He pulled up the handle of his broom to come to a stop, breathing heavily. Caden shook his head, "I'm beginning to feel like you're only dating me to get on the pitch."

Holly did a quick loop before expertly stopping by his side, her legs kicking happily in the air. They floated high above the field of the quidditch pitch, the stands empty and the cool spring breeze causing them to sway.

"One of the reasons," she admitted, dropping down a few feet when Caden reached out to tug her sleeve. The archaic rule of No Girls Allowed that the Slytherin quidditch team continued to follow was not a sentiment that all of their players agreed with. Some did, but Caden wasn't one of them. He was quite aware that Holly could fly circles around him.

Holly made sure he was aware of that, a lot.

After going through a few more formations, they flew to the ground in a quick spiral, Holly letting out a shout of success as her feet touched the ground first; everything was a competition with her. Caden landed a few feet away from her, slinging his broom over his shoulder once he had his footing. Holly fiddled with the ends of her broomstick as she waited for him by broom shed. Only those on the House teams had the key to the shed, and it automatically sealed shut once closed.

Caden fingered the key in his pocket, standing in front of Holly with his chin lifted.

"Open the door before we're late for dinner," she said with a lazy wave of her hand, eyes still focused on the straws of her broom.

"Give me another reason."

"Open the door...because I said so?" Holly looked up, eyebrows raised in confusion. Caden smirked and shook his head.

"Another reason why you're dating me." The flare of a blush on her cheeks made his stomach twist in a pleasant manner. Holly sputtered, waving her hand about, unable to form a coherent sentence. Caden remained standing tall, eyes watching in anticipation. "Surely, there has to be something."

"You're a wanker," Holly finally managed.

"That's not getting you into the broom shed."

Holly's lips pressed together tightly and if he hadn't been so confident that there were indeed other reasons she fancied him, Caden would've worried that she was going to break her broomstick over his head. Perhaps there was the slightest of worries, but then it would be a big mess to clean up, wouldn't it?

"You're not dumb," Holly said with a sigh, shoulders sagging. Caden's eyes widened.

"Well, thanks."

"I mean! You're smart, you don't---" She shuffled under his gaze, and for a moment he wondered if this was a mean game to play. "--you challenge me and...you don't let me win---I like that."

Caden let out a small sound of approval. He'd never doubt Holly's abilities, on or off the pitch. She was one of the brightest witches he'd ever met and though he was a quiet bloke, he never had a problem admitting when he was impressed by her. His free hand reached out and took hold of her sleeve. Holly looked up, cheeks still quite rosy. Caden smiled.

"I would have accepted that I was 'really, really good-looking.'"

"Flint," Holly growled, pushing forward and launching her arms around his neck. They kissed soundly, broomsticks falling to the grass.

She considered herself something of a princess. It wasn’t something you admitted out loud because her kind of princess did not do such a thing, but Adamina treated herself like royalty. And why shouldn’t she? She was smart, she was kind, she was beautiful, and she knew what she wanted. If that wasn’t what a princess was like, then what was? It wasn’t her fault that she knew it and not so silently expected other people to treat her with the same sort of respect. Bianca and Mirabelle agreed with her, as they were princesses of their own sort (but not of the same stature as Adamina, of course), and the sixth year Slytherin girls perched their royal selves upon the steps of the Entrance Hall, basking in the May sun.

“I think July will be spent in Morocco,” Mira mused, examining her fingernails. Adamina’s eyes dropped from her gaze on the boys by the lake to look at her friend. “The beach house is finally finished.”

“Where are our invitations?” Bianca giggled from the bottom step, looking up from her book. Her hair was tied in a large pink ribbon that kept falling out of its knot, and Adamina itched to yank it out of her hair because it was frustrating her how her friend’s curls kept sticking out all over.

“I wouldn’t think we needed one,” Adamina said, smiling quickly before her eyes focused back on the boys. She was certainly going to miss this batch of seventh years. The boys in her year did not compare, and though she would never admit it outside of her own mischievous mind, the Hufflepuff boys were by far the most handsome.

Mira and Bianca went on about the beach house as Adamina’s thoughts wandered, and she stretched her legs along the step. The sun was beating down on them; she would be a fool to waste the lovely weather and not get some color while she could. The students leaving to lounge on the grounds carefully stepped over her, something she didn’t acknowledge, but expected. It wasn’t until a pair of feet stumbled over hers that her self-induced daze was broken.

“Don’t you know the phrase ‘excuse me?’” she snapped quickly, her eyes turning into slits towards the culprit. He looked to be a third year, and a Hufflepuff. His teeth were clenched in fear as he stood at the bottom of the steps, and Adamina sat up, ready to ask his name to give him a proper lashing.

“Don’t you know you don’t own the steps?”

The voice came from behind her, and Adamina twisted to look up and see yet another Hufflepuff, but this was Timothy Greengrass, a boy in her year. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as his older housemates, and his seemingly permanent scowl was a large factor in that. He glared down at her and Adamina’s lips twisted.

“I was here first,” she said smoothly, watching him start down the stairs. She could feel Mira and Bianca watching the confrontation and it made her straighten her shoulders.

“That doesn’t mean you can take up the entire staircase,” he muttered, sending a long look at the two other girls as well. Tim’s eyes reached Adamina again and his rather hard glare made her flush. He was just so rude, “Unless of course, your ego needs it.”

The indignant squeak that she elicited was all she could muster before he sent her a quick salute and led the younger Hufflepuff away. Mira and Bianca were immediately by her side, spewing insults towards Greengrass, but their words went unheard. Her sharp glower remained on the Hufflepuff as he joined the other group by the lake front; her anger toward him had her mesmerized and Adamina was quite aware that Tim Greengrass would be occupying her thoughts for a fair amount of time.

Iwan pulled his shoelaces tight, standing up in time to see a familiar redheaded Gryffindor rushing toward him. He blinked in confusion for a moment before adjusting his bag's strap on his shoulders and stepping in front of the distracted student.

"Mason!" Iwan said, putting his hands out to stop his brother from mowing him over. Mason ducked his head and Iwan frowned. "W-what's wrong?"

The fourth year attempted to pull away, but Iwan kept hold of the sleeve of his brother's robe. He and Mason had a strange relationship; when they were home they got along well enough, as well as two teenage half-brothers could, but at Hogwarts it was as if they were complete strangers. Iwan knew he wasn't the most popular of kids while Mason flourished in that category, but there always seemed to be a great divide once they entered the halls of Hogwarts. He supposed the divide between Slytherins and Gryffindors was stronger than he'd thought.

"It's nothing," Mason said, wiping at his eyes, his shaggy red hair falling in his face. "I've got to get to practice."

"Right, your duel is c-coming up."

The younger brother nodded, shifting uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his hair and that was when Iwan noticed the swell of his brother's black eye.

"What happened?!" Iwan let out in surprise, taking his brother by his shoulders and moving him out of the middle of the corridor. Mason struggled, but not enough to keep Iwan from ducking them into an empty classroom. He sat his brother in a chair and pushed his hair back, mouth gaping at the nasty bruise on his brother's face. "Who did this?"

"No one!" Mason said with a huff.

"So you punched yourself in the f-face?"

Mason looked up and sent his brother a nasty glare. The younger brother slumped back into his seat and Iwan's amusement faded as Mason took on a look of defeat.

"It was Yates and his friends. They were teasing me and I called them---some bad…names," Mason grumbled. Iwan bit back a groan; his brother could not have gotten into a fight with a worse group of guys. Yates' temper around the Slytherin dorms was explosive, and his idiot friends Quigg and Avery followed his every lead. Iwan was an expert at avoiding them, but Mason didn't seem to have inherited that skill.

"So he punched you."

"And took my dueling robes," Mason said with a miserable nod. "Mum just sent those, Iwan, she's going to kill me."

Iwan clenched his fists in worry and annoyance. Mason was really growing to be an excellent dueler, and Iwan knew his little brother was planning to take those skills into the auror squad. Those other blokes had no right to take something that wasn't theirs, especially from his little brother! Iwan did not have much of a voice when it came to his fellow Slytherins, or much of a voice with anyone, really, but there had to be some sort of rule that you were not allowed to steal or harass a housemate's sibling.

"I'll g-get your robes back," Iwan said, trying to keep the worry he felt bubbling inside of him from growing. Mason scoffed.

"What are you going to do, stutter at them?"

Iwan's face flushed red immediately and he looked away. Mason stood, knocking his chair back.

"Ah—I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, honest," the little brother said frantically. Mason let out a tired breath and Iwan felt the courage he'd just built up begin to slip away. "It's just—they weren't teasing me, Iwan. They were making fun of you."

"What?"

Mason frowned, nodding. "They were saying all sorts of things in the library about you and I couldn't just let them, so—I knocked a bunch of books on their heads."

Iwan couldn't help it; he snorted and threw a hand over his mouth to try and hold back his laughter. Mason cracked a grin and laughed.

"…wasn't my brightest moment."

The older brother shook his head. His little brother had a bit of a temper, but at least he wasn't a bully and deserved that new set of robes. Iwan put his hand on Mason's shoulder and said, "I'm going to get your robes back."

Mason had defended him and it was only right that Iwan did the same for his brother. He knew where Yates and his friends liked to hang out, and it would be easy enough to get them in trouble with some of the expellable-things Iwan saw them do. It was easy to collect useful information when people tended to not notice you were there.

"Iwan…" Mason started, "I don't want you to get hurt, maybe you shouldn't—"

He threw an arm over Mason's shoulder and gave him a squeeze, leading him out of the classroom and toward the infirmary.

"Hey, don't worry. I got this."

Henry stalked away as fast as he could, keeping his head ducked as he furiously wiped at his eyes. He---he hated him! He hated him, he hated his brother, he hated Seth! He would not look back as his brother called after him, after the prefect shouted out. Henry was going to---stalk straight out of Hogwarts, go down to Hogsmeade, and take the bloody Hogwarts Express home because the next three years of having Seth Wadcock as a prefect with the power to dock points for loitering in the corridors was going to drive Henry to the grave.

“Oy! If you don’t stop I’m docking another thirty!”

Seth knew how to get under Henry’s skin. He was a Slytherin who did not like to lose or be trumped, and if he went back to the dorms tonight having lost a total of sixty points, he would have to sleep on the hard, cold floor of the dungeons. Henry forced himself to stop and he threw himself angrily against the wall, crossing his arms and not looking up as Seth finally caught up with him.

“You’re such a baby, it’s only house points,” Seth said with a laugh. “You’ll get them back after your potions exam tomorrow!”

“It’s not funny, Seth!” Henry snapped, looking up with a frown, “I work hard for my points and that—stupid badge of yours is ruining it!”

“Oh poor, poor Henry!” his brother mocked, putting a hand to his heart. Henry had never wanted to punch his brother more in his life. “What’s the House cup matter, anyway? Oooh, the Great Hall gets decorated in your House colors! Big whoop!”

“It proves which House is the best,” Henry snipped, lifting his chin. The older Slytherins made sure that the younger generations were aware of the pride they should feel for their House. Henry wore his green and silver robes with pride, Seth was not going to ruin that for him.

Seth scoffed, “And you think Slytherin is? See, little brother,” he managed to wrap his arm around Henry’s shoulders and tug him away from the wall and down the corridor, “if you’d just been sorted into Gryffindor, we wouldn’t be in this dilemma!”

“I’m a Slytherin!”

“Yes, we’re all aware and quite ashamed about it, yadda yadda yadda, Mum wailed for days when she heard,” Seth bemoaned, tugging Henry around a corner. The Slytherin’s eyes widened; his mother did not cry about his sorting---right?

“She did not,” Henry huffed, but he watched his older brother carefully. Seth nodded sadly, and Henry felt his heart drop.

“She did, she did,” Seth said, sounding remorseful, “She knew after that it would only be a short while ‘til you figured out you were adopted.”

Henry pressed his feet into the ground to break away from Seth, “Am not!”

“Are too!” Seth countered, putting his hands out, checking off his fingers, “Mum’s a Gryffindor, Dad’s a Gryffindor, I’m a Gryffindor! One of these things is not like the other…”

The Slytherin’s face twisted up in anger, ready to protest. His brother was a liar, he was always teasing him, it just wasn’t fair, and before he could get his frustrations out, tears began to stream down his cheeks.

“What---Henry, stop it!” Seth said frantically, ushering his brother into the nearest loo. Henry let out a wail, feeling terrible and stupid and miserable. He’d lost House points, his brother was a terror, and now all he could think about was his very Gryffindor parents thinking he was a disappointment and wanting to send him back where he came from.

“You’re---not adopted! A surprise but---I didn’t mean!” Seth stuttered, pulling out napkins to wipe at his little brother’s face.

“I should-should’ve been a Gr-Gr-Gryffindor!” Henry cried, chest heaving. Seth propped him down on a toilet and grabbed onto his shoulders. Henry kept whimpering, feeling absolutely pathetic.

“No---you’re a Slytherin! And you’re one of the good ones, at that! You don’t hex people in the corridor, you play fair during gobstones; you even wait your turn in line to pick out brooms, who does that?”

Henry’s tears had stopped, and he stared dubiously at his brother while Seth’s gaze bore into him.

“Because there’s an order to things,” Henry muttered, taking in a shuddering breath. Seth shook his head with a laugh and ruffled Henry’s hair.

“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you,” he said, hefting Henry up by his arm. “Go wash your face before I dock some more points----I’m kidding!”

“Goldstein is handsome.”

Therese could feel the daggers shooting from Matilda Rowle’s eyes, but her chin remained propped in her hand as she stared across the library at the Gryffindor. He was telling a story, a rather animated one by the look of his wild gesticulations, and his smile could have lit up the entire castle. She hadn’t intentionally stared at the Gryffindor for ten minutes, but he was far more interesting than anything her notes had to say.

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” the other girl hissed, nearly crawling on top of the table to get closer to Therese. They were studying for their N.E.W.T.s, which were only a few weeks away and the only reason why Therese was sitting with Matilda at all. Most days she avoided the girl at all costs, finding her to be much more of a headache than a friend. Matilda knew this as well, and reciprocated the lack of camaraderie; she reveled in trying to fluster Therese, because she never seemed able to. They were constantly at odds, and seemed to live to annoy one another.

“He’s handsome,” she repeated, sending Matilda a sidelong glance. The blonde girl bristled immediately and pulled back to her seat. Therese smiled. Matilda liked to think that she intimidated everyone she spoke to, but Therese enjoyed reminding the girl that her words could not faze her. Matilda was a silly girl who believed whatever her society told her and Therese did not respect her for that. It was not an admirable attribute, to blindly follow those who came before you, and though Therese was far from appreciative of muggle culture she could admire their physical attributes. They weren’t exactly trolls.

“All I see is his muddy blood,” Matilda snipped, sitting up straight and refusing to look down to her text. She was now glaring hard at Goldstein, who hadn’t noticed them. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“I just want to snog him,” Therese mused, her exhaustion diminishing the filter between her thoughts and mouth with each passing second, “I don’t plan on having his children.”

Matilda’s lips pressed into a thin line as she continued to stare at Sebastian Goldstein. He’d dumped that farm girl MacDonald after the winter holidays and had been looking much more chipper since. He was one of the few in their year that wasn’t afraid to stand up to the idiot Slytherin boys that lurked around their dorm, and Therese often commended him for it, even if it was to rile up Caradoc or one of his cronies.

They sat, staring at the Gryffindor for another good amount of time. Therese was imagining how soft his hair must be, and she imagined Matilda must be thinking about how greasy his curls were. Though she had dated Evan Rosier, and Merlin knew that boy’s hair was not the best...

“...he has lovely lips.” The words slipped out of Matilda’s mouth and Therese let out a squeak. The other girl quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock at herself. Oh, that was far too good, and Therese wasted no time in laughing and pointing. Matilda looked absolutely horrified, but somehow managed to crack a smile, “I meant to say---he talks far too much!”

“Who does?”

Therese wiped at her eyes and looked up to see Mackenzie Loftus, who was sending a very confused look between the two girls. She was their third roommate, and was far too aware of how poorly Therese and Matilda got along. To see them together and laughing must have caused some concern.

“Goldstein,” Therese said through her laughter. She jerked a thumb toward Matilda, whose face was turning purple from embarrassment, “This one think’s he’s got lovely lips!”

“You’re the one that wants to snog him!” Matilda snapped back, sending Mackenzie a pleading look, “Don’t believe her! She said it first!”

Therese snickered, but her amusement was short lived when Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“You can’t be serious,” she snapped, staring hard at Therese. Taken aback at her friend’s sudden intensity, Therese felt her own cheeks grow hot. She shrugged uncomfortably under Mackenzie’s hard glare.

“Don’t think it would exactly hurt,” she said, to which Mackenzie scoffed and tossed her hair.

“It could,” she sniffed, taking a seat and opening her text without a look toward Therese. She was sure she’d never seen Mackenzie look so put-off in her life. Therese noticed for the first time that Goldstein was looking toward them now, and she wondered if he’d finally heard them. “You don’t have the best track history with the boys here, do you?”

It was Matilda’s turn to squeak, but Therese promptly shut her textbook and stood, flushed and angry. How dare she?

“Well you’re in a right state!” she snapped at Mackenzie, swiping her books into her bag. Therese had never had Mackenzie speak to her in that manner, maybe her friend was as stressed out about her N.E.W.T.s as well, but---the nerve! Mackenzie kept her eyes down on her text, and with an intentional bump into the table to knock over their inkwells, Therese stormed away from the table and out of the library---but not before sending a wave to Sebastian Goldstein and grinning when his eyes followed her out.

“Henry...you have to get up.”

He blinked, his eyes forcing themselves open for the first time in what felt like years. The ceiling above his head was slowly spinning, and he wondered, briefly, if it would ever stop. It didn’t look like it was ever going to stop, what would happen if it never stopped?

Two familiar faces popped into his line of sight, causing his eyes to widen. Delilah and Gaspard stared down at him with concerned, nervous expressions. Gaspard reached down and pressed a finger to Henry’s eyelid, lifting it up to get a good look at his mate’s eyeball.

“He’s definitely drunk.”

“Well, duh,” Delilah scoffed. “Anyone could’ve told you that!” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed greatly at Gaspard, who was still examining Henry’s face by pushing his cheeks and nose around. “If he wasn’t drunk he wouldn’t be lying in the middle of the bloody corridor ready to get sent to detention for life by Filch!”

Henry let out a strange sound at this, but still made no move to get up from the stone cold floor. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to. What had he been doing, listening to Delilah? They broke up two months ago, why did he still let her drag him around like she did? Merlin’s Beard. Gaspard was useless in helping Henry avoid the tempation of Delilah Spinnet, and as per usual, had gotten dragged along in the late night adventure. How Henry ended up being the only one plastered and unable to get up from the floor, he would never, ever know.

“Ineedtogetup,” Henry slurred, attempting to lift his arms up but they barely lifted off the ground. He couldn’t remember what he had to drink, he couldn’t remember when they started drinking, and all he knew was that Gaspard had kept handing his bottles over to Henry, and Delilah had demanded they toast to the end of the school year, and now he was on the floor.

The dirty, hard floor.

“We’re going to get you up,” Delilah said with a tone of determination. “Gaspy, you grab that arm, and I’ll grab this one.”

“Gaspy?” Gaspard questioned, blinking owlishly. Delilah snapped her fingers and the standing Slytherin poked his lip out in protest before reaching down and grabbing Henry’s designated arm. Delilah gripped his forearm with both hands, and before Henry could say ‘don’t!’ they hefted him up off the ground. It was like being slung from a giant slingshot, and for a moment he teetered on his own two feet before falling forward, thankfully managing to not smash his face into the hard floor because his friends had held onto him.

“Just leave me,” Henry moaned as he was slowly lowered to the floor, “save yourselves!”

“Levitate! We could levitate him!” Delilah suggested.

“Nolevitating!” he mumbled, face smushed against the ground. That would make him throw up for sure. Delilah began to protest, but the sound of a loud meow bounced off the walls of the corridor.

“Mrs. Norris!” Gaspard squeaked, jumping from foot to foot, “Filch is coming!”

Henry could sense their panic but couldn’t do a thing about it. He was nearly asleep, unsure of how he’d found the hard floor so comfortable. He barely reacted when Delilah and Gaspard grasped him by his armpits and hefted him up, his legs dragging behind him as they pulled him down the corridor. He heard a door open, and horrendous smell filled his lungs. He was propped up against a wall, and with bleary vision he could make out Gaspard and Delilah’s silhouettes in the door frame.

“We’ll be back first thing in the morning!” Delilah promised.

“Don’t leave! Be quiet!” Gaspard warned. The door shut and Henry was left in the darkness of what he now figured out to be a broom closet. Moaning, he tilted to the side and his head found itself a nice pillow in a pile of old rags that would have given him a conniption if he were to have touched them sober.

At least he had a rubbish bin to get sick in when the time most definitely came.