Frank Longbottom didn’t seem to know when to stop smiling at Alice Goodsmith. One would say that he was in awe of her, if one dared to use such feminine language with him, which most did not. No, he simply never realized that he was staring, because it was very easy for Frank to get lost in the shine of her hair, or the smell of her perfume, or the brightness of her smile. There were so many captivating things about Alice Goodsmith that Frank didn’t think anyone could really blame him for his lovestruck grin.

As it so happened, Frank found himself on a bench in front of the Three Broomsticks, staring across the narrow main road of Hogsmeade at Alice as she stood with her group of friends. He couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but he wasn’t at all interested in what the gaggle of girls had to say. All Frank could bother to notice was how Alice’s high ponytail exposed her long neck, and the shirt she wore was clinging to her body in a much tighter fashion than her school robes ever did. Her muggle shorts were in no way indecent, but to a bloke who had to deal with imagining what was under long, draping black robes, they were like a gift from God above.

He wondered if he should go and talk to her. Frank was friends with all the girls in the year, more so than any of the other Gryffindor boys, so it would not seem strange. Maybe he’d invite them to all get a butterbeer, his treat. Alice would then see how kind he was and that he had a few galleons to spare on his friends. She liked putting whipped cream on her mug, so he would make sure that Madame Rosemerta put an extra dollop or two on her pint. Alice would notice the little extra sweet and thank him, find his slight touch of generosity endearing, and say out loud that he was not like other boys.

No, no he wasn’t, Alice Goodsmith. Frank Longbottom was not like other boys, and he’d help her realize that even further if she so desired. Why, he’d even go as far to say----

“Frank?”

He let out a squeak of surprise at Alice’s suddenly close proximity. She was sitting beside him on the bench, and Frank had to look back across the street, then back to her, before he could accept that his mind had zoned out so deeply that he had not seen her cross the street and join him. He grinned widely, nervously, and sat hard against the back of the bench.

“Oy,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t dare squeak again. Alice smiled and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, something she did a lot, especially when she was studying, or taking a test. She also bit her thumb when a particularly hard question arose, and when she wasn’t using it, her quill was stuck behind her ear and she often forgot it was there, and inked another quill. Frank blinked again; he could not lose track of what was going on in front of him, in this very instant.

“I feel like I haven’t spoken to you all week,” Alice said, crossing her legs at the ankles. His mother always said that a proper lady always knew never to cross at the knee, and Alice continued to prove why she in fact was the perfect girl for him. “You’ve been so busy with quidditch.”

“Ay,” Frank responded with a nod, or two, or three. It was suddenly very hot, and he put his hand up to block the sun from his eyes, even though it seemed to be behind a few clouds right then. Alice did the same, letting out a laugh. She put her hand down after a moment, and turned to face him more directly. Frank mimicked her action because he wasn’t exactly sure what else to do.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and I...hope it isn’t too personal.”

Frank felt all the blood from his face----from----every limb in his body----drain. Something personal? She wanted to know something...Alice Goodsmith, the prettiest girl in all of Hogwarts, in all of the world, wanted to know something personal about him? Merlin’s bloody beard, he was not prepared for such a thing. He didn’t have anything personal to talk about, this was going to go terribly!

“Er?” was all he managed, blinking rapidly. Alice looked nervous, and she tugged on the end of her ponytail that had draped over her shoulder.

“I was wondering if Professor McGonagall’s given you any more information about the auror program? I know we’ve got some time before N.E.W.T.s, and we haven’t even taken our O.W.L.s yet, but I thought maybe...”

“Oh.”

Frank’s face fell in disappointment, but at the confused expression that had arisen on Alice’s, he perked up and shook his head. No, McGonagall had not given him any more stuff about the auror program, Frank hadn’t even thought about it since their meetings with the head of house; there was a quidditch cup to win, why should he be thinking about examines and boring stuff like that?

Alice’s lips twisted into a frown and she shrugged, “Ah, well. I figured I’d ask.”

She stood then; why was she standing! Frank straightened up as well, and Alice looked down at him. The sun had come out from behind the clouds and it created a glorious halo around her already beautiful, shining face. She smiled and waved a little wave at him before saying she ought to get back to the girls. Frank waved weakly at her and watched her cross the street, back to where she had started.

Frank blinked a few times to get the sun out of his eyes, but it was fruitless. What a prat he’d just been. How many words had he actually said in that surprise conversation? Three? Four, maybe. With a groan, he tilted his head back, letting it hang over the back of the bench. He should just stick to smiling at her, that seemed to work out pretty well in his mind.

The tape was beginning to cut off the circulation to his hand, as Thomas had lost count of how many times he had wrapped it around his wrist. He sat on the far end of the bench, staring daggers at his once again, arguing teammates. He could feel his angry heartbeat thudding in his throat as Wadcock and MacFarlan hollered and shrieked like no one could hear them. Problem was, they all could hear them, the rest of the bloody team that they didn’t seem to care about.

“You’re a stalker, Wadcock!” Odette screamed, “You completely mutilated my hippogriff doll, you assaulted my fiancé! What’s next?! Kidnapping Terry?!”

“I only did it because----he verbally assaulted me!” Seth threw his arms up, looking as if he honestly believed there was nothing wrong with shoving another man up against the wall for some spilled coffee, or the fact that sending someone the torn up bits of a stuffed animal was fine and normal.

Thomas watched with his tongue running over his teeth in frustration. These two idiots were going to ruin their season. They were going to ruin their chances at the cup. They had a seeker who couldn’t concentrate because she was constantly looking over her shoulder at what their idiot beater and captain was going to do next. And Seth! Seth was married and didn’t seem to understand that it was not okay to harass someone like he was harassing Odette. And of course she couldn't just ignore his antics, no, she had to go and retaliate like the child that she was and it was just one big endless, annoying circle. Thomas really hated them for it.

He watched as Joey slipped away and out the back door of the locker room, too scared to be in the same room as their feuding teammates. Smart kid, but the older members of the Magpies knew that leaving these two alone would only cause more team destruction. Maggie would go from trying to break up the fight to cursing them just as loudly. Drystan stewed against the lockers behind Odette, as if waiting to strike out and attack Seth in the face if he crossed a line. Thomas sat nearest to Drake, who had leaned back on the bench and kicked up his feet to prop them against a locker. There was a book in the keeper’s hands, but Thomas had noticed that a page hadn’t been turned in the last five minutes; Drake was trying to play it cool but the growing vein in the side of his neck was betraying him.

“You are---” Odette’s head looked ready to pop off, she was so red in the face. She stomped her foot and Thomas was surprised that she didn’t send a fault line down the locker room floor, though she’d caused Seth’s thrown down equipment to bounce, “You are ruining my team!”

Before Seth could respond, Thomas felt a strange, strong feeling rise up in his chest and he stood quickly, pulling his leg over the bench and storming toward the two, “You have to be fucking kidding me!” he let out loudly, stopping just a foot away from the two quarreling players.

“Your team? YOUR team?” Thomas pointed a stiff finger at Odette, shaking his head furiously. He knew somewhere in his head that her words were probably out of anger and frustration, but they had officially snapped Thomas’ streak of silent patience, “I have been a fucking Magpie as long as you and don’t you forget it!”

Odette gaped, putting her hand out to respond to Thomas, but he’d been pushed far enough and whirled on Seth,

“And you! You bloody ponce!” Thomas felt a great pleasure at seeing Wadcock’s mouth drop open like a fish out of water, “You abandon the United when your team needs you the most for an easy title of captain---for a team you knew fucking nothing about! And then you treat us like garbage and like we owe you something for coming!”

“Now hold on!“ Seth tried to intervene, but something flew between his and Thomas’ head and slammed loudly into the lockers. A book dropped nosily to the ground at their feet.

“Let the man talk!” Drake shouted from his still relaxed position on the bench, “McCormack hasn’t said a word all season, let him talk.”

“Keep going, Thomas!” Maggie cheered, and over Odette’s shoulder Thomas caught a nod of approval from Drystan. The support of his other teammates urged him on, and he took a step back so he’d be able to address both Odette and Seth, whose expressions were of shock and a surprising amount of guilt. Thomas usually kept his mouth shut, but he’d been feeling so…he was feeling jipped and angry, and bitter at this entire situation and it just had to end.

“I have worked my ass off to get where I am today,” he said lowly, his voice loaded with emotion he rarely showed. All Thomas ever wanted to do was play quidditch, he didn’t deal with the politics, he had no aspirations to be a captain or an all-star. He just wanted to play quidditch, and with Odette and Seth ruining his one true joy, his patience had completely disappeared, “I. Have worked. My ass off and I am not going to let our chance at a title run go to waste because you two have some ridiculous, childish issues to sort out.” He kicked one of the fallen shin guards toward them angrily, “Get your shit together!”

With that he turned and stormed out of the locker room, though he acknowledged Drake’s howl of approval with a quick and hard high-five as he passed the lounging keeper. Shouts of laughter from Maggie (and maybe Drystan?) could be heard through the swinging locker room doors, but Thomas kept his stride out of the back halls and onto the pitch to let off some steam.

Their morning routines were just that, routine. Their alarms would go off together, usually set for a good half hour before they really needed to start getting ready for work, to give them time for a good morning work-out of the best kind. Danielle appreciated the regularity of her mornings with her husband, but last night they had spent more time on the floor of their bathroom than under the sheets. She felt like the only woman in the world who got morning sickness in the middle of the night, and it made waking up for anything very difficult. Donovan had been with her every minute of this past miserable night, holding back her hair and comforting her which Danielle was grateful for. It would be a miracle if either of them managed to get out of bed to go to work today, and it wasn’t until there were warm streaks of sun streaming from their window and into her face that Danielle finally arose. Her vision was bleary and took a few seconds to focus, and her eyes landed on the clock on the other side of the bed.

“Don’t!”

Danielle had let out a gasp at the same time as Donovan’s voice came from behind her. She flipped over on the bed, looking startled and confused, wondering how it was ten-thirty and she was not at St. Mungo’s for her seven to six o’clock shift! Danielle’s mind was running around in circles and after a few seconds was able to focus on her husband, who was still in his sleepwear and definitely not in his dress robes for work.

“We’re late!” she let out, moving to get out of bed, but Donovan stepped forward quickly with his hand out. He pushed her gently back against the pillows, his eyes teasing, but with a knowing glint.

“You’re not going to work today,” he said, smiling when she let out another indignant sound. Danielle had not missed a shift in years, and the one time she had was when she had come to the hospital with a one hundred and four fever and her resident had confined her to a bed. She pushed up on her elbows, still twitching to get up, but her husband seemed insistent and actually sat on the edge of the bed, putting his hands on her legs to keep her in place, “I already sent Healer Wood an owl, and I sent my supervisor one as well. You need rest.”

Her eyes widened at this; a whole day with Donovan? She got to stay home, no questions asked? No rushed lunch dates or dinner at ten o’clock? His explanation very much eased her worry about work, and Danielle felt tears prickle her eyes. Not only had this pregnancy given her ridiculous morning sickness, but her emotions were now extreme. Donovan taking her schedule into his own hands, taking his and rearranging it so that he could be with her when she hadn’t asked for help was just remarkable, and Danielle’s lips twisted as she tried to keep her composure.

“It’ll do you no good to cry,” he said with a light laugh, reaching forward to wipe away her tears. Danielle’s hands shot up to keep his knuckles against her cheek, and her husband smiled once again, “I’ve got breakfast waiting downstairs, don’t want to soak it.”

Danielle nodded; she’d been able to smell food within a mile radius these days, it seemed, but for the first time in weeks she was not feeling hungry. She instead pulled Donovan toward her, kissing him the moment his wonderful lips were in reach. Danielle’s hands went to his face to bring him even closer, dropping back down onto the bed with her husband now hovering over her. All she wanted to do was take part in their usual morning ritual and then hopefully go back to a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Donovan complied with her lips’ requests to deepen their kiss, and he slowly, carefully, gently lowered himself beside her, taking care to not rest entirely on the small swell of her stomach. His hand moved up her side and under her shirt, the cold of his hands making her shiver in a very good way. His palm grazed quickly over her barely noticeable bump before continuing its way upward, and Danielle sighed.

She would gladly stay up all night if it meant her mornings could start like this.

The sight of her left him speechless as it always had. For the past twenty years Anneliese Rosenberg’s face, her eyes, her smile, it had struck him in such a way that it always took a moment to form a comprehensible thought. He hadn’t seen her face in nearly two years, and it stirred such a feeling in his chest that Will thought he might pass out again. He almost smiled at her, and he would have if the resistance against his moving wrist had not reminded him where he was. Will dropped his hand back to the hospital bed, the magical handcuff chinking against the side bar.

He was tied up, like an animal. Will’s eyes darted away from her, staring up at the ceiling, across the room, out the window, anywhere but her. This was the last way he’d imagined being reunited with his wife---or---he didn’t know if she was still his wife. Will wouldn’t blame her for moving on, he blamed himself for all the terrible things that his family had been through since he’d joined the death eaters, but the thought...he was getting ahead of himself.

“How are you feeling?”

It was so forced. Will couldn’t look at her, but he shrugged, the simple movement causing the soreness of his entire body to ache. He shut his eyes as the pain swept through him and with another breath he attempted to answer her, “Peachy.”

Will hadn’t managed a sarcastic tone in literally years, and didn’t know where his answer had come from. A choked, small laugh escaped Anneliese and his heart thudded. All he wanted to do was tell her that he was sorry, but his shame was forcibly overwhelming. Just the thought of looking her in the eye made his body shake. He had been able to read Anneliese’s face like an open book since they met. Will had no desire to torture himself even further with visual evidence of how much he’s destroyed their lives.

How could he explain his actions to her? The lies for the past twenty years---to Will, it had all been to protect her and their children, he justified his actions that way. Once you were caught under the shadow of the Dark Lord, there was no escaping. Will had accepted the job in France, much to Voldemort’s displeasure and had suffered for it, but he managed to create a ruse of recruitment. Everything he’d ever done was for his family, he’d gotten his mark to avenge his brother’s death, he’d kept up with the auror program to fight for innocents like Deidra, he had moved his entire life to France to ensure that Anneliese was never in harm’s way...

...and look where it had all gotten him. Bound to a hospital bed, probably awaiting a trial that would send him to Azkaban for the rest of his life.

They were in silence for a few more minutes, Will’s ragged breathing the only sound. Unfortunately for him, he recalled the battle, and knew that he was lucky (or unlucky) to be alive. After saving MacFusty from the group of death eaters, Will had commanded a post, stopping at least a dozen death eaters from entering the Great Hall. It could have made a big difference, but he didn’t know. Though he supposed that if the Dark Lord had won, he would not have set him up in a hospital room to recover. Will should be dead.

“What happened?” Will asked. He didn’t think he’d have to explain his question. Where had the Dark Lord run off to now, how badly destroyed was Hogwarts, had Potter survived or was he missing once more?

Her chair creaked and scraped against the floor. Will turned his head away as she had come into his peripheral vision. Anneliese let out a few nervous breaths, and he could almost see her playing with her fingernails because of her nerves.

“There was a duel in the Great Hall,” she started, and Will shut his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t managed to do much good, “Harry Potter and You-Know-Who...I’m still not very sure, but it had to do with some ancient magic, Harry Potter was protected from all of the hexes and spells and....he’s gone.”

Will’s eyes shot open, unsure what she meant. “Who’s gone?” Potter had been protected, he understood that, but she couldn’t possibly...his confusion overtook his shame and he turned to face Anneliese, eyes wide. Looking into her eyes made his heart race again, but his brain was in control, “Who’s gone?”

Her eyes widened and she straightened in the chair. Anneliese looked so different, yet she was the girl he’d fallen madly in love with all those years ago. She still made him crazy, and just watching her slight movements caused a stirring in his chest Will thought he’d lost forever.

“You-know....” she paused, and then looked him straight in the eye, “Voldemort. Harry Potter killed him, he’s dead.”

Her words struck him harder than any spell he’d been hit with at the battle. Voldemort was gone? He was dead, Potter killed him, he was gone, the Dark Lord was gone, he was gone---

“He’s gone,” Will let out, blinking furiously, his hands, legs, entire body beginning to shake. His throat clenched, his chest tightened, he didn’t think he’d be able to breath in a moment. Tears pierced his eyes as Will gasped for air, deep tremors racing through him. His body had never felt such a shock, and he lurched forward, able to sit up but the chains around his wrists kept him from going any further. “He’s gone?”

“Will!” he heard Anneliese cry out, but his chest was heaving and he felt as if the walls around him were beginning to crush in around him. Letting out a long, deep scream, Will kicked his sheets away, kicked at the bars and the end of the bed. He couldn’t breathe, it was like being trapped and needing to break free but he couldn’t, these bloody chains held him down, he couldn’t---he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move, he needed to get out of here, he needed----he was gone, he was gone, he was gone---

The healers arrived quickly, and two burly hitwizards pushed him down to the bed. Will thrashed and fought against them, and he heard Anneliese’s cries in the background.

“Be careful! He’s claustrophobic, he’s having an attack! He doesn’t know---”

“Anneliese!” he yelled out, fighting against the hitwizard’s arm that was pinned to his chest, “Anneliese, Anneliese!”

He watched as a healer managed to grab hold of his wrist and he screamed out in pain as she injected him with something that immediately coursed up the vein of his arm. Will could feel his body begin to numb and his head lolled from side to side on the pillow, the energy he had just expelled still giving him momentum. The hitwizards loosened their grip on him, backing away from the bed, and before his eyes shut he watched Anneliese rush to his side and take his hand in both of hers.

Will blinked slowly up at her, fighting to stay awake for a few more seconds. His fingers gripped onto hers and she was saying something but he couldn’t hear her. The world around him was fading into blackness, but at least he would disappear knowing that Voldemort was dead and Anneliese would still hold his hand.

He stood in front of the locker room door, chest heaving as he tried to compose himself. His hands were itching to wring themselves around each other, but he didn’t think that would be very professional. It was bad enough that he already looked like a freshly turned eleven-year-old waiting to receive his Hogwarts letter; he didn’t need to add any more nervous tics. Charlie used all the methods he knew to compose himself, and none of them seemed to be working.

If he were honest, he probably shouldn’t even be here. He’d only been a substitute last season for four games when the Kestrels’ Keeper caught a rare case of scrofungulus. Charlie had been thrown some equipment ten minutes before the match was to begin, and told that he better not let more than four goals in if he wanted to fly on this pitch again. Somehow he managed to do so, and even though the Kestrels didn’t make the playoffs, he believed he had left a pretty good impression.

He had been invited back for the preseason, after all. Charlie had come into the training sessions with a good feeling, having heard about the old keeper’s retirement, but any positive thoughts he may have had were sucked out the window at the sight of the latest change-up in the Kestrels’ line up.

Rupert ‘Axebanger’ Brookstanton, the notorious French beater who had been banned from the game a few seasons ago, was now the Kenmare Kestrel’s newly named captain. He was just as intimidating as the papers made him out to be, and as much of a tyrant as they had predicted he would be. Charlie had stared dumbly at the man as he rattled off the new rules and regulations, and also initiating the new try-out system for this year’s starting positions. Some of the players who had secured their spots years ago muttered, but were barely fazed, but Charlie felt like he’d shrunk down to the size of a garden gnome.

He had to try-out? Again? It had taken him over a year to get the Kestrels to even look at him, and it had been another two seasons before he actually got to start a match. Now…now he had to go through it all over again? The panic that had struck him nearly stopped his heart, but somehow his body had known to get back into formation and fly his best, play his best. After all of his struggles to make it into the big league, this seemed like it would be his last shot to finally achieve his dreams.

That had been three days ago. The new starting roster was supposed to be put up today, and that was why Charlie was standing like a fool in front of the locker room door. None of the other players seemed to be around, but maybe they hadn’t actually thought their jobs were on the line. Charlie tried to keep his leg from bouncing furiously, but it seemed like that was the only thing his self-control could not stop. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, but he feared that the strain might cause him to throw up and it was just a whole big mess and----

“Mr. Brookstanton!” he nearly yelped, taking a step back as the captain suddenly opened the locker room door and appeared before him. Charlie’s eyes went wide and he looked like he was about to be run over by the Hogwarts Express from his reflection in Axebanger’s sunglasses. The captain’s mouth stayed pressed into a thin line as the door swung shut behind him, and Charlie’s eyes couldn’t help but dart away and down—there was the roll of parchment that would change his life.

“I---I’m just…waiting for the roster. Picks.”

It felt stupid now that he said it out loud. Obviously, since no one else was here, there was to be some other way of informing everyone that they’d made the team. Merlin, could the captain take his name off now after seeing how stupid and childish he was? Waking up at the crack of dawn just to see his name on a piece of paper? Obviously if he’d been picked up there would be contracts to sign! He’d need an agent! Uniform fittings and the like! Charlie felt his face heat up in embarrassment caused by the unmoved, seemingly blank stare (the sunglasses were creepily reflective) of Axebanger.

He watched as the captain unrolled the parchment and Charlie used all of his strength not to lean over and try to see. Axebanger seemed to be giving it one final look over, and without lifting his gaze from the list he spoke,

“What is your name again?”

He felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He felt like---he actually had been hit by the Hogwarts Express. Charlie was unable to stop his pained expression at the simple question as it felt like he’d just been slugged by a high-speed bludger, straight to the chest. The captain didn’t even know his name? How could he have made the team if Brookstanton didn’t even know who he was?

“Ch—Charlie Spinnet,” he stuttered, stunned. Axebanger looked up from the parchment with a light clearing of his throat before he turned and stuck the roster onto the locker room door. He started away without another word and Charlie, even know he knew his fate was sealed, had to step forward and see who had gotten the position. All his hard work, all his life’s work was gone, it was over, his quidditch career was over.

KEEPER - SPINNET, CHARLES

His mouth dropped, wondering if he’d been hit with a confundus spell a split second before he’d read the list. A split second before he’d read his name on the list. What, how---this didn’t make any sense, could the captain actually have just picked him without knowing what his name was, without being able to recall--

“If you are not on the pitch in ten minutes, you can scratch that name straight off,” Axebanger barked from door the hallway. Charlie turned and jumped in surprise, flushing at the amused smirk on the captain---his captain’s face. He nodded rapidly and hurriedly moved to pick up his gear before bursting into the locker room. If this was a dream, if this was a mistake, he was going to take it for every second he could.

The Hogwarts class of 1977 was a decidedly strange group of students.

It was just an observation, but Graciela was almost always in a constant state of observation. She spoke very little to her classmates, only Edward Pennifold ever holding much of a conversation with her and that was only when he was let out of the grasp of his Ravenclaw (female) counterparts. Most of her silence was due to her own self-consciousness and Graciela found it easy to blame her lonely times on herself. She never had anger toward the people who didn’t seem to notice her in the corridors, and found them to be...interesting. It was as if their incessant, but interesting and entertaining, chattering and bickering made up for their lack of conversation with her.

Her eyes were locked on the Gryffindor girls of their year. The four of them could not be more different, and were either laughing hysterically at some inside-joke no one but the four could understand or they were shrieking and looking ready to kill one another. Right now, Dorcas Meadows was standing on a bench waving her arms around maniacally as the other three squealed with laughter, and Graciela watched them with keen interest as she made her way across the courtyard. What could they be talking about? It must be a girls-only story, because the Gryffindor boys sitting near them looked bored out of their minds. It must be something about the Hogsmeade weekend...

Graciela was jolted out of her thoughts as someone collided into her shoulder, knocking all of her books to the ground. She dropped to her knees and bowed her gaze as the towering Slytherin Orpheus Travers glared back at her, as if wondering how she dared be in his way. Graciela felt her face heat up as he started towards her, but he stopped short a few feet in front of her.

“Oy, turn that ugly mug around, Travers,” the very familiar voice of Derek Dobbs said from behind her. Graciela looked up just in time to see Derek wave his wand lazily at the Slytherin, flicking a few golden sparks, “Before I give you something to really get bothered by.”

Graciela gaped and was so struck by the scene that she hadn’t noticed the second Hufflepuff to come to her rescue. She blushed a deep, dark red as Vinny Gudgeon smiled at her, having knelt down to pick up her books and parchment. Graciela always lost her voice when Vinny was around, even more so than usual. He swept up her books in one hand and put out his other to help her to her feet, but Graciela was feeling content just staying on the floor. Only hesitating for a few seconds longer, she took his hand and stood, and winced at how the confrontation between Derek and Travers seemed to be intensifying.

“How quaint, one mudblood protecting another,” Orpheus drawled. Graciela felt her own flare of anger shoot up inside of her at the words, but it was nothing compared to the red of Derek’s face. Vinny promptly forgot about her books and dropped them on a bench to jump in between Derek and Orpheus, as both boys’ wands had started to send much larger and more furious sparks.

“All right, all right,” Vinny said in his best Head Boy voice. He always managed to go from carefree and fun-loving to authoritative very quickly, and Graciela was glad he had gotten the badge this summer and not some of the other boy prefects in their year. She dropped down onto the bench with her books, not wanting to get in the way, “Let’s just move along, shall we?”

Orpheus scoffed and crossed his arms as one of his yearmates swooped into the scene. Caradoc Dearborn always looked like he was ready to start a fight, the smirk on his face displaying pure joy at the prospective confrontation, “So your Hufflepuffs can make threats,” Caradoc said, “but the second a Slytherin talks back you jump right in? That’s not bias at all, Gudgeon.”

“Knocking a girl to the ground and then calling her a mudblood isn’t just ‘talking back,’” Vinny said smoothly, though his hand twitched by his pocket where his wand resided. It wouldn’t be the first time this year that Vinny had been forced to pull his wand on some feuding students in the corridors. With tension rising outside the walls of Hogwarts, it was becoming harder and harder to keep the students ignorant of the storm that was forming.

Graciela began to gather her things, but she was too interested in what would happen to slip away just yet. A hand caught her elbow, and she was surprised to see Edward at her side, “Are you all right?”

She nodded, noting his concern and his slight tug on her sleeve. Edward would want nothing to do with this fight, and she was about ready to let him lead her away when a shrill voice broke into the crowd.

“Dearborn, would you stop riling up the crowd?” Rachel Englewood said, coming up beside Edward with her hands on her hips. Graciela watched as Caradoc’s smirk twisted into a frown at the sight of the Ravenclaw, and Rachel seemed to as well, “I know you’re not getting any of your own action these days, but really? Does starting unnecessary fights get you all hot and bothered?”

The crowd that had quickly formed around them let out hoots and hollers. Caradoc’s face burned a deep red and he pointed a stiff finger at Rachel, “Shut it, Englewood, if you know what’s good for you!”

“Is that a threat?” Rachel and Derek both let out, but Derek’s very blond girlfriend had jumped in front of him and had begun tugging him back. She was really no physical match against him, but Giada managed to pull Derek a bit further out of the circle. Edward’s keen senses knew that Graciela was no longer in trouble and had turned into Rachel, pushing her back and far out of the crowd as he could before she could make good with the threats she was verbally slinging at the Slytherin.

“Out! Everyone to their common room!” Vinny’s voice boomed, finally pulling his wand and pointing it equally at all of those involved. The Slytherins sneered and left with some choice words, and Vinny shook his head, heading down the corridor to fetch Derek, whose head was ducked low against his girlfriends as he furiously went off.

Graciela stayed on the bench, feeling exhausted even though all she had done was sit and watch. She stared after the Slytherins, wondering if they would make due on their threats, and was so tired by the past five minutes that she didn’t have the energy to jump when Sebastian Goldstein and Graeme Dorny sidled up on the bench on either side of her. Graciela looked from one Gryffindor to the other, recalling right away that they too were muggleborns. She could see just by the color of Sebastian’s ears that he had been listening in very closely, and he gave her shoulder a quick pat.

“Pity Gudgeon broke it up,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. He ran his hand over his neck, and Graciela spotted a bit of lipstick on his collar. Sebastian noticed a smear on his hand right away and immediately began wiping his hand on his pants, his cheeks now matching his ears,“Dobbs would’ve blown Travers to bits.”

“Maybe he could’ve taken Dearborn along with him,” Graeme mused.

Graciela just frowned and let the boys continue on with their thought up mock-battle. She’d left Portugal to escape the violence between those of supposedly ‘pure’ blood and the muggles and muggleborns. What would it take to stop the madness here before it truly began to reign terror upon them?

He lifted his chin, exposing more of his skin to the bird that was currently sucking on the hollow of his neck. His eyes scanned along the tiled wall of the loo until they reached the clock, and he let out a breath; this was taking too long. Hands that were pressed against the smooth wall moved down to take hold of her shoulders, and he finally looked down at the girl.

She was a pretty little thing, blonde with sharp green eyes. Charlie relented when she pushed up on her toes to kiss him, and that lasted for a few more minutes before he broke away, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m bored,” he stated simply and brushed off the front of his shirt before striding out of the bathroom. The music from the club drowned out the girl’s shout of protest, not that it would have mattered. The flashing lights created the illusion that everyone around him was moving in stop-motion, and with his already altered, alcohol-induced state, they may as well been. His mind had zoned out when people began to point him out, and he relished in the feeling while another drink was put into his hand.

It stung the back of his throat when he gulped it down; it must have been laced with something to add that extra kick and he let out a gasp. Charlie stopped and pushed his way to the bar, letting the drink setting in his stomach, wondering what the hell he’d just taken. He looked over his shoulder to see who’d given him the glass. No one seemed to be paying him any attention now that he was off to the side, and he needed the breather. Whatever he’d just downed, it was not settling right.

It had been nearly midnight when he’d left the bathroom, and he needed to be home to have enough sleep for his work out in the morning. Charlie knew that people thought he was a neanderthal, but there was a definite method to his madness. He worked out hard to become a better Keeper and when he worked out like he did he needed to relax before he got too wound up. Going out and having a couple of drinks was not a problem when he was always on time to practice and giving in the extra workout. Why was everyone on his ass about it? He’d never played better, and if anything he was more focused than he’d ever been.

People said that heartbreak often sent them to pieces, but Charlie was seeing the opposite affect. He’d been so wound up around Penny and then with her family troubles that he’d made some dumb mistakes considering his career. Breaking your hand right before a match was the stupidest thing he could do, and if she thought he could be better without her, then he should get something out of the breakup or...whatever it was. There were hours now he’d wasted spending his time with her, and now he was filling them up with his training and quidditch. He was a man, he was a fit young man who had needs, why should he stay wrapped up about a girl who didn’t want to be with him? He didn’t need her, if she didn’t need him then he didn’t need her and he was going to force himself to forget that he’d actually allowed himself to get played like the fool he really was.

This drink, though. Charlie blinked furiously, feeling as if the flashing lights were causing his thoughts to jumble even more than they already were. He pushed back from the bar and stumbled, wondering if he’d finally found his limit, but he honestly---had he really had that much? No, whatever they’d put it in it----

“All right there?” a gruff voice said, and a moment later someone was taking Charlie by the arm. He didn’t struggle, for a second he was rather grateful that someone had bothered to notice that something was wrong, but it seemed like his tongue had gone numb and he couldn’t get out the words. His other arm was grabbed and soon in his haze Charlie found himself basically being dragged out of the bar.

What was going on? What had he taken? Where was he going? Fuck all, man, this was all he needed. If the rags caught sight of the state he was in right now he’d be transferred to the Cannons before the break of dawn. A cold, bitter breeze hit his face. He blinked furiously, but still couldn’t see because everything was so bright. Charlie could feel the brick against his back as he was propped up against the wall, and he realized they were in the back alley of the bar because he’d escaped with a broad through this way just a few weeks ago. His head lolled forward as voices began to whisper.

“I wasn’t asking for permanent damage,” a slightly wary voice said. It seemed like the man was standing just a few feet in front of him. “Will he be all right?”

“Your fist is going to hurt him more,” another voice assured, “I used to give this to my brother so he’d miss prefect meetings, it’s harmless.”

“Just fucking get on with it, it’s freezing.” The third voice was closest to him, and was the person holding him up as his legs were ready to give away. Charlie’s mouth moved wordlessly as he tried to form words of protest, but it was as if his entire body was asleep but his mind was fully alert. There were three blokes getting ready to clobber him in a dark alley, and he had absolutely no defense against it.

He felt movement; the man who’d been holding him up had left, but before he could feel any relief another hand was at his throat, pushing him up the wall to stand. Charlie’s mind furiously fought but his limp limbs did nothing for him as the hand's grip tightened. What was he waiting for? Just hit him, the wait was getting torturous, Charlie knew he was going to wake up in the alley with his brains bashed out of him, what was he waiting for?

It seemed like an eternity, but the hand stayed in place. Charlie gasped loudly as he was released and dropped to the floor instantly.

“That was intense.”

“Let’s go, he’s not worth it.”

“We’ll get him Saturday.”

Charlie heard the sound of the footsteps grow distant, and after a couple of minute of deep breathing, the cold air seemed to revive all of his senses. His eyes adjusted to the light and he rubbed his neck, wondering what the hell had just happened. See him Saturday? What was...his eyes narrowed; could he really have just been attacked by some of the United? That was impossible, right? It...Charlie let out a frustrated sound and dropped his head back to the brick wall. Perfect. He really did have everyone on the fucking planet against him, and anything he could actually do to fix it were things he did not want to bother with, were things that he did not feel he was ready to do.

He kicked out, and stayed slumped in the alleyway, wishing they had actually beat the hell out of him. At least he’d have something physical to feel to go along with the mess that was going on inside of him.

It was the most comfortable sleep she’d had in months. Bess felt like everything that had lain so heavily on her shoulders had been lifted, never to be a bother again. She never wanted to wake up; that was her first thought as the inevitable consciousness of arousal overcame her. Her body stretched, even pointing her toes to get every last bit of her loosened from her deep slumber. A breath from the body lying in bed beside her was the final call of awakening, and Bess smiled slowly at the sight of Drystan Fawcett staring back. Last night immediately rushed back to the forefront of her mind, and she let out her own breath of happiness.

There was a kiss in the glow of a Christmas tree’s light, stumbling over boxes of ornaments, and their feet tangled up in the garland; getting caught kissing on the couch by her daughter and the embarrassment and rush of excitement it all brought topped everything off. Bess had never had a better first kiss, and after the two children were safely tucked away in bed, she knew she would never have anything better than Drystan Fawcett. They had been shy at first, wondering if they should discuss the impromptu snogging, but those discussions were interrupted with another go of kissing, and it wasn’t long before that they sank into Drystan’s bed and fulfilled the sexual tension they’d both been denying for months. Bess wouldn’t feel guilty for it. Drystan wasn’t a stranger anymore; he wasn’t just some bloke that she kept running into. This man had let her into his life when he needed someone the most and she’d grown to care for and adore him.

Drystan reached out, pushing Bess’ hair out of her face. His gentle touches sent her into a dizzy state and she reveled in his fingers’ lingering, languid movements against her cheek, along her jaw line, and then slowly down her neck to her bare shoulder.

“That was a very nice Christmas present,” she said, her eyes bright with reminiscing for the night. Drystan nodded, his hand having traveled down her side and to her waist. Bess didn’t resist as he pulled her closer and let her legs get tangled in his. Oh, could they just lie like this forever? She didn’t want to think about how Sadie would be awake soon, or how Stephen might already be sitting up in his crib. She just wanted to be in this moment with Drystan, knowing that this was the best night she’d ever had. How could she let it end by rejoining the world outside this bedroom door?

The urge to keep this perfect time going made her push forward to kiss him. It made her so excited to be able to do that and get a kiss in return, and soon their kiss went deeper, their hands eagerly explored once again, and their legs were tangled up in the sheets with all the twisting and motion. Bess felt hot in the most pleasant of ways underneath Drystan’s body, and she made to kiss him again when he pulled back from her. His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment Bess thought he was going to tell her that this was all a bad idea; the seriousness of his expression startled her.

“I love you,” he said, as if reassuring her that this night, morning, future, was not at all a dream. Bess imagined that he could feel her heart pounding through her chest as her entire body reacted to his words, and she barely nodded before whispering that she loved him too. She wasn’t sure how she knew so determinedly, but she hadn’t hesitated and felt a great warmth settle within her as a smile appeared on Drystan’s face before he leaned back down to kiss her again.

The air smelled different in Paris. Therese would not explain what caused it because she would not do the city justice. She stared out down the busy street, taking in the chatter and movement of those strangers passing by. Her eyes would lock on to a face in the crowd and follow them for a few quick moments before they disappeared, and her thoughts were left wondering, lingering about what their story was. Where was he going, why did she wear that dress, was there a reason for that smile?

Therese idly stirred the spoon in her coffee, her mind losing itself in the sea of people. She didn’t want to think about how her trips to Paris were now going to be few and far between with her new job starting; she’d made the trip every summer since she was eleven, and now would have to schedule herself around the quidditch season and the hospital. It saddened her, but it made her put forth a greater effort to make this trip the best she’d ever taken.

“Excusez-moi?” Her eyes darted forward and Therese hid the startled feeling she had at the sight of a muggle man she didn’t know sitting at her small, two-person table. She didn’t respond at first, and looked from side to side to see if he may have taken the wrong seat, but when she looked back at him he was grinning widely. Therese held back a blush, and her eyebrows rose, “Est-ce que cette place est occupée?”

She considered his question; did she want to ruin her peaceful afternoon of people watching by allowing this muggle to pull up a chair and chat her up? Therese knew she could always feign a lack of knowledge in the French language, but something about his smile made her reconsider. She did want to make this trip memorable, and how much more memorable could you get than a handsome French man just swooping into your life?

Her hand went out in an offering of the chair, even though he had already taken it. The man’s smile brightened even more, and Therese found herself feeling a bit charmed. It was always a good surprise when you caught someone’s attention when you weren’t looking for it.

“You are not from here,” he said, his accent thick. Therese straightened her shoulders, wondering what had given her away. Her French was flawless, and she hadn’t even said a word to him, so how had he known? He waved a hand toward her, “It is your taches de rousseur that give you away.”

Now she was not able to hold back a blush and Therese looked away, shaking her head. Her mother’s strong, Irish genes often came back to haunt her at times when she had no desire to exploit that side of her heritage. Why would she want anyone to think she was something of a tourist, who didn’t know the lay of the city and could not carry herself among its streets? Therese felt more at home in Paris than she ever did back in Ireland, she often dreamed herself to be living in the cloud scraping towers of Beauxbatons instead of the dungeons of Slytherin. It bothered her that he chose to point out that she was not truly part of the city, and Therese let out a breath.

“I was just leaving,” she snapped, too bothered by him to respond in French. Part of her didn’t want to give him a taste of her flawless accent and she did not want to feel as if she were trying to prove anything to him. She stood, but he stood along with her, his hand going out again.

“But we have just met!” he exclaimed, that smirk still playing on his face. Therese did not know what was more bothersome: the fact that he could see right through her or that he had been smiling about it the whole time. Why had he been paying such close attention to her freckles, anyway? “You do not even know my name, I think that is rude.”

“Rude?” Therese let out, astonished that he dared to have the gall to call her such a thing! “You planted yourself at my table, you point out the blemishes on my face---“

“Blemishes! I do not think you know what that word means,” he said with a sagely nod, following her as she made her way through the tables of the sidewalk café. Therese shook her head, letting out a scoff of a laugh at his words. The man jumped, skipped ahead of her and blocked the gate that would let her out into the street. Therese wasn’t sure why no one had asked her if this man was harassing her, and she put her hands on her hips, striking a very annoyed, irritated pose. “They are interesting; I would like to stare at them more.”

“That’s the worse pick up line I’ve ever heard,” Therese flat out told him, shaking her head. She could not even be moved that he found her freckles ‘interesting’ as he said, and gestured for him to move. When he didn’t, Therese let out a loud breath and slipped her hand into her bag, ready to shoot a quick jinx to make him jolt away and forget he’d ever harassed her, “Give me one good reason not to smack you away.”

Her hand tightened its grip around the handle of her wand as he leaned forward, still smiling. Therese kept her eyes locked on his, ready to dart away if he made any sudden movements. Instead of leaving, however, his hand rose up and he pulled open his vest, sending her a wink before looking down. Her gaze followed his, and she was surprised to see a wand secured tightly within an inner pocket.

“How did you…?” Therese was more startled by his ability to mark her as a witch than as ‘tourist,’ and stood in front of him, stunned. He’d just revealed his wand to a complete stranger, she could’ve been a muggle and not had any idea what he was doing…she was nowhere near the wizarding areas of Paris, how had he known?

Rémy moved forward and looped his arm through hers, patting her hand in an almost sympathetic way. She was marveled by his boldness and because of it she allowed him to lead her out onto the pavement, and into the sea of people she had just been watching.

“Je m'appelle Rémy,” he said, and Therese suddenly felt like his smile was handsomer than it had been a few seconds ago, “I believe we have much more in common than you may think.”

There was a word for Drake Parkin’s abs, but Carys refused to acknowledge it. Actually, she was refusing to even look at said abs and she was refusing to touch them as well. He was undeserving of her most delicate displays of affection, and Carys was going to be sure that she kept strong. This whole stalemate had started with a simple comment. Drake had flat out stated that she would not be able to hold out on sex today after Carys had laid down a no-sex punishment for…she couldn’t even remember why she’d made the judgment call, but she had, and damn it, she was sticking to it!

It was proving difficult however, as her fiancé liked to do his pull-ups in the doorway of the bedroom, which gave Carys a beautiful, beautiful view of his shirtless body. She used a book to block most of her gaze, but reading was boring and the book had no pictures and----she’d gotten about a chapter done when Drake finally dropped to the floor. Her eyes shot back to the pages, having read the same line at least ten times. She felt him look over at her, and when she heard a sound of success escape him as he turned into the bathroom, Carys felt a new sense of strength.

The second Drake shut the door she jumped off the bed, her book flying across the room. Carys pulled off her jeans and tossed them into her designated bin, ripping off her t-shirt a second later to replace it with an extra large Catapults shirt that she’d left from another night. With a skip she jumped over her pile of clothes and back into bed, under the covers and with her head on the pillows before the water of the shower had even turned on. The lights were shut, and Carys’ eyes followed suit. She would be fast asleep before Drake left the bathroom, the only way that she would be able to resist him. Carys was very good at getting what she wanted, and she was very bad at not getting what she wanted, so if she forced herself to sleep before Drake got into bed, she would not feel any sort of worry.

Carys was in that almost-asleep-sleep when Drake finally exited the bathroom, and was so comfortable that she didn’t move a twitch. Her mind, her subconscious she supposed, knew that he was walking around, but it would take a lot of effort on her part or his to get her out of this very content sleep. The bed creaked as he finally joined her under the covers, and there was silence for a few minutes. More than a few minutes, actually. The lack of disturbance was what actually woke Carys up, but she did not move a muscle. Had he really gone to sleep without a word? Was he really fine with her blockade?

Oh, that was infuriating. But she was going to win, damn it! Patience was a virtue Carys did not have, or really care to have, but she was going to prove Drake wrong!

Barely letting out a sound of frustration, Carys’ eyes bore into the clock on the night stand. She watched as it clicked over from eleven fifty-nine to midnight, and it was within the next second that she felt a hand drape over her waist and pull her over. Carys wasn’t quite sure how she’d gone from glaring at a clock to her lips pressed firmly against Drake’s, and she pushed him away to squawk and gawk.

“Excuse me! I said no sex!” she let out, attempting to remove his hand from its very precarious position, trapped in the elastic of her knickers. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room and that smug smile was once again on Drake’s face.

“You said no sex ‘today,’” he responded in what Carys liked to refer to as his ‘Ravenclaw Drawl’ When Drake was in the right, you could hear the certainty in his voice and there was no arguing it. She blinked, unsure of his logic because she was the furthest thing from a Ravenclaw you could get, “It’s past midnight. No sex was for yesterday.”

Ah. Carys considered this as Drake dipped down to take hold of her neck with his lips. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering if she should accept his reasoning and let out a gasp as his hand began its work again.

“Does this mean I win?” she managed before her brain completely melted. Carys felt him nod against her and she was suddenly very, very awake.