Carousel

He realized it three days after Christmas. Michael was sitting in the kitchen, trying to ignore the voices of his mother and sister as they fussed over Josh or Jacob or whatever his sister's boyfriend's name was (he hadn't bothered to remember it, despite the fact the bloke had been in their house for a week) in the living room. He was blankly staring at the back of a cereal box not really thinking about anything. Outside the kitchen window, a few blackbirds were pecking at the seeds the squirrels had knocked out of the bird feeder onto the ground. They were soon joined dby two pigeons. His attention moved from the nutritional information on the box to follow their squabbling and fevered feeding.

His mother and sister entered the kitchen in a rush of argument: something about the Corner matriarch being too pushy which was countered with a gripe regarding how one acts as a good hostess. Michael pointedly ignored this, instead stirring the remains of his cereal and staring at two blackbirds that were struggling over a single piece of dried corn.

"Michael. Michael!" his mother called sharply. He sighed, forced from his reverie. She was looking at him with her hands on her hips. His sister was doing the same.

"What?"

"Did you take the trash out? We can't have it sitting about with a guest here!"

"Yeah, I did, Mum." He frowned irritably between the two women, wishing they'd leave him to his cereal in peace. He'd been up for less than thirty minutes. In fact, he was still in his pajama bottoms and a long sleeve cotton shirt. He'd forgone the dressing gown in favour of getting breakfast before his mother and sister noticed him. Sadly, it seemed his plan had failed.

His mother watched him for a few moments longer, as though trying to determine whether he was telling the truth, before finally nodding, fetching the tea kettle, and heading back into the other room.

"It would be nice if you actually were around for more than five minutes," Anna chided as soon as their mother was out of the kitchen.

He irritably dropped his spoon into the bowl, milk splattering on the table. "Look, didn't I go out with him for groceries yesterday?"

"Yes, but that's not the same thing. You're being rude."

"He's not my boyfriend. Why should I care?" he muttered, standing up to dump the rest of his breakfast in the sink.

"He's important to me. Just do it for me. Take him out with you some time before the end of the week, all right?"

"Fine."

She gave him a long suffering sigh and departed from the kitchen, and he was returned to that peaceful state that he felt he ought to have been enjoying for the whole of the morning. The holidays weren't feeling very holiday-like. After all, they were suppose to be times of respite and leisurely amusements, not enforced socialization with a man Michael was sure he'd never see again after this. He flopped back down in the chair at the small kitchen table and resumed staring out the picture window and thinking about nothing in particular.

That's when it hit him.

He started quite suddenly, causing the birds that were safely across the window to take off in fright, but he didn't mind them. Instead he just stared wide-eyed at the bits of corn and whey on the ground.

Is that what Rivers had meant back on the Quidditch pitch? She'd remarked that he ought to turn his attentions to Daphne, but it hadn't made a bit of sense at the time. They were just friends. That's all. He clung to the thought now, trying to make some sense of that random, upsettingly strong feeling.

No, that's not right. There was no way he could really be thinking like that. After all, he had Cho. Cho was speaking to him again. Daphne wasn't even remotely interested in him like that. Why would he even think of doing anything to damage either of those relationships? Only friends: that's all they were, that's all they would be. That was simply a silly early morning musing. One of those "what ifs" that kept him amused in dull interludes. He stood up, stretching, preparing to head up to his room and get dressed.

'Just friends.'

---

Michael returned to Hogwarts with the rest of the school. Everyone was excited to be back after the short break, chatting with their friends and laughing as they got off the Hogwarts Express and made their way to the carriages. Michael and Terry allowed themselves to pulled along with the crowd, neither saying much. Terry was probably worrying about Finnigan again, and Michael... Well, he wasn't worrying. He had nothing to worry about.

'Just friends,' he thought again.

It took him a moment to realize that Terry was addressing him. His friend was lifting an eyebrow, his usually stoic face wearing an amused expression. "Don't tell me. You're thinking about Cho," the taller boy remarked, rolling his eyes.

"Of course. Who else would I be thinking of?" he asked a little defensively.

Terry's eyebrow rose even higher at this, but he didn't say anything further, instead climbing into the carriage before Michael. Michael paused at the door. A chorus of laughter in the carriage behind them had caught his attention. Daphne, Malfoy, and Parkinson were standing outside it. Parkinson was pointing at a first year who'd tripped on his way to the carriage, his trunk flying open, and his Puddlemere United underpants collection falling across the ground for all to see. Pansy was laughing so hard Michael thought she might be having a fit, Malfoy, of course, was also chuckling softly, a malicious smile (which was nothing new) crossing his features, and Daphne was sort of smiling in a bored way. She hadn't written him at all during the holidays.

The first year's friends helped him pick up his things and get into a carriage before Parkinson could direct more negative attention in his direction. Already, other students were having a good laugh at the kid's expense. Michael frowned. He wasn't Potter, so he wasn't about to start standing up for some child he didn't know, but it still irked him that Parkinson was acting like a stupid bint. Slytherins. Who needed them? Not him. He especially didn't need Daphne Greengrass. Not like that anyways.

"Are you coming?" Terry asked from inside the carriage.

"Of course," Michael replied, heaving his trunk inside and climbing up after it.

He sat down across from his friend and stretched out, taking up two seats, which wasn't hard given his rather gangly arms and legs. Terry leaned on the window, looking bored but absorbed.

"What happened out there?"

"Some kid dropped his luggage," Michael replied with a shrug.

Terry nodded, not replying for a moment. Michael stared at the felt ceiling of the carriage and sighed slowly. When were they going to get back to the castle already? He had better things to do than sit in a carriage all day.

"My sisters were glad to see you," Terry said, breaking the silence.

"They were? They're getting awfully cute."

Terry snorted. "Do I have to keep my eye on you?"

"Perhaps," Michael replied, a slow smile easing over his features.

"Merry had some interesting things to say about you."

"Oh?" What could a girl too young even to attend Hogwarts have to say?

"She thought you looked a little distracted."

"Distracted? Me? Never," he replied, though his attention returned to the window.

"Uh huh. You're staring into space again."

The bad thing about best friends was that they had a tendency to know you better than you knew yourself. "It's nothing."

"You're just thinking about Cho. Right."

"That's right. She's my girlfriend, so that's who I'm thinking about."

Terry couldn't help the amused smile, though he did his best to quash it, seeing Michael's irritated glance. At that moment there was a knock at the door to their carriage, and Cho's soft voice followed.

"Mind if I ride with you two? Marietta stayed for the holidays, so I don't really have anyone to ride with."

"Of course," Michael said, brightening instantly. Terry made a face as though he was gagging, but Michael ignored him, instead getting up to open the door and help Cho with her trunk. She hopped lightly into the carriage and settled down next to Terry.

"How have you been, Terry?" she asked, smiling at him sweetly. As Michael returned to his seat, he reflected that she was exactly as a girlfriend should be: kind, demure, and pretty as could be. Cho was smart, too. She was lacking in nothing. Still, he couldn't help it that as the carriage started forward; his was trying to catch a glimpse of the carriage behind them.

"We're friends. That's all."

He jumped, turning his attention to Cho and Terry's conversation.

"Well, if you wanted, I could talk to him. Maybe he just needs some advice," Cho replied.

When Cho had started talking to him again, he'd told her about Terry's affection for the Irish boy. She was duly sympathetic and had put herself wholeheartedly to the task of helping Terry, though Michael was sure that his friend was actually rather annoyed by the unsolicited aid.

"Being just friends is fine, Terry, but if you really feel that way about him... I don't think you can just hide it."

"What else can I do? He doesn't feel the same."

"Well, I can talk to him. This is going to ruin your friendship if you let it sit and ferment."

"It might not," Michael interjected, noting that there was a sort of desperation in his voice. Cho missed it, but Terry's eyebrow rose once again.

"Michael, you should support Terry. He should talk with Seamus about this. After all, I heard that the girl he was dating broke up with him over break."

"Where did you hear that?" Terry asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Finnigan has a girlfriend?" Michael asked.

Cho and Terry both turned to him, rolling their eyes before returning to their own conversation.

"Terry, give it another chance. You can never be friends as long as you're harboring a desire to be more."

Michael took that moment to detach from the conversation. He'd caught a glance of the Slytherin carriage behind them as their own rounded the curve where the juncture between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade met. He thought he caught a flash of Daphne's face. He might have been imagining it, but he thought she might have been smiling, and he was sure she had glanced in the direction of the carriage the Ravenclaws were occupying.

"Sometimes it's better to be just friends," he muttered. Cho and Terry ignored him.

---

It was a quiet night in the Ravenclaw common room. Anthony was busy showing Mackenzie and Padma some spell he'd picked up over break. It appeared he was trying to see just how red Mackenzie's face could become. The poor girl was presently beyond coherent sentences, just staring at him in this sort of startled way. Padma was rolling her eyes, chiding Anthony for messing around. Terry was seated at an armchair next to the fire, deeply involved in reading a potions manuscript. Michael was supposed to be reading for charms, but he was bored and fidgety. Quidditch practice had been cancelled on account of the fact that it was snowing too hard to fly more than twenty feet.

Thus Stella had grabbed Marietta and Cho and run off to the library. Michael might have liked to spend the evening cozying up with his girlfriend and pretending to study while instead exchange soft laughter and whispered flirtations, but that opportunity was gone now. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he dropped his book to the couch beside him and stared into the fire. Anthony glanced in his direction, raising an eyebrow, but his attention was soon returned to the two girls in front of him. Mackenzie had managed a full sentence, and Padma was putting up her hair. Michael also took this opportunity to have a little glance at the long, smooth neck of the Ravenclaw Prefect as she pulled her hair out of the way. The muscles in her throat flexed slightly, looking warm in the fire. Anthony said something, and the girl looked annoyed, dropping her hair in favour of berating him for his incorrigible behaviour.

That's when the knock sounded outside their portrait. All five of them paused and exchanged glances.

"I'll get it," Anthony said, immediately standing and heading over. "It's probably a first year forgetting the pass code again."

The others returned to their previous activities until a moment later when Anthony leaned over the back of the couch and tapped Michael on the shoulder.

"It's for you, mate," the boy said with a strangely amused smile.

"Who...?" But Anthony had already returned to his seat and was in the process of complimenting Mackenzie on a drawing scribbled in the margins of her notes. Michael sighed and uncurled from the couch, walking over to the portrait.

"Hi," said the short Slytherin girl on the other side. He blinked down at her in surprise, and she smirked slightly, looking amused in a way similar to that expression Anthony had just donned. "I've been trying to catch up with you for days. Come with me, okay?"

"Sure," he said, climbing out of the portrait hole and shutting it behind them. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Hurry up while the others are gone," she said, grabbing the arm of his robe and dragging him hurriedly along the corridors down to the dungeons. She pushed open the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories and ushered him inside.

"Blaise and Draco are out right now, so it's okay for you to look, but we have to hurry."

Michael stared at her blankly. He had a really bad feeling about standing in the middle of the Slytherin common room. Any minute now, he was sure Rivers or Malfoy or Parkinson would appear and hex him into a toad. No, this was not a safe place for an outsider to be... He started to object, but Daphne was once again yanking on his arm and pulling him to a box near the fire. Inside it was a cat and some very small kittens. Luckily, Michael was a very masculine man, or else he might have cooed just then.

"Blaise's cat Bast had kittens," Daphne explained, smiling down at the basket of cuteness. "They're Simon's."

"I guess that makes you a grandmother," Michael teased, crouching down to get a better look at the tiny furry bodies.

"It's okay to pick them up, as long as you're really careful," Daphne said, reaching down to scoop up a tiny ball of striped fur that was not immediately recognizable as anything other than fluff. She held it in her cupped hands, holding it up to Michael.

"Well, if you say it's all right..." he said, tentatively reaching out to very gently stroke the kitten with two fingers. It made a mewling whine, and its mother answered in kind, flapping her tail once.

"She's a bit protective," Daphne said with a smile before putting the kitten back into the box with its mother.

"They're... really cute," he said after a moment. The mother cat looked up at him as though annoyed at his statement of the obvious. She sat up, starting to clean the tiny bodies all of whom mewed loudly and protested the end of their meal. "But what are you going to do with them? You two can't keep them, can you?" That was a lot of cats, after all.

"Well, I guess we'll have to give them away," Daphne said with a sigh. "But only to select people. These are our grandchildren after all," she remarked with a smirk, looking up at him.

That's when he noticed she was not very far away, and things were just a little too cozy with the fire and the cute balls of fluff that were Bast's progeny and the empty common room. He cleared his throat, starting to stand.

"Don't you want to pick one up?" Daphne asked from the ground, looking at him in surprise. "I remember you telling me at the Hallowe'en ball that you liked cats."

"Er, I do, it's just that..." How, oh how, could she be so very oblivious? "I was worried their mum might worry."

Daphne shook her head, laughing. He could see some auburn coloured highlights in her hair, accented by the firelight, and he thought it was terrible of himself to notice. However, he didn't want to alert her to the oddness of the situation if she didn't readily grasp it. He crouched back down, doing his best to subtly look anywhere but at her, which was not hard since she was focused on the kittens again.

"Here, you can hold this one," she said, scooping up a black kitten and depositing it in his hands. The small creature mewed pitifully, its tiny claws kneading in his palms.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," he said softly cupping the kitten to his stomach so that he could gently pet it. Bast's tail flopped again, but she made no answering sound, instead focusing on cleaning an orange kitten.

"I didn't know you could be so cute," Daphne said, an amused smirk on her face. He quickly looked back down at the kitten, his face warming slightly.

"I have my moments," he muttered. The kitten was meowing a little louder now, so he carefully returned it to its mother who ignored it as she continued to clean its brother.

"I've never seen you look so... paternal," Daphne said, her smile still amused and teasing. "It makes my aged heart warm."

"Of course, grandmother," he replied, rolling his eyes and forcing a bored smirk of his own. She leaned a little closer to stroke Bast behind the ears. The cat paused in her ministrations to purr softly and lean into Daphne's touch. Michael gulped softly, realizing that she was so close he could smell the traces of shampoo in her hair. She used the same sort as Mackenzie. Must've been a veterinarian-in-training thing.

"Daphne..." he said, feeling more than a little panicked.

"What?" she asked, turning to him. She had a sort of blank look on her face. She was so very artless. It made his stomach twist painfully, because his heart was beating nauseatingly fast. Her hair slid down into her face, unable to defy gravity any longer, and before he knew it he was brushing it back.

He froze, his hand stuck in the motion of pressing it behind her ear. Her hand had paused on Bast's head, and the cat ducked out from beneath it, returning to her motherly duties as soon as the attention ended. Still, Daphne didn't take back her hand. What he was about to do was incredibly stupid, but it was too late to draw back by the time coherent thought had put this realisation in his mind.

The hand that had pushed her hair away instinctively moved to cup her face as he moved in the rest of the way. He'd initially intended on something more subtle, in case this was her first kiss--a gentle sweep over her lips and an immediate retraction. However, as his mouth met hers, she started to make a sound of protest and somehow the kiss turned into something more intense than he'd anticipated.

It was so terribly stupid to do this, but as her mouth parted just so under his own, his brain was not really doing its job. His eyes were closed, so he couldn't see her expression. She'd completely stilled, holding her breath, but she wasn't pushing him away. After a moment, he felt her gulp, and between that and the way his fist was starting to become sore grinding into the stone floor as it held him up, his brain snapped back into control, and he abruptly pulled away.

She was starting at him in shock, and he knew once and for all that he'd just made a huge mistake.

An expletive escaped him as he scrambled to his feet. "God, Daphne, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean... I... I'm sorry," he said, looking horrified.

She looked up at him, still utterly stunned. Her hand moved to her mouth, which was looking a little swollen and red and very tempting, and that's when he fled. He just bolted for the door, jumping over the couch and throwing himself out the entrance, nearly running into a group of third years before he righted himself and made for the safety of his own dorm.

He missed the soft "Mikey!" that followed him down the hall.

---

"So what happened after that?"

"I was running down the corridor, and I ran into Cho... I don't know what she thought happened, but she dumped me," Michael replied irritably. He was trying not to be sharp with Anthony, but right now he wasn't so interested in having information dragged out of him so much as just hiding and waiting until the shame finally overwhelmed him and he could die in peace.

"Bad luck with that, mate," Anthony said, shaking his head. "You have to be a bit more careful with girls, especially ones like Cho. Maybe if you talk to her about it, she'll forgive you, though. She's pretty reasonable." Anthony didn't really seem to believe this. Michael could only assume that his friend was saying it to make him feel better, which it didn't.

"Well, I imagine she assumed the wrong things, of course, but even so... Well, I did kiss Daphne."

Anthony's eyebrows rose in a rare look of surprise. "You snogged Greengrass?"

"Yeah, I did. Sort of."

"Michael, there's no such thing as 'sort of' in snogging. If there is, then you've been doing an awful job, and I can see why Cho dumped you."

Michael rolled his eyes at the ribbing. Right now, how well he did or didn't snog really didn't mean that much to him. "I suppose you're right, because Daphne hasn't spoken to me since either."

"Tough luck, mate, but sometimes you win... And sometimes you lose miserably. There are other girls out there, and anyways, so what you snogged Greengrass? You can still go beg Cho on hands and knees. She might be willing to listen."

"To be honest... I don't really want to. I'm just making her unhappy."

"How very chivalrous of you," Anthony said, giving him a dubious look. "What's the real reason? It's Greengrass, right?"

"Not like that matters. Like I said, she obviously doesn't want to talk to me anymore."

Anthony sighed. It seemed that Michael was intent on sulking, so he there was nothing to do for it. Anyways, he had Prefect patrol with Ginny, and there was no way he'd miss that. "Well, good luck whatever you decide to do," he said, standing and heading for the door. "But there's no point in being angry over something you can't change."

Michael put his hands to his eyes and threw his head back, waiting for the sound of the portrait closing to remove them again. He sighed and stared into the fire. He was having a rough week. No, a rough year, by the looks of it. First there was that bit about being evil and then the parchment rabbits and now Cho and Daphne both hated him. Maybe he could say he'd become evil again. He was having a flashback or something.

'Like either of them would believe that.' And even if they did... Somehow he just couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about Daphne. He groaned in frustration and punched the cushion of the couch next to him. The world was a very stupid, miserable place, and apparently he was its punching bag.

"Well, at least you're available again. You know I've been waiting years for you." Stella flopped down next to him, grinning cheekily as ever. He glanced at her with a frown. "Oh, you're in a mood tonight, I see. Pity that. I could have used a snog," she said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Really, Michael... That's how it goes. You shouldn't spend so much time worrying about it."

"I know. I know that's how it goes, but that's now how I wanted it to go."

Stella cocked her head, her features softening. "It feels like your chest is filled with lead, right? And your throat is swollen. You can't eat. You feel too tired too sleep. Everywhere you go, everyone you look at... they're wearing that face. That's how it is, right?"

Michael sat up slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "W-what?"

"Walking, talking, thinking, breathing... It all feels pointless, doesn't it?"

He shrugged, pointedly staring at the fire. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

Stella shrugged, her shirt rising up and causing a fourth year boy to drop his books. She smiled coyly at the boy before turning back to Michael. "It's pretty scary. As for me, I avoid that sort of thing, so I can't really give you advice, except you should stop lying to yourself because you're really not very cute when you sulk, and you know seeing your adorable face is what makes my day," she continued, tweaking his nose gently.

"Lying...?" He frowned, his mouth bunching to the side as he contemplated this. "No, It's... I don't really know... It's Cho and Ginny, and how those relationships didn't work out, and I'm worried..."

"That you can't make other people happy? Well, face it. You can't. Everyone's in charge of their own happiness, and there's little you can do one way or another. So instead you need to think about yourself. If something's broken, what are you supposed to do?" she asked, sitting up to pull her shirt back down. There was an audible sigh of disappointment from across the room.

"Some things are better left alone."

Stelle eyed him dubiously for a moment and then stood. "Either way, stop moping. Like I said, pouting doesn't suit you." She ruffled his hair playfully and started towards the stairs.

"Hey kid," Michael said to the boy across the room who was watching the hem of Stella's skirt as she disappeared up the stairs. He glanced over at Michael, looking surprised and a little nervous. "What do you think is better: moving past something or fixing it?"

The boy paused, rubbing his chin. "I suppose I'd say fixing it, if it's important."

Michael nodded slowly.

---

He knew very well where to find her. Even had he not run into Mackenzie in the hall, he knew where Daphne would be. He trudged down the hill, breathing in the cold air. It was so bitter it hurt, and he pressed his chin down into his scarf and his hands deeper into his pockets. He jogged down the last few yards, nearly slipping, but managing through Quidditch-sharpened reflexes to keep his balance. He stumbled back into equilibrium as he rounded the corner of Hagrid's hut. Daphne was there, staring at a pile of meat that was being quickly consumed by three thestrals.

"I still can't see them," she said, staring at what must have been for her meat disappearing into thin air. She was sitting on a crate, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She glanced sidelong at him and didn't say anything more, her expression entirely neutral. He drew up a few feet away from her, not sure what to make of this apathetic greeting. A few cold, silent moments passed with only the sound of the thestrals snuffling and choking down hunks of meat. Michael watched them for a moment. They were nipping at one another in annoyance; each wanting the meat the other was eating more than whatever was closest. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep breathing through his scarf rather than to intake any of the biting cold. Finally, she turned to him, raising a dark eyebrow. Perhaps it looked so dark because her skin was almost blue it was so white with cold.

"How long have you been out here?"

"About ten minutes... But we were outside for the end of class, too."

"It sort of reminds me of that one time."

"What time?"

"When we talked here... in the rain."

She smiled slightly at that. "Yeah, I suppose it does." She stood up, trying to stretch the cold out of her limbs and turned to him, studying him with that same unreadable expression. "I can't decide if Clare was right about you or not."

"She probably has a point."

"Don't," she warned. "Not right now. This is important, so I don't want to see you feeling sorry for yourself again."

He straightened, cowed into surprise. "Er, right..."

"This is an important place for us, aye?" she said, walking slightly closer to the disappearing slabs of steak. She eyed the pile wistfully, obviously wishing she could see them. Michael remained where he was, standing not far from the Augurey's nest. "I'd say it's where we really started being friends. It seems like it's our crossroads."

His throat hurt. Was it the cold? He was sure it wasn't. His brain felt numb. He knew what came next, of course. We can come or go. He was scared of either direction, to be honest. It was so much easier to sulk and just let it all pass, and wait until she'd forgotten it and wanted to be friends again. Still, it seemed that all the very logical people around him were pointing in this direction, and when he was so completely unable to be reasonable... What else could he do but follow those pointing fingers? He tried to decide what would hurt worse: the fear of trying to do something which really did mean something--not that Cho and Ginny didn't. It was just that he wasn't really friends with them before, and he didn't quite feel... whatever it was he was feeling now. Would that be worse, or would never talking again? He reckoned on the latter, and then he thought of a third. What if she said she just wanted to be friends and forget that happened? That would hurt, too, because thinking back to Cho's advice to Terry... How he felt wasn't going away.

He gulped, waiting nervously, and it seemed that she was enjoying his suspense. Or maybe she just hadn't yet noticed. Either was possible.

"Not to be crass, but what the hell were you thinking?"

He winced at her tone.

"I can't believe you did that. Why did you do that?" she asked, walking over to him and looking more than a little put out. For a moment, he thought she might slap him.

"I wasn't thinking."

"I'd say not."

"Daphne, look..." he said, taking a step forward.

She backed up a step and crossed her arms, very intently staring back at the thestrals again. "Never mind. Consider it forgotten. Well, since you're here, help me find them."

It seemed that she'd chosen option three, and suddenly Michael thought that perhaps that was the worst of all. However, he forced a smile and nodded weakly, walking past her to the big horrendous black animals. Usually he was actually a bit alarmed by them. They were rather gruesome to behold; and there was that whole thing where they were carnivores and had links to death and looked like the sick love child of a dragon and a horse. Still, it was easier to focus on the brutes than on how he was feeling sick to his stomach.

He hesitantly put his hand on the shoulder of the male thestral. It twitched, but it didn't attack him, so he waved carefully to Daphne. He didn't want to spook the thing, after all, and he figured if they were so horse-like, they probably were skittish as well. He really didn't know much of anything about them, but when Anna was thirteen, she'd come home from the summer demanding to have horseback riding lessons. His mother had brought him along to her first lesson when the horse she was riding got spooked by a tractor and ran off, dumping her into a hedge.

He didn't trust equine things.

Daphne made her way over to him, completely ignoring him as she reached out and put her hand beside his own. "That's its shoulder, right?" she asked softly, and he couldn't really stay dour when her eyes were shining like that. Her second hand went to tenuously run up the animal's wing which she could not see. It stamped its foot, tearing into another hunk of meat. Michael removed his own hand, standing back a little. Daphne's hand that had been at its shoulder moved down over its chest.

"I bet it looks beautiful."

Michael shrugged, not really thinking so, but not feeling like arguing. "Didn't you say, 'It depends on what you consider pretty'?"

Both hands paused, and she seemed to stiffen. However, a moment later, she was once again running her hands along the animal's body. Since it wasn't getting angry, Michael figured this was probably safe enough.

"I guess I did. Well, I can see how you wouldn't find something like a thestral pretty."

There was a strange note of... perhaps it was bitterness in her voice, and somehow he felt like she was saying something important. But just as he hadn't grasped it the day she'd initially said it, he couldn't recognise it for what it was now.

"You know me," he replied after a moment, measuring his words carefully as he attempted to lighten the mood. "I secretly have unicorn sheets on my bed." He smirked half-heartedly, but when she looked at him, it seems that she missed his discomfort, instead rolling her eyes good naturedly at the comment.

"Thanks for helping me find them," was her reply after a moment. She smiled and stepped back, and Michael watched the three thestrals lumber back into the forest. Daphne seemed to realise they'd left, too, looking slightly disappointed. "I guess I should head back. I have astronomy tonight, and I didn't finish my chart."

"Yeah, I've got Quidditch in a few."

She nodded, starting away, though after a few steps she sort of slowed and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Good luck," she said, before giving him a wave and heading around the front of the cabin and out of sight. He stared at the empty space she'd just inhabited for a few moments and thought that somehow the smile she offered him at this parting did not give him the feeling that everything would be all right.

---

"Anthony told me you were sulking."

Michael looked up as Terry entered the dorm room. He shrugged, thumbing through his catalogue of Quidditch supplies. The next game--the game against Hufflepuff--was in two days, and so he welcomed the obsessive distraction an upcoming match afforded. It was better than thinking about his social life.

"Finnigan have practise?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Poor you."

Terry gave him a sort of bored look and sat down on his own bed. "Anthony already tried talking to you. It seems to be my turn. Why are you angry now?"

"I imagine you'd be angry, too, if you were in my shoes," he replied a bit less acidic that time. After all, Terry hadn't been responsible for any of this, so there was no point snapping at him. He didn't put the book aside, though, because he would really rather not embark on an other impotent talk about how he should pursue this or drop that when none of it helped either way because he'd wound up in a stalemate, and he really shouldn't have been upset about that, but he was. He sighed and irritably flipped to another random page. His gloves could use a treatment. The knuckles were starting to crack.

"I heard you kissed Daphne Greengrass."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"Well, what happened?"

"Terry, I know we're mates, but I don't kiss and tell."

Terry rolled his eyes. "Since when? Just tell me what happened, and I'll leave you alone."

"Fine." He put the magazine aside and sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed so that he could sit up as well. "We were looking at Zabini's cat's kittens, and then I ended up snogging her, but she was just staring at me, so I left."

"Just staring...? How did you leave?"

"As fast as I could, that's how."

Terry nodded, leaning back on his elbows and looking a bit smug. That annoyed Michael, and so he picked the magazine up and prepared to try to ignore his best friend until the taller boy left.

"You shouldn't have run off. That probably confused her."

"Terry... Am I that hard up? Since when did you start dispensing love advice?"

"You have the worst luck I've ever seen, so you may as well listen. Try to imagine if you'd been her. What would it look like if she had kissed you and then run off?"

"It would have looked like she was making a mistake, which it would have been, which it was."

"If you really thought that, you'd stop sulking."

"I really don't want to hear this right now."

"You really fancy her, I guess."

"I don't... I don't fancy her."

"Then you...?"

"No, it's not that either! It's not anything! I just..."

"Need to actually be straightforward with her and get over all this?"

That earned Terry a pillow sailing at his head. The boy easily caught it and dropped it on the floor.

"I said I was tired of talking about it. And don't get my pillows dirty," Michael grumbled, rolling onto his side, back to Terry. "I told you what happened, and so now it's your turn to keep your end of the bargain."

Terry sighed and stood. "Fine. See you later, Michael."

He received no reply.

---

Cho was dating Davies now. It was a well known fact, and it wasn't something that could really be ignored, not when the team stood around the locker room prior to walking out on the pitch for the game, and Cho and Davies were holding hands and exchanging secretive smiles. Michael was doing his best to ignore it, though. He leaned against the metal wall of lockers and sighed, looking anywhere but at the happy couple. Cho giggled at some private joke the two were sharing, and then a whistle sounded not far off, and Davies stepped forward, his game face on. At that, six other faces tightened into the intense expression of game focus.

"Everyone ready? Let's go win!"

He put his hand out, and the others put their hands over his own. A chorus of the word, "Ravenclaw!" sounded, and the team left the locker room on their way to the foggy pitch. It was a rainy day, but visibility wasn't terrible. Plus, it wasn't quite as cold out anymore as spring was sure to come soon. Still, it was a bit unpleasant, at least in Michael's opinion, as the drizzle plastered his hair to his face and penetrated the collar of his sweater. As Hooch called out their names, they mounted their brooms and took to the air. The quaffle was thrown up, the bludgers and snitch released, and the match began.

Michael wouldn't remember much about this match. The first part started with his teammates catching the quaffle and a near perfect execution of Davies's latest play, except Michael missed his shot. Smith smirked and tossed the quaffle away to one of the Hufflepuff chasers. He could feel the smug look the blonde Hufflepuff was wearing as he turned and started as quickly as he could towards the direction his fellow chasers were headed, but there was no time to dwell on it.

At that point, Michael didn't quite see it, but one of the Hufflepuff beaters did something that caused himself to nearly fall off his broom, and Smith had to call a time out until the boy could right himself. Michael hovered quietly, taking in the pitch and stands. Cho was not far off, scanning the misty sky for a sign of the snitch. Davies was arguing with one of the Hufflepuff chasers. Michael glanced over to the Ravenclaw stands, and he could see Mackenzie waving excitedly, and Stella...seemed to be flirting with a fifth year who looked very red. He couldn't quite find Terry or Anthony in the mass of black and blue.

He flew a little closer to Davies who was still arguing with the Hufflepuff. Madam Hooch was involved now. They were arguing about whether the last goal ought to have counted since it happened after the whistle. Just to the right of the furthest goal post was the Slytherin stands. Michael risked a glance, squinting against the condensation and distance to try and see Daphne, but he had as much luck as he'd had with Anthony and Terry. The whistle sounded to end the timeout, and so he made his way back onto the playing field with his fellow chasers. Hufflepuff was in possession of the quaffle again.

Davies gave him and the other chaser a nod, and they separated for an offensive play Davies had invented just for Hufflepuff. Essentially they would surround the chaser with the quaffle from all sides and through sheer intimidation cause them to drop the quaffle. No one really put much stock in the confidence of Hufflepuff.

Davies flanked the boy's right side, and Michael took up the left, their third suddenly flying up in front of the boy who abruptly drew up, fumbling the quaffle in his haste to not run into anyone, and dropping it. A perfectly executed stratagem. Michael could hear Smith cursing across the field as he dove for the quaffle. That would show the berk.

What he didn't hear was Davies's warning, which was rather unfortunate, as the bludger hit him right in the upper arm that was stretched out for the quaffle. He heard a strange, unpleasant cracking sound which he realized must have been the bone. It seemed that time was slowing as his eyes left the falling quaffle and moved to his arm which was dropping limply to his side. The pain and the momentum of the blow hit him at the same time as he reached for his broken arm out of reflex, ignoring the fact that he was already sliding sideways from the force of the hit.

He was lucky that he wasn't up too high. He'd seen plenty of people fall from a much greater height. He'd seen Potter fall about 100 feet, and in his first year, he'd seen one of the Ravenclaw chasers fall from about thirty. He himself was only about fifteen feet up, but that only meant that as he'd already been moving downwards very quickly in his lunge for the quaffle, his fall was also rather fast; thus he had no time to try and not fall on his arm. There was a brief moment of intense pain as the weight of his body plus gravity fell directly on the injury, and then he didn't really recall anything more about the match.

---

"He's fine. He'll probably be a bit drowsy from the potion I gave him, but you can see him for a short time," came Pomfrey's stern voice somewhere in the background.

Michael was staring at a ray of light coming in the window. There were all these flecks of dust in it that seemed white against the golden shard of sun. They were floating very haphazardly, slowing descending and then ascending again when any nearby movement upset the air. It was really quite lovely, and he didn't really realize that anyone was talking to him until Anthony's hand waved in front of his eyes. He blinked and turned slowly to see Terry and Anthony staring at him in some bemusement. He couldn't seem to get just why, though if he'd seen the sort of silly, spaced out expression on his face, he might have known.

"That was a pretty spectacular break," Anthony said, and it took Michael a moment to process the words, because it seemed like Anthony was speaking much slower and deeper than normal, and there was a spider crawling across the chair by the Prefect's hand.

"He's completely out of it," Terry murmured, sounding torn between amusement and worry.

"There's a spider," was Michael's answer as he stared blankly at the small black speck moving up the back of the chair.

"Right, mate," Anthony said, his grin looking a bit patronizing. He took his hand from the chair and tucked it into his robes, and it all seemed to take a ridiculously long time to Michael, except he was feeling quite pleasantly relaxed, so he couldn't really be annoyed. Anthony was talking to Terry, but Michael missed the first bit. "...seems he's fine. He probably won't even remember us coming. Want to get going?" Terry nodded.

"Yeah. I guess Greengrass probably wants to talk to him in private, though I don't know what good it will do her," Terry added, and the remark seemed rather obtuse to Michael who was watching with a great deal of fascination as the spider crawled along the top of the chair.

"Later, mate," Anthony said, giving him a wave and leading Terry away. Michael chuckled softly and, hned. His friends were very funny.

"Mikey. Hey, Michael!"

His attention was drawn to the Slytherin standing beside his bed and looking at him with no trace of mirth, which was rather sad, because everything was so nice right now.

"'Lo Daphne," he slurred, watching her sit in the chair the spider had been occupying. He wondered if the spider had fallen off because of it. It was probably floating around with the white, glittering dust, because it was so small that surely gravity wouldn't affect it.

"You seem all right," she said, eyeing him critically. He smiled in response. Her hair looked pretty in the cascade of light. It was a little frizzy here and there, but the messy bits caught the light even better, turning their own shade of gold.

"Mmm," he replied, still staring at the golden patches in her hair.

"You better not do that ever again. You scared me to death," she chided.

He nodded, not really sure what she was talking about, but feeling a sort of detached obligation to respond. "Hair's pretty," he added thoughtfully after a moment.

"Pretty like a unicorn or a thestral?" she asked, smirking, but the wry smile faded as she realised that he wasn't really in the state of mind to appreciate that sort of joke, evidenced by the rather blank smile and the way his eyes were trailing off towards the window again. "I don't think you've ever complimented me like that before."

His eyes returned to her hair and he nodded once slowly, though it was not apparent at all what he was agreeing with. "Looks like that night."

"What night?"

"How it was in the fire."

"How it was in the...? Oh."

Sadly, Michael was too out of it to really notice how tense she suddenly became, or how her eyes were staring more at the pitcher of water on the nightstand than at him. Perhaps it was that she suddenly became aware of the advantage of this situation because she suddenly started talking again.

"You know it really bothers me that you did that. You just kissed me, and you ran away. Literally. I didn't tell anyone, but I heard Cho dumped you anyways. I'm sorry about that, if it was because... Well, it was your own fault. You know that was my first time, aye? You just had to run away afterwards. You even jumped over a couch to escape. You're an ass, Mikey."

She paused, surveying him as though to gauge whether he'd reply or not, or even if he was absorbing any of this. After a moment, she seemed to have decided that the half-lidded, content expression he was wearing was proof enough that he would not recall.

"Mikey, we're just friends, right? You don't fancy me. Of course not... You like unicorns, and I'm..." She smirked, looking down at her hands quietly for a moment. "I'm a thestral."

"'Course I do," was the mumbled reply, which surprised her out of her reverie.

She eyed him sharply, but his eyes were sliding shut, though the foolish grin was still there. He made a humming sound, and his head rolled to the side. "Night Daphne," he murmured, and a moment later, she was aware that he'd fallen asleep by the even, silent rise and fall of his chest, and she wondered how long she'd been staring before Pomfrey tapped her on the shoulder and sent her away.

---

When he'd asked his friends what he'd said while under the influence of that rather wonky potion, they'd both shared a good laugh and told him that he'd admitted his undying love for Seamus Finnigan, and that he'd propositioned Pomfrey. Obviously, they weren't much help. It really didn't make it any easier that pretty much all of that had seemed like a dream anyways. He couldn't even remember everyone who'd dropped in on him those first 24 hours, except he was sure Daphne might have, and she was talking about unicorns and thestrals, though he didn't know why. Since then, she'd steadfastly avoided him, leading him to think some sort of unpleasant exchange must have occurred, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall anything except feeling very happy and very distracted.

The logical thing at this point would have been to track Daphne down and ask what happened, except even though Michael knew that, he'd immediately rejected it because it was embarrassing, and he may have done something horrible that he was unaware of. All this meant that he was in dire need of a game plan, and so it was that he could be found hidden in the back of the library in the history of magic section seated in the window seat with his Rubik's cube. Another one of the stickers from the red squares had fallen off, leaving a sort of aged stickiness in its wake. He frowned at the new blank and sighed. He figured he should add a drop of paint or something so that he could tell which squares were which. He actually couldn't even play with the cube, because his right arm was in a sling, which meant that he was really just turning it over and over in his left hand and staring at it blankly. It was rather pathetic.

"I want to try it."

"What?" He jumped, dropping the cube which bounced loudly on the floor. He reached down to pick it up, but when he straightened, Daphne was holding out her hand.

"I said I want to play with the Muggle toy. Are you going to let me or not?"

"Uh, sure," he muttered, handing it to her.

She stared at it for a long moment. "How do you make it work?"

"You have to twist the squares around until they match."

She looked a little incredulous, but she tried it--carefully twisting the outside block. "Huh. That's sort of clever." She sat down in a nearby chair, all the while staring at the square of colour in her hands and twisting it this way and that. For a moment, Michael thought she might have forgotten him.

"While you were sleeping in the hospital wing, Anthony announced that your House is hosting another party."

"Oh?"

"I'm asking you to go with me."

"You're... asking..." he blinked at her in utter stupefaction. "As friends?"

"No, it will be a real date. I might even wear a Muggle dress," Daphne smirked, and not for the first time, Michael wasn't sure what she meant. Was she being sarcastic about the dress or the date or both? He sighed leaning back against the cold panes.

"Well, I'm game," he said after a moment, finally deciding to read that as general sarcasm.

"If you're going to look like that, I'll renege my offer," Daphne said standing up and walking over to him to drop the incomplete cube in his lap. "That thing's too confusing."

"Daphne, you don't get it, do you?" he asked, frowning with a touch of vexation. "I don't want to go as 'just friends.'"

She sat down on the cushion beside him, pushing his legs aside, the left side of her mouth rising as her eyes flashed with amusement. "You're pretty daft for a Ravenclaw. One more time: I'm saying that I do want to go with you... as more than friends." Her hand was on his knee as she said this, which he realized was perhaps the most intimate manner she'd ever touched him. His eyes ran up the length of her hand to her arm to her shoulder to her face, and he blinked.

"Oh... oh, er, good." What had he said? This was all so surreal.

"I've never had a boyfriend before, to be honest. I hope you'll be a good one."

"A... good boy...?"

"You seem a bit tongue tied today," she said, grinning and leaning back against the glass as well.

"I'm just... surprised," he managed, still eyeing her incredulously. Maybe this was some sort of trick. He'd said something horrible, and now Daphne hated him and wanted to get revenge on him the same way they'd gone about it with Finnigan in Hogsmeade. Probably Rivers had put her up to it.

"Mikey, you remember telling me that I was important to you? And you were so confused about it even then?"

"Yeah?"

"It's the same for me," she looked down at her hand, as though considering whether or not to remove it. "So... take it or leave it."

Slowly, he put the Rubik's cube aside and reached out. He hovered hesitantly for a moment before putting his hand over her own.

"You have cold hands," she said, smiling faintly.

"Sorry." He looked away from her face at their hands and noted that his own completely hid hers. "Is this all right?"

"Who knows?"

"What about Malfoy?"

"We'll get to that when it comes. Anyways, it's not like you're a Gryffindor or anything," she replied with a soft smirk.

"Heaven forbid," he replied with a low chuckle.

"I don't really know the rules to this whole dating thing," she added after a moment, her brow furrowing a bit.

"There are none, as far as I can tell," he replied, squeezing her hand.

"Sounds risky."

"Sounds scary."

She withdrew her hand and stood, turning to grin down at him. "I guess we're becoming Gryffindors after all."

"I might have to jump off the astronomy tower in shame."

Daphne laughed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I'll meet you there." She shifted her weight to her other foot and her smile looked a little less certain. "I have a meeting I have to go to, but maybe we can do something tomorrow."

He nodded. "Yeah, maybe we can go see the Augurey or something."

She nodded, her smile solidifying. "G'night, Mikey."

As she turned and disappeared into the lighter part of the library, he turned to the window, watching the navy folds of the grounds below, and he thought of thestrals.