Dear reader,

Please be advised that this story is a DARK ROMANCE. Dealing with emotionally triggering topics that include, revenge fantasy, toxic relationships, physical and sexual assault, dubious consent, bondage, kidnapping, group sex. Anyone who believes such content may upset them are encouraged to consider their well-being when choosing wether to continue reading.

First things first, I want it to be known that I DO NOT own the rights to any Harry Potter characters.

So, with that being said, I thought I would write a story based off the Slytherin Quidditch Team from the second movie, Chamber of Secrets. Yes, I know that most, if not all the boys are older than Harry, Ron and Hermione, but for the sake of the plot, I'm going to write them in as sixth/seventh year students, with Harry, Draco and Lena being fifth/sixth year students.

Fan casting Ashley Benson from Pretty Little Liars as Lena McKinnon.

(I do not claim the rights to any Harry Potter characters. All rights belong to the talented J.K. Rowling.)

Lena's POV

He won't be here.

There'd be no reason for him to show up at a Gryffindor party, since the Slytherin chaser could hardly stand to breathe the same air as any of us, so...

No, he won't be here.

Pushing up the sleeves of my lightweight sweater, I hurry through the front door of the Gryffindor common room and speed-walk across the foyer, heading straight for the stairs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my best friend, not to mention the smartest which in the whole school, Hermione Granger, rounding the corner, but I don't stop.

"Lena!" She shouts after me. "Thank Merlin you're here. I was starting to think you'd ditch the whole thing."

I let out a short breath, exhausted from climbing that blasted staircase just outside the room. "Sorry I'm late."

"Is everything alright? You seem a little out of it," she points out.

I shoot up my eyebrows and immediately stop, turning around to peer at her from the third step.

"I'm fine, Mione," I say rather abruptly. "Just tired from studying, that's all."

She thins her lips, annoyed. "Well, why didn't you come to me? I would've helped you out."

I break out in a smile and lean down, grazing her hand with mine.

"Don't worry," I assure her. "I've got everything under control."

Okay, maybe not actually, but I won't let her know that. Poor girl has enough to worry about as is, between saving Harry and Ron from trouble, and juggling her own classes, I don't need to let it slip that I might be falling behind in Transfiguration.

I turn and continue up the stairs, hearing the upbeat music coming from the party downstairs.

"I laid a change of clothes out for you!" She calls after me as I walk around the corner.

I exhale an aggravated sigh and barge into the girls dormitory, grumbling under my breath, "Thank you, Mione."

I don't need to change. I already have on a red sweater and jeans, and at sixteen, I could definitely pick out my own clothes. Not that Hermione would be here to see it anyway, and if she was, she wouldn't look at me.

No.

I should be grateful. Hermione thought of me, and it was nice of her to make sure I'd have something to wear.

A light spatter of sand covers my feet, and I reach down to grip the ends of my loose jeans, inventorying exactly how wet I'd gotten down at the lake. Would I need a shower?

No, I'm already late. Screw it.

Diving for my bed—the one closest to the window Hermione traded me for in our first year—I spot a cut off, burgundy dress lying on the bed, and I immediately begin stripping.

The thin spaghetti straps do almost nothing to hold up my breasts, but it fits perfectly, molding to my body like a second skin, and makes my skin look darker than it was. Mrs Granger always had awesome taste, and it's probably a good thing that she got me the dress, after all. I'd been too busy preparing to leave for school to bother with what to wear on nights like tonight.

Plopping down on the edge of my bed, I wipe my calves and feet of the sand and rock I picked up on my walk, and I quickly brushed out my long, golden blonde hair and apply a bit of lip gloss to my bottom lip, rolling them together and smiling. I then scurry forward, grabbing the tan strapped heels she'd left by the dress, and run back out the door and down the stairs.

Eight months to go.

My heart pumps harder and harder as I jog down the spiral staircase and toward the head of frizzy brown hair. Eight months and he"ll be out of here—no trouble, no classes, no memories...

And most of all, I won't have to wonder, hope, or dread that I'll see him. Or teeter on the edges of elation and agony when I do. Nope. I'll be able to hold out my arms and spin in a circle and not touch a single person I knew. Heat flows through my chest, and I don't know if it was fear or excitement, but I was ready.

Ready to watch him leave it all behind. At least for a little while.

Veering to the right, I bypass Fred and George—both fidgeting with puking pastels and trying to sell them to a second year, no doubt—as I head for the three older students curling the fireplace. Without catching my breath, I step into the massive, stone room, the walls and ceiling made entirely of hard rock, and instantly felt the rise in temperature. The thick, wet heat from cheering students soaks through the fabric of my dress, making it melt to my body.

A couple of seventh years party above and all around me in the dim, velvety room, lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the windows overhead. I inhale the sweet smell of butterbeer, chocolate and mint, reminding me of Honeyducks and all the delicious treats blending together in one space.

I turn left, stopping at the dark red sofa in front of the fire place and slip into my heels as I gaze around at the crowd.

Eight months.

And then I straighten, reaching up, grabbing a handful of hair, and bringing it over my shoulder to cover the left side of my neck.

"Lena?" Harry says as he steps up to me with two butterbeers in hand.

I smile, taking one. "Thank you."

The root beer-coloured drink has always been my favourite, so it's nice that Harry would offer me one.

"Can you believe all this?" Eyes moving through the many other students, Harry can't hold back his smile. "Hard to believe we won the match by just a few points."

I stayed rooted, letting my eyes drift around the party. "Yeah, crazy."

It's not the reaction he was hoping for, but it's all I can think to say. After all, I'm not a fan of quidditch.

Keeping my head on a swivel, I survey the crowd for another second or two, all dressed in their casual Friday night clothes and Gryffindor sweaters.

So clean. So comfortable.

The chandelier above, glowing like floating candles. The glittering jewels of the girls school rings caught the light. Everything's so polished, and when I look around at all the seventh years and students I grew up with, their problems and baggy clothing, I often see a coat of paint that you apply when you're trying to cover up rotting wood. There were dark deeds and bad seeds, but who cares if the castle was falling apart as long as it was pretty, right?

The scent of the fire whiskey lingers in the air accompanied by the uproar of music, and I wonder if I should find Hermione and let her know I'm changed, or stay with Harry, since the party was in his honour, after all.

But instead I tighten my fingers around my bottle, my pulse quickening as I try to resist the urge to do what I really want to do. What I always want to do.

To find him.

But no, he won't be here. After all, Slytherin students aren't allowed in our quarters.

He won't be here.

My heart starts thumping, and my neck heats. And, against my own will, my eyes start to drift. Around the party and over the faces, searching...

Adrian.

I haven't seen him in months, but the pull was everywhere, especially in Hogwarts. On his way to the quidditch pitch, in his scent that drifts through the hallway...

He might be here.

"Lena."

I blink, jerking my head to the left, hearing Harry call my name.

He quirks a brow, his dark blue eyes looking impatient, and his stride determined. "Hey, you okay?"

I hesitate, feeling my stomach tighten. But then I force a smile as he steps up to me.

Eight months.

I turned my head, shifting uncomfortably. "Harry—"

"I can fetch Hermione if you want," he cut in. "Maybe you and her can take a walk or something..."

"Harry, I'm fine, really."

Last thing I need is to be babied by my best friend. My family.

"Or, I can go with you." He finally smiles. "It's kind of loud in here, anyway."

I swallow, my eyes suddenly filling with tears and I back away.

Harry and I have been friends since my first year, and his second. We've gone to school with each other most of our lives, and were always thrown together by the sudden tragedy of our parents deaths, as if things could be any worse.

He, like Hermione and Ron, took me under their wing when people like Malfoy made fun of my family—or, rather, laughed at my scar—and weren't afraid to tell him to shut up.

Thank god.

It was my fault for being so weak. It was my fault I couldn't stand up to people like Malfoy. It was my also my fault I put him and half of the quidditch team in detention, nearly facing expulsion.

It was all my fault.

I let out a breath, forcing my muscles to relax. Eight months.

Harry frowns at me, pity brewing behind his lids as he takes my hand and leads me toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. He pulls me through the painting, holding me close and talking normally now that we're alone, "You don't have to go through this alone, Lena."

But I pull away again, giving us a few inches of space. "I'd rather be alone than drag any of you into the mess that is my life. I mean, take a look around, Harry, you've got enough on your plate as is."

He looks like his father, with his shaggy black hair, narrow jaw, and a smile that could make almost anyone putty in his hands. He also dresses like a true Gryffindor, looking polished in his wine coloured shirt, and dark jeans. So clean. So handsome. Harry does everything within the lines.

"I don't want you to feel that way," he says, narrowing his eyes on me. "You have friends all around you."

Which is exactly why I need something different. I've never had to leave the security of the people around me. There was always someone—parents, teachers, my friend Hermione—to pick me up when I fell. Even when I go down to the black lake and give up the comfort of having everyone breathing down my neck, someone would still end up following me.

I want to get into a little trouble. I want to catch some rain, find something that makes my heart pump again, and I want to know what it's like to not have anyone to grab onto.

I've tried to explain it, but every time I open my mouth, I can't find the right words. Out loud it sounds selfish and ungrateful, but inside...

I need to know what I'm made of. I need to know if I have a leg to stand on without the umbrella of my family name, the support of others having my back, or Hermione's constant hovering. If I snuck away, mingled with new people who didn't know my family, would they even give me the time of day? Would they even like me?

I'm happy at Hogwarts, really. Even if by some morbid chance I wasn't, the decision to move on would be too hard and disappointing to those around me.

Own who you are.

My heart flutters, remembering the Slytherin's cunning words. I can barely wait. Eight months…

"But then again, I guess that's not really what's got you so down, is it?" He asks, an accusing tone in his voice.

I hood my eyes, taking in a deep breath as I lower my drink. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry."

"Oh, I think you do."

I cross my arms over my chest, holding Harry's eyes and refusing to let him engage me in this conversation.

Adrian Pucey, Slytherin's favourite quidditch player and every Gryffindor's worst nightmare. He's older, a lot taller, and damn intimidating.

Adrian hadn't even graduated from his third year before being snatched up by Marcus Flint almost immediately. Even now, he plays hard, and parties harder.

Lot of good it will do me, though. Adrian barely ever looks at me, and when he speaks to me, his tone is no better than if he were speaking to a dog. I wasn't planning on putting myself in his path.

No, I learned my lesson a long time ago.

"I'm sorry," Harry says more gently. He takes my hand and pulls me in, sliding a hand around the back of my neck. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. None of us do, Lena. You're way too good for that."

Good? No.

That would mean I don't want a certain blue eyed boy to make my heart pump so hard that I feel like I'm on a roller coaster. Haunt my dreams, and be the first person I think about when I wake up.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, noticing his gaze briefly flash to my neck. He quickly averts his eyes as if he didn't see it. The scar makes me less than perfect, I guess.

"Come on," he urges, forcing a smile. "What would people think if they found out you're crushing on a Slytherin?"

"Harry," I argue, trying to twist out of his hold.

But then his eyes turn fierce and he leans down, the scent of his cologne burning my nostrils as he invades my space.

I press my fists into his chest, pushing at him and taring my head away.

"Harry," I growl low. "That's enough. What's gotten into you?"

"I'm only trying to help," he fights, his voice turning angry. "You know it's a mistake to let him into your life."

"Harry!" I tense every muscle in my arms and press against his body, finally pushing him off. He drops his hands and stumbles back a step.

I immediately back away, my hands shaking.

"Lena." He reaches for me, but I steel my spine, backing away again.

He drops his hand, shaking his head. "Fine," he bites out, sneering. "Go to him then. Let the bastard ruin you and leave everything here behind, but don't expect any of us to be there to rescue you."

He runs his fingers through his hair, glaring at me as he straightens his shirt and walks back into the common room.

I stare after him, anger building in my chest. What the hell does that mean? There's nothing holding me down and nothing I'm trying to escape. I just want freedom.

I back away from the Fat Lady, unable to go back in there. I don't want to disappoint Hermione, Ron, or Harry by sneaking out, but I no longer want to be here. I want to go home.

I twist around, ready to leave, but then I look up and instantly stop.

My stomach flips, and I can't breathe.

Shit.

Adrian leans against the railing of the rotating staircase, his eyes lock on mine, looking eerily calm.

Adrian. The boy that wasn't nice. The one that wasn't good to me.

My throat thickens, and I want to swallow, but I can't move. I just stare, paralyzed. How long has he been watching me? The whole time?

He leans back against the wall, nearly swallowed by the dim glow of the torches around us. One hand rests on a quaffle that's pressed against his side, and the other hand lays on the stone railing.

My heart starts to pound so hard it hurts. What is he doing?

Juggling the quaffle between both hands now, he's still watching me, and I drop my eyes for a split-second, embarrassment heating my cheeks.

He saw the whole episode with Harry.

Fuck.

I look up again, seeing his short dark hair, and blue eyes, similar to the ocean. They almost seem darker than they actually are, hidden in the shadows, but they still pierce me under straight brows, making him look just as formidable as he is. His lips, full and kissable, hold no hint of a smile, and his tall frame nearly consumes the snoozing portraits behind him.

He's wearing dark jeans, and his white shirt looks to be open at the collar. Loose tie, because, as usual, he does what he wants.

And that's all anyone could ever expect with Adrian. How he appeared. How he acted. I don't think his parents even know what was happening behind those eyes.

I watch him turn and press the quaffle into his side, keeping his eyes on me as he walks over.

The closer he comes, the more his menacing six foot three stature intimidates me. Adrian's muscular, thanks to the years of playing quidditch, and he makes me feel small. In many ways. He looks like he's walking straight for me, and my heart hammers in my chest as I narrow my eyes, bracing myself.

But he doesn't stop.

The faint hint of his body wash hits me as he passes by, and I turn my head, my chest aching as he walks further into the castle without a word.

I fold my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting the burn in my eyes.

One day, he noticed me. One day, seven years ago, Adrian saw something in me he liked and took advantage. And just when the fire was starting to kindle, ready to flare and burst apart in a flood of flames, it folded. It tucked its rage and heat away and contained it.

I shoot off, heading down the stairs and out the castle's heavy doors, anger and frustration chewing at every nerve in my body as I storm through the courtyard.

Other than that, he's ignored me most of my life, and when he did speak to me, it was clipped.

I swallow the lump in my throat and lean against the stone pillar. I hope I don't keep running into him. I hope we never crossed paths and I never have to hear about him ever again.

I wonder if he even knows how deep his words have cut. If he even cares, I should say. Doesn't matter, though. Even in the same castle, I may as well be on a different planet than him.

Wiping my eyes, I take in a breath, the fresh October breeze settling the nerves in my belly like warm tea.

Eight months. And he'll leave everything here behind.

The high stone walls of the castle swallow my cries, and within less than a minute, the howling of the wind sweeps through my blonde hair and I shiver, the soft moonlight leaving me in the dark.

Scary.

Returning to the castle on frightened toes, I hurry to the common room, just wanting to crawl in bed until it was tomorrow.

But then I glance up, doing a double-take at seeing a shadow creep around the corner.

What?

Nobody would be awake at this hour. Not even the teachers.

"Lena." A voice so prominent, yet quiet as a mouse cuts through the air like a whip. Whirling around, I almost trip over my own feet. Idiot.

"Is someone there?" I call out, but the only reply I'm given is the snoring of overhead portraits, waking just long enough to tell me to go to bed.

I swallow nervously, but manage to follow the noise. Something I'll probably regret in a second or two. "Hello?"

The bottom of my shoe pressing into the hard stone echoes around me, scraping the edge of the step.

"Over here, filth." Almost instantly, a door slams behind me and I jump.

The fuck?

Goosebumps pepper my skin, and my heart rolls onto the floor. "Whoever you are, this isn't funny. I'll go to Professor Dumbledore."

There's a cackle coming from within the darkness. Like a blade, it cuts through the air and brings a tear to my eye. "Ouuuu, hear that, boys? The mudblood will run to Dumbledore."

"I love it when they put up a fight," another voice chimes in, sounding both murderous and amused at the same time.

"Go ahead and cry to the old man all you want, McKinnon. He won't be able to save you this time." A third voice calls out and I still, my blood turning to ice. "Or, better yet, why don't you turn around and walk away. See how far you get before we drag you down to the dungeon."

Oh, god.

"It's open season on dirty blood, little lion. And we're hunting."

With my heart skipping a beat, I glance around, but fuck, I can hardly even see my own hand in front of my face.

Unease sets in. "Please, don't do this."

But then I glance up, gasping as I scurry backwards and trip, falling down on my ass.

I stop breathing, my heart trying to burst through my chest.

Three brooding bodies stand below me on the staircase, side by side, staring up at me through narrowed slits.

"What the hell?" I breathe out, trying to figure out what in the name of Merlin is going on.

Is this another one of Fred and George's idea of a prank?

They're standing completely motionless, and I feel a chill spread up my arms at how they just stare at me.

All three are wearing jeans and black sneakers, but as I stare into the black void of their eyes, I clench my teeth together to keep my body from shaking.

Their faces. The black hoodies and clenched fists.

I shake my head. No. It can't be them. This was a joke.

The tallest stands on the left, wearing a slate-gray metallic-looking hoodie and beneath it, all I can see is high cheekbones, dark brown hair and crooked teeth.

The one in the middle looks shorter, looking up at me with pure gut-wrenching hatred.

And the one on my right, who's completely hidden beneath his hood, so that you couldn't tell exactly where his eyes were, was the one who finally made my chest shake.

I back up, away from them and try to catch my breath as I dash up the stairs. Crying out for help, I bang my fist against the Fat Lady's ribcage. "Let me in!"

"Lena?" A boy answers.

"Neville," I breathe out, inching back over to the stairs.

"Someone's following me—?"

But then I stop, seeing that the staircase was now empty. They were gone.

What?

I dart my eyes left and then right, getting right up to the railing and leaning over to see if they were near the common room. Where the hell did they go?

I remain silent, listening for any sign of anyone, but everything was still and quiet.

"Lena?" Neville calls. "Why don't you come in and sit down? I'll fetch Hermione."

I open my mouth, stammering, "I...I could've sworn I saw something."

"It's alright, just come inside."

I nod. "Thank you." And I walk into the common room, still looking over my shoulder.

It couldn't be them.

But the taunting. They're the only ones who enjoy it.

Why would they come here? After last year, why would they come here?