Note: No profits being made or copyright infringement intended. Just trying to have have a good time with these wonderful characters.

That being said: TRIGGER WARNING: Substance abuse, violence, physical abuse, and dubious consent.

XXXX

Tomorrow came and went.

I never found the energy to clean the mess I made in my breakdown. I didn't find the energy to do anything except summon another bottle of fire whiskey and drink it down.

The morning after that, I banished the broken glass before summoning another bottle.

I banished Neviah and Romona from my mind before their gentle prodding to get up and deal with my issues turned into persistent nagging. I did not have the patience for the lecture.

The third morning, I woke up to a horrible churning in my stomach. I ran to the bathroom, hand clutched tight over my mouth. I spent the rest of the day vomiting up three bottles worth of whiskey and all the bile I had.

For the first time in days I didn't feel like drinking. I didn't feel like thinking either. I decided the only option left was to sleep; this, of course, was a mistake.

I had been having visions in my dreams, as I knew I would. The after effects of this potion were strong enough to last a full week. And that was fine enough for the first three nights. Turns out getting black out drunk served to blur my sleeping mind as it did my waking consciousness. The images of my beloved ones were all hazy enough, their actions detached enough that I could not understand them in my inebriated state. I certainly didn't remember anything but jumbled fragments when I woke up hungover, all quickly forgotten in efforts to alleviate the pain.

Whether it be a side effect of the strength of the potion or my Ismerte nature, the fact that the previous visions had been ill-received would not be accepted. The reality of that meant a rapid succession of what I had missed, with only the most direct lessons to be learned highlighted with great detail. (read:the harshest)

Although Neviah and Romona granted me the kindness of silence with their gifted visions, the magical essence powering the prophetic effects of the potions did not show the same mercy. It flashed through snippets of the past I'd have happily chosen to never see again. It moved through scenes so rapidly and only slowed down to allow only a sentence or two to be fully audible before it shifted scenes again. This was only a small blessing; Prophecy chose the most cutting lines to sum up the point of each selected scene.

Lucius shoving Draco and Renae into his office. "YOU WILL PROVE YOU ARE NOT USELESS!" Lucius punctuated his point with a kick to his son's ribs. Retrieving his wand and pointing it at a stunned Renae, Lucius' voice returned to its usual sneer as he threatened, "You will prove you are worthy of the Malfoy name or I will kill her where she lay."

Draco challenged his father. Lucius smirked cruelly at his son, casting the silent spell that caused Renae's body to convulse. "Fail me again and I will make sure you both learn there are Fates worse than death."

Lucius threatens Draco again, now disguised with my image. "You will do as I say without question. Consider this your punishment for that blasphemous pornography written in those diaries you keep hidden under your mattress. You better take the chance to get these…curiosities out of your system. I do not want to discuss this matter again."

Draco and Renae sitting together on Draco's bed in the Slytherin dormitory. Renae reached into her bag and retrieved my favorite Weasley Christmas jumper. "So sweet of you to enchant this for Andi. I'm glad you're making an effort to be civil even if she can't do the same."

Draco disguised as me, standing in front of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Wearing nothing but my Weasley jumper and a predatory grin as Flint cracked his joke. "You really must hate him to wear that here to do what you wrote about in that letter. You have a quite dirty mind, don't you?"

Draco-me's grin stretched wider as he shocked the entire room with my filthy mouth. "My plan was to use it as a rag to wipe your cum off when you're done with me. Then I'm going to wear it to dinner and make out with him in the Great Hall with the taste of you all on my tongue."

Thankfully the scene skipped forward and Renae burst into the room, throwing photographs as she shouted, "How could you do this to George? He loves you! You love him!"

Draco-me raised his wand to Renae's face. "You will keep your bloody yap shut about what you saw or I'll see to it myself to remove your tongue and feed it to Mrs. Norris."

Flint calling out to George and Fred's retreating form. "Hey, Weasel—Ask your girlfriend what my prick tastes like."

Then a chorus of snickering and "mine too" from the rest of them.

Draco-me, crying into the steaming air of the locker room as Elliott ravaged my body. Neither of them aware or their audience as Draco-me begged, "Yes; just like that. Elliott, please. Fuck! Yes. Yes. Want you to fill me up. Make me yours. Please, please, fuck me."

The scene changed into something I hadn't been shown yet. Despite the haziness indicating we were still in the past tense, I recognized the Gryffindor Boy's dormitory instantly. Fred was sprawled across his bed, George's head buried in his shoulder as he sobbed with such force it shaked them both. Fred shhh'd his twin, rubbing soothing circles into George's back with one hand, the other smoothing through his overgrown hair.

"Let it out, Georgie." Fred cooed. Unable to silence his incredulity, "I can't believe she'd do this. If I didn't see it, and the pictures—I am so sorry, Georgie. Let it all out, come on. You're due a good sob."

The only indication that the scene had progressed was the angles, having called it my own the last few weeks, I knew the twins had moved into George's bed. George was still sobbing into Fred's chest, but now it heaved irregularly in his rage. "Better off without her, Georgie. It's also better you find out who she really is a month in instead of wasting years with a lying, cheating slag. You're better off, you are. We all are."

We were still in the twin's dormitory but the fog had lifted, drawing us into the present. Fred and George were now sitting in a circle between the beds. They were joined by Alicia, Angelina, Katie, and Lee. They each had a cup in their hands and an empty bottle of fire whiskey sat between them on the floor.

Alicia giggled as she looked up to George, "Care to do the honors?"

Fred senses George's hesitation and speaks before his twin could deny the perfectly reasonable request. "Listen here, brother of mine—Don't you dare feel guilty about having fun with your mates now that you're single! This party's for you so stop being a fool—for someone who shagged Marcus Bloody Flint of all creatures!—start bloody enjoying yourself!"

"Sod it. You've got a point." George conceded, downing what was left of his cup.

Fred cracked open another bottle and refilled George's cup with a kindhearted smirk, "Don't I always?"

George took another sip before reaching out and spinning the bottle. "Let it fall where it may," George said, clapping his hands together as it fell on Alicia.

Alicia gave George a shameless grin as she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm up for it if you are." She was already moving to kneel, body leaning across the circle in a way that exposed her cleavage to George.

George considered her cleavage as he considered the contents of his cup. In the time it took to take another sip and swallow, he made up his mind. "Cheers!"

Mirroring Alicia's position, George reaches forward and initiates a kiss that had Angelina and Katie blushing and Fred and Lee hooting. I watched them suck each other's faces like rabid dementors, making a sloppy scene on the floor.

When time progressed, I doubted there would be little improvement. The room was pitch black and empty but I knew I was still in the boys room. A violent stream of light broke through with the opening door, confirming my intuition.

George was leading Alicia into his dorm with his arm slung over her shoulder and hers around his waist. Although this seems due to necessity if their stumbling feet or drunken giggles were anything to do by, it still made my blood rush to my fists. I didn't miss how Alicia's fingers toyed with the waistband of George's trousers.

Neither did George.

George's hand moved over hers, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "I want this but not if you don't. I'm not interested in anything serious right now but I'm not looking for pity sex or to hurt you either."

"I want you, George. I have for a long time, long before you began dating that undeserving slag." Alicia confirmed, nails digging into his hip. "Pity had nothing to do with me wanting to show you how you should be treated. Make you feel how you deserve to feel—like a king." Alicia practically purred before her voice turned suddenly stern, "But I can't be your rebound, George. You mean too much to me. I will not allow you to use me to replace Andrella's space in your heart or your bed."

"Andrella, who?" George growled, arms encircling her small waist to lift her up to a more kissable height. She didn't miss the opportunity to wrap her legs around his hips. Now that George was kissing her, Alicia shamelessly ground herself against him as she walked slowly across the room.

The rest of their conversation was carried out in caught breaths and answering moans. I hear hands pulled greedily at each other's uniforms as they raced to undress. Still kissing, their dance was sloppy, yet more passionate for it.

George took his wand from his pants pocket and pointed it at the door. The sound of the nonverbal spell clicking the lock corresponded to his trousers hitting the floor next to Alicia's skirt.

I tried to turn away, close my eyes, anything to avoid watching George toss a now naked Alicia onto his bed but the vision demanded the attention it thought it deserved. I was forced to watch as George crawled over Alicia'a body, placing tender kisses that left her squirming. George was too focused on his work to notice the looks of complete adoration on Alica's face as she appreciated his efforts.

It had never been clearer than now that she lied to George. Alicias didn't like George, she loved him. And George was loving how responsive she was to his touch.

I was hating everything and everyone in existence. I hated this place. I hated being here and watching this. Mostly I hated myself and the fact I was alive. I hated how much I cared about George. I hate how I didn't hate him.

If George has already moved on, if he's already given up—what's the point?

I really need to stop asking myself these types of questions—especially while on a literal vision quest to find answers. The resulting shift in atmosphere to a dark, smoky, chaotic sky, the only warning that I asked the worst question possible.

Looking away from the gloomy sky, I should have expected something equally as devastating but I couldn't have prepared myself for this. I wasn't ready to see the smoldering rubble, piles of stone and ash, the remnants of what used to be Hogwarts' Great Hall. This vision depicted it as a makeshift morgue.

The dead seemed to outnumber the living.

The living seemed an inch away from death themselves. They wore varied expressions of defeat and grief as their eyes rained onto the bodies of their fallen loved ones.

The most notable display of loss and anguish came from the foot of the decimated Gryfdindor table where a black haired man sobbed over the slain bodies of his fire-haired family. Not a single member of the Weasley family seemed to have survived this battle. I looked down at each of their faces, their distinguishing red hair. Not a single strand of flame danced out of place, their owners all frozen exactly as they fell, faces etched in horror. All expect Fred, who must have been the first murdered. A ghost of a laugh was etched onto his face.

Joining the Weasley family to create an awfully large pile of bodies laid Lee, Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Hermoine, Neville, Luna. All of Harry Potter's friends and families. The entirety of Gryffindor house and their allies, past and present.

Professor Dumbledore, Professor Mcgonagall, Moody, Hagrid, Pomfrey, Madam Hooch the house elves, all the rest of the professors. Mad-eye Moody, Tonks, Kingsley Shaklebolt.

And the most visceral upsetting for reasons I couldn't fully explain beyond the obvious but hit harder than I could rationalize. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black strewn over the body of Severus Snape who must have fallen first. The anguish on the faces of all three made my blood run colder than any other's even George and Fred and I didn't know how I felt about that, but I wasn't comfortable with it.

I moved on to the next horror. The realization that I was the cause of their death. It was undeniable as the focus of the vision shifted to the center of the room. I noticed Voldemort first, his deformed face contorted into a gleeful grimace as he cast the killing curse on Harry for the third and final time.

There was a triumphant cackle from Bellatrix LeStrange who stood latched onto the arm of her master. Then there was the sound of shattering glass far above. My attention snapped to see the ceiling break as lightning was drawn from the sky then back down to where the energy was being summoned.

I recognized myself instantly. My skin was paler, thinner, my hair was longer, lighter, and whipping in the wind with the fabric of my equally light, pure blinding white dress. It wasn't quite a wedding dress but it wasn't so unlike one that it wouldn't pass in a pinch. It was revealing and clingy and so not my style. I was a few years older but I was still distinguishable, even with the shock white eyes. They seemed to be made of glass and smoke, swirling in an unseeing and all seeing way. My body flowed with energy just as white and electric as the lightning entered my body through my outstretched palms.

There was a sudden clap of thunder from the storm darkened clouds swirling above before the sky opened. Instead of rain, blood fell to the earth. Slick, heavy, warm, and dark, deep red.

The twisted version of myself laughed, mouth held open to the sky as she—I—drank the blood like an offering. It took less than a minute for her dress to change colors completely, becoming saturated in the blood rain as she began to dance and laugh.

Without looking, The future version of me lowered her hands to obliterate every last living entity in the room—this included the school itself. With a final blast of borrowed energy, she turned the morgue into a cemetery.

I woke up screaming loud enough to startle the merpeople in the Black Lake. Looking around wildly, I hopped out of bed with my wand ready. But I stood alone in my fortress, the only threats residing in my own mind. I couldn't fight the need to check my hands for blood. My hands were clean, clear, and back to my normal skin tone. They were also positively shaking.

I turned back to the bed, ready to sleep for another thousand hours when I noticed the white sheets were now stained the same deep red as the rain in the nightmare. As if triggered by sight, my stomach began to cramp. I placed my shaking hands over the painful stabbing of my abdominal area. Finally looking down and noticing the fresh blood streaming down my legs. I ran sobbing to the toilet.

It was hard not to succumb to self pity after an hour spent glued to the loo, experiencing the worst menstrual cramps of my life. It hurt nearly as much as the memory of Greyback's claws tearing into my side, almost as much as the imitation of the Dark Lord's cruciatus curse on my mother. As suddenly as the pain began, it subsided, leaving an alien feeling of numbness.

Still reeling from the shocked nerve endings, I summoned another bottle of fire whiskey. Shuffling into the shower while taking gulps, I didn't bother taking off my clothes to turn on the water.

The main focus of the bathroom was the elaborate tub in the big corner and in comparison the stand-alone shower stall in the small corner felt like an afterthought. It was shaped like a severely acute triangle with a ledge just big enough for me to sit on without my knees hitting the wall. Afterthought or not, the warm water was comforting. A sensation just pleasant, just familiar enough I felt grounded back into reality.

George should never physically have been capable of confining his long limbs into such a small space—but he never failed to surprise me in that aspect. We discovered the angles that made it work in our favor during our 48-Hour retreat to celebrate Boxing Day by making love in every surface or the fortress until it was deemed properly christened.

The thought of George had me sobbing into the stream of the shower, grimacing as I drank down as much alcohol as I could in one go.

How could my entire world be uprooted in just four days? Was it something I could have stopped? Did I cause this? Is this my fault?

These are the questions I asked myself as I absentmindedly removed my clothes. Now that they were soaking wet, the blood was beginning to leak out of the fabric and wash down the drain. After each article was removed, I pushed them into a pile under the stream to help encourage the process. Then I sat frozen for several more minutes thinking myself back into dark places.

This level of destruction wasn't accomplished overnight. This type of betrayal could not be attributed to Malfoy's plan entirely. This type of attack relied on a foundation of doubt and insecurity. Despite how damnable the mounting stack of evidence proving the rumors true, the fact that everyone who claimed to love me so readily believed me capable of that level of betrayal to George spoke volumes. Not a single person thought it necessary to hear my version of the truth or even ask for it. Everyone was eager to accept me as a liar, a cheat, a slag, a whore.

Malfoy's plan would not have been successful if George allowed me to explain what had actually happened. George's belief that Draco-Me's actions were, in fact, my own without allowing me to speak any work to the contrary? That's the cunning simplicity in Malfoy's mastery of social manipulation.

All Malfoy had to do was make sure George, Fred, and Renae loathed me enough to disregard me completely and he knew the rest would follow. He knew the public would look to my loved ones, those closest to me to determine the story and how to act accordingly.

Now suddenly Hogwarts rumor mill had another victim to demonize, disenfranchise, and denounce. If there was one thing that brought all houses together in unison it was one specific target to ostracize.

In my brief absence, I am sure I have done nothing but give them ammunition for the attack against me once I return. Now that Harry impressed everyone with the Dragon in the first task, I am sure I have been made public enemy number one.

This thought encouraged me to take another big sip. I couldn't feel it burning my throat anymore. I knew if I kept it up I wouldn't feel much of anything anymore so I continued drinking. I couldn't hide forever but I wasn't going anywhere tonight.

Tomorrow, I will take on the world. Tonight, I will drink…and eat chocolate. I added as an afterthought as the craving popped up. I turned off the now freezing water and stepped out of the stall. There was a towel I definitely did not leave out folded neatly and sitting atop the toilet.

It was the warmest, softest towel I ever felt. As I walked out into a freshly cleaned room, I felt like I was wrapped in a hug. I didn't have the brain capacity for the question of who or what tidied the room while I showered—the bottle in my hand was half empty and the magic towel was too cozy. All questions went out the window as I saw that sitting on top freshly laundered sheets were the five pounds of chocolate gifted to me by Ron.

I settled into the bed, summoning parchment, ink, and my favorite quilt to the bedside table. After indulging in a few sweets and a few more sips of firewhiskey—delighting in the flavor combination on my tongue—I decided to take the Sister's advice. I gave myself a voice, whether anyone listened did not matter. I decided at that moment I refused to be silenced. Moreover, I refused to silence myself. So, I wrote out my story on the parchment, addressing George specifically, because he was the only one I needed to know the truth. Whether he chooses to believe it was his right but it's my right that he at least let me speak my part. Since he would not, writing it was the best option left.

I wrote until my hands cramped and my eyes blurred with unshed tears.

I wrote until I was raw inside and out.

I wrote until I couldn't see anymore—whiskey-soaked tears smudging fresh ink.

I finally pushed the parchment away from the line of tears and I cried myself to sleep.

XXX.

I had dreams of my mother sobbing, cold and alone as she approached the gates of Hogwarts. I saw the shimmer of her patronus—some sort of large cat?—get lost in the torrential rain on its way up to the castle. She began to do a strange bouncing dance and sing a song to herself, indistinguishable in the downpour. It took a moment more to realize she was not alone at all. Rather a small baby was cradled in her arms, swaddled in thick blankets. She kissed the baby on the head at the sight of a light approaching and left her next to the gates before she disappeared in a blink.

I saw George, circled into the fetal position on his bed, face buried into the pillow as his body quaked. A familiar photograph sat disregarded next to him, a giant scorch mark where my smiling face used to be.

The last image was the worst.

It must have been mid-summer based on the number of black parasols raised to guard their wielder from the relentless sunshine. Despite the obvious heat, they stood together in their finest cloaks, forming a circle around a freshly filled grave. As the scene drew into focus, I realized I recognized each somber face.

Dumbledore was the most recognizable with his long silver beard and pointy, periwinkle hat. He stood next to Professor McGonagall and Hagrid. Professor Snape stood at the foot of the grave, staring resolutely down to the bottom of the ditch with his signature lack of expression.

Sirius Black—of all people!—stood to Snape's right, dabbing his face with a handkerchief. Remus Lupin stood next to Sirius, arm wrapped around his waist in a more than friendly, supportive way. Harry Potter, looking as tormented as I'd ever seen him, stood in front of his godfather.

The most devastated member of their party was George. He was full out sobbing, nearly blocking out the tail end of the eulogy Snape was still delivering.

"…May she find peace on her destined path. Until our paths should cross once more, rest easy, Andrella." Snape said my name as a whisper, hand reaching out to clear a tear before it could fall. It was an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability but it passed without comment. Snape stepped forward, dropping the first rose onto my casket. The crimson petals blended into the mahogany wood.

George sank to his knees with a heart-shattering wail, bringing Fred with him as he crumpled. George gripped the rose so tightly to his chest, the thorns broke his skin. He shook Fred off of him, propelling himself onto the ground, bloodied rose falling out of his grip into the void before he was ready to let go.

XXX.

I woke up to the sound of George calling out my name.

One quick glance around the room convinced me I must be dreaming. Or hallucinating from the alcohol. Either way, I was alone. George wasn't here. I threw a pillow over my head to block out the sound but George's voice just grew louder.

"Come outside, Andrella. It's been five days," George scoffed, his voice clear as crystal in my mind. "Please come up, Andrella."

"George?" I asked, still sure I was dreaming.

"It's me, Andrella. Please come out. I don't have a key anymore and we need to talk." George pleaded, his voice bordering on exasperation.

"Where are you?" I asked, already scrambling out of bed. I ran over to the hidden wardrobe and put on the first jumper my hand landed on—it was another Weasley Christmas jumper. This time a deep grey.

"Outside in the forest by the entrance to the Fortress." He answered.

"I'm coming." I vowed, struggling to pull on a pair of tights that fit me perfectly fine last year. They were now so tight I feared they'd rip as I sprinted up the chute. I used my magic, manipulating the air to propel me upward faster than I could have climbed with the rope.

I came to a sudden halt at the top, stopping myself mid-reach from pushing the stone door open. I was nervous, overwhelmingly so, all of a sudden.

What if this talk turned out like the last one? What if he came to further cement our separation? I shook my head to clear my doubt. Why would he bother coming all this way if that was the case?

Another calming breath and I pushed forcefully on the door so I couldn't change my mind again. After five days. The light from the sun was literally blinding. Forced to close my eyes from the glare, I held onto the door frame for support. I was thankful for the extra moment to prepare myself to see George.

Allowing my eyes the time to adjust, as they opened I was already stepping forward. I was ready to beg George to listen to the truth now that I finally knew it.

I faltered as I room in the horrified expression of the person waiting for me. The look of horror I was expecting, but not the face wearing it. Severus Snape stood before me, utterly alone. A wild glance around the forest confirmed that.

So did Snape, clearing his throat to address me, voice calm yet resolute, "He's not here."

"What?"

"Mister Weasley is not here, he never was." Snape repeated, slowly, like talking to a wild animal.

"Then, how—?" I couldn't refrain from checking again for him anyway.

"As terms of his probation pending expulsion, I ordered Mr. Weasley to find a way for me to communicate with you." Snape explained. "He arranged that I come to these coordinates at noon but refused to physically be here or explain where or why I was going here except to meet you. Regardless of circumstance, we need to speak, Andrella."

"He's really not here?" I asked instead, staring at Snape with the dumbest expression I'm sure he's ever seen. "He's not coming?"

"No, Andrella." Snape lamented, uncharacteristically gentle, patient. "He isn't ready to see you, yet. Or reason for that matter."

"Oh." was all I could manage to say as realization had me sinking. Rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak or process. Just spiraling down into nothing, numbness.

George wasn't here, he literally refused to come. He wasn't "ready". I couldn't appreciate the irony that I had thought the same or myself not a full minute ago. Or the hypocrisy of how badly it stung.

I remembered my audience, channeling his super to suppress the tears. I spoke with a voice even enough to make us both proud, "you are right. We have much to discuss. Would you like to come inside? I am sure I could conjure up some tea?"

Snape gave me a look of calculation before giving me a small nod of his head toward the entrance. "Perhaps something stronger would be more appropriate."

I felt myself smile for the first time in what felt like years, barking out in a laugh hoarse from disuse, "Now that can certainly be arranged. Gladly."

Under other circumstances, the image of Snape landing on his arse, the embroidered throw pillows breaking his fall, yet leaving him winded and indignant from the slide down would have been highly amusing under any other circumstance. Not long ago it would have elicited a full out belly-laugh, at least a small chuckle as I offered him a hand. But my face was stone sober as I helped him up, humor feeling like a foreign language to me now.

I focused on channeling my energy. Once Snape was on his feet, I transfigured the landing pillows into two of the most excessively cozy chairs I could imagine. I knew by the elaborate lengths Snape took to reach me that this was about to be a long winded and all inclusive tell-all of a conversation. Might as well be comfortable for the next several hours it will take to explain all I have witnessed and experienced this last week. A few more hours to discuss the bedlam that Hogwarts has descended into in my absence.

I transfigured a few loose stones in the wall into a table placed between the two chairs and then a few more pebbles for elaborately carved drinking goblets. Without more than a thought, a fresh bottle of Ogden's finest sat between the two cups.

All through this, Snape paid me no mind as he set about learning the lay of the land. I didn't think about how vulnerable I would feel with him here. His pacing around, perusing the bookcase, glancing quickly over the ruffled sheets of the bed—it set me closer to the edge. I sat on the smaller chair and said the first thing that came to my mind to break the silence.

"So how exactly did you get George to agree to helping you when he hates us both?"

Snape turned his attention away from the dusty titles lining the shelves to give me a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk at my blunt question. He didn't answer me but he came to sit across the table in the remaining chair. I couldn't help to take his silence as a bad sign. Without further prompting, I snapped my finger to make the bottle unseal itself and pour us each a generous amount of whiskey.

I pushed one measure to Snape before claiming the other as my own: as soon as his slender fingers wrapped around the stem of the goblet I clanked mine against his before downing the contents. Empty, I slammed the cup down on the table. The bottle of whiskey, operating under the enchantments I cast, replenished my cup.

"George really does hate me, doesn't he?" I addressed the amber liquid in my cup.

"He certainly seems to believe all the lies being said about you, yes, and he does seem rather distraught about it, yes." Snape answered honestly, inspecting his offered drink.

"Guess we don't have to wait to figure out what Malfoy was planning. Cheers to the resolved curiosity." I clinked my rim to his before taking another gulp of alcohol.

"I am delighted to know your sabbatical has been…educational," Snape didn't bother to hide his annoyance at my blasé approach. "Tell me, what have you learned, Andrella?"

Unfortunately for him, it was the only way for me to get through this conversation without sobbing. I took a deep breath and began talking. I told him everything. And I mean everything this time.

Snape did not comment once—not in outrage at the actions taken against me or the manner in which I retold them. His face remained concerned, but his frown was no less severe than when he watched me take the first shot. By the time I was finished telling my tale, I was on shot number four…times two.

Snape had yet to take a sip of his drink. He placed the untouched goblet in the center of the table, his pale spindly fingers weaving together to rest on the transfigured stone tabletop. He stared down his long, crooked nose, his black eyes boring directly into my soul. When he spoke with a voice laced in sincere regret, I was so caught off guard I wished he had remained silent.

"I am sorry that Lucius' plan was successful, how effective his destruction seems to be in the matters at hand."

Effective Destruction.

Now that Snape phrased it that way, the words stuck. The irrefutable truth in his insinuation was what stung. Successful. The plan was successful. Lucius had set out what he meant to do; he had won.

Does that make me destroyed? Is that how Snape sees me? Is that how the world sees me?

What did I miss these past few days? It seemed like the answer was a lifetime.

I didn't realize I asked the last question out loud until Snape awkwardly cleared his throat. He retrieved a rolled up copy of The Daily Prophet and slid it across the table. He allowed me a moment to read the headline: "Tri-Wizard Sex Scandal: A tragic lust for fame!"

Snapped allowed me a moment longer to absorb the black and white, boomeranging image. While I knew for a fact this was by far the most innocent image Renae immortalized to film—it was still damning. Positively, resolutely, without a doubt painting me red hand—or lips in this case, I suppose— guilty.

Half of the Slytherin Quidditch stood in a circle encasing Draco-me who kneeled in the center. The angel did not allow their faces to be seen—only my smirking face was distinguishable, unmistakably clear. My hands fisted the heavy knot of the Weasley jumper, lifting upwards until my belly button was visible. The image reversed perversely, lifting my sweater down, up, down, up, down. My grin shrinking then growing, wider, wider…

"Naturally…" Snape drawled out the world in typical fashion, effectively breaking the silence sharply enough the paper dropped from my hands. I let it rest on the table and gave my professor my full attention. "The article was published in the New Year's Day evening edition, following the debacle at breakfast and your absence. The combination of these three events is all anyone seems interested in discussing." Snape explained, dry as ever.

Despite my shock, I tried to match his even temperament. " I am concluding these discussions do not portray me in a positive light?"

"Rita Skeeter loves to exaggerate. Unfortunately these photographs do not leave much room for misinterpretation. Those in your house are handling the situation with the sensitivity of mountain trolls and golems, or in other terms—forgive me—their typically rash, dramatic, and immature fashion." Snape scoffed.

"How bad is it?"

Snape considered his answer for several minutes, breaking the silence only to offer one word, "Bad."

"Care to elaborate, Professor?" I asked, just barely desiring the urge to roll my eyes at him.

The pause for thought was considerably shorter this time. "Throughout your years here you have been respected and generally well-liked." Another pause. "That is no longer the general consensus."

"How bad is it?" I repeated myself, doubly so by pouring myself another double.

"Your housemates have started a petition to remove you from Gryffindor house—or at least the dorms." Snape finally revealed.

"WHAT?!" I choked on the sip of whiskey, feeling the burn of his words combined with the sting of too much alcohol.

"This, of course; is a ridiculous notion that not only I, but McGonagall and Dumbledore dismissed as such." Snape assured, then in a kinder tone continued, "Fred Weasley, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet still seem to be collecting names to their petition despite being told it was not going to lead to forcible removal of you from the dorm in any scenario."

"I see." I said, seeing nothing, understanding nothing. The only thing I understood was that all my friends seemed to hate me now and were hellbent on convincing everyone they could to do the same. But I didn't understand why, couldn't see how their life transformed to hate.

Snape took mercy on me, providing me with a succinct answer to my private questions. "Aside from the incident reported in the papers, the other contributing factors to their actions against you were just as uncontrollable. The qualities that garner you respect—your boldness, intelligence, grace, skill, and new found power—their revelation has turned to fear, spite, and plain jealousy.

"Despite your great efforts, your rapid academic improvements across the board have not gone unnoticed. The mystery behind your advancement has sparked a fear of the unknown."

"People are afraid of me?" Incredulous, I took another sip, a slower sip this time to ponder that impossibility.

"With the circumstances at hand? Absolutely" Snape chuckled at my horrified gasp. "People are afraid of how you will act when you return. Some of the more popular rumors circulating speculate your current absence is to gather supplies to extract revenge." Snape mused, taking a quick look around, he returned to me with a sharpened gaze and tongue.

"The only revenge mission I see you working on appears to be against your liver. Tell me, Andrella, what have you used this time away to accomplish except developing alcohol dependence?"

"Besides cry and receive awful psychic visions in my dreams because of the potions?" I snorted, placing down my half-full glass. The glare wasn't worth it now. "Nothing much."

"And are you done with that?" Snape prompted.

"I'm done with people speaking out against me without giving me the chance to defend myself." I answered as honestly as I could.

"Good." Snape nodded his approval, brow unfurrowing. "How do you plan to defend yourself against the numerous attacks I am certain you will endure upon return?" Snape asked bluntly.

I smirked, ready for this question at least. "If people will not listen to reason, then I will validate their jealousy not their fears. Nobody has to like me, I can find a way to deal with that, but they are all going to respect me."

I'm not going to disappear just because they want me to leave.

"Excellent." Snape said, standing up and banishing the table, glasses, and bottle with a flick of his wand before putting it back in his robe and offering me his hand. "Shall we return to the castle? I see no reason we can't make up for our missed lesson while we are both so conveniently free."

Since Snape had made it abundantly clear he was leaving me no room to refuse with that elaborate and rude display, I simply sighed as I took his hand.

Snape's face turned into a rare smile once I accepted his offer without protest, " I must admit, I am rather curious to see how you will perform in an exercise I developed to test your range in ability of elemental control."

The sheer giddiness that shone in his eyes at the mention of his experiment was enough to convince me to leave my cocoon. I waved my hand and cleaned my chair as well, leaving the fortress as I found it.

"Bring it on, Professor." I offered a smile of my own as I dragged him to the slide. "I'm fact, I would be honored to give a little preview of myself in my natural element. Shall we?"

Without giving him a chance to argue, I interlocked our elbows and used the delight of his horrified face at the rate we were flying up the tunnel to power my magic to push us faster still. It was hard to tell which was louder, his scream or my laughter

Author's Note:

Ello lovely readers!

I hope you enjoyed this installment! Lots of drama and fun is coming up! I have a vision for the end and motivation to get there so buckle up!

As always, comments of any nature are greatly appreciated. Thank you all for reading this far.

Ex's and Oh's

Audrey V. Sullivan