Hiii! I hope you all are having a great week so far. I was scrolling through my reviews from the earliest reviews to the most recent, and I was just reminded how sweet and amazing you all are. It also makes me nervous reading them. I always get kind of nervous with so many people (well, "so many" in my eyes anyway) counting on good chapters and I always feel anxious when I post which I have no clue why since you all are always so great. I didn't expect people to enjoy my story to this extent, and it's really so awesome to see how much you all care about the characters that live in my head. I know all authors constantly thank their readers and I probably sound like a broken record, but I really do adore all of your feedback and even if you're a silent reader: thank you for being here! I know my story is getting long, and even so I still have the most loyal readers. Haha, love the conflicting ideas on the characters and their choices and that some of you are turning on certain characters with new sides to the story. I live for it! Though, try to keep considering BOTH sides. ;) Try not to kill me at the lack of Drastoria in this chapter. My head was just all over the place today and I ran out of time. I'm also going through a stuck period, which has happened a couple times while writing this story where I know all of what I need to write, but my fingers are stubborn of typing it out. So bare with me while I get over that little spell! By the way, forty chapters! What! Are you guys bored yet? I mean jeez! I'm so excessive, lol.

I don't own anything from Harry Potter.

How had he let that happen.

What had possessed him to take it to that level? To take it to any level whatsoever? To soil himself with a mudblood, and not even a remarkable one at that. An insecure, classless, silly little girl who had foolishly began to fancy him knowing full well she was completely and utterly beneath him in every possible sense according to the values he was brought up on.

And she had that idiot friend who would most certainly take pleasure in attempting to spread this nasty information about him to anyone in the school that would listen. Well, not that anyone important would believe such nonsense, so he supposed it didn't particularly matter. Why in Merlin's name would he sleep with such a girl? It just wasn't a believable tale.

But he had, and he had taken the initiative himself.

Just as he had taken the initiative throughout the entirety of their odd little relationship. The reasons of why were unclear to him, but what was clear is that it needed to end immediately. An annoying twinge of guilt passed through him and he grit his teeth in response. She chose to give herself to him there, out in the open. She was going to allow him to take her against the tree no less so obviously she had little care for the prize she had awarded him, unless she was a complete idiot and thought they could actually have a relationship, and Edric knew the girl wasn't stupid.

Edric fought to keep his thoughts sensible and disgust ridden as he made his way to his dorm room, closing the door tensely before staring at the bed ahead of him. He closed his eyes, images of her rich brown eyes closing before him as he touched her, claimed her passing through his head, harassing him. He didn't share, he had told her, and it were true. She was his, his mistake. He would have been wise to allow her sully herself with that brainless idiot and damage the warm and innocent view he was holding for her so he could rid himself of this little infatuation he had with her. She had been so responsive, so eager to give in to him. She had put up no resistance to her own desires or hesitation despite the fact he had spoken to her the way he had. He shouldn't be surprised, he had recognized early on how she had been taken with him for whatever reason that she had in common with all of the other witches who decided to fancy him. She had wanted him to want her, and want her he did.

Yes, want her he did.

She was beautiful, undeniably so. Her features were natural and not obviously striking in the traditional sense, but still striking to him nonetheless. Brown hair, brown eyes. Not usually what one would describe as anyone worth giving too much of a look at, but somehow she was worth a second glance anyway. Ophelia was not this magnificent witch who would go down in textbooks as being remarkable, but still she was intelligent and interesting in a way that grabbed his attention.

Well, if she were really intelligent she wouldn't have allowed herself to be degraded as her mother had, no?

Her insecurities had won over her own sense, just as his desires had won over his. Now we was stuck, stuck with the knowledge he had formed a soft spot for this mudblood and that she had so sweetly given herself to him along with her pride, and he knew very well that he didn't have a desire to hurt her or destroy her self worth that she had foolishly put in his hands. Not that he had much of a choice. He had absolutely no future with this girl and she had to know that. It was not uncommon for pure-bloods to sleep with half-bloods, and occasionally mudbloods as their degrading way of "putting them to good use". That wasn't why he did it though, he knew, and that knowledge is what unnerved him.

Edric groaned inwardly and he grabbed his things he used to bathe himself, heading to the shower in hopes to scrub the girl's infuriatingly intoxicating scent off of him. There was absolutely no valid reason for him to be having this problem, taking an interest in a girl like her. Not only an interest, but a feeling of possession over her, a need to protect her when his housemates gave her their looks of resentment and disgust. What right did they have to look at his mudblood that way? He was surrounded by beautiful women at home, beautiful and confident women who could control themselves and keep themselves pure. There was nothing wrong with the women in his circle, they were all well educated and were raised with magic, unlike this girl who only knew magic from what she learned at school. His sisters were much younger than her, but he was quite sure they knew nearly the same amount if not more about magic than she did, as well as magic she had never even heard of or could dream of at that. Old magic, dark magic that had been in the pure-blood families for so long that witches and wizards like Ophelia would not be able to say anything about because it was not what they grew up with. She was ordinary compared to the women he grew up around, and ordinary compared to the woman he would marry. The interest he had taken in her lacked any sort of solid argument as to why.

Everyone wanted what they couldn't have, didn't they?

Had his mother found out about this he was sure she would comment something along the lines of "Well, we know what they say about the grass and what it looks like on the other side, now don't we?" right before mercilessly degrading him and the girl for being so senseless. He didn't want to imagine his father's reaction. His father's anger was never explosive, but simmering and boiling under a calm surface, and that was all the more terrifying.

Edric stared up at the ceiling as the scalding water burned his skin, dragging his tongue against his teeth as he considered his options on how to treat the situation. He wasn't sure how she would treat the situation, but he was sure she would be hurt either way. It was nearly the holidays, so at least he would be able to go home for a while to clear his head of what had happened.

He was silent with her in their next class, acting as if nothing had happened. Nothing should have happened, and he wouldn't let anything happen again. It was for her own best interests, and she should consider him merciful for not continuing to play with her as that's all she could ever be to him; his plaything. She kept her head down during the class, ducking her face away every time he glanced in her direction, seemingly ashamed and shy. She ought to be a bit more unreadable than that. She was horrid at masking her feelings and had been since the day he had been assigned her partner the previous year.

But he liked that about her, didn't he?

So real, so readable. There was no hidden agenda with her or a false face she put on for him. She did try to appear more confident than she was, but that was the extent of it. She was lucky he had no ill intent towards her, or he could easily get into her head and make her completely his mentally only to fully break her when he was finished being entertained by her. Tempting, as he was very taken with how good she felt writhing beneath him, his name on her lips so full of desire and submission. However, he was not cruel, and he would not take pleasure in killing her spirit by making her truly infatuated with him should he continue to be intimate with her. Though the silent pull of her just being near him was enough to question if it would be worth it, worth the guilt of her pain and the scars he would leave behind. He was taught to believe her beneath him, but he still believed her a person, which was why it was digging at his nerves the way she shied away from him in shame as if he was disgusted by her. How stupid was she? Had he not proved to her how he wanted her by taking her the way he did? He was not disgusted by her, but frustrated at himself for not being disgusted by her as he should be. Her head should be held high right now, as she had affectively seduced Edric Greengrass as a plain, unremarkable mudblood just by being her simple self. He almost smirked at the stubborn way she tried to hold her chin up, acting as if she was so sure of herself but failing entirely. She had nothing on the witches who actually knew how to feign sureness and confidence, witches he had grown up to know. She should have nothing on them period, and perhaps that was why he felt so drawn to her.

He continued to act as if nothing had happened between them as the days went by, feeling her grow more and more aggravated with him as he still spoke to her the same he had the duration of their partnership, still polite and charming.

"I'm getting fed up with this, Greengrass," she said suddenly, sitting back after putting her work down.

Edric quirked an eyebrow at the use of his last name as opposed to his first, not looking up from his own work as he studied her from his peripheral vision. "Oh? Is the work becoming too difficult for you? What would you like help with?"

"I'm getting fed up with you pretending as if you didn't shag me out on the grass just only recently. You are purposely acting like nothing at all happened."

"Did I do that? Perhaps you were with your boyfriend, and only made it bearable by imagining you were with a real man."

"Interesting how you lose your bullshit, well mannered facade whenever me being in a relationship with someone is mentioned. I won't allow being treated like this just because you have this mudblood fetish, and-"

"Mudblood fetish?" He asked, cutting her off to look up and meet her eyes, amused at her adorably flustered features. "Quite the accusation. Tell me, did you feel as 'bad and wild' as you imagined you'd feel? 'Seducing an elite pure-blood male'?"

Ophelia's face fell in confusion before it reddened to scarlet as she understood his reference to her friend's words from the day they had first been assigned to the other. "I never said those things, that was-"

"I'm sure you know what is said about stones and glass houses," he tsked, standing as he gathered his things. "Enjoy your holidays, love."

Freya swayed when the portkey brought her back to the Nott's home, grabbing onto the banister of the fireplace to steady herself. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes to get over her nausea before slipping out of the room carefully, making sure no one was near, especially that house-elf she couldn't hardly tolerate. She quickly made her way to the bedroom she stayed in when she was there, which she was there much more often than her own home at this point in her life, and went to change into the appropriate event attire. She slipped into an emerald gown, hurrying to fix her hair and makeup as she knew she was running quite late at that point. She didn't want to have to arrive at the event alone without the Notts, as that would surely raise questions with her father her should he be there, which she wasn't sure if he would be seeing as her brother and father had gone to Germany when summer vacation started. She left her room to go to Joseph's, hoping he was at least home to get himself ready as lately he had just been with his group of friends. She looked around his empty room in frustration, turning around to yelp and nearly jump out of her skin at the sight of him in his skeletal mask and pointed hood of sorts. He slipped his mask off along with his hood, his eyes looking distant as he watched her. She shook her head, sneering at him.

"Adorable outfit, Josie. Even more adorable to think you and your little friends all match."

His eyes flashed but she ignored it, noticing his blood covered hands and she made a sound in frustration, moving forward to grab them.

"Don't you know how late you are?" She demanded, staring at the blood that she knew wasn't his own before pulling out her wand to wash them. "Your parents probably already left and it doesn't look right for us to show up separately from them."

"Where have you been lately, Freya? The couple times I've been home I haven't seen you," he said smoothly, his eyes returning back to their more present state as he stripped himself of his clothes. Freya grabbed him a suit to change into, tossing it to him impatiently.

"I've been around. Do you expect me to stay locked in a tower as you go run around with your friends, playing your demented games? No, Joseph. I'd rather busy myself."

"You know I don't care what you do, Freya," he said dismissively, waving his hand. "I was only curious."

"We don't have time to be curious. Come on!" She snapped, leaving his room as he changed to go downstairs, relieved to find his parents chatting with each other when she got there.

At the Flint event, Freya scanned the couples in the room, searching to see if she saw either of her family members present. She let out a breath of relief when she didn't, putting on a relaxed smile to greet the people around her, putting herself into her familiar routine as she worked through the event as she was meant to, perfectly charming the adults around her.

"Miss Krat. You look very well," came a silken male voice behind her, causing an odd chill to run down her spine as she turned around to find the married couple.

"I don't believe we've spoken very much over the years, but I suppose it's never too late to begin," Mrs. Greengrass said, her eyes trailing down Freya's form calmly.

Freya ignored her desire to recoil from the eerily perfect pair as she greeted them with enthusiasm, her eyes catching on the icy ones of Mrs. Greengrass, eyes that perfectly matched her sons.

"No need to put on such a show, my dear," the woman said, amusement in her tone. "We've heard how you really act."

Freya felt her face falter and her mind spun in wonder of what she could be referring to, thinking of what her son had said to her the day she had been forcibly sat next to him.

"Don't worry, dear girl. We will keep it to ourselves," Mr. Greengrass nearly purred to her, his eyes watching her just as intently as his wife.

"After all, none of us are really as we seem, are we? It's a game of fronts. We are ever so curious of what the Notts must be hiding behind theirs. You of all people would have that knowledge, no?" The beautiful and far too perfect woman said, a cruelty behind her polite eyes.

Freya felt an alarm go off in her head as a wave of defensiveness for the family she cared most about was almost threatened in away by this woman. She laughed lightly, keeping her expression unfazed. "Mrs. Greengrass, if the Notts had any secrets I'm sure they wouldn't even tell me. They have so much to lose, I can't imagine them risking that," she told them lightheartedly, making a show of looking over to Joseph's parents in amused admiration before looking back to the couple in front of her.

"What a good liar you are," Mrs. Greengrass praised, nearly beaming before examining Freya's body again.

"I'm not-"

"Our son tells us you were not thrilled at the news that we had written to your father of our interest in you. Surely our son has done nothing to offend you, we hope. We would not be happy with him if he were to embarrass our family in such a way," Mr. Greengrass said, a mockingly false concern in his tone.

"No. No, he's done nothing, Mr. Greengrass. He's been more than fine. I was not upset to hear you writing to my father, only flattered. Though unfortunately it's pretty clear which family I'm most likely going to be married into."

"You're right, Miss. Krat," came Mrs. Greengrass. "Though it's never too late to accept more options. I suppose we will soon find out which name ends up being yours."

Freya got back to the school just as her class had ended and she groaned in frustration, muttering her curses as she pressed her fingers against her cheek tiredly. She looked down at her now casual clothes, wondering what Abe was coming up with in his head as to why she would miss class or her telling him he didn't need to walk her that night. She was sure he assumed a lot of things, as he never questioned things further once she would show she didn't want to answer, though she knew he had a lot of questions.

Her eyes picked up the dark shade of red under her otherwise clean nails, raising her fingers to her face to eye the dried blood in confusion. When had that gotten there? Was that her blood? Had she bled? Freya frowned and examined herself to search for any source of bleeding, wondering if she had nicked herself when she had quickly changed out of her gown in her rush to get back.

"I'm guessin' you're gonna need me to tell you what happened in class tonight? What're you outside for? I would've skipped with you if you would've just asked, honey."

Freya tore her eyes from the blood to look at her muggle, eyeing his dirt covered clothes, clothes that were much more worn than what he usually wore.

"What's all over you?"

"Oh, the job had me over late tonight. Didn't have time to shower before class," he told her, shrugging.

She eyed his face, examining the light specks of dried dirt there, oddly drawn to the evidence of his hard work. None of the men she knew were ever visibly dirty this way, only dirty on the inside.

Except Joseph.

Yes, that's where the blood was from. She had grabbed his bloody hands to clean them. She swallowed in her discomfort, walking closer to Abe. "I wasn't feeling well, but I'm alright now. I don't want to back to the hotel just yet. Let's do something," she told him, shaking the image from her mind.

Abe took a step back, smiling at her sheepishly. "Sure, but you oughta let me get cleaned up first. You're lookin' just as pristine as always and I don't want to get you as filthy as me," he said, raising his hands.

Freya took one of his hands wordlessly, pulling it in front of her, palm up as she studied the dirt covered lines of his hand. His skin was rough, calloused. Filthy, and yet still most likely the cleanest male hand she'd ever touched. She slowly raised his hand to press it against her unflawed cheek, dragging it against her smooth skin to feel the dried dirt crumble from his skin to fall over her own, marking her otherwise perfect face.

"You don't know what filthy means, Abraham," she murmured, gripping his hand tighter.

She closed her eyes, stepping closer to him to slide her hand around his neck, pulling his head down to press his lips to hers. She felt the surprise of his expression in the way his lips shifted against hers and she willed him not to pull away from her as she pressed her body closer to his, curious to feel the warmth of him, the innocence of him. She felt his other hand rest respectfully at her waist as his mouth responded to hers gently, and she instantly felt herself come apart, feeling tears gather in her eyes as she dropped his hand to throw both arms around his neck, dragging him down more to make it easier for her to kiss him deeper. His lips were so soft, and the taste of him grounded her, making her feel like she was there completely and wholly to live in this moment to kiss him. She didn't care that she was kissing a muggle, she didn't care that she was attempting to mold herself against this muggle. He wasn't simply a muggle, but a good man and Freya had never believed they actually existed. The surprise to her advances alone proved that he never had any other intentions but pure ones in his kindness towards her. She wasn't even sure if he wanted her this way or if he was only kissing her back to avoid hurting her feelings.

"Hold on," he said against her mouth, breaking their kiss. "You're crying. What's wrong? What happened?"

She nearly whimpered at the loss of contact and she pressed her hips against his, hoping to draw out the more natural desires in him as she needed his mouth back to hers. She needed to lose herself in this man, her muggle.

She saw his worried expression waver as a sliver of lust touched his eyes, exciting her as she knew now that he did want her just as she was used to men wanting her. Except he was nothing like any of those men, and that was what made her want him back, and she never wanted anyone back.

"Kiss me again," she told him firmly, ignoring her tearful eyes. "I want you to kiss me again."

He watched her for a few moments more before he took her face into his hands properly this time, tilting her head up to kiss her with full intention, his lips now feverish against hers. Her arms fell from his neck and she pushed her hands up his shirt to trace the lines of his strong chest, the sweat of his skin slick against her fingertips as they explored him, wanting him.

She knew she was completely gone now, and she didn't think she minded.