For a vast majority of her life, Gwen had always returned to Platform 9¾ in late August and reunited with all her long-lost friends in an adrenaline-rushed fervor, grinning and pink-cheeked and slightly more sun-kissed than she'd been the few months prior, mostly wondering to herself how on earth people could ever think anything could change in such little time.

     But as she stood on the platform for her seventh and final time to return to Hogwarts, knuckles tightly clenched around the handle of her chest, inhaling shakily through her nose and out through her mouth, Gwen finally understood. She had matured enough, by then, learned enough, experienced enough, to recognize that things really could change that much in such little time.

     The obvious details, first—her hair was shorter. She'd cut it in the middle of July, right up to her shoulders, and it had lightened in the summer sun. She had a new trunk, since her old one had broken (her fault—she'd stood atop it to reach the top shelf of her mother's bookshelf). Her grandmother's old-lady stench clung to Gwen's robes like a glue trap, and Gwen was probably most excited to get the damn things off her.

     Hattie had come to say her goodbyes the night before. She had profusely made it clear over the course of the summer that she oh-so wished she could live with Gwen, but the creatures she had been handling needed constant attention, and even the day-long trip Hattie had to take to get to Gwen's home in Surrey was pushing it. So the two Graham women settled for weekly meetings, just to check in on each other and make sure neither of them had offed themselves.

     That was one thing Gwen had always liked about her grandmother. Hats was never afraid to be blunt around Gwen.

     As she inhaled again, the muffled stench of train tracks encompassing her mind, Gwen thought about what else could be an obvious change in herself—she could only realize so many herself before she'd have to rely on other people to tell her what was new. Perhaps she was tanner, or taller, or a bit plumper, or her eyes were wider. She couldn't know for sure; she'd have to wait for someone else to point such things out.

     Then, she thought, the not-so-obvious differences: Her father was dead, and her mother was practically as good as. She hadn't seen James in Merlin knew how long (although not only Merlin—it was approximately sixty-six days and four hours; Gwen had calculated). It was sixty-six days too long.

Then, of course, there were the conspicuously-covered left forearms of her classmates.

Gwen caught glimpses, every few moments, of a head in the crowd that looked more corrupt than the rest. Snape, who was glancing around, tugging the sleeve of his robes down further than it needed to go. The Carrow twins, of which Gwen never truly cared much for, each whispering vehemently to each other and sticking out their covered arms, wrist-up. Erasmus Wilkes, arms tucked tightly to his chest, glare directed to anyone who dare look his way. Cassilda Selwyn's furious rubbing of her wrist, when she thought nobody was watching.

     It was obvious, to Gwen. Most of them had turned seventeen over the summer. They were of age; they could officially brand themselves with the Dark Mark. Their parents, even, if it wasn't a decision of their own. Gwen's classmates had been pricked with the start of war.

     Seventh year had begun, and nothing would be the same.

Through everything, though, Gwen enjoyed at least having a boyfriend, and one that didn't have to be hidden from the rest of the school. It was pleasant, she thought, to be able to sit next to James on the train and intertwine their arms and rest her head on his shoulder and all the things regular people do when they love each other.

Of course, they weren't regular people, and Gwen could never forget the fact.

     But for a moment, at least, it felt normal—James's arm around Gwen's shoulders, laughing as Peter and Sirius competed for who could throw the jellybean higher and still catch it in their mouth, Remus only barely paying any mind as he flicked through an old, yellowed book.

     The door to their compartment peeled open, and in slipped Lily Evans, looking quite frazzled and a bit strewn about.

     "I'ven't got long," she murmured to the lot of them. "Gwen—the new hair is smashing. James, don't forget we've got to lead the prefect's meeting in ten?"

     "Oh, shit," cursed James, sitting up from the corner of the bench, in turn dragging Gwen up with him.

     "Ouch, James," she said, glaring up at him. "What's so important? You've got ten minutes—"

     James shook his head fervently, standing up from the bench and digging round his trunk for his wand. "I was supposed to welcome the first years onto the train! Oh, shit, fucking hell, I—"

     "Language, Potter," came both Lily and Sirius's voices unanimously, the latter looking quite pleased with himself for getting it right.

     "You're Head Boy now," continued Lily, brow furrowed. "You should be setting an example for them, James!"

     "He is setting an example," said Remus, solemnly, nodding his head. "To never let a Potter be Head Boy again."

     Peter laughed, too hard. "That's for sure."

Lily made sure to throw a quick compliment to Gwen over her shoulder as she left the carriage—"I love your new hair, Gwen, it really suits"—of which left Gwen smiling to herself as James headed off.

     But with James and Lily gone, the carriage of Peter, Remus, Sirius, and Gwen grew suddenly awkward, and Peter took to a long, snoring nap to relieve the tension on his own side. This, of course, left Remus, Sirius, and Gwen on their own terms, and Gwen suddenly felt exceptionally not welcome.

"I'm sorry," she said, quickly, fumbling with her book and standing suddenly. "Sorry. I'll leave you be—"

"No, Gwen," said Remus, frowning up at her. "You don't have to go just 'cause James's gone, y'know. We don't bite."

"Poor metaphor, Moony," said the black dog Animagi to the werewolf, who winced.

"Right." Remus shrugged it off. "What I mean is..." He shifted in his seat, awkwardly, sharing a glance with Sirius. "Look, Gwen, d'you want to... er, talk about your...fath—?"

"Remus." Gwen's voice was level, yet used too quickly. She shut her eyes and shook her head. It'd become common practice for her to be able to pick up when a situation was taking a dangerous turn towards sympathy, a sort of sixth sense she'd developed after so much pity was thrown her way during the later half of summer holiday. She didn't appreciate it from random witches and wizards, and she wouldn't appreciate it from Remus.

She didn't have to say anything else. Remus understood. He nodded once, then let it drop, his head lowering.

Sirius was regarding her. She could feel it—his eyes glued to her from just above his book. When Gwen met his gaze, Sirius spoke. "New broom."

She waited for elaboration, but none came. "What?"

"I was sure Jackie told you." He sounded placid, which was a big jump from his prior aggression towards Gwen and anything she stood for. "Got a new broom, bought it myself. Starsweeper XXI. I could lend it to you for practice. Not for games, 'course—"

     "Sirius," said Remus, completely still. "What are you talking about?"

     Sirius watched Gwen for a moment, then lifted his shoulders, giving an innocent look to Remus from behind his book. "I just thought... When I went and got myself thrown out, I didn't like the heavy silences that came after people tried talking to me about it. I figured Gwen wouldn't fancy it much, either, so I—"

     Gwen was smiling then. Softly, and unaware that she even was. "Is it quick?" she asked, gently. "The Starsweeper, I mean."

     Sirius returned the look with the faint upturning of his own lips. "It's faster than Merlin's tits, Gwen. You wouldn't believe."

     Remus frowned thoughtfully. "Are Merlin's tits fast?"

     "Depends on who you ask," responded Sirius, quite seriously.

     Gwen couldn't stop herself—a laugh broke from her lips, purely out of utter surprise. But at the sound of her own humor, Remus and Sirius looked back to her, and they exhaled shaky laughs, too, and before long all three of them were cracking themselves up, imagining Merlin's tits and how quick they really could be.

The welcoming feast—while consistent in its dullness and inability to make any of the students care about what Dumbledore was trying to convey—was particularly laced with a morbid undertone, this year. Gwen noticed. Walker caught her eye each time Dumbledore censored the word "war" with "altercation" or "dissension", which was quite a common occurrence throughout his speech. It was becoming increasingly obvious—not only to Gwen, soon everyone was shifting around uncomfortably in their seats—that he was trying his best not to sound like he was taking a side. Of course, thought Gwen bitterly. Good ol' Dumblie couldn't be caught dead looking like he was playing favorites towards Gryffindors, even if his other option was all the poor little Death Eaters.

"It's weird," Walker whispered to her, both long since given up on listening to their headmaster, "not having her here, isn't it?"

Gwen's eyes traveled—not for the first time—to the empty bench across from herself and Walker. The corners of her lips tugged down.

"Very," she agreed, slowly. Then, she twisted her lips to the side and shrugged lightly. "Though she's doing just fine in the professionals. The Harpies reached out before classes let out last year and offered her bench, though said she can step in if their chaser gets hurt. Sounds like an alright gig."

"So she's a back-up." Walker scowled. "Jackie's better than a back-up. She's better than their whole bloody team, for Godric's sake. And Merlin knows that we need her back, this year..."

     Gwen's stomach plummeted at the thought of Quidditch. She didn't respond to Walker, instead focused entirely on the misfortunes of the year that had already presented themselves on her fault; like Quidditch, to name one. She hadn't responded to any of Wood's letters over holiday about taking over captain, so he'd had no choice but to give the position to Walker. Gwen was in no way bitter towards him, of course—it had been her fault she hadn't gotten the position, and nobody else's. Wood had to do the best for the team, and Walker was undeniably the best.

As for the rest of her responsibilities and the expectations that had been set upon her shoulders since she was old enough to attend Hogwarts... Gwen had given up. Mentally. There was no need anymore, she figured, to try hard and get good marks so her reports could be jinxed to stick to the refrigerator at home.

There was nobody to stick them up there, anyway. Her parents sure as hell couldn't do it anymore.

It was a dangerous game, not caring about her marks. She'd originally made a deal with herself that she could only skive off for the first two weeks of classes, just to give herself time to get back into the swing of things. But the line between allowing herself to not try on assignments and actually not trying on assignments was blurry, and three weeks in she found herself on the side she'd rather have not been on at all.

     "You've done the Potions essay?" Walker asked her expectantly, tone casual as he circled the couch and threw himself down next to her. When he saw the grogginess in her eyes, though, his face grew shocked, and his lips parted in excuses.

     "No, s'alright," she murmured, rubbing her face. "I shouldn't be napping now, anyway, we've got practice soon... And to answer your question, I didn't even know there was one."

     Walker twisted his lips to the side. "Ten inches on theory. You can find most of the right points in Advanced Book of Potions, though. Or do what I did, and pay Snape to write it."

     Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Did he?"

     "No. Bugger. Told me to shove those ten inches up my arse, then made a crude joke about... Er, you know." He winced, then shook his head. "But I've gotten six done since then. D'you need any help?"

     Slowly, Gwen shook her head, still trying to ward off the drowsiness she'd been afflicted with earlier. "I'd better get back on my schoolwork, to be honest. Been skiving recently."

     "That's one way to put it."

     Gwen hit his shoulder. "What's'at mean, sleaze?"

     Walker scowled down at her, rubbing his shoulder. "Merlin, woman. I only mean you've been falling behind a bit. Rather noticeably, at that."

She deflated, all fire gone, her eyes fuzzing off as she entered somewhere that was not next to Walker. "Yeah, s'pose."

Walker regarded her for a moment from afar, then frowned. He nudged her shoulder. "S'okay, though," he told her, his voice now soft. "I can help you catch up. And Lily's told me James is finished with his already, so I'm sure he could, too."

Gwen offered a halfhearted smile. "So you and Evans, then?"

Walker's lips twisted off again, this time to hide a cheeky grin. "What of it?"

She watched him, then smiled, lifting her shoulders helplessly. "Don't you break her heart, mate. I'll have to kill you, you know."

He scoffed, finally settling in next to her. "James said the very same thing when he got wind of it."

She nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "Ah, and that's because we both like Lily infinitely more than we like you."

"Arse."

     "Prat."

     He nudged her shoulder. "Love you, Gwen."

     She did the same to him. "I love you, too, Walker."

via speaking.
just a little plot picker-upper... bad things on the horizon