So, as it turns out, cursing someone after curfew is bound to get you detention. I must serve it with Professor Umbridge as well. There, she leads me down to a desk, with only a quill and a sheet of paper.

"Now, you shall be writing lines today, okay?" she giggles a bit at the end of her sentence, which makes my stomach churn.

"Alright," I say. I sit down in front of her.

She turns her back and heads to the desk. There, she sits down and looks up at me. "You shall write "I must not curse my classmates" a hundred times. Does that sound fair?"

I nod. I pick up the quill and begin writing.

My hand sears in pain as I write the first line.

She gave me a blood quill.

I don't argue. Instead, I try to get the lines done as fast as possible. My hand aches and I begin to see blood dripping down onto my wrist. The room is loud, and I am constantly distracted by the meowing of a cat and the sound of her china teacup clanging against her saucer.

Eventually, I leave. And I leave quickly. I go to the hospital wing for a bandage, but because I won't say what for, I end up walking out empty-handed. On my way out the door, I spot Bronwyn, with her swollen head, sleeping in bed.

I approach her, hoping that I don't startle her awake. I stare at her and wonder if that's what I looked like, a few weeks ago. She should be better by now, a simple tincture can cure the charm I put upon her. It's hard not to feel bad for her, after everything she has put me through. No one deserves suffering, not even the wretched.

If I weren't already on a mission, I'd go to the greenhouse and get her some flowers. Instead, I tap my wand on a cup and transfigure it into a bouquet. I'll never apologize to her; she doesn't deserve it. However, hopefully, she will look at these flowers and think that there is someone out there who loves her.

A betrayal to Silas stems from my wand. Maybe there are no good people in this world. Only people who make good and bad choices. Only the desperate, doing whatever they can to survive.

I hope that's not true. I'd like to be a good person one day. Maybe I'm not there yet, but I'd like to be.

It is just after dinner, so I head to the library. Robbie should hopefully be somewhere inside, buried in a textbook. She's a prefect, and she's obsessed with healing, so she should have access to a bandage somewhere.

I'm almost right. I find her at our usual table, but instead of a textbook, her eyes scan the two ginger twins across from her. All three of them have their heads tilted in, and they are whispering together.

Which means I'm going to have to interrupt them. Shite. "Robbie?"

All three heads whip around to look at me. The Weasley twins pull back from Robbie. I try not to look at them, since I don't really know how to navigate the space after my fight with Fred. Was it even a fight?

Robbie blinks, her lips parted open, before she is finally able to speak. "Yes?"

"I need a bandage," I manage, keeping my whole body still. My hands are tucked in my pockets carefully. It stings to have the fabric brush up against the injury, but I don't care.

Robbie furrows her brow. She gets up from the table and heads over to me. "Tell Harry I will be late."

"Late for what?" I ask.

"We're coming," Fred pipes in. He looks over at George, who slowly nods.

Robbie pauses and glares at them. "Who will tell Harry that we aren't coming?"

"I can go," George offers. He looks at me, and offers the saddest of smiles, before he turns and walks away.

Together, Robbie leads us to the Hufflepuff common room. It is a stack of a ton of barrels. She makes us turn around as she taps one, in rhythm and then she crawls through it. This leaves just Fred Weasley and myself, alone.

"Was it Umbridge?" he asks.

When I say nothing, he digs his hand out of his pocket. On the back of his hand, I see faint pink lines.

I must not pull pranks.

"It'll fade," he tells me. "It did last time. Harry's hasn't, but then again, he serves detention far more often than even me. What does yours say?"

I pull it out for him to witness.

I must not curse my classmates.

"Wicked," he says. "Much cooler than 'I must not pull pranks'. Battle scars suit you, Travers."

I don't understand how he can be so cold with me one day and then so hot the next. It's not even like it's in his nature to be wishy-washy. Something has changed. I don't know how or why, or what, but this is not the Fred Weasley who argued with me in the corridor the other day.

Maybe he genuinely thinks it's wicked that I got in trouble for cursing classmates.

"How long has she been doing this?" I ask, trying to change the subject away from me. I hate discussing myself, after all. Especially in this context.

He leans his back against one of the barrels. "Since the first week, I reckon. I only know about it because Harry told Ron, who told George and me."

I nod. "Is that why you were meeting up with them tonight?"

One of the barrels pops open and out crawls Robbie. Her breath is ragged, but she holds up a bandage. "Where is it?"

"I can do it myself," I insist, taking the bandage from her. I grab it and wrap my hand up tightly, making sure she can't see what I'm hiding from her.

Robbie's bottom lip pouts out. Ultimately, she only looks to Fred, who shakes his head. Robbie says nothing. She leads us away from the entrance as some other Hufflepuffs approach. Her hand reaches down and squeezes my free one.

"We ought to be going," she points out. "Harry'll be expecting us."

While I want to ask why, I keep my lips tight. There are so many things about Harry Potter that I don't understand and that I don't pretend to understand. He is an enigma, even more so than Fred Weasley.

"Well, I don't mean to keep you," I point out.

"You go on, Robs," he says to her but keeps his eyes on me. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Robbie gives a curt nod and heads off.

This leaves us. He leads me away from the kitchen and down a hallway. It is getting closer to curfew, but I say nothing. I expect us to go out to the astronomy tower, but instead, we take a secret passage outside. The grass is wet beneath my feet, seeing as it just rained. The castle grounds are quiet and dark.

The whole time we walk, Fred says nothing. He looks at me, occasionally, when he thinks I'm not looking, but he doesn't speak. I want to tell him that his short hair suits him, but it's been cut for months and I haven't said anything. I want to give him the letters I wrote to him over the summer, only they are down in my dormitory and I am sure he would turn them away anyway. Never will I be able to tell him everything I think.

And I hate myself for it.

"Who did you hex this time?" he asks.

"Bronwyn," I'm not proud to admit it, but it's better her than anyone else. "She threw the first spell. I wouldn't have attacked her otherwise."

"Why not?" he looks down at me.

I shrug. "I pity the fact that she cannot think for herself."

"Barely thought you were capable of that," Fred points out.

"I'm capable of a lot of things," I tease. It's true, even if I didn't recognize it before this year. I'm a capable dueller and an excellent brewer. I can create potions that Professor Snape cannot do. I know when to fight back and when to run away. Even now, I'm able to look Fred in the eye without feeling shame.

His hand brushes against mine. It feels like fire.

"Merlin, you're frigid," he points out. He takes my hand in both of his and begins to rub it, attempting to get the blood to flow. "It's almost as cold as your personality."

I roll my eyes. "You're so funny."

"I know," he agrees. He winks at me. "It's one of my many charms."

We begin to double back towards thecastle. I know that our time together must end tonight, but I feel that it isnot ending all that soon. There will be more to us than this evening. I'm sureof it.

~~~~~

I do love this, I really do. Robbie is quite wonderful, and Fred has had a mysterious change of heart. I like Larkin's pity for Bronwyn too. Argh, it's just too much.

Do you think Bronwyn deserves pity?