potter and his gang, but at least she had gotten a bit to eat before she would have classes, though she wanted to at least nurse the rest of her tea before she left.

She caught sight of the four boys as they sat to her right, leaving barely enough space between her and them that she was less than comfortable with, and she shifted down the bench slightly, all the while keeping herself glued to her book; Sirius Black was trying to talk to Remus Lupin about Quidditch and Potter kept trying to butt in while also talking with Peter Pettigrew about how shit his summer was while at the same time that Pettigrew was talking to Remus about letting him borrow his Transfiguration book until his parents could send him the one he forgot back home.

Emilia knew Peter more than the others, he had been in her Care of Magical Creatures class from third to fifth year and he had been nice, nervous but sweet and wasn't the type to leave her to shoulder the burden of the work load. The rest of the friends she barely if not at all spared a look with before, save for Sirius Black; for all of Fourth Year, he had sat next to her in Defence Against the Dark Arts after being moved for talking too much, though in all that time he had never spared her a glance, let alone took the time to say hello as he much rather spent his time trading notes with his friends.

Beside her, Sirius and James were standing, talking loudly with one another, and not caring about who would overhear with Sirius taking a jug of orange juice and trying to pour himself a drink. They were popular, too popular for their own good, she half thought McGonagall might give any of them 20 points for simply remembering to wipe their noses correctly.

Sharing a dorm with other girls meant she probably overhead far too much for her own good about how great of a kisser Sirius Black was and how they all mooned over him, over how handsome and how tall he was; remembering the far too in depth details made her gag, she's probably heard enough gossip about any boy in their year to last her a life time.

She caught a sudden movement of James bringing Sirius into a headlock, the liquid in the glass the latter boy held sloshing about and threatening to go overboard and Emilia scooted down until she was physically unable to move further away, half afraid she might end up squishing herself into Mary McDonald's side to stay out of a potential splash zone; a quick glance to the teachers' table and she could see none paying head to the two boys jostling, as if they were used to it – though that was probably the case.

Emilia turned another page, taking a gulp from her cup as she tried desperately to focus in on the words printed on the paper before settling the fragile porcelain cup down on the table top, not even aware of her surroundings, which turned out to be her greatest downfall.

It happened so instantly, so suddenly, that it took Emilia a moment to realise what had just transpired; she didn't feel the drink on her until there was a bursting citrus taste on her lips, wet hair sticking to her cheeks and the nape of her neck as a drop of orange juice curved down her temple, a mocking tear as she froze in her seat, rooted in spot as her eyes were glued to her book that had just about missed the splash zone. Behind, the glass jug was let go, falling to the ground and breaking apart into a mess of small specks sparkling on the stone all the while a hushed silence rushed over the Gryffindor table, a mellow wave that reached out into the entire hall.

The scuffle that was going on beside her ceased and for the first time, the group of friends remain silent, speechless and beyond shocked at what had occurred but Emilia did not, could not look up to meet their eyes; droplets of orange juice had stained the yellowed paper pages and the juice was running down the back of her neck, a slimy, slithering hand that made goose bumps ripple across her skin as she tried to find her mind that felt as scattered as the glass that lay on the ground behind her. But when her mouth opened, all Emilia could taste was the sour sweetness of the orange juice that Sirius Black had spilt all over her.

The only sound that could be heard was the hammering of the rain outside on the window, a roaring in her ears as her fingers dug into the sensitive paperback that bent delicately under her grip, jaw clenched as something hot and angry rose in her stomach; she could feel so many eyes on her, pinpricks into her skin as her white shirt under her jumper bled orange and her hair held steadfast to her cheeks that were steadily turning a motley of different shades of red and crimson, sweeping over the parchment of her skin as she barely managed to contain her anger.

In the back of her mind, the rational part of Emilia knew it was an accident – she had never even exchanged a single conversational word with the taller boy ever before in her life for him to develop a deep rooted animosity for Emilia that could make him decide to publicly humiliate her. A burgeoning frustration bubbles in the depths of her stomach, a lump in her throat that was strangling her voice, making it lame and limp so it cannot crawl itself out to form words and then there's the sound of giggling, of laughter around her.

At her.

They're laughing at her - all because of him.

That burning feeling grew worse, stinging her eyes as the sound of their giggles and snickering echoed in her ears.

The warmth in her cheeks worsened and she barely was able to take a steady breath as she snapped her book shut; however much she wanted to distant herself from the study body, it never meant she was completely impervious to them, to their laughter and their words and how they would probably be whispering and giggling about this for the rest of the day, of how Emilia Greene got a jug of orange juice dumped on top of her by Sirius Black and it would be oh so funny to all of them.

No doubt there would be girls and boys alike murmuring how they would have let him do that to them no questions asked.

But Emilia was beyond annoyed – irritation ate away at her to the point she felt so void of anything but infuriation that consumed her whole. The laughter in the hall grew louder to the point she wondered if she was imagining the level it was at because it was echoing in the pockets of her skull, nestling itself in there and would be a haunting memory she would wince at down the line when she ever tried to remember her last ever second week at Hogwarts.

Emilia swung her legs out from under the table and stands, finally meeting the eyes of Sirius Black who at least has the decency to appear even halfway sheepish, trying to ignore the way James Potter stood behind him with his face red from trying to hold in his laughter; he was taller, impossibly so but what did it matter to Emilia? She glared up at him, her eyes burning against his silver ones as he tried to offer her a blinding smile in apology all the while she gripped the spine of her book, her free hand curling into a fist and she could feel the way her nails were nipping into the palm of her hand, red teeth pulling into a smile as she broke skin trying to not make a scene as a drop of orange juice could no longer hold onto the curve of her jaw and fell, splattering over the stone beneath her.

"Shite, my bad," was all Sirius Black had to offer as he continued to hold that grin on his face, impossibly boyish and deceivingly innocent. Emilia did not break under it and she had to swallow the venom collecting on her tongue, poison ready to erode her words into knives that she could throw at him; yet, he gave a shrug, hand going to rub at the back of his neck as he jabbed a thumb over at James Potter who looks ready to pass out as his hand was slapped over his mouth in a poor attempt to hide his amusement. "Didn't mean to dump all that on you."

Emilia did not respond, glaring up at him and trying to think through the haze of anger that was all but suffocating any rational thinking; she could turn on her heel and walk out, walk away from it and never have to think about it again but all she could taste was the orange juice that threatened to fall into her eyes but refuses to look away even as a drop fell down the curve of her nose, glowering at Sirius Black as he was slowly becoming aware that he wasn't able to smile this away.

When Emilia refused to give him an acceptance of his barely even attempted apology he puts on a moping face, as if not used to people not instantly accepting his excuse.

The boy could get away with bloody murder in this school.

"Seriously! This git was the one messing about," he all but whined in excuse, turning to glare at his friend who appeared to be turning blue in an effort to not make things any worse by finding the entire situation funny and Emilia's mind went blank. She should be used to people laughing at her or pulling stunts like these, but she doesn't even know these people. They don't know her either and they're sniggering at her and Sirius doesn't even seem to fucking care that he's doused her with one of her least favourite drinks and was trying to give a half baked excuse that didn't even contain the words I'm sorry and she can feel it making her hair sticky and knotty already.

Pure, unrestrained fire and fury – she's had enough.

"It's him you should – " He turned back in time to see a hand rushing towards him and Sirius Black did not have enough time to step back before the open palm of Emilia's hand connected with the side of his face, sending his head snapping to the side as a result of the impact and the sharp sound of the slap cracks through the quiet hall, all previous tittering lulling off into a shocked silence; Emilia's own surprise at her actions was overwrought with sudden, fierce antipathy for Black, teeth clenched as her breathing became ragged, and in her blurry peripheral vision, she could see Minerva McGonagall as she pressed a hand to her mouth to stem a chortle that nearly broke the silence.

For a moment, Sirius was still and the shape of Emilia's hand began to form on his skin, red and burning, his eyes wide and staring off into the distance and she can see his three friends behind him with their mouths dropped open.

There was a burning in Emilia's lungs and she sucked in a breath, feeling the air pool and wash away the ache nestled there as her voice finally pulled itself free from the depths of her chest and her teeth were sharp, carving her words into knives to stab into Sirius Black as he turned back to meet her eyes and she can see the unbridled astonishment that was rooted there as she spoke the first word she's ever said to him that he's ever acknowledged.

"Dickhead!"

It echoed through the Great Hall and Emilia waited not a moment longer before she turned on her heel and stormed out of the place with the explosive sound of James Potter's bellowing laughter being the first to break the smothering bubble surrounding the student and staff body as it followed her out of the place.

song of choice while writing: funeral by phoebe bridgers

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