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In the evening, alone in my tower, I sit cross-legged on the floor. I breathe cautiously, slowly, and draw upon my pain to find resolve. I don't want to continue like this. I want to do better. I must do better. I promise myself that starting tomorrow, I will focus more. I will excel in class again, I will no longer crumble. I must be strong, after all. I no longer want to depend on others, and I've already hurt them enough. I need to manage on my own. I will catch Doctor Kayns.

I probably have a rather unsettling smile at this thought. That will be my goal, since I can't die any more. He will pay for what he did to me. Oh, it's not about revenge—at least, I haven't decided that yet. But there's no way I'll let him keep toying with my life, and I don't have much left to lose (in the back of my mind, I think of Ewald, and it hurts. But since I'm alone, I might as well use it). I'm not entirely sure what my aim is, our aim if I assume the others will continue to help me bring him down. I don't know how to stop him. Bringing him to justice would either require revealing who I am or finding solid evidence. But I need a purpose, and I will have no regrets making him pay.

In the darkness, I keep promising myself that I will do better, that I will be strong, that I will manage. Just as I've done so many times before. But, as always, I convince myself that it will be different this time. And I cling to the idea that I will make that man pay.

oOo

The next morning, I don't cut myself when I wake up; instead, I force myself to do ten push-ups. Then I go down for breakfast. Since Arthur is already sitting with Ewald, I sit at the Ravenclaw table next to Scorpius and his friends. It stings a little, but the Slytherin made it clear he wanted me to keep my distance, and I prefer to respect that as much as possible. It'll be easier for him this way.

Tuesday is my free day, so I work on my homework and prepare the next presentation for the second-year Muggle Studies class. Scorpius smiles at me often; he seems happy I'm there, though the same can't be said for Eva, who looks rather sulky. The twins still have to finish their Potions homework, and I spontaneously offer to help before wondering what possessed me. They've already accepted, though, so I graciously follow through on my offer, even if I'm not very good at explaining things. When we're done, I head to the Quidditch pitch to fly for a bit. Other students are there, but I don't interact with them. Afterward, I read in my tower until it's time for dinner.

I'm a little apprehensive about dinner because it means I'll see Ewald. For the same reason, I'm also eager for it. Against my better judgment, I'm one of the first students to arrive at the feast. I hesitate before sitting at the Ravenclaw table, the one we rarely sit at as a group. Arthur joins me there about ten minutes later with Cian in tow, while I watch Alphonse sit with the Quidditch team at the Gryffindor table. I'm afraid Ewald will feel forced to sit with us because of this. I eat quickly, hoping to finish before he arrives, but he doesn't take long either. Arthur signals to him, and after a brief hesitation that makes the Hufflepuff frown, he joins us. He sits next to Cian, as far away from me as possible. He could have sat across from me, and it hurts. He never does anything by accident, and I instantly regret staying so long. Of course, he doesn't want to eat with me. I don't look at him. I finish my meal in record time while the others start talking about Potions. They had the club this afternoon, after all. Part of me wishes Ewald would speak to me, that something would happen. To make sure it doesn't, I skip dessert and flee the Great Hall as quickly as I can. I hope Ewald wasn't uncomfortable eating with me.

I feel the urge to run away, so I go outside. It snowed a lot last night, and I trudge through the snow as I walk. I cast a mild warming charm on myself to stay comfortable. I want to go into the Forbidden Forest, but I quickly realise that the caretaker (or any responsible adult) would only need to follow my tracks to see where I went, and it's not the best idea in the world. I could fly there, of course, but I don't feel like putting in that much effort. Instead, I find a quiet spot and lie down in the snow, enjoying the comfort my spell provides. It's so soft! Bits of poetry form in my mind as I watch the grey sky, where clouds drift lazily by.

I must have fallen asleep because when I open my eyes, it's dark. I can't feel my limbs, lost in a strange sensation that feels like warmth but isn't. My body has curled up in the snow, and my warming charm must have worn off at some point. I try to get up, but I can't coordinate my movements. It makes me laugh. The echo of my laughter jolts me a little, and I instinctively grab my wand to recast the warming charm. I know something is wrong, but the information doesn't seem to reach my brain. My fingers look strange. I stare at them for a moment before the panic finally kicks in. I must be in the early stages of hypothermia.

I struggle to grasp my wand, and my charm isn't perfect, but it's enough to wake me up a little. I stagger to my feet and start dragging myself back to Hogwarts. I fall several times along the way, my limbs weak and clumsy, tripping over every stone. As I walk, my body begins to wake up, and I'm seized by violent shivers. I manage to cast another warming charm, though clumsily. Soon, my whole body is burning. I have to stop in a corridor on my way to my tower because the pain is so intense.

Now that there's light around me, I can see that my fingers have lost all colour; they're almost blue in the torchlight. I force myself to keep moving, walking slowly, drained of all energy. I eventually reach the ladder leading to my attic, but I don't have the strength to climb it. Instead, I curl up on the floor to rest for a bit.

My shivering wakes me in the night. I'm freezing, and my violent trembling is visible to the naked eye. My wet clothes trap me in a cocoon of cold, and I internally berate myself for not even thinking to remove them. I force myself to climb the ladder to my hideaway before throwing my damp clothes onto the floor and slipping into the old t-shirt and jogging bottoms I usually wear as pyjamas. My shaking doesn't stop, and I have to try three times before I manage to cast a warming charm on myself. I then collapse into my hammock and clumsily wrap myself in blankets before falling asleep at an alarming speed.

oOo

A hand shakes me. I emerge from sleep with difficulty. My entire body feels heavy, and even before opening my eyes, I know I must have come down with a nasty cold. I manage to lift my eyelids, but a wave of dizziness forces them shut again.

"Vivian? What's wrong?"

With alarming slowness, my brain identifies the voice. Arthur. I manage to open my eyes and focus on his worried face.

"I think I've caught a cold." My voice is hoarse, and speaking hurts my throat a little. "What time is it?"

"Eight ten. I was worried when I didn't see you at breakfast… Can I cast a diagnostic spell on you?"

I don't really have the strength to speak, and my condition worries me, so I nod. The Hufflepuff casts the spell, looking reassured even though a brief grimace crosses his face.

"It really is just a cold, but you've got a pretty high fever… What did you do to end up in this state?"

I shrug vaguely, my movement hampered by the hammock. My memories return in waves. I don't think I've fully grasped how serious yesterday was yet, but I'm not inclined to share the truth with Arthur. I just mumble,

"I walked in the snow and forgot to change when I got back..."

Arthur grimaces.

"Oh, are those your clothes on the floor? They're soaked! I'll take you to the hospital wing, okay? You need Pepper-up Potion, and you're clearly not in any shape to attend class this morning."

I'd rather stay here quietly, but I'm aware that my absence from class will be noticed, and I'm technically not allowed to sleep here in the first place. So I resign myself to following Arthur, even accepting his help to get out of the hammock.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let them touch me, please."

I'm scared. I'm afraid the nurse, or anyone else, might notice my cuts. I can't risk that. It's already a miracle my glamour is holding up given my current state. Arthur seems to understand immediately, as his expression darkens. Nonetheless, he replies,

"I'll do my best to prevent it, I promise."

I feel like he has something else to say but holds back. He dries my clothes with a flick of his wand and helps me stay steady when it's clear I'm feeling dizzy.

He's the one who gets me settled into a bed in the hospital wing, with the nurse's approval, who takes the opportunity to quiz him on his medical knowledge about colds. They seem to know each other well. That's true—he does want to work in this field after all. Under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, who scolds me for being so careless and going out in the cold, Arthur makes me drink a dose of Pepper-up Potion before heading off to class.

Madam Pomfrey leaves me alone, drawing the curtains around my bed after informing me that I'm excused from class for the entire morning.

oOo

To my great displeasure, it's only in the late afternoon that I'm declared well enough to return to my dormitory, with a Pepper-up Potion to keep me company. Arthur came to see me half an hour ago, of course. Despite my growing irritation at his fussing over me, I'm also very grateful for his help in getting away from Pomfrey. He even brought her about ten vials of Pepper-up Potion that he brewed with Ewald at the Potions Club for the infirmary, and the nurse thanks him before finally letting me go. Arthur escorts me to my tower. Along the way, I realise the Potions Club was yesterday, and the Hufflepuff explains that Ewald managed to get access to a lab to prepare the potions. My heart aches because I know this is the Slytherin's way of looking after me. I feel like something's bothering Arthur, but I can't bring myself to ask what it is. I want to be alone, and he finally agrees to leave me in peace until dinner after I beg him profusely. I have a lot to think about, and I must admit I'm still feeling a bit feverish.

Once alone, I lie in my hammock, trying to read but unable to focus on the words in front of me. I sigh and give up. I messed up. If I'd slept a little longer in the snow… If I hadn't managed to make it back to the castle… I could have died last night. So much for the Vivian who promised to do better! I feel a vague sense of guilt towards Arthur, who found me and helped me, without knowing just how badly I messed up. I didn't do it on purpose, but I still feel guilty for hiding the truth from him. Who am I trying to fool, though? The truth is, I feel guilty because I regret not dying. The reality is that just because I promised not to kill myself doesn't mean I'd be upset if a real accident happened. And last night feels like a missed opportunity.

My regrets make me feel guilty. More than I expected. I feel guilty because I promised myself to do better. Because I told myself I'd do my best not to hurt Ewald or the others any more. I feel guilty for almost dying, and I regret that I didn't. I think that by accepting that I couldn't kill myself, I opened the door to emotions I'd suppressed. I think I've grown a bit softer, and that frightens me. It disgusts me, in a way. I narrowly avoided catastrophe, and I feel guilty for not being able to blame myself for it.

My frustration keeps me from truly resting, and when I try to cut myself, it only increases my frustration. It doesn't help, and I feel guilty for resorting to it after what just happened, knowing what the others would think. I try forcing myself to do push-ups to let off steam, but my body is still too weak, and I punch the wall in frustration. In that moment, I despise myself. Desperately, I go to shower in my dorm, unfortunately filled with the usual airheads who call me all sorts of names when they think I'm not listening. A flick of my wand, after a particularly harsh insult, brings me the satisfaction of seeing one or two of them flinch. I take a wicked pleasure in knowing they're scared of me. Just for the satisfaction of making them nervous, I use my wand to fold my dirty clothes at the foot of my bed as I leave the shower. The feeling of power and revenge as I sense their unease almost brings a smile to my face, and the few insults (less frequent now) thrown my way as I leave have a special flavour to them.

Alphonse is in the common room, chatting with one of the Quidditch lads. When he sees me, he signals for me to come over, so I do. I don't really have anything better to do anyway.

"Are you alright, Vivian? Arthur said you were in the infirmary!"

"Just a cold," I reply, vaguely annoyed at discussing my health in front of an unfamiliar student.

"Good! You'd better stay in shape because I'm fed up with Jenkins!"

"And he's not the only one," his companion adds with a dark expression.

"So far, nothing surprising, but I don't see the connection," I reply with a hint of sarcasm.

"The connection is that there's a good chance you'll be the official Seeker when we play against Hufflepuff," Alphonse growls, carefully lowering his voice while his companion glances around quickly. Such discretion!

"At least I'm less likely to question the virtue of our opponents' mothers," I reply, shrugging. From Alphonse's smirk, I can tell I've said the right thing.

"That's what I thought too," my friend replies. "But, Viv'? You're going to have to stop skipping practices. I need to be able to count on my players, to be sure you know the strategies..."

His companion (a Beater, if I'm not mistaken) doesn't seem overly convinced, and I grimace slightly before answering.

"If that's the price to pay to spite Jenkins, I suppose I can live with it. But if you've got another Seeker up your sleeve, you might as well let them play instead of me."

"Or you could stop being such a loner for two minutes. It'll be fun, promise!"

I roll my eyes but don't argue further. Before long, we head to the Great Hall, enticed by the prospect of food, and I pretend not to notice that Al is a tad more attentive than usual. He's worried about me, and I'm starting to get tired of worrying my friends.

oOo

As fate would have it, I find myself stuck at the Gryffindor table with Al and part of the Quidditch team. They all ignore me, which is surprisingly comfortable. When Arthur and Ewald arrive to eat, they walk past us before sitting down at the neighbouring table, and I can't help but notice the Slytherin's gaze on me. We both quickly look away the moment our eyes meet, and I can't stop thinking about him throughout the meal. I still feel guilty—for hurting him, for nearly dying, for all sorts of stupid and random things. I feel inadequate, incapable of being a good friend. I don't let any of it show, though, even though no one's watching me. Instead, I try to find the steely resolve to do better, to grow stronger. At the same time, I toy with the idea of running a blade across my skin while staring Alphonse in the eyes. Can one collapse under so many contradictions? I've never taken the time to stop and ask myself the question.

oOo

A few days later, on Sunday morning, we meet at our HQ to share what we've found out about Alfred Kayns. We're alone, but Ewald takes the time to cast various confidentiality charms before starting the session. I feel tense—not necessarily in a bad way, but my body is torn between the urge to flee and the happiness of being closer to him than I've been since our lakeside conversation, as we sit facing each other on opposite sides of the table. I miss him.

In any case, it looks like the others haven't been slacking off since we returned to Hogwarts. As for me, aside from one or two sessions in the library, where I found a few articles written by Kayns, I haven't done much. A faint sense of shame grows in me throughout the session as the others present their findings and it becomes clear they've put in more effort than I have.

Arthur, through his contacts at the infirmary, managed to speak to a Healer from St Mungo's who had been Kayns's assistant, under the guise of professional interest in the man. He managed to glean quite a bit of information about his character that could prove useful (as well as securing himself a summer internship offer, which he eagerly accepted).

"According to Amelie, Dr Kayns is brilliant and methodical. She said he was quite friendly but not very forthcoming about his private life. Apparently, he once said he was married to science and too busy to consider family life. But that was over ten years ago when she knew him, back when he was still working at St Mungo's. He left there twelve years ago, I think. She's kept a bit of contact with him and has run into him at scientific conferences. Oh! She also mentioned he studied in France during the war because his parents were half-bloods, I believe."

We take a moment to process the information while Ewald makes notes, then he gives Alphonse the floor. He hasn't found much either, having also focused his efforts on the library. Still, he managed to find one or two recent articles I haven't read, one of which presents a very technical discovery in the field of biology made by the scientist. The interesting part is that the article includes no photographs and mentions the man's reclusive lifestyle in a remote village in Wales with an unpronounceable name.

Finally, it's Ewald's turn, and I know him well enough to tell he's frustrated about not having much to add.

"My grandmother didn't know much about him, but she looked into it a bit. There's not much to say, except that he has a reputation for not being too fussy about his clients as long as they can pay—and pay well, because his availability is very limited. His research seems to take up most of his time." There's a hint of anger in his voice when he says the word research. "As Arthur mentioned, he was one of the children who fled Hogwarts during the war against Voldemort and took refuge in France. According to my grandmother, he still goes there regularly, which aligns with what we already know."

He sighs slightly before continuing.

"It's hard to do much more while we're stuck at Hogwarts, but we need to find his address, at the very least. Arthur, maybe you could try to get in touch with him under the guise of asking about his expertise?"

"I could ask if he takes interns," the Hufflepuff replies slowly, "or even apprentices. Amelie might be able to put us in touch, but I don't know her very well, and she's already done me a big favour…"

"There's no need to rush things. You can take your time building that connection. We won't be able to make much progress before summer anyway."

Arthur grimaces slightly but nods.

"That's why you were sorted into Slytherin, I suppose…"

Ewald gives him a faint smile before standing up.

"I think we've done all we can for now. Let's keep each other informed if anything new comes up, alright?"

I nod, Arthur responds enthusiastically, and I can't help but notice again that Alphonse seems… vaguely angry with Ewald. I don't have time to analyse it, though, because the Slytherin excuses himself, claiming he has homework to do, and we follow behind more slowly.

oOo

We wander aimlessly through a few corridors before Alphonse leaves us to go do some Quidditch stuff with his mates. He asks if I want to come along, but I decline, not particularly keen to hang out with his friends. That's how I end up roaming the school with Arthur. I briefly consider heading to the library, maybe to do some homework, but I can sense my companion's nervousness, so I veer instead towards the castle's doors. The fact that the Hufflepuff hasn't said a word since we left HQ is starting to make me nervous too.

The ground is still covered in snow when we step outside, but the weather is nice, and a lot of students seem to have started a massive snowball fight. Knowing Al, he'll probably join them soon. Arthur fidgets slightly before breaking the silence:

"You sure it's a good idea to be outside when you had a cold three days ago?"

I give him a cheeky grin before casting a warming charm on myself. He shrugs and copies me, seeming content to follow me as I steer clear of the snowball fight and head towards a quieter area near Hagrid's hut. I'd rather avoid the lake right now. I don't want to think about Ewald. Arthur must not have gotten the memo, though, because once we're far from the other students, that's obviously the topic he chooses to bring up.

"Did you and Ewald have a falling out?"

Caught off guard by the question, I nearly trip over a treacherous rock hidden beneath the snow, only saved by the Hufflepuff's quick reflexes.

"Why do you ask?" I reply, feigning nonchalance.

"Because he says no, but it's obvious you're both avoiding each other." Arthur's calm reply hits me, and sadness tries to creep into my heart, but I reinforce my Occlumency walls to block it out—not now.

"We didn't have a fight." Arthur looks ready to pounce, so I continue. "He just needs some space at the moment, that's all."

"Why?"

I grimace. I really don't want to have this conversation.

"Because I messed up, okay? At his place." I clarify when Arthur looks a bit lost. "I… when I tried to kill myself..." Arthur winces. "I betrayed him. And he needs time to process what I did, which is understandable."

Looking indignant, Arthur asks:

"But you apologised, right?"

"After a while," I admit, grimacing.

Our steps have taken us to a small grove of trees, closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest than I'd realised. The scene reminds me of high school, and the words escape my mouth before I've fully thought them through.

"We used to eat in the woods a lot, Quentin and I."

There's a twinge of nostalgia tinged with sadness in me, surprised by what I've just said. Less sad than if I hadn't seen him again, I suppose.

"You had a forest at your school?" Arthur asks cautiously.

The mood has shifted, and I'd rather talk about this than Ewald, so I explain:

"The high school was in a small town, and there was a wood nearby. We used to buy food at the supermarket so we wouldn't have to eat in the canteen, and when we had time, we'd go to the woods."

A few seconds pass before I continue.

"There was a spot with a little stream and a fallen tree over it. It served as both a bridge and a seat. It was our spot, just the two of us. We spent whole lunch breaks there, talking. It was… it was special to me."

"You miss him."

I sigh.

"I think it's more that time that I miss, and the certainty that came with it. His presence by my side even when he must have been sick of me, our jokes…" I let out a bitter laugh. "Of course I miss him. But when I tell you all this, it's more the whole era I miss… I know I'm explaining it badly."

"I think I understand."

Again, we fall silent for a few moments.

"Sounds like your time in high school was nice."

My gaze drifts across the snowy grounds without really seeing them.

"There were nice things, yes. But they were moments lost amidst everything else, the things that made the everyday bearable. And I gave those moments up myself. It wasn't a time I left naturally. I cut it all off willingly, so I don't really have the right to complain." There's a hardness in my voice, and I know Arthur hears it too.

"I think it's okay to regret things that mattered," he says. "Even when it's us—or our stupidity—that destroyed them."

Arthur doesn't look at me, and I feel there's something behind his words. A suspicion crosses my mind, but I don't dare ask if he thinks the episode with the paedophile was due to his "stupidity." Instead, I start walking again, slowly, and he timidly asks me more questions about Quentin. I find myself enjoying answering them, and for a few minutes, I take us on a journey into my past, explaining to the pure-blood what tabletop role-playing games are and sharing a few anecdotes that make him laugh.

oOo

"These secrets shared in the heart of the night. The atmosphere in the room when tongues loosen. The things revealed without understanding their weight, the words received without realising how hard they were to offer. The betrayals of confidences. The tears. And my heart of steel, always heavy with the past, always silent, always listening."

—Draft in one of Aurore Berger's notebooks, kept by Quentin Lemage after her death—

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