I do not see Draco Malfoy the next day. However, I do catch a glimpse of him in the stands while we are waiting for the Third Task to begin. It seems the buzz about Patricia Stimpson and Robbie Browning hasn't spread. People seem to respect that she wants privacy. I figure out who Robbie is though when she comes to the tournament. While she is uninjured, I hear the Slytherins snickering at her when she gets there. I never see Patricia.

Others watch the tournament; I watch Draco, from my spot next to Mandy Brocklehurst. She is all over Anthony and staring at Terry. I suppose that I'm not any better. Malfoy is having a laugh with his friends. He seems to bear no shame from what happened, not as I had hoped he would. I was hoping he would somehow carry the sign of the kiss. Love is a powerful magic, and kisses are supposed to stem from love. This one didn't though. Now that I think about it, I imagine that lots of kisses don't come from love. I hope, after thinking about all sorts of kisses, that the numbers are at least split down the middle in favour of love and no love, but I would be surprised if that were the case. Lust and evil seem, in my mind, to be the favoured category.

My thoughts are interrupted not even by the fanfare of the winner, but the gasps and screams at the results. Cedric Diggory is dead.

Harry's voice seems to echo in my head, "he's back. Voldemort's back."

The stands are not quite chaos. The people who aren't whispering to each other are crying. Mandy is holding Anthony's hand as he whispers to Terry and Michael. The three of them turn to look at me. My head spins, finding itself in the Slytherin stands.

The Slytherins look quite amused with themselves.

All of the professors begin to clear the stands. People are pushing and jostling. Terry reaches out for me. I could grab him, but I don't. The crowd moves in waves, and not as in we are let go in repetition, one after the other, but as in it actually feels like I'm stuck in water that shifts around me with every breath. Our chests are tight. Then, we reach the castle.

The worst part of the whole ordeal is that we are expected to continue on after the whole thing. It wasn't a weekend, the day of the tournament, and so we are sent back to classes the day after his death. A couple of the muggle-borns cling to Professor Burbage's room, only leaving for class. Others hide in their rooms. Most continue on, business as usual. I don't see Robbie Browning no matter where I look. Maybe I should follow her lead.

The other Ravenclaws take a uniformed approach on interactions with me. I wonder if they had a meeting. No one, not even Mandy, talks to me other than to ask me how I am doing. Although, Anthony Goldstein does purposefully doodle when I'm not paying attention in Arithmancy. He gets points taken away from our House, and afterward, he offers me a smile. I suppose that is something.

Amongst the Slytherins, there is a mixed reaction. Some of them do seem nervous or upset, though I only catch those ones having moments of anxiety in the privacy of whatever hallway corner they can find alone. When I see them, wandering the halls when I ought to be in class, they resume a stiff posture. Other Slytherins though, seem emboldened. Maybe it's the news of You-Know-Who's return, but it might be the aftermath of the attack on Robbie and Patricia. Definitely it could be somewhere in between.

At the year-end banquet, which has come far too late, Professor Dumbledore announces that Cedric was murdered by You-Know-Who personally. He asks us to drink to both Cedric and Harry, and we oblige. Many of the Slytherins don't drink to Harry. Malfoy doesn't.

Soon after, we all get on the train. I have to sit with the others in a compartment. Wizards don't have portable devices to listen to music, so I am stuck listening to their conversation. It is brutal. They carefully skirt around the conversation. Ginny Weasley has joined us. Her legs are draped over Michael Corner's lap. The world is so out of my focus that I hadn't even noticed that they were dating. I hadn't even noticed that they met at the Yule Ball.

The talk is mostly about Quidditch. I don't listen much.

Back home, my family cannot tell that something is wrong. I suppose that I was this distant at Easter too, and I would have continued on that path had I been home for Christmas. At least, it's a nice way to hide. No one minds that I do very little that summer with the family. I work at the marina, riding my bike there every day that it doesn't rain. My brothers don't bother with me, but we don't really have much to talk about anyway. They have adult lives with problems I don't understand, and I have my witch life which is much the same.

The only person who is foolish enough to bother sending me a letter is Terry. Everyone else is smart enough to know that any reply I'd send would be one born out of obligation, not pleasure. Although, I don't mind communicating with Terry. The summer here can be a bit isolating, if I'm at all honest with myself.

Terry tells me he is going to London for a few days with his parents. They typically stay in Ireland all year, but his mother's work is pulling her to the ministry. She could use the Floo, of course, but Terry asked if he could come, or something.

He asks to see me. I agree.

One morning, when I should be at the marina, I take a train to London. Terry and I agreed on a meeting location, at a café near the station, and I hope he doesn't get lost, or look to wizardly for the rendez-vous. Truly, I don't know why I'm coming. Honestly, I don't know why I do much of anything anymore. The summer is brutal. Not only does it drag, but it does so painfully. I feel as though I am being held hostage, kept away from the magical world. I'm going crazy without being able to do magic.

So, when I get to the platform, I am not expecting to see Terry. Actually, I walk right by him. He has to grab me to spin me around to look at him. His hair is short, short enough that it doesn't spill over to cover his ears or eyebrows. He's fashionable too, in denim overalls and a black and white striped t-shirt. I hadn't thought o the opposite of a wizard's robe, but surely it must be denim overalls. He looks so muggle that if he hadn't grabbed me, I am sure I would still be looking for him.

"Hey," Terry's still stiff like he usually is, but he does linger.

"You look different," I offer.

He looks down at his outfit, and then back up at me, "yeah, suppose. I was trying to blend in."

"Well, you're doing it well," I offer, smiling.

His eyes linger on my clothes as we walk down the platform. It occurs to me that he's never seen me in muggle clothes. Maybe he finds it odd that outside of Hogwarts I still wear skirts and white tops. Although, my white blouse isn't collared, and my skirt isn't black and pleated, but instead brown and tweed.

"Is there anywhere cool I should see?" I ask.

Terry nods his head and begins to lead the way. I should expect the tour to be one about history since Terry is so fascinated with the subject. We get to Big Ben and he tells me obvious facts that most tourists from outside of the country would even know, but he says them with wide eyes and a laugh as if I should be shocked by them.

We barely make it in time to watch the changing of the guard. Terry gets all sorts of facts wrong about this strange muggle ritual, but I don't have the heart to correct him. Most of the other things most tourists do disinterest him. I am not surprised that he doesn't want to go to Buckingham Palace; he's Irish. The war history stuff he also avoids.

"Don't need anyone to remind me that war is a boring display of misogynistic chauvinism," he rolls his eyes, unnecessary. "At least, the study of it is."

"Even wars like the Wizarding War?" I ask, leaning in.

He scrunches his nose, "well, I mean war wars. You know, like the first world war. It's a gross oversimplification to the say the war was a dick-measuring contest, but it also was just that."

I lean in close to him to whisper, "what's your wand, again?"

He tries to sputter, "that's a myth."

"A funny one," I remember the whispers as it trickled down into our class in third year. Divide a wand's length in half and you'll get a good read of one a wizard hides in his pants. When we all discovered it, the boys in rrr classes started to go to great lengths to hide their wands, sometimes trying to magically elongate the sleeves of their cloaks to drape over the wands.

It was quite funny. Still is.

Terry takes us to a memorial for the suffragettes, which he read about in a book during the school year. He has no interest in the museums. If he wanted to see things from other countries he'd go to them, he tells me. Muggle art he doesn't find all that interesting, and he doesn't have much muggle currency. I do, but he won't let me pay for anything.

We take an hour-long walk along the river to get to our next destination. We agree to take a late lunch after we admire a monument to the great fire of London. I enjoy walking along the river. It is nothing compared to the lake, nothing compared to the sea, but it is something. Perhaps its depths are the thing that interests me most.

We get to the monument. Terry stares at it, not daring to get close.

"The death toll was pretty low," Terry explains, staring at it. "The fire was twenty years before the International Statute of Secrecy. Animosity between wizards and witches and muggles was high. The fire was too much even for the wizards, so they did their best to get in and apparate people out."

"Didn't help wizard-muggle relations though, I'm guessing."

Terry shakes his head, "actually, the original Malfoy home was even nearly hit by the fire. It took almost a dozen wizards to keep the flames back. They lived in London originally, and were friends with a lot of royals. Most notably William the Conqueror and Queen Elizabeth the First."

I try not to think about Malfoy's ancestors, centuries ago, openly consorting with muggles. It's hard to imagine them trying to befriend us, even in an age where wizards and witches were openly hunted. Mostly witches, to be quite honest.

Terry and I eat lunch. I ask if there is anywhere in particular that he would like to go.

"I'd love to show you some of the books I've grabbed here, see what you think," he swallows a bite of food, barely making eye contact. "They're in the inn we're staying at. Mum won't be back for a few hours."

He's asking a question, at least trying to be discrete about it. I want to feel that tug, but I don't. Maybe I can tighten it myself. It just needs a tug.

"Let's go."

We finish our food soon after and take the underground to get to his inn. He finds the underground fascinating and complicated. Riding it every day, this week hasn't quenched his enthusiasm for it.

Soon enough, we are back at his inn. He doesn't share a room with his mother, which is at least nice. He pretends to show me the books, and I pretend to be interested in them. They're all about muggle history, nothing comparative to them.

"I'm trying to learn," he says. I can tell he is staring at my blouse and not the book. His eyes are easier to see with his short haircut. "There's a lot I'd like to find out, you know?"

"Anything you're particularly interested in right now?" my eyes flick up to him.

His eyes refocus. Now they are on my lips.

"Guess I wish there was a book that explained you," he swallows. "You confuse me, Marty."

I kiss him. It's like we've done a thousand times before. The pattern is similar. His skin is firmer than I had remembered. He is burning up. Soon enough, I find myself playing with the tops of his muggle overalls, hoping to take them off. The first time is awkward, I've heard. I'm hoping to get it over with quickly.

He does shrug off the overalls. His hand up my blouse doesn't feel like the hand from the Durmstrang boy. Maybe I was wrong. There is something about this that is right. If there isn't, I will make it right anyway.

~~~~~

Okay, sorry no Draco and Terry instead, but I PROMISE the next chapter will be so worth it. It's a great juxtaposition. Like, truly one of the best next. Any specific predictions?