New Game: The Character Guessing Game!

[Professor Albus Dumbledore]

Hey guys!

Since ISS has been having a bit of a dry spell lately, we thought maybe it might be good idea to try and spice things up with a new game! It's very simple and fun and we think you'll enjoy it. Hopefully this'll inspire people to log in more and maybe even jump-start some more activity! Everyone's busy which of course is totally understandable given this time of year, but we all have time for a little game right? We hope so!

So, this is called The Character Guessing Game. We've picked at random five active characters on the site and have pieced together three paragraph samples of their posts, where we blot out their names or who they're talking to/about. These paragraphs will be from threads of a reasonable age––not too old to where you can't remember them, but not too recent that they come super easily. All participating users must be able to correctly identify each of the five characters and which thread the paragraph was lifted from. You'll have a week to do this! The winner will be the user who has identified the most characters correctly. We've got lots of fun prizes for the first, second, and third place winners, and all participants get five House points. :3 Let's try this and see how it goes, mkay? Hopefully this'll excite everyone about past and present plots and maybe spur some activity! It's also a good way to test yourself and see just how well you know everyone's writing style! Without further ado, let the games begin!

CHARACTER #1

• 1 •

It was no secret that –––– was a prude. To everyone in the school she seemed like the most stuck-up and impersonal git there ever was, always avoiding the couples making out and never letting anyone get within a foot of her. Even though she was just a girl of fourteen, she wasn’t as open about intimacy as the other girls her age, and in fact didn’t really look forward to the idea of dating or being in relationships as they did, either. Even though she was yet young, she definitely did not hold to the same ideals as her peers, and for that she was mightily judged, in her opinion. The truth was, though, that –––– truly wasn’t a prude by choice. It was just the way she was. Physical touch frightened and repulsed her, and what was more, made her feel rather guilty and uncomfortable––she didn’t know anyone who would willingly accept discomfort in favor of a half-hearted stab at some pre-ordained teenage ‘normalcy.’ It simply wasn’t worth it. If she got close to people she felt sick and when she felt sick she panicked and when she panicked she felt even sicker and at that point the only way to fix things would be to chew on her hands or nibble at her nails or pinch or scratch or in some way cause herself a somewhat minimal amount of pain that somehow enabled her to regain control of the situation. That was what she did, that was how she dealt with things. And yes, she knew that eventually the time would come where she would be married and she wouldn’t be able to have ten children like she wanted to if she didn’t engage in physical activity, but frankly she would cross that bridge when she came to it and assume it as her duty as a wife rather than something in which to take pleasure. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with that, was there? –––– didn’t think so. As long as she pleased her husband from time to time in what little ways she could stand and allowed him to assume his full rights as her spouse then by Merlin, that was all that mattered. The real purpose of the institution of marriage was to procure heirs and to perpetuate the human race: everyone knew that. As long as –––– did her duty as a woman then she would be satisfied and of course her husband would be too, for he would understand. That was why her mother’s marriage had failed, because her father hadn’t gotten as many heirs and he’d wanted; it wasn’t her mother’s fault, but it was a reasonable thing to be upset about. Marriages functioned, in ––––’s opinion, on heirs and on mutual respect, and both she believed were contingent upon one another. Intimacy was an unfortunate side effect of the married ones, but she would face it with bravery, and would hopefully have a better time of it, unlike her mother. If she had ten children her husband certainly wouldn’t be ashamed of her or leave her, because she would have fulfilled her purpose, her duty, and that is all he could possibly want from her. In ––––’s mind, this all made such perfect sense, but to the outside world, all that was seen was a prude. That label did not bother ––––– as much as its connotation. She was simply saving... everything for marriage, that was all. Lots of respectable girls did that. She wasn’t a prude, she was just behaving like a proper lady ought to. If her classmates couldn’t understand that then the loss was clearly on them.

• 2 •

But Circe, did she want him to wipe that grin off his smug little face. He had absolutely no reason to be smug, for as far as she was concerned, she was winning this particular round. He’d called her a doll again, and she wasn’t quite over that yet. “If I’m your doll,” she began, sourly, “I would be forced to allow you to undress and redress me. Perhaps you could show me all your wonderfully vast fashion expertise, in that case. Would you like that, –––––?” If this is how he wanted to play it, then fine, she’d bite. She was tired of watching him go circles in his own game; it was time to spice it up a little bit. She had no intention of letting him win at his own game, either, so she supposed she had better respond in some way to the sexual appeals he kept dangling in front of her. Still, she had no idea where this would get her, but right now she was too focused on getting him back, on beating him to a pulp, to care about anything else. She was a little short-sighted, to be honest. A little short-sighted, and a little poor at multitasking. Whatever. None of that mattered as long as she got her way. Faults were nothing if she won. It was a philosophy she’d lived by all of her life, and one that got her her way many times over. It wasn’t how you played the game––it only mattered if you won, or lost. And frankly, –––––– wasn’t one to lose at anything. Not if she could help it. And to be bested by a Mudblood? Ha, as if that were even an option. She scowled inwardly and batt her eyelashes a few times demurely, waiting to see what sort of effect this would have on him, if any.

• 3 •

Her anger welled up to such an extent that it overflowed from her pen, leaving several infuriated ink blots on her entry. She could care less, though, seeing as she was right, of course, and if she spilled a little ink over it then that was just how it was. ––––– would probably be angry at herself later for mucking up her diary and would most likely tear out the pages and replace the entry with a more level-headed penmanship, but still… point remained that she was absolutely livid with –––––'s mother and ––––'s mother for allowing this to happen. She was, naturally, aware of –––––'s and –––––'s friendship, but even that did not condone what the both of them were about to do to their children. Just because they were friends meant nothing, absolutely nothing! Even if ––––'s best friend had a child of marriageable age of the opposite sex of hers, she would not permit a union if he was as incorrigible as ––––– was. There was simply no excusing him. Friendship had no place in the marriages of young ladies and gentlemen, everyone knew that. That ––––– and –––––– had made this error spoke only to their ignorance, and nothing else. And –––––! That awful –––––––, refusing to help –––––! If they were to be married, he would be impregnating her later anyway, so why not sooner in order to save her life?! ––––– couldn’t understand it. Boys, sometimes, were just so unbelievably daft. She was still so angry with him she could hardly look at him let alone speak to him, and had been avoiding him for several hours now (a record next to the amount of time she spent avoiding ––––––, who thankfully she had not seen for several days now). Poor, poor –––––. –––– had to find a way to save her. As she finished her entry and slipped the book under her pillow once more, ––––– began mentally calculating other ways she could prevent this union. What other scandals had prevented purebloods marriages in the past? She might have to do some more extensive research on this. She didn’t have much time, but she could do it. She would do it, she vowed silently to herself, then and there, in what she found to be a rather beautiful and poetic scene. –––––– and ––––– had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into. She smirked deviously before grabbing her parka and hat and treading down the stairs in her heavy boots.

CHARACTER #2

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• 1 •

She sighed, seeing her breath come out in a small cloud due to the cold. Walking out away from the castle, –––– shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling the cardboard pack of cigarettes in her right one and the smooth, metal lighter kept warm in her left one. She was hesitant to make such an ugly trail in the previously unscathed snow, but she had to get far enough away from the school to avoid running into a teacher or disapproving prefect. Her legs took her in the direction of the river, where it was sure to be deserted in this frigidness. But the farther she got, the colder it seemed to get, and so ––––– decided to stop in her tracks, light up, and then continue on her way. Digging the necessities out of their respective pockets, ––––– slid a cigarette out of it cardboard container and flicked open her lighter. It was a specialty, magic lighter (not those shoddy, mechanical-type kinds the muggles use) – engraved with the ––––– family crest, in which automatically lit when placed near the end of a cig. And light it did when brought to the cigarette she had placed in between her lips. The little flame caught and burned its end, producing a small line of smoke floating up to the sky, before flickering out. She inhaled immediately, feeling the warm vapors engulf her mouth and throat. Her exhale was more like a sigh of relief, smoke flowing out of her mouth and nostrils. Oh, but it really did make everything more bearable – and she felt a little warmer too. So continue on, she did, the crunch of snow under her boots sounding much more relaxing even just with that one hit. But as she focused on where she was actually headed, ––––– noticed someone walking ahead of her, who she had presumably been walking out there for a while, as she did not see them coming out of the castle. She hadn’t noticed other footprints in the snow either, and assumed the girl had come out of a different part of the school than she. She took another drag and the squinted, making out the back of a tall blonde girl…Oh Merlin. That weird flounce in her step, the length of her light hair – it was that Hufflepuff – –––––. Ugh. –––––– didn’t want to turn back to the castle now that she had just started on her sig. Maybe if she just minded her own business, the blonde wouldn’t notice her. She would just walk quietly behind her toward the river and –

• 2 •

––––– wasn’t an idiot. Contrary to popular belief, she actually does quite well with her academics; she does all her homework, class work, takes notes and gets good grades overall. She has to- it makes her teachers think well of her and helps dismiss any suspicions of illegal or uncouth behavior. See, adults seemed to believe that a well-learned, well-mannered girl simply couldn’t be doing drugs in her spare time. What dolts they all were. So naive. It wasn’t as if ––––– had acted differently than this before her overdose – she was doing very well in her classes then too – which is probably why it came as such a shock to her parents and the authorities within Hogwarts at the time. None of them had considered such a thing would happen to –––––. And now she was doing exactly as she had before, and the fools thought she was simply rehabilitated or some shit. She let them think it though, made them think it, for everyone’s best interest. The students, however, where a different story, but that was because a lot of them did the same sort of thing; student by day, drunk by night, or cheerleader by day, whore by night. Sure, there were some exceptions – some prefects and goody-two-shoes who do nothing but follow every rule in the book – but most of the student body had a sort of code: don’t tell on me, and I won’t tell on you. Oh, you could deny it that this agreement exists all you want, but it’s the reason that the teachers at Hogwarts have no freaking clue about half of what goes on at the school. They were all in the dark, the adults, and ––––– made sure not to bring them to light. No, –––––– was smart, she never let herself slip up, never got caught, and never never dropped her perfect, pure and proper and proud pretenses (say that three times fast). Except that one time. That one overdose, that one mistake that no one even really understood like they thought they did. But that was in the past and –––––– was back to where she was, was supposed to be it seemed- doing well in school, avoiding mudbloods like the plague, and partying in the safety of the night. Everything had been on track, like always.

• 3 •

“Fuuuuuck,” ––––– shut her trunk with a hard thud and jumped over it to land on top of her bed. She snatched at a dark blue mound of fabric, holding it up so it unfolded and she could distinguish that yes, it was a dress and yes, it was a dress that she had already worn to one of these big birthday bashes that her classmates loved to throw. She threw it behind her with an exasperated huff and rifled through the other piles that had formed over the last hour and a half on her bed because of her searching frenzy. The thing was that –––– went to so many parties, and of course she had to wear a different outfit to each one of those parties (because if she wore the same thing twice, well, people would notice. And anyway, what was she poor? No way) and, well, she was sort of running out of dresses. Merlin. How embarrassing. It wasn’t that she forgot about the party or the theme or the dress code for it or anything like that, it was just that she usually shopped in advance and bought multiple dresses for fancy occasions such as this. She thought she had another dress that she hadn’t worn yet – she had been sure of it! She just…could not for the life of her find one. She had a mask of course- a simple, yet elegant sequined blue one that she knew would go with most (if not all) of the dresses she would consider wearing to the birthday bash- she made sure she had gotten that. But a dress! This. Was. Going. To be. A catastrophe. ––––– never missed a party, but she wasn’t stupid enough to show up to –––––’s birthday party wearing something she had worn before. Nobody wanted that kind of attention.

CHARACTER #3

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• 1 •

Inspiration after a drought could strike in the most random places, and at the most random times. Every writer's nightmare is suffering from writer's block; that unpredictable amount of time when every time you tried to write, your mind would draw blanks. ––––– didn't have these bouts often; they were far and few in between but when they hit, they hit with a vengeance. It wasn't that he struggled with homework; if anything, writer's block led him to focusing even more on his work than ever before, if only because now he had nothing to distract him from it, and he supposed it was quite convenient when it hit around exam time due to the stress of the need to be the best student he could be, like the true Ravenclaw nerd he was. Didn't stop it from being any less annoying or distressing, however, since he never could tell when he would be pulled out of that miserable state of writer's block. More often than not, it was when his muse wasn't available - and yes, as corny as it sounded, ––––– did have at least one muse at a time. For the longest time, ––––– had been one of the more prominent ones - ever since they'd started dating, really. It was a fact that he'd accepted (with only a slight amount of embarrassment) that the first surge of inspiration had taken place after he'd...well, given her his virginity. Which, to him, made sense since it was a turning point for any young man. The stepping stone to being a "real man", if you will, even though he never thought of it exactly in that context. But needless to say the next morning after they'd cuddled away in his bed and then she left to her own dormitory, he'd pulled on his boxers and then out came the notebook and his pen (he'd always preferred muggle stationary to wizarding writing tools) and was scribbling away furiously - a short story about a boy who had finally come to his manhood, although through different means then he had of course since ––––– wasn't exactly going to write smut. It was one of the easiest forms of writing for him, really. Taking from his own surroundings, his own experiences and emotions and the people around him. He believed that every great writer related to his writing in some form or another - even if your main character was a serial killer, or a schizophrenic, or something of that sort, there was always at least one sliver of yourself in that character, or in that story. Otherwise, you'd never be able to write about it. He wrote about things he imagined he'd want to do, things he knew about - or, at least, thought he knew about - things he could relate to. And then, when the story was done, he gave it to Rose for safe keeping because...well, he had a tendency to throw out his own stories after proofreading them.

• 2 •

Still, it seemed that the opportunity rarely seemed to come up. ––––– was extremely busy with her modeling, which he completely understood, but it only gave her more time to think on it, and the more he thought, the more he solidified his notion that it was time for them to take some space - maybe start seeing other people, although he wasn't entirely sure he exactly had those intentions. Wasn't like he had anyone in mind that he wanted to ask on a date, although he was sure ––––– would, sooner or later, want to flex her matchmaking skills. She was disappointed that her plans with ––––– and ––––– seemed to be falling through and seemed to be searching for anyone else that she can set up and make happy. That's what it was all about, after all. Making people happy. Making her friends happy. ––––– wasn't sure where the entirely overly-romantic notion that one needed to have a significant other to be happy. –––––, himself, went months on end without a girlfriend, and it certainly didn't bother him none. Perhaps it was because he had different priorities than ––––– and other teenagers. Not less important, just...different. At any rate, the fact that he couldn't see made it harder to find the right time to tell her everything he had to see. Merlin, he didn't even know if there was a right time to tell her, so with that thought in mind he requested that she make some time for him one evening, and the truth simply seemed to spill out from him, as easily as if he had rehearsed it himself. ––––– always was quite good with words. Still, in spite of how "good" he might be, there was no stopping the inevitable hurt that he could see on ––––––'s face, and it was then that the knot of guilt had started to build up. Although they seemed to part on fairly good terms, and he was almost sure she understood that he hadn't found her wanting, the knot grew bigger and bigger, eventually leading to him dismissing dinner all together and retiring for an early night. As it were, his brain wouldn't stop working, and he lay on his bed, still dressed in his uniform, staring up at the canopy and wondering if he really had done the right thing. He rarely doubted himself, but in that moment, remembering –––––'s face, he couldn't help but flinch. Maybe he'd done the wrong thing this time. Even –––––– could make mistakes. He wasn't sure how long he spent, mulling over what had happened. Analyzing every word that had been spoken once, twice, thrice and then analyzing entire phrases, inflections in the voice - anything that could have given him a sign of where he went wrong. It wasn't anything unusual, for –––––– to be this obsessive over something he couldn't help anymore. In the end, he realised that it wasn't a word or a sentence that had gone wrong, but rather the entire conversation. He shouldn't have done any of it. And yet, if he hadn't told her, he wouldn't have been fair to either of them. No, it was better this way. So why did he feel so bad?

• 3 •

––––– watched her eyes as she tried to place him, perfectly willing to wait patiently for the recognition to hit. He always enjoyed a person's expression when that happened - the way their eyes would light up, as if a light bulb really had been switched on in their minds. It was an interesting sight, to say the least. And finally - ah. There it was. The pieces had fallen together and –––––– allowed his smile to grow more friendly now that she had recognised him, whereas previously he didn't want to seem like he was coming onto her or anything of the sort by smiling too widely. He couldn't help but laugh at her next words - she hadn't recognised him with his clothes on. In any different context, it could be taken the wrong way, and he was suddenly glad ––––– wasn't around because even someone as innocent as her would take it the wrong way, and although he had no doubts that he'd be able to correct her, he didn't want to be subjected to that sort of confusion. Especially since he had a girlfriend - God knows if that comment was said around ––––––, there'd be worlds of trouble. You didn't have to be particularly observant to see that –––––– could be as insecure as they come. He'd almost thought they wouldn't survive after the blow-up with –––––– and that kiss. It wasn't even the fact that –––––– was accusing him of cheating (which he had not, and he would never), but rather she seemed to think it was all her fault, and it gave him quite a bit of insight into his girlfriend's inner workings. She was, quite obviously, the type of person who blamed herself for anything and everything that went wrong, especially when it came to relationships. He hadn't asked her about any of her exes, but he would bet that quite a few of those relationships hadn't lasted that long, which could have contributed to her current insecurities. He knew it probably ran deeper than that, though. There was always something in the past to leads to the way a person is now - a childhood experience, or perhaps the way her father or mother (or both) treated or talked to her. It was too sensitive of a subject to broach, not to mention that he wasn't sure –––––– herself was aware of it, and although they had been dating for over a month now, he still wasn't sure he was close enough to her, neither had he known her long enough, to try to delve deeper into her psych. Maybe sooner rather than later, if a similar situation were to come up during the time that they're together. He knew better now, though, knew he had to be more careful and give her allowances for something she couldn't help. It wasn't like she went into raging fits of jealousy - no, nothing like that. But he'd just have to insure he didn't go around being kissed again, accidental or not. He didn't think it would be too much of an issue to avoid it, though. He was no ––––––. "Yeah, I see why that'd cause an initial problem," he agreed with another light laugh and nod.

CHARACTER #4

• 1 •

Trying to keep himself from getting too annoyed, ––––– took a deep breath and let it out slowly before propping his quill and parchment on the arm of the chair and flipping through the pages of a ratty old paperback text with his other hand. He had a reputation to live up to and he couldn't let other students start catching onto the fact that not everything came easily to him. As be began reading up on the Calming Draught, things had actually started out promising. Until he ran into the first set of calculations and measurements. His eyebrows fused together as he read over the numbers once, twice, five times and then they all began to run together and turn into nonsense. He could always understand concepts and methods well enough, but when they started making him do arithmetic was when things started to go to hell. Five minutes later, he still couldn't understand the conversions between different body weights in conjunction to the over all stress level of the person and felt as though he was the one who would be needing a Calming Draught after all of this. His quill hadn't moved in some time and when he finally looked down at his notes, there was a huge blot of ink that had spread across the surface and even seeped through into the faded burgundy material of the armrest. His usually calm and apathetic features twisted into a scowl.

• 2 •

––––– had been itching to get outside the castle all day. He'd been cramped up inside Hogwarts for the past several days. Between struggling to not fail potions, the huge essay that'd been assigned in his advanced charms class and the foul weather, ––––– felt like he'd been living in the Slytherin dungeons. And as he was proud to be in his house, he did wish the common room was a bit more... cozy. Today he was in limbo for school assignments. He'd just finished his last bunch of homework and was still able to procrastinate the next load so he took the opportunity to escape while he had the chance. Usually, he and ––––– would go out to the quidditch pitch together to toss around a quaffle, but he hadn't seen her since class and he didn't want to hang around in doors long enough to find her.

So ––––– decided to head out on his own. He didn't really need a partner always. ––––– favored being seeker so he was quite content with just letting the snitch loose and flying around the pitch. When he headed down the steps of the front doors of the castle, he was already bundled up in practice gear. ––––– prided himself on being well dressed and clean, so the only remotely worn down clothing he owned he saved for working out or playing quidditch. Today, he had on a pair of gray sweatpants over black gym shorts, a dark green t-shirt and a black zipped up jacket. Wearing layers was always important when it came to playing quidditch because you'd never know if you'd get too hot or tear something. He even kept spare clothes in one of the lockers on the pitch.

• 3 •

All of these light touches and softly spoken words were something new to –––– when it came to ––––. Their time together had been cut short after their last year at Hogwarts, when he had been forced to leave everything behind -- leave her behind -- in order to retain his freedom. That wasn't to say that he hadn't had quiet or gentle moments with anyone else since then. In fact, ––––– was probably the closest to anything substantial or tender that –––– had had with another woman other than –––––, but, at the same time, they missed a lot of the heat. The instinctual need to have someone and care for them fiercely. He didn't have that with –––––, but he had always had it with –––––. And now, where they would've been all over each other at this point with nails raking down backs and clothes thrown all over the place, it was more slow but just as deliberate. ––––– wasn't the most affectionate guy in the world, or at least he didn't want the world to know that. He cringed away from kissing that involved prolonged eye contact in between and other grotesquely cliched acts of romance because it always seemed awkward and forced on his part. But here, now, with –––––, he was actually indulging in the the way she looked at him, the feel of her fingers lightly trailing along his face, the smile on her lips and the quiet pleased noises that escaped her mouth? All of a sudden it didn't seem all bad. The way she looked almost vulnerable by the way she had put it all out on the line instead of making him want to pull away just made a surge of possession and protectiveness cut through his chest. He liked seeing her like this and wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could. He was completely inable to even think about what would happen tomorrow, let alone further down the line. All he knew was that he wanted to see her like this, in this way, and that he would do whatever it took to keep her.

CHARACTER #5

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• 1 •

Sometimes it felt like everybody was watching her. And not in the way that she’d expect them to; in the way that she was a pretty, popular girl that turned heads. No, sometimes, especially in situations like these, it felt like every eye in the room was trained on her, waiting for her to do something so they could have a reason to judge. Her friends, the people she didn’t like, even the people she didn’t know seemed to be narrowing her eyes at her as she walked into the Great Hall for dinner. It was silly to be this paranoid, she kept telling herself; people weren’t paying attention to her, if the clattering of plates and loud, animated chatter was any indication what they actually were paying attention to, but still, she was nervous and on edge. The walk over to the Hufflepuff table to the left of the main hallway seemed to take forever, and –––– purposefully stared straight ahead as she did so. Automatically, her eyes were drawn down to the Ravenclaw table on her right, where she could see ––––– sitting next to her cousin, talking about something, not looking at her. See? No big deal, nobody was staring. Relaxing somewhat, she walked over to where she could see ––––– already there and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey,” she whispered, smiling somewhat. “Could you slide a bit?” Once she did, she swung her legs over the bench and sat down between her and –––––, taking a moment to smile at her other friend as well before folding her hands primly on her lap and staring at the courses and courses of food in front of her. Her stomach churned in anxiety at the thought of having to eat something from this. It all looked so greasy. How was her gown for the ball going to fit if they fed them this every night? There was a reason why she’d been skipping supper lately, she wasn’t crazy. But ––––– was sitting on the other side of the table, a couple of people away, and he’d notice she wasn’t eating either and everybody was freaking out over it for no reason, because it’s not like it was a problem or anything. She could handle herself. She knew when too much was too much. She could stop at any time and be perfectly fine. Grinding her teeth together, deciding to dwell on the fact that she didn’t even have a date to the stupid dance so the dress fitting was the least of her worries right now, she reached over and took a pear from a bowl of fruit a bit to her right, bringing it over to her plate and getting a knife as well. A pear was perfectly healthy; even if she wasn’t actually hungry, it’d please people to see her eating, she figured. No harm done.

• 2 •

Licking her lips and nodding to herself weakly, she stepped back from the mirror to look at her watch; it was almost ten. She could get a head start and go to bed earlier, she figured with another sigh as she picked up her wand and tied her robes around her, smoothing down her clothes as well. Making sure everything was in order in her room, that she wasn’t leaving the closet doors open or any dresses out of place, she exited her room, ducking under the round door and went into the common room. He was over to a side, doing some homework, she assumed, his brow furrowed like whenever he concentrated really hard on something, and she resisted the urge to smile at him or say ‘hi’ or something, and ducked out of the common room quickly. She was supposed to be on tower duty tonight. The thought made something spark in her, and realized that she hadn’t been to the Astronomy tower since that night. Maybe it was significant that she was going to come here now when she’d been thinking about that a while earlier, she thought to herself bitterly as she started moving down the dark hallway, trying to ignore the shadows cast by the flickering fire lamps on either side of her, her footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty castle hallways as she made her way over to the seventh floor. She was sure one of the common rooms was around here; there were always students in this floor. Tucking her hair behind her ear, –––– started moving up on the spiral staircase slowly, pausing to look out the windows as she came before them, the night sky clear for once, and took a deep breath. Maybe she could use this opportunity to reacquaint herself with the tower and think properly about what she’d say to him once she got round to the apology. She climbed, and climbed, and was about to reach the top when she saw a light up. Was somebody there? Gripping her wand a little tighter, –––– stopped moving, but the other person must have heard her because there was some noise and then what was unmistakably a girl’s voice ordering her to ‘show herself’? The girl kept talking about how she was studying—in the Astronomy tower after curfew?—or something, and –––– had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she climbed the last remaining steps and came face to face with a little blonde girl, smaller than her, how old was she?

• 3 •

Maybe that’s when she’d begun, she thought, in retrospect. The thought that –––––, her ––––– was calling her that? As much as she knew that it was true, that it had been true before and hell, she was trying, she was trying so hard, not to be that way now, but it wasn’t like they’d spoken lately, or seen each other at all. There was no way for him to judge her on what she was doing now. To him, she figured, she was still selfish, she was still that lying, horrible girlfriend and that self-centered friend. If he even considered her a friend anymore. Grinding her teeth together as she attempted to regain her composure, even as he apologized for the word. It hurt her that she’d told him what ––––– had said, and he’d all but thrown back the word to her face, but she braced it. After all, apologies were hard, weren’t they? He had every right to be angry, she reminded herself, every right to hate her and want to hurt her as much as she’d hurt him. She tried not to be, hurt that is, she really did. At least he was being honest. –––– looked away at some point between –––– saying she should have trusted him, and that –––– needed her in the Hospital, and she couldn’t even bring herself to defend her position back then, when she’d been so upset with herself for lying to her (she really had been horrible) that she figured –––– wouldn’t even want to see her again. She couldn’t do that, because it was selfish, in a way, she had been protecting herself against ––––'s judgment and ––––'s annoyance; she supposed she could admit to that, now. There was no need to reinforce ––––'s point. Her vision had gone slightly blurry by then, and when she blinked to look back at him, another tear dropped down swiftly to the front of the cloak. ––––'s cloak, she reminded herself. Who had loved her, who was standing there, being incredible, and honest, and sweet, and it made her chest ache with how much she missed him.


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