It was the day after the pixie fiasco, and Drew had been serving detention with Flitwick for punching someone. She returned to the dungeons, searching for Wilby. He and Cyndee were by the windows... talking to Theodore Nott.

The brunet had never spoken much, so she was surprised. He reminded her of that Blaise Zabini, always keeping to himself and giving off mysterious vibes.

She realized Wilby was being threatened and ran over, swinging the cover of her Charms textbook into his head.

Theodore stumbled and fell. They backed off as he hastily picked himself up. Wilby was staring at her like she was some sort of knight, and she demanded, "Nott you halfwit, what are you doing?"

"Having a conversation!" he snarled, cradling his head.

"Well Cyndee looks terrified over there, and so does Wilby. Is this what normally happens during your conversations?"

Nott balled up his fist, holding it up like a small sledgehammer, "I can't believe you hit—"

"HEY! What's going on here?" a voice cried. It was Xavier Columbus, one of the newly appointed prefects. He was stalking over, looking irked about having to do physical activity. "Not about to fight, are you? Take it outside, you miniature gits, where the staff can't blame me for two idiots blasting cushions apart."

"We haven't even learned explosion spells yet, you prat," Nott said rudely, but he marched into a green armchair in a fit of fury.

"That's because you're too thick to have facts get through your head," Drew called after him.

"Shut up blood traitor!"

"You shut your mouth! Or is your chin so fat you can't lift it?"

"Stop it!" Xavier ordered. "Why do I have to deal with you brats all the bloody time? Don't make me drown you in the lake! I'm prefect, not a babysitter!"

She just snorted at him in response. Then she went up to the other girl. "Want to sit down, Cyndee?"

"Oh...okay. Drew."

Drew turned, "Yeah?"

Cyndee looked shocked, "Oh, no, I was just...remembering."

She turned up an eyebrow at that but said nothing. She dumped her bag on the floor under one of the tables and sat down.

"Blood traitor," Drew mused as the two took their seats, "that's what he called me. Apparently, my Muggle-born status hasn't yet been revealed to the public."

"Why'd you come back so quick?" Wilby asked her.

"Got bored," she responded, staring at him across the table. "Turns out half my life just revolves around talking to you, Will."

Wilby nearly dropped his bag.

"Are you turning red?" Drew asked. "You sure look like you are. What were you and Nott talking about?"

"He told Theodore to leave me alone," Cyndee said. She wasn't even looking at them, and Drew had the feeling she'd answered accidentally.

Drew gazed at him incredulously, "I thought all you did was say please and sing Taylor Swift."

"Taylor's amazing," he said.

"Taylor's on hiatus," she shot back.

"Okay."

"Stop saying 'okay'. So er, Cyndee. Do you want to tell us something about yourself? Since we're friends now."

Cyndee put the newspaper she'd been holding on the table, "You mean...why I'm such a freak?"

Drew waved her hands a little, "To put it bluntly, yes."

"And you're not a freak," Wilby told her. He looked at Drew crossly.

"Yeah, who said that?" Drew scoffed.

Nobody said anything for a moment.

"Okay I'm sorry," Drew said sincerely. "I know I called you that last year. And this year. No offence, but you were—"

Cyndee didn't hear the apology. "I live with my parents in this small neighbourhood."

"Only child?" Drew asked, taking the subject change in stride. "I've got two siblings, both extremely annoying."

Cyndee almost smiled, but then she got wistful. "I had two cousins..."

"Had?" Drew repeated, perhaps a tad bit loudly. Wilby winced. "Sorry," she muttered. Two apologies in an hour; this must be a record for her.

Cyndee looked straight at the table, tears welling in her eyes. "One was murdered by a Death Eater. His name was Tristan."

Drew felt an increasing feeling of dislike building up in her and pushed it down. It wasn't unheard of for a student to personally know what a Death Eater, or even You-Know-Who himself, could do, but it wasn't common.

There was a Hufflepuff in their year, Susan Bones, whose almost entire family had been killed by them. And, of course, there was Harry Potter. Now there was Cyndee.

"I'm sorry," Wilby offered. When she didn't respond, he said slowly, afraid to ask, "Where's the other?"

Cyndee had to think about it. Or maybe she was just taking a breather. "At Hogwarts. I-I think he blames me."

"Who is he?" Drew asked angrily. "It couldn't have been your fault."

"...Morfinus Labrinth."

"I think I know him. Gryffindor?"

Cyndee cocked her head and blinked. "Yes. Third year."

"Wait," Drew blurted. "Labrinth and Piramyd. Your cousin — the one that's gone — was he a Crosswood?"

"Yes," she said meekly, staring right through her like she wasn't even there. "Tristan Crosswood."

"Those three families are friends, aren't they? Eliza mentioned it. They're really high up in the Ministry."

Cyndee shut her eyes.

Tears were threatening to be spilt, so Wilby quickly stood up. "You don't have to talk about it anymore. We can go to dinner."

"Yeah food," Drew agreed, "come along Cyndee."

Cyndee slowly stood up, and as they made their way to the Great Hall, she looked at Drew. Her gaze was suddenly clear and focused, and her smile was bright.

* ° * ° *

Weeks later, Cyndee had almost transformed into a different person. But she was still majorly unpredictable. Sometimes she'd be laughing and joking, and the next she'd be so terrified she'd jump at the slightest of sounds.

During this dinner she was the first kind, thank goodness.

The Slytherin table was as sullen-faced as ever. Eight seats away, Malfoy grumbled something about "Saint Potter" while his two idiot friends nodded like idiots.

Drew reached across the table and leisurely plucked Wilby's chicken wing from his plate.

He jerked upright, features frantic. "Drew wait, I already bit—"

Cyndee was giggling, and Drew chomped on it. "Who bloody cares."

Wilby drew back and blushed.

"Language," Pansy chided good-naturedly. She was contentedly drawing a squiggly line into her leftover sauce with a fork.

"Who bloody cares," Drew repeated, half-grinning.

Pansy covered her mouth with her hand, resting the elbow on the table. "Forget I said anything," she groused through pale fingers.

"Is anyone joining Quidditch?" Millicent questioned. After a year at Hogwarts, she'd taken to being a bit less reclusive and obsessive about her cat all the time. "Girls, I mean."

Pansy carefully placed her fork on her linen napkin, pursing her pink lips. "Girls can't join."

Drew looked up and stared incredulously, "What do you mean?"

"Draco told me that the Captain won't ever pick a girl for his team." Her drawling tone was mixed with obvious disappointment.

Drew shot a withering glance at Marcus Flint on the other length of the table. "Why ever not?"

"He's a twit," she said plainly, looking angrier than Drew had ever seen her. "Flint did let Malfoy bribe his way into the team, which was nice, but he..." She failed to finish, and instead turned her head to gaze at Malfoy, checking if he'd heard.

Drew flicked mashed potatoes in her direction, "Pansy. Hello?"

"Oh!" she spun back. "Flint just likes being macho. But the Slytherin team has been like that for a while. You'd have to ask someone else for more information. I don't have any siblings that've been here before me, and my parents went to Durmstrang."

"Hey!" Drew waved. "Xavier!"

Far across the table, Xavier put his spoon down and looked straight at her. "Do I hear something?"

She made a gesture that told him to come over. When he shook his head, she threw a balled-up napkin into his plate. "I need to ask you something!"

Quentin pulled the napkin off, and Xavier rolled his eyes and got up. "What is it, brat?" he asked upon arriving.

"Has there ever been a girl on our Quidditch team?"

He inspected her, then gave the same look to Wilby and Cyndee like they should be knocking some sense into her. "There's been plenty, just not in the last few years. Flint and the guy before him were horribly biased in this field."

"Pun," Wilby whispered. Cyndee smiled and Drew nudged him.

Xavier sighed a little, bringing her attention back. "Flint will never accept you even if you turn out halfway decent despite being a second year. And it's dangerous; he could sabotage your broom."

Drew wrinkled her nose. "Wow. And it's not me that wants to try out. Millicent here is thinking about it." She pointed.

Xavier sized her up. "Well, to get around Flint's misogyny you'd just have to bring an unbiased teacher with you to tryouts. Snape would most likely want the better player."

"Why didn't you say that to me?" Drew huffed.

His unapologetic honesty did not leave him. "I wanted to discourage you. You're less likely to survive a hit in the face with a Bludger. Second years don't usually get in for a reason."

She set her jaw. "You know what? I'll try out for the heck of it. Then I'll just quit in protest."

Xavier stared at her. "Can you play? Because that wouldn't do anything unless you can."

"I did play cricket in school. And tennis."

"Cricket and tennis," he repeated. "I'm pretty sure those are nothing like Quidditch."

"Doesn't matter."

"Fine. Knock yourself out." He looked at his watch with no subtlety at all, then back at his seat. "Are we done? You're making my head hurt and I would like to go back to my... eating."

"Sure," she waved him off, and he went away.

Millicent grunted, "I wasn't that interested in joining anyway, but thanks for asking."

"But I think you'd be great," Wilby said cheerily, taking a second helping of pudding.

"Whatever, Blue."

Cyndee quietly bit into her food, nobody paying the least bit of attention to her.

"Um, Drew?" Wilby asked hesitantly.

"What is it, dimwad?"

"If you actually are going to try out, what broom are you using?"

"Oh." Then: "The school's."

"They're cheap though..." Cyndee said, pointing out the obvious.

"Well, what can I do? Nobody would lend me theirs. and after the teachers told her about the sledding incident, my mom swore that she'd never let me get one."

Wilby swung his legs under the table, "Better than nothing, is it?"

"Hey Cyndee," Drew mused thoughtfully, "is your family well off?"

She cocked her head at her, then gave Wilby a side look, wondering why Drew wasn't asking him. "We...we can afford a Nimbus if that's what you're getting at..."

"Well?"

"I don't know," she looked away. "Maybe."

"Whatever. You can decide if you want to help me later."

"Are—" Cyndee swallowed, "are you sure you want to try out with..."

"With a dyed-blonde git?" scorned Drew. "I'm willing to brave it."

"For the record," Pansy interrupted, eyes narrowing. "His hair is naturally blonde."

"Yeah, of course it is," Drew snorted. "That's more than I can say for Lockhart. I'm positive that's a dead squirrel on his head."

Pansy broke into a laugh that lit up her whole face, "I'm glad another girl agrees with me."

"What do you think, Cyndee?" Drew asked, grinning at her. "Does his hair look like a squirrel or a brown ferret?"

Cyndee blinked and stared at the teacher's table for a moment.

"Octopus."

It took a few seconds for the laughter to kick in.

Cyndee bashfully smiled back, and Drew realized that she had a mischievous personality underneath the glass.

Drew returned to her plate of food, but her mind was whirring away at Quidditch. She'd figure it out. Totally.