Vivamus, moriendum est (Let us live, since we must die). 
— Seneca 

Strikhedonia 
(n.) the pleasure of being able to say "to hell with it" 

Azalea POV 

Azalea Linnaea Potter. 

I sit on the foot of my four-poster bed, legs crossed, as I rewrite my name on every textbook. It's ten o'clock at night, and I'm huddled in an obnoxiously oversized and disgustingly comfortable cardigan that Cove crocheted for me as a goodbye gift with Knox, who's nestled between the duvet and my pillow behind me. 

I don't think he likes the Owlery very much. 

There are a total of five beds beside each other in a line, taking up one entire wall of the room, of which one is mine, and two others are occupied by girls named Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode—their beds are on the other end of the room. Beside their beds, Pansy's is in the middle. An unoccupied one lies between Pansy's and mine. 

When I inquired about the unoccupied one, they shrug and tell me that up until the previous year, they'd shared this room with another girl, Tracey Davis, who did not survive her third year. Like any normal person, my blood runs cold, and I ask what-the-hell. They tell me that Crabbe and Goyle dared her to go into the Forbidden Forest for an hour as a joke. She didn't come back. 

They seem terribly nonchalant about the whole ordeal. 

The wall opposite the beds has five carved armoires lined up, with a small rack for shoes beside each one. Lamps that emit a greenish glow are on the nightstands beside each bed, casting the room in green shadows, and the curtains, too, are a deep shade of emerald, with intricate silver designs woven into the fabric. 

Well, there goes my bright sunny life.

Daphne and Millicent ignore me after that, not bothering to strike up conversation, but on the brighter side, at least they aren't threatening to hex me when I fall asleep, so that's a plus point. I don't think Pansy will have the same demeanour, though. Whenever she arrives from wherever. 

She's probably helping Crabbe and Goyle tend to Blaise's bruised ego. I wonder what Draco's doing right now. 

"No." 

I slam the last book shut right as that thought flashes through my mind. 

I turn to Knox. "I think I'm sleep-deprived, and that's what's making me think of that blonde disappointment. I should sleep." 

With a final nod to myself and Knox, I stack my books and place them on my nightstand, turning off the lamp by my bed. 

The door bursts open with a slam. 

Pansy stomps in, her face red with anger and hair mussed by the wind, tossing her cloak on her bed in a heap. 

"Stupid bloody Gryffindors," she snarls, kicking off her boots. "Can't take a joke or a bit of fun. That cursed prefect docked ten points just for being out past curfew. Ten points!" She huffs and turns her glare on me as though it's my fault. "And of course, you would get away with it if it were you out there. Potter blood and all that. Special treatment." 

I lift a brow. "Didn't know having this last name means my rule-breaking will be ignored. I'll try it next time I'm hexing someone." 

Millicent snorts. "If you're really a Potter, why haven't we heard of you before?" 

And that's the million-Galleon question, isn't it? 

Daphne, arms crossed, finally speaks. "You show up in the middle of the year, sorted into our  house, no warning, no story—just a sudden Potter . You expect us to just pretend that's normal?" 

"No," I say, standing to open the window. "I don't expect you to pretend. I expect you to get over it." 

There's a pause. The fire crackles. 

I slide the curtain aside, but instead of seeing the sky, all I see is the depths of a lake. Right , Slytherin's dorms were under the Great Lake, Draco had told me. I cast a sharp look at Knox. How in the name of Merlin did he get in here if there are no windows? 

Pansy has an unattractive scowl on her generally attractive face. "Over it? You threatened to murder Draco's parents in front of half the school!" 

Yeah, that may have been a little rash. 

But he deserved it. 

"I'm sure he's alright now—after the wonderful job you've done at coddling him for the past hour." Her sneering response doesn't deny my assumption. So she was with him. Of course. 

"And what the hell was that stunt with the flower? He's in the Hospital Wing, you know. Skin like he's been hexed. What did you do?" 

I blink. 

Millicent buries her head in her trunk, grumbling something about her lost socks, while Daphne sits up straighter on her bed, listening to our shouting match curiously. 

"I didn't do anything," I say, though that hardly quells Pansy's fuming face. Perhaps she needs a bar of chocolate. Sugar always calms all storms. 

Pansy's scowl deepens. 

Oh. 

The flower he'd stolen from my braid earlier. 

I can't help it. A smirk curves my lips, unrestrained and self-satisfactory. Lilies of the valley for the win. "I didn't do anything. He touched something that didn't belong to him. Actions, consequences. You know the drill." 

"Oh, don't act so bloody smug," Pansy snaps, stalking forward. "You knew exactly what would happen." 

"I knew he shouldn't be putting his hands where they don't belong," I say, keeping my voice even as Knox pokes his head out from under the duvet to survey the commotion. "Funny, isn't it? He wanted to make a point by yanking a flower from my braid—and now his fingers look like he lost a duel with Devil's Snare." 

Daphne mutters something under her breath. Millicent, unbothered as ever, flops her large, hulky frame on her mattress, making her four-poster rattle. 

But Pansy's having none of it. "He was trying to be civil," she says through clenched teeth. "Trying to understand you. And you just proved everyone right—that you're nothing but trouble. A poison-veined Gryffindor brat dropped in our House like a curse." 

Trying to be civil? Trying to understand me? 

Something's positively wrong with this black-haired witch. 

"You know what I find interesting?" I say, throwing my legs under the duvet and letting Knox burrow into my warmth. "The fact that none of you questioned why he thought grabbing something from my head was acceptable in the first place. Just like that—like I'm some bloody garden to pluck from. But sure, I'm the threat." 

Pansy laughs bitterly, and I almost feel sorry for her. Sorry that she's so callous and hard-hearted. "You walked in here with thorns woven into your hair and a dagger behind your smile. That, Potter, is war." 

"Maybe your precious Draco shouldn't have started one, because I'm just playing along." 

A moment of taut silence follows. 

Daphne whistles low under her breath. "I'm getting a crate of Butterbeer the next time you two talk." 

Pansy shoots Daphne a dirty look and opens her mouth to say something. So do I. Daphne beats us to it, just dryly saying, "Draco really should've known better than to mess with poisonous things. Especially the pretty ones." 

I think I could like her. 

Before I fall asleep with Knox still nestled with me because he refuses to return to the owlery, I mumble a quick "Protego". If I'm sharing a room with snakes, I might as well keep myself protected, because Draco was right about one thing—snakes do eat their own. 

●⁍●⁍● 

The Shield Charm sputters out the second unconsciousness claims me, but mercifully, I survive the night. No wands at my throat or knives through my heart. 

I'll never take being able to sleep without worrying about my safety for granted ever again. 

I'm awoken far before daybreak and certainly before curfew has ended by a screeching Knox and a high-pitched voice screaming, "It bit me! It bit me!" 

Although my movements are groggy and uncoordinated, I shoot up straight, blinking as my eyes adjust to the scene unfurling before me. Knox is at the foot of my bed, shrill hoots directed towards the black-haired girl who stands a few feet away from the footboard, cursing my owl through raging tears. 

What— 

"You! Your bloody bird bit me!" 

—happened. 

Pansy's accusatory index remains pointed right at me. 

So that's what happened. 

My gaze runs over Pansy's figure as she clutches her hand to her chest, and that's when I notice the crimson staining the skin of her palm and discolouring Knox's beak. 

Knox flaps over to me when he sees that I'm awake, and my heart instantly thunders. 

"You okay?" I whisper to him, blinking away the sleep and running my hands over his matte feathers. No visible signs of hurt. Knox preens in response and swoops back under my duvet. Guess that means he's alright. 

"Fuck that creature from hell, I'm not okay!" Pansy wails as rivulets of red trail down her palm. When she pulls her hand away from her chest, I manage to see just how badly Knox shredded her skin. 

Not too bad, but she's certainly not going to be able to hold a mug or a pen or even so much as a spoon for the next few days. 

Millicent, lying face-down on her bed, is still asleep, while Daphne is elegantly tucked under her blanket, sitting upright and filing her nails, content to watch the scene play out just as the night before. 

Just because she isn't actively sabotaging me doesn't mean she's going to help me, then. 

"What did you do?" I narrow my eyes at Pansy. Knox is pretty well-trained; he wouldn't attack her for sport. Which leaves only one other option. I notice that her wand has fallen to the floor, blood marring the light brown wood. 

Well, damn. 

"I didn't do anything! Your bird—your cursed bird—" Pansy sputters, a raging shade of red mottling her complexion. "Oh, just you wait, you cow, I'm going to get that owl executed—" 

Knox pokes his head out from under the duvet and snaps his beak. 

Pansy screams. 

A couple of hours later, I'm walking towards the owlery before breakfast. Pansy had scurried off earlier, bawling her eyes out as she tried her best to keep the wound from clotting, going so far as to dig in her nails so the blood kept flowing. My bet is on her showing up at the Hospital Wing, all broken and bleeding, and blaming me. Daphne gave me a rundown of what the witch had wanted to do before Knox sabotaged her, and I have to give it to Pansy—she's determined. And dedicated. 

It took some bribery, but I eventually coaxed Knox out of my bed so I could take him to the owlery. No doubt, Pansy would let the whole school know that my owl attacked her in the middle of the night or whatever lie she came up with, and I'd rather not have him around when that happens. 

I, on the other hand—well aware that Pansy probably would have succeeded in hexing me had it not been for Knox—am exceptionally happy with him and don't complain when he alights on my head, his favourite perch. Tangled hair is a small sacrifice. 

I've already forgotten the vague directions to the owlery Daphne had given me before I left the dorm. 

"Oooh, what's this? A lonely little snake out past her pit?" 

I start, scanning the corridor for any sign of life. The source of the high-pitched, mocking voice is nowhere to be seen. 

"Wee Potter, I'm up heeeereee!" 

I look up and see the poltergeist with the bell-covered hat and orange bow tie float down towards me. Peeves, the ghost who unceremoniously dunked a water balloon on me last night. I scowl at its approaching figure. 

"Pretty Potter in the night, skulking round and out of sight!" 

Not in the mood to be drenched again, I quicken my pace. 

"Oh, don't run, little Potter!" Peeves zooms through the air beside me, spinning in the air like a dolphin in water. I gawk for a moment before resuming my walk. "You're a nasty piece of work to find." 

"Buzz off, Peeves," I say dryly. 

Peeves exaggerates his gasp, clutching his chest as the bells of his hat droop a little. "Buzz off, she says! Such cheek and spit—tell me, dearie, where do you flit?" When I don't respond, he zips down to hover in front of my face. "Off to hex a Hufflepuff? Plant more flowers, act all tough?" 

I might have laughed along with this annoying yet eccentric ghost if Pansy hadn't broken my sleep at four in the morning. "I'm not in the mood," I mutter. 

Peeves gleefully ignores me. 

"Oh, she's grumpy, grumbly, green as bile! Didn't Big Bad Malfoy like your style?" He cartwheels mid-air, laughing wildly. The sound echoes off the stone walls, reverberating like a death knell. "Or maybe Zabini bruised your pride? Told you he'd take you for a ride?" 

This poltergeist did not. 

"I swear on Merlin, Peeves—" 

Peeves swoops around me like a bloody buzzard. "She swears on Merlin! What a treat! Wouldn't Potty look sweet in a toilet seat?" 

Before I can blink, he conjures a rusted toilet lid. Leering, Peeves begins to lower it towards my head. Knox hoots in disapproval as I sharply dodge the falling ceramic, causing him to be knocked off balance. 

"Oh, don't you want a crown?" Peeves pouts. 

"I'm just trying to get to the Owlery. You can keep your crown!" I shoot back, detouring down a random corridor to get the hell away from that unstable ghost. Nope, he follows me like a dog salivating after a bone. 

"But the crown wants youuuuuuu!" 

I sprint away from the ghost, away from the descending rusted toilet lid. What the fuck has my life come to? Running from a ghost at half past eight? Cove would shit herself laughing. 

Never mind, sprinting doesn't do shit. Peeves manifests right before me. 

Wand in hand, I snap at Peeves, "Get that disgusting thing anywhere near me and I'll hex you out of this castle." 

This scumbag is enjoying this altercation, I realise. Every barb just widens his unsettling grin. "Ooooh! Feisty snake with bite and bark! But not too clever—missed the Owlery mark!" 

That might be the worst couplet he's come up with till now. 

Before I can snarl something appropriately poisonous, a sharp voice rings out from behind him. 

"She didn't miss," Harry snaps. "You just got in the bloody way." 

Peeves whirls mid-air like a wind-up top, freezing in place at the sight of my... twin. Yep, the discovery's still surreal. Peeves's face lights up like a child catching his parents mid-row. "Potty and Potty! What fun!" He swoops in a low loop around our heads. 

Harry steps clean between me and the poltergeist without hesitation, an arm subtly blocking me from Peeves's wild arcs. "Why don't you pick on someone your own maturity level, Peeves?" 

"Two Potters, twice the rage!" Peeves crows, now reciting in a singsong. "Double the fireworks on every page!" He zooms around us once more, a blur of smoke and spark, whistling something between a funeral march and a bagpipe tantrum. 

Still holding my wand, I hiss under my breath, "Does he ever shut up?" 

Harry glances at me, then flicks his head down the hallway. "No. But if you're looking for the Owlery, trust me, you're walking in a very wrong direction. Come on." 

He grasps my elbow before I can protest and guides me briskly back towards the corridor I detoured from. Peeves tails us a few feet behind, slinging ghostly insults and broken rhymes, until— 

"Oh ho! Ickle firstie, fresh and clean!" he gasps, spotting a terrified first year at the far end of the hall. "Let's see what squeals behind the screen!" With an echoing cackle and a stomach-turning raspberry, Peeves zips away towards his new prey. 

I exhale, finally lowering my wand. Harry throws me a sideways glance, his mouth twitching. 

"Happy first day at Hogwarts." 

I give him a dry look, shaking my head. "Is it too late to transfer back?" 

●⁍●⁍●  

My and Harry's footsteps ring in tandem in the silence, until Harry, glancing at the small black owl, who's back on my head, his breast thrust out as he assesses our surroundings like a smug little prince, breaks it. "You know, your owl could've flown here on his own." 

I snort, brushing my fingers over Knox's claws when he digs them into my scalp a little painfully. I tilt my head backwards slightly, threatening to send him careening into the air if he doesn't keep those talons to himself. 

"Yeah, well. He's been glued to me ever since Pansy Parkinson tried to claw my face off at four in the morning." A yawn splits my mouth. "Merlin, I'm sleep-deprived." 

Harry halts mid-step. 

"She what?" 

I drum my fingers against the wall, my nails, which I'm in the process of growing, clicking against the stone. The sound scratches something inside my head just right. 

"It's not a big deal. She just wanted to dump cold water on me at dawn, hex the temperature charm off my blankets, and then slice my braid off with a Severing Charm. Probably as revenge for last night." I shrug, smiling up at my owl. "Knox, luckily for me, is a light sleeper and shredded her palm before she could do any damage." 

Harry rubs his temples like he's fighting off a migraine. "Merlin's beard, Az—" 

"What? I told you I'd survive Slytherin." 

"That's not the point." 

"I'm perfectly alive and functioning, Harry. Well, except the—" I yawn again. "—that. I didn't die."  

He exhales sharply, falling into step beside me again, glancing sideways at me. "No, but you might drive me to an early grave. Are you alright?" 

I pause. The question is too gentle, too real, and it cuts through my breezy façade. I wish I were back at Krum Manor, or even Durmstrang. I haven't ever had to worry about imminent jinxes while asleep. 

"Yeah," I say after a beat. "Just... sleeping with one eye open." 

Harry shoots me a small, wry smile. "Welcome to my world." 

We continue walking side by side, footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. Hm, for a castle full of students, this place seems awfully lifeless.  

"So," I say, "why are you here?" 

I instantly feel stupid for asking the question as my gaze drops to the letter in his hand. That sense of stupidity dies when Harry hesitates, rubbing his scar. "I, uh— needed to send something." 

I raise an eyebrow. People who need to send something don't stutter like they've been caught raiding the Ministry. If he hadn't been stuttering, I wouldn't have even bothered pressing. 

I gasp in mock horror. "You're not sending a howler, are you?" 

"Merlin, no!" 

"Then a letter to whom?" 

He rubs the back of his neck, gaze fixed on his shoes. Dumbledore must have gotten it wrong because no way he's the older one. He looks like a little kid who just got his hair ruffled. "Just... a friend." 

"A friend," I repeat, unconvinced. "You're stuttering, Potter." 

"I'm not stuttering." 

"You so are." My curiosity spikes. I snap my head in Harry's direction, raising an eyebrow as I run my gaze over him. "Is it a girl?"  

"No!" 

His ears redden, alarm and horror twisting his features. I can't help the grin that spreads across my lips. "Oh Merlin, it's a girl." 

"It is not a girl!" he blurts, almost too quickly, then winces. 

"Wait." My eyes narrow as I note his wince. "It's not a girl, but it's someone you're not supposed to be writing to." 

"I didn't say that." 

"You didn't have to." I tap my head. "Twin telepathy. I can read your thoughts." 

Harry looks downright horrified at the revelation, and I quickly decide that all the fun of messing with him is going to be sucked right out if he gets a heart attack, so I let him know I'm only joking. 

Harry sighs, shoulders slumping as he responds to my question from earlier. "I— It's complicated." 

Shit, I'm going to have to teach him the art of lying if he's this easy to read. Or at least teach him how to fake being a shitty liar so no one notices when he really lies. "You do realise that saying 'it's complicated' makes it sound ten times more suspicious, right?" 

Harry lets out a sharp breath, fingers pressing against his forehead again. That spot above his eyebrow. I wonder if his scar maybe isn't just a fancy fuck you to death. 

"It's just... something's off. My scar's been hurting again. I think— I'm not insane, so please don't think I've lost my mind, but I think something's coming. I need to let someone know. Not the professors, not yet, but someone else who can help. Someone I trust." 

My teasing fades at that. His scar's been hurting again? Yeah, that thing is not a fancy fuck you to death. I contemplate asking him about it, but I think I've pushed enough for one day. Besides, he didn't even know I existed until yesterday. I don't think he's going to just suddenly open up about his whole life. 

"Alright." 

He whirls to face me, brows lifting in surprise. "Alright?" 

"Do you want me to push?" He quickly shakes his head, and I level a look at him that says exactly. 

We fall into silence, the morning breeze rustling through my hair, tugging a few strands out of the waterfall braid I'd styled them into before heading out. 

I elbow Harry lightly in the side as we reach the base of the West Tower, a smirk on my lips. "Still think it's a girl." 

Harry groans. 

The route Harry drags me through winds us up a cold and echoing spiralling stone staircase that smells heavily of rotting innards and owl droppings, intensifying the closer we get to the Owlery. No wonder Knox hadn't wanted to stay here; his plush, refined little bird brain would do anything to maintain those feathers, and the prospect of staying in a filthy pit like this after being spoiled these past three years probably terrified the living wits out of him. 

I'm going to have to find a way to let Knox stay with me in the dorm without Pansy making a fuss. 

Harry pushes open a wrought stone door, and the Owlery unfurls before us—a towering circular room, open to the sky, filled with hundreds of perches and even more owls, rustling and hooting softly in the dawn light. High and open to the morning sky, shafts of light pierce through the rafters and glint off feathers. I look at the floor and hesitate—it's littered with straw, pellets, bits of parchment, owl droppings, and regurgitated bones of mice and rodents. 

But we're not alone. 

My feet stop short, my smile dying instantly as I spot the lone figure standing by a ledge. Platinum-blonde head bent, quill scratching furiously against parchment, Draco Malfoy looks remarkably put-together for someone who spent the night in the Hospital Wing—and remarkably sour for someone who got off with only irritated skin. 

He hasn't noticed us yet, so I hold my finger to my lips, gesturing to Harry so he would not make a sound, and creep up behind Draco. But Draco's height is similar to Harry's five-five, making it impossible for my four-nine-point-five self to peer over his shoulder. 

Harry silently grins down at my dilemma and soundlessly clears his throat, stepping into my spot so he has a perfect view over Draco's shoulder of the letter and begins reading for me. 

"—vicious girl—utterly inappropriate conduct—danger to the school—request disciplinary action immediately—" 

Draco's head snaps up as he spins, eyes hardening as he finds Harry standing about five inches away from him. 

"Oh, for fuc— he's writing to his dad about you?" Harry says to me, shaking his head at Draco, and I slap a hand over my mouth to hold in my howling laughter, but my shoulders shake with the effort, and a few rogue sniggers slip past my palm anyway. 

When his gaze drops down to my owl first and then to me standing beside Harry, he scowls and his lip curls. "Speak of the devil," he sneers. "And she'll appear." 

Knox, probably just as exasperated by the blonde as I am, swoops off my head and perches beside a snowy white owl, nipping at her feathers playfully as they begin hooting. Hedwig, I recognise. 

I cross my arms as I look at Draco. "You're writing a complaint? That's cute." 

I don't think he's ever been called cute. He blanches, but then his scowl deepens. If I could whistle, I would do it right now, because I think I hit a nerve. 

"You hexed me," he spits. "You gave me a poisonous flower!" 

"You backed me against a wall and plucked it right out of my hair like I'm your personal flower bush, so excuse me if I accidentally throw you off this tower right now," I counter, my neck straining as I look up at him. "You touched me without asking. Maybe next time, don't pin me to any walls, and you won't have to complain to Daddy." 

Harry glances between us, brow furrowing as his gaze zeroes on Malfoy, then on me. "Wait, what flower? And what wall?" 

I shrug, responding to the flower part of his question. "Only mildly toxic. To snakes, apparently." 

Harry chokes on a laugh. 

Draco's cheeks flush pink as he glares at us. "Think this is funny, do you?" he snaps at Harry and then jerks his chin in my direction. "That thing assaulted me—" 

No way he just called me a thing. 

"Oh, I think the part where you tried to be threatening and ended up in the infirmary is hysterical," I say sweetly. 

Draco steps forward, quill still clutched in one hand. I arch a challenging brow, daring him as I give him a little spin and show the flowers I magically kept from wilting from last night, still in full bloom and just as poisonous, braided into my hair again. 

For a moment, Draco doesn't reply. His knuckles go white around the parchment, and his jaw tenses visibly—but he says nothing. Instead, he sneers (and it's positively adorable), turns his back, and ties the letter to the leg of an eagle owl waiting at the window. 

I hang back and examine the Owlery as Harry steps towards the perch where Hedwig awaits, already eyeing him expectantly. He ties the folded letter to her leg carefully, murmuring something I can't quite catch. He strokes her feathers, and she flies off, leaving Knox sagging sadly on the perch all alone. 

I think my owl has a crush. 

Draco's owl flaps off a moment later. 

He turns then, lingering by the Owlery ledge, letter gone, arms crossed, still glaring at me like he's debating whether setting me on fire would be worth the detentions. I'm considering whether hexing him would be worth a second expulsion when the steady thump of footsteps breaks the tension. 

Blaise Zabini appears at the top of the stone steps, tossing a glossy green apple lazily between his hands. He flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he saunters up beside Draco. 

"Well, look at that," Blaise drawls, gaze flicking between Harry and me. "Potter's still loitering. Thought you'd be back with your little Gryffindor fan club by now." 

Harry tears his gaze away from Hedwig's flying figure and stiffens as he sees Blaise, instinctively stepping half in front of me. I don't blame him. After the insinuations Blaise made last night, I'd step in front of me, too. 

Blaise doesn't blink. 

"Don't worry, mate," Blaise continues smoothly, "Draco and I will make sure your sister makes it to class in one piece." 

He throws a wink my way, and I suppress the urge to hurl something sharp. 

And what does he mean by class? "What about breakfast?" I ask, brows furrowing. Harry turns to me, eyebrows raised. 

"You didn't eat?" 

I shake my head. "I was told breakfast's at nine." 

Harry looks at me like I've lost my nose. Suspicion glazing his eyes, he sharply asks, "Who told you that?" 

"The girls in my dorm. Millicent, mostly." 

Harry groans and rakes a hand through his already-messy hair. "Merlin's beard, haven't  you checked your class schedule?" 

"...No?" I offer sheepishly. 

"Those witches—" Harry looks personally offended. "And I thought Draco and Crabbe and Goyle —" A cutting glance at Blaise. "—and Blaise  were bad. Breakfast ends at nine, Azalea." 

No matter how strange it is hearing myself being called Azalea,  my stomach, already grumbling and rebelling and threatening to compress my abdominal cavity, isn't distracted by it and drops. 

"Aww," Draco cooes, voice all mock sympathy as he butts in. "It's okay. She'll survive. We'll feed her something later. If she behaves." He and Blaise step forward, almost in sync, reaching like they're about to escort me—aka haul me off somewhere I want nothing to do with. 

Harry moves before they do. Quick flick of his wrist, low mutter: " Accio apple. " 

Draco's apple zips out of his hand so fast that he stumbles slightly. It flies straight into Harry's palm, and with an underhand toss, he passes to me. 

"Eat up," he grins. "Let's scram."  

"Delighted to," I mutter, catching the apple in one hand. 

We turn and make a break for it, but not before Blaise, just as offended as Draco, snakes his hand out to grab my wrist. Bad move. With a shriek of feathers and fury, Knox dives from the rafters and sinks his beak straight into Blaise's hand.  

"BLOODY—" Blaise roars, stumbling back as Knox flaps wildly in his face. " Stupid demon bird! " 

Blaise clutches his now-bleeding hand as Knox shoots upward, circles once above us, then soars out of the Owlery and into the open morning sky. 

I glance at Harry. 

He's already laughing. I'm cackling two seconds later as we bolt down the tower steps, the sound of Draco swearing and Blaise still howling behind us. 

"You know you've probably knocked me down to Number Two on their Kill List and taken up Number One, right?" 

I smirk. "Yeah. Felt good."