Victor made sure not to open the folder in his office, nor any time during school hours. He knew that this had to be a secret, his secret, and to reveal that he even had the slightest bit of information on the fraternity would certainly betray his main objective. Considering the passion that was burning inside of him when he first looked upon the folder, coupled then with Martha's wild reluctance to surrender it, he was sure that even the slightest glimpse from a student would compel them to either fight him for it or sneak into his house when he had left it unguarded. Even the prospect of Martha's return to his office to take the folder back after having heard specific instructions within her compromised head was enough for Victor to keep the folder on his person at all times. He tucked it inside of his jacket, keeping it clasped tightly against his side so that when he lowered his arm he could feel the chilling scrape of the paper corners against his exposed skin. It wasn't the most ideal of situations, though it was the only thing he could think to do. It was the only situation that made him feel as though he was protecting the folder justly. If anyone had found out where it was hidden, well then they would have to go through him first, and right now he was feeling practically unstoppable. Victor skipped dinner that night, even though he had dropped a package of Ramen noodles into water about thirty minutes ago. He let them turn around and around in the microwave, though their rotation bored him enough to wander off towards more interesting things. He sunk down into his kitchen chair, setting the thick folder down before him, and decided that now was the time to open it. The doors were locked, the windows covered, all but the kitchen light had been extinguished. He was operating in complete secrecy, just as he was instructed to do. Victor's fingers at last found the clasp, a single elastic band which drew the ends shut by stretching across on two metal hooks. He released one end, letting the folder fall open before him, the papers and documents falling off towards the left side as if they had organized a synchronized, chronological discovery. The first document he saw was something quite familiar, though through an entirely different lens. It was a photograph of the house, colored in the dull pastels of the early days of the camera. It was the house lit with sun, dated in a strange red ink at the bottom of the page, 1962. The microwave beeped, but Victor didn't hear it. He just continued to stare, stare at the picture that represented its own story, hidden from the eyes that looked upon it. But if he could go beyond the picture, behind the camera, then he would be able to see more. He would be able to see that day, in late August, on what would prove to be the last summer the house had smiled. 

 The camera flashed, a car horn blared, and somewhere in the distance John could hear a stereo blasting music from one of the dorm hall windows. He stood on the curb, balancing his toes on the cement as he struggled to get an appropriate angle of his new home. He figured that the photograph would be good enough, and he let the camera drop back onto the strap that he had hung around his neck. If the developed product proved unsatisfactory he would just have to take it again, considering this house would probably be standing long enough to get another more fitting shot. 

"John honey, you're not going to let your sister do all the lifting?" Mrs. Watson cried from the back of the car, pulling out one of John's lighter suitcases and dropping it onto the grass. He groaned, wondering quietly to himself why he had ever let his parents drive him up in the first place. All they ever were on move in day was a nuisance.
"I'm coming, alright." John muttered, making his way through the grass and minding his white sneakers against the clippings. The maintenance crew must have been mowing all day yesterday, making sure that the lawns looked beautiful enough for the concerned parents to be satisfied. Two years ago this day had proved to be one of the most frightening of his life, though now it was coming as nothing short of a revolution, an exciting peace of mind. As an incoming junior, John felt as though this year was going to be his to rule. It was the first time he was going to be living with his fraternity brothers in the Sigma house, and as a newly ordained upperclassman he would be given many more privileges around the campus. No longer was he on the bottom half of the pecking order, this time he could give the orders, not the other way around. The sooner his parents could pack up their little car and leave for the other side of the state, the better.
"Some of this stuff is fragile, mom. You can't just be throwing it around." John warned, taking up one of the milk crates and examining to make sure his record collection had remained unscathed.
"I'm sorry dear. But you know how your father gets, if we can't unload the car in under thirty minutes he's just so uptight." Mrs. Watson muttered, looking over to where her husband was standing on the porch, ordering Harriet to hurry up with the bedsheets while a cigarette was dangling between his teeth. John nodded, understanding this constant struggle more vividly than he would prefer. His father was a rough man, and the idea of leaving the rest of his family alone with him was always the worst part about moving back into Stoke Moran. It was a gamble, though in the end it would have to be a necessary step. John couldn't stay at home for the rest of his life, trying to keep his father in check. He slung one of his backpacks over his shoulder, waddling awkwardly with the weight of his possessions across the street and up the sidewalk. There was a mess of boys walking in and out, mostly the older ones who had moved themselves in without the help of their parents. This was one of the only days where they tried to look like responsible, respectful adults. They knew that their audience would be one of concerned parents and jealous siblings, and so each one of the boys had dressed their best and put on the most helpful face they could manage. Even now Sebastian was taking up one of John's large garbage bags (filled with pillows and blankets) from Harriet, giving her a reassuring smile. It was almost comical to watch him lend a helping hand, considering he was the one who was in charge of John's pledging class just a year earlier. That boy had made himself all together helpless when he had a bunch of pledges at his command, to the point where they sometimes had to lift him up in his chair and move him to a better spot around the house. This of course was all just trying to be annoying, for he would request they carry him all the way up the stairs and into the attic so that he could 'get a better view of the sunset' and then promptly commanded them to take him into every other bedroom to issue a 'mandatory room check'. To see him now, lending a helping hand, made John chuckle. Then again Sebastian was now the president of the fraternity, having claimed ownership long before he was even enrolled into the college on the claims that he was a long ancestor of the founder. This was of course due to his last name, Moran. Everyone marked him down as some attention hungry psycho, and their assumptions at last proved correct when they unearthed documents declaring that the name had nothing to do with the founder, that the actual founder was named Grimsby Roylott. To fill his ego Sebastian was immediately drawn to the position of president, for without any blood power he felt required to make his own power elsewhere. Despite his ambitions and reasoning's, he was the best choice for the spot. As annoying as Sebastian could be, well he was a good leader at heart. John followed a train of people up towards the second floor, where the majority of the smaller bedrooms were. Even though the rooms were about the size necessary for a single bed they had crammed two into each, in an attempt to make sure they could fit as many boys inside as possible. John didn't have much of a problem with this, considering that his roommate since freshman year and consequential best friend was going to once more be at his side. Greg Lestrade still hadn't moved in, of course, for at the rate he drove he was probably still hours away. The boy was a little bit of a disaster, and time schedules seemed to operate at a complete different rate for him. Surely he'd show up sometime during nightfall, wondering why no one came out to help him unpack.
"I'm on the left." John instructed, hoping that Sebastian would at least make his job easier and throw the large bag onto the appropriate bed. And of course, just to be a pain, Sebastian threw it onto the opposite.
"Nice to have you staying with us, Johnny Boy." Sebastian chuckled. "I'm sure you and Lestrade will make a perfect duo of house cleaners."
"We're not pledges anymore, remember." John warned, giving the man a little shove in protest and dropping his things onto one of the desks.
"Make sure to leave little chocolates on the pillows, too." Sebastian suggested, intentionally disregarding John's protest.
"I will, right after I infuse them with laxatives." John agreed, to which Sebastian chuckled softly. Their conversation was halted when Mrs. Watson appeared, carrying a suitcase in both hands and wearing one of John's old football helmets on her head. John groaned in protest, but couldn't do the liberty of voicing his opinions out loud.
"I couldn't find a better way to get it inside!" she explained quickly, her red lipstick smearing upon the face mask and her large curls shoved awkwardly within the leather. John sighed heavily, and Sebastian quickly excused himself. Undoubtedly he assumed it would be rude to laugh in her face, though in private it was certainly understandable. The move in process went slowly, and with each passing moment Mr. Watson got ever more uptight. For as much complaining as he took it upon himself to do it seemed as though his actual work load was nothing, in fact all he did was chain smoke out on the front porch and instruct everyone else on what they should be doing. By the time the car had been emptied, all of its bags and packages loaded instead onto John's mattress, his parents each bid him a farewell. Harriet only managed a wave from where she was already sitting in the back of the car, and so with a tearful hug from his mother and a stiff handshake from his father John was left alone. He watched from the front porch as their little sedan made its way down the road, and he offered it a wave of goodbye as a string of sadness erupted from his heart. It was a strange feeling, saying goodbye to those you were never supposed to leave. And it was always saddening, realizing that you will not see them again for a long, long time. But the sadness passes, and reality ensues. And suddenly the world opens with possibility, the sun shines a little bit brighter, and whatever shackles that his parental guidance had slapped upon his wrist suddenly slipped off, and he was free to pursue the life he most wanted. Suddenly John's face broke into a smile, and even before the taillights of his parent's car had vanished down the hill he had turned around, racing into the house with a newfound freedom and a wrenching sense of excitement in his heart. 

 Greg's arrival to the college was about as eventful as one could be, especially considering it was well past six o'clock in the evening when his clunking car finally appeared over the steep hill. John heard it before he could see it, though he had kept his window open for precisely that purpose. Greg's car had a very distinct sound, the metal of the hanging muffler scraping down against the pavement coupled with the deep beats of whatever song he was listening to at the moment. All together he provided a melody of chaos, always making a dramatic entrance wherever he went. John had just gotten his bedsheets onto his mattress when he heard Greg's approach, and with a single glance out of the window he saw that ever familiar car pulling into the lot, a sight so familiar that John might've sworn no time had passed. In reality it had been since last spring that the two boys had seen each other, considering John's parents liked to keep him all to themselves during the breaks. It had been so long that it felt like a mere couple of minutes, though despite the ambiguous hiatus John's feet had never moved so quickly, running through the still unfamiliar halls of Sigma Eta to greet his best friend at the door. Greg was moving rather slowly, as usual, and so John instead met him out in the driveway, nearly tackling the poor boy as he flew at him in a mad frenzy of enthusiasm. 

"Greg Lestrade! Caught off guard!" John exclaimed, holding Greg in a tight embrace for a couple of moments, just long enough for his friend's squeals of protest began to sound legitimate. With that John released him, allowing Greg to stumble around in the gravel and regain his composure. Thankfully there was a smile on his face, for if there was any hint of aggression John really should have been taking off in the opposite direction. Greg might be an easy target when his back was turned, but he was certainly a tour de force when he wanted to be.
"Never off guard, John. Just wanted to give you the upper hand, is all. Boosts your confidence." Greg insisted, giving John a rather harsh shove to the shoulder just to demonstrate his strength.
"Certainly, certainly." John agreed with a little chuckle.
"What do you say? Feel confident now?" Greg wondered, his eyes narrowing so as to read the emotions behind John's hazel eyes.
"I could take on the world." John agreed, a smile breaking out onto his face once again. Seeing Greg was like taking a deep breath of fresh air, for as long as he had been confined within his parent's household he had been exposed to nothing but harsh logic and an ever asphyxiating sense of boredom. Greg's energy was just the opposite, just being in a close proximity to him made John feel as though a good time was just over the horizon. Greg carried with him a chaotic confidence that made the world seem much more entertaining, and even the most boring tasks could prove to be a delightful experience. The long summer had finally come to end, and with the return of Greg Lestrade it would seem as though the mess of a schoolyear would prove to be the best one of all. The two boys proceeded to lift all of Greg's things into the room, an admittedly sparse assortment when compared to John's mess of things. As opposed to John's overly uptight parents, Greg's seemed to be quite the opposite. Of course John had never met the Lestrades, for Greg had seemed to operate alone on every move in day, every move out day, and every family day for as long as John could remember. His parents undoubtedly took a backseat on his life, and therefore had no concern in packing him each and every commodity he might need. Most of his luggage proved to be snacks loaded in milk crates, and save for a bag of sheets and a suitcase of clothes, well one might think he was merely going on a road trip rather than moving into the next year of his life. It was no matter, John usually had enough to supply them both with their necessities and luxuries, and Greg was always willing to share his excess of food. They worked well together, they operated more like a unit than any other roommate duo, and finally they found themselves not just in a stinking dormitory, but instead in the majestic house of their fraternity. It was indeed a dream come true, though they had no idea just how quickly that dream would turn to be a nightmare.
"Do you think Saint Sebastian knows I'm here yet?" Greg wondered, sitting atop his freshly made bed and throwing his football up to the ceiling, thunking it against the drywall and catching it again.
"I'm sure the whole block knows you're here." John agreed, still in the process of hanging his clothes in the closet. Greg always found his laundry processes to be amusing, considering John was about the only boy on campus who knew how to work an iron. His mother had taught him well, and he took his appearance more seriously than did most. Therefore each shirt had to be hung just right on the hangars; they must be lying flat and not pressed to close together, lest they wrinkle.
"He's going to be such an obnoxious president. I can only imagine the punishments he'll make for me." Greg groaned.
"How about you try to stay out of trouble?" John suggested.
"Certainly I can't do that. What fun is college if you're not getting into trouble?" Greg wondered, his brow creasing and his fingers clutching protectively to the football. Perhaps he was wondering where his next target ought to be, the ceiling or John's head.
"I'll ask you that again when he's got you brushing the floors with a toothbrush." John chuckled.
"I'm sure he won't be that mean." Greg muttered a bit hesitantly, though he didn't seem too sure. In all honesty they had no idea how Sebastian would take up his leadership role. He seemed to have an authoritative air to him, though there had been times when he could let loose and enjoy the fraternity he was beginning to lead. John could think of at least one time when he found the poor boy bent over the back porch railing, emptying the liquid contents of his stomach into the snow.
"We should spend more time worrying about our responsibilities, rather than his. Remember we're the juniors, we're in charge of the pledges." John reminded him, to which Greg's eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Oh yes." He agreed. "And when I'm through with them I'm sure they're going to go running home to their mommies, not wanting to join the scary frat anymore."
"That's not really the point of recruiting." John reminded him, to which Greg shrugged his shoulders.
"I think we went through plenty, and here we are today. It's all talk, really. Not as much brutality as there ought to be." Greg decided thoughtfully.
"Well, unfortunately for the next pledging class you're in a position to change that." John muttered. Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, announcing the presence of yet another staple of their shenanigans. John halted in his shirt hanging, though Greg's immediate reaction was to throw his football just about as hard as he could manage towards the shape in the door, testing the newcomer's reaction time if anything at all. Thankfully, the football was intercepted, and immediately was whipped with unbeatable force back to its source. Greg chuckled, throwing aside the ball and hopping off of his bed for a proper introduction.
"James Sholto, a sight for sore eyes." Greg chuckled. "Man, with that jawline you make me swoon." The two clapped shoulders in a rather manly exchange of greetings, though John offered James a big hug in exchange for Greg's unnecessarily macho welcome. James was always a big softy at heart, and he took the hug just as enthusiastically as John had expected. James was a senior in the fraternity, though he had been one of the reasons the two boys joined the fraternity in the first place. They had befriended him through football practice (before the two quit, finding the team to be a rather hazardous environment) and ever since then had stayed relatively close. James had pledged a year before them and had introduced both boys to the fraternity brothers, basically integrating them into the house before they had permission to pledge. He was the moral compass to their pass times, the only one between the trio that kept a level head when there was any sort of fun to be had. Both John and Greg owed James a fair amount of respect, considering his quick thinking and sober tendencies had saved them both from embarrassing stumbles with the police or with the sorority girls.
"I see you two are both moved in." James commented.
"Well I am, John's still folding his shirts." Greg chuckled.
"It's a process, Greg. It's called decency!" John defended. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Greg hasn't even heard that word." James insisted, to which Greg sneered.
"You're upstairs this year, aren't you? In the big suites?" Greg wondered, to which James smiled proudly.
"Senior advantage." He agreed. "Nothing as big as Sebastian's room, but it's a fairly generous space, especially for a single bed."
"We'll get there someday, I'm sure. Then again we'd have to split up, and I'm not sure how we could survive that. By this point we're conjoined." John pointed out.
"Speak for yourself! I've been trying to get rid of you for years." Greg insisted, veering out of John's proximity with a hiss of distrust and jumping back up onto the bed.
"Well I've been sent to tell you two that we're having a house meeting downstairs, meet in the living room in about ten minutes." James instructed.
"Oh so you're here on business, not to wish your dear friends hello?" Greg clarified, touching his hand to his heart as if he was hurt by such a realization.
"Exactly." James agreed, smacking the doorframe as a farewell as he turned and disappeared into the hallway, presumably to go interrupt the next rooms of boys.
"And to think we called him our friend." John scoffed, though he was chuckling all the same. As per their instructions, the boys made their way rather slowly down the staircase.