The following weeks pass by in a blur, each resembling the last, and despite my efforts, I feel like I'm slipping back into a routine reminiscent of my time in highschool. Waking up, going to class, dissociating for part of the day, going to bed for a restless sleep, and then starting over as the days blend into one another. I feel like a bird caught in a glue trap, struggling only to sink further in. Routine is insidious, and my growing exhaustion continues to erode my willpower. I try to make an effort, to be present, to laugh at Alphonse and Arthur's jokes… Ewald's absence from my daily life has become a familiar ache by now. We still avoid each other, though I think it's more me avoiding him than the other way around. When we're together, he always wears his mask, and the indifference is worse than if he'd actively tried to avoid me, I think. It's as though none of it affects him, as though I don't matter. I'm finding it harder and harder to believe this is temporary, and I'm starting to wonder if I've missed my chance. He asked me to leave him alone, but should I have done something, said something, since our last conversation? Or is it still too soon? I don't want to rush him; I want to respect his choices, but it still hurts. So, I keep running away.

I've developed a habit of skipping meals and making up for it later, heavily, with whatever I can find in my tower. It's just easier to be alone. I don't think anyone even notices any more, it's become so frequent. Or maybe they assume I'm with Scorpius and his group, whom I've used as an excuse to avoid many painful dinners with an Ewald who really only speaks to Arthur.

I exchange a few letters with Quentin, though inconsistently, and there's a certain caution in our exchanges, a restraint that was never there before. We don't know how to talk to each other any more, we've lost our codes, and the ones we had in high school don't suit the adult he's become, nor the unnatural existence I am. I pine for a time I slammed the door on and a life I'm not even sure I'd want to go back to. Talking to my former best friend, through our mutual awkwardness, makes this increasingly clear. The break with the past is complete, and I've become attached to my life here, even if it doesn't make me happy (or even make me want to live it). If I had a button to erase my existence, I would press it without hesitation. But if it were a button to return to France, to my past, I wouldn't. Because I love Ewald, Arthur, and Alphonse. I love magic. And, if I'm honest, I love the break from my old life.

I find it hard to confide in Quentin. I'm not talking to many people these days, and I dissociate often. I also get angry a lot, over trivial things. That, along with everything else, reminds me so much of my high school years. When my world collapses, I remain stone-faced. But these days, the smallest inconvenience is enough to light the powder keg. I hate being angry like this. I hate crying out of frustration. Yet it happens to me far too often.

oOo

I come out of Quidditch practice drained and in a contradictory mood. On one hand, I enjoyed exerting myself, and I'm starting to gain enough confidence to try risky manoeuvres on the broom. On the other hand, even though Alphonse hasn't officially announced that I'll be replacing him in the next match, Jenkins must sense the shift, as he's been even more unbearable than usual. I have to admit, the more my successes frustrate him, the more motivated I feel to keep pushing myself in Quidditch. At first, I tried to be more involved to please Alphonse and annoy our Seeker. Now that I see it's working, well… I feel even more inclined to continue, even if it means vaguely trying to work as a team with people who mostly despise me and whom I only half-like myself. Anyway, I'm not overly motivated, but I suppose I'll have to go shower in the Gryffindor tower since my clean clothes are there and a cleaning spell won't even begin to deal with all the sweat on my body.

Unfortunately, Saturday afternoon means the common room and dormitory are overcrowded, especially with this weather. We haven't seen the sun in at least two weeks… the joys of Scotland. When I arrive, I see Faith and her friends by the fireplace, busy pointing at one another and laughing. They don't notice me, so I head up the stairs, shaking my head. At least it means I'll probably have some peace upstairs. The other girls are too scared of me to bother me much.

Giggles greet me when I enter the dormitory. As they hear me come in, the girls look up, but I must not seem like much of a threat because they quickly return to whatever they were doing. Like Faith and the others, they're pointing at each other, snickering and whispering. I try to ignore them, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I end up asking:

"What's going on? Did you overdose on laughing potion?"

I risk asking for two reasons. First, in my experience, it's never a good sign when the girls in my dorm are in too good a mood. It usually leads to either a new idea to make my life miserable or an absurd enthusiasm for something that will inevitably annoy me. Second, these particular girls aren't usually too aggressive towards me; they tend to follow others' leads, so asking them isn't too risky. One of them, who isn't in my group and whose name I never bothered to learn, giggles before pointing at me.

"Shh… It's growing!"

My face must clearly show my confusion because her friends laugh even harder.

"Shh… It's growing!"

She repeats, mimicking a pair of breasts on her nearly flat chest as she repeats the phrase.

I feel my face flush with embarrassment and retreat to the bathroom as the girls burst into laughter at my reaction. I quickly shut the door to block them out. I feel uneasy, a little humiliated, though I can't entirely explain why.

In the shower, I try to think of something else, but despite myself, my hands move to feel my chest, where I can already detect two small, hard lumps. They're less than a centimeter in diameter at this point, but I remember these sensations from my first life. They're going to grow and grow until they become a fully developed chest. I feel sullied by the girls' earlier antics. I also realize that I don't want to see this chest grow. I'm perfectly happy with my flat chest, thank you very much. A slight anxiety begins to take root in me at the thought of having breasts again. Of being sexualized. Of being groped, no doubt. How can I not think of my previous childhood and my brother? Just remembering the dorm girl pointing at my chest, imagining what will be there, throws me back into a world I was glad to escape.

Beyond that, how could I ever want those weights bouncing around again, when I've gotten used to having a chest I like? Annoyed, I turn off the water and get dressed quickly, unwilling to dwell on these unproductive thoughts.

There are fewer girls in the dorm when I pass through again, but that doesn't stop them from laughing as I walk by. Or maybe they aren't laughing at me, but my habit of humiliation makes me think they are. Either way, I hurry to put as much distance as possible between myself and the dorm. In the common room, Faith has been joined by other girls I saw earlier. They seem in good spirits, and a wave of irritation washes over me: how can they find their "shh, it's growing" thing funny?

I'm a bundle of nerves for the rest of the day and resort to cutting myself a bit too much to vent. When that proves ineffective, I find an empty classroom to throw as many spells as I can, trying to release some of the tension. It's far less effective than a duel, and like a vicious punch to the stomach, the absence of Ewald in my daily life comes back to knock the wind out of me. In the end, I head to the library to try and lose myself in a book, since, unfortunately, I've already finished reading all the ones I own.

oOo

The following week, I curse myself for not hiding my reaction better in the dormitory. Apparently, the kids figured out that their little game made me uncomfortable, and Faith doesn't hold back from pointing at me in the hallways while repeating their infamous phrase, "Shh, it's growing." She's not the only one, of course. Her friends join in, along with some boys, including second, third, and even occasionally fourth-years. After all, I've irritated plenty of people. Naturally, it's not constant or everywhere. The girls in my group are too afraid of me to dare, for example, though they seem to find the whole situation hilarious. But every day, at least one or two people do it.

Scorpius and his friends, exposed to the phenomenon simply by spending time with me, have varied reactions. At first, they see it as fairly harmless, maybe even funny. However, when he realizes it really bothers me, the Hufflepuff starts frowning at each occurrence, even going as far as telling one or two people to shut up. I appreciate the gesture, but it only fuels the mockery since I seem too weak to defend myself. He ends up enduring comments that make me grit my teeth, like, "Want to keep your girlfriend all to yourself, Scorpius? Wait and see if it actually grows first!"

I force myself to react minimally because I know they're just waiting for a reaction, and any physical retaliation would likely be deemed excessive by the faculty. Honestly, I don't even have the energy. I dissociate less than I did around Christmas, and anger has this way of piercing through my apathy, but at the same time, I'm so exhausted…

In desperation, I finally complain to Longbottom since he keeps insisting I come to him if I need anything, blah blah blah. I don't really know what I was hoping for—understanding? Compassion? Acknowledgment that an eleven-year-old girl shouldn't be sexually harassed (or close to it) by her peers?

"Thank you for coming to me, Miss Mackson, you did the right thing. However, it's difficult for a teacher to intervene in… children's games. I understand this must be quite bothersome for you day-to-day, but if you ignore them, they'll eventually get bored. I'm afraid that intervention from the faculty might only encourage them further."

I leave the meeting angry but not particularly surprised. It's obvious he thinks I'm blowing things out of proportion. After all, there's no actual insult in what they're doing. Nothing inherently mean. I'm sure some people might even find it flattering.

For several weeks, I'm particularly on edge, though no one seems to notice. Not Ewald, who continues treating me like a casual acquaintance and whom I barely see. Not Arthur, whom I avoid a lot since he spends most of his time with Ewald. Not Alphonse, who's never been the most observant anyway. I try my best not to dwell on the situation, and sure enough, my harassers don't seem to find it quite as amusing as they did in the early days—small mercies.

I keep attending Quidditch practices, whether I feel like it or not, and I more or less manage to integrate into the team. During training matches where I go up against Jenkins, I catch the Snitch about half the time. He's better at grasping and catching the Snitch, but I'm better on a broom and have sharper trajectories. While he compensates a bit with experience, I dare to try stunts or dive into steep descents that he wouldn't.

Around this time, I find a new game. I wonder how deep I can cut without hitting anything too critical, of course. They're short cuts, but deep ones. It's just another way to distract myself from my frayed nerves and loneliness. It takes a lot of focus to slowly press the blade further, challenging myself to go deeper, and the pain anchors me to reality. When I realize I've become capable of reaching the fat layer beneath the skin, I'm forced to call it quits. After all, needing medical attention would be a very bad idea, wouldn't it?

Despite myself, this business about my chest is bothering me quite a bit, adding to my other problems. At night, when I can't sleep, I wonder how to stop it from growing. There must be a spell for that, right? I make a few half-hearted attempts to look it up in the library but find nothing. I don't have access to the more advanced books, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for. The daily reminder from the mocking doesn't help me forget about the issue, though I try to convince myself that it will be fine, that it's normal to have a chest if you're a woman… I pray inwardly for it to be a very small one.

The teasing continues in the weeks that follow, until it goes too far. I'm leaving Transfiguration class on Thursday evening, walking with Scorpius and his friends, when I see a group of third-years coming down the corridor. One of them, a Ravenclaw, elbows his Gryffindor mates when he spots me. They laugh a bit, and one of the Gryffindors comes towards me. I'm not paying much attention, to be honest, as I'm busy explaining a point of theory that Severus is struggling with. That's why I'm caught off guard when the boy stops in front of me and quickly pinches my budding chest through my shirt, before turning back to his friends.

"Hey lads, it really is growing!"

For a moment, I freeze, stunned by the gesture and the sudden pain. Then, as he bursts out laughing and turns his back on me, shame washes over me, coupled with pure rage. Without thinking, I raise my wand and cast Incendio at his robes. I hear Eva's shocked gasp and the boy's scream as he realises his robe has caught fire. His friends yell at him to roll on the ground, shouting at me too, while the first-years beside me seem too stunned to react.

I don't move as my attacker rolls on the floor trying to put out the flames, helped by a very clumsy Aguamenti from the Ravenclaw. The Gryffindor points his wand at me, but I still don't move, caught between shock, humiliation, and a dark sense of satisfaction.

That's when Jones, the Transfiguration professor, bursts out of her classroom, furious. She extinguishes the fire in an instant before turning her attention to us. The Gryffindor gets to his feet painfully while his friends and Scorpius all try to explain what happened at once. Jones quickly orders everyone to be quiet and sends the uninvolved students out of the corridor, leaving just my attacker, his friends, Scorpius, and me. Eva and Severus leave with the others, and I don't spare them a glance.

oOo

When I leave Jones' office a few hours later, I have a pounding headache and a simmering anger against the entire world. I feel humiliated. As always, I failed to keep my composure and ended up crying out of frustration in front of the professor. I hate it. I hate myself for losing control. I hate all of them for not taking me seriously when I'm in this state. Of course, I've been given several hours of detention over the next two weeks. At least the professor had the decency to reprimand the trio, particularly the one who attacked me, though he wasn't hurt. To be completely fair, he really was punished, and even his friends were given two hours of detention for going after a first-year. But I'm too angry to be impartial, and I can't accept the fact that I was punished for my Incendio. Intellectually, I understand why. But knowing I'd warned Longbottom and that he did nothing, considering the weeks of harassment I've endured, I feel the punishment is disproportionate. And still, I think bitterly as I kick a piece of paper on the floor. If Scorpius hadn't been there to explain the context to Jones, she would probably have sent me to a disciplinary hearing or something along those lines, given I was barely able to think straight.

Naturally, the story spreads around the school by the next day, and I notice an increase in the use of my nickname, Baby Monster. People had calmed down with that a little... But at least it's not a nickname that really bothers me. With a bit of luck, my bullies will think twice before coming after me again. Mess with fire, get burned. Scorpius' group avoids me that morning, and the Hufflepuff reluctantly admits that I scare Eva, and she doesn't want to be near me. For the first time in ages, I have breakfast with Arthur, Ewald, and Alphonse all together. As usual, Alphonse is angry at the school and suggests pulling a prank on the boy who attacked me. Arthur tries to find out how I'm feeling. As for Ewald… He stays silent for most of the meal but slips me a small piece of parchment before leaving. Nervously, I wait until I'm alone to see what he's written. I'm scared of what it could be, yet curiosity eats away at me. What does he want to say? A peace offering, a goodbye, criticism?

In the end, I'm almost disappointed to see just a list of spells he recommends I learn for "these kinds of situations." Before, he would have taught me himself. A feeling of uselessness, of waste, overwhelms me. What's the point of him forcing himself to help if he doesn't want to? Why keep pretending? This stalemate is exhausting me. It won't bring anything good, not for him or for me. With these thoughts in mind, I realise I'll have to write to him. I'm not sure I could verbalise what needs to be said if I tried to talk to him, and it's not as though we have many opportunities to talk, to be honest.

oOo

It takes me two days to muster the courage to go through with my plan and another day to find the time to write. In the end, my letter is rather brief. On the other hand, I have the sad feeling that everything has been said. Before going to sleep, I take a moment to read it one last time.

"Dear Ewald,

I know you asked me to stay away from you, but I'm still taking the liberty of sending you this letter—sorry. Don't worry, I won't bother you for long.

Thank you for the list of spells, but I wanted to tell you that you don't need to do this. You don't owe me anything. It's kind of you, but you don't have to force yourself.
I don't know if you feel like you owe me something, but the fact remains that I betrayed you, and it's completely fine for you to turn your back on me and move on with your life. I don't know how you see things, and I doubt this message is truly necessary, but I need to make it clear—sorry.
Let's be honest: the distance between us hasn't changed since you asked me to leave you alone. You still wear your mask whenever I'm around. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we? I don't know if you were trying to spare my feelings, but it's simpler for me to be direct. I prefer clean breaks.
That's the only reason I'm writing to you—to let you know I understand and to thank you for the time we spent together. I don't have the words to express what you've done for me.

As for Kayns, I'll manage. Thank you for all the information you gave me. I think it's no longer your fight now.

Thank you again, and I'm sorry for ruining everything.

Vivian-Éris"

I feel tears welling in my throat as I seal the envelope with wax. These unspilled tears taste of goodbye, and I realise how painful it is to let go of the Slytherin, even knowing it's for the best. Not for him or any noble nonsense like that. This letter is mostly selfish. I need a clear ending, a full stop, to move on. Or more realistically, to stop waiting endlessly. After what I went through with Mélanie in my other life, I need clarity when I lose friends. In truth, it's similar to what I went through with my brother. Silence and unspoken words are insidious, like a slow-acting poison.

I sigh as I lie down in my hammock, heavy with tears I can't shed. Anyway, next year, Ewald will finish Hogwarts. Arthur too. Then Alphonse, the year after that. They'll move on with their lives, and I don't know what will become of me. For the first time, I wonder if it might be possible to skip grades. The thought of finishing Hogwarts alone feels like failing at life all over again, like being left behind. It's not as though I'd stay in touch with Ewald anyway, true, but I'm scared. Scared of watching the others move on and forget me. Scared they won't forget me and will hold themselves back for my sake. Scared of everything changing.

And yet, I force myself to be resolute, to tell myself this is the way of things and I'll accept whatever comes. All while knowing I'm lying to myself to stave off the panic. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Whatever the case, I decide to look into the possibility of skipping grades. Who knows? Maybe it would save me a year or two stuck with Faith and the other kids. It's a bit ironic, wanting to finish as quickly as possible when back in high school, I wanted the opposite, as I had no clue what to do after. That fear doesn't really exist for me any more as a witch because magic can provide for most of my needs. Maybe when I leave Hogwarts, I could travel the world? It's not as though there would be much to keep me here, with Ewald out of my life and the others absorbed in theirs…

oOo

Between my effort to avoid Ewald and my classes, it's only a few days before my first Quidditch match that I manage to give my letter to Arthur. Cowardly, I prefer going through him rather than handing it directly to the Slytherin, too afraid of disturbing him or meeting his gaze. It's painful for me now. In the days that follow, I'm even more tense than usual, waiting for a reaction without knowing when—or if—it will come. I'm scared. I constantly doubt my decision. Did I do the right thing by writing to him? Maybe there was still a chance for our friendship after all. Maybe I misunderstood, maybe I should have been more patient…

Nothing changes. I barely cross paths with the Slytherin anyway, surrounded as I am by the Gryffindor team at every meal. Yes, because Alphonse finally announced, five days before we face Hufflepuff, that I'll be the Seeker for the match. Needless to say, Jenkins didn't take the news well, and his constipated, shocked expression is one of the few things that amuse me these days.

To be honest, Jenkins isn't the only one with issues about my appointment, even if the others are less… vocal. I see it in the sidelong glances, the hushed conversations I've interrupted with Al', the multiple criticisms I've received after being relatively invisible to the team until now. Not everyone is furious, of course, but I get the sense that many are doubtful of the first-year kid, which might be understandable if it weren't so insulting. At least I won't spend the match insulting the other players' parents! Only one or two players, besides Jenkins, are truly hostile toward me, and I simply ignore them. Those who participated in the obstacle course are more or less on my side, at least, especially the guy who partnered with Alphonse for the Firefly Hunt.

Thinking about that event inevitably reminds me of Ewald and the telepathic bond we used to win. It hurts.

oOo

Finally, match day arrives after a week of various tensions. It's a welcome distraction from the fact that I've yet to hear from Ewald. Saturday, the first of March, is a rainy day. The drizzle doesn't let up, and I'm not exactly thrilled about flying in these conditions. Searching for the Snitch is going to be a real pain in the ass. I eat at my house table, observing with mild interest the group dynamics at play, as I do on every Quidditch match day. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables—today's competing houses—are, for once, filled almost exclusively with their own members. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins seem to have mingled, settling near one or the other house depending on whom they plan to support during the match. Though there's no hostility, you can really feel the inter-house rivalry, which is usually absent from daily life.

As the team and I walk in a group toward the Quidditch pitch, I lag slightly behind. I'm not exactly anxious, but the idea of flying in front of the entire school does make me a little nervous, and I don't like the weather. Plus, Alphonse gave me this position—I don't want him to regret it. On top of that, I struggle to get into the "team spirit" mindset of fighting for Gryffindor. It's hard when you don't really feel like you belong anywhere. Regardless, I'm determined to do my best, if only for Alphonse. And who knows? I might even have fun—on a fluke.

The sound of my name pulls me from my thoughts. Looking up, I see Arthur standing at the edge of the path, waving at me. Curious, I head over to him, though I feel a twinge of nervousness. Maybe he has a message from Ewald?

"Hey! I just wanted to wish you good luck before the match!"

"Thanks," I say with a smile.

"Want to walk together for a bit, or will your team think I'm trying to sabotage you?"

I shrug, though my nerves tighten a little.

"They can think whatever they like—they've already made up their minds about me anyway."

I must sound a bit bitter because Arthur frowns.

"What do you mean?"

I shrug again.

"I'm known across the school as Baby Monster, and I'm a first-year. I get why they have doubts."

After my comment, I have to spend a while reassuring Arthur that it's not a big deal before he finally relaxes. We soon reach the point where we have to part ways, and the Hufflepuff keeps chatting normally.

"Are you okay otherwise? Not too nervous?"

"Not really. I'm mostly dreading freezing my butt off, since the Snitch won't be easy to spot in this weather!"

Arthur shivers slightly and gives me a sympathetic look. The drizzle has intensified and is starting to feel more like a proper downpour. As we reach the foot of the stands, I finally can't hold it in any more and ask:

"Did Ewald say anything about the letter?"

For a moment, Arthur looks confused, then his eyes widen as realization hits—and his expression quickly shifts to panic.

"Merlin! I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to give it to him… I'll do it now, I swear!"

His sudden change in expression might have been funny if I weren't already so tense. I've spent days on edge, waiting for the Slytherin's reaction, wondering if he'd even respond, thinking maybe I didn't deserve it… And he hadn't even read my words!

I don't let any of this show on my face, though. I simply thank the Hufflepuff before finally heading to the locker rooms to join the rest of my team.

oOo

Ginny Potter-Weasley blows her whistle. Together, we all take off to get into our respective positions. The noise from the crowd in the stands is overwhelming. Everything is muffled by the rain as I begin my search for the Golden Snitch. On the other side of the pitch, the opposing Seeker mirrors my actions. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to cast an Impervius charm on myself before the match, and the rain slides off me without soaking me. The first passes are exchanged below my broom, and Alphonse blocks an early attempt at goal. I focus on my search for the Snitch, trying to block out intrusive thoughts (Ewald, my chest, the rain...) and the constant roar of the crowd, which rises and falls like waves with every shot and missed opportunity.

After half an hour of play, I'm already tired of it. My Impervius charm didn't last long, and while I enjoy flying, I'm less keen on the sensation of my rain-soaked clothes clinging to my skin. The wind has joined the rain, causing the brooms to sway unpredictably and sometimes violently. The match is fairly even, thanks in large part to Alphonse's skill. Hufflepuff has two very talented Chasers who are relentless in their attempts to score, and I have to admit their near-perfect synchronisation sometimes distracts me momentarily from my search for the Snitch. A Snitch that, by the way, hasn't been spotted at all during the match. Once or twice, I thought I saw something, but the rain's reflections make it difficult to spot a small, shiny object.

Finally, after another exhausting forty minutes, Gryffindor has built a comfortable lead. Of course, that's when I see the opposing Seeker dive in the middle of the players. I'm far too far away at that moment, hovering behind Hufflepuff's goalposts and slightly lower down. Luckily, the Snitch moves roughly in my direction when I catch sight of it too. To save time, I pull off a sharp turn and dive after the small golden ball and its pursuer, fully aware I'll never make it in time. Rain lashes my face, and the handle of my broom is slippery from the downpour. My opponent stretches out her hand just as I'm still three metres behind her. She immediately pulls up into a triumphant climb, the Snitch clutched in her left hand. The stadium erupts into cheers. The match is over.

The bright side of all this, I think, is that we can finally go and dry off. I feel a bit guilty for not managing to catch the Snitch or at least prevent the other Seeker from doing so, but I just didn't have any luck. I simply wasn't in the right place. The other players seem to understand too, as I don't face any reproaches, just one or two dirty looks. I think everyone's just tired from playing in these conditions. At least we only lost by fifty points. I still find it absurd that the Snitch is worth so many points. Honestly, the game would make sense if it were worth, I don't know, fifty? Forty?

That evening, I decide to skip dinner. I can no longer eat with Scorpius and his friends because Eva is too afraid of me. I don't want to be near Ewald, wondering if he's read the letter and what he thinks about it, and Alphonse is eating with the team. I don't have the patience to listen to Jenkins' whining. I'm so exhausted, anyway, that I fall asleep quickly for once.

oOo

"There's a certain beauty in the ephemeral. The splendour of the northern lights, the flame of a candle, the fleeting passage of a shooting star. Lightning striking. And I think I am all of that at once. I burn bright and fierce; I consume myself to disappear faster. Perhaps I'll leave behind an intense memory. A burning memory, not necessarily a joyful one. They think me so strong, creative, and whimsical, yet I'll soon be nothing more than the memory of a brilliant instant. The lightning struck me, and I am still burning."

-Excerpt from a text on Aurore Berger's computer-