Rain pelts down on Lorelei's sickeningly orange umbrella. The sound mimics the thunderous waves of a tempered ocean. It's nearly deafening, especially when mixed with raucous cheers from excited students. Through the sharp winds biting at her eyes, she could hardly see any of the quidditch players, let alone Harry.

     To the shock of no one, Lorelei's not a fan of sports. Well, mini golf, if that's considered one, she likes. Her family's big on them. Dedicated nights for football, Nessie's mouthwatering finger foods, placing her pillow over her ears when the shouts became too loud. Lorelei believes sports to be dangerous and much too confusing—why do people like being hurt? Adding wizardry to the mix does not change her mind.

     Faintly, red and gold figures zoom through the skies. Lorelei holds up her dampened sign with a firm grip, blocky lettering cheering for Gryffindor. Quidditch has been tediously explained to her several times, half of them by James and Harry—more alike than they think. She listens intently, and it never quite grasps. Even pretending is a tedious task.

     To her left, her uncle shifts, his own dark gray umbrella rubbing against hers. Lorelei, honestly, was beginning to rethink her decision to attend Harry's game. He's been acting funny lately, and if there's one thing she's tired of, it's secrets. Plus, she's still banned. Though, to her immense surprise, Lonnie sought her out; he told her they could go together. She stared with no response, he had to shake her shoulders to get her back to reality.

     Lonnie Yates wanting to watch quidditch . . . something is definitely wrong nowadays.

     When the game started, he was intensely focused, head turning with the dashing players. Dare she say, she even caught him cheering. This does not collide with the known fact of him returning his broomstick in his first year.

     A few rows down and to the right, Ron and Hermione sit with the claimant of a better view. Lorelei doesn't think anywhere is a better view with the downpour, and her uncle was concerned she'd slip off the edge, so they stand towards the back with an easy way to the exit.

     Crimson jets pass and the crowd roars.

     Lorelei squints, tightening her hold on the umbrella as gusts threaten to blow her down. Everyone made fun of Luna Lovegood for the silly frames she wore, but she knows they'd be useful right now. Seeing through the thick haze of rain is impossible, which only makes her more nervous for Harry. She tries not to think about all the accidents football players have when she catches a glimpse of her uncles' games.

     Hair sticking to her cheeks, Lorelei holds her sign under her armpit to tap Lonnie on the shoulder.

     He looks down at her, water droplets in his scruff. "Are you okay?"

     She can barely hear him over the rushing of the wind and the harsh splatters of rain. "What's happening, Lonnie?" She hopes her question reaches him. "I can't see a thing!"

     Fear of ailment vanishes and is replaced with humor. Lonnie chuckles, or she thought he did—it was all so loud—as he extends an arm towards the pitch. Lorelei follows his arm and sees . . . nothing. Perhaps she needs glasses.

     "Gryffindor's just scored a point. See those balls?" Lorelei doesn't. "They're called bludgers. George just hit one away from Oliver Wood."

     Lorelei makes an 'o' shape with her mouth, slowly nodding.

     "Harry's looking for the snitch."

     This, she knows. Days and days of standing out in the freezing cold, early mornings, freshly fallen snow ("It's a broomstick, Lori. I fly over it!"), pouring rain—Lorelei might consider herself the captain of the team if she has to let the snitch loose one more time.

     Lonnie jabs his fist into the air as the crowd collectively groans. Someone must've missed something, she thinks. With the dull sky and lack of visibility, Harry blends in with all the other colorful blobs. And then, a feeling. The type of gnawing feeling she's experienced this entire year, a watchfulness. Hair sticks upright and goosebumps pimple on her arms.

     Someone's watching her.

     Lorelei slowly turns, biting down on her lip in case she didn't like what she saw. Maybe Draco's staring her down, yet the boy isn't even behind her. The ones who are, cast her odd looks. No one is looking.

     Frowning, Lorelei pulls out her sign and holds it back up. By now, the ink has begun to run, becoming smudged from the speckled droplets. Her eyes track a fast moving blob, one that zips in randomized movements—that has to be Harry. A cheer is about to escape when she catches a singular object down on the muddy pitch. It's small, at least small from being so far away, and it's dark, possibly black.

     All the way up, Lorelei can hardly see an outline, until there's a sharpened gleam that passes through irises. It's an animal, and it's watching her. A harsh gust of wind tightens her throat.

     Harry saw a dog the night he ran away.

    The Grim.

     Lorelei gasps and steps backwards forgetting she's pressed against bleachers. A bolt of lightning strikes Angelina Johnson's broom as her foot slips on the rainy wood causing her to fall. Her head knocks into the row behind her, and her umbrella sweeps out of her hands in a stream of wind. An orange speck amongst the dullest of grays.

     "Lorelei!"

     Her eyes scrunch shut while her head throbs and hands shake. Rain begins to soak her attire and hair, dribbling down her forehead. Hands ghost her flesh—sharp, mangled talons and cold breath. Lorelei jerks as she hears that familiar scream replay, yet the hands don't leave.

     "Hey! Lorelei, calm down." One flash of green, a scream. The touch is recognizable and warm, comforting. And there's a fragrance, a natural one. Cinnamon. "It's me. It's Lonnie."

     With her eyelids sealed, Lorelei grabs her uncle's hand and squeezes.

     "Oh my god! Lori! Are you okay?!" A new voice questions, and she can feel them crouch beside her. Rain ceases its icy embrace, so she assumes the person used their umbrella to shield them.

     Fear paralyzes her. It renders her vocal cords useless. She's received a mark of death. Regardless of Professor McGonagall's assurances, she could very well be the one who's not to return. Lorelei tightens her grip and so does Lonnie.

     "Lorelei, please respond."

     Suddenly, the crowd gasps in horror and Ron yells, "Harry!"

     Instantly, Lorelei opens her eyes and watches with terror as Harry plummets through the air. Time stills. The speed at which the rain poured, slowed. Students' faces are frozen in perpetual shock and delayed reactions. A steady stream of blood trickles down her forehead, mixing with the droplets already present. All she can do is watch. Watch as he falls to his death. Helpless.

     The Hospital Wing has never been her favorite place in the castle—it is actually very low on her list, right below the Forbidden Forest. Lorelei's sure, and Lonnie could attest, she's spent more time in the infirmary than any other student. Of course, there's also the non-magical hospital visits. Tom's torn knee ligaments, Barry's thrown out back, her pinky being bit by a raccoon, and many, many more. Really too many to count. There's familiarity in the stark white walls and chemical disinfectants. 

     The last time she was in the Hospital Wing was when Lonnie finally awoke from his petrification. Many moons she spent hovered over his bed with whispered pleas and nighttime stories. It's unpleasant to relive them.

     When she isn't recalling her upsetting past, Lorelei's thoughts are consumed by the omen of death she witnessed. Those sharp, glowing eyes she could see through the rain. Then she thinks, what if it was really there for Harry? Right after she slipped, he fell. What if he never woke up and she's next? The thought sickens her.

     Though that's not the case. Lonnie said Harry was attacked by a dementor. Those awful creatures. Each time Pavarti Patil shuts off her light and casts the dormitory in darkness, Lorelei's plagued by nightmarish visions. She's helpless against discarded robes masquerading as dementors, powerless to stop them on the Express, unable to do anything for Harry—she'll have to consult Remus about learning that defense spell. Helpless. She's helpless.

     Adding to her growing misfortunes, the tightness in her stomach returned, and it returned with full force. It was accompanied by a raging temporal headache, a terrible rhythmic pounding. Externally, her wounds are healed or in the process of healing. Madam Pomfrey administered a salve that washed the pain away immediately (She wondered where this exceedingly helpful cure has been all her life).

     Yet the phantom pains still remain. A ghostly reminder of the horror she's endured.

     Lorelei hasn't left Harry's side since Lonnie ushered her to the Hospital Wing over an ago, and she still won't. Forget his attitude, that's her best friend!She will be there when he wakes, and she'll greet him with a smile. Though she can't bring herself to look at him. Any time she does, all she sees are those glowing eyes.

     Harry looks rather terrible too. His glasses are cracked again laying on the nightstand and there's also the matter of his broom, which she won't be the one to tell him. Hair a mess, pale as Peeves, permanent frown. Lorelei doesn't like him this way. It's all . . . wrong.

     Lorelei picks at the skin around her thumb, hunched over in her chair beside Harry. To her left, Ron and Hermione bicker over something in the corner, and Fred and George are bothering a poor student with pranks (Madam Pomfrey is not pleased). Unfortunately, the student happened to be the victim of her runaway umbrella. She apologized profusely.

     A little while ago, Harry's parents arrived, faces red with worry. They stayed for a few moments before abruptly leaving to speak with Dumbledore. Lorelei can only imagine that conversation. They looked furious. For some reason, Lonnie followed. What he had to offer, she didn't know, but the tense energy between him and James was palpable.

     "Oh, stop that would you?" Hermione scolds as she approaches Lorelei. The other girl slaps her hands apart, revealing a thin trail of blood running down her thumb. Lorelei wipes it away on her robes.

     There's a squeaking sound as Hermione drags a chair next to Lorelei's. She plops down wordlessly, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Invigorated by whatever disagreement, Ron stalks to his brothers and joins in on the terrorizing.

     Lorelei fiddles with her hands.

     "Do you want gloves?"

     She raises a brow. "What?"

     "Gloves. For your hands. So you don't pick," her friend informs. "My mum used to give me mittens or lemon juice."

     Lorelei's face twists into a grimace, lips puckering at the thought.

     Hermione laughs. "It works! I stopped."

     "It's just a habit, really," she mumbles. Everyone has their supposed bad habits. Some are certainly worse than others. Lonnie's clicking jaw, Etty's mindless hair pulling, her hangnail pricking. All useless devices to help one cope with unexpected incidents. Her hands were a bloodied mess during Lonnie's petrification. She swore she'd stop since that moment, yet the Hospital Wing pulls on her false promises.

     "Here," The Granger pulls a glass bottle from her robes. It's the smallest bottle she's ever seen, and it's opaque with a mysterious green liquid. She unscrews the decorated cap. "Take my hand."

     Lorelei does so without hesitation. Hermione proceeds to drop a singular droplet atop her throbbing hangnail. She winces at a sharp burning, but it vanishes as soon as it comes along with her wound. In amazement, Lorelei beams.

     "Essence of Dittany," explains Hermione with a proud grin. "I always keep it on me."

     "This is amazing, 'Mione," she breathes, still examining her thumb.

     "I'd prefer to never use this on you, Lori. I'd be happy to accommodate you with gloves. I have an extra pair."

     Lorelei waves. "Oh, I have a hundred pairs. My Nana spends all her free time knitting."

     "Bloody hell, they're annoying!"

     The two girls look to Ron who's landed in front of their chairs. He has his hands on his hips. Behind him, the twins have moved from the student, choosing to lounge on the empty cots instead.

     "What'd you do?"

     Ron looks at Lorelei in pain. "What d'you mean me? Why'd you assume I did something?"

     Hermione and Lorelei share a side glance.

     Sighing, Ron relents. He leans against the end of Harry's cot, palms on the metal railing. "Alright. Fine," he says. "But I just wanna be involved with their business!"

     "Oh, no, Ron. You don't. Trust me," Lorelei furiously shakes her head.

     He's not deterred. "Yeah? And why not?"

     "Not sure you'd like the reasons."

     Hermione's had enough. She flings her hands in the air in exasperation. "For goodness sake! Don't get involved with them, Ronald." Really it's said like an order. "It'll do you no good."

     "We've gone private anyway."

     "Funny. That's what they said."

     "Well, it's true."

     A moment of silence. The Weasley boy turns to face Harry and he studies him. Lorelei doesn't follow his gaze; she can't. She stops herself from picking at her freshly healed skin.

     "Harry's not in it is he?"

     "He's a freelancer."

     "Huh," Ron scoffs, eyes not leaving their friend. "Looks a bit peaky, doesn't he?"

     Hearing the comment, Fred laughs from his spot on the cot. "Peaky? What d'you expect him to look like? He fell fifty feet."

     His brother stands and makes his way towards Lorelei. In two large strides, he's standing in front of them. "Yeah, c'mon, Ron," George adds with a grin. He offers a mystery candy to Lorelei who reaches to take it, but Hermione intercepts with a harsh glare. "We'll walk you off the Astronomy Tower and see how you come out looking."

     "Probably a right sight better than he normally does."

     Lorelei's eyes threaten to explode at the voice. She stands so fast the chair rattles from the motion, and she greets Harry with a smile just like she promised.

     "Harry!" Her voice is a far cry from the hoarseness Harry has. It's high pitched and loud. "H-How're you feeling?"

     Harry doesn't appear like he wants to smile, yet he does so anyway for Lorelei. "Brilliant."

     The conversational distraction provided momentary solace, but with Harry now awake, confused and exhausted, memories of death omens return with full force. Her smile dips, almost fading.

     "Gave us a right good scare, mate."

     "What happened?" Harry turns away from Lorelei to Ron as he props himself against the metal headboard. She ventures to the neighboring cot and pulls the pillow from it, handing it to Harry without a word.

     "You fell," Ron says with an uncomfortable shrug.

     "I meant the match," he clarifies, and he fluffs the pillow before putting it behind him. "Who won?"

     Behind them, Fred rolls to the side on his cot in hopes of ignoring an awkward conversation, and his brother sports a tight lipped smile. Ever the non-confrontational one, Lorelei looks to the ground, stones sealed together in organized chaos.

     "No one blames you, Harry," starts Hermione, not caring about the awkwardness. She wishes she could be like that. "The dementors aren't meant to come on the grounds. Dumbledore was furious. After he saved you, he sent them straight off."

     In some twisted way, Lorelei's glad she fell when she did. She never saw the dementors in the haunting flashes of lightning. No sleeping draught would be enough.

     Ron clears his throat. He shares a glance with Lorelei who nods. "There's something else you should know." He can't meet his friend's eyes. "Your Nimbus—when it blew away? It sort of landed in the Whomping Willow. And well . . ."

     He holds up a bag and tips it onto the bed. Splinters of shattered wood tumble out, remnants of a broom she can't afford. Harry's face drops.

     Fred adds fuel to the fire. "Never seen the willow so hungry. Midday snack."

     "Wonder what Nimbus takes like," George wonders, pulling a different colored sweet from his pocket.

     Harry tosses a withering glare at George, causing the older boy to snicker. He slumps harshly against his stack of pillows with a groan. Lorelei feels a pang in her heart. One thing after another, like tumbling dominoes.

     Then Harry seems to realize the silence of someone. The lack of rushed assurances, poorly constructed advice, the bearing of even worse news. He turns and squints at Lorelei. Their gazes meet, and he arches a quizzical brow. Through that singular gaze, wordless understanding passes through them. It's the kind of link Fred and George experience.

     Lorelei's uncles could go hours without a single word spoken, yet through low grunts, the shakes of their shoulders, or hushed laughs, she knows they have entire conversations. Twins are not the only ones blessed with ulterior forms of communication. Barry and Nana's relationship extends beyond verbal capabilities.

And she almost lost it.

     In her gaze, she says, There's something I need to tell you.

     Harry responds with a nod.

     Lorelei sees the trepidation in his eyes. If whatever she has to say needs to be spoken in confidentiality, it can only mean it's grave.

     Orange firelight blossoms upon Lorelei's shining smile, silver wiring twinkling. Evening air wafts through a cracked window allowing the faintest of breezes to kiss her cheeks in a red glow. The remnants of a stomachache have finally dissipated, and her headache was quenched by simple hydration. All she needed was a decent meal and a glass of water. Thankfully, Lonnie confiscated her stash of emergency sweets.

     It's best if she lays off the dessert for a while. Mr. Filch insists.

     "I'm not playing that again," Lorelei huffs through her smile. She lays perpendicular across two cots shoved together, eyes trained on the arched ceiling. Empty plates rattle beside her.

     "Not fair. I sat through that weird card game," Harry refutes, and he crosses his arms. The candlelight reflects in his newly repaired glasses, courtesy of Hermione (Again!).

     Memories of Carmine's organized pastime flash across her vision. She hasn't told Harry yet, but the Weatherby boy invited them for the next monthly game. With the turnout she brought last time, it might end up being a known Gryffindor event. She throws a glance at him. "You enjoyed it!"

     Harry considers, then nods. "Okay, fine. I did," he agrees. "But we always play it!"

     A bitter taste ignites on her tongue from unpleasant memories resurfaced. She rolls it, sucking on her teeth. Truly, she never would've thought poisoned'd taste like Auntie Elle's meatloaf. Two years ago, Lorelei laid in Harry's cot a pale, convulsing mess. During her recovery, he'd use his invisibility cloak to sneak into the Hospital Wing where they'd indulge in hidden snacks and various magical games.

     One such game is wizard chess. Ron Weasley's life's calling. It is not Lorelei's, she's terrible.

     Really, it's a matter of how she wishes to spend her evening. A magical strategy game she's rubbish at or confronting the deadly apparition she encountered during the match . . . it's hard to choose. Because she isn't sure what she'll get—cryptic remarks, lies. Will Harry remain closed off, like Lonnie, Remus?

However, Lorelei fought for alone time, which is difficult when Harry's parents are determined to stick by his side like glue. It's hard to gauge the next time she'll have a chance.

     Mindlessly fiddling with her crystal necklace, Lorelei makes her decision. Why delay the inevitable? "Harry, there's something I need to tell you," she starts softly, almost whistling the consonants.

     She feels his legs shifting next to her, anxious.

     "Not about chess?"

     "Not about chess."

     Through her peripheral, he moves his head up and down. "My accident?" Harry guesses.

     Lorelei's stomach clenches. "Yes."

     A heavy silence drapes over them accompanied by familiar chills. Her heavy wool sweater does nothing to satiate the shivers threatening to take over her body. An instinctive reaction stemming from a mere mention.

     "Harry, when you ran away, you saw a dog right?" Lorelei inquires, biting a little harshly on her lip. She's been trying all day to cease picking at her hangnails. However, like those hideous mythological creatures Lonnie's told her about, a new one always takes its place. "A black dog?"

     "Yeah." Harry shifts again. "Why?"

     "I saw it. The Grim."

     With the end of his feet touching her leg under the covers, Lorelei feels him tense, completely rigid. It's like he was turned to stone.

     Recently, it feels all she's done is remind Harry of unpleasant moments, perhaps the worst he's ever experienced. Guilt gnaws at her. If he hadn't first been marked by the omen, she'd have kept her own sighting to herself. Why burden him—

     "I did too."

     "What?" Lorelei chokes. Her head snaps to the right, bulging eyes questioning Harry.

     "It was down on the pitch."

     "A dog?" She asks, hoping it's not true. He was going so fast; he could've seen anything!

     Harry moves his head up and down. Confirmed. Her tear ducts sting as droplets threaten to spill.

     "You know, it was so far away but I could still see its . . . its eyes. They glowed like fire." Not even her worst nightmares could produce such a horrific, bleak image. Lorelei continues, "And I fell right when I saw it. I slipped. That's how I got the scrapes. Hit my head on the bleachers. Harry, I almost died."

     "But you didn't."

     "You almost died."

     Harry won't look at her.

     "I didn't."

     "The Grim. It's a death omen. Professor Trelawney said it's marked you, Harry," bites Lorelei, frowning. "And now it's marked me. We almost died!"

     Rolling his head side to side, Harry expels a long, breathy sigh. "You can't believe that, Lori," he scoffs. His out of place aloofness returns full throttle. "Professor McGonagall said it's all made up anyway."

     Deeply, her eyebrows furrow. "I'd say a death omen is the least unbelievable thing we've encountered considering you almost die every day!"

     "It's superstition!"

     "What's wrong with you?"

     And truly, rudeness aside, she does mean it. Because why does he become so unresponsive and dismissive the deeper they go in their conversations? The minute she dares to express the inner workings of her mind, he shuts down. Oh, it's not real, it was never real. He makes it so difficult to communicate, and she doesn't get it. They used to be so close. She can't tell if she crosses a line or he keeps drawing them.

     "I heard my mum's screams."

     Lorelei's silent.

     Harry fiddles with the layers of blankets his parents provided him. "When I fell, I, er, heard screams. Before that, too. On the train. I know they're my mum's . . . from the night she was attacked."

     A strong, glacial breeze slithers through the cracked window. Whistling, melodic gusts twirling through tousled hair in a rhythmic dance of caution. She shivers.

     "I asked Professor Lupin about the dementors," continues Harry. "He said they pull from your worst fears o-or experiences. I thought I didn't remember that night but now . . . it's all I see when I close my eyes."

     Lorelei props herself onto her elbows. She refrains offering comfort through touch as Harry seems lost in a daze. It'd be awful to startle him so.

     "Do you hear them too?" He asks her.

     "Yes," she answers. "A man."

     Lorelei's eyes become glazed over as she's emerged into the depths of her fears. "I think I-I know him, but there's no face. Just a sound. And flashes. Bright green ones."

     Obviously, Harry understands. "The killing curse."

     But why would she have a memory of the killing curse? Of course, she's not even sure it's a memory. Then again, the dementors pull from personal experiences they don't plant falsehoods. Lorelei's about to express this when the door to the Hospital Wing cracks open slightly.

     "Knock, knock!"

     They turn in sync to see James Potter sticking his head through the crack, bright beam on his face. Seeing the teenagers' faces struck with shock and slight annoyance, he throws it open all the way and walks inside, Lily following behind. Before she entered fully, Lorelei caught the remnants of a scowl. Not a great day for the Potters.

     "Hope we're not interrupting anything important," James jokes as he lands at the shoved together cots.

     "You are actually," deadpans Harry.

     "Ha ha. Well, time to wrap it up," the patriarch claps. "You need rest."

     From her propped position, Lorelei watches Lily wordlessly collect the empty dishes from the bed and place them on the nightstand. She also shuts the window that'd soured the room.

     "It's not even eight!" Harry exclaims.

     "Don't care," sings James. He turns his attention to Lorelei and holds out his hands. "C'mon, Lemony. Up."

     Sighing, Lorelei grabs her godfather's hands and allows him to pull her to her feet. Really though, she's glad he did because she's been laying down for ages. Blood rushes to her head, making her slightly sway but James's grip steadies her. She turns to face Harry.

     Once she's off the bed, Lily moves the cot back to its original location. It squeaks unpleasantly against the stone floor.

     Harry's intent on arguing. Not like she can judge with all the stress she puts on Lonnie. "I'm not tired!"

     Like Lonnie, James is used to it. "Lorelei is," he says. "Aren't you?"

     "No?"

     "Sure you are! Real sleepy looking. Zombie-like."

     James proceeds to pick up her limp arms and extend them towards Harry. She's not sure what he's doing until he begins moving her around like the undead, grumbling like the monsters too.

     Lorelei laughs and obliges him. Still stationary, she waddles and groans.

     Harry is not amused. He turns to his last hope (Clearly, Lori isn't helping). "Mum, I'm really not tired. Can't she stay?"

Lorelei can't deny she's a little surprised Harry's so adamant for her company. His earlier actions spoke the opposite.

     Lily, who's tidying her son's bed, smiles sadly. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you really need rest." She gently takes the extra pillow and re-fluffs it. "Lorelei has classes tomorrow and most likely unfinished homework."

     Crimson coats her cheeks. Lorelei stops imitating the living dead fearing it might be her fate.

     James stops too. "What? No way!" He exclaims. You're supposed to be the responsible one!"

His son makes an offended face.

     Lorelei groans. "It's just an essay! Don't tell Lonnie. I told him I finished it so he'd let me stay."

     While Lily gives her a disappointed glance, James audibly laughs. He pats her on the shoulder. "Wouldn't expect anything less," he beams, and she returns it. Then it drops as he says, "Say your goodbyes. I'll need to escort you."

     Right when Harry begins opening up about the very personal details of the last couple of months, something comes and interrupts it. Typical.

     Nevertheless, Lorelei waves. "Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you in the morning."

     "'Night, Lori," he mumbles with his arms crossed.

     Lily offers a tired smile. "Goodnight, Lorelei." Then she looks at her husband and that same silent communication passes through them. Purest form of intimacy. "Stay safe, you two."

     "Always am," replies James. With his hands still on Lorelei's shoulders, he turns her towards the door. "Off we go!"

     Once they reach the exit, her godfather pulls it open and bows like a chivalrous gentleman. "After you, malady."

     Lorelei giggles as she steps outside. While there wasn't necessarily warmth inside the Hospital Wing, Harry's presence is comforting enough. The empty atrium is uninviting once the moon rises. Instinctively, her hand travels to the wand tucked safely in her back pocket. Fear of the shadows is imminent. A hand rests on her shoulder. She glances up at James, and he nods.

     James guides her past the copper fountain spurting liquid from a unicorn's horn (He refrains from inane jokes). He's got his hands buried inside his trouser's pockets, shoulders seemingly relaxed. Lorelei's always loved James's carefree nature; his charm is unmistakable. Though, at this very moment, he's  perhaps a little too nonchalant.

     A ways away from the Hospital Wing, Lorelei casts an apprehensive eye at James. He's facing forward, and she thinks she can hear slight whistling of tunes.  "Mr. Potter?"

     He spares her a side glance. "James, Lemony," he chuckles dryly. "I'm not that old."

"What's going on with you and Lonnie?"

Truthfully, Lorelei doesn't care about her bluntness.

She studies her godfather, expecting some type of tense response, but he doesn't flinch. There's no sign that she caught him off guard. Instead, he blows out a breathy sigh, kind of like a laugh.

"Merlin, Lorelei, where'd you get that idea from?"

"I dunno," sighs Lorelei, already dejected with his response. She crosses her arms to retain heat. "He just . . . doesn't seem to like you."

Visible hurt flashes across James's face. Reaction. "What d'you mean?" He stutters, removing a hand to relax the collar of his shirt. "Were those his—did he say that?"

"I don't necessarily have proof, it's more of a feeling," she explains, catching a glimpse of anxious habits. A lockage of the jaw, smoothing down his hair and attire. "I mention you, and he gets all," she makes a buzzing motion around her head, "weird. Evades topic and all that. You know, he and Remus are acting off too."

James arches a brow. "Are they?"

She nods. They pass by an open window glaring with streams of silky moonlight. As they're bathed in the glow, James turns to face the window, away from her. She wonders what she might've seen had he allowed himself the vulnerability. Perhaps the traces of glass eyes or a wobbling lip at the mere thought of someone he treasures so deeply no longer considering friendship.

"I delivered a letter from Remus to Lonnie," continues Lorelei, still eyeing James. They're washed in darkness now, so she strains to examine his features. Lorelei wants to know if James is truly involved with whatever plot her uncle's heading or if he's simply a confused observer. "I've got no clue if he read it or not, but there isn't a fireplace in his office—Remus said he's prone to burning letters."

Her godfather nods. Lorelei frowns. Confirmation?

"He burns your letters? Seriously?"

At this, James halts, and she stops next to him. He removes his glasses to tentatively rubbthe bridge of his nose. From stress or genuine discomfort, she doesn't know. "Lorelei, what's this about? Be honest."

Why are you keeping secrets from me? This utterance is unheard. Yet, he ignored her inquiry, which she's taking as more confirmation.

"Lonnie's bad energy is bogging us all down."

James stares at her for an extra long moment before shaking his head and continuing forward. Her heart pounds. There's always a price for honesty. If she were to reveal her nighttime travels to portraits where Black's prone to prowl or the incident on the Express, Harry's parents and Lonnie would pull them from Hogwarts no doubt.

They're stuck in uncomfortable silence for the remainder of the journey. James stalks through the castle with an unusually fast pace, so quick she's struggling to remain at his side. However, being behind, Lorelei notices quirks she wouldn't have previously of caught, or lack there of. James doesn't hold out his arm to block her from moving ahead when they reach a crossroads; he doesn't wield his wand, eyes aghast and watchful.

James traverses it like it's breathing, not a second thought. He's not worried, and she finds it strange for someone so concerned earlier. Or was he just worried about the dementors?

After James sends her strange looks for waving to drowsy portraits on the staircase, the duo finally arrives to the protected entrance of the Gryffindor Common Room. Sir Cadogen's aimlessly wondering through the foreground atop his prized stead slaying fictitious fiends.

Lorelei reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crinkled bit of parchment. She feels her godfather watching as she unfolds it, revealing an onerously extensive list of passwords, all equally confusing. He snorts.

She is not quite sure which one it is, however. Usually, around this time, Lonnie frustratingly scolds her for constantly forgetting the password, grumbling as he utters it for her. "This is the last time, Lorelei!" Of course, it never is.

Footsteps begin receding. Instantly, Lorelei flips to see James leisurely strolling down the stairs, faint tunes carelessly echoing. Her mouth drops open. He's leaving her alone?

"You're not staying?"

Her godfather freezes. He whistles and spins on his heel with a guilty expression. "Right," James drags out. "Sorry!"

As he jogs back to her side, she can't shake her disorientation. No one, and Lorelei means no one, has ever dared to leave her unattended, not since a certain convict escaped. It's like it didn't even cross James's mind. Black's an afterthought. Maybe James Potter is simply too confident in his abilities? Maybe he's such a capable wizard that nothing phases him? Who is she convincing?

Lorelei rolls down the list, marking off ones she knows aren't usable anymore. She recalls it starting with the letter 'p.' Unfortunately, ten of them started that way.

     "Lorelei?"

     "Hm?" Her attention stays on the list.

     "You'd tell me if you were in trouble wouldn't you?"

Lorelei makes a fatal mistake: hesitation. Why would she hesitate with such a question? And James thinks so too, for he raises an expecting, almost disappointed brow. Trust is not easy to come by.

     "Of course . . ." breathes Lorelei, paper crinkling.

     Still, James nods. "You and Harry, you're just kids. You don't need to do everything alone."

     Then why do I feel forsaken?

     "Lonnie can be difficult at times, but Lily and I, even Remus—we're always here. All we want is your safety."

     'All we want is your safety.' And yet, you won't tell me what's wrong, Lorelei thinks bitterly.

     "So is there anything you want to say?"

     Her heart pounds. She's not sure she appreciates the phrasing. Why would he ask this if he doesn't know something? Has she accidentally revealed a precious secret? Lorelei's face blanks. The Hospital Wing. He interrupted somehow at the exact time Harry was at last revealing the machinations of his mind. Could he have overheard? But why?

     "No." She swallows thickly, not meeting his prying gaze. In her peripheral, Sir Cadogen gallantly swings his sword through the air at nonexistent enemies. Her refusal to meet his gaze is all the confirmation he needs, and she hates it.

Without a word, James takes the paper containing the passwords and moves to stand in front of the frivolous knight. "Slumgullion," he utters before Sir Cadogen has a chance to refute and the door swings wide.

     Shouts, whistles, and whoops! sound from inside, distinctly, Michael Covington's obnoxious laugh. Firelight washes the darkened, dreary foyer in a rather blazing gleam, but Lorelei is not phased. She becomes very still, still like the knights they passed.

He didn't look at it. James didn't look at the paper. He knew the password—how could he know?

"Lorelei, it's late."

She shakes out of her trance. "Sorry," she mumbles; it isn't sincere.

At the threshold, James tips his head. "Goodnight, Lemony." Streaks of gray illuminate like silvery strands of wire in his hair. "Don't forget that essay."

     "I won't," she promises—she will. "'Night, Mr. Potter."

With the assumption that she'll go inside the Common Room, James departs down the stairs. Lonnie would've waited until the door shut, maybe even a half hour after. Though James isn't her uncle, and she's glad for it.

She can hear Percy Weasley's nasally voice scolding someone inside, which makes her want to get far away, as she watches James. He's an odd fellow, naturally. Shaking her head, Lorelei goes to shove her list back in her pocket when she freezes—he took the list. Why would James take her password list? He must've forgotten he even had it. Surely?

He disappears down a hallway.

     Lorelei's eyes go wide. The Hospital Wing is a left turn. He went right. If she knows one thing, it's that James Potter knows Hogwarts like the back of his hand, yet . . . he went the wrong way.

📍 Teddy's Corner ;

ok so i kinda hate this....
i struggled so hard with the
last bit pls show me mercy.

anyway, we're really starting
to pick up now. lots of
revelations. lori's sus, the usual.

jily in this chap as i promised.
unfortunately, james is being
weird :/

also, ik it seems like lily hasn't
really offered much and it's
focused on james, but trust,
when act two rolls around it's
gonna be switched. i haven't
forgotten lily!!!

love to hear ur thoughts <3 !!!

ฅʕ•ᴥ• ʔฅ
© TEDDY 2023